#ML: Queen of Secrets

[spittyfishy]

This year I participated in the @mlsecretsanta exchange, and so here’s my gift for @mothistopheies

I had a lot of fun with it and I hope you like the gift! Happy holidays! ❄️🎁❄️

[miraculous-lesbians]

Hm. Huh….

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — six

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 35.5k 

genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love

synopsis — you and mark aren’t together anymore, but somehow you’ve grown closer than ever. every moment you share feels more intimate, blurring the line between friendship and love. but secrets, old wounds, and buried pain threaten to tear you apart again. campus tension, a difficult practice, and an eventful party only add to the strain. now, you’re left wondering if closeness is enough to mend what’s been shattered.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit sexual content, phone sex, sexting, explicit themes, lots of pent up frustration and tension, really angsty chapter (get tissues), y/n bit of a girlboss in this i fear, mark and y/n have difficult conversations, he’s very needy and messy in this, mark this chapter will make you realize all guys are the same and only want pussy😭, for once y/n is emotional support queen, emotional outbursts from mark, mark is quite cold and distant this chapter at times, horny mark, mark who tries to use sex as a distraction and escape tut tut, in general mark will give you whiplash this chapter, i delve into a side of him that you haven’t seen before, yn finally not taking people’s shit for once!, karina is hot as always, karina and jeno… yeah, y/n and jeno are shippable in this i fear, don’t take them seriously, they’re just besties who don’t know how to stop flirting!, but in all seriousness, jeno is 🥺 the best fucking brother and friend ever, college party scene ofc, mentions of pills, drug dealing, stay safe !!

authors note — the finale is 80k words. i’ve decided to split it into two parts. it’s all written but i’m uploading this now and part 7 next week. the finale is connected, meaning part 7 takes place exactly where part 6 ends… enjoy, this is gonna be one hell of a ride.  

[fic ml]

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

The apartment feels unnaturally still, like it’s holding its breath alongside you. The faint hum of the city outside, usually a comfort, feels distant tonight, muffled by the thick tension hanging in the air. Even the soft glow of the string lights draped over the windows seems dimmer, their warm hue failing to chase away the shadows clinging to the corners of the room. You sink into the couch, the plush cushions swallowing your frame as if they could somehow shield you from the weight pressing on your chest. 

The faint scent of vanilla—Karina’s favorite candle—lingers in the air, too soothing for a night like this. Across from you, Karina sits perched in the armchair, her legs tucked beneath her like a cat settling in for the long haul. She doesn’t say a word, but her watchful eyes, softened by concern, flicker to your face, scanning it like she’s searching for a crack in the silence. Her fingers absently play with the hem of her oversized sweater. Her face is unreadable at first, but her furrowed brows and the way she bites her lip betray her concern. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push, just waits in the silence that feels like it could swallow you both whole.

Finally, you let the words fall, heavy and raw. Her eyes widen slightly as she leans forward, sensing the shift before you even finish speaking. When you tell her everything, she’s silent at first. Completely still. You can almost hear her mind racing as she processes it all, her gaze flickering between sympathy and disbelief.

“So… it’s over?” Her voice is tentative, the words breaking the silence like a stone dropped in still water.

You hesitate, your throat tightening as the memories of last night replay in your mind—You tell her everything—how the argument had been the breaking point, how the two of you had finally laid everything bare, resolved what you could, communicated in a way that you hadn’t in weeks. But even with the air cleared, the weight of it all had remained, and you’d come to a mutual understanding that, for now, you had to let go. The words still feel foreign on your tongue, too final and jagged to fully accept but you force yourself. “Yeah,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper. “We broke up.”

Karina’s face shifts immediately, her lips pressing into a thin line as she takes it in. There’s no hesitation in her reaction. In a heartbeat, she’s up and crossing the small space between you. She sits beside you on the couch, her warmth engulfing you as her arms wrap around you tightly. It’s not a gentle embrace—it’s firm, grounding, as if she’s trying to hold you together while you unravel. “Oh, babe,” she murmurs, her voice thick with empathy. “I’m so sorry. I know how much he means to you.”

Her words hit you like a dagger, and your already wobbly composure crumbles further. Your throat tightens, your chest feels heavy, and Karina’s embrace, meant to ground you, suddenly feels too much—too close. You squirm, shifting uncomfortably in her arms, desperate for a sliver of space to breathe. She notices immediately, her head tilting as if to ask, Really? But instead of loosening her hold, she only pulls you closer, squeezing tighter.

“Oh no,” she says dramatically, her voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy. “You’re not getting away from me that easily. I’m your emotional support bestie, and you will accept this hug whether you like it or not.”

“Karina, stop,” you groan, trying and failing to push her away as she holds on for dear life, resting her chin on your shoulder. “I can’t breathe.”

“You don’t need to breathe. You need to feel the love,” she says, completely unbothered, patting your back with mock seriousness.

You huff, but a reluctant smile tugs at your lips, and Karina seems to sense the crack in your armor. She finally lets go, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with deliberate gentleness. Her teasing melts into something softer as she studies you, but the twitch of her lips hints at trouble.

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing with a familiar glint. “You’re doing what’s best for you both right now,” she says carefully, her tone sincere, but her smirk betrays her. “But if I know you—and him—this isn’t over. Not for real.”

You glare at her, though it’s half-hearted. “Don’t,” you warn, but she only raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“What?” she says innocently, leaning back into the armchair, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, you two are like… inevitable. A little break isn’t going to change that.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the armrest, cutting through the tension. Karina’s grin only deepens as she wiggles her eyebrows at you, clearly enjoying herself. “And that, my friend, is called perfect timing.”

You grab it instinctively, expecting anything but the name that flashes on the screen.

mark — y/n, are you awake? mark — i need u mark — y/n.  mark — five missed calls.

Your heart stutters as the notifications glare back at you, each one a tug on the fragile strings holding you together. The urgency in his words is unmistakable, a magnet pulling your thoughts entirely to him. Your chest tightens as your thumb hovers over his name, your breath catching in anticipation.

“Karina,” you murmur, your voice almost trembling as you break the silence. “He’s—he’s texting me.”

Karina leans forward, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the messages on your screen. Her expression softens, concern flickering in her gaze, but it’s soon overshadowed by something else—a mischievous glint you don’t trust. “What does he mean, ‘I need you’?” she asks, her tone caught somewhere between genuine worry and playful curiosity. Before you can answer, her gaze flicks toward the door, and a sly smile tugs at her lips. “Actually,” she says, her voice lilting with amusement, “I know exactly what he means.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Karina, now is not the time for this,” you say sharply, though your voice wavers under the growing weight of the moment.

She shrugs, entirely unbothered. “I’m just saying,” she replies breezily, leaning back against the armchair as if she’s already won this round. But before you can fire back, a sharp knock echoes through the apartment.

Your heart leaps to your throat, and your head snaps toward the door. “No way,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. Your eyes dart to Karina, who looks far too smug for your liking.

“Oh, way,” she says, practically bouncing up from her spot on the couch. “And you’re welcome,” she adds, her tone dripping with self-satisfaction as she strides toward the door with all the confidence of someone about to deliver the punchline of a joke they’ve been sitting on for hours.

“Karina, don’t—” But it’s too late. She swings the door open in one fluid motion, stepping aside dramatically as if presenting the answer to all your questions.

Mark stands there, disheveled and strikingly vulnerable, the faint glow from the hallway light catching on his features and casting soft shadows across his face. His hoodie is slightly wrinkled, the fabric clinging to him in places as if it had been tugged and twisted during his anxious movements. His joggers hang low on his hips, the waistband slightly skewed, like he hadn’t bothered to fix them in his rush to get here. His hair is a wild mess, strands sticking up in every direction, as if he’d been running his hands through it all night. And his eyes—those familiar, piercing eyes—are a storm of exhaustion and unspoken desperation. They meet yours instantly, and your chest tightens at the sight of him.

“Mark,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips so softly it’s barely audible, like a prayer you didn’t even realize you were saying. The breath catches in your lungs, and for a moment, you don’t move, the sheer presence of him freezing you in place.

His hand rakes through his hair again, the motion rough and frustrated. “I need you,” he says again, his voice low but steady, the weight of those three words heavy with meaning. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t falter, his gaze locked onto yours as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he looks away.

You take a small step back, your hand still resting on Mark’s forearm as the question tumbles out, unbidden. “Did you finally tell—” Your voice cuts off mid-sentence as the weight of his gaze shifts, his eyes flickering briefly to the side. You follow his line of sight and immediately catch Karina, still perched on the bottom step of the staircase, her head tilted with blatant curiosity. Her chin rests on her hand, her eyebrows raised as though she’s watching the climax of a particularly juicy movie.

Mark’s jaw tightens slightly, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. It’s enough to make your stomach twist. The memory of his earlier plea echoes in your mind: Don’t tell anyone—not until I’m ready.

Karina notices the shared glance between you and Mark and suddenly seems to realize she’s been caught. She sits up straighter, blinking innocently. “What?” she says, her voice far too casual, but her wide eyes betray her interest. “I’m just… here for moral support.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Karina,” you murmur, a quiet exasperation lacing your tone. Mark doesn’t say a word, but the sharpness in his eyes speaks volumes.

She groans, throwing her hands up as she rises to her feet. “Fine, fine,” she mutters, clearly unimpressed with being dismissed. She starts toward the stairs with a dramatic sigh. Her door clicks shut, and the apartment falls into a heavy silence once more. Mark’s shoulders relax, but only slightly, his hand brushing against yours again. You feel the weight of his gaze pull you back to the moment, his expression unreadable but filled with something vulnerable, something raw.

You exhale, finally looking back at him. “Mark…” You step forward instinctively, your movements slow, almost tentative. Your bare feet pad softly against the hardwood floor as you close the distance, and the moment you’re close enough, your hand reaches out before you can stop it. Your fingers brush against the sleeve of his hoodie, and the contact feels electric, grounding, like touching something you’ve missed for far too long.

“Come inside,” you murmur, your voice softer now, almost pleading. You tug lightly at his arm, your grip firm but gentle, and he lets you pull him over the threshold, his body following yours as if he’s been waiting for this, for you, all night. The door clicks shut behind him, but you don’t let go of his arm. Instead, you pull him deeper into the apartment, leading him into the warm light of the living room.

Your hands shift, one sliding down to his wrist while the other lingers on his forearm. His skin feels warm beneath the fabric of his hoodie, and your thumb grazes the edge of it absentmindedly, as if trying to ground yourself in the reality of him standing here, in front of you. You don’t know if you’re holding him or if he’s anchoring you—it feels like both.

When you stop, he’s standing so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with something distinctly him—something familiar and comforting. Your eyes roam over him, taking in every detail: the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens as he looks at you, the slight redness in his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept. You reach up without thinking, your hand brushing against the side of his face, your fingers lingering just below his jaw. His stubble feels rough against your skin, and the contact makes your stomach flip.

“Talk to me,” you whisper again, his name trembling on your lips. This time, it’s not a question or a greeting—it’s an acknowledgment. A reminder that he’s here, and so are you. The intimacy of the moment feels overwhelming, as if the weight of everything unsaid hangs in the air between you.

His eyes soften for a fleeting moment, just enough for you to catch the vulnerability behind the storm raging in his expression. Slowly, his hand rises to cover yours, his palm warm and steady against your knuckles. The contact feels grounding, like he’s anchoring himself to you, and when he leans into your touch—just slightly—you can feel the tension in his body begin to ease. His exhale is shaky, like he’s finally releasing a breath he’s been holding for hours, and it pulls at something deep in your chest.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his voice low and raw, the words heavy with meaning. It feels like a confession, like he’s laying a piece of himself bare for you. “I tried, but I just—” His voice falters, cracks under the weight of his emotions, and he looks down, his grip on your hand tightening as if afraid you might pull away. “I need you, Y/N. I don’t know how else to say it.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a wave of emotion crashing over you. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your throat tightening as his words settle deep in your chest. Slowly, your thumb brushes along his jawline, your touch gentle against his tension. “I’m here,” you whisper softly, and somehow those two words feel like a promise—one you’re both desperately trying to hold onto in the chaos of everything.

But the moment doesn’t last. Reality crashes back in like a cold wave as your thoughts shift. “Did you tell Coach?” you ask abruptly, your tone sharper than intended as your hand falls away.

Mark’s jaw tightens, the muscle feathering as he fights to hold back whatever storm is brewing inside him. His gaze drops to the floor, his shoulders stiff with tension, as though the weight of your words has settled squarely on them. The silence between you feels heavy, stretching for a moment too long, and yet the guilt etched across his face tells you everything before he even opens his mouth. It’s in the way his brows knit together, in the way his fingers curl into loose fists at his sides, as if he’s grappling with something he can’t quite articulate. When he finally exhales, the sound is low and strained, carrying with it an apology he hasn’t yet spoken but that you can already feel in your chest.

“Mark,” you press, your voice rising with worry and frustration. “Are you serious?”

He doesn’t respond right away, his head bowing further as he takes a hesitant step closer. His eyes, filled with a mixture of guilt and pleading, meet yours. “Y/N, I—”

“No,” you cut him off, taking a step back. Your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions, but the edge of frustration sharpens it. “Your health is not a game, Mark. This isn’t something you can keep putting off like it’s not a big deal. Do you know how scared I am for you? How helpless I feel every time I think about what could happen to you?”

His shoulders sag under your words, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration. “I know, okay? I know,” he says, his voice strained. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you repeat, crossing your arms over your chest as you glare at him. “But you still haven’t told Coach, have you?”

“Y/N.” His voice is soft but carries an urgency that demands your attention. He takes a tentative step toward you, his gaze searching yours for an opening, for understanding.

“Mark,” you interrupt, your tone sharp, though your heart clenches at the look on his face. “If you don’t tell Coach, then I will. I mean it.” Your voice wavers slightly, but the resolve in your words is clear. You’re not letting this go, not when his health is on the line.

He sighs, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “That’s what my best friend keeps telling me,” he says, almost like he’s admitting defeat.

Your brows furrow, confusion cutting through your frustration. “She knows?”

Mark nods slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. She's known for a while. She found my medication… or, well, the full packets of them. She put two and two together and realized I haven’t told Coach, and that I haven’t been taking any of it. Even though I’m supposed to.” His voice drops, laced with guilt, and you can see the weight of his own choices pressing down on him.

“Mark,” you murmur, the sharpness in your tone softening. You step closer, your hand reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. “Do you even realize how much this scares me? I can’t—I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you. You mean too much to me.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you press your lips together, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t care how strong you think you are, or how much you want to push through this on your own. You can’t. You need help, and I can’t just sit here and watch you ignore this.”

He looks at you, his eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. His hand brushes over yours, his thumb running across your knuckles like he’s grounding himself. “That’s why I came here to you,” he says, his voice low and steady, though there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in it.

Your chest tightens, your voice soft but firm as you respond. “Mark, this isn’t just about me being here for you. It’s about you taking this seriously. You can’t keep putting this off, thinking it’ll just go away.”

His head snaps up at that, his eyes wide and searching your face. “Y/N, don’t,” he pleads, taking another step closer. “I promise I’ll do it. I came here to tell you that I’ve made up my mind. I just… I need you with me. I can’t do it alone.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest. You know how hard this is for him, how deeply he struggles with the idea of vulnerability, but that doesn’t make the fear you feel for him any less intense. “I’ll be there,” you say softly, your tone steady but firm. “Coach needs to know, Mark. And so do your parents, your doctor—people who can help you. This is your health, and it’s too important to keep brushing aside.”

“And I will tell him,” he promises, his voice soft but filled with determination. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’ll do it. Just… be there with me.”

You nod, a sense of relief mixing with the overwhelming love you feel for him. “I’m proud of you,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly. “But I’ll be prouder when you actually do it.”

His hand moves to cover yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, deliberate strokes. His touch is steady, grounding, but there’s a nervous energy in the way his fingers linger, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering, raw. “You’re the reason I’m doing this,” he murmurs, the words almost trembling on his lips, yet spoken with certainty. “You make me want to be better… to take care of myself.”

Your chest tightens as his words sink in, the weight of his sincerity nearly overwhelming you. You lift your free hand to his face, letting your palm cradle his jaw as your thumb traces the faint stubble along his cheek. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, leaning into your touch as though he’s been starved for it. The vulnerability etched across his face makes your heart ache in ways you can’t put into words.

“You’ve got to take care of your heart, Mark,” you say softly, your voice trembling as you press your hand just a little firmer against his chest. “Your heart… it’s what makes you, you. It’s why you care so deeply, why you give so much of yourself, why—” Your voice catches, your words faltering under the weight of your emotions. Your eyes lock onto his, and you feel the sharp ache of vulnerability settle deep in your chest. “I can’t stand the thought of it failing you. Not physically, not in any way. I can’t lose that part of you. I just… I can’t.”

Mark’s lips twitch, a faint smirk playing at the corners as he tilts his head, the teasing glint in his eyes softening the heaviness of the moment. “You’re getting awfully poetic on me,” he murmurs, his voice low but laced with warmth. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his touch grounding. “Didn’t know you thought about my heart this much.”

The shift in Mark is so sudden it feels like emotional whiplash, but you don’t flinch. You know him too well for that—know how he clings to humor when reality cuts too deep. The teasing edge in his voice, the way his lips twitch with that familiar smirk—It’s his shield, his way of reclaiming control when everything else spirals beyond his grasp. You’ve seen this before, and you’re ready for it, prepared for him to use you as his distraction. It doesn’t surprise you when his thub brushes over your knuckles with a deliberate slowness, his gaze darkening with something playful, something just shy of dangerous. It’s a dance you’ve learned by heart—the way he turns vulnerability into teasing, the way his sarcasm softens the cracks he won’t let you see fully. And even as his smirk deepens, his thumb still lingers against your skin, grounding himself in you while pretending none of it matters.

Your cheeks grow warmer under his gaze, and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to steady the swirl of emotions inside you. “Stop that,” you mutter, your voice quieter than you intended, almost drowned out by the sound of his steady breathing. Your fingers twitch slightly against his chest, as if betraying your words. “Stop teasing me,” you add, pouting, though the way your voice falters ruins any attempt at firmness.

His gaze softens, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but there’s a quiet heat simmering in his eyes. “You make it so easy,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, the teasing laced with something deeper, something that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushes against your knuckles in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like he’s savoring the moment. “You know I can’t help it when you look at me like that,” he continues, his voice dipping lower, warmer, each word drawing you closer.

“Like what?” you whisper, your voice soft but unwavering as you hold his gaze. “Like you mean the absolute world to me? Because you do, Mark.”

His breath hitches, and a quiet groan escapes him as his eyes flutter shut for a brief second before locking back on yours, filled with a raw, unguarded softness. “God,” he mutters, almost like he’s cursing himself for the way you undo him.

“I’m just being honest,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly, not from nerves but from the intensity crackling between you. Your eyes stay locked on his, refusing to waver.

“You’re fucking with me, baby,” he murmurs, the nickname slipping out, his tone rougher now, like he’s grappling with the way you’ve stripped him bare.

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply innocently, though the small tilt of your lips betrays you. 

“Oh yeah? You’re the one who keeps pressing your hand here—” His hand presses a little firmer over yours, trapping it against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat vibrates under your palm, grounding the moment, “—telling me how much my heart matters. Making it sound like it’s the most important thing in the world.” His voice drops into something almost hypnotic, laced with a teasing edge that sends a shiver through you. His eyes flick to yours, dark and intent, but behind the heat lies an unmistakable softness, a tenderness that slips through and holds you there, captivated.

He leans forward slightly, pressing a kiss so soft to the back of your hand that it makes your breath catch. He lingers there, the warmth of his lips sinking into your skin, before lowering your hands and resting them under his chin, cradling them gently as if you’re something fragile he refuses to let go of.

“That’s because it is the most important thing in the world for me,” 

His breath catches, his gaze flickering with something unspoken. Then, his lips twitch into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” His eyes hold yours like they’re searching for something deeper, something only you can give him. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even have to try.”

“You’re the same for me,” you whisper, your voice soft but heavy with meaning as your fingers thread through his hair. He exhales sharply, leaning into your touch, the vulnerability in his gaze unraveling something deep inside you. “Can we get more comfortable?” you murmur against him, your eyes dark and laden with a hidden message that makes his breath hitch.

The question slips out before you can retract it, instinctive and unguarded, because you need him just as much as he needs you. Around Mark, your self-control has always been fragile—something the two of you indulge and dismantle in equal measure. You’ll allow him to use you as his distraction tonight because it’s the only way you know how to meet him in moments like this, when everything feels too raw and too real. 

He nods softly, his hands sliding to your waist with purpose, steady and unhurried. His fingers curve firmly against your sides, and with a gentle but deliberate pull, he guides you onto his lap, your knees settling on either side of him. The press of his hands doesn’t falter, holding you close as though making sure you won’t slip away. His thumbs trace slow, deliberate lines over your hips, grounding you in the warmth of his touch as he shifts you just enough to align your bodies perfectly. The soft rustle of the sheets beneath you and the press of his thighs against yours add to the intimacy, his hands lingering at your waist, strong yet tender, as if savoring every inch of closeness he’s claimed.

Your palms slide over his shoulders, up the curve of his neck, until they cradle his face. His skin is warm under your touch, and you take a moment to just feel him, the closeness erasing the tension that’s been building between you. You don’t care that you’ve just broken up. None of that matters right now. What matters is the way your bodies gravitate toward each other like magnets, the way his eyes soften and darken all at once as he looks at you.

You crave his space, his warmth, the way his presence grounds you even when everything feels unsteady. The heat of him beneath you is intoxicating, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to move, not to grind against him the way you’ve been used to. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as you try to steady yourself, your hands still framing his face.

“I’ve never cared about anyone like you,” you say, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “Never cared about wanting to keep them safe, to keep them away from harm. I’ve never felt this before.” You pause, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you lean in closer, your forehead almost touching his. “Every time I think about what you’ve been dealing with, it gives me agony.”

“But you don’t have to face any of it alone. Ok?” you continue, your voice breaking slightly as your emotions spill over. “I never want you to get that idea. This isn’t only your burden to carry. When you push yourself too hard, when you refuse to take care of yourself… it ripples outward. It hurts everyone who cares about you, whether you see it or not. You think you’re sparing us, but you’re not. We’re in this with you, whether you like it or not.”

Your words trail off, leaving a charged silence between you. His gaze softens, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or a quiet understanding he doesn’t voice. The pad of his thumb brushes over your skin again, slow and deliberate, grounding you even as your emotions threaten to overwhelm. His breath, warm and steady, ghosts across your lips, and you can feel the unspoken tension thickening the air around you.

“So what is it, hmm?” His voice softens, but the teasing edge remains, a challenge hidden behind his tenderness. “What are you trying not to say?” His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again, the moment hanging like a thread between you, waiting to snap.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you falter, your fingers trembling under his touch. “I’m just trying to get you to take care of yourself,” you say quietly, deflecting, though your voice wavers under the weight of his attention.

Mark’s smirk deepens, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he studies your face. “Take care of myself, huh?” he echoes, his voice dipping lower, smoother, like he’s testing the words on his tongue. His thumb continues its slow, deliberate stroke over your knuckles, grounding you in the warmth of his touch. “You sure about that? Because it sounds like there’s more to it than that.”

He leans in closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of teasing and tenderness, his gaze flickering down to where your fingers rest against his chest. “And you still can’t stop pressing your hand right there—like you’re trying to feel every beat, like you’re afraid to let go.” His lips hover near your temple, so close you can feel the ghost of his words as he speaks. “So tell me, Y/N… is it just about me taking care of myself, or are you trying to say something else?”

The heat in his gaze makes your chest tighten, a pressure building that feels both overwhelming and irresistible. His voice, soft but insistent, wraps around you, pulling at something buried deep within—a feeling so profound it leaves you breathless, yet fragile enough that naming it feels impossible. It’s in the way his eyes hold yours, unrelenting, as though he’s reaching into the parts of you you’ve kept hidden, the parts you’re not sure anyone is supposed to see. 

You huff, your chest rising and falling as you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him with mock irritation. “This is so unfair. I just opened my heart to you, being softer than I’ve ever been, and you’re just… sitting there. Like it doesn’t even matter.”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t. His silence only fuels your frustration, and you shift, trying to push off his lap. “Fine, whatever,” you grumble. “Clearly, I’m wasting my—”

Before you can finish, his hands glide to your hips, his touch warm but deliberate as he steadies you. His fingers press gently into your sides, guiding you back into place with a quiet authority that leaves no room for argument. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. 

Then his lips hover near your ear, his breath warm and uneven as he leans closer, pressing himself against you. The way he tilts his head, the deliberate slowness of his movements, carries a weight you can’t ignore. The heat of him radiates against your skin as his nose brushes along your jawline. He whispers into your ear, it’s soft, almost reverent, his words slipping into the space between you like a quiet plea. 

He tells you how much he needs you—not just now, but tomorrow morning, and every moment after that, how you’re the only thing keeping him steady when the world feels too heavy. His voice trembles, each word carrying a weight you can’t resist, and in that moment, your resolve shatters, breaking apart under the raw intimacy of his touch and the quiet desperation in his voice.

Your throat tightens in annoyance. The look in his eyes—steady, raw, and searching—pulls at something deep inside you. It’s too much, and not enough all at once. “Stop trying to make this about me. This is about you, about you taking your health seriously. I need you as much as you need me but I need you safe and healthy.” You whisper, your voice trembling but edged with a quiet, desperate plea. Your thumb brushes over his chest absently, like you’re trying to soothe the ache you know lingers there for both of you. “This isn’t a game to me, Mark. You’re not a game to me.”

His head tilts slightly as he studies you, his gaze softening but never wavering. “And you think you are to me?” he asks, his voice low and intimate, the question so quiet it feels like it’s meant to echo only between the two of you. His fingers tighten subtly on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of his body sinking into yours.

You let out a shaky breath, your hand trembling against his chest. “No,” you admit, your voice barely audible, each word heavy with emotion. “But I can’t—Mark, I need you to stay. I can’t handle losing you. I can’t.”

His lips part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves closer, his forehead brushing against yours with a tenderness that feels almost unbearable. His hands slide up, his thumbs grazing along the curve of your sides before settling on your waist, holding you like you’re something fragile, something he’s afraid to lose.

“You’re not losing me,” he whispers, his voice so soft it feels like a secret meant only for you. His breath brushes against your lips, warm and steady, as his hand moves to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in slow, tender circles. The closeness between you is overwhelming, his forehead resting lightly against yours, the faintest brush of his nose against your skin sending a shiver through you. “You mean everything to me, Y/N,” he breathes, his words trembling with emotion, his lips ghosting over yours without closing the distance. His fingers weave into your hair, his touch deliberate and soothing, like he’s trying to hold you together. “I’m here. I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, his voice breaking with quiet sincerity as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips soft and reverent.

You hesitate, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words and his touch, by the way his touch lingers on your waist like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. “I don’t… I don’t know how to be okay with how much I care about you,” you confess, your voice cracking under the weight of the vulnerability you’ve tried so hard to hide. 

His hands tighten on your waist, his grip grounding yet gentle, as though he’s keeping you steady while drawing you closer. His forehead remains pressed to yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. “I’m here because of you,” he says softly, his voice rich with certainty, each word deliberate. “Because no one else sees me the way you do. No one else pushes me to be better, even when I don’t want to be.” His thumb brushes over your hip in a slow, deliberate stroke, the intimacy of the gesture speaking volumes.

You feel the weight of his words settle over you, warm and steady, much like the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. For a moment, your voice fails you, breath hitching as his gaze locks onto yours, intense and unwavering. Finally, your fingers press just a little firmer against his chest, anchoring yourself in his presence. “Mark,” you murmur, the faint tremor in your voice revealing the storm of emotions within. “You make it impossible to stay mad at you, I just—” Your voice falters, but you push on, your chest tightening with the raw truth you’re finally laying bare. “I just can’t stand the thought of you going through this alone. You always carry so much, like you have to handle everything yourself, but you don’t. You don’t have to.”

The quiet between you stretches endlessly, thick with the weight of everything unspoken. His forehead rests against yours, the warmth of his skin anchoring you to the moment, and you let your eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, steadying yourself. His breath ghosts over your lips, warm and familiar, drawing you closer to him even as your chest tightens with the words you’ve been holding back.

“Stay the night,” you murmur, your voice soft and full of hesitation, yet carrying a thread of longing that makes his gaze flicker. The words hang between you, delicate and charged, as his fingers brush along your waist with an almost absentminded tenderness, his touch grounding and impossibly gentle.

His eyes darken slightly, something unreadable flashing across them as he leans in closer, the space between you shrinking until his lips are a breath away from yours. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, his touch featherlight but deliberate, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His forehead tilts more firmly against yours, his thumb brushing along the line of your jaw with an intimacy that leaves your heart racing.

The tension between you tightens, and you can’t help the way your breath catches, but before he can close the distance, you pull back, your voice a quiet plea. “Not like that,” you whisper, the words trembling as they fall from your lips. The moment breaks, just barely, and the heat rushing to your cheeks betrays your resolve.

He groans softly, low and frustrated, tilting his head as if trying to regain the connection you’ve just disrupted. His hand remains firm at your waist, his thumb still caressing your jaw, as his darkened gaze searches yours. “Y/N,” he mutters, his voice dipped in exasperation, though it softens into something gentler, something tender. “You can’t just say that and then do this to me.”

You bite your lip, caught between the flurry of emotions swirling in his eyes and the teasing edge in his voice. “I mean it,” you murmur, your tone quieter now, though the faint tremor in it betrays your resolve. “Not like that.”

A small, exhausted chuckle escapes him, his breath fanning across your skin. “Whatever you say,” he murmurs, his voice dipping low, the teasing laced with a softness that makes your stomach flip. “Not like that.”

You roll your eyes, the action lighthearted despite the heavy air around you, and curl your fingers into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer again. His forehead brushes yours, his nearness calming you even as it sets your nerves alight. “We’ll go first thing tomorrow,” you say quietly, your voice steadying. “And I’m glad you’ll be here tonight. At least this way, I can make sure you actually tell them.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you fully, his hands still resting on your waist, his grip warm and steady. His gaze roams your face, lingering on every detail—the curve of your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your eyes meet his without hesitation. His thumb lifts to your cheek, brushing lightly against your skin, and there’s a softness in his expression that makes your breath hitch, the weight of it impossible to ignore.

Without a word, he shifts his grip, his hands guiding you with a tenderness that feels deliberate. His touch never falters as he adjusts your position, his strength effortless yet measured as he moves you from his lap. You let him, your body pliant in his hold, until you’re stretched over him, your weight resting gently on top of his.

The shift feels seamless, his arms wrapping securely around you as your chest presses against his. His hand finds the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy, soothing circles there, while his other hand cradles the back of your head. His fingers weave into your hair with a gentleness that makes you shiver, his breath warm against your temple as you settle into him.

His body is firm beneath you, steady and grounding, yet his touch is so careful, as though holding you any other way might break the delicate moment between you. The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath yours lulls you, the quiet strength of his heartbeat anchoring you in his closeness. He tilts his head slightly, brushing his nose along your hairline before murmuring, “You make me feel so strong.” His voice is soft, almost like he’s afraid to say it out loud, the vulnerability in it wrapping around you like a quiet confession.

You tilt your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and the raw emotion in his eyes nearly undoes you. “You’re stronger than you think,” you whisper, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. “But even if you weren’t, I’d still be here. I’ll always be here.”

He exhales slowly, his forehead dropping to yours once again as his eyes flutter shut. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and the closeness is so overwhelming it’s hard to breathe, yet you wouldn’t trade it for anything. “You don’t know how much that means to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly, the weight of his emotions pressing into every word.

“I do,” you reply, just as softly, your hands smoothing over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths beneath your palms. “Because it’s the same for me, Mark. You’re my safe place, too.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stay there, wrapped in each other’s presence. The world outside feels distant, irrelevant, as you lose yourself in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hands hold you like you’re something precious, and you can feel the unspoken promise in his touch—that no matter what comes next, you’ll face it together.

Finally, he tilts his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “Okay,” he murmurs, his voice steadier now, like he’s drawn strength from your words. “I’ll stay.”

The corner of your lips tugs into a small, relieved smile as you nuzzle into him, letting his warmth surround you. “Good,” you say softly, your voice laced with quiet affection. “Because I wasn’t going to let you leave anyway.”

──────────────────────────────

The campus feels unusually quiet, the early morning light filtering through the trees and casting soft golden hues across the pathways. The sound of your footsteps, slow and measured, fills the quiet, the rhythm syncing with the soft rustle of autumn leaves at your feet. Beside you, Mark walks in silence, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his brown jacket, his shoulders slightly hunched against the crisp air. You glance at him, at the faint tremor in his breath, the way his eyes are fixed ahead but unfocused, as if his thoughts are spinning too fast to land on any one thing.

In all fairness, though, you’re pretty sure he’d be a lot calmer right now if you’d listened to him last night. He tried to coax you into riding his cock last night, multiple times, murmuring soft pleas as his hands wandered over your body. Or, at the very least, just letting him fuck you, claiming it was for no other reason than to relieve his stress before the weight of today. “It’ll help me focus,” he had whispered against your ear, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you close. His tone was low, velvety, but you knew better. You knew it wasn’t just about stress relief, not with him.

Because no matter how casual he tried to play it, you know him. You know how seriously he takes everything with you. He wouldn’t just fuck you and leave it at that. He’d slow down, cup your face, and whisper things that always feel like they’re meant to ruin you—how much he needs you, how much you mean to him, words you can’t let yourself hear right now. It messes with your head in ways you can’t handle.

The two of you walk together now, your steps falling into an unspoken rhythm as you head toward Coach Suh’s office. The silence stretches between you, heavy with the kind of anticipation that makes your chest feel too tight. You sneak a glance at him, at the way his jaw is set just a little too tight, his teeth clenched like he’s holding something back. His shoulders look broader somehow, weighed down by an invisible pressure, and it presses against you, too, as if his fear and uncertainty have become your own.

Your heart twists, and the protective instinct surges in you, sharp and unrelenting. He’s always been the strong one, the steady one, the one who makes sure you’re okay. But now, seeing him like this, so vulnerable and so human, all you want to do is take that burden from him, to shield him from whatever’s waiting behind that office door.

But you can’t. This is something he has to face himself, and the thought makes you feel helpless in a way you’re not used to. So you do the only thing you can—you keep holding his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles in a quiet, steady rhythm, grounding him the way he always does for you.

When you finally reach the office, the air seems to shift, the tension thickening. Mark stops a few feet from the door, his hand still clasped in yours, and his breath hitches, barely audible. His gaze drops to the floor, his lashes casting soft shadows over his cheekbones, and you can feel the fear radiating off him like a tangible thing.

You step closer, letting go of his hand only to place both of yours gently on his cheeks, tilting his face up so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “You can do it,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady. “I’ll just be right here, outside, when you come out.”

His eyes search yours, wide and uncertain, and for a moment, he looks younger somehow, like the weight of everything has stripped him of the confidence he wears so easily. “I don’t know if I can,” he admits, his voice barely above a murmur. “What if he says I can’t play anymore? What if—”

“Mark,” you interrupt gently, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. “You have to go in there. You have to hear what he has to say, even if it’s not what you want. You need to know. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He swallows hard, his hands coming up to cover yours, his grip warm and firm but trembling slightly. “I just… I don’t want to do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” you promise, leaning in closer so your foreheads almost touch. “But this is something you have to do yourself. It’s important, Mark. You need to show him that you care enough to fight for this, that you’re willing to face it head-on. And I’ll be here, waiting for you, the whole time.”

He nods, but his breath is still unsteady, and you can see the way his chest rises and falls too quickly, the nerves threatening to overwhelm him. You don’t know what else to say, don’t know how to make this easier for him.

Without thinking, you lean in, closing the small distance between you, and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, barely a whisper of contact, but it holds everything you’ve been struggling to say, every unspoken reassurance, every ounce of quiet support. His breath catches, his chest rising sharply against yours, and for a moment, time seems to stop. The weight of the tension that’s been pressing down on him melts away as he leans into you, his hands leaving his sides to find your waist. His touch is hesitant at first, almost like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, but when you don’t, his fingers tighten, anchoring you to him.

His lips part slightly, a subtle sigh escaping into the kiss, and you feel him relax, the rigid line of his shoulders softening. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, like he’s drawing strength from your presence, grounding himself in the warmth of you. The moment stretches, intimate and unhurried, as if the world beyond the two of you has faded into nothing.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, your breaths mingling in the quiet space between you. His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and filled with something tender, something raw. His lips are still parted, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners, and his hands remain on your waist, holding you as if letting go isn’t an option.

“I—” he starts, his voice low and breathless, but you cut him off with a faint, almost shy smile.

“It’s for good luck,” you murmur softly, your hands brushing against the front of his jacket, smoothing the fabric like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your fingers linger for a moment, fidgeting as you try to steady your own racing heartbeat.

He lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Good luck, huh?” he repeats, his tone teasing, though there’s a warmth in his voice that makes your chest ache. His forehead stays pressed to yours, his eyes searching yours with a mix of affection and curiosity. “What happened to just friends?”

You roll your eyes, though the gesture is light, playful. “This doesn’t count,” you whisper, your voice soft but teasing, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Now go. You’ve got this.”

“I’m feeling nervous again,” he quips, his tone light but threaded with that teasing edge that always gets to you. He tilts his head, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before returning to yours, deliberately slow, and far too confident for someone about to walk into the hardest conversation of his life. “Think I can get another ‘good luck’ kiss?”

You roll your eyes, though the way your lips twitch betrays the affection bubbling under the surface. Your hand moves to his chest, giving him a light shove that does nothing to move him. “Don’t push it, Lee,” you shoot back, your tone sharp but playful, though the warmth in your voice softens the bite.

His smile grows, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you, that boyish charm now mixed with something deeper, something unspoken. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, like he’s committing every detail to memory—the curve of your lips, the way your hand stays lightly against his chest, the warmth in your expression that seems to calm the storm inside him.

You take a small step back, giving him space but not letting the connection between you falter. “I’ll be right here when you’re done,” you promise, your voice steady, the conviction in it clear.

He nods, his hand hovering briefly over the door handle before he turns back to you one last time, his eyes soft but filled with something resolute. “I know,” he says quietly, his lips curling into a smile that holds all the gratitude he doesn’t say out loud. Then, with a deep breath, he turns the handle and steps inside, leaving you standing there with your heart still racing and his warmth lingering in the space between you.

Mark hesitates outside the door for a moment, taking a deep breath before finally turning the handle and stepping inside. The room feels heavy, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights amplifying the tension in his chest. Jeno and Coach Suh are leaning over the whiteboard, markers in hand, deep in conversation about defensive strategies. Jeno, animated as always, gestures to a play diagram, his voice steady and confident.

Despite Coach Suh’s presence, his role as head coach hasn’t officially resumed yet; he is still recovering from his recent operation, the strain of returning to full-time duties too much for him at the moment. Taeyong and Doyoung continue to stand in to lead the team during his recovery, but Suh remains deeply involved, doing everything he can to support the players from the sidelines. Even now, his sharp focus and unwavering dedication are evident as he listens intently to Jeno’s suggestions, nodding occasionally while holding himself upright with visible effort.

“Look, if we shift the zone this way, we can force the turnover,” Jeno says, tapping the board with the marker. “It’ll work, trust me.”

Coach Suh nods, his arms crossed over his chest. “Not bad, Jeno. That could plug the gap on transition. You’re finally starting to think like a leader.”

Mark clears his throat, his voice tight. “Coach, you got a sec?”

Both men turn to look at him, surprised. Suh glances at Jeno and then back at Mark, setting down the marker. “Oh yeah, sit down,” he says, his tone firm but welcoming. “This about the game?”

Mark shakes his head, his grip tightening on the backrest of the chair in front of him. Jeno, sensing the shift in mood, steps back from the whiteboard, his brows furrowed in confusion. He glances at the door, starting to gather his things. “If this isn’t about plays, I’ll give you guys some space—”

“You need to hear this too, Jen,” Mark says quickly, his voice steady but low, stopping Jeno in his tracks. His words hang in the air, weighted and deliberate. 

Jeno furrows his brow, whiteboard pen faltering. “What’s up? You good?”

Mark takes another breath, his voice low and steady, though the weight of his words hangs in the air like a storm cloud. “I can’t play in the state championships… I have a heart condition.”

The room falls silent, the statement cutting through the easy energy from earlier. Jeno freezes, his jaw tightening, and Coach Suh straightens, his expression unreadable. Mark finally sits, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at them, his eyes glassy but determined.

“I have HCM,” he continues, his voice wavering just slightly. “Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. I’ve had it for a while, but… I haven’t been taking my medication because I didn’t want it to slow me down on the court. And if I play—” He pauses, swallowing hard, his voice breaking as he finishes, “I could die.”

Jeno’s marker falls to the table with a soft clatter, and he stares at Mark, wide-eyed. “What the hell, Mark?” he finally says, his voice filled with disbelief.

Coach Suh, who’s rarely ever fazed, blinks and shifts his stance, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Jesus, Mark,” he mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Mark stands suddenly, pacing the room, his hands raking through his hair. “I know how selfish I’ve been,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I just didn’t want to leave the game behind. The game… it changed my life, you know? Just like it changed yours. It gave me something to fight for, something to be proud of. And it’s gonna be hard to let it go.”

The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. Jeno steps forward, his face softening as he places a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “The game can only change you if you’ve got a lot to change, right?” he says quietly, his voice steady but warm. “And, Mark… you’ve already done that. You’ve already become someone people look up to.”

Mark looks at him, his lips pressed tightly together, fighting the emotion threatening to spill over. He nods, but his jaw clenches, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

Coach Suh sighs, stepping closer, his voice steady and firm. “Mark, I know how hard this conversation must be for you. It’s not easy to admit this, not to yourself and especially not to us.” He glances at Jeno, then back at Mark. “But you must know, I can’t use you as much anymore. You can still play, and you will—but you’re gonna have to be an impact sub, with limited minutes. No more pushing your body past its limits.”

Mark closes his eyes briefly, exhaling as if releasing a part of the burden he’s been carrying. “I get it, Coach. I… I’ve been trying to prepare myself for this. I just didn’t know how to say it out loud.”

Suh steps forward, placing a hand on Mark’s other shoulder, his grip firm. “You’ve already done the hardest part, son. You told us. That’s what leaders do—they face the hard truths and do what’s best for the team and for themselves. And you’ve got a team behind you, no matter what.”

Mark’s gaze shifts between Suh and Jeno, his chest tightening with both gratitude and grief. “Thanks,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno gives Mark a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a small smile breaking through his initial shock. “We’ve got you, man. Always.”

Mark nods again, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Thanks, Jen. Thanks, Coach.” He exhales, his hands steadying against the edge of the desk. For the first time in a while, he feels like he can breathe.

The hallway feels stifling as you wait outside, pacing back and forth in a futile attempt to burn off the nervous energy coursing through you. Every second feels like an eternity, your chest tightening with the weight of the unknown. Your mind churns, flipping relentlessly between fear and hope, each thought heavier than the last. What’s happening behind that door? Is Mark okay? Did he find the right words? You can’t stop imagining the worst—his emotions spilling over, his voice cracking under the pressure, the weight of it all becoming too much. You glance at the door every few seconds, your gaze lingering as if you can will it to open, waiting for him to come out so you can hold him, comfort him, and be the anchor you know he’ll need.

The air feels thick, suffocating in its stillness, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, hoping it will steady the relentless pounding of your heart. You rub your palms together absently, as if preparing yourself for whatever is coming, though nothing could really prepare you. The weight of his confession feels like it’s pressing down on you too, and all you can do is hope he’s getting the support he needs inside, even if you’re not there to see it.

As you exhale slowly, the sound of footsteps breaks through the tense silence, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn your head sharply and see Mark’s best friend approaching. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and concern, her brows furrowed slightly as her gaze flicks from you to the closed door. Her presence catches you off guard—she doesn’t usually come around unless there’s a game or practice, and there’s no obvious reason for her to be here now. Maybe she was passing by, or maybe she sensed something was off. Either way, the sight of her stirs a new wave of unease in your chest.

“Why are you here?” she asks, her voice sharp but not unkind.

“I’m waiting for Mark,” you mumble, the words spilling out before you can think them through. “He’s finally telling Coach about his heart condition.”

She gasps, her eyes widening. “You know?”

You nod, shifting uncomfortably. “You know too,” you say quietly, and her silence confirms it. She does.

Before the conversation can continue, the door opens, and Mark steps out. The sight of him hits you hard, your breath catching as you take in the raw emotion etched into his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, heavy with the weight of everything he’s just gone through, and they lock onto yours almost instantly. The message in his gaze is clear and unwavering: he needs you. The sheer vulnerability in his expression, the silent plea for comfort, sends a jolt straight to your chest. He looks utterly drained, like he’s been holding himself together for far too long, and you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You step forward instinctively, your arms already reaching for him, ready to pull him close and hold him until the world feels steady again. But before you can close the gap, his best friend gasps and rushes past you, throwing her arms around him in a quick, tight hug. Mark stiffens at first, clearly startled, before he relaxes just enough to return the embrace. His movements are mechanical, his focus not fully on her, and though the gesture is friendly and comforting, it’s nothing compared to the connection you’re aching to offer him.

“You finally told Coach?” she asks, her voice soft but brimming with pride. “I know how hard it must’ve been, I know how long it’s taken, but I’m so proud of you now that you’ve done it.”

Mark nods faintly, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He looks overwhelmed, his silence speaking volumes, and you can tell he’s barely holding it together. His best friend continues, her voice turning lighter, trying to ease the tension. “I can’t believe it took you months to listen to me and finally tell Coach, but I’m glad you heard me out—”

She pauses mid-sentence, her eyes catching the way Mark’s gaze hasn’t left you. His focus is entirely on you, his eyes soft but desperate as they follow your every move. He’s barely acknowledging her words, his need for you palpable in every subtle shift of his expression.

“Oh,” she murmurs, realization dawning on her. “You didn’t listen to me, did you?” She turns back to him, her tone teasing but affectionate. “Y/N told you to tell Coach, and that’s when you did.”

Mark finally speaks, his voice quiet but steady. “Just made me realize how serious it was.”

His best friend huffs playfully, rolling her eyes with exaggerated annoyance. “You didn’t listen to me for five entire months, but all it takes is your girlfriend to tell you once, and suddenly you’re all ears,” she jokes, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

You freeze, your lips parting slightly, but the intensity of Mark’s gaze keeps you rooted in place. Neither of you moves to correct her, you weren't his girlfriend, not anymore. The tension in the moment begins to lift, but it doesn’t fully dissipate—not with the way he’s still looking at you, his eyes full of longing and need. Slowly, he breaks away from his best friend and takes a step toward you, his shoulders weighed down as though he’s been carrying too much for too long.

“Hi,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, and he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he falls into your arms, letting the rest of the world fall away.

His hug is intimate, desperate, and consuming. His hands grip your waist firmly, pulling you flush against him, as if the space between you is unbearable. His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, clutching it like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. His body presses into yours fully, his warmth seeping into your skin as his trembling becomes more pronounced. It’s not just a hug—it’s a surrender. He’s letting himself fall into you, letting you hold him together when he no longer can.

Your arms wind around him instinctively, one wrapping tightly around his shoulders while the other threads through his hair. The soft strands glide between your fingers as you hold him close, your touch tender and deliberate, meant to comfort and ground him. You feel his breath on your neck, shaky and uneven, the warm exhale brushing against your skin in a way that makes your chest ache. He tightens his grip on you, his arms encircling your body completely, holding you as close as physically possible, as if letting go would break him.

His weight shifts slightly, leaning more heavily into you, and you adjust, your arms pulling him even closer, steadying him. Your fingers slide slowly through his hair again, each motion gentle and soothing, and he exhales shakily, his breath hitching as he tries to steady himself. Your free hand moves to cup his face, your palm warm against his cheek as you tilt his head back just slightly. You pull away just enough to see him, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are red and glassy, the sadness in them so raw it makes your throat tighten. His lips part slightly, but no words come out, just the weight of everything he’s been holding in. The way he looks at you—like you’re his anchor, his solace, his safe place—makes you want to wrap yourself around him even tighter.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone, wiping away the faint trace of tears. He doesn’t respond, but he presses his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. His eyes flutter closed, his face tilting into your touch as if seeking out more of your warmth, your reassurance.

“Can we go?” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion and vulnerability.

You nod softly, your fingers still brushing through his hair as you press a light kiss to his temple. “Wanna get some breakfast?” you ask, your voice soft and inviting, a small attempt to bring a little normalcy back to the moment.

He nods again, and this time his hands loosen their grip on you, though they linger for a moment longer before he lets you guide him. Your hands slide down to rest on his shoulders, steadying him as you both take a step back. You keep your touch light but constant, one hand lingering on his arm as you turn to walk with him. He leans into you slightly as you leave, his warmth a constant presence beside you, the heaviness of the moment slowly easing with each step.

──────────────────────────────

The café is quiet, the morning rush having faded into a gentle hum of soft chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine. The sunlight filters through the large windows, painting warm, golden streaks across the small table you’ve claimed by the corner. It feels like a pocket of calm amidst everything, a temporary sanctuary away from the weight of the day.

You return to the table, balancing a tray with his usual coffee order and an assortment of pastries, including his favorite—a pistachio one with its flaky, golden crust and a hint of powdered sugar dusted over the top. His eyes flicker up as you approach, but the usual spark in them feels dimmed, like the exhaustion resting on his shoulders has seeped into his gaze. He offers a soft smile—polite, tired, distant—and it makes your chest ache in ways you can’t quite name.

Setting the tray down, you slide his coffee toward him, the familiar aroma filling the air between you. “Your favorite,” you say softly, trying to infuse some lightness into your voice, but his response is slow. His fingers wrap around the cup, holding onto its warmth as if it’s anchoring him. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice low, like it takes effort to get the word out. He takes a sip, his shoulders dropping a fraction, but the tension doesn’t fully leave his frame.

The two of you fall into a silence that feels less like comfort and more like a fragile ceasefire. You glance at him over your coffee, catching the way his gaze lingers on the table, avoiding yours. He picks at the sleeve of the cup, his movements slow and deliberate, like his mind is elsewhere. The golden light catches the faint furrow in his brow, and you wonder if he’s even tasting the coffee.

He reaches for the pistachio pastry eventually, taking a bite with an almost mechanical precision. The crisp layers crackle beneath his teeth, and for a fleeting second, his brows lift in approval. “Mmm,” he hums, but there’s a hollowness in his tone, like he’s performing a version of himself you’ve always known but that he can’t quite summon now. Still, he pushes the remaining pastry across the table toward you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, offering silent encouragement. The gesture feels genuine, but there’s a hesitation in it too, like he’s searching for something in your reaction.

You pick it up, your fingers brushing the crumbs from its edges, and take a bite where his had been. The rich pistachio filling melts on your tongue, the buttery sweetness almost grounding you. You nod back at him, mirroring his earlier gesture. “You’re right,” you say softly. “It’s good.”

His lips tug into another smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You hesitate for a moment before reaching across the table to take his hand. His fingers are warm but tense, his grip firm yet hesitant, like he’s holding back even in this simple touch. You trace your thumb over his knuckles in slow, soothing circles, watching the way his eyes follow the movement rather than meeting yours.

“How did it go?” you whisper finally, your voice careful, breaking the silence. The question hangs between you, heavy and expectant. He exhales slowly, his hand tightening briefly around yours as his other one wraps protectively around the coffee cup, as though bracing himself.

“Probably how you’d expect it to go,” he says, his tone blunt, cutting through the quiet. You know he doesn’t mean for it to sting, but it does, the sharpness of his words settling in your chest.

“Mark,” you call his name softly, a quiet plea for him to let you in, to trust you with the weight he’s carrying. But he doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the table, as though the answer lies somewhere in the grain of the wood.

He sighs then, the sound low and heavy, his shoulders slumping as the fight drains from him. “Coach said he’s proud,” he begins, his voice monotone, devoid of its usual warmth, as if he’s reading from a script. “Said I can’t play like I used to. Limited minutes. Impact sub. For my safety.” Each word drops heavily, stripped of emotion, as though detaching himself from them will make them hurt less.

The flatness in his tone is more jarring than the words themselves, and it leaves an ache in the silence that follows. You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could reach past the walls he’s so carefully constructed.

For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze lingering on your joined hands. The sadness in his eyes is a weight you can feel, pressing down on your chest. Wanting to ease the tension, you reach for the tray and grab an almond pastry, holding it out to him. “Here. Try this,” you say softly, your tone light and encouraging.

Mark glances at the pastry, his lips quirking upward just slightly as he takes it from you. He bites into it thoughtfully, and a small hum of approval escapes him. “Mmm,” he nods, finishing it quickly, and for the briefest moment, the faint shadow of a smile crosses his face. You watch him with soft eyes, charmed by how endearing he is, even with all the sadness he’s carrying.

But the sadness lingers, etched into his expression, heavy in the way his gaze drifts somewhere beyond you, as though caught in a place you can’t reach. It tears you in two. You call his name, leaning forward slightly to catch his attention, and crack a joke—a bad one, deliberately silly in its delivery, your smile faltering as you wait for his reaction. All he offers in return is a tight-lipped smile, barely there, one that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

You sigh, shifting from your seat to sit beside him on the same side of the booth. Without hesitation, you take his hand in yours again, your other hand resting lightly on his forearm, grounding him in the only way you know how. “I hate seeing you like this,” you say softly, your voice tinged with the kind of vulnerability you usually hide. “Mark, let me help.”

Mark exhales sharply, the sound a mix of frustration and defeat, his thumb brushing absently over the back of your hand. “There’s not much you can do,” he mutters, his voice quiet, clipped, and carrying a finality that settles like a stone in your chest.

You push further, unwilling to let the moment close on his dismissiveness. “Mark, please, let me in. Talk to me,” you say softly, but the persistence in your tone makes his jaw tighten. His hand withdraws slightly, his shoulders tensing as his gaze darts away.

“Just drop it,” he snaps, the sharpness of his tone cutting through the quiet. It wasn’t loud, but it stung, his words holding an edge you hadn’t expected. His eyes flick to yours briefly, regret already pooling in his expression, but the damage was done.

Your breath hitches, and you pull your hand from his instinctively, your fingers trembling as you place them in your lap. You bite your lip and look away, blinking rapidly to steady your breathing. This wasn’t fair. You were trying, and he was shutting you out.

But as quickly as you withdrew, he reached out again, his hand closing over yours firmly. He clasped your fingers tightly, bringing your joined hands to his lips. The gesture was soft, apologetic, and when you turned back to him, his eyes were filled with unspoken regret. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and genuine, the weight of his earlier frustration melting away.

Your lips part, but it takes a moment for the words to come. “I’m just trying to be here for you,” you whisper, your voice trembling but steadying with each word. “You don’t need to snap at me.”

He doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he glances down at your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The silence stretches for a beat, heavy with things unsaid, before he finally exhales again—this time softer, less burdened. “I remember my first game,” he begins, his tone quieter now, edged with a melancholy that clings to every syllable. His voice is still flat, monotonous, but there’s a faint spark of emotion breaking through.

“I was four. Doyoung randomly took me to the river court one day. I didn’t even know what basketball was, but he handed me a ball and told me to try shooting.” A faint smile tugs at his lips, but it’s fleeting, more wistful than joyful. “I made every shot—without even trying. I don’t know how, but it just felt right. The way the ball left my hands, the sound of it swishing through the net… it made me feel special, important, like I was finally good at something that mattered.”

His breath steadies, his voice gaining a quiet rhythm as he continues. “When I was eleven, I joined a little league team. It wasn’t anything big—just kids messing around, learning the basics. But those games changed everything for me. Every time I had the ball, it felt like I mattered, like I could be something more than just a kid abandoned by his father and resented by his brother.”

He falters, his voice catching on the edge of his next words. “I don’t know how to handle this,” he says finally, his voice low and strained. “Basketball… it’s who I am. It’s the one thing I’ve always been able to count on, the one thing I know I’m good at. And now… now it’s slipping away, and I can’t stop it. I can’t play the way I used to. I can’t push myself anymore.”

The weight of his sadness is palpable, threading through every word, every shallow breath. You want to speak, but he shakes his head slightly, cutting off your attempt. “This condition… it’s not just changing how I play,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “It’s changing everything. My future, my identity… it feels like I’m losing all of it, all at once.”

His eyes are distant, unfocused. “I don’t know who I am without the game,” he continues, quieter now, the monotone delivery layered with rawness. “It’s been everything to me—more than just a sport. It was my escape, my outlet, my home. When my dad left, when everything felt too big or too hard, I could go to the court, and for those hours, nothing else mattered. The river court—it’s where I found myself. Every late night I spent there, every game I played, it was the one place where I didn’t feel like a screw-up or a disappointment. It made me feel alive.”

His voice cracks, and when he looks at you, his eyes are glistening, brimming with raw, unfiltered emotion. “And now it feels like it’s being taken from me. The one thing that made me feel like I was good at something, the one thing that gave me purpose—it’s slipping away. And it’s not just the game, it’s everything tied to it. The memories, the moments, the person I thought I was. I don’t know how to imagine a life without it.”

Your heart aches for him, your chest tightening as you take his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing softly over his cheekbones. “Mark,” you whisper, your voice trembling but steady with conviction. “You’re not losing yourself. I know it feels like the ground is shifting under you, like everything you’ve built is slipping away, but you are so much more than basketball. It’s a part of you, yes, but it’s not all of you. You’re still the person who inspires everyone around you. You’re still the person I believe in with everything I have. That doesn’t change because the game looks different now.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, his breath uneven as the weight of your words settles over him. And for the first time in the entire conversation, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease, just slightly, like a small sliver of light breaking through the heaviness.

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The room is quiet, the soft hum of the heater the only sound breaking the stillness. The bedside lamp casts a warm, muted glow, its light stretching lazily across the walls and pooling on the bed in soft, golden hues. You’re sprawled on the mattress, your knees bent, feet planted, the familiar comfort of the space grounding you. Across from you, Mark stands at the edge of the bed, his movements slow and hesitant as though the weight of his thoughts is pinning him down. There’s a heaviness in his posture—the subtle hunch of his shoulders, the tension in his hands as they hang at his sides, the way he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor.

The sight makes your chest ache. You know he’s holding back, keeping the dam intact even though it’s cracking under the pressure. It’s not like him to hesitate, and that hesitation speaks louder than anything he could say. The air between you feels charged, thick with the weight of things unsaid.

Without a word, he steps closer, his presence filling the space between you. His hands brush lightly over your knees, the contact warm and steady, and your heart skips at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. You glance up at him, about to ask what he’s doing, but his expression is unreadable, his focus entirely on you. He presses down on your knees gently, flattening your legs against the mattress, and the quiet determination in his movements keeps you still, anticipation threading through you.

Then, he moves—climbing onto the bed with a slowness that makes your breath hitch. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel a ripple of warmth as his body shifts closer. When his knees settle on either side of your hips, the realization hits you: he’s going on top of you. Your body tenses instinctively, not in resistance but in sheer surprise, your hands pressing lightly into the mattress to steady yourself. The air between you feels charged, intimate, and it sends a rush of something deep and unspoken through your chest.

His weight settles over you, warm and grounding, his body aligning with yours in a way that feels both deliberate and natural. His chest presses lightly against yours as he lowers himself, his head dipping to find its place in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and your arms instinctively rise to meet him, your hands gliding up the curve of his back as though reassuring him that he’s safe here. The softness of his hair brushes against your jaw, and your fingers tighten gently around him, pulling him closer as he nestles into you.

Your heartbeat thrums in your chest, the sensation of him so close, so heavy against you, making everything else fade away. His arms slide around your waist, locking you against him, and the way he clings to you feels like he’s asking for something wordlessly. His body trembles faintly, and you feel the weight of his vulnerability in the way he holds you, pressing into you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Your fingers trace slow, soothing patterns along his back, silently letting him know that you’re here—that you’re not going anywhere.

It’s unusual, this shift in roles. Normally, he’s the one pulling you into his chest, comforting you, shielding you from the world. But tonight, he’s the one unraveling, and the change feels jarring in its unfamiliarity. He looks like he’s carrying too much, his strength fraying at the edges. 

The first shaky breath he lets out sends a ripple of ache through you. He’s silent for a long moment, but then you feel it—a faint tremble in his shoulders, the way his breaths grow uneven. And just like that, he breaks.

You didn’t expect it—not after the drive to the apartment, when Mark had been so quiet, so unlike himself. He’d barely spoken a word, his blunt responses cutting the air between you, cold and distant. You’d understood, though, and given him space, thinking he just needed time to process. But for him to break this quickly? It catches you off guard, like the world tilting suddenly beneath your feet.

“I’m scared,” he whispers, his voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it. The words are raw, unfiltered, and they cut through the stillness like a confession he’s been holding onto for too long.

The first shaky breath he lets out sends a ripple of ache through you. He’s silent for a long moment, but then you see it—the subtle signs that his composure is slipping. His shoulders tremble faintly, his breaths uneven as he fights to hold himself together. And then, like a dam breaking, it all comes crashing down. His head dips forward, and the first sob tears from his chest, raw and unrestrained.

You stiffen at first, unprepared for the sight. He’s always been the steady one, the one to calm you, to hold you through your tears, to reassure you when you felt like falling apart. Seeing him like this, breaking so openly, sends a jolt through you. You gulp, unsure of how to react, but instinct takes over. You do what he’s always done for you—your fingers thread into his hair, stroking softly, grounding him. You press gentle kisses to his temple, whispering quiet reassurances, promising him over and over, “I’m here. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

His sobs wrack his body, his grip on your waist tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Tears stream down his face, staining your shirt as he buries his head into the crook of your neck. His breaths come in uneven gasps, his body trembling as he clings to you, letting himself break in a way he’s never allowed before. You feel the hot, damp trails his tears leave against your skin, the shudder of his exhale each time he tries to steady himself but fails.

It takes time, but eventually, his sobs begin to subside, the tension in his shoulders loosening as your hand continues to stroke through his hair. His breathing slows, though it’s still uneven, and his arms remain wrapped tightly around you as if you’re the only thing holding him together.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. His eyes are red, swollen, glassy with remnants of his pain. He blinks slowly, trying to form words, but his lips tremble, his voice failing him. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing the tears from his cheeks as you wait for him to find his voice.

“I blame myself,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but heavy with anguish. It cracked at the end, shattering the fragile silence between you. “I should’ve taken care of myself. I should’ve listened. The medication… if I had just done what I was supposed to, maybe—maybe I wouldn’t be here now.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your heart clenched at the way he was crumbling in front of you. You shook your head immediately, your hands rising to cradle his face. Your thumbs brushed against his damp cheeks, and you gently forced him to meet your gaze. His eyes were glassy, filled with so much pain that it threatened to drown you too.

“Mark,” you said softly, but there was no mistaking the conviction in your voice. “This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me? This—this was never something you could have controlled. You didn’t ask for this. You couldn’t have stopped it, no matter what you did.”

His lip quivered, his jaw tightening as tears spilled silently down his face. “But I—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice steady, your grip on his face firm but tender. “Look, I’m not saying it wasn’t stupid not to take the medication. It was. But taking it sooner wouldn’t have changed anything about this condition. It’s serious, Mark, no matter when you started managing it. You need to understand that it wouldn’t be less serious if you’d started earlier. What matters now is that you take it seriously now, that you listen to the people trying to help you, that you take care of yourself from here on out.”

His breaths hitched, his shoulders trembling against you. “I just feel like I made it worse,” he muttered, the guilt still thick in his voice.

“You didn’t,” you insisted, your voice softening as you brushed your thumb along his cheek. “This was never something you could have prevented. It’s not about what you didn’t do before—it’s about what you do now. And you’re doing it. You’re making changes, you’re showing up, you’re facing it head-on, even when it scares the hell out of you. That’s what matters, Mark. Not the mistakes you think you made.”

Mark stared at you, his expression unreadable as a single tear traced a slow path down his cheek. His lips parted, trembling slightly as he tried to speak, but no words came. His eyes were glassy, filled with so much pain that it made your chest ache. And then, like a dam breaking, his shoulders shook, and the tears came harder. He bowed his head, his hands clutching at your waist as though you were the only thing holding him together

His voice came low and rough, barely audible at first. “I don’t even know who I’m mad at anymore,” he admitted, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s just… so fucking unfair.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak, your heart breaking at the pain etched across his face.

“I don’t get it,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “What did I do to deserve this? I’ve worked so hard, done everything I was supposed to do, and now… now it feels like my body’s betraying me. Like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. I can’t fix this. I can’t stop it.”

His eyes met yours, glistening with tears he didn’t bother wiping away. “I hate it. I hate feeling weak, like I have no control. Like all the things I’ve spent my life building can just be taken away like that.”

His words hit you like a blow, the raw anger and vulnerability in them leaving you breathless. You stepped closer, your hands sliding up to cradle his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this. This isn’t your fault. Sometimes life is just… cruel. But that doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t take away who you are or what you’ve done.”

He exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as his hands finally unclenched, rising to grip your waist like he was anchoring himself. “It just feels like I’m losing everything,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I’ve fought so hard, and it’s still not enough.”

“You’re enough,” you whispered, your thumbs brushing against his damp cheeks. “And you’re not losing everything. You’re still here. You’re still you. And you’re not alone in this.”

A shudder runs through him, and he buries his face against your shoulder, his breaths warming your skin. His grip on you is still firm, but now it feels less like desperation and more like trust, like he’s finally allowing himself to let go of the weight he’s been carrying for so long. And as you hold him, you feel it—the unspoken understanding between you both, the promise that no matter how heavy things get, you’ll carry them together.

He presses into you—his head buried in the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist—speaks louder than anything he could say. His grip is desperate but full of trust, as if he’s letting himself fall completely into you, surrendering the weight he’s been carrying. And you welcome it, your touch unwavering, your presence steady, giving him the space to let go in a way he never has before.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his temple. “I’m here. You’re not alone in this, Mark. Not now, not ever.”

For a moment, his body stills, his breathing uneven against your skin. But then his expression shifts, darkening—not in anger, but with something deeper, more raw. The way you’ve been so good to him, the tenderness in your tone, the way you ground him in his darkest moments—it stirs something in him that feels too overwhelming to bear.

“Baby,” he moans, his voice thick with desperation as his hips grind against you, pulling a gasp from your lips. His hand slides down to your stomach, pressing lightly but firmly as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t you wanna feel me here?” he whispers, his tone low, rough, and dripping with need, sending a shiver through you that you can’t suppress.

“Mark.” You give him a quiet warning, but the plea in your voice doesn’t stop him. He surges forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s hard, rough, bruising—everything he’s feeling poured into the way his lips crash against yours, the way his hands grip your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

Your body responds instantly, arching into him as his lips crash against yours, the kiss all teeth and desperation. Your fingers twist roughly into his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low, guttural sound from his throat. His hands grip your waist, almost bruising, pulling you closer as if he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. You know exactly why he’s doing this—why his touch is so rough, so demanding—and you feel the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break.

For a moment, you give in, letting him drown in you. His hands slide under the hem of your cardigan, the fabric pushed aside hastily as his fingers fumble with the buttons. They pop open one by one, his movements frantic and unrelenting, his touch burning against your skin. He presses against you harder, his hips grinding into yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. The sound of his ragged breathing mingles with your own as his mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin until you know it’ll leave marks.

Your breaths hitch as his intensity consumes you, your movements instinctively mirroring his rhythm. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming over you with a desperation that speaks louder than words. But then, under the heat of it all, you feel the crack—the slight tremble in his grip, the unevenness of his breath as it stutters against your skin. It sends a shiver through you, pulling you out of the haze.

You gasp, your hands pressing against his chest as you push him back and break the kiss, your heart pounding in your ears. “Mark,” you say, your voice shaky but steady. His dark eyes meet yours, frustration flashing before confusion settles in their depths.

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “We can’t,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat. “Having sex with me isn’t going to make the sadness go away. It won’t fix anything, Mark.”

His jaw tightens, his breathing still uneven, his hands hovering at your sides like he doesn’t know whether to let go or hold on tighter. “Yes, it will,” he whispers hoarsely, his voice breaking with raw desperation.

Your chest tightens at his words, at the raw vulnerability etched into them. You smack his chest lightly, your voice catching as you speak. “No, Mark,” you say, frustration and tenderness mingling. “This isn’t how you fight it. I’m here for you—I always will be—but not like this. You don’t need to lose yourself in me to feel okay.”

You cradle his face, your thumbs grazing his cheekbones as you hold his gaze. “I know you’re hurting,” you murmur, your voice steady yet tender. “I know it feels unbearable, like you need something to make it stop. But this isn’t the way, Mark. Let me be here for you, let me hold you—but don’t use me to numb the pain.”

His shoulders slump, the fight leaving him in a slow, heavy exhale. He doesn’t say anything, he just leans into your touch, his breaths shaky but steadying. Then, without a word, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as though drawing strength from the closeness. His eyes flutter closed as he rests against you, his body molding into yours like it’s the only place he feels safe. Slowly, you feel the tension ease from him, his breaths evening out as he tries to let sleep take over in your arms, his quiet surrender breaking your heart and mending it all at once.

──────────────────────────────

The glow of Mark’s laptop screen casts soft shadows across his dimly lit room. His desk is a chaotic mess: scattered papers, highlighters tossed carelessly, notebooks with half-finished thoughts scribbled in the margins, and empty coffee cups piled haphazardly in the corner. He sits hunched over, fingers hovering over the keyboard, his jaw tight as he forces himself to focus. The weight of the silence around him presses against his chest, and the words on the screen blur as his thoughts drift.

Mark’s restlessness feels like a constant ache, gnawing at him from the inside out. Missing basketball practices to prioritize his health wasn’t a choice he wanted to make, but one he had to. It leaves him feeling untethered, the absence of the game creating a void he doesn’t know how to fill. Basketball was his escape, the one thing that grounded him when everything else felt overwhelming. Now, with his condition forcing him to step back, he feels lost, his body buzzing with energy he doesn’t know how to release.

He throws himself into his music compositions, desperate for a distraction, his fingers moving across the keyboard like he’s chasing something he can’t quite catch. The melodies echo faintly through the room, but they don’t bring him the comfort he craves. He tries to focus, tries to drown himself in the rhythm and flow of creating, but no matter how hard he works, his mind keeps circling back to you.

He wants you to be his distraction. He wants the comfort of your presence, the way you always seem to know exactly what he needs without him having to say a word. He wants the touch of your hand against his, the sound of your laugh breaking through his heavy thoughts. But he can’t have that. Not anymore. Not since you broke up. The thought twists in his chest, sharp and unrelenting, making the space around him feel even smaller.

Mark leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as frustration boils over. His eyes flick to his phone resting on the desk, the screen dark and still. He hasn’t heard from you today, and it gnaws at him, the need to reach out clawing at the edges of his resolve. He exhales sharply, dragging his hands over his face, but the ache doesn’t subside. He’s restless, frustrated, and his thoughts of you shift into something deeper, something primal.

His mind starts to wander, the memory of your voice, your touch, the way you’d look at him when it was just the two of you. He remembers the way you’d cling to him, your body trembling beneath his, the soft moans that would spill from your lips as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. The memories make his breath hitch, his body responding instantly. He clenches his jaw, trying to focus back on the screen, but it’s useless. He needs an outlet. He needs you.

The room feels too empty. Too quiet. Too wrong without you.

He picks up his phone, scrolling aimlessly through your old messages, re-reading the little things: the way you’d remind him to take breaks, the jokes that made him laugh even on the worst days, and the texts you’d send just to check in on him. The space you’ve left in his life feels massive, and no matter how much he tries to fill it with work, it doesn’t stop the ache. He misses you—not just your presence but everything about you.

He misses your laugh, the way your hands felt on his skin, the way you always seemed to know exactly what he needed without him having to say a word. And deeper still, he misses the intimacy you shared—the way you made him feel whole, grounded, alive. The memory of being with you, being inside you, flickers in his mind, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, a heat rising in his chest that he tries to suppress.

But the frustration grows. The longing twists into something sharper, more unbearable. His fingers tighten around his phone as he scrolls to your contact, his thumb hovering over your name for a moment before he gives in, typing out a message with unsteady hands.

He presses send before he can overthink it, his breath catching in his throat. The seconds stretch into an eternity, and he wonders if he’s pushed too far, if you’ll ignore him entirely, but then your reply comes through, and his pulse quickens.

His screen lights up with the video, and the world around him ceases to exist. The glow illuminates your body—every curve, every movement, framed so perfectly it feels deliberate, like you knew exactly how to wreck him. The lighting is soft, intimate, and he instantly recognizes the lace thong hugging your hips: his favorite, the one he always begged you to keep on, the one he’d pull to the side just enough to sink into you. His breath falters, his pulse pounding in his ears as his eyes drink you in.

Your hand moves slowly, teasing yourself, your fingers gliding beneath the delicate fabric, and the wet sound of it is enough to send a jolt straight to his groin. Then you moan his name—his full name, breathless and needy—and it unravels him completely. A low, involuntary groan escapes his lips, and his entire body reacts. His chest tightens, his thighs clench, and he feels himself throb painfully against the confines of his sweats. Every detail—the arch of your back, the way your head tilts back in pleasure—burns into his mind, leaving him dizzy with need.

The moment the video fills his screen, Mark loses any shred of control he’d been clinging to. The sight of you—your legs spread, fingers working between the delicate lace of his favorite thong, your soft moans filling his ears—has his chest tightening, his breath stalling in his throat. He watches intently as your body moves, each subtle shift of your hips, each tremble in your thighs, sending a pulse of heat straight through him. His hand moves almost instinctively, trailing down to his waistband as he groans softly, “Baby…” The word slips out in a husky, desperate tone, his fingers brushing over the hardness straining against his sweats.

His resolve shatters completely as your moan echoes through his headphones—a breathy, broken call of his name that feels like a physical pull. He shoves his sweats and boxers down in one rough motion, freeing himself with a sharp exhale. His hand wraps around his length, his thumb brushing over the slick tip as he takes a moment to steady himself. But the video keeps playing, your movements hypnotic, the sight of your fingers disappearing beneath the lace leaving him throbbing in his hand. He starts slow, stroking himself deliberately, his grip firm, never taking his eyes off the screen. The need to feel closer to you becomes overwhelming, and his free hand fumbles for his phone.

Without breaking his rhythm, he flips the camera to record. The angle captures his hand wrapping firmly around himself, the way his skin glistens, and his chest heaving as he moans your name, raw and unrestrained. His voice is shaky but thick with desire as he speaks into the mic, desperate to pull you into the moment with him.

“Look what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with need. “You’ve got me so fucking hard, baby. I can’t stop thinking about you—about how tight you’d feel around me, how perfect you’d look under me, falling apart.”

He adjusts the angle slightly, showing the full view of himself, stroking harder now as his hips rock into his hand. The slick sound fills the quiet room, mingling with his heavy breaths. “I’d give anything to be inside you right now,” he groans, his tone breaking with desperation. “You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? Fuck, I’d ruin you. Make you scream my name until you couldn’t think straight.”

He leans his head back against the chair, his grip tightening as his strokes grow faster, his voice dropping even lower. “I miss the way you’d beg for me,” he mutters, his words punctuated by sharp exhales. “The way you’d pull me closer, tell me not to stop. God, baby, I need you so bad.”

The video loops again, and his eyes snap back to the screen—your fingers moving faster, your lips parting in a moan that sends him careening toward the edge. He stutters, his entire body tensing as a guttural groan tears from his throat. His release spills over his hand, hot and messy, his body trembling violently as he moans your name, raw and unfiltered.

As the aftershocks ripple through him, he lets his hand slow, his chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath. His camera is still recording, capturing the remnants of his desperation: his glistening skin, his trembling thighs, the way his hand runs lazily over himself, already half-hard again. He finally angles the phone back toward his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted as he speaks into the mic.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, his tone rough and drenched with lust. “You’ve got me so desperate for you. I want to feel you, taste you, ruin you all over again. I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you so fucking bad.”

He ends the recording, his fingers still unsteady, and hits send without hesitation. As the message disappears, he collapses back into the chair, the longing for you still thrumming through his veins, even stronger than before.

The moment the video fills his screen, Mark loses any shred of control he’d been clinging to. The sight of you—your legs spread, fingers working between the delicate lace of his favorite thong, your soft moans filling his ears—has his chest tightening, his breath stalling in his throat. He watches intently as your body moves, each subtle shift of your hips, each tremble in your thighs, sending a pulse of heat straight through him.

He records a quick video, his chest heaving as he grips himself tightly. He angles the camera down, showing every movement of his hand, the glistening tip, the way he’s losing control. “This is what you do to me,” he murmurs into the mic, his voice heavy with need. “I need you so fucking bad, baby. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Baby,” he groans, the word tumbling out in a husky, desperate tone. His free hand trails down to his waistband, fingers brushing over the growing hardness straining against his sweats. His touch is hesitant at first, teasing himself, as if trying to hold back, but the sound of your voice breaks him entirely. The way you moan his name—soft, breathy, full of need—pulls a guttural sound from deep in his chest, and he can’t resist anymore.

He shoves his sweats and boxers down in one motion, freeing himself with a sharp exhale. His hand wraps around his length, his thumb brushing over the tip, already slick with his arousal. His movements are slow at first, his grip firm as he strokes himself deliberately, never taking his eyes off the screen. He replays the video, memorizing every detail: the way your hand disappears beneath the lace, the way your back arches slightly when you moan, and the way your lips part as if calling out for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice breaking as his hips lift into his hand. His mind is a mess of thoughts, all of them consumed by you. The way you’d feel beneath him. The way you’d gasp when he’d push deeper. The way your nails would scrape along his back as you begged him for more.

“Y/N,” he groans, the sound rough and desperate. His hand moves faster, each stroke slicker as he imagines it’s you, your body wrapped around him, holding him the way only you can. His head falls back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut as he lets the fantasy consume him. He sees you clearly in his mind—your thighs trembling as he grips them, your lips parting in a scream as he thrusts harder, deeper, hitting the spot that makes you fall apart for him.

“You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you?” he mutters under his breath, his voice dark and thick with lust. “Fuck, I’d stretch you out so good. You’d feel so tight around me, baby. Just like always.” His free hand grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles white as he fights to steady himself, his hips bucking into his hand with increasing desperation.

The memory of your body, the way you’d tremble beneath him, the sounds you’d make—it’s too much. His breathing grows heavier, his strokes faster and more erratic as his body chases the release that only thoughts of you can bring. “I miss the way you’d scream my name,” he growls, his voice breaking. “The way you’d pull me closer, telling me not to stop. God, I’d give anything to hear you beg for me right now.”

His hand moves relentlessly, his hips rocking into his fist as his moans grow louder, rougher. The tension in his body builds, coiling tighter and tighter as he teeters on the edge. “You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and unsteady. “You’d take everything I give you. Fuck, I miss the way you’d cry for me, baby.”

The final push comes as he watches your face in the video again, the way your lips part as you moan his name. His head tips back, a shuddering groan ripping from his throat as he spills over his hand, his release hot and messy, leaving him trembling. “Y/N,” he moans, your name breaking from him like a prayer, his body jerking as the aftershocks ripple through him.

He sits there for a moment, panting, his body still thrumming with the intensity of it all. Then, with shaky hands, he grabs his phone, flips the camera to record himself. He doesn’t bother cleaning up, the sight of his slick hand stroking himself slowly as he recovers still raw and unapologetic. His voice is low, rough, dripping with desire as he speaks into the mic.

“Look what you do to me, baby,” he says, his hand running lazily along his length, already half-hard again. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you so fucking bad. I want to feel you, taste you, fuck you until you’re screaming my name. You’ve got me so fucking desperate for you.”

As he finishes, his body shudders, his release spilling over his hand as he moans your name one last time, his voice raw and unfiltered. He sends the video to you without hesitation, his heart racing as he collapses back into the chair, desperately waiting for your response, the tension momentarily gone but the longing for you only growing stronger.

──────────────────────────────

The morning light filters through your curtains, soft and golden, as you shuffle toward the front door. Your heart pounds with a rhythm you can’t quite control, anticipation and nerves tangling in your chest. The handle feels cool under your fingers as you pull it open, revealing Mark standing just beyond. He leans casually against the frame, his posture easy, but there’s an intensity in the way his eyes lock onto yours immediately, sharp and unwavering.

He looks good—too good. The warmth of the sun highlights the lines of his jaw and the subtle curve of his smirk. It’s subtle but deliberate, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips as his gaze drifts over you, lingering just long enough to make your stomach twist.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice low, rich, and teasing, like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind. There’s a weight to his tone, something unspoken but impossible to ignore.

You try—really try—to meet his gaze, but your confidence falters almost instantly. Instead, your eyes dart downward, catching on the worn fabric of his sneakers, the edge of his jeans, anywhere but him. Your body betrays you, your fingers curling into the hem of your sweater as if the soft material could anchor you against the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. Your shoulders feel tense, your breathing uneven as you shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny movement.

Mark doesn’t say anything, but he notices. He always notices. The way you hesitate, the way your lips part as if to speak but nothing comes out. The way your lashes flutter against your cheeks when you glance up at him briefly, only to look away just as quickly, like his gaze is too much to hold.

His eyes stay on you, unrelenting, and you can feel them moving over every detail: the flush creeping up your neck, the way your fingers fidget nervously, the way you can’t seem to stand still under the weight of his presence. He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t need to; the space between you feels impossibly small, charged with something electric.

There’s a subtle shift in his expression, something softer, though it’s fleeting. His gaze lingers on the curve of your jaw, the way you bite your lip when you finally manage a soft, “Hi.” It’s barely audible, but he hears it, the faintest flicker of satisfaction passing through his features before he schools them back into something unreadable.

He knows why. He knows why you’re flustered, still reeling from yesterday.

After exchanging those videos last night, things escalated quickly. The call that followed left you completely at his mercy. Just his voice—low, commanding, and utterly filthy—had you coming undone three more times, each climax leaving you more breathless and trembling than the last. He knew exactly what to say to have you at his mercy, completely undone and helpless to resist him.

The first time, it was his instructions. Precise, deliberate, and spoken with the kind of authority that left no room for hesitation. “Slower,” he’d murmured, his voice rough with desire. “I want to hear every little sound you make.” And you gave him everything, your breath hitching as you followed his commands, your body arching as his words wrapped around you like a tether, pulling you closer to the edge.

The second time, it was his praise. Dark and intoxicating, his voice softened just enough to send shivers down your spine. “That’s it,” he’d growled, the sound thick with approval. “You’re so fucking good for me, baby. Don’t stop now.” And you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was the only thing anchoring you, pushing you higher and higher until the wave crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling.

The third time, it was pure desperation—both his and yours. His breathing had grown heavier, rougher, and the way he spoke was almost a plea, laced with need so raw it made your chest tighten. “One more,” he’d rasped, his voice cracking with hunger. “You’ve got one more for me, don’t you? Give it to me.” And you had, your body writhing as you chased the release his words pulled from you, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

Even after the call ended, the sound of his voice lingered, echoing in your mind as you lay there, completely spent. The weight of his control, the way he’d taken you apart and pieced you back together with nothing but his words, stayed with you long into the night, leaving your body humming with the memory.

“What are you doing here?” you manage to ask, your voice quiet, almost breathless. You’re too aware of how your words tremble slightly, the question spilling out before you can stop it.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his lips tugging upward as he tilts his head slightly. “Did you forget?” he asks, his tone low and teasing, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “You asked me to take you to campus. Said you wanted to come in with me today.”

Your brows furrow as you try to remember, the haze of last night still clouding your mind. Then it clicks, and your lips part slightly as the memory surfaces. “Oh,” you say softly, feeling the heat in your cheeks deepen. You lower your gaze again, unable to meet his eyes as the realization settles over you.

Mark doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of satisfaction in his expression is impossible to miss. He steps aside, gesturing toward the car parked at the curb, his movements deliberate and smooth. You nod silently, stepping out and closing the door behind you, your heart pounding in your chest as you follow him to the car.

Even as you slide into the passenger seat, you can feel his gaze lingering, heavy and deliberate. He doesn’t say anything, but the curve of his lips and the subtle clench of his jaw tell you he’s thinking about last night too. The silence between you isn’t empty—it’s alive, buzzing with the tension that neither of you can ignore. You can feel it in the way his hands tighten slightly on the wheel, in the way your thighs press together, the ache from last night still fresh and impossible to forget.

Mark starts the car, his movements calm, but the tension in the small space between you simmers, unspoken and undeniable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not when the memory of his voice, his commands, and the way he pushed you to your limits still lingers, heavy and electric, in the charged air around you.

The drive to college is too quiet. The hum of the engine fills the silence, but it feels suffocating. You keep your gaze fixed out the window, your hands fidgeting in your lap as Jeno drives, his grip firm on the wheel. He doesn’t seem bothered by the quiet—not at first. He’s calm, composed, but there’s an intensity in the air, in the way his eyes flick toward you at every red light, sharp and unrelenting.

Time stretched painfully, the weight of your unspoken thoughts pressing against your chest, until finally, he breaks the silence. “You okay? Thighs not aching?” he asks, his words deliberate, laced with something dark and teasing.

Your head snaps toward him, your expression caught between shock and indignation. “Why would they?” you quip, your tone defensive, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you.

He doesn’t respond right away, just smirks faintly, his fingers tapping lazily against the steering wheel as his gaze stays fixed on the road ahead. But there’s something dangerous in the curve of his lips, something dark and deliberate that makes your stomach flip and your skin burn under its weight. It’s not just a smirk—it’s a challenge, a reminder of the hold he has over you, and it’s infuriating how easily he can make your body betray you.

“You don’t remember?” he drawls finally, his voice smooth, slow, and dripping with amusement. The sound alone is enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. “Last night. The way you couldn’t stop shaking after the second time. Or was it the third? I lost count.”

Your jaw tightens, heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks as his words sink in. You glare at him, trying to ignore the way your heart pounds, but his smirk only widens, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest in a vain attempt to shield yourself from the weight of his teasing.

“And you,” he says, casting you a brief, pointed glance before looking back at the road, his tone dipping lower, smoother, “are still so shy. It’s adorable.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and intimate, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But your silence only seems to fuel him, his low chuckle breaking the tension, the sound vibrating through the confined space of the car and settling deep in your chest.

Then his hand shifts on the gearstick, a small, casual movement that becomes anything but when his fingers brush against your knee. The touch is fleeting, light enough to be innocent, but the heat it leaves behind is anything but. You stiffen at the contact, your breath catching as your eyes dart to his hand. He doesn’t pull away—of course he doesn’t. Instead, he lingers for just a moment, long enough for you to feel the deliberate weight of his presence before he lets his hand return to the gearstick, his smirk softening but no less smug.

You want to say something, to snap at him, to remind him that you’re trying very hard to keep your composure, but the words die in your throat when he speaks again.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into something softer, though the teasing edge lingers just beneath the surface. His gaze flicks toward you again, his eyes scanning your face briefly, and the subtle way his lips curl tells you he can see right through you. “Literally just trying to drive my car.” 

The air between you feels heavier now, every subtle movement amplified—the way his fingers drum against the wheel, the way your thighs press together in an attempt to quell the warmth pooling low in your stomach, the way your breathing has quickened just slightly. You can’t help but think he notices it all. Of course, he notices.

And when his eyes flick back to the road, you catch the faintest shake of his head, as though your flustered reaction amuses him more than it should. The tension simmers, unrelenting, the memory of last night lingering in every unspoken glance, every subtle shift in the confined space between you.

“You need to stop using all your energy trying to fuck me,” you tease, your tone light but edged with something warmer, something heavier, “and instead save it for today. You’re gonna need it.”

He hums softly, the sound low and rumbling in his chest, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his expression. “Hmm?”

“You’re going into practice today, right?” you ask softly, your voice careful not to disrupt the fragile quiet. “When you tell them what’s been happening…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I’m sure the team’s gonna have a lot to say when you show up.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods once, curtly, his eyes focused on the road. “Yeah,” he murmurs, the single word heavy with something unspoken.

The reminder of practice shifts the mood instantly, a quiet tension settling into the car as you glance at him again. His teasing demeanor falters, just for a moment, and you notice the subtle changes in his posture—the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening against the leather, and the slight furrow in his brow as your words settle in. His fingers, which had been drumming lightly against the wheel, fall still, as though the weight of what he’s about to face has rooted them in place.

You study him closely, the sunlight filtering through the windshield highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His jaw tightens, a subtle shift that you’ve come to recognize as a tell for when he’s deep in thought, when the world around him feels too heavy. He’s grappling with more than just today; you know that. Basketball has been his constant, his escape, the one thing he’s been able to rely on through every upheaval in his life. The idea of stepping back onto the court, even with restrictions, has been weighing on him in ways he hasn’t fully admitted.

Mark exhales slowly, the breath deliberate but not quite reaching his shoulders, and you notice how his posture feels too composed, too intentional—like he’s bracing himself against the storm he’s been carrying inside.

The silence stretches again, heavier now, and your chest tightens at the sight of him holding so much inside. You’ve known Mark long enough to see through the mask he’s trying to keep intact. The teasing earlier, the flirting, the smugness, the light banter—it was all a distraction, a way to steady himself against the weight he’s been carrying. Now, his shoulders look too still, his relaxed posture almost forced, like he’s trying to avoid thinking about what’s coming next.

You can’t let him carry it alone. Not today.

“Mark,” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet, your tone filled with all the care you know he needs. “I know how much this means to you. And I know how hard it’s been. But I promise you…” You pause, your words trembling. “I’ll be there. If you need help telling everyone, if you need me to steady you, or just… if you need me to hold you after—it doesn’t matter. I’ll be there.”

His breath catches as his hand slides onto your thigh, his palm warm against your bare skin. The contrast between the cool morning air in the car and the heat radiating from his touch is startling, sending a shiver up your spine. His thumb begins to move, slow and deliberate, tracing lazy circles just beneath the hem of your skirt. The motion is subtle, almost teasing, but the weight of his hand feels grounding and possessive, like he’s silently claiming the space he’s touching.

Your heart pounds harder, each gentle press of his thumb making it impossible to focus on anything else. His fingers flex slightly, gripping your thigh as though he’s drawing reassurance from the softness of your skin, the strength in his touch betraying how tightly he’s holding himself together. The heat from his hand spreads through you like a slow-burning flame, pooling low in your stomach and tightening your chest. Every motion feels intentional, the pads of his fingers brushing against you with just enough pressure to make your breathing hitch.

You glance down, watching the way his hand rests against your skin, the way his knuckles disappear beneath the edge of your skirt. The sight alone sends a flush of warmth through you, and you can feel the tension growing thicker in the confined space of the car. His grip tightens briefly, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh like he’s anchoring himself, as if he needs this contact to steady the storm brewing inside him.

For a moment, your own hand hovers uncertainly, the urge to touch him back overwhelming. Then, with a deliberate movement, you slide your fingers over his, pressing lightly against his skin. His breath hitches audibly at the contact, and his hand freezes for a heartbeat. You know what he’s thinking—that you’re about to move his hand away. The hesitation in his touch makes that clear. But instead, you push his hand higher, your palm guiding him firmly up the length of your thigh.

His knuckles brush against the fabric of your skirt, the motion slow and deliberate as the material shifts slightly with the movement. His fingers curl instinctively, gripping the sensitive skin of your inner thigh with more urgency, and a soft exhale escapes him, low and shaky. The air between you feels charged now, electric with something unspoken but undeniable, and you press his hand even higher, until the warmth of his palm is nearly unbearable.

The way his fingers spread against your skin, exploring just beneath your skirt, sends a shiver racing through you. His touch feels like fire and restraint all at once—like he’s holding back but not entirely. The tension builds with every shift of his hand, the sensation of his rough fingertips brushing against you igniting something deep within.

You hold your hand over his, not to stop him, but to keep him there, pressing your fingers down as if to say, don’t move. The weight of your touch is grounding, deliberate, and when his thumb drags a slow, agonizing line along the sensitive skin of your thigh, you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t speak, but the way his hand lingers, the way his grip tightens, tells you everything you need to know. His need, his restraint, the way his fingers tremble just slightly as if he’s fighting himself—it all speaks volumes. And as the tension grows, the heat between you feels like it might consume you both, leaving no room for anything else.

──────────────────────────────

The gym hums with life, a constant thrum of activity. Players’ voices echo against the high ceilings, mingling with the dull thud of basketballs hitting the floor and the sharp clap of sneakers gripping the court. The air is thick with energy, an almost electric charge that clings to everything, amplified by the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Walking in alongside Mark, you immediately notice how everyone seems to move with purpose—the players warming up, coaches already shouting instructions, and clusters of students loitering on the bleachers, whispering and watching.

Coach Taeyong stands at the far end of the court, clipboard in hand, his brow furrowed as he watches a few of the guys run drills. His stance, stiff and authoritative, screams frustration, though he doesn’t yell like you’d expect. Instead, his gaze flickers over the team like he’s measuring their every move. Nearby, Coach Doyoung leans against the wall, arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His presence is calmer, but there’s a sharpness in the way he observes the players, a readiness to step in the moment something goes wrong. His role feels more protective than demanding, like he’s watching over them, ensuring they stay safe while still giving Taeyong the reins.

Karina spots you the moment you enter, her ponytail bouncing as she waves you over enthusiastically from her spot near the bleachers. You return the gesture with a small wave of your own, but before you can move, your gaze catches on a group of familiar faces. Aisha, Mia, Yeji, and Lia are huddled together near the benches, their heads tilted toward one another as they whisper animatedly. Their eyes dart to you and Mark, lingering for a moment too long, before they turn back to their conversation. You catch snippets of giggles and quiet murmurs, the kind that crawl under your skin and make you hyper-aware of yourself.

Mark seems oblivious to their stares, his focus fixed ahead as his steps slow just slightly. You notice the way his hand brushes against his side, a subtle tell that he’s nervous. You place a hand on his arm, stopping him for just a moment, and his eyes flick to yours.

“If you need me,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach, “I’m right across the court.”

He nods once, his lips pressing into a thin line, but his gaze holds yours for a beat longer than usual. There’s something unspoken in his expression, something almost vulnerable, but before you can linger on it, he pulls away, heading toward the guys gathering near the center of the court.

You watch him for a moment, your chest tightening at the way his shoulders seem a little more rigid than usual, before finally turning toward Karina. She’s still waiting for you, tapping her foot impatiently as she gestures for you to hurry.

As you make your way over, you catch another round of giggles from Aisha and her group. They’re still watching, their whispers cutting off abruptly when you glance in their direction. This time, you don’t look away. Your gaze hardens, and their smiles falter slightly, though the smugness doesn’t disappear entirely. By the time you reach Karina, your nerves are buzzing, the weight of their scrutiny settling heavily on your shoulders.

Karina raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “What was that about?” she asks, nodding subtly toward the group as you drop into the seat beside her.

You shake your head, letting out a sharp breath. “Nothing worth worrying about,” you mutter, though the tension in your voice betrays you.

Karina doesn’t push, but her eyes narrow slightly, the wheels in her head clearly turning as she takes in your expression. “Did Mark spend the night?” she asks instead, changing the subject with a teasing grin. “Because, babe, you were moaning like a bitch in heat yesterday.”

The comment pulls an unexpected laugh from your chest, but your cheeks burn instantly. “He didn’t,” you admit, the memory of last night flooding your mind. “But we—”

The words die on your tongue when you notice Aisha and her friends again. They’re still watching, their eyes sharp with curiosity and something more—something that makes your stomach twist. Whispering resumes as you turn away, their laughter soft but pointed, and you feel your fingers curl into fists against your sides.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to ignore them, but it’s impossible not to feel the weight of their stares. Their giggles cut through the ambient noise of the gym, each one like a needle pricking at your skin. You can’t make out the words, but you don’t need to. The glances they throw your way, the smug little smiles—they’re enough to make your blood simmer.

Karina notices the shift in your demeanor instantly, her teasing smirk fading as she follows your gaze. “What’s their problem?” she mutters, leaning closer to you. Her tone is sharp now, protective.

“I don’t know,” you reply quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “But I’m done with it.”

Something hardens in Karina’s expression, her jaw tightening as she watches the group. “You should say something. Seriously. Don’t let them get away with this crap.”

Your instinct is to brush it off like you always do, to let it slide and avoid the confrontation. But this time feels different. This time, you can’t push down the irritation bubbling in your chest, the heat rising in your cheeks as their laughter grows louder. You’ve been dealing with their snide remarks and side-eyes for weeks now, and you’re tired—tired of shrinking yourself, tired of pretending it doesn’t bother you.

You stand abruptly, Karina raising an eyebrow as she steps aside to let you pass. The scrape of your sneakers against the gym floor draws attention, but you don’t care. Your focus is locked on them, your chest tight with a mix of anger and determination as you cross the court.

Aisha is the first to notice you approaching, her head tilting slightly, a sly smile curving on her lips. The others follow her lead, their expressions ranging from amused to smug. They don’t speak, waiting for you to make the first move, their silence as pointed as their earlier whispers.

“Do you have something to say to me?” you ask, your voice sharp and steady as you come to a stop in front of them. You cross your arms over your chest, your stance firm.

Aisha shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” you counter, your tone laced with sarcasm. “Because you’ve been whispering and laughing since I walked in.”

Yeji leans forward slightly, her grin widening. “We were just curious,” she says lightly, the edge in her voice impossible to miss. “Did you and Mark break up?”

You nod, your expression carefully neutral. “Yes.”

Yeji claps her hands together, her voice lilting with fake surprise. “I knew it. Told you, didn’t I?” she says, turning to Mia. “He’s fair game now.”

Your jaw clenches, a sharp flare of anger igniting in your chest as her words cut through you. “No, he isn’t,” you snap, your voice low and laced with steel. Your eyes narrow, locking onto hers with a glare so sharp it could pierce through her. The weight of your possessiveness hangs heavy in the air, daring her—or anyone—to challenge it.

Aisha scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “See? I told you they’d only last a month,” she says, addressing the group as if you’re not standing right there. “Didn’t I say he’d get bored and move on? The fact that I gave them a month but it hasn’t even been a month yet.”

Something inside you snaps, a surge of confidence bubbling to the surface as you step closer, your voice cold and sharp, cutting through the air like a whip. “Funny,” you begin, your tone laced with a biting edge, “you’re so obsessed with Mark, but he wouldn’t even look at you twice, no matter how hard you tried. You could throw yourself at him, beg for his attention, and he still wouldn’t give you a second of his time.”

Aisha scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please,” she snaps, her voice dripping with condescension. “You sound so confident for someone who can’t even keep him. Or did you forget you two broke up?”

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t back down, your gaze narrowing as you take another step forward. “You’re right, we did,” you fire back, your tone steady and unyielding. “But here’s the difference: even when we weren’t together, you still couldn’t catch his attention. And you never will.”

Aisha laughs, short and mocking, glancing back at her friends for validation. “Oh, come on. You act like you’re the only girl he’s ever cared about. Mark’s got a type, and let’s be real—it’s not commitment.” She leans in slightly, her eyes glinting with smug satisfaction. “You think you’re special, huh? Like you’re different from the rest of us? Newsflash: you’re not.”

Your gaze flicks over Aisha and her little entourage, each of them faltering under the weight of your words. You step even closer, letting the tension build, letting the heat of your anger—and your unwavering confidence—radiate from you. “Do you know how many girls Mark fucked before me?” you continue, changing the subject, your tone softer now but dripping with menace, making them lean in to catch every word. “A lot. And you know what’s even funnier? You weren’t one of them. Not you, not any of your little minions.”

You smile, slow and deliberate, watching their faces pale as your words sink in. “Do you want to know why?” you ask, your voice low and mocking. “Because you’ve never even been on his radar. Not even once. You’re not his type. Hell, you couldn’t even get his attention if you tried—and trust me, I know you’ve tried.”

You cross your arms, your stance confident and unyielding, your glare slicing through the false bravado in their smirks. “So maybe instead of spending all your time whispering and giggling like middle schoolers, you should focus on yourselves. Because whatever you think you’re going to get from Mark? It’s never going to happen. Not now, not ever.”

Aisha’s smirk slips for a fraction of a second before she recovers, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a casual shrug. “Maybe he just likes a challenge,” she says, her voice light but biting. “If you’re so sure he’s yours, why are you even wasting your breath? Sounds like someone’s a little insecure.”

You step closer still, the space between you practically crackling with tension. “Insecure?” you repeat, your voice like ice. “And for the record,” you continue, stepping closer, “Mark didn’t move on. He didn’t get bored. We broke up because we both have a lot going on, something I wouldn’t expect any of you to understand since all you seem to care about is gossiping like middle schoolers.”

Her expression freezes, her lips parting slightly as if to retort, but nothing comes out. The other girls glance between you, their whispers and giggles suddenly silent as the weight of your words sinks in. There’s a beat of stunned silence, and you feel the tension radiating off them, but you hold your ground. For once, you don’t look away, don’t shrink under their scrutiny.

You don’t consciously decide to cross the court, but something in the way Aisha and her friends are still staring—watching, waiting for you to falter—pushes you forward. It’s not about flaunting anything; it’s about reminding yourself, and them, that Mark has never been theirs to wonder about. He’s yours in a way that’s undeniable, unshakable, and entirely effortless. He doesn’t see them, never has. His attention, his focus, his everything—it’s always been you. And you know, with a confidence that feels rare but earned, that you can have him whenever you want, however you want, because it’s you he chooses every time. So you let your steps carry you to him, your head held high, the weight of their stares dissolving as the distance between you and Mark closes, like the rest of the world no longer matters.

The moment your eyes find Mark, something inside you settles. He’s standing with the team near the far side of the court, his posture deceptively relaxed, one hand tucked casually into his pocket while the other grips a basketball. He’s mid-conversation with Jeno, his expression neutral, but you know him too well. The slight tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers across the court every so often—it’s subtle, but it’s there. He’s checking on you, watching without being obvious about it, sensing something’s off even from a distance.

Your chest tightens as you take him in. It’s not just the way he grounds you, the way his presence alone feels like a steadying force—it’s the fact that you know he’d cross the entire gym if he thought you needed him. And right now, you do. Not because you’re upset, not because of the whispers still buzzing faintly around you, but because you’ve had enough. Enough of their giggles, their pointed stares, their pathetic attempts to rattle you. You don’t owe anyone silence or the space to tear you down. You want Mark—not out of weakness, not because you need him to save you, but because you know he’s yours in a way that’s undeniable. 

Being with him isn’t about seeking refuge; it’s about showing them, and reminding yourself, that you don’t have to explain, defend, or prove anything. You’re tired of playing small, tired of pretending you don’t care when every look they shoot your way only fuels the fire. Mark centers you, but more than that, he amplifies you, and right now, you want them to see it—you want them to see him—and know that none of their whispers will ever come close to touching what you have.

As you approach, his head turns, his eyes locking onto yours instantly. You can see the flicker of concern in his gaze, the way his brows knit together slightly even as he straightens, adjusting his stance as if readying himself for whatever it is you’re about to say. Jeno glances at you too, his curiosity evident, but he steps back without a word, giving you the space you don’t even have to ask for.

Mark’s hand drops from the basketball, hanging loosely at his side as he watches you close the distance between you. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. You come to a stop right in front of him, your heart hammering in your chest as the world seems to shrink to just the two of you.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, you let your hand slip into his, the motion natural, almost automatic. His fingers curl around yours immediately, warm and grounding, his grip firm but careful, like he’s afraid to hold you too tightly. His touch steadies you, the earlier tension in your body melting away as you feel the weight of his presence settle beside you.

His eyes search yours, his brow furrowing slightly, the faintest trace of worry flickering across his face. “Everything okay?” he asks softly, his voice pitched low, just for you.

A corner of his mouth quirks upward as he lets out a quiet laugh. “Thought you were about to slap her then,” he teases, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

You smile faintly, shaking your head as you let the tension in your shoulders ease. “Everything’s fine,” you reply, your voice steady, though the warmth of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. His fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, grounding you, and you let yourself exhale, letting go of the last remnants of irritation. “It is now.”

When you turn back toward the girls, their wide-eyed stares meet you immediately. Aisha and her minions are frozen, their earlier smugness wiped clean, replaced with disbelief and a flicker of something else—something almost uncomfortable. They don’t say a word as you let them see it, the way Mark’s hand fits so easily in yours, the way he holds onto you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. You smile, letting your confidence radiate through the simple gesture, the subtle shift in your posture as you stand taller now.

Let them whisper. Let them watch. You’re done shrinking under their gaze, done letting their shallow judgments chip away at you. This time, you’re the one holding the power, and it feels like reclaiming a piece of yourself you hadn’t realized you’d been giving away. Mark’s hand in yours, his quiet, unwavering presence at your side—it’s all the reminder you need that their words don’t define you. They never did.

“Y/N,” Jeno says, his tone firm but tinged with concern. You glance over your shoulder, and he’s already walking toward you, his gaze flicking between you and the girls. “You okay?” he asks, his voice lower now, but there’s no missing the protective edge in his words. “You need me to do anything?”

You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, it’s okay, Jen,” you reply softly, your voice steady despite the earlier tension. “Really.”

Jeno stops just a step away, his sharp eyes moving back to the girls briefly. His expression darkens, a silent warning flashing in his gaze that’s enough to make them look away. But when he turns back to you and Mark, his entire demeanor shifts. His grin spreads wide, warm and easy, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen from him in a while. It’s genuine, approving, and there’s something almost teasing in the way his eyes linger on Mark’s hand wrapped around yours.

“Wow,” he says quietly, his voice softer now as his glance shifts between the two of you. There’s no judgment, no hesitation—just a kind of quiet acceptance, like he’s starting to realize how much this makes sense, how natural it feels.

Mark nods at him, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Jeno just shakes his head lightly, his grin widening as he takes a step back, giving you both space but keeping his presence nearby, protective as always. His gaze lingers on you for a beat longer before he turns toward the team, his body language calm but still watchful.

“Mark,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but enough to make him turn his head toward you. His eyes find yours immediately, and without hesitation, he leans in, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips hover near your ear, his breath warm and steady against your skin, sending a subtle shiver down your spine. His hand, still wrapped tightly around yours, flexes slightly, like he’s grounding himself in your touch.

The closeness feels almost suffocating in the best way, the air between you heavy with everything he hasn’t said yet. You tilt your head toward him instinctively, your voice soft and intimate as you ask, “You gonna tell the team now?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as his eyes flicker downward, his thumb tracing slow circles against the back of your hand. When he finally nods, it’s slight, almost hesitant, but there’s a weight behind it that makes your chest ache. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to steady himself through the words.

Your grip on his hand tightens, your fingers intertwining with his, holding him there for a moment longer. “You’ve got this,” you whisper, your lips brushing close to his jaw as you speak. The words are quiet, meant just for him, but you can feel the way his body responds—the slight shift of his shoulders, the deep inhale as if he’s taking your reassurance and letting it settle in his chest.

Mark turns slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he lets out a slow, steadying breath. His hand lingers in yours, his thumb still moving in that comforting rhythm, before he finally steps forward. The absence of his touch feels immediate, but the warmth of it lingers on your skin as you watch him straighten his back, his shoulders squaring as he faces the team.

“Hey, guys!” he calls out, his voice louder now, steady despite the weight behind it. You can see the tension in his jaw, the slight quiver in his fingers as he flexes them at his sides, but he stands tall, the air around him shifting as the team begins to gather. You can’t help but follow him with your eyes, your heart tight with both pride and an ache you can’t quite put into words. Even now, as vulnerable as he is, there’s a strength in the way he carries himself, and it’s magnetic.

But you stay rooted in place, your fingers still tingling from where they’d been intertwined with his, knowing that whatever happens next, you’ll be there. Always.

The boys gradually gather around, their movements slowing as they notice the serious set of Mark’s expression. Jeno hangs back slightly, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, already attuned to what’s coming. He doesn’t ask any questions—he doesn’t need to—but you can see the way his jaw tightens, the subtle shift in his stance as he braces himself for Mark’s words. Always one step ahead, always ready to offer quiet support, Jeno’s presence feels like a steadying force even before Mark speaks.

Mark glances at you briefly, the silent connection between you giving him the courage he needs as he begins to speak. “I need to tell you guys something,” he starts, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. “It’s about why I haven’t been playing as much lately.”

The group falls silent, all eyes fixed on him. Chenle and Jaemin exchange quick glances, their expressions curious but concerned. Doyoung steps forward slightly, his face already lined with worry, while Jeno stays close, his presence steady and grounding.

Mark takes another breath, his free hand brushing through his hair before he continues. “I have a heart condition. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” he says, the words heavy as they leave his lips. “It’s something I’ve known about for a while, but I… I didn’t take it seriously at first. I thought I could push through it, play like I always have. But I can’t anymore.” His voice wavers slightly, and you feel the faint tremble in his hand as he grips yours tighter.

The gym is completely silent as Mark’s words hang in the air. The team’s faces reflect a mixture of shock, confusion, and concern. Jaemin’s brows furrow deeply, his usually calm expression giving way to worry. Renjun’s lips part slightly, his eyes wide, flicking between Mark and Jeno, searching for confirmation that what he’s hearing is real. Chenle’s hand comes up to his mouth, his eyes already glistening, and you see him blink rapidly as though trying to keep the tears from falling.

Mark’s voice shakes as he continues, his vulnerability cracking through the usual strength in his tone. “I thought if I ignored it, I could keep going. Keep playing. Basketball’s been everything to me for as long as I can remember—it’s the one thing I’ve always been able to count on. But I can’t anymore. If I push myself, it could…” He swallows hard, the word catching in his throat before he forces it out. “It could kill me.”

The room remains silent, the weight of his confession settling over everyone. Doyoung’s face crumples almost instantly, his emotions clear as his lips part in disbelief. “Son,” he whispers, his voice thick with sadness.

At the same time, Taeyong takes a step forward, his usual stern demeanor replaced by something softer, something almost unfamiliar. “Son,” he says, an unusual fondness in his tone, but he halts when Mark’s gaze snaps to him, cold and deadpan. Taeyong freezes, his mouth closing as if he knows he’s already lost the right to step closer.

Doyoung takes a sharp breath, the sound cutting through the room as his face contorts with distress. “Son,” he whispers again, his voice trembling. He takes a step forward, his hands reaching out slightly, but he hesitates, stopping just short of touching Mark. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Mark’s jaw tightens, his grip on your hand the only thing grounding him. “Because I didn’t want to let anyone down,” he admits. “I didn’t want to let you down. Or the team. Or myself.”

The weight of those words sinks in, and you see Jeno shift beside him. He doesn’t speak, but his hand comes to rest on Mark’s shoulder, the small gesture carrying a silent reassurance that only a brother can give. Mark glances at him briefly, and for a second, you see the tension in his frame ease just slightly.

Jaemin, ever the optimist, steps forward, his voice quiet but firm. “Mark… none of us would ever think that. You know that, right? We’d never think you’re letting us down.”

Chenle sniffs quietly, and when he finally speaks, his voice wavers. “You’re one of the best players we’ve ever had. And not just because you’re good at basketball. It’s you, Mark. You’re… you’re just…” His voice breaks, and he rubs furiously at his eyes, unable to finish.

Renjun places a hand on Chenle’s shoulder, his own expression somber but composed. “We’re a team,” Renjun says firmly, his gaze locking on Mark’s. “And teams stick together. We’ve got you.”

Doyoung’s lips press into a thin line, his emotions barely contained as he steps forward again. “Mark,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I’ve always been proud of you—on and off the court. This doesn’t change that. Not even a little.”

The silence stretches for a moment, until Jeno, ever the steady presence, squeezes Mark’s shoulder again. His voice is calm but firm as he says, “You’re not doing this alone. You’ve got me. You’ve got them. We’ve got you.”

Mark swallows hard, his eyes flickering around the circle of his teammates. His grip on your hand loosens slightly, and after a moment, you let go, stepping back to let them close in around him. The team moves as one, their voices quiet but filled with reassurance as they offer words of encouragement and solidarity.

You see Chenle’s tears fall freely now, his shoulders shaking as Jaemin pats his back lightly. Renjun murmurs something soft to Mark, his voice too low for you to hear, but the small nod Mark gives in response speaks volumes. Jeno doesn’t leave Mark’s side, his protective stance solid, grounding Mark in a way only he can.

Your gaze drifts to the edge of the court, where Taeyong stands alone, watching the scene unfold with an expression that’s difficult to read. For a fleeting moment, there’s a flash of regret in his eyes, but he doesn’t step forward again. He stays where he is, his figure framed by the shadows of the gym, a silent

You couldn’t help the sting of tears pricking at your own eyes as you watched the scene unfold. The vulnerability in Mark’s confession, the way his teammates rally around him, the unspoken love and respect in every movement—it’s overwhelming. 

The gym echoes with the distant creak of the heavy double doors as the last of the team filters out, their chatter fading into the hallway. The once-bustling court is eerily quiet now, the air heavy with everything left unsaid. Mark stands near the edge of the court, his shoulders slightly slumped, the tension of the day etched into his frame. Beside him, Jeno adjusts his bag strap, his focus on the exit as he steps toward it.

Just as they both reach the door to leave, Doyoung’s voice cuts through the silence, firm but gentle. “Mark. Wait.”

Mark pauses mid-step, his head tilting slightly as he looks over his shoulder. His brows furrow faintly, his exhaustion evident in the way his stance wavers for a moment before he turns fully to face his uncle.

Jeno, sensing the shift in tone, glances back briefly but doesn’t stop moving. His hand presses against the door, fingers curling around the cool metal. Behind him, Doyoung hesitates, his gaze flickering between his two nephews. There’s a visible pause, the air around him thick with indecision as his lips part, then press together again. His expression softens slightly, a mix of something unreadable—maybe uncertainty, maybe regret—before his voice cuts through the quiet, sharper this time.

“Jeno. You too.”

Jeno turns slowly, his brows furrowing as he processes the unusual request. He’s not used to this—being included, being needed in a moment like this. His gaze flickers to Mark, who offers the faintest nod, before he makes his way back toward them, his steps deliberate, his shoulders tense.

Doyoung steps closer, his arms crossed, but his expression is open, softer than usual. “I just wanted to talk to you both. This isn’t something I can say to the team—it’s for you two.” His voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of emotion that gives his words weight.

Mark lifts his head, meeting Doyoung’s gaze. “What is it?”

The gym feels cavernous now, the silence amplifying every breath, every subtle movement. Doyoung stands in front of his nephews, his arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s trying to shield himself from the weight of the moment. His eyes flicker between Mark and Jeno, lingering longer than usual, as if searching for the right words.

“This isn’t just about basketball,” he begins, his voice quieter than usual but steady. He takes a step closer, his stance softening as his gaze lands on Mark first. “What you’ve been carrying, Mark—it’s more than anyone your age should have to deal with. Between the expectations, the pressure, and everything with… your dad…” Doyoung pauses, exhaling deeply. “It’s a lot. I know you’ve felt like you had to take it all on alone, but you don’t have to. Not anymore.”

Mark swallows hard, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders drop slightly, like a part of him is finally allowing himself to believe the words.

Doyoung turns his attention to Jeno, his expression shifting into something softer, almost hesitant. “And you, Jeno. You’ve been carrying your own weight, haven’t you? I see the way you look out for Mark, the way you protect him—whether it’s from himself, from others, or from all the crap life throws at him. You don’t just step up when someone asks you to. You do it because you care. Because you’re loyal. And it’s not just about Mark. You’ve been trying to hold this family together in your own way, even if you don’t realize it.”

Jeno’s brow furrows slightly, his posture stiffening. “I don’t know about all that,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just do what I can.”

Doyoung shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s more than that. It’s the way you show up. For Mark. For everyone around you. And I want you to know, Jeno—I’m proud of you.”

The words land heavily, and Jeno’s head snaps up, his eyes widening slightly as if he didn’t hear right the first time. He blinks, looking away quickly, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Uh… thanks, I guess,” he mumbles, his voice quieter than usual. He glances at Mark, who gives him a small, knowing smile.

“You don’t hear it enough,” Doyoung says, his tone firm. “And that’s on me. But I see you, Jeno. I see the man you’re becoming. And you need to hear that I’m proud of you. Both of you.”

Mark looks up at that, his eyes meeting Jeno’s briefly before flickering back to Doyoung. There’s a weight to his gaze, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid.

“You both grew up missing pieces you should’ve had. One of you had your dad, and the other didn’t, but somehow his absence—and all the toxic ways he left his mark—still linger in both your lives. It’s all tangled up in ways neither of you can really escape.” Doyoung continues, his voice trembling slightly. “And I know… I know I can’t change the past. I can’t erase your Dad, the gaps he’s left in your lives. But you’ve built something for yourselves despite all of that. You’ve stayed close, stayed strong—and that’s because of the two of you, not him.”

Mark’s jaw tightens, his gaze fixed on the floor as if trying to keep his emotions in check. He swallows hard before looking up, his voice low and rough. “It doesn’t feel like strength most of the time,” he admits, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “It feels like we’re just… surviving. Like we’ve spent our whole lives cleaning up his mess.”

Jeno shifts beside him, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression hardens for a moment, but the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes is unmistakable. “Surviving is strength,” he says, his tone sharper than he intends. “He didn’t give us much of a choice, did he? We had to figure it out on our own.”

But then Jeno’s gaze softens as it lands on Mark, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He exhales slowly, his voice quieter now. “…But you’ve had it worse,” he says, almost as if admitting it to himself. “You grew up with all of his bullshit right in your face, having to deal with his absence and his neglect. I didn’t, well, not in the same way that you did.” His arms drop to his sides, and he shakes his head, glancing away briefly before looking back at Mark.

Mark lifts his eyes to meet Jeno’s, his expression unreadable at first. The words sink in, settling somewhere deep inside him, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. He feels the weight of Jeno’s gaze, the honesty in his voice, and it stirs something raw in his chest.

He exhales slowly, shaking his head as his lips press into a tight line. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low and measured. “Maybe I had it worse in some ways. But it’s not like you came out of this unscathed, Jeno. He screwed both of us over, just… differently.”

The moment feels lighter for a second, but Doyoung’s next words pull them back into the gravity of the conversation. “You’ve both turned out better than anyone had the right to expect, considering what you’ve been through. And I’m proud of that. I’m proud of you.”

The air between them shifts, a subtle but significant softening. Mark and Jeno exchange a look, one of mutual understanding, before their attention returns to Doyoung.

As the three of them stand there, unaware of the figure lingering outside the gym doors, Taeyong leans against the frame, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression is unreadable, but the shadows cast over his face betray the regret etched into his features. He doesn’t step forward, doesn’t interrupt. He simply watches, the distance between him and his sons feeling more like a chasm than ever before.

──────────────────────────────

The mirror reflects two flawless versions of yourselves—both of you radiating confidence and allure in a way that makes the room feel electric. You smooth down the fabric of your dress, a satin black slip that clings perfectly to your figure, its midnight black hue shimmering faintly under the soft lighting. Karina stands beside you, her dress equally stunning—a deep emerald green that compliments her skin tone, the neckline daring and framed by her loose, effortless waves. You both look undeniably good, your makeup sharp and glowing, as if the night was already yours before even stepping out the door.

“God, we’re so hot,” Karina laughs, tilting her head slightly as she adjusts her pose, her phone capturing endless selfies. You laugh softly, your fingers grazing your neck as you glance at your reflection again, momentarily distracted by your thoughts. You fiddle with your phone in your hand, biting your lip in contemplation. Mark’s been on your mind all evening, especially after everything that happened. The idea of sending him a picture flutters into your thoughts—one part wanting to show him how good you look tonight, the other part… well, maybe to remind him of what he still lingers on.

Finally, you give in, leaning subtly toward the mirror to snap a single shot. You tilt your head, letting the delicate strap of your dress slide slightly off your shoulder in a way that feels artfully careless. After a moment of hesitation, you attach the image to the message and hit send, your heart skipping a beat as you wait for his reaction. It doesn’t take long for your phone to buzz.

“Wait, so Mark has a heart condition?” Karina asks, her voice slicing through the soft hum of the playlist you’d put on earlier. Her words pull your gaze from your phone, where Mark’s latest text had left a smile tugging at your lips. She’s standing by the mirror, adjusting her hair with practiced ease. Her eyes meet yours through the reflection, eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity.

“Yeah,” you say softly, glancing back down at your phone. “He does. And… it’s been hard on him. He’s upset about it, and I can tell it’s eating at him, even when he tries to act like it’s not.”

Karina turns, leaning a hip against the counter as her full attention shifts to you. Her lips curve into a small smile—gentle but knowing. “Of course he’s upset. It’s a lot to deal with. But you’ll be there for him, won’t you?” Her tone is light, but there’s an underlying seriousness in her question, like she already knows the answer.

“Always,” you reply without hesitation, your fingers idly brushing against the strap of your dress to adjust it. “I’ll always be there for him.”

Karina hums, studying you with a look that feels just a little too perceptive. “I have to say… you two have been spending a lot of time together lately. Are we just going to ignore the fact that you seem very close again?”” She pauses, her grin widening as she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “But I don’t hear a single sound from your room when he’s over, so either he’s fucking you so hard you can’t even make a noise…”

You gasp, your cheeks heating instantly. “We haven’t been having sex!” you protest, but Karina only raises an eyebrow, her skepticism loud and clear. You throw your hands up in defense. “Okay, fine! I gave him one blowjob, but that’s it!” Her smirk widens, and you sigh. “It only happened because, when we were still together, I lost a game, and my punishment was to, well… you know.” You hesitate, glancing at her pointed look before blurting out, “And we broke up the next day, but I couldn’t break the damn promise!”

Karina bursts into laughter, her hand flying to her stomach as she doubles over dramatically. “You ‘couldn’t break the promise’?” she repeats, her voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, my god, you’re unbelievable. That’s the dumbest—and most you—thing I’ve ever heard. You broke up, but you still felt obligated to… follow through?”

She wipes a fake tear from her eye, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re telling me you were single, yet you still gave him a goodbye blowjob out of sportsmanship? I can’t—this is too much.”

You glare at her, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “It wasn’t like that,” you mutter defensively, though you can feel your face burning.

Karina grins, stepping closer to throw her arm around your shoulders. “Oh, babe, it was exactly like that. You’re too loyal for your own good. But hey, at least you kept your word, right?” She winks, her teasing relentless. “Mark must’ve been devastated losing you and the perks.”

“Shut up,” you snap playfully, rolling your eyes. “It’s different this time with us.”

Karina smirks, tilting her head to the side as she eyes you. “Different how? Like ‘we’re taking things slow and mature’ different? Or ‘we’re seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off but pretending it’s about feelings’ different?”

You groan, shoving her shoulder lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to gauge the vibe here,” she teases, raising her hands in mock surrender. 

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you lean against the counter beside her, your shoulders brushing. The teasing gives way to a more vulnerable quiet between you as you exhale slowly. “It feels more emotional between us now,” you admit, your voice softer, more contemplative. “It’s like… we’re actually talking. Like, really talking. He’s opening up to me about things he’s never talked about before, and I’m doing the same. And, believe it or not…” You pause, your lips curving into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “We haven’t even had sex since the breakup.”

Karina freezes mid-pose, her mouth falling open slightly. She turns to you with an expression that’s part disbelief, part amusement. “You haven’t had sex? Not even once?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “No, not even once. Sure, I can count four different occasions where it nearly happened but it didn’t! That’s so unlike us. And honestly? That shocks me. I thought I’d be the one to break first, but… I haven’t.”

Karina narrows her eyes at you, her teasing grin making a comeback. “What happened to the girl who swore she couldn’t resist going without his cock for more than a day? Who is this new woman standing in front of me?”

You snort, giving her shoulder a playful shove. “I’m evolving, okay? Growth.”

Karina raises a skeptical brow, her lips twitching in amusement as she grabs her bag from the bed. “We’ll see about that. I bet the second you see Mark, you’ll forget all about this so-called growth and be all over him.”

You roll your eyes, following her to the door, grabbing your keys and clutch on the way. “Let’s just get to Jeno’s before you start placing bets on my life choices.”

The two of you head down the hall of your apartment building, your laughter echoing softly in the quiet. Karina adjusts her dress as you step outside, the night air cool against your skin. “You call the ride?” she asks, glancing over at you.

“Already on the way,” you reply, the distant hum of city sounds filling the space between you. Moments later, a sleek car pulls up to the curb, and you both slide in, the buzz of anticipation swirling in the air.

The drive to Jeno’s feels light, Karina scrolling through her phone while you stare out the window, your thoughts drifting. The air smells faintly of bonfires and fresh grass as you step out of the car, the distant thrum of music seeping through the cracks of Jeno’s grand house. The last time you were here, everything changed—shifts in relationships, realizations, breaking points. But tonight feels different. As you approach the house, illuminated by soft golden lights strung across the patio, you feel something lighter, something that settles into you like peace.

Inside, the warmth and noise hit you all at once. People are sprawled across the expansive living room, some leaning lazily against counters, others clutching red Solo cups as they sway to the low hum of music. A chandelier above glimmers like a starburst, casting flickering patterns across polished floors and sleek furniture. The smell of spilled beer and faint vanilla candles mixes with laughter and the occasional clink of glasses.

Jeno is leaning against the kitchen island when you see him, his black shirt unbuttoned slightly, the casual chaos of his hair making him look effortlessly cool. His eyes lock onto you the moment you walk in, but instead of looking at your face, they travel downward, tracing every curve and detail of your outfit. His brows raise slightly, and he lets out a soft, appreciative whistle.

“Woah,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

You laugh, shaking your head as you approach him. “Like it?”

“If you and Mark don’t sort out whatever the fuck is going on between you,” he drawls, his grin widening, “then I’m allowed to bend you over the table and finish what he clearly hasn’t started.”

You roll your eyes, though your lips tug into a smirk. “You can still do that,” you counter, your tone light but daring. “Doesn’t have to have anything to do with Mark.”

Karina doesn’t even blink at the exchange; she just arches a perfectly sculpted brow, her expression amused but knowing. “You two,” she mutters, shaking her head with a wry smile. “Always the same.” Her words carry a hint of exasperation, but it’s obvious she isn’t taking it seriously. No one ever did. You and Jeno had this unspoken, flirtatious rapport, one that people had stopped questioning long ago. It was a game you both played—a harmless, teasing dance that never meant anything deeper. 

Her heels click softly against the polished floor as she makes her way toward you both. Every movement of hers is deliberate—hips swaying just enough, her emerald-green dress clinging to her figure like a second skin. Her confidence radiates as her sharp eyes land on Jeno, who doesn’t miss a beat. His lips curl into a smirk that’s half invitation, half dare, his hand casually adjusting the chain at his neck as his gaze sweeps over her like he’s taking in every detail.

“Don’t be jealous, Rina,” Jeno murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans in closer, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it’s meant to unravel her. His eyes flicker briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes, dark and full of intent. The way he moves is subtle but purposeful—like a predator closing in on its prey, confident in the effect he’s having.

Karina raises a brow, her red-painted lips curving into a slow smirk. Her hand finds her hip, the smooth fabric of her dress gliding beneath her palm as she tilts her head. “Jealous?” she echoes, her tone clipped but dripping with amusement. “Please.”

Jeno’s laugh is low, a deep rumble that vibrates in his chest. His arm tightens around her shoulder, his fingers brushing bare skin just beneath the strap of her dress. The casual way he holds her contrasts sharply with the intensity in his eyes as he tilts his head down, bringing his face closer to hers. His breath is warm, the scent of his cologne sharp and lingering in the space between them. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk, yet rough enough to scrape against her defenses. “Admit it—you only want my eyes on you.”

Your breath hitches, a soft gasp escaping before you can catch it. The air feels heavy now, charged with a tension that’s both magnetic and suffocating. The teasing line between them blurs, and you feel your chest tighten at the intimacy in their exchange. Jeno had changed, right? He doesn’t play with people anymore—you know that. He doesn’t cross lines, doesn’t toy with emotions. But the way he’s looking at Karina right now, like she’s the only person in the room, sends a ripple of confusion and something sharper—something closer to unease—through you.

Wasn’t Jeno seeing Mark’s best friend? You think about the way they were always together, the quiet smiles exchanged in corners of rooms, the way she seemed to be a constant presence in his life. What is he doing? You’re not sure what unsettles you more—the possibility that he’s stepping into murky waters or the fact that you don’t want to stop him.

Because, god, it’s undeniably hot. There’s something electric about watching them—two hot and attractive people. Jeno’s fingers flex against Karina’s shoulder, grounding and deliberate, as if testing the waters. His smirk deepens, his gaze flicking between Karina’s eyes and lips, his head tilting slightly as if daring her to rise to his challenge. “You talk a big game,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and teasing, edged with a quiet confidence. “But I don’t think you’re ready for me.”

Karina’s brow arches sharply, her lips curling into a sly, knowing grin. She steps closer, her movement fluid and commanding, closing the distance between them until there’s barely a breath of space left. Her hand slides up slowly, fingers grazing the cool chain around his neck before curling around it. She tugs lightly, her eyes never leaving his, the challenge in her gaze unmistakable. “Ready for you?” she says softly, her voice low and edged with playful disdain. “Jeno, if I wanted you, you’d already be mine.”

The smirk on Jeno’s face deepens, his expression darkening with something primal. His free hand slides from her shoulder to her waist, his fingers splaying against the curve of her back, holding her firmly against him. His thumb brushes over the fabric of her dress, the small motion deliberate, sending shivers down your spine even from where you’re standing. His voice drops to a near growl, the sound rough and full of heat. “Oh yeah?” he murmurs, his lips just a breath away from hers. “Prove it.”

Before you can intervene with a sarcastic comment of your own, Karina tilts her head and leans in, her lips brushing against his. It’s brief at first, teasing, like she’s testing the waters, but when Jeno doesn’t pull back—in fact, he leans in—Karina presses her lips fully to his, her hand tightening on the chain she’s been playing with.

When Karina pulls away, her lips curve into a victorious smile, her thumb brushing the corner of Jeno’s mouth with a playful delicacy, as if wiping away an invisible smudge. “Told you,” she says smoothly, her gaze holding his, daring him to counter her confidence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, but you don’t interrupt, crossing your arms as you watch the moment unfold with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. Karina’s fingers stay curled around the chain at Jeno’s neck as their lips clash again, harder this time—hungry and unapologetic, the air between them charged with rough desperation. There’s no hesitation in their movements, no softness, just raw energy that draws your eyes like a magnet.

Jeno doesn’t pull back. His hand grips her waist firmly, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress as he tugs her closer, their bodies pressing together in a way that makes the air in the room feel heavier. His other hand moves to cup the back of her neck, his hold firm, possessive. The angle of his jaw shifts as his lips press harder against hers, the kiss growing almost frantic, a battle for control that neither seems willing to lose.

Almost simultaneously, their gazes shift to you. It’s not subtle— Karina’s lips quirk into a knowing smile, her head still tilted as though she’s daring you to react. Jeno just smirks, the sharpness in his expression softening slightly. He doesn’t make the comment you expect—a sly invitation to join in, the usual quip he’d toss your way without hesitation.

Instead, the silence stretches for a beat too long, and you let out a quiet gasp, breaking it. “I thought you were with Mark’s best friend?” you ask, your voice light but laced with genuine curiosity. 

Jeno shrugs, his hand finally dropping from Karina’s waist as he steps back slightly. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before—a flicker of something unspoken. Sadness? Dismissal? It’s hard to place, but it’s enough to make you hesitate. “Well, I’m not,” he says simply, his tone clipped, the kind that warns you not to push further.

Karina, ever perceptive, tilts her head, watching him closely. “That’s new,” she murmurs, though her voice isn’t teasing this time.

Jeno’s shoulders relax slightly, and he forces a grin back onto his face, the sharpness returning as if to push the moment away. “Anyway,” he says, turning to you both. “Who’s ready to get completely fucked up?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, but Karina’s grin returns almost instantly. “Always,” she says, her confidence unwavering as she adjusts her dress.

Jeno pulls a small bag from his pocket, the faint sheen of its contents catching the low, golden party lights. “You two are in for a treat,” he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with a quiet confidence that sends a shiver through you. His fingers curl around the edge of the bag, tipping it just enough to let a few muted-colored pills spill into his palm. The smirk on his lips is teasing, daring, as his gaze flicks between you and Karina.

Karina doesn’t even blink. She snatches one between two manicured fingers, rolling it thoughtfully before popping it into her mouth. “Easy,” she says with a grin, chasing it down with a generous sip of her drink. Her eyes flash to yours, the corner of her lips curling mischievously. “Come on, we’re not driving tonight. No excuses.”

Jeno watches your hesitation, the pill resting between your fingers as you turn it over, biting your lip in quiet contemplation. His smirk sharpens, something teasing and confident flashing in his eyes. Without a word, he steps closer, closing the small distance between you. His presence feels overwhelming, his cologne mixing with the electric hum in the air.

“Need some help?” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that sends a shiver down your spine. Before you can respond, he plucks the pill from your fingers with a deft motion, holding it delicately between his own. He tilts his head, his lips quirking into that ever-present smirk, and you watch, entranced, as he lifts the pill to your lips.

“Open,” he says simply, his tone equal parts playful and commanding.

You hesitate for half a second, your breath catching as you look up at him. But the anticipation, the weight of his gaze, and the steady buzz of the party around you make it impossible to resist. Slowly, you part your lips, your eyes never leaving his.

Jeno slips the pill onto your tongue with a deliberate slowness, his fingertips brushing your bottom lip in a way that feels entirely too intentional. The contact is brief but electrifying, the weight of it settling somewhere deep in your chest. You swallow quickly, the pill going down easily, but the heat of his touch lingers far longer.

“There we go,” Jeno says, his voice quieter now, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more intimate. His hand lingers for a moment, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as if to check if the pill’s really gone—or maybe just to leave you breathless.

Karina snorts beside you, breaking the spell. “Jesus, Jeno. Are you seducing her into taking it?”

“Maybe,” he replies smoothly, leaning back with a laugh, his fingers running through his hair as he follows suit, popping one himself and chasing it with a lazy swig of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.

The effect creeps in slowly, like a warm tide pulling you under. The party around you begins to shift, the music deeper, richer, vibrating through your chest like a heartbeat. The lights seem softer yet more vivid, every flicker and hue painting the room in golden tones that feel almost unreal. Laughter and voices blur together into a soothing, rhythmic hum, the buzz settling into your body like a familiar warmth.

Karina’s laugh cuts through the haze, drawing your attention. She leans closer to you, her arm brushing yours, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Feeling it yet?” she asks, her voice soft but full of mischief.

“Just starting,” you admit, the edges of your thoughts beginning to soften, your body sinking deeper into the moment. You glance over at Jeno, whose gaze lingers on you with a quiet intensity, his smirk turning sharper as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“Good,” Jeno murmurs, his voice a low rumble that seems to reverberate through the charged air between the three of you. He steps closer, his presence magnetic and undeniable, the heat of his proximity making your breath hitch. Karina tilts her head, her lips parting slightly as she watches him, her expression unreadable but filled with a confidence that makes the moment feel even more intense. The tension between them crackles, thick and palpable, drawing you in even as your chest tightens.

Jeno leans back against the counter, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding as always. “You know I love when you’re around,” he starts, his voice teasing but edged with something firmer. His dark eyes flick over you, lingering just long enough to make you feel self-conscious. “But how can you come to the party looking like that and you’re not even trying to find Mark? Why are you here with me and Karina?”

You laugh, trying to deflect the tension curling in the air. “I like being around you both?” you say lightly, but even you can hear the waver in your tone.

Jeno isn’t buying it. His grin sharpens, his gaze unwavering as he straightens slightly, his tone turning more authoritative. “Go and find Mark,” he says firmly, like it’s not a suggestion but an order.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding harder as his words settle over you. The weight of them presses down, and you find yourself nodding despite the unease twisting in your chest. “Fine, I’m going,” you mutter, stepping back slightly. Your voice is softer than you mean for it to be, and you glance between the two of them, your pulse racing. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Jeno doesn’t move, his gaze still fixed on you. His dark eyes flicker briefly, something unreadable flashing in them before his grin returns—sharp, knowing. His hand brushes against Karina’s waist casually, the motion almost imperceptible, yet it carries a weight that makes your stomach churn. “Good,” he says simply, his voice low and steady, dripping with something unspoken.

Karina’s gaze softens as she looks at you, her lips curving into a knowing smile that sends a pang through your chest. “Go get him,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with amusement but not unkind. There’s something in her tone, an unspoken understanding that leaves you both comforted and slightly unsettled.

You nod faintly, turning away and slipping through the crowd. The distant thrum of the music fills your ears as you make your way toward the back of the house, the weight of their gazes lingering on your back. You try to shake it off, focus on Mark, but the moment feels etched into your skin, lingering like an unfinished sentence.

The music grows louder as you weave through the thrumming party, every bass drop vibrating in your chest and blending with the growing buzz in your head. The pill Jeno had given you earlier is starting to work its way through your system, softening the edges of the world around you. Colors feel more vivid, the laughter and voices blending into a surreal hum that makes everything feel weightless. Your body feels lighter, like you’re gliding rather than walking, but your focus is sharp—trained on finding Mark.

You follow the location he sent you, his message still fresh in your mind, until you reach the back of the house. The room you enter is quieter than the main party, dimly lit with soft yellow light that pools around the corners. Your steps falter as you spot him, his broad shoulders framed against the glow of the room. He hasn’t seen you yet; his back is to you, and he’s leaning against a high table with a drink in hand. Chenle and Donghyuck are flanking him, their easy laughter filling the space.

Mark looks relaxed, or at least he’s trying to. His stance is casual, his head tilted slightly as he listens to Donghyuck animatedly recount something you can’t quite hear over the music. But you can tell—it’s all a mask. The tension in his shoulders is evident even from here, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side. You start to move toward him, your heart pounding faster now—not from the drugs, but from the magnetic pull you always feel when he’s near.

Then you hear your name.

You freeze mid-step, your breath hitching as your ears hone in on Chenle’s voice.

“I don’t get it,” Chenle says, his tone low but not malicious. He glances at Mark, his expression both concerned and confused. “Why are you so hung up on her, man? I mean, she broke up with you, didn’t she? And… I don’t know. It just seems like she’s not fully in it. Like she’s not committed.”

Your stomach twists, the words hitting you harder than they should. The high in your veins does nothing to soften the sting, and you can feel your pulse pounding in your ears.

Mark doesn’t respond right away, taking a slow sip from his drink before setting it down on the table with a deliberate clink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says evenly, his voice low but firm. “Y/N’s been there for me through everything. She’s committed, more than anyone else ever has been.”

“Then why’d she leave?” Donghyuck interjects, his tone sharper but not unkind. “I’m just saying, Mark, maybe Chenle has a point. You’re putting a lot on her. Are you sure she can handle it?”

Your chest tightens, the weight of their words pressing into you like a stone sinking in water. For a fleeting second, you consider stepping forward, announcing your presence, and shutting down the conversation. But your feet stay rooted to the spot, your body buzzing with a tangled mix of anger, hurt, and the sharp edge of the drug coursing through you. Instead, you slowly step back, slipping further into the shadows as the ache in your chest grows heavier.

You take a moment to breathe, but it feels futile. The high makes everything sharper—every word you overheard echoing in your head, louder, crueler, twisting and cutting deeper with each replay. Your back presses against the wall as your trembling hands rise to cover your face, trying to block out the noise in your mind. For a moment, you want to run, to slip out the back door and vanish into the night, leaving the whispers and unbearable weight behind. But there’s that part of you—that stubborn, unrelenting part—that refuses to walk away from Mark. Not yet. Not again. 

You stay where you are, rooted in place, the ache in your chest steady but not unbearable. And you’re glad you do, because the next thing you hear changes everything.

“Enough,” Mark’s voice cuts through the low buzz of conversation like a blade. There’s a tension in his tone you rarely hear, sharp and commanding. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you talk about her like that.”

A pause follows, heavy and uncertain, before Chenle’s hesitant voice breaks through. “Mark, I didn’t mean it like—”

“No,” Mark interrupts, his voice firm now. “You meant it exactly how it sounded. And I get it—you’re trying to look out for me, and I appreciate that, but you don’t know her like I do. She’s trying, Chenle. She’s been through more than you could imagine, and she doesn’t deserve to be talked about like she’s not enough. She is. More than enough.”

His words hit you like a wave, warm and overwhelming. Your heart swells, the heaviness in your chest momentarily lifting as his voice softens, turning raw. “She’s everything to me,” he adds quietly. “And if you can’t understand that, then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

You press your palm against your mouth, trying to hold in the sob that threatens to escape. Tears prick at your eyes, this time not from hurt but from the sheer weight of his words. He’s defending you—fiercely, unapologetically—and it feels like a balm on a wound you didn’t realize had cut so deep.

But as much as his words warm your heart, the reality of the situation still stings. You know how awkward it would be if they realized you’d overheard the entire conversation, and a part of you can’t shake the lingering shame of Chenle’s comment. The words, sharp and careless, had burrowed into your mind before Mark could pull them out.

So, despite the comfort Mark’s defense brings, you decide to leave. You step back further into the shadows, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your tears at bay as you slip toward the exit. The sound of laughter and music grows fainter behind you, muted by the ache in your chest.

As you make your way toward the door, the tears you tried so hard to suppress spill free, tracing hot trails down your face. You swipe at them quickly, not wanting anyone to notice, but the sadness feels relentless, bubbling up faster than you can control.

Why is it always like this with Mark? you wonder bitterly. Whenever things feel good—when the rhythm between you feels steady—something always comes along to break it. Chenle’s words replay in your mind, cruel and undeniable: Mark deserves someone who can meet him halfway.

The sting of it runs deeper than it should, and you hate that it feels so true. Not because you don’t care, but because you’ve always been scared you’d never be enough for him, not really. You press your hand against your chest, willing yourself to breathe, to push the hurt down long enough to remind yourself of why you’re here.

You came to see Mark tonight. To be there for him. But right now, the ache in your chest is too raw, the weight of it too much. You need space to steady yourself, to gather your courage before you can face him again. You know you’ll be okay—you always are, eventually—but tonight, you need a moment to yourself.

The party hums around you, the distant thrum of bass-heavy music vibrating through the floor, blending with the sound of laughter and muffled conversation. The air feels thick and hazy, amplified by the lingering ache in your chest and the sharp edge of everything you’ve overheard tonight. Your steps are slow, almost reluctant, as you weave through the crowd, your vision still slightly blurred by the tears you’ve yet to fully wipe away.

And then you spot him—Jeno, one of the few people who always makes you feel grounded, no matter how chaotic things get. He’s tucked into a quieter corner of the party, lounging on a couch with one arm draped lazily along the backrest and a joint held loosely between his fingers. The faint glow of a nearby lamp casts a warm light over his sharp jawline and tousled hair, accentuating the effortless confidence in his posture. A faint smirk plays on his lips as he takes a slow drag, exhaling a stream of smoke that curls upward, blending with the muted haze of the room. His gaze flickers idly across the party before it lands on you, softening slightly as it meets yours.

For a moment, his smirk falters, his eyes narrowing slightly as they meet yours. You know he notices the redness around your eyes, the faint shimmer of tears threatening to fall. But he doesn’t call attention to it. Instead, he shifts slightly, patting the space beside him in silent invitation.

You sink onto the couch without hesitation, your body pressing into the cushions as you try to steady your breath. Jeno leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he takes another drag from the joint. The smell of smoke and faint cologne clings to him, comforting in its familiarity.

Jeno notices the tears spilling out in an uncontrollable manner. His body tenses briefly, and then he moves, the gesture slow and deliberate. His free hand reaches out, his knuckles brushing lightly against your cheek, wiping away the tears with surprising gentleness. His touch lingers for a moment, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a way that words couldn’t.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and soothing. “None of that, okay?”

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as his gaze locks onto yours. The way he looks at you—steady, unwavering, and far softer than you expected—makes your chest ache in a different way. His thumb grazes your cheekbone, catching another tear before it can fall.

“Here,” he says quietly, lifting the plastic cup back to your lips. “Drink. It’ll help.”

You hesitate for a moment but eventually part your lips, letting him tilt the cup just enough for the cool liquid to touch your tongue. The alcohol burns slightly as it slides down, but it’s a welcome distraction, a way to dull the sharp edges of your emotions.

You let yourself lean closer, your head resting lightly on Jeno’s shoulder. He glances down at you, his movements slowing, his smirk softening as his gaze flickers over your face. His thumb brushes against your shoulder—a small, grounding gesture that feels more comforting than anything else. “Comfortable?” he asks quietly, his voice low and warm, the teasing edge in his tone softened by something gentler.

“Very,” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. A faint smile curves your lips, but it falters almost immediately as another tear escapes, trailing down your cheek. His eyes narrow slightly, catching the movement, and without hesitation, Jeno’s free hand moves. His knuckles brush lightly against your skin, wiping it away with a touch so delicate it makes your breath hitch. His gaze lingers on yours, steady and warm, before his lips curve into a soft, wide smile that feels grounding in a way words couldn’t.

“Pretty girls shouldn’t cry,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words settle over you like a balm. His thumb lingers just beneath your eye, catching another tear before it can fall, the tenderness in his movements catching you off guard.

You huff out a shaky laugh, your cheeks warming slightly as you glance away. “You can’t just say things like that,” you murmur, the corner of your lips tugging upward despite the weight in your chest.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich as his arm tightens around your back. “I can and I just did,” he murmurs, his tone playful but steady. “It’s part of the job.”

“What job?” you ask, glancing up at him, your brow arching slightly.

“Making you smile,” he says simply, his gaze dropping to meet yours. His voice softens, a warmth threading through it as he adds, “You’ve got a pretty smile. You should show it off more.”

Your chest tightens, but this time it’s not from sadness. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to fight the small grin threatening to form, but his words have already done their work. For the first time tonight, the ache in your chest loosens, replaced by a flicker of something softer.

Jeno’s hand moves again, his knuckles brushing gently against your cheek as if daring another tear to fall. “There it is,” he murmurs, his lips tugging into a faint smile of his own. “Told you. Prettiest smile in the room.”

You exhale a quiet laugh, the sound shaky but genuine as you let your head fall back against his shoulder. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the faint smoke clinging to his clothes, grounds you in the moment. The party hums in the background, distant and insignificant compared to the calm he anchors you in.

Jeno lets the quiet hang for a moment, his gaze steady on you, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your shoulder. “I’m not complaining,” he starts, his voice light, though there’s an edge of curiosity beneath it. “I love having you here. But…” He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you here? I was expecting Mark to be balls deep inside of you right about now.” 

“I…” Your voice cracks, breaking under the weight of everything you’ve been holding in. “I just needed a minute, okay?” The words come out shakier than you intend, trembling with the emotions you can’t seem to control. “I couldn’t face him like this.”

Jeno shifts slightly, turning toward you, his body language open but attentive. “A minute from what?” he asks, though there’s no judgment in his tone—just curiosity laced with concern. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

You exhale shakily, your chest tightening at the memory. “No. Not exactly,” you murmur. “I overheard Chenle talking about me… about us. It wasn’t great.”

Jeno’s expression sharpens, his jaw tightening slightly. “What did he say?” His voice is calm, but you can feel the subtle tension in it, the way his posture shifts as if readying himself for action.

“It’s not important,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “Mark defended me. But still…” You trail off, your voice faltering as you search for the right words. “It just hit harder than I expected. Like… maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jeno interrupts firmly, his tone cutting but not unkind. His hand slides to your upper back, grounding you with a steady touch. “You’re not just anything. Don’t let Chenle or anyone else make you doubt that.”

His words make your throat tighten, and you swallow hard, trying to push past the lump rising there. “I didn’t want to ruin the night,” you admit softly. “I thought maybe giving myself some space would help.”

Jeno leans back slightly, studying you with a look that’s both exasperated and fond. “You think running off is gonna fix things?” he asks, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. “Mark’s over there probably wondering where the hell you went.”

His words make your throat tighten, and you swallow hard, trying to push past the lump rising there. “I’m not running off,” you reply quickly, your voice quiet but firm. “I just… I needed to get away for a second. To breathe. It’s a lot sometimes, you know? I’ll find him. I will. I just couldn’t face all of them right after hearing that.”

Jeno studies you for a moment, his expression softening as he takes in the sheen of tears still clinging to your lashes. He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and nods. “Yeah, I get it,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Sometimes it’s too much. People say things, and it gets in your head. You just need a second to clear it out.”

You glance at him, your chest loosening a little at the understanding in his tone. “Exactly,” you murmur, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “But I’ll go back to him. I came here to see him, and I’m not going to let this… whatever this is, stop me. I just needed a minute to remind myself why I’m doing this.”

Jeno leans back again, letting out a soft, thoughtful hum. His gaze lingers on you, sharp but not unkind, and his lips twitch into the beginnings of a smirk. “Good. That’s good,” he says, nodding slowly. “But maybe don’t make him wait too long, yeah? He’s probably over there thinking he did something wrong. You know how he is.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you glance toward the crowded room. “You’re right,” you admit, though the thought makes your chest tighten all over again. “He doesn’t deserve to feel like that.”

But Jeno’s expression shifts, his tone suddenly sharper. “I think you’re stupid, though,” he says bluntly.

“Jen?” you pout, tilting your head to look at him, your voice laced with half-hearted protest.

He doesn’t hold back. “I just think breaking up with him wasn’t a good idea. You’re making excuses and running away when it gets too much. You and Mark? You’re destined to be together, and you know it. So you need to sort yourself the fuck out.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you huff softly in defeat, unable to find anything to say in response. He wasn’t wrong, and the truth of it made you sink deeper into his side. You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against his shoulder as a wave of frustration and guilt washed over you. Jeno didn’t sugarcoat things—he never had—and though his bluntness stung, there was an odd comfort in how direct he was. Still, it didn’t make his words any easier to swallow.

“You’re a dumbass,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “Disrespecting my brother like that.”

You shook your head, biting back a small smile as you turned your face away. Jeno’s honesty was brutal, but there was something endearing about it, something that reminded you why you’d always appreciated him, even when he pushed too hard. You ignored the sharp edges of his words, choosing instead to focus on the fact that Mark and Jeno were finally embracing their bond.

Their relationship hadn’t always been this strong, but now? There was no denying the love and connection between them. It suited them—the way they teased each other, supported each other, and finally stood side by side as brothers. They’d come such a long way, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride watching them grow into this version of themselves.

“You’re smiling,” Jeno said suddenly, his tone suspicious as he glanced down at you.

You didn’t bother denying it. “I’m just thinking about you and Mark,” you said softly, still leaning into him. “You two are good together. You’ve both come so far.”

Jeno’s expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he scoffed lightly. “Yeah, well, he’s my brother.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Jeno’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he didn’t respond, his hand giving your hand a brief squeeze before letting go. The silence between you felt different now—not heavy, but steady, grounding. It was his way of showing you that he believed in you, that despite all his sharp words, he knew you could make things right.

The moment you push yourself off the couch, ready to head to Mark, you catch sight of Karina weaving her way through the crowd toward you and Jeno. Her steps are slightly uneven, her face glowing from the haze of alcohol and drugs, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze that cuts through the dim light of the party. Your tears must’ve dried up completely because she doesn’t say anything about your face or your mood, her grin wide and unbothered as her eyes flick between the two of you.

“You two look cozy,” she remarks, her tone light but edged with something that feels strangely playful—and something else you can’t quite name. Was it jealousy?

Jeno doesn’t miss a beat. His smirk deepens, his head tilting slightly as his gaze locks onto hers, a teasing glint sparking in his eyes. “You jealous?” he asks, his voice dipping into that familiar lilt, low and smooth, with just enough bite to make it clear he’s not joking.

Karina stops in front of him, her hands sliding to her hips as she leans forward, closing the distance between them. “Maybe,” she whispers, her voice dropping to something soft and dangerous, her lips hovering just a breath away from his ear.

Jeno’s grin sharpens, his body shifting slightly toward her, his arm stretching out lazily along the back of the couch as if to invite her closer. “Guess you’ll have to do something about it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, charged with heat that makes your pulse quicken.

You watch them with a heated gaze, frozen for a moment as their exchange unfolds. The tension between them is palpable, electric in a way that’s impossible to look away from. Karina straightens slightly, her hand brushing down his arm before she moves to sit on the other side of him.

The moment she settles beside him, it’s like they slip into an unspoken rhythm, their bodies relaxing into each other in a way that feels both charged and strangely comfortable. Karina angles herself toward him, her fingers brushing casually against his thigh as she starts to talk animatedly, her voice lilting and full of energy. You can’t quite focus on what she’s saying; her words blur into the background as your gaze shifts between the two of them.

Jeno sits back, his posture lazy and inviting, his arm draped along the backrest of the couch. In one hand, he holds a joint loosely between his fingers, and he brings it to his lips occasionally, taking slow, deliberate drags. His gaze stays on Karina as she talks, his lips curling into a faint smirk like he’s humoring her, though you doubt he’s actually listening.

The difference between how Jeno interacts with her versus how he was with you is stark. With you, his touches were light, deliberate, and grounding—friendly and steady. But now, his hand brushes against Karina’s thigh, the contact lingering and deliberate in a way that feels undeniably more intimate. His fingers flex lightly against her skin, the movement subtle but full of intention. His gaze, too, has shifted. Where it was warm and protective with you, it’s darker now, more commanding, his attention locked fully on her like she’s the only person in the room.

Karina leans closer, her laughter soft and warm as her fingers toy with the chain resting against Jeno’s collarbone. He chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest as his hand slides further along her thigh, his thumb brushing against her skin in a way that feels almost possessive. The air between them thickens, and before you can fully process it, Karina tilts her head, her hair falling over one shoulder as her lips meet his.

Their mouths collide with a hunger that makes the air feel heavy, their movements rough and unapologetic. Jeno’s hand moves to her waist, gripping her firmly as he deepens the kiss, his other hand threading into her hair. Karina responds eagerly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pulls him closer. Their bodies press together, the tension spilling over into raw, physical connection.

They look like something out of a movie—two impossibly attractive people lost in each other, their chemistry palpable. Jeno’s jaw tightens as he angles his head, his lips parting against hers, and Karina’s hands roam over his chest, clutching at him like she can’t get close enough. The way they move together is fluid, unrestrained, and utterly captivating.

The soft sound of their muffled moans pulls you out of your daze, heat creeping up your neck as you feel flustered by the scene unfolding in front of you. When Karina shifts onto Jeno’s lap, the intimacy of the moment becomes undeniable. Respecting their privacy, you quietly push yourself up from the couch, your resolve strengthening with every step. This isn’t your moment, your place. It’s time to find Mark—time to face him and figure out where the two of you truly stand.

They don’t react to you leaving, their focus entirely on each other, their moaning and gasps fade into the hum of the party as you weave through the crowd, your thoughts already shifting toward Mark and the resolve you’ve finally found to face him. But then, as you glance back one last time, something catches your eye.

Across the room, Mark’s best friend stands frozen, her gaze locked on Jeno and Karina. Her lips press into a thin line, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her expression a mix of disbelief and hurt. How long has she been standing there? You don’t know, but the realization makes your stomach twist.

Her gaze flickers to you briefly, and the moment your eyes meet, her composure cracks. She looks away almost immediately, her head bowing as she turns on her heel and walks off, her movements hurried and deliberate. The sight leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the weight of her hurt pressing against your chest. You swallow hard, guilt mingling with confusion.

Turning back to Jeno and Karina, you find them still tangled together on the couch, oblivious to the scene that just unfolded. Jeno’s lips move against Karina’s with an intensity that feels almost detached, like he’s pouring himself into the moment for the sake of the moment alone. His hand grips her waist firmly, pulling her closer as her fingers curl into his hair. The way they move together is electric, charged with pure lust and chemistry, but there’s nothing personal about it—no depth, no connection beyond the physical. It’s borderline, shallow, all heat and no substance.

You sigh quietly, the sound lost in the hum of the party. Why was Jeno like this? You’d seen him care, seen him protect, seen him hold so much more in his hands. But now, he was throwing himself into something fleeting, momentary. Was it just a distraction? And what about his thing with Mark’s best friend? They’d seemed good for each other once, balanced in a way that made sense. But was it truly over? Or was this just another way for him to avoid whatever that was?

The questions swirl in your mind as you tear your gaze away from the scene, your heart heavy but your resolve sharper now. You move forward, your focus shifting fully to Mark. Whatever this is with Jeno, it’s not your battle. You’ve got your own to face.

You moved through the dimly lit hallways, the stark overhead lights casting long shadows that stretched across the polished floors. The ambiance was harsh, almost sterile, with the faint hum of the building’s old heating system underscoring every step you took. The air felt heavier with each turn, the tension inside you mirroring the unwelcoming edges of the space, a mix of unease and determination propelling you forward.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you frowned. Your heart sank as you saw the notifications: five missed calls from Mark, along with a string of unread messages, all from half an hour ago. The realization hit you like a punch—you’d forgotten to take your phone off Do Not Disturb.

A pang of guilt tightened in your chest. Mark didn’t send messages like these often—he wasn’t one to chase, to beg. But here he was, trying to reach you, and you’d been too caught up elsewhere. Without hesitation, you turned on your heel, determined to find him now.

The living room was the most packed room in the entire party, people crowding the space so tightly that it felt like the walls were shrinking inward. The usual clutter of an apartment gathering filled every surface—half-empty drinks, scattered snack bowls, and someone’s discarded jacket draped over a chair. Groups leaned against the walls, sprawled on the furniture, or chatted in animated circles. A few familiar faces stood out among the crowd, boys from the basketball team. You spotted Soobin near the kitchen, his easygoing smile lighting up a conversation, while Jaemin leaned against the far wall, casually sipping a drink and laughing at something Chenle had just said.

And then, there was Chenle. You hadn’t expected to make eye contact with him, but the moment your gaze locked, your chest tightened. His sharp eyes scanned your face, as though he could see right through the carefully constructed mask you were putting on for tonight. You gulped, forcing yourself to look away quickly, your heart thundering in your chest. There was no way you were dealing with that conversation tonight—not here, not now. You pushed the guilt and uncertainty down, burying it beneath the buzz of the room. This would be a conversation to have later. Tonight was about masking it all, letting yourself get lost in something else—someone else.

As you stepped through the threshold, your breath caught in your chest. There Mark was, seated on the edge of a low couch in the center of the chaos. The dim overhead lights, tinged golden, seemed to spotlight him, casting shadows that emphasized the sharp cut of his jawline and the confident set of his shoulders. His dark hair fell messily across his forehead, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips made your stomach flip. The fitted black tee he wore clung perfectly to his frame, the loose shorts brushing his knees somehow making him look even more appealing.

A basketball rested casually against his knee, his long fingers drumming idly on its surface, while his guitar leaned beside him, its polished body catching the light like a quiet reminder of his many talents. The room seemed to orbit around him, his presence anchoring the space as if he belonged there in a way no one else did.

But he wasn’t alone.

authors note — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions—whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi—give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

taglist — @bigjugz03 @hyuckkklee @hegdus @sungchannel @kidult0325 @hcluvie @second-floors @xjxnox @keelbeel @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @carelessshootanonymous @remgeolli @toroufriteh @sinsgaybutthatsokay @fancypeacepersona @cathamada @gomdoleemyson @ppeachyttae @strcwberi @yunjinsart @millyswife

[ct-multifandom]

Big day for annoying people (me)

The two new eps of ML were good? Like wow it’s been great so far except ep 3 was comparatively a flop imo. Werepapas was so, idk, enticing lore-wise but I don’t have much to say that other people haven’t except that they’re clearly NOT neglecting past plot points, making the tone too silly goofy all the time, nor retconning important stuff like some people worried they would. We have been FED. I’m sure Felix is involved in that ring bs somehow, but idk if his intentions are pure or not.

Warning for the only salty thing I’m gonna say on this post: I’m so tired of going into the fandom tag and seeing people whining about “bad writing” problems that literally never happened based entirely on their own incorrect predictions they made up to make themselves mad. Ugh anyway. This post is gonna be about small details I latched onto in Daddycop!

We got to see glimpses of Sabrina and Max’s rooms this ep! Max’s room looks like a Star Trek spaceship but the books on his bookshelf are kinda giving those reference books at the library of like, archived government documents or research papers iykwim whereas the books in Alya’s room look like manga. An interesting thing I noticed in Sabrina’s room is that she has a line of framed certificates on the wall, maybe academic awards or something similar

Did they ever say if Markov can see Kaalki or not? I’m sure they will eventually but idk which option I like better. It’d be cute if they were friends but it’d be pretty funny if he had to watch Max talk to the secret floating ghost who lives with them now and not question it

List of things Sabrina dumps in the trash: yellow nail polish, the brooch Chloe gifted to her/bribed her with in season 1, the cat ear headband from her Chat Noir cosplay when she and Chloe were roleplaying as him and Ladybug in season 3, a beret, maybe the one Chloe tried to bribe her with in s1, Chloe-style sunglasses, a Queen Bee doll, a photo of them together in the old animation, and a mug/tumbler? Maybe a gift from her as well idk maybe they’re selling Queen Bee-themed Stanley cups over there.

:((((( Aw Sabrina nooo I hate seeing her so sad and the way she lied to her dad so he would think she’s happy and has friends

I think this might be the first time the show referred to Fire Captain Hessenpy by name?

Marinette’s scooter has the T+S logo on it and a sticker that says Boulangerie Paris

Between eps 2 and 4 I’m getting the sense that Sabrina uses Miss Hound as an escape kinda like CN where she feels like she can become instantly likeable, trustworthy, helpful, and useful through the inherent credibility of being a superhero. She has anonymity, can sort of start over on a blank slate, and is automatically implied to be a good person since Ladybug entrusted her. I’m guessing we’re gonna see more of that blank slate idea with other characters and what they’ll do with it, but it’s telling that Sabrina decides to transform to resolve people’s minor inconveniences, especially when she’s feeling bad about herself. It’s like she’s proving a point to herself but also giving herself something productive to do.

The GIRLS Ahhhhh let’s go lesbians

Noticing a clear absence of Alix. Ik the special implied she has to keep hiding in the burrow from Lila but she’s all normal-looking in the intro and they can’t shelve her forever. I feel like something is gonna change to make her be able to return.

^^^ ALSO she’s the only hero with zero design updates and my theory is that the purpose of that is so she can do contrived time nonsense like going back to earlier seasons and going forward without contradicting anything or revealing which time period she’s actually from

I gotta say the side character writing has progressively been better and better throughout the show. Atp they really feel like actual people with their own opinions and motivations. In the early days they felt more like lovable NPCs who talked occasionally but now they’re real characters? With free will? I feel like I just watched Pinocchio get turned into a real boy

The pro-healthy eating censorship/propaganda/whatever in this show is so funny omg. Juleka: I brought fruit tea Mylene: wow that’s so much better than the sugary soda we had last time LMAO. To balance out Rose holding a bag of popcorn they gave Zoe two burlap sacks full of oranges which tbf I’d rather snack on those during a movie than popcorn but still. I saw a vid recently about gravity falls adding random bowls of fruit next to characters eating junk food because they were getting flagged as promoting unhealthy habits. I keep thinking about that moment in Ikari Gozen when Mari asks Kagami out for “juice” when any normal teen would’ve said “coffee” like nope no caffeine in my good Christian miraculous

Love Kagami being a pretentious film nerd go hang out with Nino

RED ALERT YOU GUYS Mylene has an inclusive pride flag pin on her overall strap. Like the rainbow flag with the trans triangle and the black stripe. It’s not subtle or anything it’s just right there wow. Damn

The pin above it reminds me of Timebreaker’s logo. I wonder what some of these pins mean

Ok last season they seem to have established that Sabrina became friends with Marc and Nathaniel who were both explicit Sabrina Supporters since their akuma episodes, so it feels sort of convenient that they were written out of the narrative for this ep. I do see the whole Girl Squad thing and how she feels excluded when all the girls in the group hang out together without her, doing traditional girl things like movie night sleepovers, so I do think it’s totally valid. Her having absolutely zero friends is hyperbolized though.

On that note I have to wonder if the school might have several lunch periods because none of the male characters expect Adrien and Nino were there. Or maybe they just stage the scene with whoever is convenient. They might have flexible lunch schedules and all the other characters are off somewhere else.

Rose mentioned a girl whose name I didn’t recognize and after rewinding i can’t tell what she said. Aglie? New character? Maybe she’s that black girl with pink hair who was sitting with Adrien, Nino, and Sublime at lunch

KAGAMI AND ONDINE ARE CANONICALLY FRIENDS this is like the Superbowl for me. I’m so excited for Sleeping/Princess Syren I need to see her.

God the girls were so messy in that scene where they didn’t want to invite Sabrina lol I kinda love it I can’t even be mad

Zoe, your lab safety is atrocious. Not only are you taking your goggles off while still in the lab, but then you *leave the room* and *touch someone* with your gloves still on?! Diabolical. What are they even doing, soldering computer chips?

Marinette when I catch you Marinette

Roger’s relationship with Sabrina is actually so cute even though he’s kinda misguided as a person GOD when he’s on his way to console his crying daughter and Lila enters his mind space and he’s cradling his arms like he’s clearly seeing her as his baby 🥺 nobody talk to me

Alexa play I bet on losing dogs by mitski. Myyyy baby my baby…

We got a glimpse of the baddest bitch in Paris Xavier Ramier I’m so happy

Sabrina shapeshifted her necklace into a brooch. Huh. I guess you can just do that

The power of believing in herself allowed her to yassify her own character design into a cuter and more fashionable superhero! This is basically just like real life if you think about it

Her ball has a doggy nose on it awww

Lila telling Roger to turn around so she could back him up and fire the anti akuma was badass okay

I’m not sold on the loud ass makeup they have a lot of the characters wearing so I’m glad we got to see the girls with clean faces at the end there. Wow they look so normal! I’m also loving the pajama designs. I had to pause and look at all of them.

Zoe had to stop and hit Sabrina with that rizz stare to make sure Sabrina wouldn’t be coming up with any platonic explanations for her behavior

I never thought I’d say these words, but I think a love triangle between Sabrina, Zoe, and Max would be fun. Imagine Zoe is into Sabrina, Sabrina isn’t exactly catching the hint and sees Zoe as a really nice friend, Sabrina kinda likes Max, and Max is like damn these bitches gay. Good for them.

The end card is so baby omg

I TOLD YOU GUYS Sabrina was gonna get a makeover and people were like uH No iTs JUsT An aNimATioN eRroR oF a ScRApPEd DeSiGn girl why the hell would they leave a scrapped design in the intro, and there’s no way they would accidentally not notice that much less repeat it

Mark my words white haired Caprikid is not an error either he’s real and he’s gonna collect all the chaos emeralds to get that way

A new diabolical twink has hit the scene. Ray’s pompous ass immediately reminded me of Preminger from Barbie. He looks like he rides horses. Like he tells people he’s into sports but then you find out the sport is just horse riding. Immediately invested. Who is this diva. I want him to get hit by a bus.

Ooooo Zoe was up to some Delinquent Shit in America this is so juicy. I looove when suspiciously perfect characters get revealed to be secretly fucked up that’s the best. I’ve always loved those types of headcanons, that she was expelled from her last school and moved to a different country all of a sudden for her mom’s PR. If you think about it, that’s exactly what happened to Chloe damn. Daughter commits PR disaster, do zero parenting about it, relocate daughter far away to start over with little consequence! I wanna see some parallels. I feel like she made it sound like she moved because she was getting bullied at her old school, but what if that was a lie, or at least a partial lie? You know shit’s serious when the exposition is in the post-post-endcard scene

The pacing of these episodes has been satisfying compared to previous seasons, especially 5. They aren’t trying to shove too much in, but there’s still a lot happening and fiiiinally a nice mix of plot and fighting. I was getting irritated by how rushed a lot of the fights were last season like might as well just not have them at all

Late edit: back to the pajamas because I forgot to analyze them, I have noticed that Juleka’s pants have bats on them :) frickin bats. They also have like… a crescent moon with something sitting on it? idk what that is. It’s like a pattern of cute spooky Halloween imagery. But the pants and her black lace tank top versus Rose’s sparkly pink unicorn onesie is adorb.

Zoe has a yellow tank and seems to be wearing her usual leggings under running shorts um? Outside clothes in bed? And her pink slides give the whole thing a sans undertale vibe. Oh what the fuck why do the feet of her tights have individual toes lmao. The horror. I hate it.

I can’t tell what Mylene is wearing except a black t-shirt that might have something white on it. OMG EDIT 2 ITS IVAN’S T-SHIRT FROM HIS OLD DESIGN YOU GUYS SHES WEARING HER BF’S OLD BAND TEE AS PAJAMAS. This is headline news myvan nation. She has maybe pink shorts and her slippers look like Uggs.

Kagami’s silk pjs look luxurious. I love how her clothes this season went from just preppy to being very obviously EXPENSIVE like she’s blending in with the gang but she’s still clearly rich af.

Sabrina’s pjs are a classic set with her usual argyle pattern on them. 10/10 would give her a warm glass of milk and read her a bedtime story. I wonder what she needs eye drops for because she told Roger she needs to pack them.

Excited to see more yay! I love the little details. It’s kinda a bummer that Sabrina spent most of her hero focus ep sobbing but we ball (see what I did there) and the end was so cutesy. So excited to probably watch episode 11 before episode 6

[hipsternumbertwo]

Favorite Angela Moments 45/∞: Mamma Mia But Different (A Donna Line)

Patrick making Angela go out in a gold sparkly fabric (?) and a hat to hide her costume in the intro

A Donna Line is an homage to A Chorus Line

Having Josh and Austin in the band makes that FIVE StarKid members in this show.

Mamma Mia as opening number

Shoutout to Jon, Kimia (the producer?) , and Emily (the director) being on stage almost the entire time

Jon's dance choreographer (?) character just saying dance moves for the cast to do and then joining in in the end (too little Jon in this IMO)

Vic as Carol - a mechanic?realtor?actress? idk she was crazy

Mary Lou as Evelyn - the sexy one that will do anything to be on the show

Madison as Linda - she has volume control issues

Gabe as Ophelia - the poisoner

Angela as Helen. Mirren. - a relatively unknown actress. A Dame and BAFTA winner (but no one cares)

Mariah as Meryl Streep - she needs a job

They are all auditioning for the role of Donna

Meryl and Helen have history

Evelyn (ML) sings When I Kissed the Teacher (crawled on the table, kissed Angela on the cheek, and accidentally touch Vic's boobs lol)

Carol (VIC) have some weird stories but have no passport to go to Greece so she's out of the running and sings Take A Chance On Me while beating the guard up, running through the audience, and DOING A FREAKING FLIP

Ophelia (GABE) tried to poison Meryl but ends up being poisoned instead then sings SOS before passing

Linda (MADISON) was the abandoned secret child of ABBA members singing the most shocking, chaotic, and hilarious version of Chiquitita I've ever heard, complete with ribbon dancing

The Meryl-Helen rivalry backstory finally revealed: they were competitive tap dancers earlier in their carreers, with a very dangerous move that if done wrong will end someone's dancing career. Helen thought Meryl sabotaged her and challenged Meryl to a tap dance competition

They got a real tap dancer as Meryl's double (Mariah can't tap dance?) Angela did her own (I don't know tap but it looks decent when she wasn't deliberately doing a bad job PLUS her mic pack got loose so she was trying to hold it inside her pant leg while dancing) while ML sings Dancing Queen and injured herself doing the move

Helen (ANGELA) gives up and told Meryl (MARIAH) she has the role while singing the duet Winner Takes It All (harmony for dayssssss) with Ang switching between singing great during the harmonies then having an accent when doing her solo

Now we get to "present time" as Meryl becomes Donna and sings Thank You For The Music while doing dance moves seen in the movie. Also serves as the finale number with the whole cast.

They said they will perform this again in the new year maybe because the writer of this MMBD Alden was sick during this night and he was supposed to play Ophelia

[generalluxun]

To clarify the previous ask, I confess I have two main but extremely divergent versions on it which makes it hard to specifcy things in an ask XD

One would be: how would you handle a post S3 fic where Chloe basically had this realization:

Chloe: This has been the worst day ever and those stupid Kwami didn't even listen! Chloe (Thinks back to the Kwami and what they looked like & then remembers the "Keychain") Chloe: . . . MARINETTE!!!

IE the starting premise is "Post Miracle Queen Chloe realizes Marinette is Ladybug, how does she respond?"

Idea two starts with the premise that Chloe had the above realization but canon otherwise followed its tracks until at least post Queen Mayor.

So basically, "Post Queen Mayor Chloe has known Marinette is Ladybug for a long time and is about to be sent away with her mother or already has been. What does she do with this information to maybe change her circumstances?"

Sorry if that's still too broad ><

No this is much easier to work with.

For your first scenario, with all canon off the table post S3-

Chloé corners Marinette and demands a Miraculous. Not the Ladybug(having it after you? ew!) and not the Bee(That ship has sailed!) but she demands in her words 'A good one!' Without any support(Fu is gone) Marinette hems and haws and actually does cave. (she doesn't know what to do!) She picks the Rooster(sorry Marc, it's thematic)

Marinette wants to know if Chloe is going to help fight Hawkmoth.

Chloe: Help? Help! Marinette I'm not going to play with your little band of losers. I'm going to be the best hero there ever was!

Enter: Crevecoeur (actual French Breed, and the name is perfect)

We're throwing the whole 'Cat Noir neglect' arc RIGHT in the trash to make room for a new arc. We can instead have Cat Noir & Ladybug grow closer dealing with the new situation. That makes a better transition into a S5 love-square collapse into the final ship.

Instead the 'vigilante' arc is the main throughline of S4 (Alongside the Shadowmoth&new heroes)

Crevecour presents the heroes with unique challenges. She is a hero, but also competition. She doesn't fall in line, but she is still a *hero*. She's both very driven, but also gets into trouble. It's a great way to introduce kids to 'third party' dynamics, which is something ML lacks completely.

The Rooster is a very difficult miraculous for Chloe to utilize, but also a good one for her to have *if* she can. Chloe isn't stupid, but she is impulsive. She *can* be clever, but defaults to short cuts. The rooster gives her the power to have *anything she wants* ... ... ONCE.

So she has to fight against her instinct to 'Gimmie!' the first thing that enters her mind. She has to consider, and weigh what she WANTS vs what she NEEDS.

On the upside for Marinette the *in class* bullying drops. Chloe has a new focus. Who cares about a dinky little classroom when you're a real superhero 24/7?

Initially it's very much frustrations and comedies for all involved, but as it progresses a loose affiliation and some teamwork grows out of it. Chloe realizes that *not* being a dick in class gets more attention and interaction. She still may not like/mingle with the commoners but the antagonism diminishes sharply.

As a part of the finale can have her actually return the rooster to Ladybug 'for safe keeping' (perhaps she almost blabbed her ID while under Risk's influence)

Of course then they all get stolen, and THAT might send things in any number of ways :)

for #2

I think the key here is that despite *everything* else, Chloe never blabbed about Marinette's secret identity.

This doesn't mean she is 'secretly good'. It DOES however mean(especially once Marinette finds out she knew- preferably NOT through Chloe telling her) that Marinette now has to grapple(and the audience!) with the notion that Chloe does have *some* sort of principles in there.

She might have despised Ladybug, she might have wanted to take her down, but she never did it in a way that would even hint she knew the two were one person. She would *not* give away the secret identity. Who else other than Chloe would know just how 'sacred' secret identities have to be? Who else could think 'I'll show them I can keep a secret better than anyone!'

The actual chain of events post Marinette finding out in S6 that Chloe knew are very up in the air. You can take it in many directions. The core idea is that people are more than the faces we see them wear in public. For a show about Masks and identities ML doesn't touch on this very much. Most of the cast are simply 'themselves in PJs' when heroing.

Cat Noir was the starkest example of this, but they kind of flattened him out in that regard. Not that merging the two sides was bad, but we didn't really have a solid self-actualization style story beat to go with it. (I mean, we can't give our boy trapped in a tower with no autonomy having a self actualization moment)

I think an interesting dynamic might be that Marinette knows Chloé knows... but Chloe doesn't know Marinette knows she knows. This allows us to have Marinette be the person reshaping the dynamics on her own terms, giving our protagonist something active to do for once in her own plot 🤣

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for Completed Fics 40K-70K Words

Got 16 fics here! More lengthy fics than I would have thought, actually, given that there have been fewer ML fics this year than last year.

All of these fics will be in my Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024 Collection, and if you like that, please consider checking out my other collections, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2023, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2022, and Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics - Misc. Years.

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He Couldn't Remember (Falling For Her) by @purpleautumnvision

"If I was given a choice in who Chat Noir would be, I would've chosen you." "And there's nobody else in the whole world I'd rather have as my little bug." Without secret identities in the way, Marinette and Adrien get to live out their love story and put their heads together to discover the identity of Hawk Moth... but an unforeseen twist puts the Miraculouses in Gabriel's hands. When he makes his wish for a world where his wife never became sick from using the broken Peacock Miraculous, the universe requires someone else to become sick in order to maintain balance. Who better than his greatest enemy, Ladybug herself? Adrien, with his memories rewritten by the wish, wakes up in a world without superheroes, without Hawk Moth, without Marinette, without friends, and without a clue as to why everything feels so wrong. Something's missing, but he's gonna find out what. Then he'll put his world back into place.

So this was a fascinating scenario, with Adrien waking up in a world where Marinette was dead while his mother was alive, a world that as far as he knew had always been the case... but having weird feelings he can't explain. And not just him, I love how much focus Alya gets here as well! Turns out that the memories are kind of hidden, but still present, and since Adrien and Alya never got to meet Marinette in this universe (she died just before the new school year began, at the same time that Emilie did in the normal universe) AND Adrien and Alya were her closest friends in the previous universe, their feelings towards her are closest to the surface and least impacted by the memories from this universe.

The other people in this universe... well, the class isn't taking Marinette's death well. It's fascinating to see just how much her death effects them, to see how it haunts them, and I loved seeing their reactions to Adrien's weird behavior about their dead classmate who he never got a chance to meet, it shows how strange some of this can look to the outside, and it doesn't help that these are grieving kids.

Just... this is a great fic, I highly recommend checking it out!

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this is my winter song to you by katrinette

On the last day of school before winter break, Adrien overhears someone singing in one of the classrooms. By the time he gets there, she's gone. He can't get her out of his head. And he keeps hearing her, wherever he goes, until she's the only thing that he can think about. But Adrien doesn't know who she is. At least... not yet. ––– Set against the backdrop of season 4 before Kuro Neko, Adrien begins to really understand the role that his friends play in his life.

Ah this is a lovely Lovesquare fic! Adrien's smitten with a voice he hears and he just keeps on hearing snippets of her singing, but can't track her down and it's driving him crazy!

There's a lot of cute Adrienette and slice-of-life in here, so if you want a low-key fluffy fic full of Adrien's and Marinette's usual adorableness, you came to the right place!

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Herbs And Steam by @liiinerle

Juleka le Flor Blef, nature witch from near the forest of Couffaine, arrives at Eiffel Castle so she can partake in the Queen's Trials - a contest to determine the strongest witch in all of France. She wants to prove the strength of her magic, but when she arrives, her attention is quickly distracted by two very interesting women: Kagami, the princess, who seems to act nothing like a princess should; and Marinette, the blacksmith, who has created a magic all her own through metal, steam, and ingenuity. Juleka is immediately besotted with both of them, and needs to work extra hard to focus on her magic. Juleka also soon becomes aware that there is stronger magic at Eiffel castle than she had expected. For one thing, there's a tree in the courtyard put there years ago by a witch whose powers seem to surpass hers; for another, there's Alya la Pluvie Versaunt, who must be the most powerful mage Juleka has ever met...

Unusual poly here, there aren't a lot of Juleka/Kagami/Marinette fics! I love the world here, getting to see all these different witches honing their craft, and Juleka making friends with many of them - though especially the nonwitches Kagami and Marinette, of course XD. If you like some femslash or a good fantasy AU, this fic should scratch that itch!

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Under Your Spell by @hazel652

Marinette loves Quidditch more than anything. That is…until a distraction arrives in the form of Hogwarts’ newest fifth-year, Adrien Agreste. When one of their professors organises a magical surprise for Valentine's Day, will Marinette finally be able to confess her feelings – or will it all end in disaster?

So this is an adorable slice-of-life Hogwarts AU, it's mostly Adrien and Marinette dancing around each other, with a subplot about Chloe basically pulling a Draco and bribing her way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team (much to the Slytherins' consternation) playing out in the background.

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a wish come true by Magaritas

"My wish has three parts. First, I wish my love, Emilie, never fell ill to the Peacock Miraculous' wounds." When Gabriel's ultimate wish is granted, he is brought back to a time long before any of his grievances came into fruition. However, he soon realizes that every wish comes with an equal consequence. "The second part of my wish is that I would have never been struck by Chat Noir's cataclysm." The only way for him to solve all of the new problems that arise is to make another wish, isn't it? But since he is no longer in possession of the two most powerful miraculouses, how would he go about getting them back without rising suspicion from his now healed wife? "Finally, I wish that Adrien Agreste never became Chat Noir, and that Marinette Dupain-Cheng never became Ladybug." And how will our two heroes manage to reunite in a world where they never got to meet?

I loved seeing Emilie and Nathalie figuring out what was going on in this world, and taking active steps to help the kids out, especially with how Adrien's hurt. They're not just standing by, nor are they willing to just let Gabriel hurt others.

Of course, Adrien and Marinette are also active, but they have less clue about something being wrong than Emilie and Nathalie do. But they'll manage to find their ways to each other, one way or another...

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In Pursuit of the Uneatable by @nemaliwrites

Who do you trust when your own reflection becomes a stranger? In a Paris where Lila weaves tales that blind the city, Marinette stands accused, isolated. Her parents' trust is shattered, her friends distant, and in battle, illusions blur the line between ally and enemy. As the shadows and uncertainty threaten to close in, Marinette finds herself turning to the last person who claims to be on her side: a boy in a white mask who calls himself a fox hunter.

THIS IS NOT A BASHING FIC. Well, Lila bashing, I guess, but even then she gets a lot more consideration than usual. Anyway, there's no animosity towards Marinette's friends and family here. Instead, the fic has more of this melancholy, contemplative tone, with Marinette feeling boxed in by Lila, and trying to figure out how to navigate her circumstances, especially being around Lila. Even when there isn't any particular threat against her, just having Lila around, knowing that she could pull something else to make Marinette's life worse, and thinking that there's no way to counter her, that she always wins... you can feel how suffocating it is. But she does have a way out, a mysterious boy who she's seen around, who completely has her back as far as Lila's concerned... but she might not want him to, to the extent that he goes.

By the way, this IS a Lovesquare fic, the thing with the boy... well, that'll make sense once you read the fic. But it's not romantic, I can tell you that.

Anyway, it's this interesting psychological, low-key sort of fic. If you want a look at the more emotional consequences of Lila's brand of bullying and isolation WITHOUT any sort of demonization or bashing towards anyone else, but just exploring the effects on Marinette and how to respond to it, then this fic is worth a look.

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Hanahaki by @generalluxun

First fic: Late Bloomer

On what might very well be the last night of her life, Sabrina Raincomprix pulls out a very special scrapbook, pressed between the pages is the past, the past she has never shared with anyone. She relives how she got to this moment one page at a time, preparing herself for the end. A phone call interrupts her self-imposed exile and brings news that could change her life forever. Even if it does though the question looms... change it how?

I love this series, how it shows how both Sabrina and Chloe have changed, how bad Chloe's circumstances are, and how much she needs help. She's not in good shape when Sabrina reunites with her - she's got a pretty severe eating disorder, for one thing - and Sabrina can't just... leave things like they are.

I love the delving into of Chloe's and Sabrina's psychology and viewpoints, and them both growing as a result (this is solely from Sabrina's perspective, but Chloe's the focus of the plot, so you see a lot of her).

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Bubblegum Soul by @wehadabondingmoment

"The impulse to throw away his ring, to slam it on the ground and watch its metallic splinters chap away at his soul, got more tempting by the second. Maybe, for a moment, he would learn what it meant to be alive." (Or: Hawk Moth has been defeated and Adrien is suffering more than ever. Armed with unhealthy coping mechanisms and the knowledge that he apparently isn't human, he embarks on a journey of self-discovery.) (Except that his father isn't quite ready to give up just yet.)

Poor Adrien. His father's defeated, but that doesn't mean that he's alright. Dealing with finding out that he's a sentimonster via his father attempting to order him around... that's harsh.

And it doesn't help that while he gets one ring back pretty quickly, he doesn't realize that he has a second amok...

If you like angsty sentiadrien fic, this'll be right up your alley! It's M-rated, but I'm not sure why. Maybe because Adrien's just kind of in a bad headspace?

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The Adventures of Babybug and Kitten Noir by @unecoccinellenoire

When Chat Noir gets turned into a baby all seems lost to Ladybug....or is it?

So despite what the name and the summary makes it sound like, this fic is less about Chat Noir and Ladybug, and more about their parents, with Gabriel and Nathalie discovering that baby!Chat Noir is Adrien, and Tom and Sabine finding out that baby!Ladybug is Marinette. Needless to say, neither group are happy about their discovery.

I loved seeing the parents work things out here. While most ML fics are about Adrien and Marinette driving the plot and ultimately, the resolution (for obvious reasons), in this case, we get to see the adults being reasonable and competent, and doing their best with this new situation they've been thrown into.

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Each Hum And Click by @echo-has-queries

Kagami thought her understandably high standards for a match in marriage would mean she could avoid being paired with a man by her mother. That she could keep perfecting her flying-machine skills and eventually take over her mother’s place in leading the Tsurugi steam engine manufacturing company without having to defer to a man. She would have thought that when her mother told her to test the Agreste boy as a marriage match she had been kidding - if her mother ever kid. But she was serious and there truly was no fault to be found with Gabriel Agreste's son - except for the small detail of course, that he was not human. So Kagami must turn to the only fine mechanic she knows in Paris to find a solution to this new dilemma. But perhaps the dilemma could turn out to be the solution itself. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Steampunk AU

So this fic is entirely from Kagami's POV, and it is a treat! It's an Adrigaminette fic, which you slowly figure out from reading the fic, if you didn't check the tags - Kagami may have tried not to like Adrien, but he grew on her regardless, and then a few chapters in you find out about hers and Marinette's failed relationship. I loved slowly finding out why the two of them broke up, when there are clearly still strong feelings between them, and how it ties into Kagami's character arc and the overall themes of the story: standing up for yourself, breaking free from those who would control you, and forging your own path.

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Soul Seeker by hislittlelady

After a shooting on her 6th birthday, Marinette Dupain-Cheng died. She was brought to the afterlife by her grandmother. She was content. Until the paramedics did their jobs and suddenly she wasn’t dead anymore. Waking up to find that half of her soul had remained tethered to the afterlife, allowing her the ability to see things others can’t, Marinette grows up an outcast. It isn’t until she moves in with her only friend, a detective she’s known since preschool, that she finds her purpose, solving his harder cases with the help of her spiritual connections. Three years later, she’s thriving. Her own business, two best friends, a K-9 drop out as a companion- life couldn’t get better. Until she meets Chat. A ghost with amnesia and a mask to match, Chat isn’t sure what he needs to move on to the afterlife (and, considering he’s stuck around for another three years, he doesn’t seem in all that much of a hurry to figure it out either!) When Amelie Agreste, a socialite from out of town, comes to Marinette for help locating her missing nephew, Marinette knows her career and her life will be on the line. But even a murderer intent on silencing her forever can’t keep Marinette from seeking the truth.

This is a really fun detective story. You can probably guess one or two of the major twists (not counting the twist of "Adrien is Chat Noir" which I certainly HOPE isn't a spoiler to anyone reading this), but that doesn't make it any less satisfying, especially with how Marinette's and Chat's relationship is developed. Or well, what interactions we see from them, since they've known each other for years by the time the story starts. I adore the "my friend is a ghost" trope, and the identity shenanigans and mystery around what actually happened to Adrien kept me wondering.

It's an M-rated fic, which I'm guessing is mostly due to an attempted sexual assault at one point in the story, though it doesn't get very far before it's stopped. I also want to warn Luka fans that he's not shown in the best light in this fic, though it's not too extreme.

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Through Yellow Eyes by @echo-has-queries

"Nooroo bleeds and Paris drowns in his blood." The day of the Blight, Paris bore witness to a horror too grand to comprehend. Only Chloé Bourgeois bore witness to a miracle. Marinette, Alya and the rest of Paris will need more than faith in Gimmi to survive. As the city's sanity hangs by a thread, bodies, minds, and souls are traded with the unknown in order to hold on to the things they each treasure most. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Cosmic Horror AU

If you like Cosmic Horror (Lovecraftian I think? Though this isn't really my wheelhouse), then this is the story for you! I love seeing how Paris copes with the madness seeping through its streets, somehow going about daily life despite it all.

Kwamis here are more inhuman, more separated from humanity. There's no cute little miniature form to help bridge the gap. While humans can still meld with kwami, it's not all quite as firmly in the human's control as it normally is, and the side effects are worse. It doesn't help that the kwamis can't fully understand squishy little humans' wants, needs, or morality.

Like, as Ladybug, Marinette can't remember her human name, and her human concerns are somewhat muted. While as Marinette, she can't remember certain aspects of her time as Ladybug, and only regains those memories when she transforms again. She also has to be careful about restoring everything, as she can't just give Tikki a cookie and call it a day. Instead, she herself needs to eat enough to compensate for the lost energy, which can be a substantial portion of the goods in her parents' bakery.

As for Adrien... well, this is still going off of Sentimonster Adrien, though the ritual to create him went differently... and went wrong. But he is still Adrien.

Chloe's interesting as well, she's this sort of priest, this missionary for the kwamis, but her methods are... well, not the best. She still has a bunch of her canonical hangups, even though she IS somewhat helpful.

I love Alya in here, she's just desperately trying to figure out what's going on so that she can try to fix it, especially since Nino's one of the people who's been driven mad by the Blight. She does find some answers, and even ends up being partially responsible for Ladybug's creation and Chat's and Ladybug's subsequent fight against the worst effects of the Blight, but the risks, danger, and side effects she suffers are still significant. Though some of those side effects can be used to her advantage.

Anyway, I really enjoyed this AU and thought it was an interesting take on the subject, I highly recommend checking it out!

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Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

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Do You Read Me? by @19thsentry-blog

The problem with being a Couffaine was the hereditary bits. The stubbornness. The weird need to pick a fight with authority for no reason besides the principle of it. The way being a Couffaine meant falling in love, fast as a car crash, and just as deadly. It ruined you forever.

So basically, this takes place a few years after Season 5, in the post-Wish world. Luka takes over as the Ladybug Holder, battling Chrysalis in Marinette's place. It's causing him some strain, since it's hard to hold down a job when you need to vanish randomly for long periods of time while on the clock, and it doesn't help that Chrysalis is a lot sneakier than Monarch was.

That's not the core of the story though. No, the real story starts up at chapter 3, when Luka suddenly wakes up in 19th century London, supposedly having always been there, and talking to a 19th century version of Max. From there, he soon gets escorted to Felix, who is a detective around those parts and agrees to host him for awhile.

This is a Sherlock Holmes inspired story, with the setting ripped straight out of those old stories, and I think it does a great job of that! Felix feels natural as Sherlock, with his deductive abilities, and the mystery really does read a lot like a Sherlock story. Though of course, the ultimate cause is more magical in nature.

I love Luka's perspective in this story and his and Felix's dynamic, it just feels very natural and well done!

I was satisfied with how the mystery wrapped up, 19thsentry did a good job of making things make sense at the end, and it felt satisfying. If you want a story with some great characterization for Luka or Felix, or just feel like a mystery, this is the story for you!

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A part of me recognizes you (do you feel it too?) by Nalalaa

In which Adrien leaves Paris to escape the mediatic storm of Hawkmoth’s defeat and forget about the nightmares that crawl along the walls of his bedroom. In which Marinette stays, left caring for memories and a child she cherishes more than anything. Six years later, a string of coincidences has the two meeting again as strangers. Secrets long left untold are revealed and slowly, they work to untangle the lies and misunderstandings that had once kept them apart.

Classic plot here, but that makes it no less good. Ladybug and Chat Noir were a couple, he unknowingly got her pregnant, and when they took down Hawkmoth a few days later, Chat ran off and disappeared without a word to anyone, leaving Ladybug to give birth and raise her child alone. Until Adrien comes back from his sabbatical a few years later, finally ready to face the ghosts of his past, to find that Marinette's a single mom, with the father of her child being unknown. He gradually gets closer to her and her kid, only to eventually find out that HE'S the father... yeah you can fill in the blanks from there.

There's not really any plot twists or surprises to the plot, but there aren't meant to be. It's just a bunch of hurt people who care about each other navigating this fraught situation they found themselves in, trying to move forward towards a better future.

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Methusalenette by @liiinerle

Dear Diary... --- After Lila's defeat, Marinette and her friends realise that something is up with their bodies. Some are aging faster than they should - and some slower. As the realisation sinks in, Marinette worries about what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen in the future. As it turns out, she has a lot more future to look forward to than most... Epistolary fic (journal entries/news clippings/other).

This is a very melancholy, somewhat sad fic, as some of Marinette's friends age way faster than they should have, while others, including herself, age far too slowly. There's a lot of loss and worry and guilt here. No one had any clue that this was going to happen, but they have to live with the consequences - or die with the consequences, in some cases - nonetheless.

[dangermousie]

Hi! Can you help me recalling a cdrama title please? I have a vague memory of seeing a gifset on your blog from a costume cdrama with a domineering queen FL and the ML who pretends to be her servant/slave but is really an assassin or something? It might have been a mini. Does it ring a bell?

Probably secrets of the shadow sect (where she is sect head not a Queen but the rest fits.)

[kaciidubs]

hey ml, long time no see! i feel like it’s been a while since i sent a request and i had an idea pop into mind!

fem! skz manager x ot8!skz where the reader is a hidden song artist and has loads of albums that have gone viral. Her identity gets leaked whilst on the way to the airport for skz’s tour. The boys are confused about why everyone is taking photos and videos of their manager and then they later find out why and after listening to some of her songs (2000s lady gaga style music) they confront her about it?

Hi my baby! Sorry this took me so long to get to, but we're here now~ It's not much but I hope you like it.

It genuinely wasn't meant to be a secret, you just didn't think you needed to discern your less-than-usual past as you secured the position of managing the leaders of K-Pop's fourth generation.

What they didn't know wouldn't hurt, right?

Well, you'd hoped it remained that way until you started garnering some unintended attention every time you would travel with the boys; camera lenses pointed in your direction more often, fans vying to get your attention alongside the boys' - it got to the point where security was starting to protect you almost as much as the kids.

None of them were the wiser to this influx of attention - you were pretty, and one of the few public female representatives to Stray Kids' management team, so it only seemed like an odd natural step to your association with them; at least, that was until a few fans chanted a name they hadn't heard before.

Hyunjin was the first to jump into looking up the name's association on the plane's shoddy WiFi while on their way to Japan, and wouldn't you imagine his surprise when images of you - albeit a slightly younger version of you - popped up on his phone's screen on numerous YouTube thumbnails and articles.

It didn't take long for him to put two and two together - granted, the headline "Pop Princess becomes K-Pop Manager" did much of the heavy lifting - and several links were sent to the boys' online group chat; each reaction text grander than the last while you relaxed in your seat, none the wiser to their revelations.

Through the hustle and bustle of customs and baggage claim, everyone was soon settled in their respective hotel rooms, ready to tackle the first day of rehearsals and final adjustments - or so you thought, until you received a text from your group chat aptly named lost orphans.

Bread Boy: Noona!! Come to Changbin's room we have something to ask you 🙏🏻

Could you have ignored him and gone back to your show? Perhaps, but you knew the boys - whenever one of them requested your presence, it was best to see it through, no matter how silly it often turned out to be.

Shuffling your way down the hall, you pressed the spare key card to Changbin's room on the reader before letting yourself in - welcoming yourself to the sound of multiple conversations and faint music weaving throughout the atmosphere.

With the door closing to announce your arrival, you wandered further into the room to see each of the boys taking up space on the double queen beds. It wasn't until you you settled into the free desk chair that the song floating through the air began to tug at your memory.

"Is this...?"

"Your old music that you decided to keep a secret from us?" Seungmin looked at you with a playful smirk, holding this phone up, "Yeah, it is - and it's really good, by the way."

Now, was this a scene from your worst nightmare? Not exactly, but you were absolutely mortified at what they could've stumbled across from old interviews and - lord forbid, your old performances.

"Don't tease her," Minho chided, hitting the top of the younger's head, "you know there's probably a reason she didn't share it with us."

"Would you have told us eventually?" Jisung's wide, hopeful eyes bore into your own, "Because, really, these songs are amazing - did you write them yourself? Did you have a team? When did you start? Why did you stop?"

Hyunjin waved his hand, "Han, calm down - ask her anymore questions and you're gonna scare her off!"

"Guys, please." Each of the boys grew quiet at Chris's insistence, letting him take lead of the conversation at hand. "We didn't mean to just throw this at you but finding out our manager used to be a singer was just too amazing to pass up - I hope you're not mad at us for going behind your back and, in a way, invading your privacy?"

You took in his sympathetic expression before taking the time to look at each of the other boys, the mix of apologetic hope warming your heart and easing the worry that crept up your spine.

"It's okay - honestly, I knew it was going to come up eventually down the line, but I hoped at that time I would've gotten ahead of it enough to at least show you guys the better songs."

The tension in the air quickly dissipated at your playful tone, and the boys began heatedly discussing your old discography, performances, and whatever question they'd hoped you would answer.

"Would you ever go back to making music while being our manager?" Felix mused, nodding his head along to a new song now floating through the speaker.

"Follow up question, would you do a collab with us?" Changbin grinned, holding up his phone as if he were hosing an interview.

Jeongin held out a hotel notepad and pen, "Can I have your autograph?"

You went about answering as many of their questions as you could before you had to do your managerial duty of making sure they went to bed to have enough energy for their busy day the next morning - however, not without a promise that you'd continue the conversation after their schedule.

[Unedited]

[velorvm]

duck: HI RU I'D LOVE TO GET SOME MANHWA RECCS FROM YOU!! part of the reason i followed you in the first place was the "biggest han sooyoung glazer" in your bio i Love orv askdjfhdk

some other ones i like are the greatest estate developer, i stole the first ranker's soul (I LOVE YOU MOA) and eleceed if that helps! i'm primarily an action/adventure girlie lmaooo (i am open to any and all recs you would like to give though do not get me wrong!!!) and ofc no pressure <3

OMG, ORV LOVER????? LETS FUCKING GO

also, i loveee the greatest estate developer and i stole the first rankers soul!! peak, i love moa my queennnn

anyway, here's an extended manhwa recc, big part is romance bc i love shoujo/josei! and these are the ones i distinctively remember rather than just being great o7

For Better or For Worse: "fmc realizes that she's in a novel where her sister gets married and dies due to that, now she wants to avoid it at all costs." i know, it sounds basic, but trust me, the plottwist is rlly rlly good!! the dynamic between the fmc and the ml is so much fun and so so good. one of my faves for sureee

Mystic Prince: "to be emperor, the sons have to beat several challenges to ascertain who's worthy. the mc has a secret to be hidden through it all." enjoyable read!! i liked how you kinda were just pulled along, hints here and there. it's either court intrigue or full on blood bath fighting. barely any romance but the ml is so puppy coded fhksjdak

The Fantasy of a Stepmother: "fmc finds herself back in time in the most perilous time of her life, losing her husband. but now she's determined to properly connect with her stepchildren and to have a happy end." a classic. it's beautiful, it's tearjerking, i love it sm

The Crow's Prince: "reincarnated as a crow in an otome, the fmc manages to save the crown prince and now he intends to take her home and take care of her." another classic. i love their relationship, it's so sweet and woahhh. Definitely a fun read!!

I failed to Oust the Villain: "the boy her father took in will inevitably kill her and everyone else. but she has never managed to get rid of him. until he kills everyone but her, intend on keeping her to himself." he's so yan and so insane. but she's also insane, love that for her fr

My brother's the protagonists: "one brother is the demon king, another a returnee and the last a reincarnation. how is she supposed to cope?" similar to moa, she's such a queen!! it's a rather lighthearted read and well, i have to say that it has an open end, but there should be side stories coming soon

The Perks of being a Villainess: "a doormat reincarnates as a villainess, one doomed to get sent to a monastery. how can she avoid this fate while not being a pushover?" i like this one a lot! it's not that serious as of now and the dynamic with the ml is soo fun jfksjdls

My numbered Days of Happiness: "reincarnated from a sick body into a healthy one, only is she born with a mark indicating that she wont live past a certain age. still, she wants to live life to its fullest!" the fmc is so hopeful anf ahhh i get sad thinking abt it, it's a simple child manhwa tho fjskdjak

mother's contract marriage: "her mother woke up and is completely different. and now she's a contract princess!" a take on how a regression looks like from another point og view!! i loveee it sm, the art is sooo scrumptious

The Crimson Lady: "death brings her back to the same day every time. now she wants to take another route: being a serial killer" she's unhinged and i love it, but it's actually incredibly sad. the writing is soo compelling and the dynamic with the ml is interesting bc he's the only one who believed her

Foam of the Sea: "after being assassinated by her lover, she wakes up with another body, with nowhere to go." heavy political but from the pov of commoners lowkey. it's so good but also, sad, like aughh

I'm trapped with a male lead in a horro game: "waking up as an npc in a horror game, all she can do is help the protagonist in hopes of finally escaping this place." soooo good, the plot is soo interesting like, you have to puzzle everything with them bc they dont know anything either!! romance is minimum atp and lowkeyy i hope there is none LMAO

A wicked tale of Cinderella's Stepmom: "she wakes up in the body of the stepmother, but this time, she wants to raise all of her daughters the way they deserve!" it's a fun read! i reckon it's a rather lighter read but the plot is nice!! i like it a lot!!

I'm no Heroine!: "after trying to follow the novels plot and still dying, she decides to do whatever she wants instead." absolutely gorgeous and lovely writing, the chemistry between all these characters is sooo good, and the ml.. twirls hair

The Villainess flips the script: "after reincarnating as the protagonists aunt, she decides to take care of him better than the og could." plottwist was crazy actually, i love this a lot, everything is sooo intricately connected woahh

How to survive as a maid in a horror game: "being a npc should be easy, only the young lord of the house tends to murder them and ahe has to avoid him at all cost!" unhinged x unhinged. they're both crazy and man, it's delicious i cant lie

Let's hide my little brother: "reincarnated in a bl where her brother gets badly treated by people, she decides to take his place. only that happens too literally." queen fmc, she's strong and independent and smart. the ml is such a yan and sooo obsessed with her, he's so hot man

Underground of Babel: "she remembers every death and every return, despite being an npc, now she wants to escape this place no matter what." a new one but soo good, like, why is this happening?? how?? the repercussions of her findjng out too like, woah

Season of Blossom: "a story following highschool throughout the seasons" absolute favorite, peak manhwa, cried so many times, there's even a sequel now!!!!

Trapped in a Soap Opera: "reincarnated in a soap opera she tried to avoid certain death. only things dont turn out to be as they are, but that doesn't matter because she wants to leave it all." peak, it's so so so good, heavy on mystery and drama, bc something is wrong and nobody knows whatttt

Odd Girl Out: "how highschool has been for nari oh after everything she has experienced in middle school." my favorite manhwa. it's slice of life and so so soooo good, the characters are so well written and man, i love nari sooo much

i have more, but im tired fjskfjks sorry

[princess-of-the-corner]

Fun challenge idea: You have to make a 26 episode season of ML using the episodes from all 5 seasons, that goes from beginning to end of the series so far. (Operate under assumption that two parters are just one longer episode, that way it burns less episodes)

The episodes I feel have to be used are:

Origins, Heroes Day, Miracle Queen, Risk/Strikeback, Finale (Duh)

Sapotis, Anansi, Style Queen, Malediktator (S2 Heroes Important)

Volpina + Collector (Fu + HM)

Feast, Representation (Important Backstory shit)

Those are what O had off the top of my head.

Ah. Hm. Yeah the openings/finales of every episode is needed. And at least the Main 5 Hero Debuts. A lot of the Zodiac Heroes would get shafted, but I think we could have the Luka, Kagami and Alix episodes. So uh.

Origins

Pharoh(establishes how old the Miraculous are)

Volpina

The Collector

Sapotis

Queen's Battle(we're condensing the trio)

Anansi

Heroes' Day

Chameleon (Lila's return and shows she's being a threat)

Feast

Desperada (Luka's Hero Debut)

Miraculer (more on Chloé, whether you want redemption or downfall. First example of someone rejecting Akumatization)

Ikari Gozen (Kagami's Hero Debut)

Timetagger (Bunnyx appears)

Chat Blanc(Establishes Mari's trauma re: Identities)

Ladybug (Lila being a threat again plus if they wrote it better could set up Sentiplot)

Miracle Queen (My beloathed)

Gang of Secrets (Alya knows now)

Wishmaker(Luka knows now)

Queen Banana (make this Zoé's intro + her replacing Chloé)

Gabriel Agreste (Make this Felix's debut. Establishes him/his knowledge and skill, his future plans)

Risk/Strikeback

Destruction(Gabe getting Cataclysmed)

Emotion (Felix's whole plan. Maybe combine this with Pretension?)

Confrontation/Collusion/Revolution(Combining these three because they're basically a long episode even if they're not officially a multi=parter)

Confirmation/Recreation

[blue-grama]

So I started watching 'Queen of Tears'

This feels like it might be about to earn its high ratings and all the raving I've seen. I mean, thank you for this speed-run through kdrama romantic beats:

Faking being an intern in your own conglomerate

2. The romantic offering of the umbrella

3. Dramatically showing up in a helicopter to reconcile after all secrets are revealed.

I'm also fully on board with the ML thanks to this one line:

Plus we have these guys:

Looking forward to your broad and occasionally cringey humor, bros.

Also living for the put-upon brothers-in-law.

And her.

Hey, it's Attorney Woo's dad!! Hi, Attorney Woo's dad.

Girrrlllll are you lying?? Is this the only way you can think to keep him from leaving you because you were raised in a home free of genuine love and emotion???? (don't tell me.)

^^

[postmariannizm]

thank you tolovaj!!! I'm doing this monarcho-mistycysm style because I had a good laugh reading the comments

coffee or tea - coffee but the kind of coffee that's a milkshake with 2 spoons of sugar and 300 ml of milk

early bird or night owl - neither, I sleep in the evening, at night, till noon, sleeping is my biggest love

chocolate or vanilla - chocolate

spring or fall - spring because flowers but I love fall

silver or gold - gold

pop or alternative - whatever lana del rey is, I think she is both

freckles or dimples - DIMPLES! MY GF HAS THEM! FLEX

snakes or sharks - I'm shitting myself from fear

mountains or fields - fields. Mountains make my lungs hurt. Love me a good emptiness. Wpłynąłem na suchego przestwór oceanu.

thunder or lightning - lightning, I'm scared of loud noises however lightning killed my grandgrandmother so maybe that's stupid

egyptian mythology or greek mythology - egyptian because I was obsessed with it as a kid

ivory or scarlet - ivory because red looks bad on me

flute or lyre - Lana's autotune and synthesator or whatever she uses to produce her stuff

opal or diamond - pearls

butterflies or honeybees - butterflies but I hate moths

macarons or eclairs - eclairs, my dad used to buy me them

typewritten or handwritten - typewritten because I can deleteee

secret garden or secret library - library because it's more universal and needs less maintenance

rooftop or balcony - balcony but not too high, I'm afraid of heights

spicy or mild - spicy but in a way black pepper is spicy not in a way buldak noodles burn you from the inside

opera or ballet - ballet 😭 I love both, I prefer them from the usual theatre, they have this big pump

london or paris - How come every time you come around My London, London Bridge wanna go down? Like London, London, London, wanna go down like

denim or leather - none. wool, cotton, something soft and light. I do not own anything in denim or leather, boots are exception

potions or spells - potions because of Snape and Lily hehehehe

ocean or desert - ocean

mermaids or sirens - mermaids

masquerade ball or cocktail party - cocktail party

Brutus or Judas - Esther the Queen

roses or peonies - roses im basicc

cover or remix - cover because of that one summertime sadness remix

photography or painting - photography

tattoos or piercings - neither on me, both on my woman

kindle or hardcover - both are good... kindle is for fanfiction and stupid books, hardcover is when I read classics

antique or modern - antique yeah

candle or incense - candle if its not scented, I don't want migraine

past lives or multiverse - I hate both, I don't know why, I like realism because I'm a child of XIX century

monopoly or scrabble - scrabble with my mom

PDA or tryst - tryst, I'm cringing so hard when displaying affection, likeee

fiction or nonfiction - fiction all the way, I care about emotions, not facts

silk or cashmere - cashmere

tagging: @giosnape @mitsuki91 @ailec-12 @vulnus-sanare and whoever wants!!!!

[ladylynse]

Secret Trio/Secret Quartet three sentence fics below the cut! For more like this, see my other three sentence fics/crossover three sentence fics, my tumblr fic masterpost, random WIP scenes and snippets, fic ideas, or find me on FFnet and the AO3! Also, take a peek at the fanart and fanfic I’ve been gifted.

If you like my work, you can consider buying me a coffee. (I write thank you snippets–which could be an expansion of a three sentence fic if you like!)

Adrien and Plagg (”watching idols”) Jake and Adrien (”painting” x2) Jake and Randy (“trapped”) Randy, Jake, (Danny, Adrien) (“rat”) Danny, Adrien, Randy, Jake (”Hide”) Adrien, Jake, Danny, Randy (”Jake, who is Rose?”) Jake and Danny (”TUE happened”) Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien/Chat Noir (”failed over and over again”) Adrien, Jake, Danny, Randy, Marinette (“redemption/corruption”, ”path of destruction”) Marinette, Jake, Danny, Randy, (Adrien) (”shoulder to cry on”) Adrien, Marinette, Danny, Randy, Jake (”Hello, Ladybug” x2) Danny, Adrien, Jake, (Randy) (”hey, guys, where’s ---?”) Adrien, Randy, Jake, Danny (”I-I can’t hear his heartbeat”) //death alt (more painful) version | follow up Marinette, Danny, (Adrien, Lila, Elliot) (”Lila and Elliot”, “liars”, ”two peas in a pod”) Lila and Elliot (”partners in crime”) Jake, Randy, Danny, Adrien (”power/mind swap”) Randy, Jake, Rose, (Danny, Adrien) (”meeting Rose post Hong Kong Longs”) | related Jake, Randy, (Danny, (Adrien)) (”80 word challenge”) Randy, Adrien, (Danny, Jake) (”ghost king au”, “ghosts vs magical creatures”) Danny, (Randy, First Ninja, (Adrien, Jake)) (”ghost king au”, “Danny helps Randy remain the Ninja”) Randy, (Danny, Jake) (”about being mind-wiped”) Jake, Danny (Randy, ((Adrien)) (”there’s no one left”) Jake, Randy, Adrien, (Danny) (”Danny tells them about Dani”) Randy and Marinette (”Ladybug mistakes one of the SQ for an akuma”) Marinette, Adrien, (Danny, Randy, Jake) (”SQ post ML reveal”) Adrien, Danny, (Randy, Jake, Plagg) (”temporary power swap”) Danny, Adrien, Randy, (Jake) (”identity reveal of Danny Phantom”) Susan, Jake, Jonathan, (Danny, Adrien, Randy) (”parents find out”) Adrien, Danny, (Randy, Jake) (”legacy”) Adrien, Jake, Danny, (Randy, Luka) (”snake”) Danny, (Jake, Randy, Adrien, Jack, Maddie) (”Fentons find out”, “angst with a happy ending”) Randy (”Randy remembers”) Adrien, Jake, Randy, (Danny) (”bee”) Randy, Jake, (Danny, Adrien) (”comic book”) Danny, Jake, (Randy, Adrien, Vlad) (”Uncle Vlad AU”) Danny, Randy, (Adrien, Jake) (”broken sky”)

Adrien, Danny, Randy, (Jake) (”siblings”) Jake and Adrien (”Rotwood”) Ladybug, Adrien, (Danny, Randy, Jake) (”reinforcements”) Randy, (Adrien, Jake, Danny) (”prophetic dream”) Randy, Danny, (Adrien, Jake, Ghostwriter) (”true friendship”) Jake, Plagg, (Adrien, Danny, Jake) (”that was you?”) Randy, Adrien, (Jake, Danny) (”frostbite”) Danny, Randy, Jake, Adrien (”first date help”) Adrien, Randy, (Danny, Jake) (”apocalypse”) Danny, Jake, (Adrien, Gramps, Haley, Fu Dog, Susan, Jonathan) (”escape from NYC) Randy, Adrien, (Danny, Jake) (”Stabby the roomba”) Randy, Adrien, (Danny, Jake) (”love square”) Jazz, (Haley, Howard) (”evil clones”) Adrien and Danny (”discovered”) Adrien, Randy, Danny, (Jake) (”war zone”) Jake, (Adrien, Randy, Danny) (”Miracle Queen”) Debbie, Theresa, (Adrien, Randy) (”cartwheel”) Heidi, Jake, (Howard, Randy, Danny, Adrien) (”busted”) now expanded  FF | AO3 Jake, Randy, (Danny, Adrien) (”nasty sauce”) Bunnyx (”Chat Blanc”) Jacques (”inspiration”) Danny, Plagg, Adrien, (Jake, Randy) (”Box Ghost”) Plagg, Danny, Randy, (Jake, Adrien) (”blood magic”) Gabriel and Desiree (”be careful what you wish for”) Adrien, Jake, Randy, Danny (”what are you?”) Randy, Jake, (Danny, Adrien) (”he treats us well”) Randy, Jake, (Danny, Adrien) (”mermaids”) Jake, (Randy, Danny, Adrien, Gregory) (”arrogance”) Ladybug/Marinette and Adrien (”confessions”) Marty, (Randy, Danny, Adrien, Jake) (”entire world”) Danny, (Randy, Adrien, Jake) (”fire”, “reveal”) Jake, Danny, (Randy, Adrien) (”grenade”) Jake, Danny, (Adrien, Randy) (”mercenary”) Randy, Debbie, (Danny, Adrien, Jake) (”Debbie/Randy”) Adrien, Jake, Danny, Randy (”new year”) Jake, Adrien, (Danny, Randy) (”fallout”) Danny, Adrien, Jake, (Randy) (”stargazing”)

Now on the AO3 Randy, Debbie, Adrien, (Danny, Jake) (”Kangham”, “hide”)

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Luna Lovegood Headcanons?

OMG RAHHHHHHHHHH LUNA ML!!! 🥹💙🌸

She’s arospec and ace, and when she’s in a relationship she doesn’t feel romantic or platonic love but a secret third thing that is just as strong as any other kind of love <3

She loves dreamcatchers and kaleidoscopes!

Harry and Luna share platonic forehead- and cheek kisses all the time post war 🥹

She’s related to the Malfoys and also the Rosiers

Her favourite colour is yellow 🌻🌼💛

She loves to braid Ginny’s hair, and she’s really good at it too!

She’s an autistic queen 😎

She hates being barefoot

The Sorting Hat thought for a while about placing her in Gryffindor

She often forgets to eat or drink and other important things like that, because she’s too caught up in a new project of some kind

She loves animals, especially Thestrals

When she grows up she begins working as a tattoo artist in Diagon Alley/Hogsmeade, in her very own tattoo studio. She tattoos almost all her friends: a dragon and a phoenix for Harry, a full sleeve of narcissus flowers to cover up Draco’s Dark Mark, a flame of fire for Ginny, “jamais pur” (meaning “never pure” in French, I can explain this one in another ask if you’d like :D) for Hermione etc.

Tysm for reaching out <3 Hope you like these! Have a nice day!!!

[carpetbug]

ML Bandit Prince AU!

this is just me kinda dumping everything I have at least sort of figured out so far lol, this is definitely not how i’ll format the au should I develop it

ok so imma be fr I don’t have a whole lot fleshed out for this au yet, and i’m not sure how much i’ll develop it but i’m having fun with it for now!

The basic idea is alternate universe, medieval-y vibes, Gabriel is the king mourning the recent loss of his queen, Emilie. He is in ownership of all the miraculous, and they are a relatively well kept secret. When Emilie suddenly ‘dies’, Gabriel finds the black cat ring missing soon after and sort of goes into lockdown. He puts his son, Prince Adrien, under the constant protection of a 24/7 bodyguard. Said bodyguard is none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a seamstress under gabriel’s teaching. He sees her fondness for Adrien as Marinette, and offers to allow her to wield the ladybug earrings so long as she keeps Adrien safe above all else, returns them when the time comes, and works with him to retrieve the stolen miraculous from the anonymous thief.

Only problem is, the thief is Prince Adrien, who discovered the miraculous and the truth behind his mother’s ‘death’ the night she was lost. He took the black cat to keep the wish out of his father’s hands and began pretending he was still the oblivious, obedient, perfect son he was made to be. The only thing he wasn’t quite prepared for was a ladybug hero vowing to protect him with her life, who was also the most beautiful girl he had ever met. and under her father’s manipulation. and maybe trying to arrest his vigilante identity.

I haven’t settled on a name for his hero identity yet, but here’s a design i made back in november!

definitely needs some revisiting 😅

no full body for ladybugs design yet, or what her name will be, but i have this little doodle also from november :)

i think that’s pretty much everything i’ve thought up so far, and none of it’s entirely solid yet lol. lmk what y’all think! who knows if anyone people are interested i’ll do something with it 🧐 (not anytime soon probably)