#bro my nose feels so.. empty

[hyuckiefluff]

Flipped | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem reader (ft haechan) genre: angst, fluff, smut (in 2nd part) wc: 29k+ summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. content warnings: mild possessiveness/jealousy, minor confrontation/injuries, non-consensual drugging (love potion), mark is mean at first and terribly bad at feelings, miscommunication, unrequited feelings. explicit sexual content, cursing, loss of virginity, semipublic sexual activity, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex. a/n: proofreading this after meeting mark lee irl had me feeling crazy... bro is actually majestic and i miss him BAD. anyway... this one is special to me because i’ve been wanting to write a hogwarts au since forever and i absolutely love how it came out. this is also slightly inspired by the movie/book “flipped” so it has a ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ vibe that i’m kinda obsessed with. i tried to do something different and write the events from both perspectives, i hope it’s clear enough so that you can tell when it’s him and when it’s her. feedback is always appreciated! ps: i had to split this into two parts bc apparently i reached the max word count, so all the smut cws apply to the 2nd part . thank you so much for reading!

The first time Mark Lee met you, you flipped his world upside down.

And not in a good way. In the most literal and humiliating way possible.

It happened on the Hogwarts Express, during your very first year. Mark had been desperately searching for an empty cabin but since he was dragging a suitcase stuffed to the brim by his overly concerned mother, he was at a severe disadvantage. Someone else had already claimed the spot every time he reached a door.

By the time he made it to the last cabin, he was already panting. But at last, he found one that was partially empty.

You sat cross-legged on the seat, nose buried in The Quibbler. Mark found that a little odd, his father always said The Quibbler was full of nonsense, a rag for conspiracy theorists rather than real journalism. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the fact that both of his arms were shaking from the weight of his bag.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and your messy bangs fell into your wide, starry eyes. For a second, Mark swore they got even bigger at the sight of him.

“Not at all!” you chirped, your voice high and excited.

Mark forced a polite smile and stepped inside, shuffling toward the overhead compartment. He glanced up at where your bag was already neatly placed and swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to get his own up there? He wasn’t weak by any means, but after dragging it through the entire train, his arms were screaming in protest.

You seemed to notice his struggle because you set The Quibbler down and pulled out your wand. “Need help?”

Mark was about to shake his head when suddenly, his feet left the ground.

“What—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”

Mark flailed helplessly as his entire body flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Panic surged through him as he felt his pants begin to slip.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the right spell!” you gasped, flicking your wand again, this time more frantically.

Mark tried to grip at something, anything, but all he managed to do was thrash at the air while more of his clothes tried to slip away from his body.

“I—I don’t know the counterspell!” you admitted in a panic.

At the commotion, students from other cabins poked their heads in. A chorus of laughter erupted at the sight of Mark dangling upside down, arms desperately trying to keep his robes and pants in place.

A tall, older student finally pushed his way inside. He took one look at Mark and sighed as if this were nothing new. “Seriously? Don’t you first-years ever learn?”

“I—I was just trying to help him levitate his bag…”

The older student pinched the bridge of his nose. “Finite.”

Mark hit the seat with an unceremonious thud.

“If you lot keep casting spells on the train, I’ll start deducting points from your houses as soon as you’re sorted,” the boy warned before turning on his heel and waving off the lingering audience.

You hesitated, staring at Mark with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry…” you whispered, your voice wavering just a little.

But Mark wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red from both rage and humiliation. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and stormed out.

That was the day Mark Lee met you.

And the day he swore he’d never speak to you again.

The first time you met Mark Lee, you flipped.

Not literally but in the way your heart did a little somersault the moment he stepped into your cabin.

You had been engrossed in The Quibbler, completely enchanted by every bizarre detail about the magical world. Since you grew up with two Muggle parents, receiving your Hogwarts letter was like stepping into a dream where the impossible suddenly was real. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Your cabin door suddenly slid open and a boy stood there, panting slightly, his face flushed red from exertion as he struggled to drag an absurdly large trunk behind him.

You felt your face heat up. You’d never been around many boys growing up, having attended an all-girls school, but there was something about him that struck you immediately. Maybe it was the way his glasses were slipping down his pretty nose, or the way he offered a shy, slightly strained smile as he stepped inside. He was adorable.

And he was struggling.

You watched as he attempted to haul his trunk toward the overhead rack, his arms visibly trembling under its weight. Something in you immediately wanted to help.

The problem was… you had no idea what you were doing.

You’d only ever performed magic by accident, usually when you got too emotional. Your mom still loved to tell the story about how the lights in the house flickered every time you cried as a baby. Or the time Madeline Perkins made fun of your pigtails, and the swings mysteriously sent her flying off the playground.

But you’d only just gotten your wand the day before at Ollivanders. You hadn’t practiced a single spell yet, but you had been reading your textbooks. Wingardium Leviosa was the most basic charm in your book.

How hard could it be?

Apparently, hard enough that you somehow missed the part where it said that even though the spell was only for objects, if it was aimed at a person, it would also make their clothes float.

Which was how you now found yourself staring up at the cute boy you’d just met, his body suspended in midair, robes billowing wildly, eyes wide with pure horror.

Talk about a terrible first impression.

From that moment on, Mark Lee avoided you like the plague.  

It didn’t help that you were sorted into different houses—him in Gryffindor, you in Slytherin. You quickly learned that those two houses were basically sworn enemies, which made it even easier for him to pretend you didn’t exist.  

Despite his rocky start on the train, Mark had no trouble making friends in Gryffindor. He was well-liked, effortlessly charming, and even if he wasn’t the loudest in the room, he always carried a quiet sort of confidence. You, on the other hand, kept to yourself. Spending most of your free time watching him from across the Great Hall, your crush on him growing by the day.  

You didn’t know why you liked him so much, he hadn’t done anything grand or impressive to win your admiration. If anything, he actively tried to avoid you.  

You tried approaching him a few times during your first year, hoping to properly apologize and smooth things over. But each time, he found a way to dodge you, claiming he was late for class, too busy with homework, or suddenly needed to be anywhere else but next to you.

So by second year, you changed your approach.  

If Mark Lee wouldn’t pay attention to you as a friend, you’d make him notice you as a rival.  

Mark had been one of the best students in your first year, so you became an absolute academic weapon in your second. You were determined to match him in every class, if not surpass him.  

“Excellent work, Miss Y/N,” Professor McGonagall praised, a rare note of surprise in her voice as she examined the intricate tea jar you had just transfigured from a blue jay.  

You glanced over your shoulder at Mark. He was sitting a few rows back, his brows furrowed as he stared at your jar with a barely concealed frown. His own transfiguration was… less successful. The lizard he’d tried to turn into a pen still had a suspiciously scaly texture.  

But it wasn’t just Transfiguration where you shined.  

You also excelled in Potions, something that became very clear when Professor Snape assigned your class, which you shared with the Gryffindors, the difficult task of brewing Draught of Living Death, a highly advanced sleeping potion that could render someone unconscious with just a single drop.  

One of the Gryffindors groaned in frustration. “Sir, this is way too advanced—”

“If it’s too difficult for your little Gryffindor hands,” Snape sneered, cutting him off, “perhaps you should take notes on how some of the Slytherins are managing. Particularly Miss Y/N.”

Your ears burned at the attention as several students shuffled closer to your workstation, peeking at your bubbling cauldron. The only ones who didn’t approach were the Gryffindors at Mark’s table.  

You noticed that his potion was violently spewing green gas bubbles, and he looked deeply frustrated, brows knitted together as he stirred with precision.  

Letting your own potion simmer for a moment, you stood up and made your way over to his table. The chatter among his friends died down as you approached. Zhong Chenle, the boy sitting next to him, smacked his arm lightly to get his attention.  

Mark finally looked up, his glasses fogged from the potion fumes, and the front of his hair sticking up in all directions.  

You stifled a laugh.  

“Need help?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.  

Mark blinked at you, and for the first time since the train, you finally had his full attention.

“No, thanks. I got it.”  

The words had barely left Mark’s mouth when his potion let out another violent blorp, spewing a sickly green bubble into the air. It popped immediately, releasing a smell so putrid it made your stomach churn.  

“Dude, that smells like a troll’s ass,” Chenle cackled, covering his nose.  

Jaemin, who was sitting across from Mark, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, mate. She’s the best in the class.” He shot you a grin. “Let her help.”  

Mark resisted the urge to groan. He knew they were right, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be the one correcting him. It was bad enough that you had been outshining him in every subject lately, now you were swooping in to save him too?  

But before he could protest again, you stepped closer to his cauldron making his entire body tense.

“What did you add to make it green like this?” you asked, peering into the potion. Your voice was calm, inquisitive like you weren’t there to gloat but to actually help.  

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes fixed stubbornly on the cauldron. “I did exactly as the instructions said.”  

Jaemin let out a small snort, clearly unconvinced.  

“Hm,” you hummed, examining the bubbling liquid. “You must’ve added more than three drops of Valerian root extract.”  

Mark frowned. Valerian root extract? He thought back to when he had been adding the ingredients, trying to get ahead of everyone. Had he miscounted? Maybe. Probably.  

You reached for a small vial of powdered sopophorous bean and sprinkled just a pinch into the potion. “This should balance it out and bring it back to its original black color,” you explained, gently stirring the mixture.  

Mark watched in reluctant amazement as the once-toxic green sludge darkened before his eyes, settling into the inky black shade it was supposed to be.  

He barely stopped his brows from rising in surprise. You had fixed it. Just like that.  

Mark swallowed down the frustrated lump in his throat. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had one-upped him again.  

“That was impressive, Y/N,” Jaemin said, clapping his hands.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling shyly. “The instructions in this book are a bit ambiguous, so I suggest adding less than what the recipe says at first, watching how the colors change, and then adjusting accordingly.”  

Mark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his stirring rod. He hated to admit it, but that was actually… good advice.  

Still, he kept his eyes on his potion, refusing to look at you or thank you for helping. 

"You should start sitting with us, Y/N," Chenle said, grinning like a cat as he threw an arm around Mark. "So you can help our boy here, who’s clearly lost."

Mark didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at the invitation. And that was exactly why he needed to shut this down immediately.

He knew about your little crush on him, everyone did. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You always looked at him with those heart eyes across the Great Hall, his friends teased him about it constantly. You also cheered the loudest for him at every Quidditch match, even when he was playing against Slytherin. Even when your house lost. He’d seen the way your own housemates sneered at you for it, the way they mocked your infatuation, but you never seemed to care.

The other thing about you was that you were so unapologetically Muggle-born.

Not that Mark cared about blood status. He wasn't that kind of wizard, despite coming from a long line of pure-bloods. But you made it so difficult for yourself. You didn’t even try to blend in among your Slytherin peers. You didn’t mind their teasing, didn’t care that you had practically no friends in your own house.

It was frustrating, the way you took every jab with a smile, like none of it ever got to you. But what frustrated him even more was that whenever he said anything, whenever he so much as muttered something slightly harsh, your whole face fell.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him more than it should.

“Sorry, this table is already full,” Mark said, once again avoiding your gaze. He imagined the way your smile faltered.

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of—”

Mark elbowed Chenle sharply in the stomach.

“Like I said, the table’s full.”

“Oh… okay,” you murmured, your head dipping slightly. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Mark didn’t watch you walk away, but he could feel the disappointment in your steps.

“Dude, you’re so mean to her,” Jaemin muttered, his eyes still on your retreating figure. “She clearly likes you.”

“Whatever,” Mark huffed, waving him off. “Let’s focus on something else.” He ignored the knowing smirk Jaemin shot him and tried—failed—to ignore the creeping warmth rising up his neck.

In your third year, you found a passion for Herbology.

Mark should’ve been relieved. After all, the more time you spent in the greenhouse, the less time you spent trying to talk to him. And at first, it was great. He barely had to think about you at all.

But then… it became his problem.

Because one day, he started noticing small bowls of water left in his usual spots—on the Gryffindor table, outside the Quidditch locker room, even near the Gryffindor common room entrance. At first, he ignored them. Maybe some first-years were testing a spell. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Then, he saw the petals floating in the water shift and transform into delicate, shimmering fish as soon as he grabbed the bowl.

And Mark hated to admit it… but it intrigued him. The magic was advanced, something most students their age wouldn’t even attempt. He even caught himself watching the tiny enchanted fish, mesmerized by the way their colors glowed under the candlelight.

That was his mistake, because his friends noticed.

“You’re actually accepting her gifts now,” Chenle teased, crossing his arms as Mark peeled off his muddy Quidditch uniform.

“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Mark argued, tossing his gloves onto the bench.

Jaemin snorted. “Do you really think anyone else in our year knows how to do that kind of magic?”

“Yeah, she’s the only one crazy enough about you to put in that much effort,” Chenle added with a smirk.

Mark rolled his eyes. “There are other girls who like me, you know.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Are there? ’Cause I feel like Y/N’s already scared them all off.”

Chenle laughed. “Honestly, just give her a chance. She’s pretty, and let’s be real, she’d probably do anything for you.”

Mark sighed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

They didn’t get it. He’d spent years running from you, dodging your attempts, shutting down any rumors before they could spread. He couldn’t just give in now.

Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else.

But it did to him.

So he kept doing what made the most sense to him, and one day, you found yourself walking into the greenhouse when your eyes immediately spotted the familiar bowls scattered across the table. Your heart clenched at the sight, but you refused to believe Mark would just discard your gifts like that.

But as you approached, you noticed something that made your stomach twist painfully. The fish, once so vibrant and lively, now lay still in the water. They barely moved. They didn't swim with the same energy, the same color that had once made them sparkle. They just stayed there, like lifeless figures floating in stagnant water. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, you could almost swear they looked sad.

It hit you like a physical blow. Mark really didn’t want anything to do with you. 

The realization didn’t come alone, though. You’d noticed it over the last few months, but you’d been too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Mark had been spending more time with a girl from Ravenclaw. You didn’t even know her name, but the way they talked and laughed together, the way he’d smile at her with that soft look you’d always hoped to get... It was all the confirmation you needed. Mark Lee wasn’t just avoiding you… he was interested in someone else.

You stood there in the greenhouse, staring at the fish, a sinking feeling settling deep in your chest. He didn’t care about you the way you’d always hoped. 

In your fourth year, you decided it was time to focus on yourself. To put Mark away and finally let go of your feelings for him.

You’d been practicing something called Occlumency. Professor Snape had given you a book on it and told you it would help you shield away any distractions when you started falling behind in class due to your little infatuation with a certain seeker.

“This is very advanced magic,” Snape had said, handing you the book with a knowing look, “and it takes months, sometimes years, of practice to master it.”

And practice you did. Every day, you worked at it, pushing your emotions into a mental drawer and locking it away. It was hard at first. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Mark, but slowly, you began to make progress. You learned to control your thoughts, to put each memory, each feeling about him into that mental drawer, one by one, and shove it far back in your mind.

The more you practiced, the easier it became. It wasn’t perfect, but over the course of the year, you started to feel a strange sense of indifference towards Mark Lee.

At least until The Yule Ball was announced in the middle of the term. Even with all your hard work on Occlumency, you couldn’t stop the twinge of longing that crept in. You knew Mark would be going with Mia, the Ravenclaw girl whose name you had learned through the whispers of the school. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel disappointed, but the nagging thought of asking him yourself refused to leave your mind.  

You had planned to skip the celebration altogether. The last thing you wanted was to sit alone while Mark and Mia danced, all dressed up and happy.

But that changed one afternoon in the library when you were buried in research on Venomous Tentacula for a Herbology project

The library was the one place where you could lose yourself without interruption, so you were caught off guard when you heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling your name.

“Hey, Y/N, right?”  

You turned, surprised to see Lee Haechan standing there. He was easily one of the most popular guys in Slytherin, the kind of person who always had a group of friends around him, cracking jokes and showing off on the Quidditch pitch. He wasn’t one to hang around in the library by himself during a free period. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken to him—if you ever had.  

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice more guarded than usual.

You were used to your fellow Slytherins teasing you for the smallest things, such as your Muggle clothes or the way you searched for books manually instead of having Madam Pince summon them for you.

“You probably don’t remember, but last year, you helped me during the Potions final,” he said, his tone surprisingly shy. It was a sharp contrast to the cocky confidence he usually carried.  

You thought back, remembering how badly he had struggled to keep his assigned potion from bubbling over and spilling across the table. You had only helped him because if his potion had spilled into yours, it would’ve ruined your work. But you didn’t tell him that.  

“I remember,” you said, reaching for a book on a higher shelf.  

Before you could grab it, he stepped closer, plucking it from the shelf with ease.  

“Thanks,” you muttered, slightly suspicious of the unexpected kindness.  

Then he said something that completely threw you off balance. “Listen, I heard you don’t have a date for the Yule Ball.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your fingers tightened slightly around the book. Lee Haechan, of all people, was bringing up the Yule Ball? He was one of the most sought-after guys in Slytherin, and yet here he was, talking to you about the biggest event of the year.  

“I’m not really planning on going,” you said, brushing off the conversation as you moved toward a nearby table.  

And, of course, he followed.  

“Really? Why not?” he asked, dropping into the seat across from you.  

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. “For starters, I don’t dance.” You flipped open your book, eyes scanning the pages in an attempt to distract yourself.

Haechan leaned forward slightly. “Ah, that’s an easy fix. I can teach you.”  

You glanced up, raising a brow. “Where is all this coming from, Haechan?”  

His smile widened when you said his name “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I want you to go to the dance with me.”  

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment he’d burst into laughter and reveal it was all some elaborate joke. But he didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his smile still in place.  

“Me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.  

He nodded. “You have pretty eyes, by the way.” His voice was casual as if he were just commenting on the weather. You nearly choked on your own breath, covering it up with an exaggerated cough.

“Did anyone ever tell you that?” he continued, watching your reaction with obvious amusement.  

You willed yourself to stay composed, but your heart was racing. What was he playing at?  

“Why would you want to go with me?” you asked. “It can’t just be because I helped you once on a test.”  

“Why not?” He rested his chin in his hand. “Maybe I’m extremely grateful and want to repay you.”  

Your heart beat faster than you wanted it to, and you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually meant it. Haechan had a teasing air about him that made it impossible to tell. Was this a bet with his friends? Or did he just enjoy seeing you flustered?

You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before you could say anything, he stood abruptly.  

“Sleep on it if you want,” he said with a grin. “You can tell me after the Quidditch game on Saturday.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t planning on—”

“I’ll see you there, Y/N,” Haechan said, cutting you off with a wave. Before you could protest, he walked away, leaving you in stunned silence.  

The next few days were strange. Haechan was clearly hovering around you. He wasn’t making it obvious, but you were observant enough to notice that he wasn’t skipping some of your shared classes anymore. He had also started spending time in the library even though you’d rarely seen him there before. He didn’t approach you, but you felt his eyes on you every time.  

You also realized he was checking out books right after you did. It was oddly amusing, so you decided to mess with him one day.

You had spent enough time in the library to know how to take books from the Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince. You pretended to read over one, placed it on a different shelf, and waited. A few minutes later, you spotted Haechan heading straight for that section.  

Silence filled the air, then a bloodcurdling scream rang through the library. The sound of a book hitting the floor echoed through the rows of shelves. Moments later, Haechan rushed out, his wide eyes locking onto you as you hunched over, struggling to hold in your laughter.  

“I’m guessing that was your doing,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.  

You shook your head, still grinning. “That’s just a security mechanism all the books from the Restricted Section have.”  

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How did you even get a book out of there without a professor’s note?”  

You shrugged. “I have my ways.”  

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with something that made you suddenly self-conscious. “You keep surprising me, Y/N.”  

Across the library, Mark sat at a table with Mia, his Potions textbook open in front of him but he wasn't reading anymore and his quill was static in the air. His gaze was locked on you and Haechan, watching the way you leaned in, the way your laughter softened the space between you. Mia followed his stare, then let out a quiet hum.  

“What an odd picture, huh?”  

Mark blinked, tearing his eyes away. “What?”  

Mia tilted her head, her quill twirling between her fingers. “They’re from the same house, sure, but Haechan is one of the most popular guys in school.” She glanced over at you, then back at Mark, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And she… isn’t she kind of an outcast? Even in her own house?”  

Mark tried to keep his tone neutral and disinterested  “So?”  

Mia let out a soft laugh, dipping her quill in ink. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably just bored. Using her for his own amusement.”  

Mark glanced back at your table. Haechan was leaning in, grinning as he spoke to you. You looked up at him with something close to exasperation, but there was a smile playing on your lips. It was weird. You didn’t smile like that often.

He ignored the way something twisted in his chest. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to his parchment.  

Mia hummed, unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday with a quiet sense of dread settling over you. Instead of heading to the greenhouse like you normally would, you made your way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp morning air biting at your skin. You had layered up so much that your scarf nearly swallowed half your face, but even with the extra warmth, you wished you were still curled up in bed.  

When you reached the stands, the realization hit you like a punch to your face—today’s match was against Gryffindor.

You should’ve known, but school events had barely been on your radar between your Occlumency lessons and your herbology studies.  

You climbed up to the Slytherin side of the stands, slipping into a seat in the back row. It wasn’t crowded yet, and you hoped to stay unnoticed, keeping your head low. The last thing you wanted was to catch the attention of a certain seeker. Or two. Not that Mark would be looking your way anyway.  

The distant whoosh of broomsticks cut through the morning stillness, and then, all at once, the stadium came alive. Players soared onto the pitch in a blur of red and green, the announcer’s voice booming through the enchanted speakers. You were only half-listening when you noticed Haechan scanning the crowd.  

You set to ignore him when his eyes landed on you.  

He mouthed something, but you couldn’t quite make out the words from the distance. His lips moved again, slower this time, like he was asking a question.  

You hesitated, then lifted your hand in a thumbs-up, hoping that would satisfy whatever he wanted. Though you immediately regretted it when you felt the weight of other eyes shifting onto you. People had noticed the exchange. Your face burned, and you quickly looked away.

The game began, and you tried to focus. Your eyes followed Haechan for most of it, but every so often, your Occlumency walls slipped, and your gaze found Mark. He was fast, his broom cutting through the air as he scoured the pitch for the Snitch. Haechan was right on his tail, matching his every turn, the two of them locked in a battle of speed.  

You knew Mark was a talented seeker. He was quick and light in the air, but his broom wasn’t as fast as Haechan’s, and that made some difference.  

You weren’t really rooting for either of them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Though the right thing to do as a Slytherin would be to hope for Haechan’s victory.  

The crowd suddenly roared, breaking you from your thoughts. Both seekers had disappeared behind one of the towers in a steep dive, and they were gone for a few agonizing seconds. Then, like a flash of green lightning, Haechan shot back into the air, arm raised, the golden Snitch clutched tight in his fist. 

The Slytherins around you erupted into cheers, the stands vibrating with excitement. You blinked, then let yourself be swept up in the celebration, joining the chorus of triumphant screams.

Haechan suddenly veered toward the stands, his broom tilting slightly as he hovered just above the crowd. He brought the Snitch to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to its delicate golden surface before tossing it in your direction. Your hands reacted before your mind could catch up, fingers closing around the tiny fluttering ball with ease.  

A collective gasp rippled through the Slytherin section, eyes darting between you and Haechan.  

"Y/N!" Haechan called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the crowd. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"  

The world felt like it had slowed.  

You hated attention. You hated feeling like all eyes were on you. But what you hated the most in that moment was the fact that Mark was there, hovering just behind Haechan, watching everything unfold. His broom was still, his expression neutral, but you could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for your response.  

"So," Haechan prompted, his voice a little breathless from the cold and the game, his nose and cheeks tinged pink. "What's your answer?"  

Your fingers tightened around the Snitch. You risked a quick glance at Mark, searching for something—anything—in his face. But all you could see was the annoyance from losing the match.  

There was only one right answer.  

"Okay," you said.  

Haechan grinned, throwing his arms up in victory. The crowd erupted, voices overlapping as cheers and chants of his name filled the air.

Mark wasn’t on his best game today. He was usually laser-focused before a match, but things weren’t going right thia morning. First, someone pulled a prank and turned his Quidditch robes a bright pink. Now, he was stuck wearing Sungchan’s, which were way too big. They hung loosely around his shoulders and got in the way whenever he tried to move.  

On top of that, Mark was in a strangely sour mood, though he couldn’t figure out why. Everything felt off. The broom didn’t feel right in his hands, and the wind felt harsher than usual.  

Then he saw you in the stands.  

At first, he thought you were there for him. You usually came to cheer him on, so it made sense. But when Lee Haechan flew by and his face lit up when he saw you, Mark realized he’d been wrong. You looked flustered, but you still gave him a thumbs up.  

So, you weren’t there for him? That was okay. Actually, it was better than okay.  

But then Haechan wouldn’t stop. He kept swooping around Mark, poking fun.  

“A little slow today, huh?” Haechan called as he flew beside Mark. “You looking a little distracted, Lee.”  

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Focus on your game,” he said, his tone clipped.  

“Oh, I am.” Haechan’s eyes flickered to you in the stands, where you were rubbing your hands together for warmth.  

Mark’s focus broke. The rest of the game felt like a blur.

He was usually the fastest to spot the snitch. No matter who he played against, his eyes always found it first. And Haechan wasn’t known for being the most observant player, so when Mark saw the snitch fluttering just a few feet away, he immediately maneuvered toward it. But his borrowed robes dragged around his legs, slowing him down. By the time he managed to free himself, Haechan had already spotted the snitch and was racing toward it.  

Mark pushed forward, forcing his broom to match Haechan’s speed. When he caught up, the Slytherin boy turned to him with a smirk and a challenge in his eyes.  

“First one to catch it wins the prize,” Haechan said.  

Mark frowned. There was no prize for catching the snitch. The cup at the end of the year depended on accumulated wins, and there were still plenty of matches left. But then it clicked. Haechan wasn’t talking about the cup. He was talking about you.  

For some ridiculous reason, he thought Mark was interested in you.  

The snitch suddenly dove, and both seekers followed. They jostled for position, each elbowing the other to get ahead. But then Haechan leaned forward, and it was like his broom had shifted into another gear. He shot ahead, leaving Mark behind with no chance to catch up.  

When Mark rose back to the pitch, he already knew he had lost.  

It shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. Gryffindor had been on a winning streak for the past three matches, and they were still leading. This loss wouldn’t hurt them in the long run. But something about losing to Haechan irritated him.  

It definitely wasn’t the fact that Haechan flew straight toward you. It wasn’t the fact that he tossed you the snitch and asked you, in front of the entire school, to go to the dance with him.  

Mark didn’t know why his ribs felt tight against his chest or why he found himself waiting for you to look at him. But then you did, and all he could do was scowl.  

And then you said okay.  

Mark didn’t want to hear the cheers so he turned his broom and flew away.

It was the night of the Yule Ball, and you were nervous. Ever since the match, you had started getting more attention from your fellow Slytherins. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t. A few girls had taken an interest in you, though, and they were nice enough that you didn’t feel the need to keep your guard up so you didn't refuse when they offered to help you get ready for the ball.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Minjeong said, tilting your chin up. “I think if we curl your lashes and tweeze your brows a bit, they’d stand out even more.”  

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, shifting awkwardly on the vanity stool they had just enchanted into existence in the dorm.  

“I hope you don’t mind,” Karina started, eyes bright with excitement, “but I made some modifications to your dress.”  

You tensed. “What? What kind of modifications?”  

“Oh, just a few little ones,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean… you’re about to show up with the most popular Slytherin guy. You can't wear something plain.”  

“Right,” Minjeong agreed, blending eyeshadow onto your lids. “You have to show everyone you’re on his level.”  

You weren’t sure how you felt about that. But you let them work. They curled and pinned your hair, dusted powders and pigments onto your face, and finished off with a few well-placed glamour enchantments. When they finally let you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable.  

“This is our best work yet,” Minjeong said, clapping Karina on the back.  

“Absolutely,” the taller girl agreed, looking satisfied.  

Your hair fell in soft curls over your shoulders, half-pinned in the back with what looked like strands of shimmering tinsel woven in. Your eyes somehow looked bigger, framed by thick lashes that made them seem darker, more intense. Your brows were perfectly shaped, giving your face a softer, more refined look.  

“Okay, now put on the dress! We’ll go get ready,” Karina said, pointing toward the neatly laid-out fabric on your bed.  

Before you could say anything, they were already out the door.  

“Thank you!” you called after them, but they were long gone.

You turned toward the bed, hands smoothing over the fabric of the dress Karina had "modified". To your relief, it was still elegant and not overly flashy. The gown was a soft, silvery blue with a delicate shimmer that caught the light when you moved. The bodice was fitted but modest, with sheer lace sleeves that draped lightly over your shoulders. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers of airy fabric, giving it an almost weightless quality. It was pretty, delicate, and just fancy enough to make it clear you hadn’t thrown it together last minute.  

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. At least it wasn’t anything too dramatic.

When you stepped out of the girls' dorm and into the Slytherin common room, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Haechan was waiting for you, and the moment your eyes met, you noticed how the entire room seemed to pause. Conversations quieted, and nearly every gaze turned toward you.   

“Wow… you look so… wow,” Haechan stammered, walking up to you. His expression was so genuinely stunned that you felt warmth rise to your cheeks.

“You look gorgeous, and I don’t think that even describes it well.” He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips curling into a grin when he noticed how flustered you looked.   

“Hah, thanks,” you chuckled nervously. “You look nice too.” He did. His black suit fit him well, long robes flowing behind him, accented with silver details that made him look effortlessly put together. His hair was slicked back, but a single strand had fallen over his forehead, softening his sharp features.  

He placed a hand on your back and led you up the stairs and out of the dungeons, you instinctively held onto his arm to steady yourself.   

Thankfully, by the time you reached the Great Hall, the attention had shifted from you. The room was filled with students dressed in elegant robes, sparkling gowns, and tailored suits, each more dazzling than the next. The sheer number of people made it easy to blend in, or so you thought.  

Because somewhere across the hall, a particular Gryffindor’s eyes never left you.

“Who is that?” Jaemin asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.   

“That’s Y/N, idiot,” Chenle replied, looking equally stunned.   

“No way… seriously?” Jaemin’s eyes widened.   

“Now she finally looks like she could really date someone like Lee Haechan,” Mia chimed in, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.   

Mark didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on you across the room.   

“Cat got your tongue?” Mia teased, and Mark snapped out of his trance, his eyes meeting hers.   

“No…uhm… she looks the same to me.” Mark muttered before walking away.   

You ended up enjoying yourself far more than you’d expected. Haechan was surprisingly fun to be around, and he wasn’t getting too touchy, which you appreciated. You both jumped and swayed to the music of the Weird Sisters.   

“I hate this band!” Haechan shouted over the noise, but his feet didn’t stop moving.   

You burst out laughing. “Me too.”  

He grinned at you, his face flushed, both of you breathless and sweaty.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Hey, what’s up with you and Mark Lee?”

Your laughter died in your throat.

“Huh? Nothing, why?” you stammered, trying to hide your nerves.   

“Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hex my head off,” Haechan said, chuckling.   

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Mark indeed staring in your direction. His expression was tight, angry even, but there was something else there too. Beside him, Mia was practically clawing at his attention, asking him something. He simply shook his head, dismissing her with a frown before she stormed off.   

“Don’t mind him,” you said, turning back to Haechan, but he was already watching you.

“I’m not,” he said softly, his hands finding yours. 

Suddenly, you were standing closer to him, and you had to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The music shifted into a slower tune, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was now.   

“Stop me if you’re not okay with this,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. Before you could even process, his lips brushed yours, and then he closed the gap entirely.

Haechan’s lips were soft against yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you disappeared. The music faded into the background, the chatter of students blurred into nothing, and it was just the two of you.  

Then, all at once, everything shattered.  

A loud crack echoed through the Great Hall, and before you could process what was happening, something thick and cold splattered down your back. You gasped, stumbling away from Haechan as a chilling sensation spread over your skin. A murmur rippled through the crowd as gasps and stifled laughter filled the air.  

You looked down. Dark, sticky liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of your dress, staining the soft silk into something sickly and ruined. A pungent smell filled your nose. You barely had time to react before your dress started shrinking.  

Your breath caught as the bodice tightened, the fabric pulling uncomfortably against your ribs, cinching around your waist like an invisible grip. Your sleeves vanished, and the hemline shot up several inches in one horrifying swoop, exposing far too much of your legs.  

The laughter grew louder.  

You clenched your fists, heart pounding as humiliation crashed over you in waves.  

“What the hell?” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. He whipped around, wand drawn, eyes scanning the hall for the culprit.  

And then your gaze landed on Mark.  

He stood several feet away, his wand still faintly sparking at the tip. His expression was frozen, his face a shade paler than before. His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how the spell had left his lips in the first place.  

But you didn’t see uncertainty. You didn’t see hesitation or guilt. All you saw was an angry boy.  

A boy who barely acknowledged you before. A boy who always seemed unimpressed by your very existence. A boy who just humiliated you in front of the entire school.  

Your throat tightened.  

He really hated you that much.  

Haechan was already stepping in front of you, blocking you from the murmuring students. His wand was still raised, his grip so tight his knuckles had gone white.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?” His voice cut through the noise, venom dripping from every word.  

Mark didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to undo what he had just done. But he didn’t move.  

Your breath was shaky as you forced your voice to come out steady. “You didn’t have to do that.”  

Mark’s gaze snapped to you, something flickering in his eyes. But you didn’t care what it was.  

“You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you continued, your voice sharper now, your chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”  

Mark opened his mouth, but for once, he had nothing to say.  

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, then turned away.  

Haechan was already pulling off his robe, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping a protective arm around you. “C’mon, let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, shooting one last glare in Mark’s direction before leading you out of the Great Hall.  

Mark didn’t mean to stare.

But from the second you stepped into the Great Hall, he couldn’t seem to look away.

You didn’t look different. That’s what he told himself. It was just a dress. Just some makeup. Just a bunch of pointless glamour spells. Nothing about you had actually changed.

And yet.

And yet.

His grip tightened around the goblet in his hand as he watched you dance with Haechan, laughing at something he said, looking so damn happy at his side. Mark didn’t even know Haechan that well, but for some reason, he hated him.

He hated the way Haechan touched your waist. He hated the way you let him pull you closer when the song slowed down. Hated the way you tilted your head to look up at him, that slight pause in your movements making it clear what was about to happen.

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs, something bubbling up inside him, something sharp and hot and suffocating.

And before he even thought about what he was doing, his fingers twitched around his wand.

It happened too fast.

A crackle of magic shot from his wand like a reflex, like something instinctual, something uncontrollable. It streaked through the air, twisting and curling before hitting you and Haechan where you stood.

The Great Hall fell into silence and then laughter erupted.

Mark could barely register what had happened, only that you looked devastated. Your dress was drenched and shrinking until the delicate fabric was something ridiculous, something cruel, something designed to humiliate.

His blood ran cold. He had done that.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even know what spell he cast, just that it happened because of the way you looked at Haechan. Because of the way Mark didn’t want you to look at Haechan.

Haechan’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?”

You turned to him then, and when your eyes met his, something inside him dropped.

Because you didn’t only look angry. You looked… hurt.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was just... disappointment.

Mark felt something claw up his throat. But he couldn’t say anything.

He watched as you shook your head, your expression hardening as you pulled Haechan’s robe tighter around yourself.

"You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you said, voice sharp now. “You didn’t have to humiliate me."

Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

And then you turned your back on him. And he just stood there still gripping his wand.

Still feeling that suffocating thing inside his chest.

Hating himself for the fact that he had only just realized what it was.

Mark felt like the ground had been yanked from under him. His whole body felt heavy, like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare where he could see everything going wrong but couldn’t stop it.

Jaemin sighed, shoving Mark’s wand into his own pocket. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Mark couldn’t answer. He was still staring at the spot where you’d stood, where you’d looked at him like he was the worst person in the world. 

Chenle shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you actually humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s not just being petty, Mark. That’s being cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mark said quickly, voice hoarse, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. What did that even mean? That he hadn’t meant to hex you? That he hadn’t meant to let his jealousy swallow him whole?

Jaemin scoffed. “Well it sure as hell looked intentional.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt tangling in his throat. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It just happened.”

Jaemin exchanged a look with Chenle. “Right. It just happened that you hexed her right when she was kissing Haechan.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Jaemin said it. Like it was so obvious.

Chenle crossed his arms. “If you’re gonna act like this every time you see her with another guy, maybe just admit that you like her and spare everyone the dramatics.”

Mark flinched. “I don’t—”

Jaemin held up a hand. “Before you finish that sentence, think really hard about whether or not it’s a lie.”

Mark clamped his mouth shut. Because he didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Even if he did like you, what difference would it make?

You were the one who hated him now.

By the time your fifth year came around, you’d successfully mastered Occlumency so well that when you returned to school Mark was nothing more than a passing thought. The memories you had of him felt distant, like a foggy dream.

You never thought you’d feel this way, but it was almost freeing. The emotional weight he’d carried for so long was no longer crushing you. You were finally able to move on.

After what happened at the Yule Ball, you were relieved that Haechan seemed to understand you needed space. He kept things between you friendly, never bringing up the kiss or attempting to do it again. It made things easier, even if there was still an underlying tension whenever he caught your eye for too long. But just because he didn’t push for anything more didn’t mean he stopped very obviously flirting with you.

If anything, he seemed to have doubled down. Compliments slipped into every conversation, his arm would brush against yours whenever he passed by, and he always found some excuse to sit next to you in the common room or during meals. It was like he had claimed you in some unspoken way—not forcefully, or in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that let everyone else know that he was still very much interested.

Karina and Minjeong, meanwhile, had become your biggest support system. For the first time, you felt like you truly had friends. And if they had one common enemy, it was Mark Lee.

“He is so pathetic,” Karina muttered, stabbing at her breakfast aggressively. “Walking around like a sad puppy as if he isn’t evil.”

“How dare the Gryffindors say we’re the house full of terrible people when they have someone like Mark Lee?” Minjeong scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

You hid a small smile behind your cup, already used to their daily Mark-related grievances. It had become routine at this point. Every morning, without fail, they found something new to complain about. And if they couldn’t find anything, they made something up.

“I mean, look at him,” Karina continued, tilting her head toward the Gryffindor table. “He’s just poking at his food and sighing dramatically. Does he expect us to feel bad?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “As if he has anything to be heartbroken over. He’s the one who embarrassed you in front of everyone. And now he has the audacity to mope around? Get a grip.”

You said nothing, focusing on your plate instead. You had built up your Occlumency walls so well that even you weren’t sure what you felt about Mark anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You weren’t… anything. And you were proud of that.

You stopped going to Quidditch games after a while. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of self-consciousness that crept in every time you stepped into the stands. But Karina and Minjeong convinced you to go today. It was Slytherin’s match, and though it was against Gryffindor, you agreed. You trusted your walls, confident that nothing could touch you now.

The game started, despite the pouring rain. The weather only seemed to make it more intense. The announcer’s voice echoed over the field, remarking on the lightning that nearly struck the Slytherin keeper. You could barely hear him over the storm.

Mark and Haechan were both darting across the sky, locked in pursuit of the Snitch. They were higher than the other players, cutting through the rain like streaks of lightning themselves. You tried to follow them with your eyes, but the thick raindrops blurred your vision and the gusts of wind whipped your hair into your face, making it harder to see. Then, all at once, the sky split open with a crack of lightning.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Mark’s broom fall from the sky, his body following in a terrifying, uncontrolled descent.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, your voice barely carrying over the storm. Time seemed to slow. Your mind raced as you realized that one of the professors had cast the Arresto Momentum charm just in time. The world around you shifted back into real-time, and suddenly, Mark’s body was lying motionless on the pitch.

He was unconscious but thankfully unscathed. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, mixing with the frenzy of footsteps as professors rushed to his side.

Without thinking, you slipped out of the stands, pushing through the chaos of the crowd. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your breath quickening as you neared the pitch. The professors were already at his side, checking him over carefully. You could barely breathe, the panic tightening around your chest.

“Mark,” you whispered, as if calling him out of a deep sleep.

When Mark woke up, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over him, a soft golden light flickering at the tip as she muttered a diagnostic spell under her breath.

“Oh, great heavens! You’re finally awake,” she gasped, clutching her chest in relief. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send for St. Mungo’s. There was no reason for you to still be unconscious!”

Mark blinked a few times, his vision still slightly blurred, before realizing he wasn’t alone. Chenle and Jaemin were sitting nearby, their faces tight with concern.

“Mate, you scared the shit out of us,” Chenle said, his brows furrowed.

“We thought we lost you,” Jaemin added, a little too serious for Mark’s liking.

“What… happened?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

“You fell off your broom from at least fifty feet in the air. It was insane,” Chenle said.

“I don’t… why don’t I remember anything?” Mark mumbled, wincing as a dull, throbbing pain settled in his skull.

“Professor McGonagall slowed your fall, but you still hit the ground pretty hard. You must’ve knocked your head,” Jaemin explained.

Madam Pomfrey huffed. “I’ll bring you a dose of Revitalizing Tonic, it should help with the disorientation. You two wrap things up and get to your dorms… it’s far too late for visitors.” She turned on her heel, bustling off toward her supply cabinet.

Jaemin scooted closer, watching Mark carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got beat up by the Whomping Willow,” Mark muttered.

Chenle snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually land on it. That would’ve been really bad.”

“We were all so worried. No one thought you’d wake up today,” Jaemin added.

“The whole team was here earlier,” Chenle continued. “Mia too… and, uh—Y/N was the last one to leave—”

“Wait, what?” Mark pushed himself up too fast, his head spinning in protest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, we’re just as shocked as you are,” Chenle said. “She ran to the pitch the second you fell. I swear, I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was crying.”

“She looked like she was having a panic attack,” Jaemin added. “Professor Snape had to give her a Calming Draught.”

“I think she genuinely thought you were going to die,” Chenle said.

Mark’s stomach twisted painfully. His mind still felt sluggish from the fall, but that one piece of information cut through it like a blade.

You were crying over him? Panicking? That didn’t make any sense.

“This doesn’t…” Mark swallowed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she—why would she care?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“Beats me,” Chenle shrugged. “She hasn’t talked to you in over a year. I was sure she hated your guts. But apparently, you’re harder to get over than we thought.”

Mark barely registered the teasing tone. His brain was running a mile a minute.

You were worried about him. You didn’t hate him? Or maybe… maybe it was just shock. Maybe seeing him fall had been scary in the moment, and once you knew he was okay, you'd go back to ignoring him. This didn't mean anything.

…Right?

After Chenle and Jaemin left, Mark knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had left him a Sleeping Draught, which sat untouched on his bedside table.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Jaemin said. How you ran onto the pitch, crying over him. It didn’t make sense. You hadn’t spared him a second glance since the Yule Ball. If anything, he would’ve preferred if you were still angry, if you had lashed out at him, screamed, hexed him—anything. 

But instead, you had simply erased him from your world. The few times you had looked at him had been either by accident or when he deliberately put himself in your way, and your eyes had always been so empty.

The door to the hospital wing suddenly creaked open. Mark assumed it was just the wind, or maybe Madam Pomfrey checking in on him, so he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

For a moment, there was nothing. He almost convinced himself he had imagined it until he felt the weight shift at the edge of his bed.

Then, the sound of quiet, muffled sobs.

“Mark…”

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Before he could even process it, your hand was suddenly on his face, fingers grazing his cheek in the softest touch. A shiver threatened to run down his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I’m sorry…” Your voice was fragile. “I wished so many bad things on you last year… I feel like…like this is my fault.” A shaky inhale. “Please be okay.”

Mark wanted to sit up. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that none of this was. That he had deserved everything you threw at him but not this guilt.

But if he moved, would you run? Would you slip away before he even had the chance to say anything?

He was too much of a coward to find out. So he stayed still, letting your fingers caress him, letting your words sink into his skin like a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long.

Mark was certain you had stayed the whole night. Even in the haze of half-sleep, he had felt your presence beside him. He only realized you had left when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the hospital wing’s windows.

Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave that morning, assuring him he wasn’t in any real danger anymore. She did, however, insist he avoid Quidditch for at least a week. Not that he particularly cared. There were no matches coming up, but even if there were, he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything other than you.

He didn’t know what to do with the new knowledge that you did care about him. That you had cried over him. That you had touched him so gently, so reverently, as if he were something precious. It should have been a relief, but it made him anxious instead. After all this time, after everything that he’d done to you, how was he supposed to approach you?

The thought of you looking at him with those same empty eyes, telling him to get lost, made his stomach twist.

No—he had to be smart about this. He had to find a moment when you were alone.

That would have been easy before, when you had no friends and spent most of your time buried in books or wandering the castle halls by yourself. But now? Now, you were constantly surrounded by Karina, by Minjeong, and worst of all, by Haechan.

Mark had been watching the two of you closely, trying to figure out if there was something going on. He knew Haechan was still pursuing you, that much was obvious, but you weren’t dating as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about it.

Still, the thought gnawed at him.

After a lot of consideration, he decided the best way to talk to you was during your prefect rounds at night. The problem was figuring out when you were scheduled. If he had tried this a year ago, you probably would’ve handed over the information without question. Now? Not a chance.

So, he had to get creative.

It took some effort to figure out your schedule, but after bribing a few Slytherins with an unlimited supply of Fizzing Whizzbees from Honeydukes for the rest of the year, he learned that your shift usually started around 8 pm.

So by 7:59 pm, he was slipping out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, glancing around to make sure Filch wasn’t lurking in the shadows. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.

He was finally going to talk to you.

He figured you’d start your shift near the Slytherin common room, so he made his way toward the dungeons. Sure enough, there you were, walking slowly, completely absorbed in a book.

Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself.

"So much for staying vigilant during patrols," he finally said.

You flinched, nearly dropping your book. When you turned around, your wide eyes locked onto his, shimmering under the dim candlelight. For a second, all he could think about was how lovely you looked.

"Mark..." you breathed, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real.

"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to step closer.

"Are you okay?" you asked, and the genuine concern in your tone made his heart stumble over itself.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," he chuckled nervously.

"Not a big deal?" Your brows furrowed, and your tone sharpened slightly. "You fell from the sky, Mark."

He wasn’t used to you looking at him after all this time, much less with worry.

"I’m sorry," he said, watching the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I heard you were pretty shaken up after it."

"Yeah…" you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was..."

Mark's heart jumped. He knew it already, he knew you had stayed by his bedside, knew you had cried over him—but hearing you say it made something in his chest tighten painfully.

Your eyes scanned him again, like you were checking to make sure he wouldn’t collapse at any second.

"I’m okay, I promise," he reassured you.

You nodded, then let out a sigh, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where you were.

"What are you doing outside your common room this late?"

Mark hesitated. Should he make up some excuse, or should he just tell the truth?

"If you were planning to sneak out with Mia, I’ll have you know that I must deduct points from your house and report it to Professor McGonagall," you said, your tone suddenly more detached. Just like that, the warmth in your expression flickered out, and your eyes went cold again.

Mark felt like he had just been shoved back into reality.

"No, no," he stammered quickly. "Mia and I are not… we’re not together."

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. "Okay. Then why—"

"I wanted to talk to you," he blurted out. "To apologize. For everything. I never got the chance to back then."

"It’s been a year, Mark," you said flatly.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured. "But you still deserve an apology. And I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but… I needed to say it anyway."

His voice faded toward the end, barely audible. 

"Okay…" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're forgiven. I don’t hold it against you anymore... I actually haven’t for a while."

"Really?" Mark blinked. "You don’t even care why I did it?"

"Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," he insisted.

You simply nodded, waiting.

Mark took a deep breath. "I was an idiot back then… well, I guess I’m still an idiot but I was an angry idiot. And I don’t know what came over me… I took it out on you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I hated you. I never hated you." He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. "I know you don’t have to believe me, but… I just—I need you to know that."

He spoke so fast, stumbling over his words. Afraid that if he paused, he wouldn’t get to say everything he wanted. By the time he finally stopped talking, your expression had softened just a little.

"I see…" You seemed to search for the right words before settling on a quiet, "I’m glad you told me." A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips.

But it didn’t ease the tightness in Mark’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. Because there was more, so much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. And he was terrified.

"Do you wanna hang out?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Now…?" You glanced around, hesitating. "I’m kind of—"

"No! Sorry, I meant… later. Tomorrow, maybe? Or—I don’t know… whenever you can."

You stayed quiet for a moment, considering it. "Uhm… okay. Tomorrow. After class?"

Mark nodded too eagerly. "Yes! That sounds perfect." His voice came out overly excited, but he couldn’t help it.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." You gave him a small wave before turning away. "Now go before any of the other prefects see you."

Mark barely registered your warning, his mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.

You were dreading your night shift as a prefect tonight. You hadn’t slept much after staying by Mark’s side all night. You heard he was discharged this morning, but not seeing him with your own eyes made you feel as if he was still hurt.

You had no idea how to deal with the knot in your stomach, so you brought a book with you hoping it would distract you. But even as you read the words on the pages, they blurred into one long line, your mind constantly flickering back to him.

You’d spent so long putting up walls inside your mind, careful to shield yourself from things that hurt too much. It had worked, mostly. You hadn’t felt anything deeply in a long time. But after the accident, those walls felt thinner, more fragile than ever.

And the minute Mark spoke behind you, you felt them crack.

Your whole body went stil and he was just standing there, smiling shyly at you. It took everything in you not to collapse in relief. 

You whispered his name and tried so hard not to let your emotions show. But everything felt too much, the relief, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and feelings you had buried for so long. You had to hold it all in. You couldn’t let him know how glad you were to see him. 

You were trying to remain composed, to keep your usual guard up, but with him standing there, looking so... so Mark,  

"Hi..." he said quietly. 

You forced yourself to speak. "Are you okay?" It was the question you had been waiting to ask, but it came out more desperate than you’d intended.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," Mark chuckled, the sound awkward and nervous. But even the way he said it made your heart sink with unease.

You couldn’t hide the irritation that sparked inside you, the remnants of the fear still clinging to your chest. "Not a big deal? You fell from the sky, Mark." The words left you harsher than you intended. You were so angry at the idea of losing him, so scared because it had been too close.

"I’m sorry, I heard you were pretty shaken after it." His voice was quieter now, and you could feel the way he was trying to reach you, even though the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

You nodded slowly, the walls inside your mind trying to reassemble themselves, trying to keep you composed. “Yeah... I was...."

The truth slipped out, and as soon as it did, you regretted it. You didn’t want him to know just how terrified you’d been that something might happen to him and you wouldn’t be able to truly tell him how you felt. The walls inside your mind cracked again.

"I’m okay, I promise," Mark said softly, his gaze holding yours, as if trying to assure you.

You wanted to close your eyes and pretend like everything was okay, but the walls kept wavering. You couldn’t trust that feeling, not yet.

You nodded, but the unease inside you didn’t go away. Not when you saw the way his eyes kept searching yours. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.  

The walls that had kept your emotions in check for so long were trembling now, and it was getting harder to keep them from falling. You needed to focus on something else, anything else.  

"What are you doing outside of your common room so late?" You forced the authority back into your voice. But you knew it didn’t fool anyone—not Mark, not even yourself.

He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous. "I wanted to speak to you. Apologize for everything. I never got the chance to back then."  

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t just an apology. It was him standing in front of you, looking so... raw. You weren’t sure if you were ready for everything he was willing to lay bare. But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop yourself from listening.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. "It’s been a year, Mark."

"I know. But you deserve an apology, and I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but still... I wanted to say it."

Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, but something inside you fought to keep the walls intact. The last time you’d allowed yourself to feel so exposed, it had ended in too much pain.  

"Okay..." You put a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re forgiven... I don’t hold you to it anymore. I actually haven’t for a while."

His expression shifted in relief, but it didn’t bring the peace you thought it might. "You don’t care why I did it?"

You shook your head, forcing the walls to stay up. "Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," Mark said, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen in him before.

And you nodded, thinking that maybe it was okay to let the walls waver for now. 

So you heard him out when he nervously asked to hang out, and you ignored the logical part of you that told you you might get hurt again.

The next day, Mark woke up earlier than usual. He told himself he wasn’t making a big deal out of hanging out with you today, but he still spent longer than necessary in the shower. He even put on cologne, something he never did.

He only had two classes with you this year, and after the Yule Ball accident, he made a habit of sitting as far away as possible, just so you wouldn’t catch him sneaking glances every few minutes.

But today, he was going to sit next to you.

At least, that was the plan—until he walked into Divination and saw that Lee Haechan had already taken the seat beside you.

Mark blinked. He didn’t even know Haechan was in this class. Then again, he was pretty sure he had skipped most of the semester. And yet, he suddenly decided to show up today? Right when Mark was finally trying to make things right with you?

Mark scowled as he trudged to the table behind yours. Mia slid into the seat next to him, but he barely noticed her presence until she snapped her fingers in front of his face, breaking his intense staring contest with the back of Haechan’s head.

"Did you do something different to your hair?" Mia asked, eyeing him.

Mark instinctively ran a hand through it. He had used a bit of gel this morning, but now that she pointed it out, he felt self-conscious.

"No," he muttered, dropping his hand and forcing himself to focus on Professor Trelawney, who was currently droning on about the art of tea leaf reading.

"...And remember," she was saying dramatically, her bracelets jingling with every exaggerated movement, "the leaves do not lie! They reveal the truth hidden beneath the surface, the past, the present, and sometimes, if you are truly gifted, the future."

Mark barely listened, too distracted by the way Haechan kept whispering in your ear.

"Now! Pick a partner and interpret their tea leaves. It can be anyone's cup!"

Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot up from his seat, stepping around Mia and snatching your cup before Haechan could even reach for it.

You flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but when you looked up and saw it was him, you relaxed.

"Hello," Mark said, smiling.

You smiled back. "Hi."

From beside you, Haechan’s jaw tightened. "I see you’re alive."

Mark smirked. "You’re lucky I am or there’d be no witness to prove you didn’t push me off my broom."

“Guide yourselves with the book and pay close attention to the patterns so you can decipher what the tea leaves say,” Professor Trelawney cut in, her voice airy and theatrical as always.

“I guess I’ll look at your cup then.” You flicked your wand, summoning Mark’s cup toward you.

Haechan huffed beside you and settled for reading Mia’s cup instead.

Mark watched you tilt his teacup, your eyes scanning the damp leaves at the bottom with unnerving concentration. He’d never taken Divination seriously, Trelawney's constant doomsday prophecies were more of a running joke than anything, but the way you were studying his cup seriously made him realize you were exactly the opposite.

“Alright…” You murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of the cup as you turned it slightly. “This shape here…it kind of looks like…” Your brows furrowed in thought before you glanced at the textbook. “A hound?”

“A hound?” Mark repeated, leaning in slightly.

“It symbolizes guilt.” You looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. “Something that’s been eating at you for a while. Maybe something you want to say but haven’t faced properly yet.”

You were staring back into the cup as if searching for something more. Mark wanted to brush it off, make some joke about Professor Trelawney getting to your head, but the way you spoke made him hesitate.

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “that’s… ominous.”

“Maybe it just means he regrets not catching the Snitch before nearly cracking his skull open.” Haechan snorted, leaning back in his chair.

Mark’s jaw twitched but before he could open his mouth to say something, Professor Trelawney’s voice rang through the room.

“Now, now! I sense many of you are struggling to find clarity in the leaves, but do not fret! The Inner Eye is a gift not all possess.”

Mark turned your cup carefully in his hands, squinting at the clumps of tea leaves at the bottom like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something comprehensible. They didn’t.

“Alright…” he said slowly, stalling for time. “So, um—this kind of looks like…” He tilted his head. “Maybe… a deer?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A deer?”

“Or… a horse,” he amended quickly. “Yeah. Definitely a horse. Which, uh, probably means…” He paused, grasping for anything remotely logical. “You have an adventurous spirit. And, um, bravery. And, like… untamed passion?”

Mia snorted from beside him, barely holding back her laughter, while Haechan outright scoffed.

Before you could tease him, Professor Trelawney materialized beside your table, her many scarves billowing behind her. She peered over Mark’s shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.

“I knew you didn’t have the Sight, my dear boy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “But fear not, Divination is an art that can be nurtured… even in those with less potential” She patted his shoulder with a dramatic flourish before floating off to torment another group.

Mark sighed, his ears burning red. But then he glanced at you and you were smiling. At him.

And suddenly, he didn’t care about looking like an idiot.

The bell rang before he could bring up your plans for later, and you left with a small wave. He spent the next few hours trying not to overthink it, but thankfully your last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was together. That meant another chance.

Professor Kettleburn led the class out to the paddock, where a row of iron-reinforced cages sat waiting. Today’s lesson was on Chimeras.

Even Mark knew that was a terrible idea.

“Of course, we won’t be working with full-grown Chimeras,” Kettleburn reassured, “for obvious reasons. However, the Ministry has provided us with young ones under very, very careful supervision.”

He demonstrated the proper way to throw raw meat to the creatures. The chimera’s serpent tail lashed at him when he got too close, and the class collectively took a step back.

“Alright! Now, you lot give it a try!” Kettleburn beamed, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience.

Mark grabbed a chunk of bloody meat and approached the enclosure, trying to ignore the way the chimera’s goat head was glaring at him. The moment he threw the meat, it hit the ground about a foot too short, and the beast let out a dissatisfied growl.

“This,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the chimera’s lion head snapped at him, “is why Professor Kettleburn has lost almost all his limbs.”

“Need help?”

Mark flinched at the sudden voice, turning to find you standing there, watching him with an amused tilt to your lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “You know, I’ve noticed you ask that a lot. Do I really look that helpless?”

You giggled. “Uhm… a bit.” Then, you took the meat from him and tossed it over the fence in one smooth motion. The chimera caught it mid-air, seeming significantly less hostile toward you than it had been toward him.

Mark blinked. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m a terrible flyer.”

Mark scoffed. “That’s the one thing I think I’m good at.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.” You said it casually, but both of you knew you’d been to almost every single one of his Quidditch matches since first year.

He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, summoning whatever courage he had left. “So… did you still want to hang out today?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “How about the library?”

Mark barely resisted the urge to groan. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you noticed the way he grimaced.

You smirked. “Or we can do the greenhouse?”

His expression instantly lightened. “Yes! That sounds good.”

And when you turned back toward the chimera, Mark found himself staring a little too long. He’d never really noticed how pretty your eyes were. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forced himself to ignore it. But now—now he couldn't stop seeing them. The way they glowed when you got something right in class, the way they sparkled when you looked at him for the first time on the train all those years ago.

He missed that. The way you used to adore him.

And he hated himself for wasting it—because he’d been too much of a coward. Too immature to handle something so good.

After your last class, you made your way back to the Slytherin dorms, stopping in front of your mirror to fix your uniform and contemplate whether a simple glamour charm might make your cheeks look a bit rosier. Not that you were dressing up for Mark, obviously.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his sudden shift in attitude. He’d never been this… nice before. And maybe you were quick to accept it because you’d spent the past few days terrified of losing him. But was that enough of a reason to let your guard down?

You sighed, closing your eyes and practicing Occlumency for a few minutes before heading out. You knew you’d need your walls strong if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

When you stepped into the common room, Karina and Minjeong were hunched over a Potions essay they definitely should’ve finished by now.

“And where are you going all dolled up?” Karina asked, looking up from her parchment.

“What? I look the same as I always do,” you said, feigning nonchalance.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Are you meeting Haechan?”

It would’ve been easier to say yes. But they’d find out soon enough when Haechan inevitably strolled through the door looking for you.

“No, I’m going to go check on the Venomous Tentacula.” You were actually proud of how quickly you came up with the lie.

“Okay. Boooring.” Karina waved you off, already focused back on her essay.

You smiled quickly, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out of the common room before they could ask anything else.

When you arrived at the greenhouse, Mark was already there. He straightened up the moment he saw you, hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. But then you noticed he was holding something. A flower.

Not just any flower... a Moonbloom Orchid. A rare magical plant that was known to change colors based on the emotions of the person holding it, and right now, its soft lavender hue radiated warmth and quiet affection.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, Mark… it’s so pretty. How did you get it?”

Mark shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to find.”

That was a complete lie.

He had sneaked out to Hogsmeade during his free period yesterday and asked around every store, pub, and dodgy corner for hours, trying to track one down. He had spent almost all his galleons on it.

But looking at your face, your excitement, he decided it was worth every single one.

“Thank you. I love it,” you said, your fingers brushing over the glowing petals as you smiled up at him.  

And that smile—Merlin, that smile—hit Mark like a Bludger to the chest.  

For the first time, maybe ever, he wanted to kiss you. Really kiss you. Not in some fleeting, passing thought but in a way that made his heart pound and his throat tighten. The desire was so sudden, so strong, it nearly knocked him off balance.  

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so… want to show me around?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been having lessons in this greenhouse for years.  

You giggled, and he could tell by the amused glint in your eyes that you saw right through him. “Sure,” you said, playing along. “I guess I can show you what I’ve been working on.”  

You led him toward a section of the greenhouse that looked darker, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and something faintly spicy. Twisting vines curled around the edges of a wooden planter, their leaves twitching slightly as you approached.  

“These are pretty hard to find,” you explained, crouching beside the pot. “I begged Professor Sprout to let me plant the seeds I found. Don’t ask where I found them, though.”  

Mark raised a brow, intrigued, but he didn’t press.  

“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked instead.  

You glanced up at him, then back at the plant, lightly running your fingers over its writhing leaves. The Venomous Tentacula shuddered, curling toward your touch as if it recognized you.  

“I guess I do,” you admitted. “I don’t know… I feel comfortable around plants. I can feel their emotions, almost.  Even if they can’t really express it… I guess I relate to that”  

Mark watched you carefully, noting the way you hesitated like there was something more you wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.  

The way you spoke about plants… it was almost the way he felt about you.  

Something real and quiet. Something he had never really put into words because he didn’t know how.  Because even now, standing next to you, close enough that he could see the way the evening light reflected in your eyes, he felt like he shouldn’t want it.  

Mark wasn’t sure how long he stood there just watching you, but it was long enough for you to notice.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “What?”

He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was the way the soft glow of the sunset made you look almost unreal. The way your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, only to change your mind. The way his own thoughts were a mess, tangled somewhere between I shouldn’t and I can’t stop thinking about you.

You turned back toward the plant, your fingers lightly tracing one of the curled leaves. “It’s kind of funny,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Plants grow towards the things they need. Sunlight, water… warmth.”

Mark swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way you said it made his skin feel hot. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “They don’t second guess it. They don’t hold themselves back.”

He wasn’t sure if you meant anything by it, but it struck something deep in his chest anyway. 

Because he had spent years holding himself back.

And now, with you standing this close, your voice soft, your eyes flickering to his he wondered if maybe he should stop doing that.

His hand moved slightly, barely thinking, like an instinct. Like those plants reaching for sunlight. And for the briefest moment, your fingers brushed against his.

It would be so easy to close the space between you.

So easy to reach forward, to tip your chin up slightly, to finally, finally—

The greenhouse door banged open.

Mark jolted back so fast he almost knocked over the planter.

Professor Sprout bustled in, looking completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. “Oh! What are you two doing here? Curfew is soon, I need to lock up for the night.”

You cleared your throat, stepping back as well, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, Professor. We were just finishing up.”

Mark forced himself to breathe, still feeling the ghost of your fingers against his.

Still thinking about how close he had been… and how badly he already wanted to try again.

The rest of your fifth year went by in a blur. Even though you and Mark were on much better terms now, there was little time to think about it between the overwhelming pile of O.W.L prep and the ridiculous amount of homework assigned for every subject.

You managed to pass every exam, most of them with an Outstanding. Mark, on the other hand, had spent so much time this year distracted by you that he fell behind on his classes. 

So as punishment, he forced himself to stay away—at least until he could guarantee he wouldn’t completely fail.

He still barely scraped by. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only subject he earned an Outstanding in, but his Potions grade wasn’t high enough to qualify for the advanced level. Not that he wanted to take the class again, but it meant one less excuse to see you during the day.

When sixth year came around, he found himself sticking around you more, even if your friends didn’t particularly like him. So more often than not, he waited until you were alone.

Like now.

“Hello,” Mark said, spotting you sitting on the grass with a book open in your lap. The Whomping Willow loomed behind you, its massive branches swaying with an eerie creak. He eyed it warily.

“You’re awfully close to that thing.”

You barely glanced up. “It’s not so bad once it gets used to you.”

Mark scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that is capable of getting used to anything.”

You hummed, flipping a page. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, making you look almost ethereal.

Mark swallowed.

He’d spent so much time not noticing these things, forcing himself to ignore the way your presence always made his stomach twist. But now, it was getting harder to push those thoughts away.

Without thinking, he sat beside you, close enough to feel the faint brush of your robes against his. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before, “you are allowed to relax now. OWLs are over.”

You huffed a soft laugh, still looking at your book. “I don't think I know how.”

Mark tilted his head, watching you. “Maybe I could teach you.”

You finally turned to face him fully, the corner of your mouth twitching. “And you’re the expert on relaxing?”

Mark grinned, a little lopsided. “Nope. But I’m an expert at not studying. That’s basically the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.

A light breeze rustled through the trees, sending a few leaves drifting between you. One of them settled in your hair.

Mark hesitated.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up. “Hold still,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “What—”

His fingers brushed against your hair, plucking the leaf free. But his hand lingered grazing your temple.

You went still. Mark swallowed, his pulse hammering. He thought about pulling away. But then you looked at him and your eyes flickered down to his lips just for a second.

Suddenly, the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.

His hand was still in your hair, and your breath was so, so close, and he could see the way your lips parted slightly almost as an invitation.

But then a sharp creak from behind you made you jolt apart. The Whomping Willow shifted, its branches twitching ominously.

Mark exhaled, pressing a hand to his face. What the hell was that? When he glanced at you, you looked just as dazed. Maybe even disappointed.

That sent a strange thrill through him.

But then you cleared your throat, shaking your head as if brushing the moment away. “We should probably move,” you said, standing and dusting yourself off. “Before the tree decides to take a swing at us.”

Mark huffed a laugh, still a little breathless. “Thought you said it was harmless.”

But as you started walking away, Mark stayed there for just a second longer, staring after you. 

He really needed to kiss you.

Badly.

Mark Lee was confusing you.

There had been two clear moments now where you’d almost kissed. Both times, he’d been the one to lean in first, and both times, something had interrupted before it could happen. Yet despite his boldness in those brief moments, you still couldn’t fully let yourself believe this attention was real.

Your heart wanted to, but your brain knew better.

Mark had spent years ignoring you, brushing you off like you didn’t exist, and then humiliated you too. Only to suddenly pull you into his orbit now. Yes, he’d apologized—sincerely, you’d give him that—but that didn’t mean you could just forget the way he hurt you before.

Meanwhile, Haechan seemed to be acting… strange lately.

He was always around, even more than usual. He’d even started asking you to help him with assignments, which was bizarre because Haechan had made a sport out of either sleeping through classes or deliberately distracting you in them. Yet now he’d started seeking you out in the library, sitting closer in the common room, and finding any excuse to keep you near.

You didn’t mind. If anything, it felt comfortable being around him. Haechan never made things complicated. 

But you did notice the way Mark would glare daggers at him from across the Great Hall. Or the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught Haechan whispering something in your ear that made you laugh.

And then there was the incident.

It happened in Charms class. Professor Flitwick had started teaching everyone Expulso, a more advanced charm that forcefully propelled objects away from you. It was precise magic that required perfect wand movement and a focused mind.

And well... Mark had neither.

You’d been paired with Haechan for the practical exercise and he, of course, turned the whole thing into a joke, purposefully missing his targets just to make you laugh. Then he decided to experiment, turning his wand on the scarf Mark had left on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, Haechan sent it flying toward himself.

“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” he grinned, draping it around his neck.

“Dude, give it back,” Mark said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Haechan shot him a smug look. “Relax. I don’t fancy these colors either.”

Mark gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. He really tried to keep his composure, but watching you laugh with Haechan as he mocked the Gryffindor colors did something dangerous to his self-control. His mind blurred with pure instinct. Before he could stop himself, he flicked his wand and muttered, “Expulso.”

He’d only meant to send the scarf flying back to him.

Instead, Haechan was thrown clear across the room, crashing into a stack of desks and sending books and ink bottles scattering everywhere. Gasps echoed around the classroom. Mark’s stomach dropped.

“Mr. Lee!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, horrified. “Detention! Immediately!”

And that’s how Mark ended up cleaning every single portrait frame in the castle as punishment.

Now he was on his fourth hour of wiping down dusty frames, trying to ignore Sir Cadogan’s taunting comments.

“Are you truly the best Seeker this school has to offer? Ha! Pathetic, if you ask me! No spine! No dignity!” the painted knight cackled, waving his sword wildly.

Mark gritted his teeth, his grip on the cloth tightening. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

“Oh? Going to hex me too, are you?” Sir Cadogan jeered. “Do it, coward! Strike me down if you dare!”

Mark seriously considered shaking the frame just to feel some satisfaction when he heard footsteps behind him.

“You haven’t learned your lesson about hexing people yet?”

Mark froze.

He turned around and there you were, still in your uniform, badge pinned neatly to your robes as a reminder that you were out on prefect patrol. His heart did a stupid little flip at the sight of you.

“Apparently not,” Mark said, trying to force a laugh.

“I think we need to do something about your self-control, Mr. Lee.”

The way you said his name, playful but with a trace of authority, sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

“I admit,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been a bit hot-headed lately.”

You raised a brow. “Lately?”

Mark groaned. “Okay, fine. Always. But—” he hesitated, his mouth clamping shut before he said something stupid like I just get like that when I see you with him.

You were still watching him, expectant. “But?”

“…Nothing.” He turned back toward the frame, vigorously wiping it down as if it would erase his own embarrassment.

You stepped closer.

“Mark.”

He swallowed thickly, his hand pausing. “…Yeah?”

“Why did you do it?”

He tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You huffed. “You’ve never lost control of your magic like that with him. Not even during Quidditch. You didn’t just hex Haechan… you blasted him.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“For what?”

Mark clenched his teeth. For touching you. For putting his arm around you like you belonged to him. For making you laugh like that. For being close to you in a way he wasn’t allowed to be.

“…For being an asshole,” Mark muttered pathetically.

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Touché.

“Mark,” your voice softened. “Look at me.”

He did. And God, he shouldn’t have.

You were so close. Your scent, your warmth, it was dizzying. Mark could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, his breath shortening. His hand hung limply by his side, still clutching the rag tightly.

There was ink on your cheek.

Without thinking, he reached up, his thumb grazing softly against your skin. “You, uh…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You’ve got ink. Right here.”

You gasped.

And Mark realized he was completely, utterly doomed. His thumb caressed your cheek, and then his hand drifted lower, trailing down your jaw before he realized what he was doing.

His entire body was screaming kiss her.

You didn’t move away and for one unbearable moment, Mark swore you were leaning in too—

“Oi!” Sir Cadogan suddenly barked from his frame. “You there! I see you trying to woo a lady with improper decorum! Unhand her at once!”

You flinched back like you’d been scalded. Mark cursed under his breath, his entire body recoiling from yours.

“I—uh... should finish patrol,” you stammered, practically fleeing.

“Yeah. Right. Patrol.” His voice cracked. 

And as you disappeared down the corridor, Mark let his head fall against the wall with a groan.

That was three times.

Three times he’d almost kissed you. Three times something—or someone—had interrupted. And three times he’d walked away regretting it.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

Halloween arrived in a blur of decorations and excitement. The castle was buzzing with energy, students gorging themselves on sweets from Honeydukes and filling the Great Hall with loud chatter and laughter. 

Mark wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he still tagged along with Jaemin and Chenle to Hogsmeade that morning. It was a decent distraction.

When he finally returned to the dormitory that evening, exhausted and chilled from the walk, he found a small pile of sweets on his bed. Mark frowned. Weird. He didn’t remember leaving any there. But then his eyes landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

His heart stopped.

A slow, stupid smile spread across his face as he reached for the box, his mind flashing back to years ago—to the day you’d given him a similar box of chocolates in second year. Back then, he’d been a coward. He’d tossed them out in front of you when his friends told him to, too embarrassed to admit that the sight of you blushing as you handed them to him had made his heart race. He could still remember the hurt on your face when he did it.

Mark wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

He opened the box without hesitation, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, rich and sweet, but almost immediately he felt… odd. Like his blood was moving too fast in his veins.

He blinked.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and an uncomfortable tightness built low in his stomach. His throat was dry. His skin felt hot. His head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton.

“What the hell…” Mark muttered, stumbling back slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.

The room swayed around him, his thoughts clouding over like a dense fog. But the one thing that stayed sharp and clear in his mind was you. Your face. Your voice. The lingering warmth of your skin from when he’d touched your cheek before. His body burned with the desperate, uncontrollable urge to find you.

Mark didn’t remember walking out of the dorm. His body moved on autopilot, driven by a force he didn’t understand, only that he needed to see you.

You hated Halloween patrols.

They were miserable every year, especially when you knew the castle was still alive with music and celebration, and you were stuck walking through empty corridors. It didn’t help that Halloween was also prime time for students sneaking out of their common rooms to pull pranks or engage in other debauchery.

So when you rounded a corner and spotted two people heavily making out against the wall, you didn’t think much of it. You just sighed and braced yourself to break them apart.

“Alright, enough,” you said, walking toward them. “Back to your dorms or I’m docking points—”

You froze.

The boy pinning the girl against the wall, his hands gripping her waist like he couldn’t get enough of her... was Mark.

Your heart plummeted so fast it made you feel physically ill.

“Mark?” your voice cracked.

Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, Mark’s head turned toward you. His pupils were blown wide, his hair mussed from the fervent kiss. There was a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize like he wasn’t entirely there.

But the girl…

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you when you recognized her.

Minjeong.

Your best friend.

Your mind couldn’t catch up. No. This didn’t make sense. Mark had almost kissed you. Three times. You’d spent weeks pouring your heart out to Minjeong, admitting—-however humiliating—that you thought Mark was starting to like you back. And she… she knew.

She knew exactly how you felt about him.

Your gaze darted between them, desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some indication that this wasn’t what it looked like. But Mark was still staring at you in a daze, and Minjeong was… smiling.

You felt something splinter deep inside you.

“You—” your voice died in your throat.

Minjeong had the audacity to giggle. She pulled away from Mark’s mouth, though his hands were still clinging to her hips. “Oh…hey, Y/N,” she said breathlessly, a sheen of gloss smeared across her lips.

You looked at Mark, desperate for him to say something. But his gaze was fixed solely on Minjeong, his chest heaving, his lips still parted like he wanted more.

“Mark,” you choked out again.

His head snapped toward you. For a split second, his face twisted into something confused, like he didn’t understand why you were there. His eyes darted across your face, and you swore there was a flicker of recognition, a brief moment of panic in his expression.

Then Minjeong giggled again and Mark’s gaze instantly darkened as it fell back on her.

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N,” she pouted. “Please don’t tell Professor Snape, yeah?”

You felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. “You two… can’t be here right now. You need… you need to go back to your common rooms.”

Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” Minjeong teased, suddenly hooking her arm around yours. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. We’re just having some fun.”

You flinched. Don’t touch me.

Your Occlumency walls shot up instinctively, straining under the weight of your heartbreak but holding just enough to keep your expression neutral. You swallowed down the burning in your throat and repeated, “You need to go.”

Mark still wasn’t speaking. His pupils were so dilated it was unnatural, his chest still rising and falling rapidly like he couldn’t catch his breath. His swollen lips parted like he was about to say something.

But Minjeong turned, smiled sweetly at him, and said, “Mark, come on. Let’s not get Y/N in trouble.”

And Mark moved like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, he grabbed her waist and yanked her into another bruising kiss. You recoiled like you’d been burned, forcing your eyes away before the image could be seared into your memory forever.

The sound of Minjeong’s delighted giggles made you want to scream.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug grin. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” she sang, then turned to Mark and cooed, “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go.”

Mark didn’t even look at you. He let her drag him off down the corridor without so much as a glance in your direction.

The second they disappeared, your Occlumency walls shattered. You sucked in a shaky breath, clutching your chest like you could physically hold the pain in. A choked sob escaped your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back, forcing yourself not to cry here.

You’d be damned if you let them see you break.

What you didn't know is that Mark wouldn’t remember any of it.

Not the taste of Minjeong’s lips. Not the way his body burned with the inexplicable need to touch her. Not the sick, nauseating feeling in his gut when he caught your tearful gaze and felt like he was betraying something sacred.

All he would know was that when he woke up the next morning, his throat would be dry, his mind foggy…

…and the lingering taste of chocolate still heavy on his tongue.

A whole week passed since Halloween and Mark could not, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done to make you go back to acting like he didn’t exist.

You wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t spare him a glance, and on the rare occasion that your eyes did meet his, it was like he physically repulsed you. It was driving him insane.

Mark was starting to think he must’ve had one too many butterbeers during Halloween night and done something incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t know for sure because, again, you wouldn’t speak to him.

He also noticed you and Minjeong weren’t talking anymore. That part confused him almost as much as your behavior toward him. You were either with Karina or Haechan now, but most of the time, you were alone. And Mark hated it — hated seeing you without the warm spark you always carried when you were surrounded by friends.

But most of all, he hated that you were ignoring him. He needed you to talk to him. He needed you to tell him what he did wrong so he could fix it immediately.

Which is why he was now standing outside the Slytherin common room, anxiously hoping someone would be kind enough to let him in. Unsurprisingly, none of the Slytherins were willing to let a Gryffindor in, especially one who looked as nervous and fidgety as Mark did.

He was starting to lose hope when, finally, the perfect opportunity came in the form of Karina.

“Hey! Karina—” Mark called, jogging a few steps toward her. She slowed down as she spotted him, her face immediately tightening into an annoyed scowl.

“What do you want?” she said, her tone clipped and cold.

Mark blinked, taken aback. He knew Karina didn’t exactly love him, but she had never sounded this openly hostile toward him before.

“Uh… I was hoping I could talk to Y/N. I was wondering if you could either let me in or—”

“How dare you?” she snapped, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at him.

Mark froze. “I— sorry, what?”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here with those stupid puppy dog eyes like you didn’t completely break her heart again. Haven’t you humiliated her enough? Or do you just get off on using her and throwing her away when you’re bored?” Karina’s voice trembled with anger.

“Wha... what are you talking about?” Mark asked, his voice rising in exasperation.

“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know exactly what you did,” she spat.

“No, I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of right now! I already apologized for the Yule Ball… and the gifts… but what is this about me using her?” Mark’s heart was starting to race, his palms sweating as dread crawled up his spine.

Karina scoffed incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna keep playing the innocent act? After everything?”

“Karina, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean! What did I do to her?”

“Oh my god.” She let out a bitter laugh, taking a step back like she couldn’t stand to be near him. “You really don’t remember?”

Mark’s throat tightened. “…Remember what?”

Karina stared at him for a long moment, her face twisted with disgust. “Halloween, you idiot.”

Mark blinked. “Halloween?”

“Yes, Halloween. When you were shoving your tongue down Minjeong’s throat like a desperate little dog.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Karina laughed humorlessly. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Y/N saw you, Mark. She caught you all over Minjeong that night. After you almost kissed her three times. After she told us how she thought you finally liked her back. After she spent literal years pining after you!”

“No…” Mark felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no. That… that’s not right. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like Minjeong, I like—” his voice caught in his throat. “I like Y/N.”

Karina let out another bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, you sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”

“No, I— I don’t remember that! I don’t remember kissing Minjeong! I swear to god, Karina, I would never do that to Y/N...” his voice cracked, panic making his words rush out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t remember! I don’t—”

“Save it, Mark.” Karina’s face hardened. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness to. But it doesn’t even matter, you've already ruined everything. She’s not gonna take you back, not after that. So do her a favor and stay the hell away from her.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the common room.

Mark trudged back to the Gryffindor common room looking deader than the ghosts that roamed the castle. His head was spinning, Karina’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting echo.

He couldn’t believe it. He kissed Minjeong. How the hell could he not remember something like that? Was he really that drunk that night? But it didn’t make any sense. He’d never gotten so drunk on butterbeer that he completely blacked out before.

It was eating him alive. The image of you looking at him with absolute disgust now made so much painful sense. And if you saw it happen, no wonder you hated him.

By the time he stepped into the boys’ dormitory, Mark looked like someone who’d just been handed a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Jaemin, who was drying his hair with a towel, was the first to spot him. “And what the hell happened to you?” he laughed, eyeing Mark’s pale, horrified expression. “You look like you just sat through one of Snape’s scoldings.”

Mark groaned and dropped face-first onto his bed. “Kill me.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “That bad, huh?”

“I screwed up this time, dude. Like… really screwed up.”

“What, did you jinx another student by accident?”

“No.” Mark’s voice was muffled against his pillow. “…I kissed Minjeong.”

“What?!” Jaemin and Chenle —who had just pulled open the curtains of his four-poster bed— exclaimed at the same time.

Mark turned his head just enough to look at them. “I don’t even remember it happening, but apparently, I kissed her during Halloween… and Y/N saw the whole thing. And now she hates me.”

“Dude,” Chenle gawked, disbelief clouding his face. “How the hell do you kiss someone and not remember it?”

“Yeah, that’s insane–” Jaemin started, but then his voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening like something just clicked in his brain. “…Wait. Halloween?”

Mark lifted his head, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”

Jaemin suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to Mark. “Did you eat any chocolates?”

Mark blinked. “What…?”

“Did you get any chocolates that night?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

Jaemin’s face paled. “Oh my god. Dude. Those were doused with Amortentia.”

Mark felt his entire body go cold. “…What?”

“Holy shit,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely horrified. “You seriously didn’t know?”

Mark sat up so fast his head spun. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! What the hell are you talking about?”

“The chocolates, Mark! Every year during Halloween, girls sneak Amortentia into the chocolates hoping that the guy they like eats them and falls in love with them for a few hours. It’s a whole thing. Why do you think I told you to throw away the ones Y/N gave you years ago?”

Mark’s brain short-circuited. “Wait… what?”

“Dude!” Jaemin looked at him like he was dense. “I told you not to trust those chocolates around Halloween! Renjun’s dad works in Diagon Alley, and he says love potions are always sold out around this time of year because of Hogwarts students.”

“Especially you, dude,” Chenle added “You’re Gryffindor’s Seeker. You’re literally the main target. How did you not know this by now?”

Mark’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. “I...I didn’t. I thought—I thought the chocolates were from Y/N…” his throat tightened. “But she’d never do that to me…”

Jaemin and Chenle exchanged a look before Jaemin cautiously asked, “…Did they have a card on them?”

Mark blinked, trying to remember. “…No?”

“Exactly!” Jaemin threw his hands up. “Y/N always put a card on her gifts to you, dumbass. She’s never not done that.”

“Oh my god,” Mark’s voice cracked, his hands clutching his hair. “I’m such an idiot! I thought they were from her so I just... I ate them. I didn’t even think—” his stomach twisted in horror. “I kissed Minjeong because of a love potion?”

“Looks like it,” Chenle said grimly.

Mark felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh my god. Y/N must think I’m the worst person alive. She probably thinks I led her on and then went and kissed her best friend—”

“Yeah, well, considering you practically ate her face off in front of her, I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” Chenle shrugged.

“I didn’t mean to! I don’t remember any of it happening!” Mark’s voice cracked as panic completely consumed him. “Oh my god, Y/N hates me. She thinks I—fuck! I have to go talk to her—”

“Woah, woah, no. Don’t do that,” Jaemin said quickly, grabbing his arm.

“What?! Why not?”

“Because if you go to her right now all panicked, she’s just gonna think you’re making excuses! You need proof that you were under a love potion or she’ll never believe you.”

Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Minjeong.”

Mark blinked. “…What?”

Jaemin gave him a look. “Minjeong. She’s obviously the one who gave you the chocolates. If you can get her to admit it, Y/N will have to believe you.”

Mark swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “But what if she doesn’t admit it?”

Chenle scoffed. “Then we hex the truth out of her. Don’t worry, we got you.”

Mark could barely process anything. All he could think about was how you must’ve felt watching him kiss Minjeong. How heartbroken you must’ve been. How you probably cried yourself to sleep that night thinking he never cared about you.

You probably still thought that.

Mark’s hands clenched into fists. No. He wasn’t letting you believe that for another second.

An hour later he was pacing outside the Great Hall like a caged animal. Jaemin and Chenle stood nearby, whispering to each other. They were supposed to be helping him stay calm, but so far, their only strategy had been muttering plans that Mark couldn’t even focus on.

“I still think we should just give her Veritaserum and call it a day,” Chenle muttered.

“We’re not drugging anyone,” Jaemin shot back. “We’ll talk to her first.”

“You think she’s just gonna just admit she poisoned him with Amortentia?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Jaemin said with a smug grin. “We just need to pressure her enough that the truth slips out”

Before Mark could ask further, Minjeong appeared at the top of the staircase, chatting with a group of Slytherins.

“There she is,” Jaemin muttered, already moving forward. Mark and Chenle followed.

“Minjeong!” Jaemin called out.

She paused, turning around. When she saw them approaching, her smile faltered.

“Oh,” she said, plastering on a forced grin. “Hey... what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice tight.

Minjeong blinked. “Talk?” Her gaze flicked between the three of them. “About what?”

“About Halloween,” Jaemin said pointedly.

Mark watched Minjeong’s face carefully— the way her eyes widened just enough to betray her surprise before she forced her expression back to something neutral.

“Halloween?” she repeated with a weak laugh. “Why would we need to talk about that?”

Mark stepped forward. “Don’t act stupid,” he said quietly.

Minjeong’s smile faltered. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Chenle crossed his arms. “Then how come Mark doesn’t remember kissing you or anything about that night at all?”

Minjeong scoffed. “What are you insinuating?”

“You laced the chocolates with Amortentia,” Mark cut in, his voice like ice.

Minjeong’s eyes widened. “What?!” she sputtered, her voice rising a little too high. “That’s insane! Why would I do that?”

“You were waiting outside the Gryffindor common room that night,” Jaemin said coldly. “You knew exactly that Mark would think they were from Y/N and you were waiting to see if it worked.”

“That’s not true!” Minjeong snapped. “I didn’t—”

“Everybody else was at the celebration except you,” Chenle said. “You knew he would go to the common room after Hogsmeade, and you sneaked in the chocolates right before we arrived.”

“T-that’s ridiculous!” Minjeong stammered. “I was just leaving the Great Hall when I saw Mark walking around and he kissed me out of nowhere!”

“Bullshit,” Jaemin shot back. “You knew he was drugged and wouldn’t differentiate from the person he really wanted and anyone else.”

“Merlin, you guys are being crazy. Why would I even do that?”

“Because you like him,” Jaemin answered before Mark could. His voice was dripping with amusement, but his eyes were cold. “And you knew you didn’t stand a chance with Y/N around, so you figured a love potion would tip the odds in your favor, right?”

Minjeong scoffed. “As if I would ever--”

“Then swear on your magic,” Chenle challenged, his smile razor-sharp. “Swear on your magic that you didn’t put Amortentia in those chocolates.”

Silence.

Minjeong’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes darted to Mark, panic slowly blooming in her face. “I—I don’t have to do anything—”

“Swear on your magic, Minjeong.” Mark demanded.

She didn’t.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Jaemin muttered.

Minjeong’s face flooded with color. “You guys are insane! I didn’t do anything! Mark probably wanted to kiss me—”

“Oh, spare me” Chenle snapped, his laugh sharp and incredulous. “You think if he actually wanted to do it, he’d just block out the entire night like it never happened?”

Minjeong’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “H-he was probably just—just embarrassed or something.”

“Embarrassed?” Mark’s voice finally cracked, and whatever grip he had on his composure snapped like a twig. “Embarrassed about what, Minjeong? You’re the one desperate enough to force yourself onto me when I was incapacitated ” His voice was raw, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I don’t even like you!”

The words hit Minjeong like a slap to the face. Her entire body visibly recoiled, her mouth parting slightly.

But Mark wasn’t done.

“I like Y/N. I’ve always liked Y/N. And you…” his voice cracked as the words ripped out of him, “you made me kiss you in front of her. Do you have any idea how fucking awful that must’ve been for her?”

Minjeong’s throat bobbed, her face pale. “I—I didn’t mean for her to see.”

“Yes, you did!” Mark shot back, his voice raw and trembling. “Don’t even try to pull that bullshit right now. You knew she was patrolling. You absolutely knew what you were doing. You wanted me to want you, even if it wasn’t real. Even if you had to—” his voice broke slightly, rage burning his throat, “—had to drug me to get it.”

Minjeong flinched, her eyes darting between them. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Exactly!” Mark let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about me, you didn’t think about Y/N… You didn’t think about anyone but yourself! All you cared about was getting me no matter what it cost, and you didn’t care how it would make her feel. You—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “—you humiliated her. And she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole who just played her.” 

“I-I swear, I didn’t think it would get this far”

Chenle scoffed. “You literally slipped him a love potion. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

Minjeong shot him a glare, but her voice cracked when she tried to defend herself. “I just— I thought maybe if he… if given the chance…. he’d realize he liked me, okay?”

“Are you serious?!” Mark practically exploded. His voice booming with the sheer force of his emotions. “You didn’t think about how messed up it is to force someone into something like that?”

Minjeong was shaking now. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad…”

“But it did,” Mark’s voice broke, his throat tight. “And now I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

Silence slammed down on them like a sledgehammer. Minjeong’s face crumpled, but Mark didn’t care. His entire body was shaking with rage, with guilt, with absolute devastation.

And that’s when Mark heard a sharp, shaky intake of breath behind him.

Slowly, he turned around  and his heart dropped.

You stood a few feet away, eyes wide. But it wasn’t heartbreak painted across your face. It was pure, unbridled rage.

“You—” your voice shook with fury as you looked at Minjeong. “You drugged him?”

Minjeong froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I—”

“You gave him Amortentia,” you seethed. “You drugged him and then… and then you let him kiss you and you didn’t even stop him?”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t—” Minjeong stammered, panicking now.

“What the fuck is your problem!” you cut her off. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? You violated him!”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the way your voice cracked with fury.

“What?” Minjeong scoffed, suddenly back on the defensive. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it in the end—”

“Oh my god,” you recoiled like you were about to be sick. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you think it’s okay to force someone to kiss you under a love potion and then act like it was consensual?”

“I didn’t force him to eat them—”

“You set them up for him like a trap” you shrieked. “You drugged him! You took away his ability to choose! How can you even live with yourself?”

Minjeong looked around like she was hoping someone would swoop in and save her, but no one did. Even the Slytherins she’d been chatting with earlier were watching in stunned silence.

“You… who consoled me all the times I went to bed crying over him!” you spat, your voice raw with emotion. 

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing, an apology won’t do it now”

Minjeong opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t breathe in his direction. If I catch you so much as standing near him, I’ll make sure every professor in this castle knows exactly what you did.”

Minjeong didn’t need to be told twice, she practically bolted in the opposite direction, not sparing any of you a glance.

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Y/N…” Mark said weakly, his voice cracking. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you choked out, turning back to him. “Please don’t apologize. Just—” your voice broke again, and then suddenly, you were throwing yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

Mark held you even tighter. “It’s not your fault. God, Y/N, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you whispered. And you meant it.

This was the first time you hugged and Mark realized you fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there all along. You smelled incredible too. It was that soft, earthy smell of fresh rain on soil and blooming jasmine, the kind of scent that lingered in greenhouses after a long day of tending to plants. It hit him all at once. Of course. That was exactly what the Amortentia had smelled like to him.

His stomach tightened at the realization. The first time he bit into those chocolates, the first person that had flashed through his mind was you.

God, he was such an idiot.

When you finally pulled away, Mark’s entire body screamed at him to pull you back in. To kiss you. To fix everything. His gaze fell to your lips, and he almost gave in but then he remembered Jaemin and Chenle were still very much standing there, watching the two of you with annoyingly amused smiles.

Mark cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Uh… thanks, guys. You know, for… everything.”

“Of course, man,” Jaemin grinned. “We couldn’t just let that snake get away with it.”

“I still can’t believe she’d go that far,” you murmured, concern furrowing your brow. “I didn’t even know she liked you like that… or that she was capable of something so—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find the word. “…horrible.” You glanced up at Mark, your eyes still heavy with disbelief.

Mark’s heart ached at the guilt in your voice.

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured softly. “She fooled everyone with that sweet girl act.”

“Not everyone,” Jaemin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“Oh, shut up, just the other day you were talking about how she’s the hottest slyther—” Chenle started, only to get a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“Anyways!” Jaemin cut in quickly, forcing a grin. “We’ll, uh… leave you guys to it. And please, for the love of Merlin, talk. I’m sick of all this miscommunication.”

“Seriously,” Chenle added, smirking. “If I have to live another day of you two silently pining for each other I will offer myself to the werewolves.”

Mark felt his face heat as you laughed softly, and a moment later, Jaemin and Chenle disappeared down the corridor.

You both stood there, your gazes flicking everywhere except each other. The weight of everything that had just happened still hung heavily in the air.

Mark swallowed hard. “So… uh…”

“Come on,” you suddenly said, grabbing his hand before he could finish his sentence.

“Where are we—”

“Just trust me,” you murmured.

Mark let you pull him along, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. You led him up staircase after staircase until you reached the Astronomy Tower and when you finally stepped out onto the platform, Mark couldn't believe his eyes

“Whoa…”

The view was breathtaking. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo across the sky. From this high up, the Hogwarts grounds looked almost dreamlike. The Black Lake glistened like glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretched endlessly beyond it.

“I’ve never been up here during sunset,” Mark admitted, his voice slightly awed. “It’s… beautiful.”

You smiled softly, leaning against the railing. “I thought you’d like it.”

Mark turned to you. “Why?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “…I’ve noticed you do that a lot.”

Mark blinked. “Do what?”

“Stare at the sky.” You smiled faintly, not looking at him. “Whenever you’re playing Quidditch. When it’s a slow game and you’re not chasing the Snitch, you just… look up. Like you’re mesmerized by it.”

Mark’s breath caught.

He didn’t know what hit him harder. The fact that you noticed something so small about him or the fact that you cared enough to remember.

“I didn’t think anyone ever noticed that…” he said quietly.

You glanced at him then, your gaze soft and sincere. “I don’t think anyone else caught it… but I did.”

And that was it.

The final push Mark needed.

“Y/N,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I swear to Merlin…I never wanted to kiss her. The only person I’ve ever thought about kissing is you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught, and Mark took a shaky step closer. “I… I didn’t know it at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand it. Not until I ate those chocolates. Because the first thing I smelled was—” he swallowed thickly, his gaze locking on yours. “It was you. Rain, jasmine, and… and that earthy smell you get when you come back from Herbology. That’s what Amortentia smelled like to me..”

Tears stung your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Mark…”

“And when I heard what Minjeong did, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. The idea of you thinking I didn’t care about you… that I’d choose her over you… I hated it. I hated myself for hurting you, even if it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke slightly. “I never wanted anyone else but you.”

The tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “You mean that?”

“With everything in me,” Mark choked.

Mark could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, his hand twitching at his side. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to kiss you.

“Can I—”

“Please,” you cut him off, already stepping toward him.

That was all it took.

Mark crashed his mouth onto yours, his hands instinctively finding your waist as you gripped the front of his sweater. The kiss was desperate, not rushed, but heavy with years of longing. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he stopped, and you kissed him like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d lost.

And Merlin, you tasted like heaven.

By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.

“…I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you know,” Mark admitted, laughing shakily.

You let out a soft laugh. ”Years?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly. “I think I fell for you the first time you hexed me on the train. I was just too immature to see it.”

Mark swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

“Mark, you can kiss me whenever you want.” you said, caressing his cheek.

He loved the sound of that.

This time when he kissed you, it was slower. Like he was memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, the fact that you were finally his.

read part 2 here

[chiwhorei]

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇs ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪs sᴇxʏ ʟɪʟ’ sɪsᴛᴇʀ.˚⊹♡

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: big bro!Caleb x lil sis!reader

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ: hi, uh, can i order a ❛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ. ❜ for caleb with a side of incest and light manipulation / dubcon ? please n thank u !!!

ᴛᴀɢs: NSFW & dark content, incest, siscon, dubcon-(ish), manipulation, fingering, overstim, pet names

ɴᴏᴛᴇs: Thanks for participating in Cupid’s Chokehold, tons of LaDS requests for this event so stay tuned!

➽──ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ’s ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ — ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ’s ᴅᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ────❥

Your brother has plenty of nicknames for you. It’s true that ‘pipsqueak’ gets under your skin in a thoroughly satisfying way, but Caleb likes to change it up depending on the reaction he’s looking for.

“Hey twerp, did’ya miss me?” You leap from the train terminal straight into his awaiting arms. He had an excuse almost every weekend to get you up to visit Skyhaven when he was in school. You spin around in Caleb’s tight embrace, giggling as your body swings like it weighs nothing to him. He could hold you like this until the last train to Linkon departs and the station is dark and empty.

“Who’s got your face all scrunched up like that, kid?” Caleb notices your curled up form on the couch as soon as he walks in the door. Crossing the living room in two steps and pulling you into his lap. You tell him about the stupid high school boy that broke your heart between hiccups. “He’s an asshole. Doesn’t deserve any part of you, least of all your tears.” Caleb tries to smooth out his tone, but the palms on either side of your cheeks are twitching with an anger so red hot you must feel it through his skin. Your brother doesn’t take things like this lightly, finding the little prick on his walk to school the next day and punching his nose flat into his skull.

“Come on, short stuff, I know you can do better than that.” Your brother doesn’t even have to raise his arm all the way to keep you from the cellphone he swiped from your hands. You were smiling at it a bit too contently for Caleb’s liking. Your fingers claw at his arms and chest, before wrapping your hands around his neck and jumping into his hold. You know Caleb like no one else, sure he’d lower his defenses to catch you and wrap your legs around his waist. You pout, eye-level and foreheads pressed together, but instead of relenting Caleb slips your phone into his back pocket and throws you on the couch in a barrage of distracting tickles and cheek kisses. Like most of the games you two play, he comes out the winner.

“Don’t start whining now, brat, you’re the one that asked for my help.” Caleb bites sadistically into a kiss, growling into your now-parted lips. He’s right, of course, you came to him with a wobbly request behind your teeth. Your brother has always said he’ll do anything for you, so of course he agrees when you ask him to teach you how to make yourself cum. He’s trapped you under him, brutal kisses on your face and jaw, leaving wet marks down the valley of your breasts and up to your tear-stained cheeks again. Caleb’s fingers pump into your pussy relentlessly, filling his dorm room with the sticky wet sounds of your arousal. You’ve cum against his mouth and curled fingers more times than you can count now, but he refuses to let up. Caleb needs you to need him to an almost psychotic level. He’ll make sure no one can make you feel this good, not even yourself.

As for the nicknames you have for Caleb, he’s got no preference. His cock is sitting deeply inside of your aching cunt, a sick smile turns up on the corners of his face. He refuses you the pleasure of just fucking you properly already, and your fractured begging sounds like heaven. “Asshole,” you grit, clinging to fistfuls of his hair for dear life. “I mean- Caleb, please move. Please!”

Your brother coos, adjusting you in his lap to reach deeper but holding your hips down to deny you still. “ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ.” It makes no difference to him, he’s not going to fuck you until he’s sure your poor little brain is fork tender and thoughtless.

➽─────────────────────────❥

❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2025©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER TWENTY ━━ Final Four Fever

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 7.0K

❀ ━ warnings: illness

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: two chapters left, shit goes down next

IT STARTS WITH a sneeze.

Just one at first, sharp and sudden. But then another follows right on its heels, and then another after that, leaving Jo hunched forward in her seat, sniffling, trying to keep it quiet. She scrubs the back of her wrist against her nose and sighs, low and frustrated.

Of course. Of course she's sneezing now. On a packed flight. The week of the Sweet Sixteen—and, hopefully, the Elite Eight. The one stretch of the season where everything—and Jo means everything—has to go right.

She glances around like maybe someone has tissues out in the open. No one does. Most of the team is either knocked out cold or watching some downloaded Netflix show with AirPods jammed in their ears. Across the aisle, Azzi has her laptop resting in her laptop, typing furiously—probably locked into her accounting class she's been complaining about for weeks now. Next to her, Caroline's already got her mouth open and her head tilted back like she's in a NyQuil coma.

Jo shifts a little in her window seat, already uncomfortable. Her nose twitches. This cannot be happening.

The seat between her and Paige is empty—not by accident. She wanted space. Forced herself to ask for it, even when Paige had looked at her kind of confused, like you sure? Because Jo knows if they sit too close, they'll end up curled together without even thinking. They always do. And maybe that was fine before. But now that people are looking—asking questions, whispering, speculating—they can't afford to be careless. Especially not on a plane with their coaches only rows away. And Celeste, too. God only knows what might provoke her into spilling their secret.

So: space.

Except now Jo is sneezing and miserable and Paige is the only one who might be able to help her.

She sighs again. Paige has been asleep for over an hour, knocked out in the aisle seat, head tilted back against the seat, glasses sliding down her nose in a way that would be funny if Jo wasn't feeling like death. She's snoring a little too, soft and almost rhythmic. Jo doesn't really blame her—travel days are brutal, and even though she hasn't been playing, her rehab has been exhausting.

But when Jo sniffles again, she finally decides to nudge Paige's thigh with the back of her hand.

"P," she says, voice just above a whisper. "P, you got tissues?"

Paige makes a quiet sound, a little grunt, not quite awake. Jo bites back a small laugh and nudges her again. "Paige."

"Huh?" The blonde blinks blearily, rubbing one eye under her glasses. "What?"

"You got tissues?" Jo repeats, sniffling once more for emphasis. "I think I'm—uh, I don't know, I think the air's just dry or something."

Paige blinks at her again, then yawns, already digging around beside her. "Yeah, yeah—hang on."

She grabs her massive, beat-up UConn backpack from under the seat in front of her. The thing looks like it's one zipper away from a breakdown, stuffed within an inch of its life. Jo doesn't even know what she's got stuffed in there—she's not sure she wants to know. She just watches her fumble through it with sleepy hands, reaching and scuffling.

Finally, Paige pulls out a half-crushed pack of tissues and hands it over.

Jo takes it with a quiet, "Thanks," and immediately blows her nose—loudly, ungracefully—and then coughs a little, deep in her chest. She hates the sound of it. Too wet. Too real.

Paige's eyes narrow, a little more alert now. "Bro," she says slowly, watching Jo. "Are you sick?"

"No," the brunette says fast, almost too fast. "I'm fine."

She sounds like she's trying to convince herself, too. Which is stupid. She's not sick. She can't be sick. There's no time for it. She has to be at a hundred percent. They're flying to Seattle, across the fucking country, for some of the biggest games of her college career, and she needs to be able to play forty minutes of lockdown defense and then drop twenty-points and carry the team if she has to. There's no time to get sick.

Paige keeps staring at her, not buying it. "Joey, I was sick last week. What if—"

"I'm fine," Jo cuts her off quickly, a little sharper than she means to. She forces a smile. "I'm good. I probably just didn't drink enough water today or something. It's the plane. Or my allergies. I'm not sick."

Paige watches her for a moment, silent.

And Jo can feel it—the way Paige is holding back the urge to argue. She can see it in the corners of her eyes, the twitch of her lip like she's about to say something about how Jo doesn't have allergies, or how her "probably just dry air" excuse sounds like bullshit. She knows her too well. Paige has seen her with colds. With food poisoning. With cramps so bad she almost cried. Paige knows almost every version of her that's been miserable—and she can definitely tell when Jo's pretending not to be.

But she doesn't say anything.

She just sighs and pulls her glasses off, folds them, rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Aight," she says eventually. "If you say you're good..."

Jo nods, trying not to sniffle again. She pinches her nose a little, like that might help. She doesn't want Paige to worry. Doesn't want anyone to worry. Doesn't want to even acknowledge that she might feel worse than she did yesterday. Or that her throat hurts a little. Or that her skin feels hot and achy under her hoodie.

She turns toward the window like she’s looking out at something important, even though it’s just clouds and the faint reflection of her face in the glass. She closes her eyes.

Jo doesn’t make a big deal about the All-American stuff—hasn’t all week. Everyone else has. She got, like, a hundred texts. Her family posted about it on Facebook. ESPN highlighted that she was the only freshman on the list. It’s all a little surreal. First-team All-American. Her. It's not as if she didn't believe in herself, but it's a pretty cool achievement, to know that she performed well enough to be considered a top-five player in the country, that when she graduates as a senior, her name will forever be hung up in Gampel.

But now, on this plane, all she can think is: please don’t let it go to waste. Please don’t let this be the week her body decides to shut down.

She feels Paige shift beside her, settling back into her seat again, trying to go back to sleep.

Jo keeps her face toward the window, eyes still closed. She's got her hood up, her legs curled a little toward herself, and her arms folded over her chest like that can protect her from whatever’s creeping in.

She’ll sleep it off. She’ll chug water when they land. She’ll pop a Tylenol and pretend she feels like a million bucks.

She'll have to.

THE NEXT MORNING, Jo wakes up in the hotel bed in Seattle, twisted in a mess of white sheets and UConn-issued sweats, and immediately she knows.

She’s sick.

Not the “scratchy throat, drink some tea” kind of sick. Not the kind you can shake off with DayQuil and some extra sleep. No, this is full-body, all-consuming, “your immune system has betrayed you” sick. Her head is pounding—like pounding, like someone is physically inside her skull with a hammer. Her skin is both clammy and burning, and her whole body aches in a way that feels personal. Like her muscles are pissed at her. Like her bones are tired of the bullshit.

She doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t even try. She just blinks blearily up at the hotel ceiling, dry mouth hanging slightly open, nose completely clogged, chest tight, and thinks, No. No, no, no. Not now.

The blinds are drawn, but she can tell it’s morning—light’s leaking in around the edges. Across the room, Caroline is still passed out in the other bed, hoodie over her face, breathing slow and even. Jo bites the inside of her cheek and slowly peels the covers off of herself like they’re made of lead.

Everything hurts. Even her eyelids hurt.

She stands. Her knees buckle. She locks her jaw and pushes through it, arms wrapped tight around herself like that’ll keep her upright. Step by step, she makes her way to the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as she can behind her.

And then she stares at herself in the mirror.

Fuck.

She looks bad. Like, actually bad. Skin pale except for the fever-flush blooming across her cheeks. Eyes glassy and rimmed with red. Hair sticking out at weird angles. Nose red and chapped from wiping it too much. Lips dry. She leans closer. Her pupils look weird. Like she hasn’t slept in days, even though technically she did sleep—it just wasn’t restful.

She looks like the physical embodiment of a “Do Not Let This Person Around Your Basketball Team” sign.

But the worst part is how she feels. And she doesn’t even need to take her temperature—she knows. She knows her body well enough to tell when it’s overheating from the inside out. Her joints feel hot and slow. Her back aches. Her throat is sore in that particular way that makes it hard to talk, let alone yell through a full-speed scrimmage.

She’s sick.

She is sick.

And it makes her feel like she might throw up—not from the actual illness, but from panic.

Her eyes sting suddenly. Shit. She blinks fast, trying to will the tears away, but it’s useless. They’re already welling up. It’s like this wave of pressure that crashes over her without warning: the schedule, the tournament, the travel, the stakes. The idea of things going off-track. The idea of being the reason they go off-track. Of letting the team down. Of letting Paige down. Of letting herself down.

Because Jo knows—knows—that she’s a vital piece. She’s not saying she’s the best player on the team or anything, but her role matters. Since post-season started, she's played the most minutes out of anyone. She's been locked in, everywhere, doing the dirty work and scoring. She an All-American, for Christ’s sake.

And now?

Now her legs feel like they might buckle again just from standing in front of a mirror.

She grips the edge of the sink and breathes, nose clogged, breath coming out rough through her mouth. Get it together. Get it together, Josephine.

No one can know.

She can’t let anyone know. If Coach even suspects she’s sick, there’s a chance they pull her back. Lighten her load. Sit her if it’s bad. And if she sits?

No. That can’t happen.

So she takes another shaky breath, straightens up, and studies her face again. “Okay,” she whispers to her reflection, her voice hoarse and strange. “This is okay. This is fine."

Because it has to be. She has to be. There is no other option.

Today’s a light practice—travel day work. Walkthroughs. Shooting. Lifting, maybe. She can fake her way through that. She can rally. It’s two days until the Sweet Sixteen. That’s forty-eight hours to pump herself full of cold meds, fluids, electrolytes, whatever it takes. She’ll nap every second they’re not doing team stuff. She’ll find some tea. She’ll pretend to be normal. She has to pretend to be normal.

She opens the bathroom cabinet and searches for anything useful. Finds a few tissues, a washcloth, and one of those weird hotel mini soaps. Great.

She splashes water on her face and pats it dry. Her skin is so hot it stings. Then she stares again.

She begins to rifle through her toiletries, searching for her makeup bag. She literally never wears makeup to practice—none of them do—but she needs to cover up some of the sick. Just a little bit. Just to look more alive.

She dabs some concealer under her eyes. Applies a tiny bit of color to her cheeks. Blends it with her fingers. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing, not really, but it’s better than the fever-flushed zombie face she woke up with. She swipes on some chapstick and takes a step back.

Still rough. But maybe not contagion movie rough.

It’ll have to do.

Her knees feel like they’re on fire. Her sinuses are pounding. Her arms ache just from moving. But she zips up her hoodieand checks the time on her phone. She’s still got twenty minutes before the team meets downstairs for breakfast. Caroline’s still asleep.

Jo lays back down on top of the covers, closes her eyes, and whispers to no one, “You’re fine. You’re good.”

She repeats it over and over, hoping that manifestation actually works.

Because maybe, if she says it enough, it’ll be true.

PAIGE COMES INTO PRACTICE a little later than usual, her gait even, careful but confident. She's walking alongside Ice, both of them still slightly flushed from their earlier rehab session, which they'd squeezed in during warmups and shooting drills. It's one of the downsides of tournament travel—the schedule's tight, the windows for recovery even tighter—but today, Paige feels good. Like, actually good. Better than she's felt in a while. Her knee feels strong. Responsive. Trustworthy. Her ACL isn't screaming at her with every movement, and her mind isn't shadowed by that familiar static of caution and fear.

She feels lighter.

And because of that, she's grinning when she walks into the gym, catching the tail end of Geno's barked "Water!" call.

They've just wrapped a fast-paced transition drill, and Paige notices Jo immediately—bent slightly, hands on her hips, chest heaving in and out like she's trying to play it cool but also sort of dying, standing next to Nika at the far sideline. The second Nika sees Paige approaching, she perks up and lifts her water bottle in a toast-like motion.

"How's the knee?" she asks, grinning wide, already reading Paige's body language.

"Good," Paige says, a little breathless, a little giddy. She's genuinely happy—maybe even a little proud. The kind of good that feels hard-earned, the kind that feels like a win even before a game starts.

Nika claps her solidly on the back, the friendly kind that rocks her forward half a step. Then, CD's voice echoes from the far corner, calling Nika's name, and Nika groans like she's being sent to the gallows. "This better not be about my turnovers," she mutters as she jogs off, water bottle swinging by her side.

And then it's just Paige and Jo.

Paige turns toward her automatically, still riding that warm post-rehab high, still smiling. Jo's holding her water bottle with both hands, kind of fidgeting with the cap, and when she notices Paige looking, she clears her throat. It sounds... not great. A little gunky. And when she speaks, it's quiet. A little too quiet.

"Hey," Jo says.

Paige brightens even more. "Hey, JoJo," she says teasingly, bumping their elbows together as she comes to stand next to her. She doesn't miss the way Jo flinches—barely—but it's enough to notice. Enough to pull her smile back a notch.

Jo gives her a smile in return, but it's off. Like it hurts to smile. She takes another long chug from her water bottle and Paige tilts her head, studying the brunette more closely.

"Why're you wearing makeup?" Paige blurts, eyes narrowing as she squints at Jo's face.

Immediately, Jo stiffens. "I'm not."

Paige lets out a short laugh, incredulous. "Babe, I can see you sweating it off."

And she can. There's definitely something on Jo's skin—concealer, probably. Light foundation. The faintest smear of blush that's traveled down her cheek now that she's worked up a sweat. Not a lot, but enough for it to be odd. Jo never wears makeup to practice. Literally ever.

"It's—nothing," Jo says, voice clipped. "It doesn't matter."

And the tone is so not her. Not Jo. Not the Jo who Paige knows like the back of her hand. Not the Jo who usually meets her with soft smiles, or playful jabs, or eyes that shine when they land on her. This Jo sounds defensive. Weirdly guarded. Like Paige has caught her doing something she wasn't supposed to do.

Paige blinks at her. "Jo—"

But before she can even start to press, Coach is blowing his whistle and clapping his hands. "Let's move! Half-court sets!"

The entire team jolts into motion around them, the moment pulled out from under them like a rug. Jo's already walking away, jogging toward the group with her head down, and Paige has no choice but to go to her normal sideline spot.

But her mind doesn’t let go of it. Not even a little.

Something’s wrong.

She knows it the way she knows her own pulse. The way Jo had looked at her just now—like she was barely holding it together. The way she was sweating more than usual. The flushed cheeks that didn’t look like exertion but something else. The weird edge in her voice. The defensiveness. The fact that she put on makeup to go to practice. It's not like that's a bad thing, but it's not a Jo thing.

Once the scrimmage starts, Paige's eyes stay locked on Jo. She stands on the sideline, a practice pinny draped over her shoulder, technically supposed to be "watching and learning," as Coach put it, but in reality, she's doing one thing and one thing only: tracking Jo.

Jo, who's in the game, repping the navy squad, already drenched after like... two minutes. Paige notices it right away—how her shoulders are rounded in a way they usually aren't, how her movements are slightly off-tempo, like her brain is telling her legs to go but her body just can't quite match the urgency. It's subtle, maybe something no one else on the court would catch, but Paige does.

Because she knows her. Every rhythm, every read, every gear shift Jo usually has. And right now, it's like she's missing a gear entirely.

She's dragging.

Not dramatically, not so much that Geno stops everything immediately, but it's there. It builds over a few possessions—just enough time for Paige to build her case like she's solving a mystery she already knows the answer to. She watches Jo get caught on a simple off-ball screen that she normally would've slipped through with ease. Watches her jog back on defense a step slower than she should. Watches her take a corner three and miss everything—everything—and then immediately turn to run it off like it didn't just happen.

Her face is flushed, shiny and red in a way that doesn't come from effort, but from overheating. Her chest is rising and falling way too fast. Her hands are bunching her shorts in between plays. Her mouth is open constantly, trying to gulp air. There's a sheen of sweat clinging to her hairline that's way too thick for this early in practice.

Paige knows exactly what this is.

She was sick just last week. The flu—fever, chills, dizziness, all of it. Jo had been the one constantly nagging her to take her meds, to sleep, to drink water, to rest. And Paige had kept her at arm's length the whole time, refusing to let her so much as sit next to her on the couch. She'd made them sleep in separate beds for the first time in months—which, admittedly, had been torture—and she'd hated it, but she'd done it to keep Jo from catching the flu.

Clearly, that didn't work.

Because Jo was sniffling the entire flight yesterday, and now she's out here trying to scrimmage like she doesn't look like she's about to drop.

And Paige is pissed.

Not because Jo's sick—okay, maybe a little because Jo's sick—but mostly because she's pretending she's not. Because she clearly thought she could push through. Because she didn't say anything and now she's turning the ball over and slipping on screens and dragging herself up and down the court, and Paige can feel the anxiety crawling up her spine.

Jo turns the ball over—just loses it straight into Nika's hands, honestly—and Geno's whistle cuts through the gym like a gunshot.

He calls Jo out, puts Ines in her place. Paige watches as Jo jogs up to Coach, forehead shiny, cheeks splotchy with heat.

"What's wrong?" she asks, breathless.

"What's wrong with you?" Geno fires back immediately.

Jo's shoulders straighten like she's been accused of something. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Bull. Shit.

Paige can see just how not fine she is.

Geno stares at her, then sighs sharply through his nose. "Go have Janelle take your temperature. If you don't have a fever, you can stay. If you do," he says, voice low and dangerous, "go get some sleep. Don't come to my practices sick and risk giving it to the rest of us."

Jo just nods. She doesn't argue, which might be the biggest tell of all. If she were even close to okay, she would have fought to stay, to help the team. But she doesn't. She just exhales like the fight has left her completely and walks off the court toward the trainer.

Paige follows without thinking, practically jogging after her, catching up before Jo even makes it to Janelle.

"Why're you here?" she asks, voice low but tight with concern.

Jo doesn't stop walking. "I needed to be."

"Jo—" Paige starts, but she doesn't get to finish.

Janelle is already motioning for Jo to sit down and grabbing the thermometer from her kit. Jo does, hunching over with her forearms resting on her knees, sweat dripping down the side of her neck. Paige stands nearby, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Watching. Waiting.

The beep is loud.

"102.1," Janelle says simply.

Paige sucks in a breath. She knew it, but hearing the number out loud solidifies it.

Janelle doesn't say anything else. She just tilts her head toward the door and says, "Let's go."

Jo nods, defeated. She stands, shoulders slumped, moving slow like her bones hurt.

Paige watches her walk out of the gym, wanting to go after her. She wants to grab Jo's bag and walk her back to the hotel and sit on the bathroom floor with her while she pukes if she has to. She wants to be the one pulling her hair back, making her tea, holding her while she shivers. That's what she's supposed to do. That's what she wants to do.

But Geno didn't give her permission to leave. And she's not technically benched. She's not technically anything, which means she can't just dip.

So, she turns back toward the coaches, heart still somewhere near her feet, brain completely unfocused. The scrimmage is setting. CD is going over matchups again. None of it matters. All Paige can see is Jo's sweaty, flushed face and the way she liked and said she was fine.

CD glances at Paige after a minute. She frowns. "Go be with her."

Paige blinks. "What?"

"You heard me," CD replies. "Go be with Jo. It's not like she can get you sick."

Paige hesitates, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "Why wouldn't she be able to?"

CD deadpans, "Because you got her sick."

Paige's eyes widen a little too fast. Her heart jumps to her throat. Just because Aubrey, Nika, and Azzi know about them does not mean that the coaches—especially CD—should.

"Why—why would you think I'm the one who got her sick?" Paige stutters far too quickly.

CD gives her a look that suggests she thinks Paige is stupid. "Because you live together?"

That tracks. Makes sense. Normal logic. Paige nods, relieved. At least CD isn't speculating further.

"Go," the older woman says, shooing her off with a flick of her wrist.

Paige doesn't waste another second. She grabs her bag and jogs toward the exit, barely registering the sound of sneakers squeaking behind her, her focus already ahead—already locked on Jo. On taking care of her. On being there for her.

Paige catches up to her quickly. She doesn't say much, just wordlessly takes Jo's bag from her. They don't talk as they ride the elevator up to the hotel floor the whole team is staying on, don't talk as Jo quietly unlocks the door to her room and steps inside. Paige follows, dropping her and Jo's bags onto the ground with a dull thud. It's not even noon, but the room already feels dim and still, the curtains drawn halfway and both Jo's and Caroline's beds still rumpled.

Jo sighs and stands there for a second, looking from her bed to the bathroom like she's trying to decide which one to collapse into first. "I need a shower," she finally mutters, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

Paige watches her, watches the way she doesn't move right away, like the thought of lifting one more limb is just too much. "Gotta take a cold one, though," Paige says gently, stepping closer and curling a hand around Jo's elbow. Her skin is hot, burning. She's been fighting this off since the plane ride and probably even before that, and now it's just caught up to her in full.

Jo groans softly, leaning into the touch like she's too tired to pretend anymore. "I hate cold showers."

"I know," Paige murmurs, brushing a stray hair out of Jo's face. "Me too."

Jo starts toward the bathroom slowly, tugging her practice tee over her head and letting it fall to the floor. Her sports bra comes next, slow and clumsy, like she can barely life her arms without it hurting. Paige watches, her throat tight, not even trying to hide the way her eyes linger. Jo's always been pretty. It's kind of ridiculous, how even now—sweaty and sick and clearly miserable—she still looks like the most beautiful person Paige has ever seen.

Jo turns halfway, pausing in the bathroom doorway, and asks, "Can you just—can you be with me?"

She's not talking about sex. Paige knows that instantly, knows it from the way her voice cracks around the edges, the way her arms wrap protectively around her own ribs like she's trying to hold herself together. It's not about being naked. It's about not being alone.

Paige nods without hesitation. " 'Course," she says, already tugging her own shirt off as she follows Jo into the bathroom.

It's a nice hotel bathroom—marble tiles wide mirror, glass shower—but right now, none of that matters. Paige turns the water on cold, wincing a little as the stream splashes over her fingers. Jo gives her a betrayed look.

"You sure we can't do, like... lukewarm?" she jokes weakly.

"Nope," Paige says, stepping in first and reaching out a hand. "C'mon, let's get your fever down and get this over with."

Jo groans again but takes her hand, letting Paige pull her in. The second the water hits her back, she flinches, shivering hard. Paige wraps both arms around her and pulls her close, bare skin against burning skin, heart pressing into heart.

"You got me sick," Jo mumbles into Paige's shoulder, her voice muffled and tired.

"I know," Paige says quietly, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, baby."

And she is sorry. More sorry than Jo probably knows. She'd been careful—or at least, she thought she had. Last week, when Paige had the flu, they'd slept in separate beds. Paige had avoided kisses, had kept her distance, had even worn a damn mask a couple times around the apartment. It had sucked. Not being able to touch Jo had felt like a punishment, like she was grounded from the one person who made her feel human during a shitty stretch of recovery. But she'd done it because she had to—because she couldn't risk getting Jo sick.

And it still hadn't been enough.

Paige tightens her grip, hand smoothing slow circles along Jo's spine. "I really didn't mean to," she adds. "I tried not to."

"I know," Jo mumbles, curling into her closer.

After a few more minutes, Paige turns off the water and reaches for the two towels she set on the counter. She wraps one around Jo and then one around herself.

"Let's go to bed," Paige murmurs, guiding Jo out of the shower. Jo doesn't argue, just lets Paige grab clothes from her suitcase, essentially dressing them both. She's half asleep by the time Paige gets her settled under the blankets, her damp hair sticking to her cheek.

Paige pulls the comforter up to Jo's chin and smooths it down, brushing a hand over her forehead. Still too hot.

Jo watches her. "You gonna stay?"

Paige climbs in beside her without a word, wrapping an arm gently around her waist. "Nowhere I'd rather be."

Jo hums. "Good."

And Paige just stares. The kind where her whole face softens, where her heart aches a little from how much she feels—like it's pressing hard against her ribs, too big for her chest. It's been like that a lot lately, with Jo. She watches the way the younger girl's lasher flicker, heavy with exhaustion but still holding her gaze. The way her lips part just slightly, pink and chapped. Paige's hand moves before she even realizes it, tracing gently along Jo's cheekbone, brushing under her eye, following the curve of her face like it's the only map she trusts.

She leans in a little and nudges Jo's nose with her own, soft and slow, and Jo lets out a quiet exhale. Like she's trying not to cry. Like she doesn't want to admit how shitty she feels—physically, mentally, all of it.

"You shoulda said something," Paige murmurs, barely above a whisper. "You didn't have to go to practice today."

Jo looks away for a second, eyes fluttering closed like the weight of Paige's words is just too much.

"I know," she breathes out. Her voice is small. Raw. "I just—" She swallows, opens her eyes again. "I'm afraid admitting I'm sick might mean I'm not a hundred percent this weekend and... I don't know. I might be the reason we lose."

It's said like a confession. Like something she's been holding in all day, chewing over in her head during every sluggish drill, every mistimed screen, every deep breath she struggled to catch. And now it's out, just sitting there between them, making Paige's heart squeeze with a new kind of ache.

Jo adds, even quieter, "I just don't wanna let anyone down."

Paige breathes in slow. She doesn't rush to answer, doesn't brush it off with a joke or tell her she's being dramatic. That's not what Jo needs.

She just keeps touching her. Thumb brushing along her face, hand sliding gently down to her jaw. She watches the flicker of worry in Jo's eyes and wants to wrap her up in something warmer than a blanket. Something safer.

"Joey," she says, soft and steady, "you aren't letting anyone down."

Jo doesn't react right away, so Paige says it again. Firm this time. Like she needs Jo to hear her.

"It's not your fault."

Jo's lips twitch like she wants to believe her but can't quite get there.

Paige keeps going. "But your body wasn't up for that today. And trying to push through it—it could've made things worse. Like, really worse. You just need rest right now, if you wanna be good for Saturday."

When Jo still doesn't answer, just scoots a little closer to Paige, the blonde adds quietly, "I mean it. You've already done enough. You don't have to prove anything to anybody."

There's a pause. Then, Jo finally speaks, voice rough with sick but honest. "I didn't wanna be the weak link."

Paige blinks. "You're not," she says immediately. "Jesus, Jo—you're never the weak link."

Jo looks at her. Really looks at her. Eyes glossy and red-rimmed and full of something unspoken.

Paige leans in again, their foreheads touching now. "You've been carrying this team all year. You've been one of our constants through all the shit. No one's blaming you for getting sick. It's okay to miss a practice or two. It's how you're gon' get better for the game, 'kay?"

Jo exhales. "I just don't wanna miss anything," she says. "I don't wanna sit out and watch, even if it is just practice and I am okay by Saturday."

Paige feels that deep in her stomach. Like a mirror. Like someone's playing her own old fears back to her in a voice that isn't hers.

"You won't," she asys, brushing a kiss to Jo's cheek. "You're not missing anything. You're resting. That's different. Swear."

"Okay," Jo murmurs, burrowing her face into Paige's neck. She's still burning, but Paige pulls her closer anyways, grips her tighter. All she needs is rest—and then she'll be fine.

JO'S ALWAYS BEEN ANXIOUS. Always.

She's come to accept it, mostly. She used to think nerves meant she wasn't ready. That something was wrong with her. But now, she knows they just mean she cares. It's not like the nerves go away, but they've started to feel less like panic and more like fuel. She can recognize them now, like an old opponent she's played enough times to scout. Her chest goes tight, her hands feel jittery, and her thoughts race faster than the warmup drills. But she knows how to breathe through it. She knows where to look—who to look at.

Paige, there on the bench. Steady. Secure. Safe.

The nerves are still here, but they're quiet now. Manageable. Even better than they were during the Sweet Sixteen.

God, the Sweet Sixteen.

She's still thinking about it. It's been two days and she still hasn't fully shaken it from her system.

She hadn't felt ready. Not really. Her fever had broken, but she still had that lingering fog in her head, the kind that made her feel like her body was reacting half a beat too late. She couldn't get loose in warmups, and her shot had felt like it had a weird hitch in it, and by the end of the first quarter, her lungs were already fighting for air.

But she played. Not well. Not terribly, either—but not like herself. She got pulled early. Minutes restriction, Janelle said. Health precautions. Geno didn't want her body crashing mid-game. It made sense, but it sucked to watch from the bench while Ohio State clawed and scrapped and made everything a mess.

They were extremely physical. Every possession felt like a wrestling match. Nika got elbowed in the gut. Lou got double-teamed so hard she hit the floor twice in five minutes. Azzi couldn't get a clean look for almost the entire second half. Aaliyah picked up her third foul midway through the second quarter and Jo felt like she might actually puke.

It went to overtime. In the Sweet Sixteen. UConn hadn't had that close of a game in the tournament this early in years.

But during overtime, Jo was more in her groove and Lili somehow avoided fouling out. The second the ball was back in play, things seemed to click. They went back to the basics. Two-person actions. Defensive rotations. Get stops, push the tempo, make shots.

Jo hit a pull-up three. Aaliyah got a block and a putback. The momentum shifted.

It wasn't pretty, but it was gritty. And it got them here, to the Elite Eight. One game away from the Final Four.

That's what today is.

Jo's fully healthy now, finally, and finding her spot for tip. She feels the nerves crawling up her spine again, but she breathes in deep. She stares at her shoes. She thinks about how far they've come.

No one is really expecting them to lose. But Virginia Tech is good. Really good.

Liz Kitley and Georgia Amoore. That's their one-two punch. One inside, one out. Veteran, experienced, efficient. It'll be tough. Jo know that.

The tip goes up. Aaliyah wins it.

Jo takes the first possession slowly, reading. Letting the game show itself. Nika brings it down, swings it to Azzi, then back to Jo. Amoore is right on her hip. Not overly physical, just smart. She studies the way Jo moves. Tries to guess her next step.

Jo gives her a hesitation dribble, then steps into a middy. It sinks, easy. That spot has improved a lot for her this season; Paige helped.

They run back on defense. Georgia gets a clean look on a flare screen and drills a three.

That's how most of the game goes. But, by the time the buzzer sounds, UConn has come out with the win.

Jo doesn't cheer at first. She just drops her head, hands on her knees, tired but satisfied. She had thirty-two. She played her heart and soul out. And now they're going back to the Final Four. Back where they're supposed to be. Where UConn always is.

Dorka crashes into her, and suddenly she's being yanked upright, being hugged and grabbed and jostled by her teammates. Amari's screaming something in her ear, Nika is squeezing the life out of her, Azzi's smiling so hard her dimples have popped.

Jo just laughs, shaky and breathless, and lets herself get pulled into the celebration. They go through the handshake line before hats and shirts begin to get tossed around. Someone throws her the regional champions tee and she doesn't even look at it before tugging it over her jersey. The trophy appears, and Jo is named the regional MVP, and there's cameras everywhere. She's not even sure where to look.

Not until Paige is in front of her.

Jo doesn't even hesitate—she just pulls her in, arms tight around Paige's waist. Paige hugs her back just as tight, and it takes everything in Jo not to close her eyes and just melt into her. It's longer than the other hugs she's shared. A little quieter. A little softer. Jo feels Paige's chin rest on her shoulder for a second longer than normal.

Jo swallows hard. Her chest is full. So full it hurts.

Because Paige hasn't played a single minute this season. She hasn't touched the floor. But she's been here every day. Every film session, every lift, every practice, even when it probably made her want to scream. And Jo—Jo knows for a fact that she wouldn't have made it through the last few months without her. Wouldn't have made it through today.

She pulls back just barely, enough to murmur. "Couldn't have done it without you."

Paige smiles, soft and gummy, and just says, "I know."

After the confetti settles and the trophy’s been passed around and Jo’s done her on-court interview with Holly Rowe (which she thinks she blacked out for), everything gets blurry. There are cameras and noise and people yelling her name and someone giving her water and someone else grabbing her arm like press is in ten, but Jo barely hears it.

She’s spinning.

She finds Paige again, pretty quickly.

It’s quiet in the hallway outside the media room, away from all the celebration and bright lights. They’re just standing there, leaning against the wall, talking low like it’s any normal day. Paige has her warm-up jacket off and slung over her arm. Jo’s shirt is soaked through, her ponytail’s half-falling out, and her body’s screaming for a shower and an ice bath, but she doesn’t move.

She’s playing with the chain around Paige’s neck—thin and silver, worn and familiar. The necklace. Her necklace. Her fingers trace the edges absently, not even thinking about it. Paige watches her, quiet.

Then she says, “Here,” and slips it off.

Jo frowns as Paige reaches forward and carefully fastens it around her neck. “What’re you doing?”

“Probably need it for press,” Paige says, voice teasing but eyes soft.

Jo groans. “I hate press.”

“I know.” Paige grins. “But you’re Region MVP now. You gotta go smile and answer questions like a real grown-up.”

Jo scrunches her nose and mumbles, “Can you just do it for me?”

“Nope,” Paige says, popping the p at the end. Her smile widens and she leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Jo's forehead.

Jo almost forgets to breathe.

And then—

“Uh… Jo?” a voice calls, awkward but familiar.

Jo flinches slightly and glances over her shoulder to see Celeste, who's coming around the corner with her phone and the mini mic she’s been using all season for her little TikTok interviews.

Celeste’s gaze diverts slightly when she notices Paige standing so close. “Sorry—uh—can I interview you real quick?”

Jo gives Paige a very obvious wide-eyed help me look. Paige mimics it. Jo has no idea what to expect from the redhead after what happened a couple weeks ago. She knows she's not exactly Celeste's biggest fan—Paige gave her the rundown on the crash-out that ensued following the locker room interruption.

“Good luck,” Paige murmurs under her breath as Jo sighs and steps toward Celeste.

Turns out, she didn't really need any. Because, surprisingly, Celeste is very nice and professional. The interview is short and sweet and Celeste smiles the whole time, watching Jo answer her questions like she genuinely wants to know the answers. Maybe Jo was wrong for expecting something more. Maybe the whole thing with Celeste was blown out of proportion.

When the interview is done, Celeste puts a gentle hand on her arm and gives her a genuine smile. She's either a very good actress or this is real. Jo, being Jo, obviously assumes the latter because she doesn't really know how to not give people the benefit of the doubt.

"You played really well today, Jo," Celeste tells her warmly. She sighs before adding, "I'm sorry about all the recent drama. It's stupid."

"Thanks," Jo says, smiling a little, before all of a sudden, a media handler appears out of nowhere. He ushers her, guiding her down the hallway for the formal post-game press conference. As she goes, Jo tosses Paige a little glance. Her eyes flash, saying don't disappear. Paige gives a tiny salute. Jo fights the urge to grin wider.

She's on a high.

Too bad she can only go down from here.

[humiliatemeplesse]

You went through rush week and got picked by the party frat just off campus and make it through hell week and initiation and none of your new brothers figured out you're gay. It made you feel good. I can pass, I appear straight and masculine.

At the all weekend long party after all the pledges were initiated into the frat, everyone was getting pretty drunk, stoned, high...

It was later in the night, actually it had turned into the next day dark pre-dawn morning, when one of your new frat bros started staring at you. It was like he was looking right through you. You tried to avoid it but he was laser focused on you. You started to get uncomfortable so you thought I'll go somewhere else in the house and he said, hey where ya going and grabbed you a beer from the cooler on the floor next to him and tossed it to you. You understood already that when a senior frat bro did something like that, that it isn't a suggestion, it's an order. You sat back down and opened your beer. You were talking and laughing with all the other guys and he just kept staring at you, silent, his gaze turning a bit menacing. The room started to empty and about an hour before sunrise the last bro was leaving the room so you thought you'd go too. Your brother said to you, stay here. You stopped in your tracks. He said, I've been waiting all night to call you out. I know you're a fucking faggot. You can't fool me. I shouldn't have let my brothers allow you in, none of us like you fucking dirty homos. But I'm gonna keep quiet about it...for now. And you're gonna be my fucking bitch 24/7 for me to keep quiet. You know how valuable it is to have being a member of this frat on your resume when you graduate. You know that if you get kicked out of here there's no rooms left in the dorms on campus, people are renting fucking motel rooms to get by. And you know if I tell the brothers that you're a fag that most of then will join in a severe group beat down that'll definitely land you in the hospital. So, every day, every minute, every second you're gonna do what I tell you to do. My laundry. Clean my room. Do all my frat chores. Give me pocket money. Write papers for me. Lots of other things. Now get on your fucking knees and kiss my stinking sweaty socked feet. Thank me. Thank me for sparing you. Beg me to not put you. Tell me how you're gonna be my unquestioning bitch, at my every command. C'mon faggot, get your face and your nose and your lips on my smelly sock soles and kiss, sniff, worship them like the pathetic waste of space that you are. I might make you do this every day as a reminder of your place. Now sniff kiss and worship bitch, be the pathetic fag bitch you are.

[fortunxa]

Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: The chances of a blue-haired girl being chased by the cops and hopping in my car, simply yelling “Drive!” are low, but never zero.

author’s note: It’s my first time publishing a Jinx one-shot of mine, I hope you enjoy! This is a relatively new blog, so if anyone wants to become mutuals I’m definitely open to the idea! :)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Fourteen days.

A mere two weeks stand between me and move-in day for my freshman year of college. In other words, summer break is slowly coming to an end, and I’ve done fuck all to make it memorable.

I can feel life passing me by as I watch like a bystander. Usually, the clock is my enemy—a constant reminder of my youth running out, and, shit, I’m too young to feel that way. This time, it serves as a way to free me from the shackles of the evening shift as a front desk worker at our local gym.

The clock strikes midnight, and, like a modern-day Cinderella, I jump up from my seat and make a beeline for the exit, hurriedly clocking out. I simultaneously greet and say goodbye to the night shift going in, already halfway through the small yet relatively empty parking lot. The smell of sweaty ‘gym bros’ is long forgotten as the breeze engulfs me, my dirty sneakers thudding on the concrete. The rust on my beat-up jeep shines in the moonlight as I approach—so seductive, I snicker to myself. I toss my duffel bag in the trunk, hop behind the wheel, and start the engine. I take this moment to commence my connect-phone-to-car-or-die-trying mission and thank the universe for its successful outcome. I browse a bit through the plethora of playlists before settling on the usual one, the sound of Arctic Monkeys filling the space as I leave the parking lot.

I don’t want to go home—not yet, at least—so I settle for a late-night drive. The cookie-cutter, upper-class houses pass me by as I mindlessly cruise through the clean streets—a stark contrast to my neighborhood, where you either learn to stick up for yourself or go home crying to your mama. A place where there is more sewage sludge than trees. A place where I grew up and one I learned to love.

In the midst of it all, I don’t notice the particularly nasty bump on the road that makes my song abruptly cut off. I take a right, pulling over in an alley with an annoyed groan as I resort to phase two, also known as connect-phone-back-to-car-before-I-impulsively-crash, of my initial mission. As I fiddle with the settings, showing my inner cheek no mercy as my teeth dig into their feast, a hissing and spritzing sound comes through my open window.

I think I’m imagining things at first, that post-shift fatigue surely getting the best of me, but I spot the source of the sound rather quickly: a figure, hidden almost out of sight between the fancy houses, switching between various colors of spray paint as she defaces the picture-perfect facade with her graffiti. The sheer speed of her actions makes it look like she’s juggling.

How do I know it’s a girl? Well, although she is wearing a hat to shield her face from any surveillance cameras, a neck warmer up to her nose, and a black, oversized tracksuit already covered in pink paint splotches, her disguise was blown the moment she decided to leave her blue, ankle-length, twin braids out. I twist my neck and reach over the dashboard to try and get a better look at her work. I can barely make out the shape of a green monkey’s face before moving on to the next element. ‘Get ji-’

My reading is interrupted by the sound of sirens piercing the air and blue lights illuminating the area. Instinctively, I turn my headlights off and duck, watching the girl as she hastily packs the cans into her backpack. I swear I can see her eyes twinkle with excitement as she takes one last glance at her—presumably—finished artwork and takes off running through the gardens. Her faint giggle reaches my ears, and a bewildered smile graces my features. I wanted fun, and now it’s right in front of me. I definitely couldn’t get a clearer sign than this.

I observe as one of the cops chases after her as the other drives away, seemingly trying to cut her off. Lightbulb moment. I put the car into gear and waste no time following them from the comfort of the dark alleys, reaching the mysterious girl first through the shortcuts. I catch her contemplating her next move and, without hesitation, quickly flash my high beams at her twice. This seems to grab her attention, and I signal for her to get in with a simple nod, tapping the car door as confirmation.

To my surprise, she actually runs over and hops in the backseat, her back lying flat as she takes a swift peek through the window, and holy shit, I didn’t think that she actually would.

“Drive!” she yells through her panting, and I do. I feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage as the blue lights appear once again in my rearview mirror. Don’t fuck this up, I think before taking a sharp left. I hear her elated squeals as I visualize the district’s roads and plan the perfect getaway.

Right.

Right, once again.

Left.

Straight down the street.

Sharp right.

I can hear the sirens getting closer as I speed through the familiar routes. It doesn’t matter that I know this area like the back of my hand; the cops probably do, too. There is only one thing left to try, and, albeit risky, it should work. They hadn’t spotted my car yet, and we were quickly approaching a busy intersection—the perfect distraction.

The tires squeak as I harshly pull into an empty driveway, turning the engine off in hopes of blending in.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the blue-haired girl grumbles with brooding eyes. I don’t reply. Instead, I shush her as I grab her waist and roll her off the seat, pushing her into the legroom before ducking underneath the steering wheel. We fall silent, holding our breaths in as the police car passes us by. I watch as they get lost in the dense traffic, a sigh of relief escaping me as I throw my head back. I climb into my seat again and take a peek at the tagger in the back, confusion crossing my features as I watch her stuff her face with candy. My candy. “Hefty stash you got back there.” Her mouth twists at the sour taste of a Warhead she picked. She seems completely unfazed by this whole situation.

I notice that she had discarded her hat and neck warmer and take the opportunity to get a better look at her: blue eyes matching her hair, light freckles splattered across her straight nose and rosy cheeks, pouty lips, her dark and expressive brows… She truly is breathtaking. I feel a blush creep up my face as she climbs over the console, wiggling her way into the passenger seat. She takes her hoodie off, revealing her black tank top, and fuck me, she has tattoos.

She faces me with a curious look herself, seemingly analyzing me too. Her gaze is difficult to decipher as her eyes trail over my figure, and I stiffen. She shoots me a knowing smile before throwing her hands around my neck and placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a lifesaver, toots,” she muses into my ear. The pleasant smell of paint and bubble gum hits my nose making me lick my lips. “Name’s Jinx, by the way. Stands for Jinx,” she cackles to herself, drawing her lower lip between her teeth awaiting my introduction.

I blink a couple of times, realizing how silent I’ve been throughout this whole ordeal. I can get awkward, sure, but I’m not timid, so I muster up the courage and consciously relax, trying to project a nonchalant attitude. “I’m Y/N.” I shoot her a smile of my own.

“Y/N. Hmm…” Jinx gives an approving hum as she repeats after me, my name rolling off her tongue like honey. “What made you help little ol’ me?” New observation: she’s a teaser.

“I need some excitement in my life,” I answer truthfully and she perks up with a spark in her eyes.

“Toots, you’ve just made friends with the perfect candidate to help you with that.” Her giddy attitude returns as she beams at me.

“We’re friends, huh?” I tease at her choice of words, my eyebrows raised in a cocky manner.

“Sure we are! I feel like running from the cops together is the perfect bonding experience, don’t ya?” She gives me a once-over before her mouth curves into a smirk. “Unless you want to be more than friends. That could work, too.” She winks. Her straightforwardness should make me turn crimson, but instead, it makes my confidence grow. I give a low chuckle as I shake my head in disbelief.

“Tell you what,” I begin, starting the engine and trying to connect my phone back to the car for the third time already, “let me get you home safely, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings to our friendship. Deal?” I extend my hand toward her, and she ponders my proposition. I can practically see the cogs turning in her head, her facial expressions jumping from sour to doubtful, as if she were battling her thoughts before settling on a satisfied grin.

Her soft hand reaches mine in a princess handshake, and I try not to look at her manicured nails for too long. “Deal.” The blue-haired girl snatches the phone out of my hands, adding her number to my contact list and sending a quick text to herself. Just when I think she’s giving it back, she picks a song, and I hear Arabella playing through the speakers. How fitting.

As I leave the stranger’s driveway, I sense her shuffling in the passenger seat, throwing her legs out the window. She puts her head on my lap freely, toying with the colorful charms on my keychain. In the spur of the moment, I gingerly brush her bangs behind her ear, revealing her side profile. Her gaze catches mine, and I see her eyes soften before I turn mine on the road again.

Jinx tells me her address, and I realize how close to me she lives—the perfect circumstances. I feel her lightly bobbing her head to the music as her left cheek strokes my thigh, her fingers tracing mine as they sit on the gear stick. Her demeanor feels different from the badass tagger who willingly hopped in a stranger’s car. She looks peaceful and content now.

My shoulders slump in disappointment as I park outside her house. She clicks her tongue and lazily lifts her head from the comfort of my lap. She looks around the empty streets of her neighborhood and hums, her curious eyes now shifting to mine. As we take each other in, I can’t help but gravitate toward her—her presence feels almost intoxicating, and I don’t want to part ways just yet. To my surprise, she copies my actions. She’s so close I can feel her minty breath mingle with mine. Instinctively, my gaze drops to her lips as she tentatively licks them. I let out a faint sigh, and she slowly closes the distance. I can hear my heartbeat as I wait for our lips to meet.

But they never do. “I don’t kiss on a first date,” she murmurs in my ear, and my face flushes. Jinx pulls away as she flashes me a toothy grin, and before I can even react, she’s already skipping to her front door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Wha-? When did she grab her stuff? I stare in disbelief as she turns around, her braids flailing behind her. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” she teases and blows me a kiss before disappearing into the dark hallway of her home.

Fourteen days.

Give me two weeks to make her mine.

╰┈➤ sequel – ‘Fourteen days’

[woominutes]

ko kyungjun as a boyfriend

he is THE hates everyone but you bf

bad boy with a soft spot for you kinda trope

just replace bad boy with bully

he doesn't go out of his way for anyone except you

princess treatment? you got it.

he'd make jinha and seungbin do the work when they are around lol

his love languages are;

acts of service

holding doors for you, buying you snacks, walking you home, helping you the week before and during your period. the things he does for you can erase any doubts that may arise in your head about his feelings for you.

he might hold back sometimes to not appear as a simp and maintain his reputation as the tough bully though.

physical touch

always has his hands on you in a way, mostly around the waist or shoulders. it is a sign of affection but also ownership as he wants to make your relationship known to other boys so they don't even dare to make a move.

also having you on his lap, he loves that. especially during recess at school, you can be found sitting on him while he zones out or talks with jinha and seungbin.

and quality time

asking you to hang out after school, inviting you to his place to chill, tagging along when you have errands to run if he is in the mood for it.

this guy literally walks away from people and situations when he doesn't care to be bothered so spending his time on/with someone definitely means something.

now about gift giving

i don't think he'd put a lot of thought into gifts. on specific occasions like anniversaries or trying to impress you, yes, but nothing too fancy otherwise.

however, you'd get little things; like a flower from a random garden he passed by from.

in my eyes, he's a casual sharer in a relationship

what is his is yours, his basketball sneakers being the only exception. food, clothes, his bed, his heart, everything.

you like his jacket? you'll share it back and forth, one week his and two weeks yours. you like his hoodie? take it. you like his shirt? wear it (but bring it back after a month and borrow another). you like his earrings? you can wear the right one and he'll wear the left one.

words of affirmation is not something he is good at

it's hard for him to express himself. he can throw a few playful sweet words here and there but rarely gets serious. he has his moments, especially after intimate situations with intense feelings, but they're few.

rarely says "i love you", he shows it instead.

he'd be the one to secretly need words of affirmation despite denying it

not too much praise though, he'll get cocky

bro felt love for the first time and his world changed #canon

such a show-off, especially with basketball

"this is for you" *misses the shot*

once threw the ball in hyunho's face because you were looking at the poor boy for too long and kyungjun got jealous

cue nahee running to help hyunho with his bloody nose

he eliminates your worries when he can

(we all know how I'm talking about)

tending to his wounds whenever he gets injured

insecure hence extreme jealousy

someone looks at you for too long? glares at them. someone talks to you? either waves them off or mocks them when they leave. someone confesses to you? they get threats as a warning. someone touches you? disappeared from the face of earth.

i could actually see him wanting to kill other boys out of jealousy but he'll hold himself back by giving them a light beating instead.

"me? jealous? ha! I'm better than that asshole"

yeah yeah sure

bro is so aggressive

you'd most likely have to witness a lot of outbursts of anger

but he apologises after, usually

intended empty words or not, you'll witness his wrath again because that is his reaction to almost everything that inconveniences him

he's throwing things and punching walls

BUT NEVER EVER hits you

even if he unconsciously shoves you, he regrets it immediately

many, mostly minor, arguments because of misunderstandings and lack of communication

he is not very confrontational when it comes to a relationship, either because he doesn't want to appear vulnerable and clingy or he doesn't know how to express himself and figure out why he is feeling the way he does.

when his hidden feelings of insecurity and discomfort bubble up, it's hell for the both of you. screaming, crying, him acting like he doesn't care to protect himself.

and his impulsivity makes it harder to make up sometimes

he might say hurtful things out of anger that will keep you away from him for a while but he rarely actually means them, it's just his defense and illusion of security.

possessive and slightly controlling

he cares too much when he considers his relationship serious and it's not just him fooling around.

unfortunately, he'll use manipulation when he wants something badly or to convince you of something. if you call him out, he'll drop the act and most likely get annoyed.

he needs a lot of work when it comes to the negative aspects of his personality for a healthy relationship to exist

he is not too much of a bad guy, he just has issues

and needs therapy

passionate makeout sessions

those big palms and veiny hands know how to grip. he's the dominant one and he won't have it any other way, wanting to have power and control over the pace and movements.

high libido, that's all i'm apparently allowed to say :P

learns and remembers a lot about you

especially your habits and quirks

if you smoke too;

he'll share his cigarettes with you

and steal a couple of yours when he is out of his

if you hate smoking;

LIKE LITERALLY CANNOT BREATHE AROUND SMOKERS

he'll make an effort to not smoke when you are present

brushes his teeth or eats a piece of gum before he kisses you if he meets you after smoking <3

can't have you thinking he is gross smh

if you're short;

he definitely teases you about your height

picks you up just for fun or carries you around like you weigh nothing

ties your shoelaces for you

playfully insulting each other and bantering all the time to show affection

you're the only one he actually listens to <3

you shove him or nudge him when he is being too mean to other people or crossing a line

still goes wild when you're not around

you are his lockscreen <3

not too much of a talkative texter

sort written replies but long voice messsages

oml that voice

sends you pics of himself all the time, expecting compliments and praise

shirtless mirror pics focusing on his abs? all yours. manspreading pictures? you got them. selfies in which he tries to appear tough but his cheeks and soft features make him look like the cutest boy you've ever seen? yep.

cares a lot about how you view him so he takes a lot of time to make sure he picks the right pics to send you.

let's not fool ourselves, he knows you love those muscles and he purposely puts them on display for you

cuddles with kyungjun are warm and tight, becoming one under a blanket

more of a motorcycle guy

buys you your own helmet <3

not one for fancy dates, maybe dinner here and there, but prefers casual hangouts

movie nights at his house, late night walks and rides, chilling at a convenience store after school.

just peaceful private moments.

pretends to not like cheesy couple things, such as matching outfits or pajamas, but they secretly warm his heart

he takes your gifts very seriously; wears them to please you or carries them around with him

get him a neck pillow

you have him wrapped around your finger no matter how much he denies it

jinha has gotten a good smack in the back of his head for voicing that fact multiple times

© to @woominutes on tumblr; do not repost or steal

[ickytreats]

Hii!! Idk if you're taking requests, but it's been a while and I miss your writing 💞

Big bro taking lil sis out for the day, the whole time avoiding touching her too much or the way she just needs him to.

Lil sis feeling a bit down and kinda rejected, not having received a single kiss the whole day :(

Big bro taking advantage that they find a secluded place away from anyone else to kiss her passionately, making all her worries go away and even whispering in her ear: "do you think they know you're me lil sister? Or do they think you're my girlfriend?" And lil sis just squirms and giggles bc she's both!!

(sorry if it's a mess xD you can take it wherever and however you want to 🩷)

- 🫧

Yes. Omg I love the thought process

Date with big brother at the aquarium or museum. I love both but let's say aquarium. It was his idea, he knows how much I love aquatic animals. Big brother is careful with our public affection. While I'm more careless with my touches so even a little difference in affection coming from big bro I'm noticing it. This is a big difference in affection.

I didn't get a morning kiss, his usual car kiss, and he's not even letting me hold his arm as we walk around! What kind of date is this!? Being at one of my favorite places, with my favorite person, and the place isn't even that full but I can't even enjoy it.

I try to kiss him discreetly maybe even his cheek but he pulls away. Trying to hold his hand or arm and he's swatting me away. I see nothing wrong in the affection I'm giving him in public. I think it's totally normal while he's rejecting it all being too uptight.

Big brother definitely notices I'm not enjoying myself when we get the chance to see the sharks and I'm not excited. He takes me to pet the lime sharks, through the tunnel, and even buys me a shark plushie at the gift shop. Nothing works to get me out of my head so he drags me into a photo booth. His last attempt to get me back to his smiling little sister.

Come on, little sis! You love these booths! He has an exaggerated excitement to his tone. I got you a big sharkie plushie too, he boops the shark on my nose. He sighs, he knows exactly what's wrong with me. He pulls me extra close and kisses my cheek, I know I've been a little mean all day. But we're in public, he nuzzles his face into my neck and softly kisses. But you can't even hold my hand? I mumble as I'm torn if I should lean into the affection or stand my ground. I was doing too much, can you forgive me? He leans in and mumbles as his lips ghost mine. Please forgive your big brother it's been so hard to keep my myself off you. He closes the small gap between us and kisses me.

He doesn't let me pull away, he grabs the back of my head and keeps me in place. He pulls me into his lap as we make out in the photo booth. He pulls away and we're both panting for air. Didn't you see how they looked at us when we first walked in? You think they know that your my little sister? Or do you think they assumed your my girlfriend? Why does it matter? Aren't I both? I can't help but smile and wrap my arms around his shoulders as I respond. He chuckles and grips my hips, that you are. We're both leaning in for another kiss, I always appreciate whenever I go somewhere and it's almost empty.

But I appreciated it more today as I grind on his lap. He moans into tho kiss, we really gonna do this out here? He kisses my neck, just a quickie...please? Just to remind me you love me, I bring my hand to his hair and tug. He lets out a breathy chuckle, to remind you that I love you? I don't kiss you for a day and suddenly the world's fallen apart. He bites my neck making me gasp and giggle. Turn around, face the camera as you ride your big brother's cock. He undoes his belt and pulls out this cock as I pull my panties down to my knees.

His hands go on my hips and pull me down onto his cock. Were both softly moaning as he fills me up. I sit on his cock warming him as we decide what frame to use on our pictures. W-wait does this booth have a screen outside? Can people see us? I bite my lip as I slowly move my hips. So what if they can? His words surprise me, this is what you wanted. Big brother to love you out in public, taking you on this date wasn't enough. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my shoulder. Now bounce on my cock and smile for the camera like a good little sister, he growls in my ear before biting it.

I listen to him with a nod and start bouncing on his cock as I try to smile for the pictures. Trying different poses but having to retake them because they come out blurry. It's a miracle no one has caught on to what's happening. For the last two pictures it's getting hard to keep a face. I'm biting my lip trying not to moan too loud. Fuck fuck fuck I say under my breathe I'm gonna cum...I wrap an arm around him and look into his eyes. He smiles and nods cum for me little sis...fuck, he grunts and lean in. Let's cum together, cum with your big brother. I whine with a nod as we both let go the camera goes off.

Having to keep our voice down we kiss each other as the camera takes the very last picture. We pull away panting, we look at each other and smile. I can't believe we did that, me either... He kisses my cheek again and I giggle...can we go through the sharks again? He laughs as long as you don't do that cute pout through the whole thing again. I get off his cock and quickly fix my panties as to not make too big of a mess. I grab my shark stuffed animal and walk out of the photo booth. I happily grab the pictures and feel his arms wrap around me as we look at them. Aw! you and your boyfriend are so cute! A sweet old couple say as my big brother pulls me in closer and kisses my cheek. Thank you! I always need to make sure my little sis is taken care of, my big brother says before pulling me along as we both laugh. Not turning around to see the couples reaction.

This was so fun to write! And I've actually been dying to go to the aquarium so I had to take the chance and write about it.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Catching the fox." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

Jesus only caused problems since you, Daryl and Rick met him during a run, but that doesn’t prevent you all from having a little fun. (Even if you come home empty—handed)

A/N: Based on what is probably the funniest episode of "The Walking Dead" to me. I wrote this a while ago but I'm posting it for my friend, who actually finds this funny hehe Sorry if this is long and boring :c Spoiler alert: Jealous Daryl is my favorite Daryl! I hope you like it!

“So… hunky–dunky. Uh?”

In front of you all, an empty, silent road is always pleasant. Nature wasn’t lost after the apocalypse, not completely, and although the green color of the grass disappeared slowly with the passage of time, Mother Nature still retained her place in the world. Sitting by the window in that big truck full of food, the wind pushes some strands of your hair as you breathe in the fresh air. And, sitting in the middle as Rick drives, Daryl glances at you as he checks Denise’s list.

“Don’…” He says with his voice low and thick as always, warning you but making you chuckle. It was the word that Eugene used when he gave Daryl his map, always using fancy ones. At his side as he drives the truck down the hill, Rick chuckles, too. “Why ya never gave me a list?”

You watch the list in his hand and then, you look back at him.

“I think it's impossible to get a high definition TV with surround sound system so I can watch the games again like in those old days. You know, the ones that were on TV before the world went to hell.”

Both men look at you with a funny look, and you look back at the window as the truck approaches that abandoned gas station on the left side of the road. There are papers and trash everywhere, and Rick parks near the gasoline pumps. All of you get out, but since the silent street is free of any walker, you walk around while Rick goes ahead to check the store door.

“We had that shit in our apartment? That round sound thing.”

You chuckle before turning around towards him, smiling innocently.

“Surround sound system, love, and no, we didn’t. We were always fooling around so we never really had time to watch the games. Remember?”

Your words catch him off guard, and his innocent eyes look at you until he understands what they mean. A second later, the boldness shines in his blue eyes, and holding a light smirk, Daryl closes the distance of a few steps between you two, so close you can almost feel his nose againts yours.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me, sunshine?”

You shake your head, softly.

“No, but why?” You whisper. “Does that turn you on?”

“Really?” Rick complains, suddenly, closer than you thought he was. “Now?”

“I’m sorry, Rick.” You chuckle pulling away from your husband.

“Yeah. Sorry, bro.”

Rick looks at you two with a sarcastic expression and raises an eyebrow.

“I regret coming with you two.”

But he is joking and lets it go quickly.

Daryl walks over to the big black box lying in the corner, noticing it is a vending machine turning upside down. Although Denise said it wasn’t of the utmost importance, he wants to go back to Alexandria with a gift for Tara, just because Daryl understood the feeling of trying to do something nice for their person. So, minutes later, Rick rolls over the machine with a chain attached to the truck, and as he gets out and walks towards you two, the glass showing that the interior is full.

“It’s soda and Candy.” Rick says while Daryl removes one of the chains. “Why the trouble?”

“It ain’t a trouble.”

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a man turns around that corner of the store and pushes Rick on his way out, raising his hands in the air as the two men take their guns to aim at the stranger, your own hand holding your weapon hidden behind your waist, as a reflex in the face of danger.

The bandana that covers half of his face shows only his pretty eyes.

“Hi.” He is agitated, as if he has run for a long time. “I was just running from the dead.”

“How many?” Daryl asks while Rick steps back to look at the corner of the lonely place, searching for any walkers close by.

“10. Maybe more. I’m not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running.”

Daryl doesn’t trust him, and he keeps pointing at him with his gun.

“Where?”

“About a half a mile back. They’re headed this way. You probably have about…” The man wiggles his head, looking for the right number. “11 minutes.”

The distrust doesn’t go away, but Rick is the first and the only one who lowers his weapon.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know.”

“Yes.” The man breathes through his bandana. “There’s more of them than us. Right? Gotta stick together.” He looks at Daryl, due to his gun still threatening him. “Right?”

Although that stranger appeared from nowhere, Daryl finally lowers it, too.

“You have a camp?” The man asks.

Maintaining the safety of Alexandria was the main thing, and being selective with the new people you all let in was the first rule until you all knew they could be trusted.

“No.” Daryl lies.

“Do you?” Rick asks.

The man thinks about it for a few seconds.

“No.” He finally answers, and then, he looks at you curiously, standing a little behind them. “It’s just you two, with a woman?”

Before you realize what he meant, Daryl raises his weapon quickly, his hand tightening around it in anger.

“Ya want me to shoot ya, asshole? She’s ma wife and yer gonna say yer sorry.”

The man breathes in a panic, looking at Rick as if he could sense that he’s the sanest.

“You better say it now before he shoots you. Believe me, he will.”

Before looking at you, the man looks at Daryl who is still pointing at him with his gun, so the new one does it. You don’t think what he said was an insult, but it is better to follow the situation calmly before Daryl shoots him for real.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to offend you.” His colorful eyes seems honest, so you move your hand in the air to minimize the misunderstanding, telling him it’s okay. “Well… sorry for running into you. I’m gonna go now.” He turns around and starts walking, talking over his shoulder. “This is the next world; I hope it’s good to you, guys.”

Daryl and you share a confused look as Rick watches the man walk away.

“I’m Rick, these are (Y/N) and Daryl. What’s your name?”

The man stops, turns around again and pulls his bandana down.

“I’m Paul Rovia. But my friends used to call me Jesus…” He extends his arms out, casually. “You pick.”

“You said you didn’t have a camp.” Rick answers back. “You are on your own?”

“Yeah.” He looks at you all, with a sudden confidence. “But still, best not to try anything.”

However, Daryl doesn’t seem impressed, or intimidated at all.

“Best not to make threats ya can’t keep either.”

“Exactly.” And the man starts running out of there.

“How many walkers—” Rick tries to ask, but Daryl cut him off.

“No. Not this guy.”

Rick makes his question anyways.

“How many walkers have you killed?!”

“Sorry! Gotta run. You should too.”

And he finally disappears around the corner.

Running into new people is still strange, but that situation was a new kind, hard to understand too.

“What the hell was that?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. He was clean.” Rick nods. “His beard, it was trimmed.”

“And he was way too confident to be just by himself.” You say.

Rick nods again, because if the man is strange to you all, then that is more than just a coincidence: something else is happening.

“He didn’t have a gun either.” Daryl frowns, looking down the path Jesus took.

“We could track him.” Rick puts away his gun. “Watch him for a while. Get to know him more. See if he’s really alone. Maybe bring him back.”

“Nah.” Daryl complains, his voice always low and husky. “That guy calls himself Jesus.”

But then, a noise from the back of the place attracts everyone’s attention: all of you go there, encountering firecrackers exploding in a barrel before hearing the thunderous sound of tires against the pavement.

“Shit.” Daryl says when he realizes the truth. “He swiped yer keys. Didn’t he?”

The moment you all get back to the front, the place is still empty, with the truck full of food moving away up the hill.

“Sorry!” Jesus yells as he drives away, taking the vending machine with him, too.

The three of you stop in the middle of the road, watching with frustration as the truck goes away under your eyes.

“Shit.” Rick says.

The vending machine leaves a path on the middle of the road, like breadcrumbs to track down the thief until you find it halfway on the way. Daryl opens the case to secure Denise’s sodas for Tara while Rick and you catch your breaths after running up there. The strands of your hair stick to your forehead, while the beads of sweat begin to fall on theirs.

“This is a special request from the doctor.” Daryl says, showing Rick the soda can whole opening it to give it to you.

“Hey…” Rick breathes and takes the broken one Daryl gives him. “Whatever she wants. She saved Carl’s life. We didn’t know her, and she turned out to be all right. And if there’s still people out here, and they’re still people, we should bring them in.”

“What? Like this guy?” Daryl points to the path Jesus left, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, fuck this guy.” Rick shakes his head and looks inside the machine for something.

You wipe your mouth with your hand, your mind full of thoughts about what had just happened but without saying anything, at least until you can formulate a coherent opinion.

“What’s on your mind, (Y/N)?” Rick asks when he sees you looking at the ground.

“Well, I just think that…” You doubt if you should share with them what you are thinking, but it’s a waste of time while the truck is still moving. “It’s nothing. We should keep going.”

You try to take a few steps but Daryl stops you reaching out his arm.

“Hey.” He says softly to you. “S’ okay, jus’ say it.”

You are not naive; you know how that world works now. It’s not only the alive against the dead ones. That life was a battle against other people as well. However, not everything was black and white. Or it was?

“I don’t say that what he did is right, but no one steals for pleasure these days, so maybe he did it because he needs it, too.”

Rick wiggles his head slowly, half of him giving you the reason because that is true although nothing apologized what that man did.

“So what?” Daryl frowns, his temper rising again. “Would ya jus’ let him go with our stuff?”

His personality is like a roller coaster, full of constant ups and downs, but luckily, you know how to handle it.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Dixon, it was you who said I could share my opinion. But I’m not saying we should let him go just like that. Hell, no.”

Daryl gives a step back, confused by your sudden change of mood, just like his own.

“So?”

You frown back.

“The truck is ours. And if in this world the strongest ones win, that will be us. So, we will get it back.”

The force in your eyes and the way you look at him catches him completely. But Daryl is no longer too shy, and although he likes your privacy as a marriage, he can’t help but face you again, looking slightly down to you.

“Since when ya are this ballsy, woman?”

Playing, you scoff at him.

“Fuck you. I was like this long before I met your ass.”

“I really hate you both right now.” Rick says in a sigh, making Daryl chuckle.

“Sorry, bro. S’ jus’… she looks so hot right now.”

You chuckle too as Rick raises an eyebrow.

“It’s because we ran until we got here. Now, we should get going.”

At first, you try to be understanding to the request of both men asking you to wait behind the bushes while they surprise the stranger, who just finished fixing the tire of the truck parked in the middle of the road, away from the danger posed by Paul, or Jesus, or whatever he chose to call himself, but you can’t help but compare him to a fox, somewhat elusive, almost slippery as he managed to dodge the blows of Rick and Daryl, who were hit in the stomach and pushed against the truck, respectively.

So, when Jesus turns around, he stops dead with your gun pointed at his face, his hands in the air.

“You would really shoot me in the face just for a truck?”

You take the safety off the gun your dad gave you for protection before dying.

“No. Not in the face, but in the legs just below the knees so you stop being so slippery.”

He takes a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Behind him, Rick and Daryl raise their own weapons, making you lower your own.

“Oh, trust me, pretty boy, I totally would.”

But suddenly, before you can say more, a walker comes out of the bushes, grunting at you all.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus asks, but Daryl and Rick are already tired of him, and both shoot the walker at the same time. “Okay, again, are you gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There’s a lot of foot on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys. Now.”

In the end, Jesus gives him the keys and Rick ties his hands and feet up to leave him there, on a side of the road.

“The knots aren’t that tight. You should be able to get free… after we’re long gone.”

For his part, Daryl grunts when he sees that some of the soda cans had crushed during the fight, with all the content dripping from his backpack.

“Maybe we should talk now.” Jesus smiles when Rick walks away.

“Nah.” Daryl walks pass him by too and makes you walk with him to the passenger seat. But first, he stops to shake a can and throws it at Jesus. “Here. In case ya gets thirsty.”

When you two get to the passenger seat, Daryl goes up first, and though he has to move to let you go up, too, he leans down to take you by the waist to help you go up to sit between his legs. You are a little surprise by his action, but he just closes the truck door and chuckles as Rick moves the keys around his finger.

“You were right, (Y/N).” He smiles at you as he starts the truck. “We are the strongest ones.”

As the truck begins to move, Daryl leans back against the seat and shows his middle finger out the window.

“So long, ya prick!” He yells at Jesus.

The loud music in the truck accompanies you all the way. As you lean your arm against the window frame, the wind makes your tied hair move back, in a soothing and peaceful way. Daryl’s right hand continues to rest against your waist beneath your t–shirt, holding you against him while everything around is still fine.

“He ain’t that pretty, y’know?” Daryl says quietly over the music, after a long moment of silence.

You frown, turning slightly to look at him.

"Are you kidding with me? I was just messing with him. Jesus...” But you laugh when Daryl frowns, even though you just said the name of the son of God, not the stranger’s. "That's not what I meant!"

Daryl scoffs, but before he can answer back, Rick talks first, pointing something on the road in front.

“Hey, look at that.”

A barn. When you get close, the even path changes for an unstable one as you all enter the barn’s lawn, but, out of nowhere, there is a blow that comes from the roof, getting your attention before theirs.

“You hear that?” You ask as Daryl lowers all the volume of the music.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.”

“Hold on.” Tired of him, Rick steps on the brake and the truck stops abruptly, throwing Jesus through the air until he falls in front of you all.

Then, he just gets up on his feet and runs away. It is ridiculous. It is almost comical the way Rick drives to chase him down the field, but in the end, it’s Daryl who has enough of him.

“Motherfu—” Daryl stops himself to take you by the waist, and he moves from under you. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Before you react or before his brother can stop the car, Daryl opens the door and gets out of the truck to chase after Jesus on foot while Rick drives near them.

You sigh.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m married to that man.”

Rick chuckles and tries to move the truck to block Jesus, but that elusive fox is agile, so he steps back the truck as Daryl and Jesus swing from side to side in the middle of the field, waiting for one of them to take the first step.

“We should clear the way for them.” Rick looks at the walkers around the place as they are starting to move too close.

You open the truck door, moving away from it, pulling the knife from the sheath of your waist.

“We came to a conclusion, asshole!” Daryl yells at Jesus, still in the middle of the place untill he runs away, so Daryl looks at you two before he starts chasing him, again. “I got him!”

Some walkers were tied up around another truck, and you and Rick make them fall when they manage to break the rope free.

Back in the truck, Jesus opens the driver’s door and tries to get in, but Daryl grabs him from his jacket and tries to pull him out.

“Come ‘ere, ya lil’ shit.”

No one sees it coming, no one pays any attention, but a walker comes up to Daryl from behind, dangerously close until it enters Jesus’s view. So he raises a gun, watching Daryl as he freezes there.

“Duck.” He says.

Daryl understands it at once and crouches. The bullet flies over him and enters directly into the walker’s head causing it to fall. He looks back and studies the body on the ground before turning back to look at Jesus.

“Thanks.” Daryl breathes out and punches him right on the face. “That’s ma gun! Come ‘ere.”

The shot pierces your ears and Rick’s, causing to both of you to look at the truck in the distance, and you two run to them. Daryl tries to pull Jesus out of the truck, but Jesus knocks it into neutral, and the vehicle starts rolling into a pond behind. Daryl jumps out of the moving vehicle and Jesus followed him, but his head gets hit with the door and he passes out. When Rick and you finally reach the place, you watch Daryl moving Jesus with his boot as the truck sinks.

You sigh heavily when you all see the last of that truck before it disappears forever.

The new car you all get is old, ironically, but Rick keeps driving through the silent road in the middle of those huge trees and green landscape. In the backseat, Daryl pushes Jesus who is still pretty unconscious, but his body continues to fall back on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Ow, is he your new best friend?” You tease him, making Daryl grunt. “I’m getting jealous, actually.”

“Be quiet, woman.”

“Hey. I told you I could go in the back with him.”

“Yeah? Over ma dead body.”

Just to annoy him even more, Rick moves the car so that way Jesus’ body would fall back on Daryl. He grunts again, pushing Jesus far from him as Rick drives back to Alexandria.

That same night, Daryl and Rick walk down Alexandria Street back to their homes after leaving Jesus in the basement. He was fine despite the hit, and by now they just have to wait for him to wake up in the morning. As they arrive at Rick’s house first, it’s time to say goodbye.

“It was pretty stupid of us to go out there. Wasn’t?” Rick asks as he goes up the stairs of his porch.

“Yep.” Daryl nods walking away. “Do it again tomorrow?”

“Yep.” Rick answers watching him go. “Tell (Y/N) to come. I hate it when you guys are about to lick each other’s faces but it’s hella funny when you two start arguing.”

“Hu–uh.” Daryl waves his hand to him.

Two houses away, Daryl goes up the steps of the porch and opens the door to his house. The only light comes from a lamp on the table in the living room, shining with an amber color. He closes the door behind him and watches you come out of the kitchen.

“There’s a couple of sandwiches in case you’re hungry.”

But he just walks towards you while you stop in front of the stairs. You are tired but it had been a funny day in spite of everything, and you laugh when Daryl wraps his arms around your waist to lift you up, so you hold yourself with your hands on his shoulders, your legs around his waist.

“Nah. Jus’ want some time alone with ma wife.”

[dansformations]

"Influencing influencers"

Im Byron, im kinda popular on the media, wouldnt call myself an influencer but at least an small celebrity for certain people: gay guys. Im popular between gay guys.

Then there is this guy, Tod, he do Is an influencer, another gay guy pretty popular, and we have done some colaboration videos, thanks to this i got a bit of highlights recently, getting more followers, but just some days ago Tod posted something off, at least for his usual:

Fart jokes? Superhero referentes? Both together!? Really weird if you ask me to. The situation got weirder when a lot of popular guys from the "gymbro side" of the media started comenting, celebrating his video... And he wrote back, in the weirder way posible:

"@markobroskii: Sick Bro! Superman Is next

@Tody_yourguy: Aded to the list broski!"

Didnt tought too much about It until he post a video that made my jaw drop:

He wasnt just wearing clothes that didnt match his usual but he was in the lingerie zone playing with the undies, saying he was making the zone 'More enjoyable to the View"

That sell the deal. I send his a message and went to his place to check on him.

In the way to his place i saw his @ on media changing to @Tod_thebro.

Wtf!?

When arrived, i notice diferences since he open the door, he stank!

- Jesus! Tod, thats your smell!?

- Yeah, some bro scent, go ahead bro, take a sit - he said With a voice that sounded diferent, he was talking with this "Frat Bro" acent we used to laugh about.

His apartament was now a mess, full of empty - and not so empty - pizza boxes, empty beer cans, dirty clothes, and sticky looking socks... He offer me a beer from a brand i didnt knew, but i'm not really a drinker so maybe thats why. I took it just to be polite, took some sips... Wasnt that bad.

Tried to find the cleanest place and thats where i sat.

- Sup bro, what did you wanna talk about?

- Well... About this... - I said looking around -Whats happening? First that gross fart video - I saw him chuckle when i mentioned that - then that also gross video on the lingerie store and Now... Look at your apartament, what hapened?

- I woke up bro - thats his only answer.

- Huh?

- I realice that gay life wasnt right for me

- What the fuck you- he interupt me

- Going to the gym, no worries about skin care routine - he keep talking - no worries even about showers, not washing my butt every-time-i-have-a-date - he said that words sounding indeed really sick of it- or not washing my butt at all, no using it for please other guys, just using it for this:

After saying that he lifted a leg and rip a long, smelly and loud fart

PRRRRRRFFFFFFFTTTFFFF the fart resonated for all the place, stinking everything, i had to cover my nose inmediatly, which make Tod laugh.

- Tod, theres no way to go straight, u have always been against that believe!

- Used to, but theres way, and you Will UAAARP agree soon

- What do you mean? - i said confused, and a bit of worried

- See, my awaking start when i had the first can of a beer from this weird brand a hot masc guy gave me, that same beer you are drinking now

Oh fuck.

- Oh n-OOUUUURRRRRP

- It's already starting, bro

- Theres no way, uh-PRRRRRRFFTTTFFFF

Tod was smiling with and almost evil smile, chugged a can of beer, belched and said: Cheers bro.

While here, I was burping non-stop, feeling my brain a bit foggy... Why I was worried about?

...

@ morningboy💕:

Oh!, Byron finally posted something, and it looks like a colab with Tod! Maybe he make him come back to his senses, all his 'turning straight' story really afect to the community.

Anyways lets see the video...

Ok, that outfit was a choice, Byron - I tough

Keep watching.

Oh... Oh no, is Byron having a fart contest with Todd!?

This feels wrong... Wait! Why his user just changed to @Byb-ronski...

[darkbluekies]

Secrets

Mafia!yandere x reader x hidden brother

Summary: Silas has a brother you've never heard of, who seems to be just what you need, so you decide to escape with him, only to find out even more secrets.

Warnings: mafia, crime, scamming, murder, blood, manipulation, mentions of selling a human, smuggling, nsfw mentions (let me know if I missed one)

Word count: 5.5k

Silas has brought you to his family's summer house on the Greek island of Rhodos for you to be alone, away from everyone. Only you and him for a week. Weirdly enough, it brings you some kind of relief. His men and his work has worn you out.

"Stay here, I have to go get some food for us", Silas says and picks up his wallet. "I'll be back in thirty minutes, baby, so try not to die in the meantime."

"I won't", you promise.

Silas smiles and kisses your lips. "Good. I love you, little thing. I'll be back soon."

He locks the door behind him. You breathe out and finally relax your body. Being all alone with Silas has been excruciating. If he learned to keep his hands to himself, you wouldn't feel as tired as you do now. Every night, he wants to feel you underneath him.

Just a few minutes later, you hear the lock turn. Silas must have forgotten something. But the man who walks in … isn't Silas. You could swear that it was in your first glance. The man looks extremely like Silas with thick, black hair, dark eyes and broad build. This man, however, has a bigger nose and lips.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he gasps as he walks in. "I didn't know Silas was here."

You take a step backwards. When someone knows Silas, it is almost always bad.

"Who are you?" you ask suspiciously. 

"I'm Ares, Silas’s younger brother", he says and holds out his hand in front of him in a pleading way. "Please don't be afraid. I'm not like my brother." He looks around. "Where is he, anyways?"

"He'll be here soon …"

"What's your name? You're Silas’s partner, right?"

You nod hesitantly. There's a bad feeling in your stomach. 

"I've heard about you", Ares smiles sweetly and rolls his eyes. "Or not about about you. Silas never tells anything to the family, but I've heard that he has a partner. There's a rumor."

Ares sits down by the kitchen table. You follow him closely with your eyes.

"How is he treating you?" Ares asks carefully and points at your neck. "He isn't hurting you, is he?"

Your hand shoots up to your neck, remembering the (probably) hundreds of love bites Silas has left on you.

"N-No!" you stutter embarrassedly. "This isn't-!"

"Oh, I see. Sorry for assuming. I just know that my brother isn't a very soft person so I just- … that was dumb of me, I apologize."

"It's okay …"

Ares smiles coyly. You find yourself smiling slightly at the awkward misunderstanding. 

"What was your name?" he asks.

"Y/N", you say.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I didn't mean to intrude like this. I was under the impression that the house would be empty."

"It's fine-"

Your sentence is cut short by the door opening.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Ares?" Silas growls and holds out his hand to you. "Y/N, come here."

You walk over to your boyfriend who is quick to scoot you behind him.

"Mom and dad said that the summer house was free", Ares says and crosses his muscular arms — something that seems to run in the family — with a cocky smile. "You didn't tell them that you were here."

"Why should I? They disowned me, they don't need to know about my whereabouts. Now get out. I don't want you anywhere near my partner."

Ares stands up. He walks over to Sials, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"A tip, big bro", he says amusedly with raised eyebrows, "if you break Y/N when you're having sex, you'll be living in involuntary abstinence for weeks. Don't be so rough."

Silas flinches forward upon hearing your name, as if he's about to attack him, but seems to force himself to remain still. Ares leaves, closing the door behind him. Silas turns to you instantly, cupping your cheeks.

"What did he do to you?" he asks quickly, worry glowing in his eyes. "Tell me everything."

"He didn't do anything", you answer. "I'm okay. You never told me that you have a brother."

"Y/N, he's a horrible man, I don't want you talking to him. I hid him for a reason."

Silas's usual jealousy is talking again, you notice.

"Pack your bag, we're leaving tonight."

"Silas, I don't want to go back. I hate it there."

"You're safe at home. Apparently, you're not here."

"Silas, who cares if your brother knows that we're here?"

"No one should know where we are, do you get that? Only my closest men should know about my whereabouts. I don't even trust people in my organization. Go pack your bags now."

You sigh and give in. You notice how quiet Silas is. He throws everything around and glares. With a harsh grip on your hand, he pulls you with him to his car and speeds all the way to the airport. You're afraid of opening your mouth. He's going to explode at any moment … but you can't stand this much longer. The second his private jet lifts from the runway, you decide to try to ease the air.

"Silas, please", you say quietly with tears in your eyes. "You're scaring me."

That seems to snap Silas out of his dark cloud. His eyes dark over to you and soften, as if he's realized that you're there as well.

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby", he apologizes and unbuckles his seatbelt. "Come here."

You unbuckle your own and walk over. He pulls you down into his lap and hides his face into your abused neck. You can feel his heavy sigh.

"Why are you crying?" he asks quietly into your neck.

"I don't like it when you're mad .. every time you're mad, you kill someone", you whisper in horror. "I don't want you to be mad. I don't understand. He's just your brother-"

"I hate that piece of shit. Don't call him my brother."

You gulp.

"I will not let him take you", Silas mumbles and tightens his embrace on you. "He's always wanted everything I have. Even when we were kids. He threw tantrums when I got presents on my birthday because he wanted his own. If my dense, thick brained parents hadn't given in ye probably wouldn't he a piece of shit now."

Younger siblings are often like that, you're not surprised. Always wanting what the older one has — to be like them.

Silas lifts his head from your neck and presses his lips to yours.

"You're mine", he tells you and gives you a gaze you can't seem to read. "Say it, say that you're mine."

"I'm yours, Silas", you say hesitantly. "Please calm down, I'm uncomfortable."

He sighs heavily and intertwines your fingers.

"I'm sorry, baby", he apologizes. "Ares just pisses me off like no one else."

"You'll not have to meet him again", you remind him. "You ran into him by accident."

"Yeah, I guess. If I had known that he would stumble in like a fucking pig I would never have left you alone. I don't even want to imagine what he could have done …"

"Silas, I'm okay, right? Nothing happened. He was friendly, you have nothing to worry about?"

He scoffs. "Nothing to worry about? Yeah, right."

"Can we please drop this now? I don't want to sit with you if you're going to be like this."

You're about to stand up, but he pulls you down again.

"Alright, alright, I'll not talk more about it. Just stay."

A month passes. Silas weird behavior has finally toned down and to make up for his extremely overprotective manner, he's agreed to take you out on a car drive. Silas needs to meet up with a "colleague" to trade something he hasn't told you. You don't question that anymore — frankly, knowing will only bring you nausea and headaches.

Silas’s car has many buttons and screens inside, both in the front and behind the seats, LEDs that light up in different colors and heaters under your seat. The car is more comfortable than your bedroom. 

He parks the car in a gas station, making it look like he's supposed to fuel his car, when in reality, he walks off to meet with his contact. Before he leaves, he handcuffs your hand to the steering wheel and locks all doors. Knowing that you can unlock them from inside paranois him. You sigh and look around you for something to keep your eyes on, finding a familiar face in the slot beside you. Ares has parked his red sports car beside the gas pump. He smiles when noticing you and gets out of his car. He looks around in confusion. You point towards the gas station  with your free hand. Ares nods and scurries over to you. You unlock your door.

"Y/N, hi", he smiles. "What a coincidence. I’m so glad to see you. Ever after I was kicked out by Silas, I’ve been so worried about you. Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" you sigh and lift your cuffed hand.

"That's easy to pick." Ares picks up something resembling a needle from his back pocket and inserts it in the lock. Just a minute later, the lock clicks open and you remove the cuff from your wrist. “Y/N, you should come with me. I can save you from him.”

Those words ring in your head. I can save you from him. You can finally get away? Ares tugs on your arm and you realize that you have to decide now, before Silas returns. If you decide to leave with Ares, changes are you’ll have to live on the run for the rest of your life. You’re certain that SIlas won’t let you go that simple. And once he does catch you again, you’ll have to regain his trust — that took such a long time to acquire. But you don’t want to stay. You don’t want to have his suffocating presence around you, don’t want to be locked in his bedroom all day every day, don’t want to be present in that kind of lifestyle. You just want to go back to normal … although that will never happen. You’ve stepped into this world (although involuntarily) and now you can never get out — not fully at least. 

Ares helps you into the front seat of his sports car. You find it humorous that two brothers who seem to be so completely different like the same things.

"Let's go", Ares says and hits the gas.

"Thank you", you whisper, in shock over what just occurred. "I don't know how I'll repay you."

"Don't worry about it", Ares smiles and glances at you. "I don't think it's safe to get you home to your family. That's the first place Silas will look. Let's go to my house."

"Silas doesn’t know where that is, does he?"

"No. Just relax, Y/N, you're safe now."

You nod and decide to sink down into the car seat. You wonder how Silas is feeling right now.

Ares stops the car in front of a white house before helping you out.

"Is this your house?" you ask.

"No, I'm just using this as a decoy", Ares grins and rolls his eyes. "Come, I'll show you to the guest room. You must be tired."

You nod. If you are. Ares unlocks the door and you step into an empty hall.

"You have to excuse the empty space", Ares says, closing the door behind him. "I just moved in, I haven't had the time to get all the essentials — but I do have beds prepared."

"That's okay", you sat softly.

"The rooms are upstairs. I decided to give you an upstairs bedroom so that in case my big brother ever manages to find this house, he won't reach you. I will be able to stop him before he manages to get upstairs."

You start to walk up the stairs. 

"But he has many men …", you say quietly. 

"Trust me, Y/N, after growing up with him, you learn how to win feuds", Ares chuckles. "He's easy to read, you know? He acts like a child. He hates to share stuff, keeps unnecessary grudges and plays too hard with his toys." Ares raises his eyebrows teasingly and grins at you. "I see that your hickeys are gone."

Your hand touches your neck sheepishly. "Oh, yeah …"

"If you're ever up for some soft sex that doesn't end up looking like a murder scene …" He holds his hand up to his head like a telephone, "call me."

You chuckle and shake your head. Ares smiles and opens a door to your left, showing you a simple bedroom.

"I hope that you'll be able to recover from my brother's treatment here", he says behind you. "I'll leave you be for now. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to tell me, alright?"

"Okay", you nod. "Thank you, Ares. Genuinely. For everything."

"Of course."

He closes the door and you sink down on the mattress, breathing out. For a moment, your entire body goes numb. You really did escape Silas … with the help of Silas's brother. You have to be dreaming. How much more absurd can it get?

You find yourself enjoying Ares's company. You often sit on his couch and watch TV while he plays with his phone. It seems to occupy his every hour. You want to ask about it, but after spending so mu g time with Silas and his demeanor of 'don't ever ask what I'm doing' you hesitate. 

"You've been staring at me five times now", Ares says without looking up from his precious screen. "If you're going to ask something, do it."

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"I'm doing some business. I work mostly online."

"With what?"

Ares looks up from his phone and you freeze. You shouldn't have put your nose into his business. 

"I manage a few companies, just a couple small ones", Ares smiles. "You know — buy, sell, trade. All of that stuff. Why? Are you interested?"

"I just … I don't know. I was just wondering why you were always on your phone."

"Yes, shit, sorry. I'm so used to working all the time. Were you feeling ignored?"

"N-No, not at all. I was just curious."

"That's good. Stay curious. Just not too curious, alright? It was curiosity after all that got you into this situation from the start, wasn't it? You shouldn't have watched what was on that USB."

You gulp, remembering how you and Silas met. You had found a USB in your bag that one of his men had dropped one day. He had tracked the USB ones it had been used … and found you.

"How did you know that?" you ask.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Ares smiles boyishly. "Some of my friends work for Silas. Just under cover, to spy on him a little. They told me. That's how I knew you actually existed. You're just a rumor, but my friends could ascertain that you were real."

The mention of 'friends' brings your thoughts back on your own friends and family.

"Ares, when do you think I can go home?" you ask.

"Not for a while", Ares replies.

"But I've been here for two weeks. I'm bored. I want to meet my family."

"I know, little dove, but that isn't the ideal for now. Silas could take you. We need to be patient."

Little dove? You think that it sounds eerily similar to Silas's favorite pet name for you — little thing.

"Don't call me that", you say quietly, suddenly feeling guilt. "It … reminds me of him …"

"Reminds you of him? I saved you, remember? I'm better than him."

"Yes, yes, I know … but …"

"Come here."

You walk over to him and he takes your hand, kissing it gently.

"You're just overthinking because you're scared", Ares says. "I get that. My brother put you through horrific things. But you don't have to be afraid anymore. You're with me now. Trust me. Trust that I'm doing what's best for you."

You nod, but can't help but feel like his grip on your hand is a bit too tight. You look into his black eyes, searching for some kind of excuse for it — he's just trying to be comforting, it's just how strong his hands are … it runs in the family.

When going to bed that night, you're left with a heavy feeling in your stomach. Ares has been nothing but kind to you, so why do you suddenly feel uneasy? Or is it really sudden? Didn't you feel uncomfortable in his presence the very second you met him for the first time? Before he flashed you that boyish smile of his? Or do you just miss Silas? That can't be it … can it?

You turn in bed. 

Something doesn't feel right. Ares is supposed to be different from Silas, why does everything he does remind you of him? Just being brothers can't be the entire reason. Ares's car is the same type, just in a different color, his flirty behavior reminds you of Silas, just a tad bit different, his strong grip in your hand felt exactly like him and the way he called you "little dove" makes your stomach turn. 

What was it that Ares worked with? Did he ever tell you what he bought and sold and traded? He never told you what companies he owns.

You sit up and look around in the dark room. Ares haven't put in any effort to go out and buy furniture for his new house. The house itself doesn't make sense. Everything about Ares seems so similar to Silas, how come the house is the only thing that separates them? Silas has his black, modern, renovated villah and Ares has … an old, white house? While owning a sports car? While managing so many companies?

Suddenly, you get it all. Why haven't you noticed it before? Have you been trying to pretend that everything is fine so badly that you've missed all the red flags? You scurry out of bed and change into your clothes with shaking hands. 

You sneak out into the corridor, hearing Ares's voice from downstairs.

"No, they're asleep", he says. "Yeah, I'm thinking about doing that … they seem to piece things together and so does my idiotic brother. I can't keep them here. I'm thinking Spain. Silas will never find us there. Last I heard he got banned from entering the country. Or that might have been England. I'm not sure. Bastard's probably banned from half of Europe by now." Ares chuckles. "We'll do just fine in Spain. I know some people there that would pay a lot of money for Y/N. All because they're Silas’s partner, isn't that funny? Everyone has something against Silas and to piss him off, you have to use his little partner."

You freeze. Is Ares planning to smuggle you out of the country to sell you to one of Silas’s enemies? You have to get out of here. Oh, how you wish you were at Silas’s house right now, that you had never accepted Ares’s help. You really do miss your forced boyfriend.

You sneak down the stairs, feeling lightheaded when the wood under your feet creaks. 

"I have to go, mate, I think I have a wandering toddler", Ares says.

You hear him get up from his armchair and suddenly he appears in your vision, right in front of you down the stairs. He smiles sweetly, but you tense up.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Can't sleep?"

"Are you taking me to Spain?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He seems to be taken aback for a second but quickly gathers himself. "Yes, I thought that it would be good for you to change scenery to recover. You'll love Spain."

"I don't want to leave the country, Ares. I can recover here. I promise."

Ares eyes narrow. He must have heard the shaking in your voice that you tried so desperately to hide.

"Y/N, do you believe that I want you harm?" he asks calmly, leaning his hand on the wall.

Your heart starts to beat.

"No, of course not", you lie.

Ares smiles and walks up the steps to you. You fight the urge to flinch, suddenly feeling like you're back in Silas’s house — although you were more comfortable in Silas’s company. You knew him better.

"Let's think about it", Ares smiles and rubs your back. "It's late. Spain doesn't disappear overnight, we have time to come to a decision. Come."

He leads you back to your room and gives you your pajamas before leaving you alone. You change and sit down on your bed, holding a shaking hand over your chest.

Suddenly, you hear the door lock. You rush over, feeling the handle — just to assure you that you didn't hear things. It is indeed locked.

"Fuck …", you whisper. "Oh my God, Silas, help me."

You decide to play along. 

You sit with Ares in the living room every evening, watching the TV. And then, the day comes when you’re supposed to go to Spain. The night before, you know that you have to do something. You don’t want to leave the country. Not with him. 

You put on your clothes and sneak downstairs, finding Ares on his phone as usual. He doesn’t see you sneak by the living room door, over to the front door. You try it once. Locked. This old house needs to be unlocked with a key from the inside — a key you don’t have. You look around quickly, glancing every minute towards the living room. You try the window. Nothing. The only window responding to your tries are the kitchen window above the sink. As quiet as you possibly can, you get up on the counter and pull the window open. WHen climbing out, you accidentally knock a glass over. The sound of glass crashing against metal in the sink makes your heart drop. You don’t wait for any responses. Without a second doubt, you jump down onto the grass outside and run. Past his red sports car, past the gates, down the street. 

From your month at Ares’s house, you’ve learned that the people in the surrounding houses are nothing more than drug addicted humans. No reason to try to get help from them. You run until an old telephone box appears in the distance. If there’s one phone number you’ve had to memorize, it’s Silas. You’re surprised he hasn’t tattooed it on you to make sure you don’t forget. 

You know that you should call the police. You really should … but you have a feeling that they won’t be much help. If there’s one that will help you at all cost … it’s Silas. He will do what it takes. You can’t waste this opportunity on something and someone that might not work.  

You rip the glass door open and grab the phone. 

“A quarter?” you pant in panic, looking around. “I don’t have a quarter!”

To your big surprise, someone must have dropped one while fumbling with their wallet before you. You pick up the shiny coin and press it into the slot before hurrying to press in the phone number.

“Please pick up, please”, you plead, panting. Your entire body is jittering, you can’t stand still. “Please, Silas!”

Finally, the long signals break. Silence.

"Hello?" you pant.

"Y/N?" Silas gasps.

A weird relief flows through you when hearing his voice. You hadn't realized that you had … missed it. 

 "I was wondering who had gotten my private number!" he continues quickly. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Ares wants to take me out of the country — to Spain! He wants to leave tomorrow. I'm so sorry I didn't believe you! You were right about him-"

"Where are you?"

You give him the description of the place while he forces his men to track the call. You crouch down while sobbing. Your entire body trembles.

"Don't worry, baby, I will get you", Silas comforts you. "You'll be safe soon, okay? Just hold out for me. I'll be-"

"Deposit another quarter to keep the call going."

"Fuck!" you shout and slam the phone back in its place. 

Everything seems so quiet again. You open the phone box to get some fresh air when you see him. He's standing with his back leaned against the glass cubicle. You freeze.

"You're not a good actor, Y/N", Ares says with a small smile. "You heard everything I said in my phone call that night. You couldn't fool me."

"You were going to smuggle me out of the country and sell me!" you say through gritted teeth. "Silas was right about you. You are jealous of him, want everything he has. But you'll never have that. You're just a copycat."

Ares stands up and takes a step closer. He towers over you like a predator. You force yourself to stand your ground while glaring at him. 

"A copycat?" he asks, raising his eyebrows testingly. You can hear how he's trying his best to stay calm. "How can I copy someone who isn't deserving of anything? He doesn't deserve even half of the things he's gotten. Not his empire, not his wealth, not his reputation, not you."

You gulp, but train your glare on him.

"And you do, or what?" you question.

"I've actually decided to keep you", Ares says with raised eyebrows. "I'm not going to sell you. How could I? Not after you've been so good to me, actually giving me attention for once. Do you know how sick I am of hearing 'Silas this', 'Silas that'? Despite disowning him, my parents still talk about him constantly! It's always been that way. No one cares what Ares does." He points at you. "You listened to me. You had a good time spending time with me — don't try to lie about it — and I'm not letting you go. I'm not going to be alone again. Silas doesn't take care of you in the way I do. In one month, I've fixed what he's destroyed. Unlike him, I give you freedom. I give you what you want. Silas didn't give you a TV, didn't even let you out of your fucking bedroom! He never answered your questions, I do."

"You tricked me. That day you stumbled into the house the only time we were there wasn't a coincidence, was it? Or the day you met us at the gas station? Your friends had told you, hadn't they? Because if they hadn't, how would you just happen to have a lock pick just when I needed one? You pretended that you were nice to lure me away from Silas, but you're just as bad as him."

"So why do you try to go back to Silas, hm? If he's as bad as me? If you can love him, you can love me too, if you are so persistent that we're the exact same."

"Because at least Silas doesn't pretend to be someone else and would never even think about selling me. But since you're so money hungry, Ares, what do you work with? Your companies. They're not legal, are they? None of the money you have is clean, like you pass them as."

"Silas money isn't clean either. If you're going to call me a scum, you better take a good, hard look at your boyfriend. He has people killed, tortured and manhandled. I don't do that. The worst thing I do is put people into debt, I do not kill."

"People die because of that — and that is your fault. You're both bad, don't pretend to be someone honest." Your eyebrows twitch. "For your information, I would never go to Spain with you, even if I didn't know what a total psychopath you are."

Ares smiles a predatory smile that makes your veins turn to ice. "You're going to Spain with me if I have to drag you by your hair."

You give him one last glare before you run. He sets off after you, grabbing you by your arm. He folds it and reaches for the other while kicking the back of your knees. You fall together and give him just enough time to lock you in place. 

He drags you back to his house where his car is already being loaded with bags. A big box is standing on the grass with its lid open.

"If you hadn't been such a pain, Y/N, I wouldn't have to do this", he pants and pushes you into the box, closing it from the outside. "You could have sat beside me in first class, but now you go with the luggage."

You hit, kick and punch. Stars shoot from the pain.

"Let me out!" you shout. "Ares!"

Silence. You can hear the engine of a car starting and disappearing into the distance. And then comes back.

"Y/N?" a familiar voice shouts.

Silas.

You start to kick and punch the wooden box again, shouting back. Soon, the lid opens and you are met by Silas’s worried face. You have never been so happy to see him before. 

"Oh, Y/N …", he breathes out and lifts you up, hugging you tightly. "My baby."

You cry against his body. He squeezes you in his arms, making sure that you really are real. He examines your poor knuckles, giving them a kiss.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly. 

"Ares was going to take me to Spain", you sob.

"Yes, you said something about that on the phone. We'll talk more about it later, okay? Now we need to get you home."

You look around in horror. "Where is Ares?"

"Not here, don't worry. If there's one thing about him that he can't change, it's that he's the biggest coward you'll ever meet. I saw him in his car driving past, shouting that you were here. He'd rather blow off his entire operation than get caught."

You breathe out. Silas hangs his coat over your shoulder before placing his arm around you.

"Let's get you home", he says and kisses your temple. "It's about time. Ive missed you so fucking much. I haven’t been able to sleep without you, I’ve been so scared that Ares had killed you. I’ll cut off his hands for touching you. I’ll pluck out his eyes for looking at you, I promise."

“I’ve missed you too”, you admit and wipe your tears. “He tricked me. I’m sorry.”

Silas kisses your lips and caresses your cheek without saying anything. You can see tears in his eyes, for the very first time.

A paper on the ground catches your attention, but before you have time to look at it, Silas asks about what happened and you have to put it in your pocket.

"He has infiltrated your organization", you say as Silas helps you into the front seat. "He has spies in your group who report to him." You tell him the entire story. "He wanted to smuggle me to Spain to sell em to one of your enemies …"

"Bastard", Silas mutters and hits tye instrumental plate with his palm. "He knows I'm banned from there."

"Why?" 

Silas is about to tell you that you shouldn't worry about it, but then sighs. "A murder or two. But that doesn't matter. I'm just happy that you managed to escape him in time to call me. If you hadn't … I probably wouldn't have gotten you back.”

You fiddle with your fingers guiltily in your lap. "I'm sorry for not believing you …"

"Don't be. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you along. I shouldn’t have thought that he’d give up. Ares is a master manipulator. That's why his businesses are going so well. He knows how to manipulate his way into getting what he wants. He played on your insecurities and fears. I should have protected you better.”

“What will happen to him?”

“I’ll let that cowardly cockroach slip away this time. But the next time I see him, I will kill him.” Silas takes your hand with his free one. “From here on, I’ll make sure it never happens again. I’ll get better security and I’ll make sure we can do more stuff … to make sure that you aren’t locked in the bedroom all the time.”

“That sounds nice …” you say quietly. 

You sit in silence for a while. Suddenly, you remember the paper in your pocket. You pick it out and fold it open. For a few seconds, you’re sure that you can’t breathe. 

'I will come back for you and when I do, it’s going to be bloody'

[theonottsbxtch]

HEYYY SO HAPPY YOU HIT 1.5K

sososos proud of you!!

can I order one 🥐 croissant with either mafia max or mafia Oscar where it’s a marriage of convenience and the reader gets kidnapped and prior to her being taken away they argued and it hits harder for max or osc just super angsty I know you’ll do amazing

🤠anon

omg!! bro JUST IMAGINE MAD MAX RAHHHHH

the silence of the monaco penthouse was louder than any argument they’d ever had. she had slept in the spare room last night, the cool detachment between them a sharp contrast to their usual fiery exchanges. his words still rang in her ears: “you always think you know better. just stay out of it next time.” he hadn’t meant it—not really. she had snapped back, accusing him of arrogance, and stormed off before either of them could apologise.

now, max was pacing the vast, empty living room with a glass of whiskey in hand, he felt the gnaw of regret. she always managed to make him feel something—whether it was fury, exasperation, or the quiet pull of emotions he had never intended to feel. but today was different. the eerie calm in the air made his skin itch.

she was late.

the call came just as lando burst into the room, face ashen. "she’s gone."

the whiskey glass shattered on the floor.

“what the fuck do you mean, gone?” max’s voice was a low growl, the kind that sent men running.

lando hesitated. "there was... an ambush. two cars intercepted her. we’ve tracked them to the outskirts of nice, but they’re gone now. it’s—they’ve taken her."

his world narrowed to a singular point of rage. he didn’t ask who “they” were. he didn’t care. whoever had dared to touch her would regret it for the rest of their brief, miserable lives.

he tore through monaco like a storm, leaving destruction in his wake. contacts who dared stall for information found their livelihoods—and sometimes their lives—torn apart. the once-calm leader was now a man unhinged, driven by a need he couldn’t even name. when he was young he’d been known as max, and now he felt that same young man leading.

“where is she?” he demanded, pinning george against the wall of a seedy nightclub hours later. blood dripped from the man’s nose, his breath wheezing as he stammered, “th-they wanted leverage! to make you back down from the port deal—”

“wrong move.” his voice was a death sentence.

george’s screams echoed in the alley, but he didn’t flinch. all he could see was her face—the way she’d glare at him, lips parted as she spat out a retort. the way she’d softened lately, brushing his hand absentmindedly as they passed each other. the way she’d kissed him once, unguarded, like she wasn’t supposed to but couldn’t stop herself.

his chest ached, a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to. it wasn’t just fury driving him—it was fear. a raw, unrelenting terror that something might happen to her before he could say what he should have said last night: “i don’t hate you. i never have.”

hours later, he finally found the hideout.

the air inside was damp, the walls crumbling. he moved silently, his gun drawn, his jaw clenched. when he saw her, tied to a chair in the center of the room, blood marring her temple, something inside him snapped.

the ferrari guards barely had time to react before he gunned them down.

when it was over, she looked up, dazed, as he knelt before her.

“you’re okay,” he murmured, his hands trembling as they cupped her face. “you’re okay.” but he was comforting himself more than her.

her voice was hoarse. “took you long enough.”

despite everything, she managed a weak smirk. he huffed out a breathless laugh, his forehead pressing against hers. “don’t ever do that to me again.”

“pretty sure it wasn’t my choice.”

he untied her carefully, as though she might shatter. when she finally leaned into him, letting herself collapse into his arms, he held her like a lifeline.

later, as they sat in the car, her head resting on his shoulder, she murmured, “you know, i wasn’t really mad at you last night.”

max tightened his arm around her. “neither was i.”

silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable this time, but loaded with something new.

“i thought i lost you,” he admitted softly.

she tilted her head to look up at him, her fingers curling into his jacket. “you won’t.”

and though neither of them said it, they both knew they’d crossed a line they could never go back from.

he didn’t mind.

i would commit CRIMES for mafia!max

[jkwrites-m]

Another Time (5)

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: soulmates, past life, thriller, smut, fluff, angst

Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: When Y/N and Jungkook begin sharing vivid dreams of each other, their connection feels too real to ignore. When tragedy from a past life begins bleeding into the present, they’re forced to unravel the mystery of love, betrayal, and fate.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, cursing, sexual tension, hard drug usage, alcohol consumption, cigarettes, angst, secrets, lies, stalking explicit: unprotected sex, oral (f & m. receiving), shower sex, fingering, kissing, slight degradation, praise, spanking, breast play, SLIGHT somnophilia (everything is consensual in this fic 🫶)

A/N: COUPLE THINGS: thank you everyone for reading so far!! This is the where things start getting into the thriller portion so read with caution! double the smut bc I was ovulating when i wrote this lmao 😮‍💨

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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The low buzz of fluorescent lights mixed with the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. It was a Thursday night in the summer, and even though Jungkook had promised Y/N he’d be home early, he’d somehow found himself pressed against the sticky wood bar of Neon Mirage, half-listening to Jimin laugh beside him. The dive was small and grungy- brick walls covered in music posters, ashtrays full on every table, and a jukebox in the corner playing a soft hum of Oasis through a haze of chatter and clinking glass. Jimin shoved another whiskey his way, slurring, “To freedom before marriage, my guy.”

Jungkook smirked, lifting his glass, though his stomach twisted. “To freedom,” he echoed hollowly, taking the shot with a slight wince.

They were drunk. Stupidly drunk. Jungkook’s head spun as the liquor surged through his veins, each movement softened by the cloud of alcohol. “Shit, I need to piss,” he muttered.

Jimin laughed, nearly falling off the stool. “Let’s go, bro.”

The bathroom was barely lit, the mirror cracked down the middle. Jimin fished something from his pocket and held it out, thin, white lines lined the toilet paper dispenser.

Jungkook hesitated, looking at his reflection. Y/N’s face flickered in his mind, the soft way she smiled at him over coffee, her sleepy voice in the morning. He should walk away.

But Jimin nudged him. “Come on. Don’t be a pussy. Live a little before domestic life swallows you whole.”

That was all it took. Jungkook leaned down, inhaled sharply, and let the world go fuzzy.

Jungkook stumbled out of the bathroom, laughter caught in his throat as he wiped a trace of white powder from beneath his nose. Jimin followed, equally unsteady, clutching the wall for balance. The bar was dim and smoky, its walls stained from years of late nights and spilled secrets. Neon lights buzzed above them, flickering in time with the low thump of a 90s beat that barely masked the conversations echoing around them.

"Hyung," Jungkook slurred, gripping Jimin's shoulder as they approached the patio, "don’t tell Y/N, okay? She’d be so pissed."

Jimin offered a tight smile, nodding a bit too eagerly. "Of course not, bro. Your secret’s safe with me."

Outside, the air was thick and warm, summer clinging to their skin like a second layer. Jungkook pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lit one, passing another to Jimin. They leaned against the brick wall, watching the streetlights blink across the empty road.

"You ever just... feel like everything's perfect and terrifying all at once?" Jungkook murmured, eyes hazy as he took a drag.

Jimin laughed softly. "Only every day."

"I love her, man," Jungkook said, more to the night than to Jimin. "Like, I can’t breathe right when she’s not around. She makes everything feel less… dark. Even when I mess up. Even when I feel like I’m not worth a damn thing."

"You are," Jimin said quietly. "You’re one of the good ones, Jungkook."

Jungkook chuckled, but his eyes remained distant. "We’re getting married in three months. Can you believe that? Like, really married. White dress, vows, everything. And I keep thinking... what if something ruins it? What if I ruin it?"

Jimin turned away, his jaw clenched. "Then don’t," he said sharply. "Just don’t screw it up."

Jungkook blinked, a bit taken aback by the tone. "I’m not trying to. I’m doing everything I can. That’s why I can’t tell her about tonight. Just this once. She doesn’t need to know every stupid thing I do."

Jimin nodded, but didn’t speak. The silence between them stretched, uneasy.

Inside, the bar's lights glowed like a portal to another world- a world where mistakes didn't echo and love wasn't a fragile thread waiting to snap. Jungkook stared into the night sky, the stars spinning slowly overhead, and he whispered, “I’d give up everything for her. Even my life. If it came to it, I’d do it all again, just to love her one more time.”

Jimin's expression soured. He looked at Jungkook for a long beat and then exhaled, smoke curling between his teeth. "Yeah," he said. "Love."

But his tone was hollow.

And Jungkook, in his drunken haze, missed the flicker of resentment in Jimin’s eyes.

They stayed outside a while longer, smoking in silence, the distant hum of traffic merging with the thudding bassline from the bar. Somewhere deep down, even through the haze, Jungkook felt it, something shifting. A storm slowly building on the horizon.

But he just smiled, thinking of Y/N, of their shared mornings and her sleepy smile. He let himself believe in the dream a little longer.

Even if it was laced with lies.

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

I sat on the edge of my bed, my phone cradled in my hand, thumb hovering over her contact. The soft hum of the ceiling fan blended with the birds chirping outside, but the calm did nothing to soothe the storm inside my chest. Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, thin stripes of light cutting across the hardwood floor, dancing slightly as the wind stirred the curtains.

My heart thumped heavily beneath the faded white tee I hadn’t bothered changing out of since last night. There was a bitter aftertaste of regret sitting on my tongue, not from alcohol, but from omission. The dream still clung to me like smoke. The laughter, the bar, the damn neon glow reflecting off Jimin’s half-lidded eyes. The powder lining the edge of the sink. My own voice saying “Don’t tell her.”

And now here I was, phone in hand, waiting to call the one person I couldn’t stop thinking about and the one person I had just lied to.

I exhaled hard, then hit dial.

My pulse kicked harder with every ring. Once. Twice.

She picked up on the second.

“Hey,” her voice came through, soft and drowsy. That voice was a comfort and a blade all at once.

“Hey angel,” I replied, trying to sound light, even casual, though the tightness in my chest betrayed me. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I’ve been up for a little while,” she murmured, though the rasp in her voice gave her away.

I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the wall like it might give me courage. “I, uh… had another dream. About us. 1996 again.”

There was a pause. Just a second or two but enough for me to imagine her sitting upright, sheets tangled around her legs, sleep falling off her like petals. I pictured her brows furrowed in the way they always did when she was trying to piece things together.

“What happened this time?” she asked, voice clearer now.

I drew in a breath, slow and measured. “I was out with Jimin. We’d just gotten off work and ended up at this bar. It was one of those places with old vinyl booths and that sticky lacquered wood. Neon beer signs everywhere. There was a jukebox playing something slow, maybe Eric Clapton or Sade, I don’t know. It all felt so… familiar.”

Her breathing shifted over the line, quiet but present.

“We drank a lot,” I continued. “We were laughing, messing around. It wasn’t wild, just a little reckless. After a while, we went outside to smoke. I remember leaning against the brick wall, looking up at the streetlight. I couldn’t stop talking about you.”

A faint smile touched my lips, but it faded quickly.

“I told him how much I loved you. How I couldn’t wait for the wedding. I said it like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. Because in that moment, it was.”

“Jimin was there?” she asked again, her voice curious but cautious.

“Yeah,” I slowly said. “He’s been in a lot of the dreams lately.”

“That’s so strange. I still can’t place him,” she said thoughtfully. “But he always feels so familiar. Almost like I should remember him.”

I nodded to myself, even though she couldn’t see me. “Same here. In the dream, it’s like we’ve known each other forever. He’s charming. Funny. Knows me better than most people. But… I don’t know.”

“What?”

“There’s something in his eyes sometimes. Just flashes. Like he’s watching us too closely. Like he knows something we don’t. It gives me this weird feeling I can’t shake.”

A beat of silence followed before Y/N softly asked, “Do you think he’s involved? In what happens to us?”

I didn’t answer right away. My eyes flicked to the wall clock. 9:41am. Tick… Tick… Tick…

“I don’t know,” I finally said, voice low. “But I’m done assuming anyone is innocent. Not anymore. Every face, every sentence… we need to watch it all. Like clues.”

Y/N’s breath caught gently, the weight of it sinking into me through the receiver. Then, quietly: “I’m glad you called. I remembered bits of the dream too. Not all of it, but I remember you. You looked… you looked really happy.”

My stomach twisted.

I wished I could leave it at that.

But the image of that bathroom mirror wouldn’t leave my mind. The powder. My fingers. The sharp sting up my nose. The memory of whispering “Don’t tell her. Please.” to Jimin, who had just laughed and slapped my back.

And she hadn’t seen it. At least not yet.

“I wish I could say everything,” I muttered under my breath before I could catch myself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, forcing a laugh. “Just… I love you. In every timeline. In every version of this life. We always find each other.”

She sighed, the sound so tender it nearly broke me. “I love you too. And I’m glad we’re in this together. We’ll figure it out. I believe that.”

I swallowed hard, voice raw. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she whispered, and there was something so steady in the way she said it- like a lighthouse in the fog, unmoving.

I clung to that word, let it sink in.

“I’ll see you later?” I asked, needing to tether myself to something real.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Let’s talk more later. Maybe even map things out.”

“Okay.”

We hung up, and I set the phone down on the bed next to me. The silence in the room was sharp. I stared at my hands, at the lines across my palms, like a maze. Like fate.

I should’ve told her. I knew that. But something inside me twisted violently at the thought of her looking at me differently. Of her seeing that version of me.

For now, she still saw me as someone she could trust.

And maybe that was all I had left to hold onto.

═══════

y/n’s pov:

It was a quiet morning, the kind that made the start of a workday feel almost gentle. The sun was still stretching over the skyline as I pushed open the glass doors to the office, the familiar scent of coffee and paper greeting me. I liked mornings like this. The calm before the inbox floods, before the phones start ringing. I dropped my bag onto my desk and booted up my computer. Before I could even open my email, I heard the sound of heels clicking briskly across the floor and a familiar voice calling out. “Y/N!” I turned just in time to see Nayeon approaching with a grin that made her look like she had just won the lottery. She always had this vibrant, magnetic energy that filled any room she walked into. “Morning,” I said, laughing. “You’re in a good mood.” “That’s because I had the best weekend of my life,” she announced, dropping into the chair next to mine like she was about to spill the juiciest secret ever. “Oh?” I leaned in, resting my chin on my hand. “Do tell.” She lowered her voice even though we were still alone on our floor. “I met someone.” My eyebrows shot up. “What?! You didn’t text me!” “I know, I know, I wanted to tell you in person!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “His name is Jimin. He’s gorgeous. Like, infuriatingly good-looking. And smart. We met at this pop-up gallery on Friday. He complimented the painting I was staring at, and we ended up talking for hours.” “Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “Sounds like fate.” She giggled. “Right? I already told him I have a good feeling about us. We went out for coffee yesterday, and I’m seeing him again tonight.” “I love this for you.” I meant it. Nayeon was one of those people who wore her heart on her sleeve, and she deserved someone who could keep up with her bright spirit. “You know what we should do?” she said, eyes sparkling. “Double date.” I blinked. “Really?” “Yeah! You and Jungkook, me and Jimin. Let’s make it happen. Maybe next weekend? I want to see what your perfect boyfriend looks like in person.” I felt myself blush a little. “He’s not perfect. But… yeah. That sounds fun.” Truthfully, I loved the idea. I wanted to do everything with Jungkook, Dumb couple things, fun couple things, every kind of thing. A double date felt like a sweet, normal thing that grounded us in the real world, something untouched by the dreams and the quiet unknowns we were constantly trying to decipher. “He’ll love that,” I added. “He’s really social, so I think he’d get along with Jimin.” “Great!” Nayeon beamed. “Let’s pick a place and set it up.” As we chatted logistics, my mind wandered to Jungkook. I could already picture it- him in a soft sweater, his hand warm in mine, the way he always laughed a little too loudly at his own jokes. There was a peace to the thought that made my chest swell. For a moment, the dreams and the questions faded. All I could feel was how much I loved him and how much more I wanted to experience with him.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, leaning on the counter as Nayeon poured herself a second cup of coffee. The aroma swirled between us like steam from the mug, wrapping our conversation in quiet comfort. There was a sparkle in her eyes when she spoke about Jimin, and it made me happy for her—really. She deserved someone who made her feel the way Jungkook made me feel.

"He’s just... charming," she gushed, her cheeks tinged pink. "Like, he listens when I talk, remembers little things I say, and texts me good morning even before I wake up sometimes. It’s cheesy, but it makes my day every time."

I smiled, genuinely touched by her joy. "You light up when you talk about him. I’m so glad you met someone who treats you like that. You deserve it."

Nayeon grinned. "Thanks, Y/N. I mean, we’re still getting to know each other, but I haven’t felt this kind of ease with someone in... well, maybe ever. You and Jungkook kind of gave me hope, you know? Watching how in sync you two are."

That pulled a shy laugh from me. "We’ve been through a lot to get here. But yeah, I think we’re in a really good place now. He makes me feel safe. Like, no matter what chaos is around us, we’ve got each other."

"That’s beautiful," Nayeon said, softly. Then her grin returned. "So what do you say? You, me, Jimin, Jungkook. Dinner next weekend? Maybe that new place near the riverwalk?"

"Yes!" I nearly jumped. "Let’s do it. I want to do all the couple things while we can. Weekends go by fast, you know?"

Nayeon laughed. "You’re such a romantic. I love it."

We laughed together, the moment sealed in simple joy. I didn’t know who Jimin really was just that he made my friend happy. And that was enough. For now.

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

The studio always smelled faintly of fresh paint and old wood, comforting, lived-in, like the hum of creativity still lingered in the walls. I dropped my keys on the front table and slipped off my sneakers, feeling the familiar creak of the floorboards under my feet. Taehyung’s music leaked from his editing booth, something lo-fi and grainy with a synth line that curled in your ear. “Yo,” I called out, walking past the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Taehyung appeared a second later, his curls a bit messy, paint smudged on the hem of his white tee. “Hey. You’re back early.” “Yeah, just needed some air,” I said, twisting the cap and taking a sip. He raised a brow, leaning against the counter. “That kind of air?” I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Nah, not like that. Things are actually good. Really good.” He folded his arms and gave me that half-smirk he always wore when he knew a story was coming. “So spill.” So I did. I told him everything. About how Y/N and I had been syncing up more, how we were talking, planning, even dreaming together. Literally. I told him about the dreams, the ones from 1996, the ones that felt like déjà vu turned up to eleven. I paused. “There’s something I didn’t tell her, though. About the bar dream.” Taehyung’s brows lifted. “Go on.” “I did coke. With Jimin.” I ran my fingers through my hair, the guilt crawling back up my spine. “And I didn’t tell her. I couldn’t. It didn’t feel like me, Tae, but it was me. In that life.”

Taehyung tilted his head slightly as he leaned back in his chair, a curious smile playing on his lips. "So, let me get this straight... you’ve been dream-hopping with Y/N, discovering pieces of a past life together, and now you’re feeling guilty over something dream-you did?" Jungkook ran his hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "It sounds insane when you say it out loud like that." "It is insane," Taehyung said, laughing. "But it’s also kind of beautiful, in a weirdly twisted rom-com kind of way." "It doesn’t feel beautiful when I wake up with this knot in my stomach," Jungkook muttered. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the floor. “I keep hearing her voice in the dream, and I keep thinking about how hurt she would be if she knew. And I hate that I’m keeping it from her in real life too.” Taehyung grew serious. “You really love her.” “More than I thought I could love anyone,” Jungkook admitted, his voice low. “She’s it. There’s no one else. There never was.” The studio fell quiet for a moment except for the hum of the monitors and faint vibrations from the bass track Taehyung had been mixing earlier. “And this whole dream thing, it’s more than just dreams,” Jungkook added. “It feels like pieces of us got scattered in another life, and now they’re falling back into place.” Taehyung rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “You think the cocaine thing matters that much?” Jungkook shot him a look. “Wouldn’t it matter to you if your girlfriend dream-saw you snorting lines in a bathroom and then lying about it?” “I mean… yeah, I guess that’s not ideal,” Taehyung admitted. “But it wasn’t you. It was 1996 Jungkook. Different time, different circumstances. And you were drunk. Doesn’t excuse it, but it’s not like you’re doing that now.” “I still feel like it reflects something deeper. Like... how easily I can fall into a lie to protect her.” Taehyung leaned forward, serious now. “Okay, listen to me. That kind of guilt can eat you alive. But if you're honest with her, even just about how it made you feel, without giving her the whole line-snorting montage, it could mean everything.” “I don’t want to lie anymore,” Jungkook said, quietly. “But I’m scared. Scared it’ll change how she looks at me.” “Bro, she’s looking at you like you hung the moon. I saw the way she smiled at you at the apartment the other week. Even when she was a little off that day, her eyes never left you.” A flicker of warmth spread through Jungkook’s chest. “She wants to do a double date soon. Her coworker has a new boyfriend she’s excited about.” “Oh yeah?” Taehyung perked up. “You down for that?” “Yeah. I think it’ll be fun. She’s been talking about wanting to do more couple stuff.” “Damn, domestic Jungkook. I never thought I’d see the day,” Taehyung teased. Jungkook laughed for the first time in hours. “Yeah, me neither. But I want it. All of it. Even the stupid fights and uncomfortable conversations. If it means I get to wake up next to her for the rest of my life, then yeah- I’ll take it.” Taehyung watched him, then stood up and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You should invite her over tonight. I’ll cook. Make it nice. No dream drama, no deep existential confessions; just you, me, her, and dinner.” Jungkook nodded slowly, the idea bringing a strange calm to his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.” “And maybe don’t let dream-Jimin near our liquor cabinet,” Taehyung added with a smirk. Jungkook groaned. “God, that guy gives me weird vibes.” “Same. Just... watch him.” “I will,” Jungkook promised. 

“Also,” he added, stepping away, I laughed. “You’re gonna cook?” Taehyung winked. “You trust me with your secrets. Trust me with the stove.”

═══════

My thumb hovered over the screen before I finally tapped out a text.

Jungkook: Hey, Tae’s making Korean BBQ at our place tonight. Wanna come over? Just us three. Around 7?

Y/N’s reply came seconds later.

Y/N: Umm YES?! Dinner date with you and Taehyung? Say less.

I smiled, relieved and excited all at once. As the hour neared, I changed clothes three times, nothing looked right. I wanted to look casual, but not like I hadn’t tried. When the doorbell rang, I was in the kitchen with Taehyung, helping set out side dishes. Y/N walked in, and my heart did a full somersault. She wore light-wash jeans that hugged her thighs perfectly and a snug, cropped long-sleeve tee that showed just enough skin to drive him insane. Her hair was down, framing her face, and her lip gloss was the shade I always told her I liked best. “Hey,” she greeted, her smile lighting up the room. Taehyung looked up from the grill, grinning. “You look amazing, Y/N.” I cleared my throat, eyes still fixed on her. “You look… wow.” Her cheeks flushed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Dinner was loud and full of laughter. Taehyung kept cracking jokes about the first time he met me, how awkward I was, how he nearly burned the apartment trying to cook instant ramen. Y/N was doubled over with laughter more than once, and I couldn’t stop glancing at her like she was some dream I couldn’t believe had come true. When dinner wrapped, Y/N stood and began clearing the plates. “I’ll just put these in the sink,” she offered. “I’ll help,” I said, rising quickly, catching a knowing smirk from Taehyung. In the kitchen, she rinsed a bowl and leaned forward slightly. I slid in behind her, my hands settling on her hips as I pressed against her back. Y/N leaned back slightly in my arms, letting her head rest on my shoulder as she rinsed the plate in the sink. The water splashed quietly, but my pulse was louder in my ears. I hadn’t let go of her since I slipped in behind her, body pressed against hers like a heatwave. My lips skimmed along the line of her jaw, barely grazing, teasing. I hope she could feel the tension radiating off me  not just lust, but the raw affection in my touch.

“You know you’re driving me crazy in this outfit, right?” 

“You looked so fucking good tonight,” breath warm against her skin. “I couldn’t stop watching you. Every time you laughed, I fell a little harder.”

She chuckled, still rinsing. “Is that so?” “Yeah,” I murmured, trailing kisses from her neck to her shoulder. “After tonight… I’m going to take my time with you. No distractions. No holding back.”

She smiled, cheeks flushing even under the steamy warmth of the kitchen. “You’re such a sap.” I chuckled, hands sliding from her waist to her hips, thumbs rubbing small circles through the denim. “Only for you.” My lips trailed downward, placing soft kisses along her neck. “You have no idea how many times I imagined this... you, here, with me, in this space... like we belong.” Y/N turned her head slightly to glance at me. “We do belong.” I nodded against her. “Yeah. We do.” We stood in silence for a beat, the kind that didn’t demand filling. It was that rare, easy quiet that came from intimacy, not absence. I felt her breath hitch as my hands started to slide up under her shirt, palms warm against her skin. Then- “Ahem.” Taehyung leaned against the doorframe, a wide grin on his face. “Should I take that as my cue to go to bed?” I jumped back like a teenager caught sneaking kisses behind the bleachers. Y/N laughed, biting her lip as she turned back to the dishes. Taehyung eyed them with a smirk. “You guys are ridiculous,” he said, putting his glass in the sink. “You know, I think I preferred when you two were awkward and shy. Now you’re all gooey and PDA-heavy.” “Shut up, Tae,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help but smile. Taehyung dried his hands on a dish towel. “I’m happy for you. I really am. It’s good to see you like this. You’re softer around her. More... human.” I glanced at Y/N, then nodded at my friend. “Thanks, man.” With a mock salute, Taehyung left the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway toward his room. We listened until his door shut behind him, then exchanged a look. “Where were we?” I murmured. Y/N smiled, turning around and wrapping her arms around my neck. “You were being very sweet.” I leaned in again, brushing my lips over hers, slow and deliberate this time. We kissed like we had all the time in the world-  lazy, unhurried. It was a kind of claiming, a quiet celebration of something sacred we were both beginning to fully understand. After a few moments, I pulled away just enough to speak. “Come shower with me?” Y/N nodded, my heart skipping as I took her hand. We moved through the apartment hand in hand, bodies brushing, anticipation thick between us. When we reached the bathroom, Jungkook reached in and turned on the water, steam already starting to fog up the mirror.

═══════

y/n’s pov: 

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, the sound muffled by the heated kisses Jungkook and I were already exchanging. Our lips moved hungrily against each other, tongues dueling in a rhythm that was both familiar and electric. Jungkook’s hands were everywhere, gripping my waist, pulling me closer as if the few inches between us were an unbearable distance. His hair brushed against my cheek. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that only comes from two people who know exactly what they want and are more than willing to take it.

Jungkook broke the kiss, his brown eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter. “Move” he commanded, his voice low and rough, laced with a dominance that sent a shiver down my spine. I obeyed without hesitation, walking to the counter back pressing against the cool marble as he stepped closer, his muscular frame towering over me. His tattooed sleeve caught my eye, the intricate designs a stark contrast to his skin. He smirked, knowing the effect he had on me, and leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

“Yours,” I murmured, voice barely audible, my body already thrumming with anticipation.

Without warning, Jungkook turned me around and pushed me forward, my chest pressing against the cold countertop. He wrapped one hand in my hair, tugging gently as he kissed the sensitive skin of my neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His other hand slid down my body, gripping my hips firmly before sliding my pants down my legs. They pooled at my ankles, and I stepped out of them, my skin prickling under his gaze. “Look at yourself,” he ordered, his voice sharp but laced with desire. He lifted my head up by her hair to face the mirror, my reflection staring back at me: flushed cheeks, tousled hair, and a body that was already aching for him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, his hand landing on my ass with a sharp smack. I gasped, the sting mingling with the heat already coiled low in my belly. He spanked me again, harder this time, and I had to bite my lip to stifle a moan. “Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist before slipping between my thighs. I was already wet, my body responding to his touch with a desperation that embarrassed and excited me.

“Yours,” I repeated, voice breathless as his fingers slid inside me, slow and deliberate. He curled them, finding my sweet spot with ease, and I moaned loudly, my head falling back against his shoulder. “Fuck, Jungkook,” I whimpered, body arching into his touch.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck again as he quickened his pace. “Cum for me. Let me hear you.” His words were a command, and my body obeyed, orgasm crashing over me like a wave. I cried out, my nails digging into the countertop as he held me steady, his fingers relentless until I was trembling and boneless in his arms.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice soft now, almost tender, as he pulled his hand away. He wiped his fingers on a nearby towel, his touch gentle despite the roughness of their encounter. “Now finish getting undressed and get in the shower. I’m not done with you yet.”

I did as I was told, my body still buzzing with the aftermath of my orgasm. I stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over my skin, and turned to face him as he joined me. His eyes raked over me, and I felt a flush creep up my chest, his gaze as intimate as any touch. “On your knees,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I dropped to my knees without hesitation, my hands resting on his thighs as I looked up at him. “Please,” I whispered, voice a mixture of desire and submission.

Jungkook’s smirk was predatory as he grabbed my hair, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re going to take it all, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone mocking but affectionate. I nodded, breath quickening as I wrapped my hand around him, my touch light, teasing, before taking him into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back as I took him deep, my tongue swirling around the head. I hummed my approval, the vibration sending shivers through him. “That’s it, baby. Take it all.” His hands tangled in my hair, guiding me as I bobbed my head, my lips sliding up and down his length. I moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his skin, and he cursed, his control slipping. “Get up,” he growled, pulling me to my feet.

He picked me up and pressed me against the shower wall, the tiles cold against my back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I gasped as he thrust into me, filling me completely, the water raining down on us as our bodies moved in perfect sync. “You’re so tight,” he panted, his voice rough as he pounded into me, his hands gripping my hips tightly enough to leave bruises. “So fucking perfect.”

I cried out with each thrust, my nails digging into his shoulders as I met his rhythm, my body desperate for release. “Jungkook, please,” I begged, my voice breaking as my orgasm built again, faster and harder than before.

“Cum for me,” he demanded, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. His words were my undoing, my body shattering around him as I screamed his name, my walls clenching tightly around him. He followed moments later, his release hot and intense, his curses mingling with my moans as we clung to each other, breathless and spent.

When it was over, Jungkook held me close, his touch gentle as he washed me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. He stepped out of the shower, wrapping me in a soft towel before leading me to the bathroom counter. He sat me down, his hands moving with practiced ease as he began my skincare routine, his touch light and careful. He brushed my hair, the strokes slow and soothing, and I leaned into him, body still buzzing with the aftermath of our encounter.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his lips pressing against my forehead. “Mine.”

I smiled, my heart full as he scooped me into his arms, carrying me to the bedroom. He laid me down gently, pulling me into his embrace, his body a warm and solid presence against mine. I tangled my fingers in his hair, my eyes drifting closed as his hand stroked my back, his touch a promise of comfort and care.

“Love you,” I whispered, voice soft and sleepy.

“Love you too,” he replied, his voice a rumble against my chest. And as we drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us, safe and complete.

═══════

I adjusted the strap of my black satin dress for the fifth time, pretending not to notice how quiet Jungkook had gotten since we arrived at his company dinner. The restaurant was a chic, dimly lit fusion place in Gangnam, buzzing with soft jazz and conversation, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. More specifically, it was stuck on the image of Jungkook passed out on our couch just eight hours earlier- fully clothed, shoes still on, one arm slung across his forehead like he was posing for some tragic painting.

And the worst part? The smell. The alcohol on his breath, the sweat, the faint hint of cologne he probably sprayed on to cover it up, none of it masked the guilt that clung to him like smoke.

“You okay?” Jungkook leaned over and brushed his hand against mine under the table.

I gave him a stiff smile. “Fine.”

His brows furrowed like he knew that wasn’t true, but he didn’t push it. Probably didn’t want a scene at his precious company dinner.

I sat there, listening to his coworkers compliment his work and laugh at his jokes, while the resentment inside me bubbled quietly like a kettle set to boil. I wanted to shake him. Ask him why he thought it was okay to show up at two in the morning, giggling and stumbling, trying to pull me into bed like everything was fine. He’d whispered apologies in my ear like it would make it all go away.

But it didn’t.

After picking at my plate and sipping a barely touched glass of wine, I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom.

The hallway was sleek with marble floors, gold accents, and mirrors lining the walls. I stepped into the bathroom, grateful for the temporary escape. I splashed a bit of cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. I looked tired. Like I hadn’t slept in days. Maybe I hadn’t.

The door creaked behind me. I caught her silhouette in the mirror before I turned.

Jennie.

She was poised as always, hair perfectly curled, lips tinted rose. Her dress clung to her like it had been stitched on, not a wrinkle in sight. She gave me a thin smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I replied, brushing my damp hands on a paper towel.

We stood in silence for a beat. It was awkward, but not unbearable. Until she spoke again.

“You look… tired,” she said, stepping closer to the sink.

“I’ve had a long week,” I said, not bothering to fake a smile.

She gave a small laugh, like something about that amused her. “I bet. Must be hard keeping up with Jungkook.”

My stomach twisted. I turned slightly to look at her. “Excuse me?”

She stepped closer. Not touching me, but close enough that I felt boxed in. “He’s a lot, isn’t he? So much energy. So many layers. And he’s not exactly… easy to handle. Especially when he drinks.”

I didn’t respond. My heart started to thud in my chest.

Jennie tilted her head. “But Jungkook… he’s not yours, not really. He’s mine. He always has been.”

I stared at her, the words slow to process.

“What?”

She smiled wider now. Too wide. Her voice dipped low. “I’m just saying! He deserves someone who understands him. Someone who can match him. You’re… cute. I’ll give you that. But you’re not enough for him. He’ll realize that eventually.”

I took a step back, hitting the counter behind me. “Why are you saying this?”

Jennie shrugged. “Because you need to hear it. You need to stop pretending this is some fairy tale. Jungkook belongs with me. I’m prettier. Smarter. Better. It’s only a matter of time.”

She turned to the mirror then, checking her lipstick, completely calm. Like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me in a public restroom.

And then, just like that, she walked out.

The door swung shut behind her, and I was left frozen, the echo of her words ringing in my ears. My hands trembled. I gripped the edge of the sink to steady myself.

I looked into the mirror again. My reflection stared back, shaken and speechless.

And I realized I wasn’t just angry anymore.

I was afraid.

═══════

I jolted awake, my body damp with sweat, heart pounding so hard it rattled my ribs. The room was quiet, too quiet. I reached out beside me instinctively, but the bed was empty since Jungkook had gone home last night. My fingers curled around the cool sheets like they could anchor me back to reality.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But Jennie’s voice echoed in my mind like it had been carved into bone.

“He’s mine. He always has been.”

I sat up slowly, brushing the hair from my face and trying to breathe through the wave of dread clawing at my chest. My hands trembled as I reached for my phone on the nightstand. It was only 6:23 a.m., but I didn’t care.

I opened our chat and started typing before I could talk myself out of it.

Y/N: Just woke up from a really bad dream.

Y/N: We were at your company dinner and Jennie followed me into the bathroom and basically threatened me. Said you were hers. Said she was prettier and smarter and that I wasn’t enough for you. 

Y/N: It felt… real. I’m still shaking. I know it’s dumb. Sorry.

I hit send, holding my breath.

The three little dots appeared almost immediately.

Jungkook: What the hell???

Jungkook: I’m so sorry. That’s not dumb, baby. That’s terrifying.

Jungkook: She said that?? In the dream?? Are you sure you’re okay?

I swallowed, staring at the screen. My heart hadn’t stopped racing.

Y/N: Yeah. I mean… not really. It just felt so aggressive. I didn’t even fight back. I just froze.

He replied again quickly.

Jungkook: That’s normal. It was a dream, but that kind of energy leaves a mark. 

Jungkook: Jennie’s showing up too much lately. I don’t like it.

Jungkook: Come over tonight? Please? We don’t have to talk about dreams unless you want to. I just want you close.

I smiled faintly, a little calmer now.

Y/N: Yeah. I’d like that. I just want to be near you.

Jungkook: Always.

I pulled the covers around me and sank back against the pillows, the anxiety slowly fading into the quiet hum of morning.

Maybe being near him tonight would remind me what was real.

═══════

It was early Saturday afternoon when a notification popped up on my phone screen. 

Nayeon: Still good for tonight? 7:30, right?

I sat on the edge of the bed, my thumb hovering over the keyboard for a second before typing back: 

Y/N: Yes! Can’t wait 😊

Jungkook was lounging on the couch in a soft black t-shirt, lazily scrolling on his phone when I called out to him. “Nayeon confirmed. Double date’s on.” He glanced over with that boyish grin. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”

I smiled as I made my way into the bathroom to start getting ready. The anticipation fluttered low in my stomach, not nerves, exactly, but something like them. I curled my hair loosely and kept my makeup soft. I threw on a pair of jeans that hugged just right and a long-sleeve cropped tee, form-fitting and black. When I looked in the mirror, I felt good. 

Jungkook let out a low whistle when I stepped out. “Damn, baby…” I rolled my eyes, but heat bloomed in my chest. “You’re not so bad yourself.” We hopped into his car around 7, a soft playlist filling the silence as we drove. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb making slow circles as we passed familiar streets. The city shimmered a little more than usual, and even though I couldn’t explain why, everything felt heightened. “I’m glad we’re doing this,” I said. He glanced over. “You mean double dating like normal people for once?” I laughed. “Exactly.” But the moment we walked into the bar and Nayeon waved us over, I felt it. There he was. Jimin. The same Jimin from the dreams. Perfect smile. Familiar eyes. Something in my chest pulled tight. Jungkook froze beside me. Our hands were still linked, but his grip tensed slightly. “Y/N, Jungkook- this is my boyfriend, Jimin!” Nayeon beamed. Jimin stood and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you guys. I’ve heard a lot.” I swallowed hard and smiled, willing my voice to sound normal. “Hi! So nice to finally meet you.” Jungkook shook his hand, and for a moment, their eyes locked for a moment. Nayeon and I ordered cocktails while the guys went for beer. The food came out in tapas-style small plates: crispy chicken bites, truffle fries, and some kind of fancy shrimp skewers that Jimin raved about. We shared, laughed, toasted, and even played a few silly question games that Nayeon insisted on starting.

Jimin was… sweet. Funny. Down-to-earth. A little too interested in Jungkook’s music, maybe, but not in a pushy way. Jungkook was polite, cautious, but I could see his mind running a mile a minute behind his eyes. Nayeon didn’t seem to notice. She was glowing with happiness, and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything that might chip away at that. As the evening wore on, Jimin and Jungkook began talking more naturally. They bonded over their favorite hip hop albums, both agreeing that 90s rap just hit differently. 

Jimin leaned across the table midway through dinner. “You produce too, right, Jungkook?”

“Yeah,” he replied, guarded but not unfriendly. “I’d love to sit in on a session sometime,” Jimin offered. “Just to see the magic.” “We’ll see,” Jungkook said with a small smile. I watched the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders slowly dissolve, and the way his smile came more easily as he relaxed. Jimin really did seem like a good guy, and for a moment, I let myself believe this might all just be one giant coincidence.

The conversation drifted to vacations, favorite foods, karaoke disasters. We laughed. A lot. My stomach hurt in the best way.

By dessert, I almost forgot we were suspicious of him. Almost.

When the check came, we all split it and stood outside for a while, saying our goodbyes and promising to do it again soon. The breeze had picked up, and I found myself leaning into Jungkook’s side, his arm coming up to pull me closer as we walked to his car.

The moment we were inside with the doors shut, Jungkook exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire evening. On the drive home, the streetlights blurred past my window, soft and warm against the night sky. 

“Well…” he started. “That was… something,” I finished. He looked over at me. “It’s him, right?” I nodded. “No doubt.” “But how? Why?” “I don’t know.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “But he doesn’t seem dangerous. If anything, he seemed… eager to connect.” “That’s what worries me,” Jungkook muttered. “Eager people are either really genuine or really good at pretending.” I reached for his hand. “We’ll keep our eyes open. But for tonight, we survived. And it wasn’t terrible.” He glanced at me, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “You looked insanely hot tonight, by the way.” I grinned. “Only tonight?” “Every night,” he said, leaning in to kiss me at a red light. By the time we reached his place, I was half-asleep, my head lolling gently toward the window. Jungkook helped me out of the car, chuckling softly as he guided me inside. We changed into pajamas wordlessly, brushing teeth side by side like we’d done it forever. I crawled under the covers and let out a contented sigh. Jungkook joined me moments later, wrapping an arm around my waist as we clicked on the TV. “I still can’t get over it,” I whispered. “It’s like the dream world is bleeding into the real one.” “I know but maybe this is what progress looks like. Maybe we’re meant to piece it all together.” I nestled against him. “One weird puzzle piece at a time.” We flipped on the TV, something light and stupid playing in the background. But I wasn’t really watching. I was just grateful. Grateful for the normalcy. The safety. The warmth. And even if it wouldn’t last forever, I was going to soak in every second of it while I still could.

═══════

jungkook’s pov: 

The soft glow of the television cast a warm, flickering light across the bedroom, its muted chatter blending with the steady hum of the air conditioner. Y/N lay sprawled across the bed, her hair fanned out like a butterfly wing on the pillow, her breathing deep and rhythmic. She was in that delicate space between sleep and wakefulness, her body relaxed but her mind still drifting in the haze of dreams. 

I propped myself up on one elbow, watching her with a tender smile. My hair fell across my forehead as I leaned in. The TV show droned on in the background, but my focus was entirely on her.

I slowly moved, deliberate and gentle, as I was afraid to wake her. My lips brushed against the curve of her neck, breath warm and soothing. 

“Hey, beautiful,” I whispered, voice a low murmur that tickled her skin. “You’re so gorgeous, even when you’re sleeping.” My fingers trailed down her arm, tracing the contours of her body with a lightness that made her shiver. She stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping her lips, but she didn’t fully wake. I chuckled softly, my lips curving into a playful smirk. “Shh, go back to sleep, baby. Let me take care of you.”

My hands moved lower, gliding over the curve of her hip. I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of her pajama shorts, fingers brushing against the soft skin of her stomach before dipping lower. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyelids fluttering as a soft moan escaped her lips. 

She was still half-asleep, her body responding instinctively to my touch, but her mind remained foggy, drifting in a pleasurable haze. I curled my lips into a satisfied smile, “That’s it, baby. Just relax. Let me make you feel good.”

I kissed her neck again, lips moving in slow, deliberate patterns, tongue tracing the delicate skin behind her ear. My fingers were gentle but firm, teasing the sensitive flesh of her pussy through her panties. Y/N’s hips twitched, her body arching subtly into my touch. 

Her moans grew louder, more urgent, but her eyes remained closed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. My heart swelled with adoration. I loved this. I loved the way she surrendered to me, even in her sleep, loved the way her body responded to my touch like it was made for me.

With a gentle hand, I eased her pajama shorts down her legs, baring her body. Her skin was flawless and smooth, her curves soft and inviting. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight of her, desire mingling with a deep, aching tenderness. I leaned down, pressing soft kisses along her stomach, my lips lingering on the dip of her navel. My hands roamed freely now, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the slope of her thighs. Every touch is a tribute, a silent declaration of my love and desire.

I kissed down her thighs, lips brushing against her skin with a feather-light touch, my tongue darting out to taste her. Y/N’s legs parted slightly, her body instinctively opening to me, even as she remained lost in sleep. My lips curved into a smile as I continued my slow, worshipful exploration, kisses trailing down to her ankles and back up again. I took my time, savoring every inch of her, with reverence and hunger. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I could spend all day just kissing every part of you.”

Finally, I reached the apex of her thighs, my breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. Y/N’s hips bucked slightly, her moans growing louder, more coherent. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep, but her body was fully awake now, alive with anticipation. I looked up at her, eyes dark with desire, lips curved into a wicked grin. “Morning, beautiful,” I teased, voice low and husky. “Or should I say, good night?”

Without another word, I dipped my head, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along her folds. Y/N gasped, her hands tangling in my hair as her body arched off the bed. I hummed against her skin, the vibration sending shivers through her. I took my time, tongue exploring every inch of her, lips sucking gently, fingers teasing her clit. Y/N’s moans filled the room, her body moving in rhythm with my mouth, her hips grinding into the mattress. My own body was tight with need, my cock throbbing against the fabric of my boxers, but I wasn’t in a rush. I loved this- loved the way she tasted, loved the way she felt, loved the way she surrendered to me completely.

My tongue delved deeper, fingers joining in, my mouth devouring her with a hunger that bordered on worship. Y/N’s breath came in sharp gasps, her body tightening as she climbed higher and higher. “Jungkook ,” she panted, her voice thick with need. “Oh God, Jungkook , please- ”

“Cum for me, baby,” I murmured against her skin, voice a rough whisper. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

My words were the final push she needed. Y/N’s body shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with a ferocity that left her trembling. Her cries filled the room, her hips bucking against my mouth as she rode out the waves of pleasure. I groaned, my own release catching me off guard as I came in my boxers, body jerking against the mattress. I stayed with her, my tongue soothing, hands gentle, until her cries softened to whimpers and her body went limp.

When I finally lifted my head, my lips curved into a satisfied smile. I kissed her inner thigh, my touch tender, before trailing my lips back up her body. She watched me through her half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling with her ragged breaths. My heart swelled with love when I looked at her, her hair tousled, her lips swollen, her body glowing with satisfaction. I leaned over her, my lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. “You’re incredible,” voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

My lips moved to her neck, hands roaming over her body as I kissed and nipped at her skin. I positioned myself between her legs, eyes locking with hers as I slowly entered her. Y/N gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders as I filled her, my thickness stretching her in a way that made her toes curl. I held her gaze, movements slow and deliberate, my hips rocking into hers with a rhythm that was both tender and relentless.

I held her hands above her head, lips trailing down to her breasts, my tongue swirling around her nipples, teeth tugging gently. Y/N moaned, her body arching into my touch, her hips meeting my thrusts eagerly. My words were a mix of praise and filthy promises, voice low. “You’re so fucking perfect,” I growled, my lips brushing against her ear. “I love the way you feel around me. So tight, so wet- ”

My thrusts grew harder, faster, driven by a need that was both primal and tender. Y/N’s cries grew louder, her body tightening around me as she climbed toward another peak. My lips found hers, our kisses deep and hungry, my tongue tangling with hers as our bodies moved in perfect sync. “Cum with me, baby,” I whispered, voice hoarse with need. “Let’s come together.”

My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, our bodies convulsing in unison as we cried out each other’s names. I collapsed onto her, my weight pressing her into the mattress, heart pounding against hers. I kissed her forehead, lips lingering as I whispered, “I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

Y/N’s eyes drifted closed, her body heavy with satisfaction. She was already drifting back to sleep, her breathing evening out as exhaustion claimed her. I smiled, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin as I gently withdrew from her. I cleaned her up, my touch tender, before settling beside her, pulling her into my arms. I kissed her forehead one last time, my lips brushing against her skin in a silent vow. “Goodnight, beautiful,” I whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

And with that, I held her close, my heart full, my soul content, as the soft glow of the television illuminated their peaceful slumber

═══════

The rustle of wind through amber leaves whispered against the windows as Jungkook sat curled on the couch beside Y/N. A soft movie played on the TV, some indie romantic comedy she picked out, but honestly, Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to the plot. The real comfort was her warmth pressed into his side, the scent of her shampoo lingering in the air, and the quiet rhythm of her breathing as she rested her head on his chest.

It was Fall. Leaves tumbled down the street outside, and golden light flickered against the living room walls. Everything was soft, safe, good.

Until the doorbell rang.

They both flinched slightly.

Y/N looked up, eyebrows pinching together. “Who the hell is ringing the bell this late?”

Jungkook kissed the top of her head. “Probably some kid selling candy or something. I’ll check.”

She let out a sleepy hum and returned her gaze to the screen.

He got up and padded to the front door, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened it slowly. Cold air swept in.

No one was there.

Just an empty porch.

He glanced left, right but nothing but a quiet street. The houses across the way were dark. The trees rustled overhead. Weird.

He was about to close the door when something caught his eye. Down at his feet sat a medium-sized bouquet of red roses and a stuffed white bunny with a ribbon around its neck. A small card stuck out from the flowers.

His gut twisted as he picked it up.

The handwriting was loopy and overly neat. Feminine.

“You will be mine soon. ❤️”

“What the hell…” he muttered, his heart beating faster as Jungkook carried the bundle inside.

“Hey babe?” He called out, holding it awkwardly as he stepped back into the living room. “Uh… someone left this.”

Y/N sat up straighter, her expression falling when she saw what he was carrying.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Let me guess. No one was there?”

Jungkook nodded, holding up the note. “This was attached.”

She took it from his hand, reading it silently. Her jaw tightened. “She’s out of her damn mind.”

His shoulders tensed. “Who?”

“Jennie. Who else?”

Jungkook sat down next to her slowly. “You don’t know that.”

“Really?” she snapped, tossing the card onto the coffee table. “Who else keeps flirting with you at work and looking at me like she wants to scratch my face off?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, yeah, she’s... intense. But this could be anyone.”

Y/N folded her arms. “That’s the problem. You keep brushing it off like it’s nothing. But it’s creepy, Jungkook. This isn’t just some office crush anymore.”

“I’m not brushing it off, I just- ” he sighed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions and blame someone without proof. And even if it is her, she’s harmless. She probably just has a crush.”

Y/N turned to face him fully. “Babe. A harmless crush doesn’t leave threats at your door like some unhinged stalker. That note isn’t sweet- it’s possessive. It’s obsessive. It’s scary.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

She wasn’t wrong.

“I just want you to stay away from her,” she added softly, eyes glistening slightly now. “Please.”

He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “Okay. I promise. I’ll distance myself. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t being heard.”

She let out a long breath, and her shoulders eased just a little. “Thanks.”

But he knew, even as they sat there trying to turn their attention back to the movie, the feeling had shifted. The leaves might’ve still danced outside, but the wind felt colder now. Something, or someone, was intruding on our peace.

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Posted: 05/20/2025

[fuctacles]

I just need a lil blurb of some nasty fucking pretty please 🥺

i am so sorry i am not good at writing smut im sorry. also u said nasty and all i could think about was sw e a t

this is ofc 800 words for 800 followers but tumblr brought me back to 693 since then lmao | Ao3

Steve likes Mondays.

Everyone leaves early, and he gets to close the gym by himself. He owns the place, he has the key, he can loiter around as much as he wants, and do everything as slowly as he feels like. There's no need to throw anyone out because even the most dedicated gym bros don't want to overwork themselves at the start of the week. 

Except for one guy.

He looks extremely out of place and the first time Steve saw him, he gave him a month, maybe two, considering he would show up with friends sometimes—always a good incentive to exercise. But one day, when he was lazily walking on a treadmill in his ratty sneakers and loose black clothes, Hargrove walked up to him, nodding at his shirt. New Guy, having no idea the whole gym was holding its breath, lowered his headphones and had a short exchange about metal music. They shook hands, sealing Munson's reluctant respect from other gym-goers.

If the lone wolf Hargrove, who bites anyone who even looks at him wrong, likes him, everyone else is also going to.

Eddie Munson still looks out of place and is extremely surprised every time a bulky guy approaches him to give advice instead of beating him up, but he's been going four months strong, which Steve finds impressive.

On Monday's playlists, he sneaks in some hard rock and any band he recognizes from Eddie's shirts. It was a Monday when Eddie told him about an ex that's been harassing him. On Monday nights, Eddie stays back, and they walk hand in hand through the dark parking lot. On Mondays, Steve fucks Eddie senseless in the empty gym.

He's still not sure how it happened. How a personal trainer and gym owner caught the eye of a scrawny metalhead, how their needs and wants aligned and clicked, but when he opens the locker room, there's only one person left there; tattoos on display and hair still dripping from the shower. 

"We're closed," he announces, gaining Eddie's attention. 

The man pouts. 

"Ah, I was hoping for a private session?" The towel falls from his hips, leaving him bare to the world. Which, right now, consists of one Steve Harrington. 

He closes the door. 

"Laying it on thick today, huh?" he tilts his head, approaching painfully slowly. 

"Ah, you see, I didn't have a dick in me for a whole week, I'm kind of desperate," Eddie admits, his smile turning shameless. 

Steve quirks his eyebrow. 

"Why do I doubt that? A slut like you?" He smiles meanly, finally within reach. Eddie seems to be vibrating out of his skin for a touch. 

"The wait makes it better," he says, a little bit breathy, eyes roaming over his body. 

Now that Steve could believe. Even if for a sliver of a second, he hoped it meant something else. 

He reaches out, thumb tracing the dip of Eddie's hips, but as the man shifts closer, his nose scrunches. 

"You stink."

Steve hums, grabbing his other side. 

"Yeah. You like it?"

"I just took a shower," he complains. 

A deflection. 

"Well, that's on you. Should have thought this through better, mister Dungeon Master."

"You're usually showered too!" he protests, grunting when he tries to stop Steve from pressing closer and gets his hands on his clammy pecs as a result. 

"Something came up." Steve shrugs, slowly engulfing him in his embrace. Eddie squirms, and to torment him a bit more, he lifts his arm.

"Steve—!"

He laughs and is about to release him and offer to shower together when he notices Eddie's face. Then, something else, hard and throbbing against his hip. A smirk blooms on his face.

"You do like it." 

"No."

"No?" Steve lifts an eyebrow. "You don't want my sweaty balls on your face?"

Eddie moans.

They look at each other with wide eyes, like they're both surprised by the sound. Steve laughs in surprise. 

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

He doesn't even have to push him down, Eddie goes to his knees without prompting, greedily pulling on his shorts. Once they're out of the way, he leans in and inhales, nose wedged between his thigh and groin. 

"Jesus," Steve mutters to himself, mesmerized by the view in front of him—the scrawny gym loser drunk on his pheromones, palming his rock-hard dick. "This really doing it for you, huh?"

Eddie whines, looking up at him with blacked-out pupils. Steve gets lightheaded with how fast the blood is rushing to his dick. 

"I want you on top of me."

Steve is initially confused, but when Eddie leans back to lie on the floor, he doesn't protest. Locker room linoleum might not be the best surface for sex, but he was going to take a shower anyway.

forgot to tag my little losers: @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[silkscream]

bullfight of love (part 2)

ੈ✩ choso x reader

ੈ✩ tags: 2000s au, coworkers, workplace relationship, film bro stuff, pining, car sex, oral sex, fingering

ੈ✩ wc: 5.1k

ੈ✩ a/n: sorry for the lack of proofreading also i feel like the references r annoying. just ignore them bc in this fic both of them are annoying <3

PART ONE

Choso does not call you. 

He does text you, occasionally, to talk about work and movies. Sometimes books and music, swapping recommendations. 

You notice that he reads at the register when the store’s empty. As the weeks pass, he runs through paperbacks like lightning. 90s manga, Ryu Murakami novels. He had a pensive reading face, dipping between serene and morose depending on the page. It was oddly fascinating. Brows knitted, nose twitching in a way that reflected light on his scar tissue.

He never says much. Barely greets you when he clocks in, opting for something of a nod and a noncommittal noise. He always smells like tobacco and incense.

You try to outdo each other when it comes to putting something on the big screen. Maki let you put on any tape you wanted as long as it wasn’t too graphic, which was the one rule the two of you ignored considering how often there were afternoon dry spells. 

You’d put Japanese New Wave, New Hollywood. 90s American trash when Choso could score edibles. He’d never tell you where he got them, always tight-lipped about sources. It annoyed you to no end.

“Nice shirt,” he drawls.

“Huh?” You look up from your stack to see Choso staring at you, gesturing to your chest. 

“Your shirt.” 

You look down at your oversized Deftones tee.

“You’re not gonna ask me to name five of their songs, are you?” 

He shakes his head, laughing. The fluorescents make his irises reflect hints of violet, you notice. He’s less dead-eyed today, which is saying something.

“Which album’s your favorite?” he asks.

“Around the Fur.”

“Basic.”

You frown, reaching over to press the price tagger against his chest. You pull the trigger. He laughs again, looking down.

“I’m only worth ten dollars?”

“Yes.”

He scoffs and returns to the register when he sees a girl waiting with a copy of Clueless. You watch as she twirls a braid around her finger, stumbling over her words as she tries (and fails) to make small talk with Choso. He’s stone-faced again as always – nothing like the feigned sneers shot at you – the poor girl.

You notice him stealing glances at you while you continue to stock. There’s a perpetual hint of a tiny smirk as he continues to be the cashier for the night. You smile at him and wrinkle your nose when you look his way and find him staring at you, goading your reaction on whatever stack of DVDs his customer has in hand.

The two of you decide to close out for the night an hour early. It’s dead in the store. While you vacuum, your ears perk up to footsteps on the main floor. You see a teenage boy with pinkish hair and bright eyes.

“Closing shop, kid,” you say. “And I’m not in the mood for a stray.”

“I’m looking for my brother!” he beams, blatantly ignoring your crabbiness.

You pinch your brows together. Did he mean Choso? The two looked nothing alike and sure as hell didn’t share a personality.

“You mean —”

“Yuuji? I thought I told you I’d meet you at the arcade.”

You raise a brow at Choso appearing from the back room door but decide to leave him and his… brother to their own devices. You watch them from the corner of your eye, noticing that despite Yuuji’s boyish face, they’re slightly similar in build. He must be adopted or fostered, you think. Played the part of a little brother like a sitcom favorite from how Choso looked at him.

“You’re not coming with me, then?”

“Nah. Fushiguro and I were gonna see Human Earthworm 5 but then he told me hasn’t seen the first four! So I came by to pick them up.”

“It’s a good thing you came before we closed,” Choso rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you close in like an hour?”

“Finishing up early. Her idea.”

You scoff under your breath. There’s a pause.

“You weren’t exaggerating, man,” Yuuji mutters, barely hiding his voice. “She’s really pretty.”

“Dude.” 

You almost laugh. Your smirk fades when you realize that your heart is beating a bit faster.  Liking Maki back then was stupid enough – a terrible cliche to fantasize about. Storage room fucking, sneaking around on the clock. How tacky. And you already checked off one of those fantasies.

The drama wasn’t worth it. It’s absurd to know that you had done that with Choso. It was why you avoided the back room at all costs. After you two had fucked, neither of you spoke of it again.

“Sorry,” Yuuji says, smiling sheepishly. “I’ll see you later, man!”

“Onii-chan,” Choso reminds him.

“Onii-chan.”

“Do you mind if I take the car?” 

“What– then how am I supposed to get home–”

“Pleaaaaase, Onii-chan? Fushiguro lives far from the bus stop!”

Choso grumbles as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket. Yuuji nearly vibrates from excitement as he takes them.

You wait until he leaves to flash a grin. Choso makes eye contact with you and groans.

“Don’t.”

“Onii-chan, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Your grin only widens. 

“He’s cute. Looks nothing like you, though.”

“We’re, uh, half-brothers,” Choso mutters. “And he’s off-limits.”

“Wasn’t interested,” you scoff. “He’s gotta be in high school, right?”

“And you’re not?” Choso raises a brow. 

He laughs at your expression immediately souring and you hate that the sound makes your heart flutter. 

“I’m kidding,” he snorts. “I’d be in jail if that was the case.”

You blush, remembering the last time you were intimate. You huff.

“You know Fushiguro? That’s Toji’s son.”

“Oh shit, really? I never met the kid’s family, I guess.”

You notice Choso checking out a copy of The Ring.

“Is that what you’re getting up to on a Friday night?” 

“Yup. I haven’t gotten around to seeing it yet.”

“Dude, seriously? S’a classic. One of my favorites.”

“You’re welcome to join,” he shrugs. It’s nonchalant. Given his brother's previous teasing, you’d think there would be an air of eagerness around him. The fact that there isn’t only makes your stomach lurch.

“Maybe,” you mumble. “Got some errands to run.”

“It’s cool.” He hikes up the messenger bag he brings to work over his shoulder. It’s right then that you notice how broad he is. Built well, almost like an athlete. Collarbones like a Greek god and a face as pretty as the J-pop idols you used to like. You think back to your past tryst, how his muscles rippled in the dingy office lighting. The sweat on his brow when he moaned.

He leans in to poke your arm to grab your attention.

“Huh?”

“I said, are you ready to lock up?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” you mutter. You grab your bag and follow him out. He helps you drag the security gate down. 

“Text me if you change your mind.”

“Yeah. For sure.”

–

You do not change your mind.

Not yet, anyway. You sip a milkshake in the food court, people-watching to pass the time. You couldn’t think about being alone with Choso right now. 

It takes you a bit to muster up the energy to leave. For some reason, you feel exhausted despite closing early. Your shifts were relatively easy, and it helped that being on shift with Choso was usually entertaining. The banter never got old. 

Fuck, you needed to shake the thought of him out of your head. The sex was a one-time thing. His nonchalance made you sure of that.

When you make your way to your car, you see him. He balances a cigarette between his lips as he laughs, surrounded by the usual mall rats you see on nights like these. Some of them you had recognized from high school. They were drop-out skaters who liked to flirt with you sometimes, their toothy grins stained yellow and their tiny waists drowning in cargo pants.

You watch one of the girls flirt with Choso. She’s blonde and thin, and you wonder if she’s his type. Despite the clashing of styles, they look good together. You pretend it doesn’t make you bitter. There’s no reason for the sight to make you bitter. You shouldn’t be staring at him at all — you’re supposed to be walking to your fucking car.

It starts to drizzle, but the crowd doesn’t move. You watch them and convince yourself that maybe he’s isn’t that attractive. But the cigarette in between his lips looks enticing. He probably tastes like tobacco. Mint and eucalyptus like the way he smells. You briefly remember the kisses you shared in the backroom and your stomach clenches with want.

“You,” he beckons to you. You freeze. “Thought you left already.”

You try to ignore all the eyes on you. Your tunnel vision only focuses on him, anyway. 

“Told you I had, uh, errands.”

“Right.”

“Uh-huh,” you clear your throat. “Can I bum a cig?”

He reaches into his pocket for a pack of red Marlboros, handing you one and waiting until it’s between your lips to light it for you. You chuckle lightly when you see it’s a white lighter.

“What?” he grins. 

“You don’t know about the white lighter thing? So many members of the 27 club had a white lighter on them when they died.”

“Like who?”

“Hendrix, Cobain, Morrison…”

“Then it’s an American thing,” he laughs. “I’ll survive.”

“I hope you do.”

He smiles back at you sheepishly, fixing his hair with his hands. He’s almost bashful for a second, but he’s too good at acting casual for you to catch him completely off-guard. 

Before he can respond, a hug of thunder booms above you. Distracted by the frenzy of everyone scrambling to head out, grumbling about the looming storm.

“Do you want a ride?” you blurt out.

He looks at you carefully, then cracks a smile. “Sure.”

___

Much to your annoyance, Choso is a little high, meaning he has no problem turning the dial on your car radio the whole time he’s in the car.

“You’re picky,” you mutter.

“I have taste,” Choso murmurs. “The radio does not.”

“I have like, a billion CDs in the dashboard. Go crazy.”

He smirks, amused, opening the drawer to flip through the albums you have in a thick CD wallet. They’re mostly your mothers – 90s Shibuya-kei and some early city pop you grew up on, along with a fair collection of Western music you’ve acquired over the years. To your surprise, he picks a Faye Wong CD.

“Good choice,” you mutter. He hums in response.

The ride to his house is quiet despite the album. You almost regret your offer, embarrassed about the slight panic you feel as the rain hits harder than expected. You never fucking liked driving anyway – it was why you wanted to move closer to the subway.

The only sounds in the car are Faye Wong’s haunting vocals and the pitter-patter of the rain. Choso glances at you, his expression stoic and unreadable as he watches you drive, but there’s a hint of something else in his eyes. A mix of anticipation and something else that you can’t quite pinpoint. After a few minutes of driving, Choso finally speaks up, his voice low and almost hesitant. 

“Turn at the next exit—” he mutters, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you.

“I know,” you chuckle.

“Choso pauses for a moment, a hint of mild surprise on his face. He had expected you to ask for directions, but you seem to know where you’re going without further instructions. He lets out a low scoff, his expression relaxing slightly. 

“You know my neighborhood?” he mutters, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Stalking me, boss?”

“I read your application, dumbass. Plus, I used to babysit around here.”

“Oh. Which family? I might know them.”

“The Fushiguros, actually. Toji used to live around here.”

“You used to babysit Megumi?” Choso asks in surprise.

“Mhm. I thought I heard your brother talking about him in the store.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “They’re best friends. You used to babysit him, huh?”

You hum. “Mhm. Cute kid. Quiet.”

“Still quiet. Though Yuji never shuts up about him.”

“It’s nice that he has friends. Toji used to say that I was the only one Megumi was never nice to,” you chuckle.

“Kid’s got good taste, then,” Choso mutters.

He points you towards his street. The closer you get to his neighborhood, the more residential it gets, and it’s oddly barren. Quiet and suburban, with no one other cars passing you.

As you take a turn, the rain gets even heavier, obscuring your view. The windshield wipers fight against the torrential downpour as the tires slide to the right.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You clutch the steering wheel tightly with paling knuckles. Your piece of shit car could barely handle snow, but it survived in the rain, at least. Right now, you aren’t so sure. The car seems to skid into something that makes one of the tires pop.

“Shit," Choso mutters, gripping the door handle. "You okay?"

You nod, trying to slow your breathing. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...fuck."

The car lurches to a stop at the side of the road. You turn off the ignition with shaky hands and sit back, exhaling slowly.

"Looks like we popped a tire," Choso says, peering out the window. "And this rain isn't letting up."

You groan, letting your head fall back against the headrest. "Great. Just great."

“Do you have a spare?”

“No,” you moan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Hey, it's alright," Choso says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Let’s wait out the storm here. I can call my brother.”

He reaches over and gently pries one of your hands off the wheel, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The unexpected touch makes your breath hitch.

You know he's right, but the thought of being trapped in the car with him makes your stomach flutter nervously. Still, you nod in agreement and watch as he calls Yuji. The phone goes to voicemail immediately, to both of your dismay. He shoots a couple of texts and locks his phone in a huff.

An awkward silence falls between you as the rain pounds against the roof of the car. You're hyper-aware of Choso's presence beside you, the warmth of his hand on yours moments ago still lingering on your skin.

The silence stretches on, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. You steal a glance at Choso, catching him staring out the window with a furrowed brow. His usually composed demeanor seems slightly shaken.

"Some road trip this turned out to be," you joke, attempting to break the tension.

Choso turns to you, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Not quite the adventure we had in mind, huh?"

You can't help but chuckle. "Definitely not. Though I suppose being stranded in a storm is pretty adventurous."

"True," he agrees, his smile widening. "Though I'd prefer less life-threatening adventures in the future."

The casual mention of a "future" makes your heart skip a beat. You try to push the feeling aside, reminding yourself that he probably didn't mean anything by it.

Suddenly, a crack of lightning illuminates the sky, followed immediately by a deafening clap of thunder. You jump, inadvertently grabbing Choso's arm.

"Sorry," you mumble, quickly letting go and feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

"It's okay," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't mind."

The rain continues to pour, creating a hypnotic rhythm on the roof of the car. You find yourself relaxing slightly, the initial panic of the situation fading into a strange sense of calm. Choso's presence beside you is oddly comforting.

"You know," Choso begins, his voice low and thoughtful, "I used to be terrified of thunderstorms when I was a kid."

You turn to look at him, surprised by this sudden admission. His eyes are fixed on the raindrops racing down the windshield, a faraway look in them.

"Really?" you ask softly, encouraging him to continue.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. My mom... she used to tell me that the thunder was just the sky's way of singing. Said the lightning was its dance moves."

There's a tenderness in his voice that you've never heard before. It makes your heart ache in a way you can't quite explain.

"That's… cute," you murmur. "Did it help?"

Choso chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Not really. But it made me feel less alone, you know? Like the sky was putting on a show for me or something.”

“Toji’s kids used to be scared of thunderstorms too. I used to make blanket forts with Megumi and his sister and put on movies to distract them.”

“What movies?” Choso grins. “Chucky?”

You snort. “No, asshole. Kids’ movies. I’m not evil.”

“Sure, you’re not,” he says teasingly.

“Do I seem evil?”

“No. But you’re a bit… uh…" Choso trails off.

“A bit what?” You furrow your brows.

“A bit... intense sometimes," Choso finishes, his eyes flickering to yours. "In a good way, I mean."

You raise an eyebrow. "Intense?"

He shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah. You've got this... energy about you. Like you're always thinking about ten steps ahead of everyone else. You’re intriguing."

You're not sure how to respond to that. Part of you wants to be flattered, but another part feels oddly exposed.

"Intriguing, huh?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "Is that why you've been watching me at work?"

Choso's eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I... didn't think you noticed."

"I notice a lot of things," you say, leaning in slightly. "Like how you always smell like cigarettes and incense. Or how you bite your lip when you're concentrating on something."

“You've been watching me too, then."

You smile, feeling a surge of boldness. "Maybe I have."

Choso hums, his eyes linger on your mouth for a beat longer than you expect.

“I can never tell what you’re thinking when you look at me,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Choso's eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a hint of amusement in them. "Maybe that's the point," he says softly.

You feel a shiver run down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold rain outside. The air between you feels charged, like the electricity crackling in the storm clouds above.

"And what is the point, exactly?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Choso leans in closer, his breath warm on your cheek. "To keep you guessing," he murmurs. "To make you wonder."

Your heart is pounding in your chest now, so loud you're sure he must be able to hear it. 

"Wonder about what?" you breathe.

You turn to look at him and your breath catches in your throat. Even in the dim light, his features are striking. His long eyelashes frame his sharp eyes, and a few strands of damp hair stick to his forehead. You have a sudden, overwhelming urge to brush them away.

Choso's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. You're acutely aware of how close you are, the confined space of the car suddenly feeling much smaller. His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes.

Your heart races as you realize he hasn't moved away. If anything, he seems to be leaning closer. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"Um—"

Another flash of lightning cuts you off, but this time you don't jump. You're too entranced by the way it illuminates Choso's face, casting shadows that accentuate his jawline and the curve of his lips.

He reaches out, his hand hovering near your face for a moment before he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is feather-light, but it sends shivers down your spine.

"You were saying?" he prompts, his voice low and husky.

Your heart beats fast. What the fuck were you even going to say?

Do you want to watch a movie sometime? Do you think about that night as much as I do?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "I was just thinking...mabout that night in the store. Do you ever think about it?"

Choso's eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't pull away. "Yeah," he admits softly. "More than I probably should."

His honesty catches you off guard. You expected deflection or maybe even denial. "Really?"

He nods, a wry smile playing on his lips. "It's not every day you get caught jerking off by your hot coworker who then proceeds to fuck you senseless."

You can't help but laugh, some of the tension dissipating. "Fair point."

"What about you?" he asks, his gaze intense. "Do you think about it?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. The air between you feels charged, electric.

Choso shifts slightly, angling his body towards you. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you murmur.

"Why did you do it? Was it just… I don't know, pity? Horniness? Boredom?"

You're taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. It occurs to you that maybe he's been dwelling on this as much as you have.

“I don’t know. Kind of thought it’d be funny.”

“You thought it’d be funny?”

“What? It was like a bad porn plot.”

“Wow, okay,” he scoffs. “I almost thought maybe you liked me or something.”

"I— I do,” you mumble. “I did it because I do. Because I… wanted you.”

Choso's eyes darken at your words. "And now?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

Your breath catches in your throat. "Now?"

He nods, leaning in closer. "Do you still want me?"

The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

"Yes," you whisper, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

There's a beat of silence, the only sound of the rain pounding against the car roof. You're acutely aware of how close you are to each other in the confined space of the car, the sound of rain creating a cocoon around you both. You look away from him shyly, which makes him touch your cheek to turn your face towards him.

“Do— do you—”

Choso cuts you off and closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that's both gentle and urgent. You respond immediately, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair as you deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

His hands roam your body, reacquainting themselves with your curves. When he palms your breast through your shirt, you arch into his touch, breaking the kiss to gasp.

"Fuck," Choso mutters, his voice rough.

He leans in again, this time trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck. When he reaches the sensitive spot just below your ear, you let out a soft moan. You feel him smile against your skin before he nips gently at the spot, soothing it with his tongue.

Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. You tug at the hem, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Choso pulls back, his eyes meeting yours as he quickly pulls his shirt over his head. The sight of his bare chest, adorned with intricate tattoos, makes your mouth go dry. You reach out, tracing the lines of ink with your fingertips.

He shudders at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When he opens them again, there's a fire in his gaze that makes heat pool in your belly.

"Your turn," he murmurs, his hands finding the hem of your shirt.

You lift your arms, allowing him to pull it off. His eyes roam over your exposed skin hungrily, and you feel a blush creep up your chest under his intense gaze.

“Jesus. I still can’t get over how hot you are.”

You roll your eyes before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it’s all teeth and tongue. Messy. Choso tastes even better before, you think, but you don’t quite remember. You’ve been chasing that taste for weeks now and here he was – all tobacco and mint in your mouth.

He pulls you to the backseat, sets you down on the leather. Legs hiked up around his waist, your sneakers up on the window. He can feel his dick jump in his pants when he hears you mewl into his mouth like a kitten, his hand flicking the peak of your breast.

It’s a struggle for him to take off his jeans with how tight the backseat is. Your breath hitches when you feel his cock settle in between the crease of your bare thighs. It’s different, having him this close, bare skin touching. 

He sucks a mark on your collarbone that almost feels loving. You feel drunk from his touch, from his fingers toying with your clit. You need him embedded into your skin. Tattoo crush.

“Feel good, baby?” HIs voice is low, nearly purring.

You hum in satisfaction. “Need you in me.”

“You sure?” The expression on his face is genuine, tender. You respond with an incredulous look. He chuckles.

To spite you, he leans and kisses over the skin between of your breasts. Descending licks, tasting the salt of your skin until he’s curled up, pushing your thighs forward so he has enough room to put his face full in your cunt. You moan at the feeling of his tongue, hot and warm against you. 

His fingers split you open in tandem with his tongue fucking you. You wanted him deep, imprinted in you. You gasp as you come, his fingers reaching somewhere yours could never touch.

He kisses you messily, grinning into it.

“Tastes good.”

“Shut up.”

You want to jump his bones, make a home from his lap. But he’s so big, his hands grasping the silk of your thighs with intent. You groan when you feel his tip prodding you, slowly sinking until he bottoms out. Choso represses any noise from his mouth, biting his lip hard enough to bleed.

“Don’t do that,” you huff. “Wanna hear you.”

He sighs, gripping you tightly, warm-bellied. Tight in your cunt. It feels crazier to him now than before – the spontaneity had driven his lust the first time, but now, it was all built-up emotion. Weeks of yearning and playing it cool, his stomach collapsing in on itself whenever you even looked at him. 

And now, you’re moaning from him like you want him. You do want him. Choso has always found it easy to get laid, but with you, he felt like he was walking on eggshells. Like he could’ve fucked up at any moment, that the time in the back room was just a fluke. The look in your glassy ways say otherwise. 

His pace moves faster and your eyes roll back like he’s knocking the stars out of you. An angel falling. You can barely keep your eyes open and your mouth shut with the way he feels inside you, hitting every spot that has your whole body feel like it’s levitating. 

Choso’s fingers thread through your hair as he kisses you. He marvels at the softness of all of you – your mouth like melted wax, hair knotted in daisy chains underneath his fingertips. Precious.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah – feels so… shit—”

The desperation is getting to him from the way he ruts into you. Desire leaves his nerves on fire. The kisses you litter on his neck from below certainly don’t help. He’s weak to all of it – all of you. You moan loudly after a particularly hard thrust and he feels himself on the edge already.

You whimper. “Don’t slow down–”

“Gonna cum if I don’t,” Choso groans.

“I’m so close, please,” you beg. “Come with me—”

“Shit—”

“Choso, Choso, please—”

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and you nearly scream. He’s deeper — you feel him everywhere, up to your stomach, your heart. He pushes a palm lightly on top of your stomach and you can feel yourself ready to cry.

“I’m gonna – oh, fuck,” he gasps. 

“Me too,” you whimper.

He looks at you like he’s lovesick. Your nails dig into his broad shoulders as your eyes shut tightly, your mouth fallen open into an “O” as you mewl like something wounded. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, washing all over you. He groans as his thrusts gets sloppier, until you feel his warmth fill you.

He keeps rocking into you, nose in your neck as he rides out his high. Thunder booms above you.

Once he’s spent, he pulls out of you, fumbling with some napkins he pulls from the seat pocket to clean up the mess. There’s a buzzing – his forgotten phone is on the floor, lit up with Yuji’s name. He curses under his breath.

You look at him, amused, as he stares at the thing.

“Pick it up.” You nudge his stomach with your foot.

He huffs, but obeys. “Hey, man. What? I didn’t have… service. That’s why. Yeah, I– uh, got a ride home and her tire blew out…”

You snicker as you pull your clothes back on, which earns you a glare. You watch him hang up and sigh. 

“Your brother coming to the rescue?” you ask.

“Yup.”

“What a good boy.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but doesn’t say anything else. He pulls his clothes on and sits beside you, examining the shadows on your face as you both listen to the rain.

“That was good,” you mumble.

He laughs dryly. “Yeah… it was.”

More seconds of silence. Choso clears his throat.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he blurts out.

You raise your brows and try not to laugh. “Aren’t we a little past that?”

“You know what I mean. Go on a date with me. Come over and watch The Ring with me.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to coax me into a round two?” you grin.

Choso studies you for a moment. Looks at you with a deadpan expression in his eyes. “I absolutely am trying to coax you into a round two.” A pause.

“But also, I want your company.”

Your face warms up with a smile. You feel overripe, sweet and slightly bruised. Wanting. Your lashes flutter at him.

“Deal.”

[papergirllife]

Lee Jeno (M)

fratboy!Jeno x reader

Synopsis:

Jeno has a past that holds him back from what life could potentially offer him, and one of those, he thinks, is you.

WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, FEEL FREE TO BLOCK ME IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE

warnings: minor character death (in the past), themes of grief and moving on, tooth-rotting fluff, Jeno being down bad but he was sort of an ass for a bit, crying during sx, sp@nking, mc's a masoch1st (kinda), body worship, unprotected sx, 0verstimulation, oral sx.

The music resonates the walls of the dingy frat house as Jeno makes his way through hordes of people on the dance floor, trying his best to squeeze through drunk college students to get to the kitchen, he's too goddamn sober to handle this amount of people as a self proclaimed, he checked his MBTI, obviously, introvert.

“Jeno! Finally made your way down from your room! Finally done studying?” Chenle asks on the top of his voice, clearly a little more than just tipsy, seeing how Jisung's the one making drinks right now, which the latter offers, but Jeno declines, he wants some alcohol to get him going, not blackout drunk, he still needs to get to his quiz in the afternoon tomorrow.

“I don't have much choice, not even the earplugs work against Johnny hyung’s speakers,” Jeno says with a sigh, looking out at the living area, this is going to be a long night, he thinks to himself.

“I told you to get the ones from that brand, they're only slightly pricier, you know,” Chenle chides, the irony, coming from the international student, but he knows his friend means well.

“They're out of my budget, it's fine, I started earlier just to get it done before this party anyways, I'll see you guys later, if you're not passed out by the pool that is,” Jeno jokes as he pours himself a mixture of whiskey and coke.

“Very funny, Lee, even if Mark leaves me out there in the cold, I know Jisung would save me, right bro?!”

Jeno doesn't hear what Jisung has to say, merely chuckling to himself as he makes his way through the crowd once more.

The worn out couch sinks as Jeno takes his seat, he watches as Jaemin talks about something animatedly with bombastic gestures and his tone pitched higher, he's going to be the perfect kindergarten teacher after he graduates being an education major and all, then there's Shotaro, watching wide eyed, engrossed in whatever tale Jaemin is telling, he's going to miss this, Jeno notes to himself, sighing at the fact that his sophomore year has begun and in a year's time he's going to say goodbye to all of this.

“Renjun said you'd be studying, didn't expect to see you tonight,” you say as you take the empty spot next to Jeno, Renjun on your side, you've always been his beloved little sister, Renjun is tiny, but for you? He'd pack a punch any time, his last victim was a 6 feet guy who was too handsy for his liking and dude ended up with a broken nose, he broke a finger too, but no one mentions that unless they want to end up in the same fatal tragedy.

“Finished studying, so I thought I'd come down here and join the rest of you,” and maybe because he wanted to see you too, not that he'd ever admit that, to himself or others, he has no right to delve into these emotions, it wouldn't be fair to you or her.

“Wow Jeno, no need to brag about your smarts like that, all of us know you're the top of the department,” you joke with a nudge of your shoulder, and with that slight movement, your thin cardigan slips down your smooth shoulder, revealing the strap of your tank top.

“Says the one that doesn't need to study and still passes,” Jeno retorts as he lets his eyes linger for a bit, before he decides to finally scoop up the collar section of your cardigan, covering your shoulder once again, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Renjun watching him.

“That's because I only aim to pass, unlike mister high achiever here, and I'm not cold, don't worry,” you say, but regardless, your body naturally inches closer to his, his warmth seeping through his bomber jacket has you hooked.

“Enough about me, what about you? What type of content are you shooting next?” Jeno asks, you're an almost full time influencer, the only reason you're still in college is because you want to get the degree as plan b, and Jeno, one of the few with a car, secondhand from his sister, always offers to drive you and sits through shootings with you, whether it be a trip to Olive Young or the newest cafe on the block.

“Probably gonna try doing those ‘a day in my life as a college student’ vlogs cuz some of my followers have been asking, but I'm not sure, it's a lot of work to film, might just end up going through my PR boxes instead or a review of this lip balm I've been looking for an excuse of getting,” you joke, knowing you, Jeno knows you're gonna get it and review it regardless, unless it's sold out, then he'd be one of the firsts to hear about your complaints.

“I could hold the camera if you want to,” Jeno offers, he always does, and you knew he would, it's why you asked in the first place.

“Thank you, my sweet assistant, knew I could always count on you,” you say before booping Jeno’s scrunched up nose, he always does that when you call him that, very textbook Taurus of him.

“Hey Jeno! Wanna play beer pong with us?” a girl comes up to him over the back of the sofa, tapping on his shoulder, probably his coursemate or something.

“Sure, I'll see you around, let me know when you wanna film, I'll see when I'm free,” Jeno says before giving you a little wave, following the girl to the beer pong area, and everyone knows she's going to end up inviting her to his bed, whether you like it or not.

“Since I'm not drinking tonight and I'm not a smoker, I'm craving Shin noodles, anyone want some?” you ask as you smooth down your skirt, you're gonna borrow your brother's apron, god knows you're one clumsy bitch and you love this mini skirt you searched high and low for, the things you do for a shushu tong dupe.

“Did someone say Shin noodles? I'm down,” is the first thing Mark says when he finally joins your friends’ little section, sex hair and a rumpled shirt triggering a few snickers.

“Sure, Markie, you should probably tidy your hair though,” you say before ruffling it up further, quickly making your way to the kitchen after, distantly, you hear Jaemin’s laughter ringing out even with the loud music playing still.

When you’re cooking the noodles, someone walks in, out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar mane of orange hair.

“Hi Yang Yang, want noodles?” you could probably look for another pot if he wants some, you're sure Renjun stocked up some extra pots here, and even if he didn't, you're sure Taeyong did.

“I'd be down for your noods, if you know what I mean,” he answers coyly, his hand resting at your waist as he attaches himself to your side, watching you separate the noodles to cook them faster.

“Very funny, I'm on day 6 still, so thanks but no thanks, bud,” you reply, patting him on the hand at your side before you turn off the heat.

“Damn, talk about bad timing, no wonder you're craving for noodles, I'll just have a bit of yours, who's sharing with us? I'll go out and call them in, you can take the bowls out and stuff ” Yang Yang offers.

“Mark, he's at the sitting area,” you say before you feel Yang Yang leave your side, you carefully move the pot before fetching the bowls and utensils, grabbing the big thongs and ladle, you quickly get yourself a small portion, almost moaning at the familiar spiciness that ignites your taste buds in the best way possible.

“Wow, thanks bro,” Mark says, eyes lighting up at the sight of food, quickly fetching his own portion.

The two boys start talking about the latest NBA match while you eat in peace, you love eating while chatting up with friends, but you cherish having one on one moments savouring the food you're eating, Jeno calls you weird for that, but maybe that's because he keeps having that dry chicken breast for meals.

“Oh, if you guys want to fuck, you need to hurry up cuz Renjun just left with this girl not too long ago, and you know how he is,” Mark informs,

Renjun’s very particular about sleeping conditions with his one night stands, one time he was willing to pay extra for hailing a cab at 2am because he was sick of the artificial vanilla scent of this girl's diffuser.

“Not tonight, crimson rain's still in season,” you joke before getting more noodles into your bowl, meanwhile Yang Yang's stopped eating, he was just craving for a little taste.

“Oop, that explains the noodles, too bad for you dude, maybe Yuta hyung would have more luck,” Mark jokes, he always liked joking about how you got a roster of boys lining up at your doorstep, when in reality you're always bouncing between Yuta and Yang Yang.

“He got her last time, I gotta make my move faster this time,” Yang Yang says with a groan, putting down his chopsticks, having had enough of his fill.

“l'll let you know when I'm done, how about that, you whiny baby,” you tease, pulling his ear playfully.

Yang Yang cheers from his seat before getting up to wash his bowl.

“See you when the sky's sunny, baby, and Mark, basketball tomorrow afternoon, right?” Yang Yang bids the two of you goodbye, probably off to find another girl or game with Hendery.

“He's not bad, you know, simple minded dude,” Mark suddenly suggests, scooping more noodles then soup into your bowl before you put your hand up to stop him, that's enough noodles for tonight.

“He's alright, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now,” both of you know you're lying through your teeth, but it's the answer that won't stir anything up, you enjoy the dynamic you share with the boys, you're not gonna risk it, not that your feelings would ever be reciprocated.

“What about Yuta then? Is he more your type than Yang Yang?” Mark asks, always looking out for your heart, more than you ever did for yourself at least, which is almost the same for all your friends.

“Maybe, but no, he's not looking for a relationship either,” you explain, this time, not a white lie.

“Yuta thinks you're cool, I'm sure he'd be down to try if you showed interest,” Mark tries his best to convince you.

“I don't think I can watch idly if he looks at a girl with some neon-coloured box dye hair a little longer, I'd be seething, I need someone who's 100% down bad,” you say, trying to deflect the topic at hand.

“Alright, alright, I'll let you be, I'll get back to you when I think of someone new,” Mark says, not giving up on playing matchmaker.

“Have fun playing cupid with that terrible aim, Markie,” you tease before saying goodnight to him, planning on spending the rest of the night alone rewatching this k drama you love.

You were about to text Yeri, your roommate and bestie who had came with you, but upon opening your chat room with her, you realise she has once again ditched you for a boy she found. Oh well, guess you're just gonna crash in your brother's room, Renjun’s room is slightly bigger than most of the rooms in the house because you had once stayed here for a brief period of time when you were in between rentals, so there's space to fit in one more super single in his room, albeit a slightly tight fit, but at least you get to steal your brother's skincare for the night.

On your way to Renjun’s room, you bumped into Yang Yang once more in the hallway.

“Hey! Wanna game with us for a bit? It's just me and Hendery, we're playing COD,” he offers with that bright smile of his which strangely enough, reminds you of Lightning Mcqueen from the Cars cartoon.

“I don't know, Yang, I kinda suck at it,” you would love to have a switch from mobile to Xbox, but not at the expense of potentially ruining someone's game night.

“Come on, we're chill, Hendery dies all the time anyways,” Yang Yang insists, a hand on your back, steering you to his shared room, “but don't tell Hendery I said that,” he whispers by your ear before Hendery turns around to greet you.

“Yo! Nice of you to join us, Ten ditched us for the night so it's nice to have three players again,” Hendery exclaims, enthusiastically passing you the remote.

“Why aren't you guys partying like the rest of the frat?” you ask while picking a character.

“Parties are here every week, this one's kinda boring so might as well game the night away,” Hendery explains before noting how you're an urban tracker girlie.

And after two matches with the boys, you have to agree with the sentiment.

Jeno throws on a simple sweater before leaving his room to go get some water for himself and the girl on his bed, but something catches his eye from the other end of the hallway, it's you and Yang Yang, cosying up outside his room, Jeno’s fist clenched up when he sees you following into his room, he knows you sleep around casually, but he rarely ever catches sight of it, and it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

The party is finally starting to phase out, most of the partygoers are either passed out on the couch, or the unfortunate ones, by the pool or at the lawn. The frat members themselves are mostly gone, either retreated into their own respective rooms or have gone back with someone, so Jeno hadn't expected himself to bump into anyone when he came in to fetch two bottles of water.

“Why do you look like you want to squeeze the life out of those bottles, dude? Was tonight's lay not good enough for you or something?” Haechan asks, car keys dangling from his hand, he must've come in through the backdoor instead of the front, he once had someone puke on his Nike shoes so he isn't taking any chances anymore.

“Nothing, go to sleep,” Jeno deflects, god knows he doesn't need Haechan nosing into his business, which he has a reputation of doing so.

“When you're this pissed off it's usually either you fucked up a test or… is it her?” Haechan didn't even need to emphasise on who's the her when Jeno threatens to throw his half full bottle at him before he was stopped by Jaemin who had come in to dispose of some of the trash he had cleaned up from the living area.

“Jaemin ah, Jeno’s bullying me again!” Haechan whines moving to hide behind Jaemin’s wide frame.

“Stop provoking him and you'd be fine, now go, you're lucky I'm here to take the trash out,” Jaemin says before he ushers his bratty friend out of their kitchen.

“As much as you don't want to hear this, Haechan does have a point,” Jaemin says as he sorts the trash into different recycle bins, “she's not going to be single forever, and I know you love Eunbi, but it's been years, she wouldn't want to see you like this,” Jaemin explains with his most motherly tone that he dishes out unconsciously at times.

Eunbi was Jaemin’s cousin sister and Jeno’s girlfriend from 15 to 17, she passed away suddenly due to a drunk driving accident, and from that day onwards, Jeno has never really been the same again, he swore off the possibility of loving someone again, until you came into his life, his restraint wavering bit by bit as you take up his heart, piece by piece.

Jeno’s hand rises to his chest to feel the familiar butterfly charm hanging on his necklace, Nabi, he used to call her, because she used to love butterflies and also because they rhyme with her name, this necklace is Jeno’s only significant remembrance of her, other than their shared memories.

“I don't have any feelings for anyone, so it doesn't matter,” Jeno brushes off the topic with ease, he's had a lot of practice, and quickly leaves the kitchen.

With a defeated sigh, Jaemin watches his best friend go, hoping that one day soon, he'd be able to finally move on from Eunbi.

Another week passes and the weekend rolls around quicker than expected, Yuta was in the kitchen pouring himself a drink, spiked punch of some sort that Taeyong whipped up, some people got too drunk for his liking last week, so now he’s doing it himself before Chenle or Jisung gets the chance to.

“Oh, Yuta-ah, can you go and play with the kids? You know how truth and dare gets, and I don’t trust Johnny to be responsible, he’s always been such an instigator,” Taeyong says with a shake of his head, as he measures the vodka down to the tiniest drop.

“And you think I’d be the perfect candidate to keep an eye on them?” Yuta asks in disbelief.

“I trust that you’d do as I say for once, Yuta, the others are all still studying for their finals, just this once?” Taeyong asks, and how could Yuta say no when his best friend pulls out the big boba eyes.

Yuta sighs when he sees the sight of Jisung putting a whole dollop of wasabi in his mouth, but he can’t help but laugh when the youngest rushes to the bathroom before he inserts himself in the circle in between you and Mark.

“You’re playing?” Shotaro asks, already perking up at the idea of his big giving away bits and pieces of himself, Yuta isn’t exactly an open book, so he's excited to learn more about him.

“Yup, Taeyong told me to keep an eye on you scoundrels,” Yuta says before he catches Johnny’s eyes, the latter barking out a laugh, Yuta also notes how Jeno was seated next to his friend, he must be here because you’re here, maybe Yuta won’t keep his promise after all.

Things go by uneventfully other than some truths being spilled and Jaemin being told to twerk in the middle of the circle, which he was more than happy to do, however, when he was done his eyes landed on you, and because you’ve been saying truth for a few turns now, you switch it up by saying dare, and honestly, he knows all the truths because all these boys ask are things in the bedroom, taking advantage of the fact that Renjun is absent tonight, so things weren’t all that interesting, but now, Yuta’s interest is piqued.

“I dare you to make out with the hottest person playing,” Xiao Jun suggests, which garnered some groans, Yuta snickers next to you, Yang Yang isn’t here, so things are very much predictable.

You smooth down your skirt before you circle the men around you, eyes lingering on Jeno for a bit too long, the ones that know watch intently, but when you stop in front of Johnny, gasps ring out around the circle, cheers started erupting when squat in front of Johnny, the surprise on his face was evident, cute even if you’re honest, you’re glad you chose to be chaotic tonight, the panic in his eyes had you giggling, breath hitched when you lean in place a chaste peck on his cheek, when you lean away, and did a quick turn back to facing Yuta, Johnny barks out a laugh, while the rest of them back to groaning, you catch a few of them saying that they knew you were just playing them.

Yuta extends his arms, a knowing smile on his face. His eyes take in your plump lips coated in his favourite cherry lip gloss.

“Someone’s been stirring trouble, haven’t you?” Yuta says before he feels your hands tangled in long hair, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeno glaring at him, Jaemin watching nervously where he’s seated.

“I’m always down for trouble when it’s you,” you retorted before you seal your lips with his, climbing into his lap, the familiar bulge of his belt buckle digging into your pelvic and the feeling of of his hands enveloping your thighs sends a shiver up your back, and you couldn’t help yourself, grinding into his crotch, the material of your skirt covering most of your movements, but Yuta could feel everything, smiling against your lips, before he pulls away from you, he could feel his cock twitching at the sight of your dazed eyes and swollen lips.

“Show’s over, I’m taking this one up,” Yuta announces, carrying you away from the shameless group of frat boys that were watching, it’s not their first time, but their curiosity never satiates.

“Damn it, now I need to be the chaperone,” Johnny says begrudgingly.

Jaemin’s silent as he watches his best friend fume in his spot, with a sigh, he cracks a bottle of soju he placed next to him before the game started, passing it to Jeno, the latter taking a huge swig, not long after, Jeno opts out of the game to look for a distraction for the night.

Your eyes flutter when you wake, the sun shining from Yuta’s opened blinds, his body warm under yours, his arm tossed over your waist which you remove to go wash up in his ensuite bathroom, the good thing about sleeping over at Yuta’s.

When you’re done, Yuta’s still sleeping away, you close his blinds for him, he’d probably want to sleep longer, he finished his finals not too long ago, he should be getting more rest.

So you put on your skirt from last night and stealing a sweater from his closet before you padded down to the kitchen, opening the fridge to fetch some ingredients for a basic omelette, spinach and eggs.

“There's still some leftover cranberry juice from last night,” Jeno says, startling you from stirring the omelette in your pan.

“Oh, nice, could you pour me a glass?” you ask, “if you want an omelette then you can fetch me more eggs and spinach, I'll make it,” you add on.

“Thank you,” Jeno says, handing you the ingredients after washing and chopping the spinach.

Soon after, the two of you are sat across each other on the island, joking about last night’s events, from the part where Haechan was dared to take off his shirt and go out for a quick run in the cold till the part where Jaemin had twerked in the circle and had accidentally shoved his ass at a very confused Jaehyun who had just finished a round of beer pong and wanted to see what was happening in the truth or dare circle, conversation was going smoothly and lighthearted until it wasn’t, by then the two of you have finished eating and Jeno’s washing the dishes.

“So you and Yuta…” Jeno trails off, his gaze absent, his fingers holding the fork rather tightly, knuckles white from the restricted blood flow.

“It’s nothing serious,” you brush off absently, you’re not lying, what you and Yuta have is strictly no strings attached, but if the lines were more blurred…you wouldn’t have minded if Jeno hadn’t holed up a place in your heart.

Jeno nods, unconvinced, or maybe he’s just blinded by jealous rage.

“Jeno?” your voice yanks Jeno away from the many images of you and Yuta holding hands and kissing, a scene cruller than what he had witnessed last night, but he bites his tongue from saying anything, not when he still has Eunbi’s necklace hanging on his neck, it wouldn’t be fair to any of you if he acts on his urges.

“Yeah?” Jeno grunts out, he didn’t mean to sound mean, but he can’t help it, just the thought of you and Yuta being something more just pisses him off, he isn’t even worried about Yang Yang, he knows you go to him for pure casual fun, you can never settle with a guy like that, he could tell you crave someone who has a natural leading aura, and that’s why he’s so down bad, the way your eyes light up when he helps you with something as simple as carrying your bag or ordering your food, every time he does something for you, he could feel his heartstrings tugging painfully.

“Jeno, if you have something to say, then say it,” you say, you don’t know why you’re feeling so confrontational today, but it’s been two years of running in circles around Jeno, and honestly, you’re tired, and maybe this would send your friend group into a catharsis, but you can’t keep tiptoeing your feelings around Jeno anymore, not when he obviously knows how you feel.

Jeno shuts the tap off before turning to face you, and something breaks inside him when he sees the conflicted look swimming in your pupils, and at that moment, he wants to wipe it away, and so he makes the mistake of pulling you close by the waist, sealing his lips with yours, and Jeno hasn’t felt this alive since a long time, he could feel all the nerves on his lips igniting like a dying flame miraculously being sparked till they’re a blazing wildfire, and the way his hands wrap around your waist, the warmth of your body rekindles a physical craving he’s never felt before with anyone else he used as a distraction of the loss of Eunbi. Eunbi, no-

Your heart shatters when Jeno pushes you away, searching his eyes for an explanation, but Jeno has his eyes closed, he looks too calm, taking a deep breath as if that kiss was merely a simple mistake, you’ve seen him act more emotional when he doesn’t receive his desired grade for a paper, are you nothing to him?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Jeno mutters through gritted teeth, eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“Is that it? That’s all you have to say to me, Jeno? That our kiss was merely a mistake? Don’t tell me what you feel all this time is also some sort of fucking misjudgement, Jeno!” you lash out, venom in your tone as you throw out punches on his sturdy chest, and what made you angrier was that he let you hurt him, like he doesn’t even bother defending or protecting himself from your lethal accusation, you can’t even call him a coward, a coward wouldn't stand there and let you do as you please.

Fortunately for Jeno, Jaemin comes to his rescue, detaching your agitated figure away from his friend, trying his best to calm you down with sweet nothings, that you’re better off, that Jeno’s being an idiot, but the damage has been dealt, there’s nothing that can make you feel better, but you guess you expected this, you had too much faith in Jeno.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Jeno,” you say before you take your leave, casting one more disappointed look at Jeno, and at that moment, the man that you’ve always thought looked so broad in your eyes now looks like the smallest man who’s ever lived.

Jaemin sighs when he no longer sees you within sight, Jeno heaves out a shudder of breath, he could tell his friend was trying his best to hold himself up in front of you, how quintessential of Jeno, never letting anyone into the depths of his mind.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jeno,” Jaemin mutters as he checks for bruises under Jeno’s shirt, but Jeno brushes his hand away, rolling his sweater back down, even if you did bruise him, he deserved it for what he keeps putting you through, “Jeno, Eunbi wouldn’t have want to see you this way, she would’ve wanted to see you happy, not punishing yourself like this, she would’ve wanted you to move on, Jeno, you think she’d like seeing you wallowing in self loathing?” Jaemin says in a huff, he’s tried spelling this out in a kinder way to his best friend, but it doesn’t seem to get through that thick skull of his.

Jeno doesn’t answer, he just dodges his friend’s attempts of wanting to talk more, locking himself inside his room, wishing that the remorse, guilt, and heartbreak would just swallow him up. He hates himself for betraying Eunbi, even if it was just a mere kiss, contemplating on what Jaemin had said, could he really move on without feeling guilty as sin?

The cold wind prickles Jeno’s skin, his worn out padding not doing much to block the harshest of the weather, cursing to himself as he climbs down the stairs, not a single person in sight at this period and this hour, and then he sees it, the familiar tombstone, he sighs in relief as he takes in the sight of Eunbi’s tiny photo on the slab.

Fishing out a small cloth from his jean pocket, he wipes the photo of Eunbi before he wipes away the dust atop the tombstone and the dust on the slab of stone where he sits whenever he visits.

“I’ve missed you,” Jeno says as he places down a bouquet of roses, Eunbi loves roses, he calls it cliche, she says it’s because she loves how roses are one of the flowers that attract butterflies the most.

“I used to think I would get the opportunity to grow old with you, a house, a car, and maybe two kids, the cliche, but,” Jeno stops himself, swallowing the lump down his throat before he continues, “I guess those weren't in the cards for us in this lifetime,” Jeno says before exhaling a long sigh, “but sometimes I do think, would we have really gone on our entire lives? Would we have broken up along the road? Those 2 years of loving you, and spending my whole childhood with you by my side were beautiful, and every single day without you by my side was a living hell, but when I thought nothing could really bring me back to life, I met someone, and I feel so fucking guilty towards you, and I don't know if I'm supposed to feel what I'm feeling for her, I love you, and I always will, but I can't deny what I'm feeling for her either, so now I'm here, Eunbi-ah, please tell me what should I do, if you told me to wait till my dying days to reunite with you, I will, please just give me a sign,” Jeno pleads hopelessly, a hand caressing the tiny photo of Eunbi.

Just then, a tiny flutter of wings catches his eye, and a butterfly lands on the bouquet of roses in front of him.

‘Is this the sign I’m asking for?’ Jeno asks himself, but when he tries to sit closer for a clearer look, the butterfly flies away with a quick flutter of its wings, the bright yellow contrasting the cloudy sky.

“Are you telling me to move on too, Eunbi-ah?” Jeno says with a long sigh, next life, maybe things would be different then.

After watching the sunset with Eunbi, Jeno drove home and immediately stormed into Jaemin's room, his friend was busy watching cat videos when he interrupted him, not a surprising thing for him to do honestly.

“What’s up?” Jaemin asks, swivelling his gaming chair to face his friend who had made himself comfortable on his bed.

“I need advice,” Jeno said, which earned him one of his friend’s classic menace smiles which makes him look like the Grinch.

You have no plans today, you had just finished having pizza with Yeri, your roommate slash bestie announcing that you needed a self care day after the shit storm a certain someone put you through.

Suddenly, your doorbell rings, Yeri’s in the bathroom, so you get the door, assuming that she ordered dessert in advance without telling you, but to your shock, it was Jeno, and in his hands are supermarket flowers that he used to joke were overpriced for its minimal packaging.

“I’m sorry for everything, I was a coward and an emotionally constipated asshole, and I know I don’t deserve a second a chance, but if you’d give me the chance, I promise I’ll try my best not to fuck up, and if I do, I’ll promise I’ll make it up to you,” Jeno says, pleading his case with you, everyone often jokes about how Jeno looks like a samoyed, but right now, he looks like a puppy with the way his eyes are trained on you, analysing your every movement and flicker of expression, awaiting your verdict.

“You’re not an asshole for taking your time to mourn and move on from Eunbi, but Jeno, are you sure you’re ready to jump into a relationship? I know you still miss her dearly, and it was mean of me to ask so much from you, you don’t have to be with me if you’re doing this out of guilt, Jeno, I don’t want your pity,” you explain, you don’t want to see the sight of his guilty eyes whenever you’re with him, it would crush your soul to bits, to never have his heart entirely.

“No, I’m serious, I thought things through and realised that I can miss her and love the moments I had with her and still move on to the next chapter of my life, I used to think to love her means I shouldn’t allow anyone in my heart, but Jaemin’s right, she wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this, and I know you wouldn’t want to see me like this either, I want to give us a chance, I’m sorry I came to my senses so late, I hope it’s not too late,” Jeno says, his heart aches when he sees rivulets of tears stream down your face, he places the flowers on the bench next to him before he extends his arms to you, and he sighs in content when he feels your arms around him, your face buried in his chest, he reaches a hand up to pat your head, comforting you.

“Well, I just got a text from Joy that she wants to grab drinks, so I’m gonna head out, you two talk things out on your own, call me if you need anything,” Yeri says before she takes her leave, wanting to give the two of you privacy.

Jeno directs the two of you to the living room, plopping the two of your conjoined bodies onto the couch.

“Hey… don’t cry for me, I’m not worth it,” Jeno says, his hands wiping away your tears with the back of his hand. You choked up a laugh through your tears, swaying your head sideways.

“It’s not that, I’m just, I already accepted the idea of not having you, and now that you’re here… I’m just, surprised– but glad,” you confessed, god, you hate crying for a man, but at least the fool in this fable gets her happy ending after all.

“I’m glad too, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have been mad in the slightest if you said no, but thank you, thank you for giving me this chance,” Jeno says as he wraps you up in his arms, and he feels you sink into hold, and that’s how the two of you fall asleep on your bed that night.

‘Come earlier, I have a surprise for you ;)’

You smile to yourself when you see the text from Jeno, wondering if he got you the new grapes that are in season or something. When you got there a few hours earlier, the house was relatively empty, partygoers aren't here yet and only a few freshmen were setting up the place for the frat party. You let yourself in Jeno’s room, surprised to see that it’s empty, but soon you hear light footsteps pad into the room before your eyes are being covered by a familiar pair of hands.

“What grand surprise do you have for me, Jeno?” you ask, turning around, his hands drop from your face, but you keep your eyes closed, not wanting to spoil the surprise on his behalf.

“Wait, one sec, okay, now you can open your eyes,” Jeno says excitedly.

You peered your eyes open and a gasp left your lips.

“Oh my god, it’s blue!” you say, not believing your eyes, your hands reach out to touch his hair, not fried from the bleach dye, thankfully.

“Wanted to have something fresh to mark the start of our relationship, and seeing my hair on those filters you put on me gave me the idea of dyeing my hair,” Jeno explains, “do you like it?” he tapers off, a bit insecure because you look like you love it, but you haven’t said anything to confirm it yet.

“I love it,” you say as you turn his head from side to side to get a better look at the entire haircut with a giant smile on your face.

“Let me take a quick shower and get dressed then we can head down,” Jeno says with a quick peck before he retrieves his things and leave for the bathroom, leaving you to your devices, or moreso Jeno’s devices, you love watching concert videos on his screen, that expensive hunk of equipment is clearer than your vision.

However, halfway through watching old concert videos, you took notice of his drawer not being closed all the way, out of curiosity, you open it to see what it stores, and to your shock, a jewellery box is the first thing you see, the box design tells you that it isn’t anywhere near brand new.

Maybe you shouldn’t be snooping around, but you couldn’t help yourself, Jeno never gets mad at you, he even tells you his phone password, he has nothing to hide, and so you pry the box open with gentle hands.

The glint of the perfectly preserved crystals caught your eye, then you recognise the shape of the pendant, butterfly, Jeno used to wear this ever since Eunbi passed, why isn’t he wearing it anymore? Did he think you’d mind that he did? That wasn’t the impression you wanted to give off, there’s no point being jealous of someone who’s no longer here, that’s just absurd.

“Oh, you found her old necklace,” Jeno notes with no malice in his voice despite the fact that you feel yourself jumping slightly at the sound of his voice.

“I, I saw your drawer wasn’t closed all the way and just wanted to check it out, sorry,” you apologised, but Jeno quickly brushes off your apology with a reassuring smile, “why aren’t you wearing it anymore? It’s not like I’d get jealous,” you say, scared that the reason he felt like he was obliged to stop wearing it was because of your relationship.

“I know you won’t get jealous, and I didn’t take it off like right after you said yes, I just thought it was time a few days ago, to put some things to rest, I’ll look back on these things from time to time, but I think it’s time to put some distance for me to move forward,” Jeno explains as his hands are laid on your shoulders, the weight and the brush of his thumbs comforting you.

“I’m just worried you’re rushing things for me,” you reason.

“I’m not, so don’t worry,” Jeno assures once again, “how about we go down now?” Jeno suggests after hearing the music starting from below, you agree instantly, maybe you’re just too stressed about everything, a drink sounds amazing now.

“Look who just made their long awaited debut,” Jaemin said at the sight of the two of you making way to the usual spot your friend group usually sits at.

Jeno tenses up when Renjun meets his eyes, his best friend had given him a long talk when he had heard from you that Jeno finally came around, needless to say, Jeno would never want to get on his best friend’s bad side, he’s sure he would manage to beat him up despite being much shorter than him.

Distantly, Jeno could hear you tell Jaemin to shut up before there’s too much attention placed on you and Jeno, your skin is thick, but you know Jeno doesn’t like too much attention on him, hence with a little more teasing, your friends switch topics, and just like that things are back to normal, a bit too normal for your liking, because soon, a girl makes her way to Jeno to ask for a dance, but your boyfriend quickly declines and explains that he won’t be casually hooking up with anyone anymore.

Even though you were silent the entire interaction, Jeno could see the jealousy in your eyes and the way you immediately downed a shot of soju.

“Someone’s jealous?” Jeno asks, clearly amused by the sight in front of him, pulling you closer into his embrace, he doesn't want anyone eavesdropping on a conversation where you could possibly feel vulnerable.

“Nope, not at all,” you say briskly, clearly overcompensating, dodging his kiss, Jeno laughing at your antics.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Jeno says, letting you be.

Although unfortunately for Jeno, things get a twist of events when he sees Yang Yang waving to you from afar with a smile too friendly for his liking when the two of you were swaying to the beat on the dance floor, and you quickly see your samoyed of a boyfriend turn into a doberman right in front of your eyes, gone was the puppy eyes that are quickly replaced by the obvious glare in his eyes.

“Looks like someone's jealous,” you tease, playing with the freshly cut ends of his hair at his nape.

“Let's head up, party sucks today,” Jeno says, pulling you by your hand, leading you upstairs to his room, quick on his feet but not fast to the point where you can’t keep up in your heels.

When the door shuts behind you, Jeno quickly kicks off his own shoes before he squsts down to slip off your heels for you, then immediately he tosses you over his shoulder as if you weigh as much as a feather, tossing you on his bed with a bounce before he climbs on the bed himself, his moves slow and calculative as if he was predator stalking its prey, behind his eyes, you can see the gears behind moving as he thinks of what to do with you, but when you reach up to touch his cheek, you see his eyes softening around the edges, the control you have over him sends a shudder down your spine, Jeno smiles at that realisation when he comes to the conclusion that if you asked, he’d relinquish all control over his life to you if you asked, he’s willing to give you all of him at your request, now that he knows life is fragile not to love wholeheartedly, but he knows what you want, and for now, at this moment, you want Jeno to guide you, but what he asks you catches you off guard.

“What’s your average kill in a match on codm?” he asks as he hovers over you, arms caging your body.

“What? I don’t know, like 15 if you’re asking about multiplayer,” you answer in a tone of disbelief.

Jeno has that familiar cunning mirth on his face when he reaches for your phone that you had previously placed on his nightstand so as to not get in the way when things get heated.

“You think you can reach your average while I eat you out?” Jeno asks as he passes you your phone.

You feel heat crawl up your face when you register his words, can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he sounds, but you’ll indulge him.

“I’ll try my best, just for you,” you agree, but you know there’s more to his proposition.

“Before you say yes, there’s a catch, if you don’t get 15 kills, for every kill you lack is one spank,” Jeno says with a quirked brow, his eyes challenging you.

You don’t consider yourself competitive, but when it comes to a game you know you’re good at, it ignites the dormant competitiveness in you that you swear you outgrew as a teenager.

“Deal,” you agree, you’re gonna win either way, if you fail awfully at the game, you still get to get your back blown out regardless, and in Jeno’s words, you've always been a masochist, maybe just a little bit. There must be some truth to it since you were sleeping with Yuta of all people.

“Let me know when you start,” Jeno says as you open the app, telling him when the countdown begins, and quickly he takes off your skirt and panties to toss it to the side of his bed.

Jeno starts off slow, his index finger tracing your slit, starting from the bottom, it piques your interest, but it doesn’t take away your focus entirely, until his fingertip hits the bundle of your nerves, your breath hitches, but you still manage to get your third kill of the game.

You look so hot like this, all concentrated on your phone screen, not so different from how you usually game, other than the fact that you now have your bottom lip between your teeth to ground yourself, Jeno hears another three more kills when he decides to go in for the actual kill, leaning down to capture your clit between his lips, hollowing his lips as his fingers enters you, so fucking wet, god, Jeno, groans to himself, he can’t wait to be inside you, your cursing distracts Jeno from his train of filthy thoughts.

“Died?” Jeno asks before he dives back to his feast between your legs, he distantly hears you cursing at a sniper before he feels your legs twitching when he finally finds your sensitive spot, fingers curling upward, knowing that you usually cave in and ask him to fuck you at this point when you’re having regular foreplay.

You curse silently when you realise you lost count of how many kills you managed to secure, you haven’t gotten a single headshot in this match, and when the score limit reaches its end, you can feel the knot in your abdomen threatening to snap, and so you quickly toss your phone aside to grind back on Jeno’s face, his nose has always been such a good placeholder for your clit to hump on, and Jeno loves it, loves how debauched you are, he could just watch you use him to chase your orgasm all night if he wanted to, and when you finally reach your high, a whine of Jeno’s name reaches his ears as he feels your sexy legs wrap around his head and your juices burst in his mouth and the excess dripping down his forearm.

When you finally come back to your senses after ascending to heaven, you check your score on your screen, you breathe a sigh of relief, 11 kills, you proudly show Jeno your score.

“So four spanks, you want to sit through your punishment or would you prefer if I do it in between rearranging your guts?” Jeno offers, since you did so well for him.

You ponder over the suggestion, but the thought of needing to wait longer to get filled has you choosing the latter.

“I think I’d like to be surprised today,” you say before you strip off the rest of your clothing, Jeno’s eyes following every movement you make, licking his lips when he sees the slight jiggle of your tits as you move about, that is until you settle on all four, presenting yourself to him, and a beast claws at Jeno’s belly for a need to just take you.

It’s like you read his mind, because you tell him to just put it in, that you’re loose enough from the foreplay, you say as you spread your cheeks for him, the sight of your wet pussy has him losing all control, who is he to deny you when you’re presented so prettily for him like this? He’s no god, any man would crack under your ministrations.

So he doesn’t hold back, grasping his cock in one hand while he parts your folds with the other, cursing when he finally slips in your warm and wet hole, slowly sliding in till the hilt, he loves this process, loves the way you shudder when you feel him intrude your walls inch by inch, your lips parted as your head rests on his pillow.

When you’ve adjusted to his size, you whimper out a singular word, move, before you feel your whole world fizzle away as pleasure clouds your head at the first thrust, always rough when you need him to be, rough and fast, that’s Jeno’s preferred pace, quickly locating your sensitive spot with the thick tip of his cock that has you screaming into his pillow, but no matter how hard you try to muffle your voice, the headboard banging against the walls is dead giveaway of how you’re having your back broken by Jeno, but you throw all caution to the wind if it means you get feel the feeling of such ecstasy flowing through your whole body, you swear every time he drills his cock inside you, the more pleasure you feel, and the dumber you get, when all thoughts of sanity get replaced by the primal need to chase your high, your train of thoughts, or lack thereof since all you were thinking were the word ‘cock’ on repeat, gets broken by a harsh smack on your butt, it came out of nowhere, catching you off guard, and it shows by how your walls clench tightly on Jeno’s dick, your release coating his length.

“Fuck, you’re such a fucking pain slut, aren’t you? One smack has you cumming on my dick like some virgin,” Jeno spats out as he keeps fucking you, knowing that you’re extra sensitive after two orgasms upping his motivation to drive you absolutely mad.

Jeno quickly finds your clit, the poor thing swollen with the treatment Jeno previously put it through, rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves roughly, which has you bucking before he sends two smacks its way.

“Fuck,” you curse to yourself as you feel tears prickling the corner of your eyes, trying so hard not to cum from the pain, and in doing so, you clench around Jeno so hard that has him stop mid thrust to anchor himself, he still wants to get at least one more out of you before he cums.

He resumes after having a bit fun with fondling your tits, thanking gravity with the way he could feel the weight of them in his palm, he’s gonna have to suck on them after he’s done with this, he thinks to himself before he goes back to chasing his high, planting one of his feet on the ground to fuck you faster, and soon you could feel yourself cumming at any second, whispering how you’re close to Jeno, before you feel another spank being sent to your clit, the pain and the oversensitivity pushing you over the edge with a scream of Jeno’s name and a fist forming with the sheets on his bed.

“Fuck, love it when you squirt for me,” you hear Jeno distantly, not really registering his words until you feel your thighs being slicked with your release, which Jeno promptly cleans up with his pack of wet tissue he’s kept in his room by the dozen ever since he found out you’re squirter.

When the three towels are stripped from under you and into the hamper, Jeno finally joins you under his fluffy blanket, holding you close.

“I didn’t go too far right?” Jeno asks, he trusts that you will use your safeword if he ever goes over the limit, but he always does a final check in after you settle, just in case you drop into a vulnerable state where you need extra care and attention.

“No, of course not, I feel more than fine, but thank you for asking,” you say before pecking his lips sweetly.

“You hungry? Craving anything? I could check if the guys are getting delivery, see if you want anything,” Jeno offers, but you shake your head.

“Just want some cuddles and sleep, I’ll let you know what I’m craving for brunch tomorrow, but now, I need to recharge,” you say as you snuggle closer to Jeno, practically attached at the hip, but Jeno lets you, combing through your hair for you as you drift off to sleep.

Jeno was first to wake, quickly climbing out of bed to shut his blinds, knowing that you absolutely despise being blinded by the sun rays first thing in the morning, you’ve always been a night owl after all.

After washing up in the bathroom, he makes his way back to you, still sleeping, cuddled under his blankets, just like how he’s tucked you in before he left his room, you don’t move much in your sleep, Jeno notices as he climbs back in bed, it’s no wonder why you always remain in his arms the whole night.

Jeno looked over to his alarm clock to see that it’s almost 10am, he knows this is the time you prefer waking up, and when Jeno sees his blanket slipping off your shoulder to reveal your smooth skin, Jeno has the best idea on how to wake you up, and maybe, even the whole house if he does well enough, and well, unfortunately for the other people sleeping right now, Jeno’s always been a top scorer for anything he puts his mind to, Jeno chuckles to himself at the thought of being a menace as he makes his way under the blankets.

You’ve never had everyone giving you the stink eye before, well, at least not in this frat house, and the one who looks most annoyed is none other than Haechan, whose room is next door to Jeno’s.

“I swear to god, hearing them made my hangover even worse,” Haechan mutters, but loud enough for everyone at the breakfast table to hear, Johnny was the first one to laugh, Johnny had left the party early for a hookup hence the lack of a hangover, he had just got back in time for this comedy show.

“You’re laughing?! My head is still pounding from last night’s drinking and worsened by their shenanigans and you’re laughing?! God, why did Renjun have to get lucky last night, they always pull shit like this when he’s gone,” Haechan complains, or moreso whining, if you asked Jeno.

“Come on, Haechan-ah, it couldn’t have been that bad, I didn’t even hear a thing,” Sungchan says, coming to Jeno’s defence quickly, they’re coursemates after all, and Jeno is always a big help to him, he loves Haechan, but he’s doing this for his own good.

“Your room is on the other side of the house, of course you barely heard anything, she literally sounded like she was getting mauled by a wild animal, listen, let me try and recreate-

Two taps on Jeno’s lap has your boyfriend springing up from his seat with a deadly gaze and Haechan goes silent before he screams bloody murder, running for Jaemin or Mark, whoever he finds first, Sungchan sighs to himself while Johnny and Jungwoo laugh at the comedic scene in front of them, and you can’t help but laugh along with them too, Haechan might have tried making fun of you, but you know Jeno would always be there to silence him for you, and honestly, you could get used to this life you share with Jeno.

The end.

[mossygirl333]

if the bakery is open...chocolate mousse and tequila for logan please? 👉🏻👈🏻

AN: Oh my god, yes, we need submissive Logan, we need that (also listening to whimper audios while writing smut is fucking wild)

Bakery Order: Chocolate Mousse- "You look pretty fucked dumb." + Tequila- Dom reader

CW/TW: male + female masturbation, handjobs, teasing, Dom!reader, Sub!Logan

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

Your feet are padding silently through the kitchen, filling up your glass of water. Throat parched and eyes still tired, glancing over at the clock.

'11:54 P.M'

You sigh, sipping on your water and shifting in your oversized hoodie. Socks sliding against the floor as you walk back to your dorm. Your clothes still smelled like Logan, bitter cigars and warm cologne, a comforting scent that filled your nose.

A hush was settled over the empty halls of the institute, everyone asleep in there dorms except...

There was some...noise. Somewhere. A few doors down, where he slept. You walked towards it, ears straining to hear the sounds coming from Logans dorm. He was definitely not sleeping.

Your fingers brush against the door handle, hearing the barely muffled whimpers leaving your boyfriends lips. You push it slightly open, choking out moan leaving his lips as he sits up, staring at the door in fear. You peek your head in, a sly smirk starting to play on your lips.

"Hi baby.." You whisper and he visibly relaxes when he sees you. Eyes bleary and blown out in lust, swallowing thickly. His cheeks flushed and hair disheveled.

"H- Hi...yer up late." He grumbled, shifting under the blanket. You close the door behind you, padding silently towards his bed. He pushes himself up more, meeting your eyes

"I heard some noises." You murmur, sliding into bed with him, your hand sliding down to push away his blankets. Brushing against his achy cock, fingernails scratching against the twitching veins.

He practically whimpers. "F- fuck-" His hips slightly buck into your palm, laying back on his elbows. His head tipped back, Adams apple bobbing. "swee'heart-"

You shush him, your thumb coming down to swipe at the dripping precum, gathering it as you languidly pump. Up and down his shaft, settling beside him. "Let me make you feel good baby."

He pants, nodding and trying not to move his hands. "F- faster-"

You coo gently in his ear. "Be patient. You'll cum soon baby. I promise." You felt him twitch in your palm, his hips jerking up slightly.

Your grip gets tighter and he whines, his breath hitching in his chest. Your knee nudging his apart, settling between his thick trembling thighs. "There we go."

He sat there, face flushed as you rubbed him off. A warmth spreading across his face, his body trembling and shaking. His eyes half rolled back and blown out, a drop of drool coating his bottom lip. Getting rougher and faster, lips parted as he moaned. The sheets balled up in his fist.

God it was such a sight wasn't it?

Spurts of cum coated your hand, a shock running down his body, eyes widening as his orgasm rolls across him. You continue to pump your hand, letting him ride out the pleasure wave before wiping your hand on his blanket.

"Aww...look at you. All fucked dumb and pretty." You kiss his nose, but he's too sluggish to retort. "Gonna go clean these sheets. Sleep pretty boy."

AN: sorry this was so ass and took so long to get out, life has been wilding bro