#content warnings without spoiling shit is hard

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 17

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains content regarding pregnancy. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

In spite of all of Edgar’s protests, Morgan was determined to be present at the hearing that day. Vought all but refused to send a jet to pick her up, finding any excuse to discourage her from returning early. Ultimately, she decided to scrap any idea of trying to appeal to Ashley or anybody else from administration and rented a car. 

It had been a while since she had road-tripped anywhere, but three hours back to Manhattan was doable. Of course, getting to the courthouse once she was in the city was another story. As she tried to quickly, but safely navigate the bustling city streets, she couldn’t determine if her nausea was nerves… or something else.

A slight shudder ran down her spine and she pushed that particular worry deep, deep down inside for a later time. At some point she’d have to drag herself out of denial and address the issue head on. As much as she wanted to attack the issue as soon as possible, there were other things that took precedence.

Before long, the courthouse loomed ahead, stark against the Manhattan skyline. As Morgan maneuvered through the final stretch of traffic, a tingling sensation began to creep along her scalp. A disturbance that buzzed at the edges of her consciousness. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her pulse quickening.

There was another psychic present nearby.

With no time to second-guess herself, she parked a block away and abandoned the car at a meter. Weaving through the bustling crowd gathered outside, she fought her way forward. As she climbed the courthouse steps, the air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on her like a humid fog. 

The voices of the gathered crowd blurred into a muffled drone. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a cold sweat prickled at her palms. A gnawing sense of wrongness crept through her thoughts like a dark current. The vibrations she’d felt earlier erupted into a wave of psychic energy, and a shock tore through her mind like a lightning strike. 

Neuman. 

The realization hit her at the same moment the first screams rang out.

One by one, several voices rang out in terror in her mind, then were abruptly silenced. Each silenced voice carried the echo of the congresswoman’s mind, hellbent on carrying out a carefully constructed plan she and Edgar had made together. The connection wasn’t immediately clear, and Morgan’s next thought was to get upstairs as fast as she could to help before she could dive into that.

Neuman’s attack pattern was quick and sporadic, and Morgan couldn’t shield individuals quickly enough as she ran for the elevator. The only thing she could think to do was knock out the source of the problem.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Jumping into the elevator, Morgan tried to ignore her queasy stomach as she began her ascent to the courtroom floor. There was a flash of surprise and a faint spark of fear in Neuman’s thoughts as Morgan shoved her way into the congresswoman’s mind. It was like breaking through a brittle barrier. 

Neuman’s consciousness was turbulent, disjointed images and jagged intent crashing together in a desperate storm. But for Morgan, it was little more than a distraction. She cut through the chaos with ease, slicing through her resistance as though peeling back the layers of an onion.

You have about one minute to get out of here, or I’ll expose you for what you are the moment I set foot in that room.

Frantic but futile, Neuman attempted to push back, her mental claws scraping at the edges of Morgan’s consciousness. The pressure mounted, and Morgan’s temples throbbed, but she tightened her grip on Neuman’s mind with the practiced skill and with far more precision. Each time Neuman tried to rally, Morgan crushed the effort with a single, effortless push.

Morgan’s vision blurred at the edges, a small price for the clarity she imposed on Neuman’s mind, forcing the chaotic energy to unravel thread by thread. The only evidence of the struggle was a trickle of blood trailing from her nose, a minor inconvenience compared to the panic flooding Neuman’s thoughts as she realized just how outmatched she truly was.

Then, with a less-than-gentle push, Morgan forced Neuman’s consciousness under, effectively knocking her unconscious. Reaching out to the minds surrounding Neuman, she could see a handful of people rushing to drag her from the room. Not far from her, Homelander stood in the middle of it all. 

His gaze had locked on the devastation with an unnerving stillness. Eyes, wide and unfocused, his mind was a tangled mix of anger, fear, and bitter relief. Dr. Vogelbaum, a man he begrudgingly respected and maybe even thought of as a father figure, had almost brought everything crashing down around them. 

To her own relief, he was completely in the dark about Edgar’s plot. As far as he was concerned, this strange, horrifying turn of events had been some sort of twisted miracle. 

Withdrawing from the panicked minds of the survivors, Morgan leaned against the elevator wall and swiped the small trail of blood away from her nose. A second later, the doors slid open and she took a deep breath, steeling herself to see the carnage up close and personal. The metallic scent of all the blood was already overwhelming.

As she stepped into the courtroom, the devastation hit her with full force. Overturned furniture, streaks of blood and fragments of bone and brain marred the chamber. Her gaze locked on Homelander, still standing at the center of the chaos like a statue. When he saw her, something inside him seemed to break.

He crossed the distance between them in an instant, his arms wrapping around her with desperation. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, his voice low and laden with barely contained emotion. “You could’ve been—”

“I’m fine,” Morgan reassured him gently, trying her hardest to ignore the fact that he had smeared blood and brain matter all over her too with his embrace. That was enough to make her stomach give a turn. “It’s going to be okay.”

The room was quiet. From outside, the hum of voices and the distant wail of sirens were the only sounds keeping them from total silence. As Morgan pulled back from Homelander’s embrace, she became acutely aware of the stares fixed on them. She could feel the shock rippling through the space. The remaining survivors all struggled to process the horror they’d just witnessed.

Even then, she had to put on a brave face, as if her appearance alone could hold together the fragile remnants of the moment.

“It’s going to be okay,” she repeated, her voice steady but hollow. Homelander’s arms loosened around her, though his gaze didn’t leave her face. She could feel the tension radiating off him, as if he were teetering on the edge of action, unsure whether to lash out or collapse inward.

Ultimately, he didn’t react either way. He was quick to numb himself to it. They went through all the motions of the aftermath together though. Neither of them was going to leave the other’s side.

When they eventually made their way back to the tower, the silence was almost suffocating. The gleaming hallways felt too pristine, too untouched by the horror she had just witnessed. Morgan retreated to her quarters after repeatedly reassuring Homelander she’d join him in his penthouse as soon as she’d had a moment to decompress and clean up. 

It was hard enough helping out with first responders, and filing reports on what they had witnessed while she wore the blood of Neuman’s victims on her. Keeping her involvement secret made it worse. Letting that bit of vital information slip quite yet probably wasn’t the smartest move, but keeping that to herself felt so wrong.

The secrets kept piling on.

Her hands trembled slightly as she shucked off her blood-soaked blazer. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. She let out a slow breath, her fingers curling into a fist at her side. There was no time to fall apart. With everything else falling apart around her, she couldn’t afford to lose herself to her fear.

As she stared at her reflection in the darkened glass of the window, peeling off the various layers of blood-stained clothing, she found herself analyzing every part of herself with utmost scrutiny. The glass warped the edges of her silhouette, making her seem like a stranger in her own skin. Every detail—her pale complexion, the faint freckles across her nose, the dark circles around her eyes—was somehow alien. 

She didn’t recognize the woman standing there, disheveled and smeared with the blood of strangers.

Robotically, she moved into her bathroom and turned her shower on. She didn’t even really wait for the water to get warm. There was too much noise in her head to really care, and for once… the loudest noises were her own thoughts.

What was she, really? A product of nature’s whim, a genetic mutation that had somehow made her something more—supposedly. And then there was the baby. A child she hadn’t planned for, whose very existence brought a flood of guilt and fear that she wasn’t prepared to face. 

How could she bring a child into a world so broken? Especially when she wasn’t even sure she knew how to live in it herself? She knew she didn’t have to, but some old feelings lingered when it came to the idea of having a little family of her own. That was something she knew she’d have to shake, and fast.

It didn’t take long for her to finish showering, and despite washing away all evidence of the day’s horrors, she didn’t feel quite clean. Of course, she could have scrubbed herself down to the bone, and she probably wouldn’t have felt clean enough. She just needed to get up to Homelander’s penthouse quickly, regardless of the dark storm cloud of thoughts brewing in her head.

As she pulled on a comfortable set of clothes, she found herself staring blankly back at her reflection again. Her face was freshly scrubbed, free of blood, but she could still see the shadows lurking behind her eyes. They seemed deeper than before, as though they had taken root somewhere inside her. 

Morgan ran a hand through her damp hair, feeling the chill on her skin. It wasn’t the cold that made her shiver, though—it was the thought of what lay ahead.

She had to go to Homelander. She needed to reassure him, to continue playing her part as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. 

It felt like there was a deep fissure running through the center of her being, threatening to widen with every breath. Her hands clenched at her sides, the old doubts rising like bile in her throat. Could she really keep this up? 

What was she even doing here? The truth was, she didn’t know if she was strong enough for any of this. The responsibilities pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, reminding her of everything she wasn’t.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to hold together the fractured pieces of herself that threatened to scatter. Her chest tightened, and a wave of self-loathing surged through her—an old, familiar ache that whispered she wasn’t good enough, strong enough, not for this. Not for Homelander, not for the life that had taken root inside her, and certainly not for herself.”

The pressure in her chest grew tighter, squeezing the air from her lungs. She clenched her jaw, trying to swallow back the rising tide of emotions, but it was too late. Her telekinesis slipped from her grasp like sand through her fingers, unraveling into the room around her.

At first, it was subtle—a low tremor in the floorboards, a faint vibration that made the glass panes shudder. But then the tension snapped, and a wave of invisible force rippled outward. The lamp on her bedside table shattered, fragments of glass spiraling into the air. Books tumbled from the shelves, their pages fluttering like the wings of startled birds.

Furniture began to lift from the ground, hovering an inch, then a foot, then higher, as if gravity no longer mattered. The room seemed to swell and contract with each breath she took, the walls groaning under the strain of her power. She tried to reel it back in, to regain control, but the harder she fought, the more chaotic the energy became.

Her hands shot out instinctively, but the tremors only intensified. The dresser rattled against the wall, picture frames flew off surfaces, and the ceiling light flickered overhead. Panic surged through her veins, and she could feel the tightness in her throat threatening to strangle her.

Then, cutting through the storm, she felt a familiar presence. Homelander’s voice echoed in her mind before he even spoke aloud, carried by a mixture of concern and urgency.

Morgan. 

The thought was sharp, almost enough to slice through her panic. 

A moment later, the door burst open, and there he stood, his expression somewhere between alarm and bewilderment as he took in the scene. The floating debris, the vibrating walls, and Morgan at the center of it all, trembling with the effort to keep her emotions in check.

His gaze locked onto her, and without hesitation, he crossed the room with long, purposeful strides. The furniture dropped heavily to the ground as he reached her, gathering her face in his palms as the last echoes of her power faded. 

“Hey, hey—calm down,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “I’m here.”

She took in a ragged breath, her pulse racing. The room settled back into stillness, but it was like a held breath. There was no comfort in a sigh of relief. The sensation of it all burned in her chest.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. “I just…lost control for a second.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her face with a mix of suspicion and concern. “This isn’t like you,” he murmured. “What’s really going on?”

Homelander’s gaze lingered on her, searching for answers beyond the surface. She knew that he could hear the rapid thrum of her heartbeat and shallow breaths. For a moment she slipped into his mind and allowed herself to see herself from his perspective. 

His hearing was almost painfully acute, but there was something else—a faint shift in her scent. The hint of elevated adrenal levels, and an unfamiliar blend of hormones piqued his curiosity. Expression tightening, he tilted his head slightly, as though focusing on something just beyond her. 

Azure eyes sweeping over her as gently as possible, he used his superhuman vision to look through the different layers of her physiology. Deep within, barely discernible against the backdrop of muscle and tissue, he detected the smallest flicker of life. It was almost imperceptible, a tiny shadow of a shape nestled inside her, but it was enough.

Morgan felt a sudden jolt as the truth echoed in his thoughts, a wordless recognition that pierced through the haze of her emotions. She pulled back from his mind instinctively, the connection snapping. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, it felt like the ground had dropped out from under her.

Breath hitching, Homelander’s hands trembled slightly. “You’re…” The word caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. “You’re pregnant?”

Homelander’s eyes darted between her face and her abdomen, trying to reconcile the enormity of what he’d just discovered. Slowly, a smile began to spread across his lips—small at first, then growing into something brighter, almost boyish. However, beneath it, there was a glint of something darker lurking.

“You’re… pregnant,” he repeated. He drew her face closer, his eyes closed as he pressed his forehead to hers “Morgan, this… this is incredible.” His voice was low, and full of wonder. “You’re carrying my child.”

The choice of words sent a chill down her spine, unsettling her more than she’d have anticipated. ‘My child.’ It felt like it had cemented something between them that couldn’t be undone. 

Morgan could feel the relief and joy radiating off him in waves, mixing with an underlying desperation. A part of him despaired over the idea that this moment would never come. Now that it had, he was clinging to it with all the strength he had.

Morgan’s heart pounded wildly in her chest as a whirlwind of emotions surged inside her. She wanted to say something, to temper his excitement, to explain that she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. But, the words died before they could reach her lips, and all she could manage was a soft, incredulous laugh.

That soft sound seemed to ignite something in him. Homelander’s smile widened, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The look in his eyes was almost overwhelming—a potent blend of joy, possessiveness, and a deep, aching need. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers for a brief moment. 

And then, before she could gather her thoughts, his mouth was on hers—firm and insistent, as if he was trying to imprint the moment into her very being. Morgan’s initial instinct was to hesitate, to push back, but her body didn’t listen. She found herself melting into the kiss, her hands curling into the fabric of his cape as she tried to ground herself in the chaos of it all.

It wasn’t the kiss of two people sharing an ordinary moment. It felt like a promise, a binding that sank deeper with every second. When he finally pulled back, just a breath away, his eyes burned with a fierce, almost feverish devotion.

“Everything’s going to change,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of certainty and possessive delight. “But we’ll face it together.”

Morgan could only nod, a tentative agreement in her expression as she tried to muster the conviction to match his intensity. But then, with no words strong enough to bridge the gulf between them, she let him guide her into his embrace, and surrendered to the illusion of certainty he was offering.

Song: Landslide by Fleetwood Mac “Oh, mirror in the sky, What is love?” Author’s notes: This man has been dropping hints with her for several weeks. I’m telling you, he manifested this. Or that’s probably what he’s telling himself. Morgan isn’t so sure about such a big upheaval though, and I really can’t blame her.  I don’t really have much else to say on this one but I am excited for the next chapter. Homelander is going to reevaluate some decisions he’s made recently, that may or may not pay off– or blow up in his face. We’ll see.

Next chapter.

[hanasnx]

" DOUBLE BUBBLE DISCO QUEEN " — katsuki bakugou.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem bratty pink!reader ノ pussy whipped bakugou ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ p in v ノ degradation: f receiving ノ reader has pink hair and pink style.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU didn’t know what to make of you at first. He’d never admit you were intimidating, but your commitment to one color made him nauseous. Pink was everything he saw you sport, as if you couldn’t have a style outside of it. Even your hair sprouted from your scalp in a soft pink shade. Regardless of his initial apprehension, somehow he was roped into a relationship with you. Now he carries your many bags, opens doors for you, holds your hand when you start yapping too much. You annoy him, and yet he sticks with you.

He’s come to respect you, and even like you a little bit. Not that you give him any choice. He can’t be fooled by your soft appearance, you’re just as domineering as he is. You’re spoiled rotten, and high maintenance as hell. It’s taken him loads of tries to get it right, to treat you exactly how you believe you deserve to. It’s difficult—next to impossible—but you make it worth it, don’t you?

When you spread those legs, all pretty and eager for him, things go quiet. For once, things go his way. Katsuki’s never considered himself to be a pussy-driven guy until he met you. Suddenly, he’s letting you bully him into all kinds of things just for a glimpse of that kitty. He’d feel shame if his mouth wasn’t watering right now staring down at those drippy lips, open and waiting for him.

“C’mon, Katsu. Wanna feel you.” you whine with a coy smile to your lips, impatient and brows upturned. Just as you wiggle your hips enticingly, mean and callused hands envelope them, pinning your ass to the mattress.

Gripping the base, he feeds himself into your hole, sniffing out the give until you moan just from the stretch, and he sighs with goddamn relief. As if he’s finally getting payback for everything you throw at him. You’re a damn bitch, and you know he thinks so, but getting this tight cunt gives you a blank slate. After he’s good and fucked his fill, he’ll be ready to take your attitude again. For now, he keeps a palm over that smart mouth of yours, just so you don’t ruin the moment.

“Mmf—“ he grunts, scooping an arm under your knee to pick your leg up, giving himself a little more room inside you. “Even this princess pussy’s a brat…Clenching down on me.” he speaks through his teeth, rutting in and out to hollow out a space for himself. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?” A bold-faced lie, but you take it anyway, nodding to him. Anything to get him to keep going, anything to get him to make you loosen up so he can fuck you for real. His palm over your mouth remains, and you smell his sweet scent of sweat.

“Running me ‘round, dangling this cunt in front of me knowing I’ll do whatever for it. Tch, you’re so damn annoying.” His words in your ear sends a powerful shudder down your spine, fluttering your eyelashes. You slick, lubing up his entry as he keeps pushing in and in. Even without seeing his face, breathing hard through your nose over his third pinky knuckle, you can feel him grin next to you. You know it's wolfish just from the sound of his reply, “You like hearing that shit, huh?” His husky voice grates your ears and you whimper pitifully under his weight.

His hips increase their fervor, getting excited over the new room in your hole, setting an immediate bruising pace just to be a jerk.

“For someone so spoiled, struttin’ ‘round like you can buy anything you want with daddy’s money, you sure like gettin’ called out on it.” That's what he's here for.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[stars-eclipsing]

If you take requests or suggestions, might I ask for pegging Mohawk, Sinister, or Lensless Mark? (Take your pick tbh) all of the variants are so pretty I NEED to top, bite and choke them 😔 unfortunately, there is a serious lack of Dom!Reader in this fandom

You can totally ignore this if you want to, I always feel awkward abt writing these cause I don’t want to ever seem rude or entitled 😭

Omg, not at all!!! I love this idea so much hahaah

Also, I completely agree, in regards to all fandoms ngl! So I just decided to put out the content I wanna see, lol

uhh warning very perverted I guess

✩ MOHAWK MARK ➔ Asphyxiation, Reader is like, mean

His eyes roll to the back of his head when the obscene shlick! sound of your strap thrusts into his asshole again. His spine shivers and he moans into the pillow at the feeling of fullness. A feeling that may just be better than the thrill of controlling the entire Viltrumite empire. Just maybe. 

Both of your bodies are slick with sweat, and the air around you is intoxicated by the heady, unmistakable scent of sex. Your legs still haven’t begun to ache from sitting on your haunches for so long, but it’s only because you have practically memorized this position, and the view, too. Besides, your body has already learned its lesson on becoming tired when pleasuring Mark, and it won’t be one it soon forgets. 

“Shit.” He chuckles shakily, shifting slightly to accommodate the fullness, “So are you planning to make me cum by Christmas or what?” 

You pull out, keeping just the tip in, and he groans. “It would be a nice gift.” You hum, then push the pink rubber back into his warm, inviting hole. Your lips form a small smile when you notice a shiver pass through him. “But I'm not so sure you even deserve it.” 

He frowns at your flippant comment, looking behind him to see your calm face. You drag your fingernails gingerly across the length of his spine, helping him subtly into an arch. He takes the hint, although not without a bratty huff under his breath. 

He rests his head back on the soft pillow, a pillow made with material better than silk, worth more than half your internal organs back on Earth. To your gleeful delight, it will be ripped, ruined and discarded. Funny. But honestly, you never really did like him to have nice things too often.

He’s just far too spoiled, in your opinion. 

His eyebrow twitches in annoyance, “Just so you know, I wouldn’t treat you like this.” 

The frustration breaks way to a half-truth. Would your despicable Mark torture you while he was on top? Absolutely. Would he adhere to your set of cruel methods? Not exactly. While he preferred to pull as many orgasms from both of you as possible, you believed in the art of patience. Of drawing out the perfect, warm orgasm that steadily bubbles up from the deepest part of your stomach and burns off your nerve endings when washing through. 

The kind of orgasm he would be reaching for every time he’d sit on his plush bed and draw his hard cock from his pants. He’d stroke the underside of his sensitive dick and think: “I wish my angel were here to help” Though you wouldn’t live to see the day he expresses any sentiment of gratefulness. 

However, Mark believed in patience just as much as he did mercy. In no quantity at all. 

He senses that he hasn't swayed you at all by the way you lightly trace over the skin of his hips, and he sighs. He succumbs to desperate, perverse methods like some kind of whore. 

He shimmies his hips upwards a bit, trying to entice you into fucking him hard like he wants. He whines, “C’mon, baby don’t you want to make your man proud?” He says in the prettiest voice he can muster. 

Sadly, you can read Mark like a book, and all the act does is make you roll your eyes. 

You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks. 

You grab the sides of his narrow hips, and meanly squeeze the fat of his ass, deciding to humor him, “Can I get a please?” 

He sticks his tongue out in distaste at your demand, yet he predictably complies. Though not without uttering the word in the most annoying way possible, “Please–” 

The sentence ends on a choke when you quickly pull the plastic dick out of his hole then slam back in, taking pleasure in the sound that he makes. 

You grip the back of his neck for leverage, and pound his greedy hole into oblivion. Because when has Mark ever even deserved nice things? Even a romantic orgasm would be far too much for him. He was too much of a goddamn leech. 

You press your chest to his back, pushing him further into the mattress, intending to get inside of him as deep as possible. You switch your grip from the back of his neck, to the front, squeezing at his airway mercilessly. 

He chokes, surprised at your boldness. “Oh, fuck– shit, babe.” He laughs shakily, taking perverse joy in your rough treatment. “So good to me, aren’t you?” 

Not bothering to spare him a respectable response, you continue to pound into him like that's what he was made for. You don't grace him even a second to take in a breath. Just the way you fuckin’ like it. 

The lewd sounds of skin slapping fill your bedroom like they were made to be there, and you barely resist squeezing his throat like you’re going to kill him. Keeping it to an every once in a while. 

Though… you honestly can’t resist the sounds of his sweet choking, so you channel all your strength into your fist. Leaving him gripping for purchase on the mattress. 

The sounds of fabric ripping, or his face turning pale don’t deter you. In fact, it does the exact opposite effect, giving you motivation to fuck him harder. He continues to sputter chokes and pleas, but is largely unable to by the unwavering force you have around his neck.

When he starts to shake and twitch uncontrollably, you begin to understand what exactly he’s trying to babble. 

“C-Cu-.” You bite the cartilage of his ear, then let loose on his airway, just so he could spill the words out, “Gonna- fucking–” He stutters hoarsely, and his hips twitch and jerk. 

You hum in affirmation to his warning. Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.

Using your free hand, you snake it down to his poor, leaky cock, and squeeze its base roughly, delaying his orgasm. 

You let go of his throat and smile when he gasps in a large breath. 

He coughs, "Baby, please, wait--"

“Say please like you fucking mean it.” You lick at his neck, then bite the area harshly, and he screams. You still don’t let up on the abuse your strap-on does to his poor hole. 

“P-Please!” He cries, gasping desperately. You push his face back in the pillow, making sure he struggles for breath, “Please!” You hear him scream into the pillow, muffled. 

You dig your fat cock into the deepest part of him and let go of his dick. You smile when his hip stutters and his dick releases its seed onto the sheets beneath him. 

Weak spurts spill from his tormented cock and he groans. It’s only then that you decide to pull out, making him whine. 

You sigh, tiredly and get off of him. You feel hot, and disgusting, and Mark still somehow got what he wanted. You tsk to yourself.

Silently working on removing the belts from your hips, he rolls on his back to look at you, quirking a brow, ”Why’d you stop?”  

✩ SINISTER MARK ➔ Asphyxiation, oral fixation, dog imagery

Mark’s mouth wraps around the bright pink of your strap-on like it’s a glorified chew toy. You’re lucky it’s not your actual dick. Because with the way he bites, chews, sucks, and drools all over it, you’re sure it would have been a strict off-limits zone for him. 

Your hands move to tangle into his dark, thick hair, petting it softly. Hoping it the action will let up on his aggravation just a tiny bit. 

It works, because he shoves the cock up his mouth deeper, letting out a small choke as he sucks. 

He looks at you with the prettiest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, waiting for his well-needed praise after such a hard day.

You know if you don’t give it, he’ll have your head. Or at the very least, he'll sulk in a corner. Either case is less ideal than the other.

You coo to him, watching spit drip from his lips and onto his spread thighs, “So good, Mark.” The dribble is everywhere from down his mouth, and you can't tell when exactly the sweat ends and the saliva begins, “You look so pretty like this.” 

His moans are muffled around the pink dick. He takes slow, measured breaths through his nose, so he won’t have to stop for air frequently, and blinks his eyes up lazily at you. Then rolls them. 

Exactly like a pretty puppy. 

Despite the defiance, you still play nice, “Are you going to lube up my dick so it can go in your pretty hole?” His hard dick between his thighs twitches at the reminder, and he does his best to nod with the strap-on in his mouth. He tries to say, “Yes”, but it comes out more like an incoherent garble. 

He tries his best to slide the thick cock from out of his mouth, coughing and sputtering when it’s fully out. He wipes at the dribbles of saliva around his lips, speaking throatily, “Yes, I want to.” 

The plastic cock drips of his saliva, practically soaked in it. Yet, he puts his mouth back on the tip, sucking lightly to get used to the feeling, before putting it halfway through his mouth. 

He tries to shove as much of it as possible inside of his mouth, but then looks up at you for help when he doesn't seem able to. 

“Help?” You ask. If he could pout around the dick, he would. You grab the back of his hair again, and steadily help him down the length of it. 

Instinctively, he stutters and chokes as the sex toy slides down the wet cavern of his mouth. He instantly grabs your thighs for support, trying to alleviate the intruding feeling. You remove your hands from his hair and stroke at his cheek, trying to coax him back his measured breathing through his nose. 

There’s no point in pulling him off. If he says he wants to take it all, he’s going to take it all. And no amount of praise will get his mind off his goal. 

He looks back up at you, ‘Help me.’ he seems to say.

You sigh. For all his imprudence, you cannot wait to make him cry on your dick. 

However, you are beginning to  feel impatient at the way he only steadily inches more of it down his throat. The slow pace is starting to frustrate you.

The hedonistic side of you wants him around your cock, now. Irrationally, you grab the hair on the back of his head harshly, he gasps around the cock at the contact. You brutally push him all the way down to the base of the cock. 

He chokes around it immediately, and his grip on your thighs turns bruising as his throat tries to accommodate to the sudden intrusion. He fails, and a pool of drool spills from his mouth, but your hands don't let up, keeping him there. 

“Come on. You can do it,” You goad, tilting your head to the side, “Can’t you?” 

You see alarm bells ring in Mark’s head, and he tries his best to accept the length of it in his greedy mouth. “Can.” He slurs. 

His nose kisses the skin of your stomach, and he blushes, making it even more difficult for him to breathe. But he’s keeping himself there, unmoving. Though you do see him chewing around the plastic to alleviate the burn of his throat. 

After a few more seconds, Mark moves a few inches down the cock, landing halfway. He swallows, or– tries to swallow. His throat fucking burns. 

He continues to suck and chew around the cock, getting lost in the warm feeling of his mouth filled. 

You tap his cheek a few times. He opens his eyes to look at you through his lashes. He hadn’t even noticed he’d closed them. 

You're beginning to feel a little more impatient.

“Mark…” You move your feet airily, then slightly drag it across his dick, barely touching. He instantly grips your thighs again and chokes around the dildo. His neglected dick twitches at the simple contact, and he closes his eyes as he tries to even his breath again. 

“You want to be filled up?” He moans around the cock at your filthy words, “Wanna be mine?” 

Slowly, he moves his lips across the dick and out, leaving it with a lewd pop! Fucking hot. 

He heaves when he’s finally met with air. His face is sweaty and debauched, eyes glazed over like he had just gotten fucked. He’s a complete slut. “I’m already yours, I don't have to work for it.” He says throatily, vocal cords basically compressed off. 

You hum, just trying to keep him quiet. He can get pretty mouthy, and you can’t bother to hear bitching when you’re so horny right now. 

He’s feeling extra touch starved after barely being offered any stimulation before it’s taken away, so he stands up quickly. You lay down on the sheets, and before you can even bother to start to get comfortable, he’s already clambering onto your lap. 

You raise an eyebrow, like you’re not just as turned on, “Someone’s eager.” 

He lines his hole with the bright pink plastic cock, dripping of his drool and spit, pressing his hands to your stomach for support. 

The tip breaches his hole, slicked up and ready for his awaiting hole. You’re so fucking jealous. You can’t imagine how warm and silky he feels…

He moans, tipping his head back, but doesn’t dare stop at just there, continuing to slowly descend down the pretty dick, his hole fluttering around it. 

When he reaches the hilt of it with ease, he shifts, trying to relax himself onto it slowly.

But you know better. You know that he wants to be treated like the cumtoy that he is. 

You tap his hips, then squish the flesh. He moans in response. “Come on, baby. Move.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Im calling this work: "Do you think you peg me in every universe?"

"Duh."

Thanks for the request, meow meow meow

♡

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — seven

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 49.5k words 

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

synopsis — this is the end. after an eventful party that shifts everything you thought you knew, you realize it’s time to bring things back to how they were. with the state championships looming, the stakes are higher than ever. this will either be the end of all you know, the beginning of the end, or the start of something entirely new.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit themes, really emotional chapter (get tissues), rough sex, choking, hair pulling, and spanking, overstimulation and edging, use of substances (vaping, drugs) in a sexual context, oral sex (receiving), light humiliation and possessive themes, marking (hickeys, biting). use of spit, intense physical restraint and forceful movements, y/n remains confusing, mark is on his horny boy shit, karina best character as always, state championships drama, cute caffe scene, irene + y/n bonding. grab your tissues as this is the end :( sorry loves i have to keep these warnings short as i don’t wanna spoil anything

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

[fic ml]

Your stomach twisted as your gaze swept over the scene: four girls sitting around him, their attention locked entirely on him. Lia leaned forward slightly, her long legs crossed as she rested her chin in her hand, her laughter soft and melodic. Yiren sat closest to him, her eyes wide and sparkling as she twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. Giselle’s voice carried over the others, teasing and playful, while Chaewon batted her eyelashes, her soft giggle almost grating to your ears.

They were all staring at him with an intensity that bordered on comical, their eyes wide and lips parted as if he were the only person in the room. You couldn’t blame them, really—Mark had that kind of presence. The way his dark eyes sparkled when he talked, his quiet confidence, the relaxed curve of his lips—it all made him magnetic. And as you watched from the doorway, you couldn’t help but laugh under your breath.

It wasn’t jealousy, not even close. If anything, it was funny. Mark liked attention—you knew that much—and he wasn’t shy about soaking it in. But it was obvious he was keeping a polite distance, his posture relaxed but not leaning into their space. He was charming without even trying, his responses short yet kind, the corners of his mouth quirking up when one of them said something particularly over-the-top.

And the girls? Well, they were practically falling over themselves. Their bodies leaned toward him like he was the sun, their movements subtle but deliberate—playing with their hair, adjusting their tops, batting their eyelashes in synchrony. 

But the truth was, he didn’t see them. At least, not in the way they wanted. You knew how Mark looked at someone when he truly saw them, and this wasn’t it. He was polite, sure, and maybe even faintly amused by their obvious flirting, but he wasn’t engaged. Not like he was when he looked at you.

You stepped further into the room, your footsteps quiet against the floor. You heard fragments of their conversation as you approached.

“…your heart condition sounds so scary,” Yiren murmured, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head sympathetically. “How do you manage it?”

Mark gave a small, almost sheepish smile, bouncing the basketball lightly on the ground beside him. “It’s just about knowing my limits,” he said, his voice low and smooth, drawing the girls in closer. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Lia leaned forward, her hand lightly brushing against his knee. “But still… it must’ve been hard to tell the team.” Her voice was soft, filled with admiration.

“It was,” Mark admitted, his gaze flicking between them. “But they’ve been supportive. It’s good to have people who have your back.”

Giselle’s eyes sparkled as she chimed in, “You’re so brave, Mark. Seriously. And you’re still playing basketball? That’s incredible.”

Mark shrugged, the corner of his lips tugging upward in that effortlessly charming way that seemed to make the girls around him lean in closer. “Yeah, I’ll still play for the rest of the season,” he said, his tone casual but measured. “Not as much, though. Under strict control—fewer minutes, lighter practices. Gotta take it easy for now.”

Yiren tilted her head, her eyes wide with admiration. “That’s really disciplined of you. Most guys would try to push through it and end up making it worse.”

Mark gave a small nod, his expression softening. “I used to be that guy. Thought I could just power through anything, but this… it’s different. I’ve gotta be smart about it.” His hand idly spun the basketball balanced on his knee, the movement fluid and relaxed, like it was second nature.

Chaewon and Yiren leaned in toward him, their admiration practically dripping off them, and though you told yourself you shouldn’t care, the sight sent an unexpected surge of possessiveness through you. Chaewon’s lips parted slightly, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s still incredible, though. That you’re even out there at all. Shows how much you love the game.”

Mark didn’t respond immediately, letting Chaewon’s words hang in the air as though carefully considering them. The pause only seemed to heighten the anticipation, making Yiren’s voice cut through the moment with precision. “Do you ever need someone who’s there for you through all of this? You know, to give you support and—”

“I don’t need that,” Mark interrupted, his voice steady and certain, cutting through the soft hum of conversation around them. His words were resolute, leaving no room for doubt. “Because I already have that. I have Y/N.”

You had to press your hand against your lips, the laugh bubbling up so suddenly it nearly escaped. The way their faces fell was priceless—wide-eyed disbelief and barely concealed disappointment that turned the air heavy with awkward tension. Giselle’s lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words, while Chaewon exchanged a glance with Yiren, her brows furrowing in confusion. Even Lia, ever composed, looked momentarily caught off guard, her smirk faltering.

Yiren blinked, her brows knitting together as she exchanged a glance with Chaewon, their confusion palpable. Giselle was the one to voice what they were all thinking, her tone a careful mix of curiosity and disbelief. “But… didn’t you break up?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as though trying to make sense of Mark’s words.

Mark didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, we did,” he said, his tone calm but firm, as if the answer was obvious. “But that doesn’t change anything. She’s still the one who’s there for me. She always has been, and I know she always will be. Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean she’s not mine, and I’m not hers.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable. The girls exchanged glances, their disappointment obvious, but you barely noticed. Your laughter faded as your eyes found Mark—hidden from his view, yet completely absorbed by the way he spoke. Even when you weren’t there, he carried you in his words, and it hit harder than you wanted to admit.

His voice wasn’t rehearsed or performative. It was steady and real, filled with a conviction that left no room for doubt. He didn’t know you were listening, which only made it more genuine. This wasn’t a display for the others—it was Mark speaking about you as if nothing between you had ever changed. And you couldn’t ignore the pull of it, how deeply his words resonated.

Your chest tightened as you watched him. His hand rested on the basketball, his movements calm and deliberate, his focus entirely on what he was saying. He looked confident and composed, but there was a softness in the way he spoke your name, a quiet emotion that betrayed his exterior. The way he said you’re mine wasn’t possessive; it was certain, like he believed it with every part of himself.

The attraction you felt for him in that moment was overwhelming. The broad line of his shoulders, the way his hand gripped the basketball, the subtle curve of his lips—it all made your breath hitch. But it wasn’t just about how he looked. It was the way he spoke, the certainty he carried, and the way he made you feel like you still mattered. It reminded you of why you loved him, why you never fully let go.

A warmth spread through you, not just desire but something deeper. His tone, his presence, the way he still held you in his words—it made you question everything. You’d convinced yourself there was distance between you, but this moment proved there wasn’t. It made you want to step closer, to let yourself belong to him again, even though you knew it was dangerous. You couldn’t resist him, not then, not now. You still wanted him, completely and entirely.

But he was such a whore. You knew him too well for the smooth exterior he presented to everyone else. He loved attention, basked in it like it fueled him. Even though he kept a respectable distance from the girls, you could see how much he enjoyed being the center of their world in that moment. The way their eyes lit up at his words, the way they leaned in closer—it didn’t go unnoticed by him. You could read it all too clearly in the slight lift of his lips, the subtle satisfaction in his gaze.

And yet, why was he still sitting there? Why was he indulging them instead of looking for you? That familiar twist of frustration coiled in your chest as you watched him. He hadn’t once glanced around the room to find you, hadn’t even seemed to notice your absence. His soft smile, the one that seemed so easy and natural, made your stomach churn. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but seeing him like this—with them—made you question why you still wanted him so much.

You crossed your arms, your expression hardening into one of quiet distaste, but you forced yourself to stay still, masking the annoyance threatening to bubble over. That’s when Karina stumbled into the room, her glossy hair tousled, her lips swollen and red. Her eyes found yours immediately, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips as she made her way over, moving with a careless sway that could only come from being high—and freshly fucked.

“I just got absolutely destroyed by Jeno,” she murmured, leaning in with a smirk, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “He couldn’t keep his hands off me—pinned me against the wall like he was starving, growling about how tight I was while he fucked me so deep I couldn’t think straight. He just kept going, his cock hitting every spot like he knew my body better than I did. My legs are still shaking, and trust me, no one ruins a girl like Jeno can.”

Your gaze flickered briefly to her, taking in the sharp line of her jaw and the way her lipstick, though slightly smudged, still clung to her lips in a way that made her look effortlessly put together. Even after what she described—a night so raw and consuming it left her legs trembling—she looked pristine, her cheeks flushed with satisfaction, her eyeliner still perfect, and her hair cascading down her shoulders like she’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. The contrast between the composure in her appearance and the chaos she’d just described had you staring a moment too long, admiring the confidence and beauty she wore so easily.

She caught the direction of your eyes, her smirk sharpening when they landed on Mark. He was still seated on the couch, one arm draped lazily across the backrest while the other rested on his thigh, his fingers idly spinning the basketball balanced on his knee. The subtle curve of his lips hinted at amusement, though he didn’t seem to notice the crowd around him. His dark eyes, framed by the messy strands of his hair falling across his forehead, flickered with an easy confidence that made him impossible to ignore.

Karina’s chuckle broke the moment, low and dark, her voice playful but biting as she leaned closer to you. “Never thought I’d see Mark Lee being such a whore for attention,” she mused, her tone laced with teasing malice. Her gaze lingered on him, her smirk deepening as though she found the sight amusing—or perhaps a little too tempting.

He knew exactly what he was doing—the way he allowed his gaze to linger a beat too long, how his voice dropped just enough to make people lean closer, desperate to catch every word. It wasn’t just attention he was after—it was control, power, the thrill of knowing he could command a room without even trying. 

Your lips curled into a sharper, more dangerous smirk as you turned back to her, your tone smooth but layered with an edge you didn’t bother to hide. “He should only be a whore for my attention,” you replied, each word deliberate, cutting, and enough to make Karina arch a brow, her expression twisting into one of amused challenge.

She turned to you fully, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, reckless glint that always preceded trouble. She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have an idea.”

You raised a brow, her mischievous tone already giving away her intent, but you decided to play coy, tilting your head slightly. “Do I even wanna know?”

Karina leaned closer, her lips quirking into a knowing smile, the glint in her eyes confirming exactly what you’d suspected. “Wanna make him jealous?” she teased, her voice dripping with suggestion, as though she already knew your answer.

You knew what she was implying—knew the game she was proposing without her having to say another word. It wasn’t just about jealousy; it was about power, about shifting the dynamic and throwing Mark off his pedestal, even for a moment. You felt the corner of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself, the beginnings of a smirk betraying your crumbling resolve. “That would be immature,” you murmured, the words weak and unconvincing as your gaze drifted back to Mark. He sat effortlessly in command, the easy confidence in his posture making him look untouchable, and something about that made you waver.

“Yeah,” Karina agreed lightly, her tone almost sing-song, but her playful smirk hinted at far more. “But you’d get to make out with me.” Her words pulled a soft scoff from you, and you rolled your eyes, though the small grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. “We’ve literally kissed before. Remember all those threesomes with Jeno—”

Before she could finish, you cut her off, closing the distance in a swift, impulsive move. Your lips crashed into hers with an uncoordinated urgency that had the two of you stumbling slightly, your balance offset by your own recklessness. The kiss was messy and chaotic, a tangle of movement that made both of you giggle against each other’s mouths. Her soft laugh vibrated against your lips, and you felt her hands slide up to your neck, her fingers tangling into your hair with an easy familiarity.

It wasn’t sensual or romantic—it was playful, almost ridiculous, a show of exaggerated closeness meant for the eyes you knew were watching. Your lips moved together briefly, clumsily, as if neither of you were taking it too seriously. Still, you let the kiss deepen for a moment, her grip on your hair tightening as your head tilted slightly to the side, drawing her closer. It was just enough to make your point, just enough to draw every pair of eyes in the room without crossing a line you couldn’t laugh off later.

You pulled back first, breathless and slightly flushed, your lips swollen from the contact. The ghost of a smirk lingered on your face as you glanced at her, her expression matching your own—amused, teasing, and entirely unapologetic. Karina wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, a devilish grin spreading as she leaned back slightly, her gaze flicking toward Mark with a sharp glint that told you she knew exactly what kind of chaos you’d just unleashed. She moved as if to lean in again, but you shook your head, your grin widening as her laughter bubbled up, mixing with your own. The tension broke into something lighter, and for a moment, the two of you giggled like co-conspirators, perfectly aware of the storm you were brewing.

She didn’t say a word at first, just let her gaze linger on him before turning back to you, her grin widening. “Well,” she said, her tone light but teasing, “that definitely worked.” She smirked, leaning in closer. “Did you see him? He looked furious, like he wanted to come over here and break it up—but at the same time, I could tell he was so turned on. He couldn’t stop watching.”

But before you could look too and gauge his reaction, Jeno appeared, his towering frame filling the doorway with an air of casual dominance. His dark eyes locked onto the two of you, heat simmering in his gaze that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. Slowly, he stalked closer, his lips parting slightly as his hand drifted down to his waistband, blatantly adjusting himself with no care for subtlety.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. The way his gaze lingered made your skin prickle, but it was the weight of his hand landing on your head that made your knees almost buckle. For a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might join you, but instead, he nudged you gently to the side, his focus shifting with deliberate intent to Karina.

Your breath hitched as you watched him close the distance between them, his large hands gripping her waist with a possessiveness that left no room for question. His lips crushed against hers with a raw, unrestrained intensity, a kiss so consuming it sent a jolt of electricity through the room. Karina melted into him instantly, her moan breaking through the tense silence as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. The way their bodies moved against each other was magnetic, primal, as if nothing and no one else in the room existed.

You stepped back awkwardly, heat flushing to your cheeks as you tried to steady your breathing. Watching them devour each other with such hunger—such chemistry—made your earlier kiss with Karina feel insignificant, like a mere warm-up to the show they were putting on now.

The room shifted, the background chatter dwindling as heads turned toward the spectacle unfolding. A crowd was forming, their eyes drawn to the scene with a mix of awe and intrigue. The tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air like a storm about to break.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement, your gaze snapping to Mark. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his dark eyes was unmistakable as they bore into you. The weight of his gaze made your stomach twist, a blend of unease and anticipation gripping your chest.

The room shifted, the background chatter dwindling into an almost eerie silence as more heads turned toward the spectacle unfolding. Jeno and Karina were utterly engrossed in each other, their movements fluid and magnetic, drawing every eye like moths to a flame. A crowd was forming, the mix of awe and intrigue thick in the air, and the tension hung like a storm waiting to erupt.

You can’t help it—a quiet, desperate moan slips past your lips as you watch them. The raw heat between them is overwhelming, stirring something deep and primal inside you. They’re so hot together, so shamelessly in sync, and the thought hits you hard: What if you joined? Your heart races at the idea, your chest tightening as memories of past times flood in—moments when you had joined, when it was electric, seamless, and so, so good. You bite your lip, trying to steady your breath, but the temptation clings to you, relentless. You’re horny, high, and surrounded by two of your best friends—friends who know every inch of you, who know exactly how to make it all feel right. The idea isn’t just a fleeting thought; it’s a deep, undeniable pull, and you’re not sure how much longer you can resist.

But before you could linger on the idea, you felt it—the weight of Mark’s gaze, heavy and unrelenting, burning through the haze clouding your thoughts. It was as if he could see every sinful flicker in your mind, exposing the secret you hadn’t dared to voice. You dared a glance toward him, and your stomach twisted at the dark intensity in his eyes, locked firmly on you.

Mark’s reaction was subtle, yet it spoke volumes. He didn’t move right away, leaning back against the couch with calculated ease, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while his other hand gripped the basketball. His gaze didn’t waver, sharp and cutting, holding you in place like a predator assessing its prey. A flicker of something dangerous crossed his face—irritation, amusement, something possessive—but it vanished before you could fully decipher it, replaced by a chilling calm that only heightened the tension.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, drawing your eyes there despite yourself. It wasn’t casual; it was a challenge, a subtle display of control that made your breath hitch. His eyes flicked briefly to Karina and Jeno before returning to you, narrowing slightly, the fire in his gaze stoking the heat already pooling in your stomach. The smirk that curled the corner of his lips wasn’t soft—it was sharp, a warning, an unspoken claim that left no room for misunderstanding.

When Mark finally moved, it was deliberate, his calm exterior crackling with a restrained energy that made the air between you thick and oppressive. He stood smoothly, his broad shoulders rolling back as his presence swelled, consuming the space around him. The basketball hit the floor with a dull thud, forgotten in an instant as his focus honed in entirely on you. Each step he took was slow, measured, but there was nothing relaxed about him. It was a storm gathering strength, and you could feel the power in every deliberate movement as he closed the distance, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he said, voice low, smooth, and cutting in a way that sent a jolt straight through you. His eyes dragged over your face with a sharpness that made you feel exposed. “Standing here like that, staring at them like like you wanna join in.” His lips twitched into a smirk, but it was sharp, humorless, and the glint in his dark eyes was anything but forgiving.

You wanted to respond, to snap back or deny the accusation, but the words stuck in your throat. His gaze was a heavy weight, pinning you in place as he came closer, his tall frame practically looming over you. The flicker of anger—or was it something deeper, more possessive?—in his expression made your heart race.

Before you could think to step back or speak, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. The heat of his grip sent a shiver up your arm as he tugged you forward with no hesitation, the roughness of the motion stealing your breath. His hand tightened just enough to make you aware of his strength—not enough to hurt, but enough to ensure you didn’t try to pull away.

“Don’t fight me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for defiance. “You’re coming with me. Now.” The force in his words made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion, and his grip tightened further, a warning that you weren’t in control anymore. His tone was edged with something dangerous, a promise that there would be consequences if you resisted.

The room blurred around you, your pulse hammering as Mark led you toward the exit with an almost unnerving calmness in his stride. People moved out of his way without him so much as glancing at them, the tension radiating off him like a force field. His grip on your wrist didn’t falter, steady and unrelenting as he pushed through the crowd.

“Mark—” you started, but the sound of your voice barely broke the air before he turned his head, cutting you off with a sharp, warning glance. His eyes burned into yours, dark and unreadable, silencing you instantly.

Your chest felt tight, caught between the sheer weight of his anger and the unmistakable heat that burned in his gaze. Every nerve in your body was on edge as he pulled you through the threshold and into the quieter hall beyond. For a moment, all you could focus on was the intensity of his touch, the controlled fury in his movements, and the way your thoughts spiraled wildly, caught somewhere between fear and something much more dangerous.

The door clicked shut behind you, the muffled sounds of the party fading to a low hum. Mark had pulled you into one of the small side rooms off the main hallway, a quiet pocket of space tucked away from the chaos but still dangerously close to it. The room was dimly lit, a couch pushed against the wall and a small table cluttered with forgotten drinks and a jacket someone had left behind. It felt secluded, intimate—but the knowledge that anyone could walk in at any moment only added to the tension.

Your heart was still racing, your wrist warm where his hand had gripped you, but as you turned to face him, everything shifted.

The storm you’d seen in his eyes moments ago was gone, replaced by something softer, deeper—yet no less intense. The anger had melted away, leaving only that possessive edge you knew too well. His dark eyes softened, becoming the ones you loved, the ones that had a way of looking right through you, disarming you completely.

Before you could process the change, Mark was on you. His hands found your waist as he backed you against the door, his grip firm but tender as he held you close. The heat of his body pressed into yours, his presence overwhelming in the quiet intimacy of the small space.

He didn’t say a word at first, just pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It wasn’t the fierce grip you expected—it was grounding, safe, his way of anchoring you to him as his fingers splayed against your lower back. His breath fanned over your cheek as he leaned in, his lips hovering achingly close to yours, so close you could almost feel the kiss he refused to give.

Your chest heaved, a quiet, involuntary moan slipping past your lips as you tilted your head slightly, chasing the contact he was teasingly withholding. But Mark didn’t move, didn’t close the gap. The tension crackled between you, your whimper breaking the silence as his thumb brushed a soothing circle against your side.

His lips hovered over yours again, deliberate in their restraint, the closeness making you ache. You felt his breath against your skin, the soft tickle of it drawing another quiet sound from you as you clung to his shoulders.

But still, he didn’t kiss you.

“God I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet relief that made your knees weak. The faint annoyance that had lingered in his tone earlier—no doubt from your missed calls, ignored messages, and the scene you’d made with Karina—was gone, replaced by something warmer, something unspoken but clear. You had expected anger, sharp words, or even a cutting glare, but there was none of it. “Finally.” 

You raised a brow, crossing your arms as you stopped just a few feet away. “Finally?” you echoed, a teasing lilt in your tone. “Looked to me like you were doing just fine without me. I mean, all those girls, Mark…” You tut jokingly, your memory flickering to the four women who surrounded him. “Maybe I should’ve just left you to it.” You roll your eyes. 

A faint smirk tugged at Mark’s lips, his head tilting slightly as he looked you over. “You think I would’ve let you do that?” His voice dipped lower, enough to make your pulse quicken. “Pretty sure none of them can distract me the way you can.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you rolled your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “Oh, I don’t know. They seemed pretty captivated.” You gestured vaguely toward the girls, who exchanged awkward glances but didn’t leave. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you got caught?”

Mark’s smirk widened as he closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to lightly graze your wrist. The touch was brief, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. “Caught doing what? Talking?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “You jealous?”

You scoffed, but your lips curved into a sly smile, unable to help yourself. “Oh, please. A few compliments about your basketball skills? You must be eating this up.”

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning, but before you could respond, his expression shifted. The playful gleam in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker, something simmering just beneath the surface. His thumb brushed against your lip—slow, deliberate, almost mocking—as his gaze dropped to the faint smudge of Karina’s lipstick at the corner of your mouth. The motion sent a ripple of awareness through you, a silent reminder that he’d seen everything, that he wasn’t about to let it slide.

“What was that back there?” he asked softly, his voice calm, yet laced with an unmistakable edge. The question hung between you, heavy with quiet authority, as his dark eyes locked onto yours. They pinned you in place, cutting through your defenses with a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten.

“Just having fun. Just like you were,” you said, rolling your eyes, your tone deliberately casual. Your heart stuttered, and you hated how easily he could do this—strip you bare with just a look. Still, you raised a brow, feigning indifference, though the teasing note in your voice wavered slightly. “You’re such a show-off,” you quipped, the words softer than you intended. “But I’m not falling for it.”

Mark’s smirk deepened, his thumb grazing over the back of your hand in a way that felt far too intimate for where you were. His touch was slow, deliberate, the heat of his skin sending a ripple of tension up your arm. He stepped even closer, the space between you vanishing as his voice dipped into something darker, more confident.

“Baby,” he drawled, his lips curving in that way that made your pulse quicken. “You don’t have to fall for it. It’s already yours.”

His fingers tightened slightly around yours, grounding and possessive, the unspoken claim sparking a heat in your chest you couldn’t ignore. The way he looked at you, like he was undressing you with his eyes, made your breath hitch. This was shameless, utterly shameless—especially since you weren’t together anymore. But god, you couldn’t resist. Neither of you could. It was like a gravitational pull you had no desire to fight.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started, but you knew why you were falling back into this with Mark. Maybe it was the way you were both high, the haze clouding everything and heightening your senses, making every touch, every glance, feel electric. Or maybe it was the undeniable jealousy bubbling under the surface—the way you watched him with the other girls, the way he looked at Karina and Jeno, his sharp eyes full of frustration and possessiveness. It mirrored the tension building inside you, all those old emotions and unspoken feelings resurfacing, just waiting for an outlet. 

You knew this wasn’t healthy, that these were all signs of pent-up frustration and unaddressed jealousy, but it didn’t matter. The need, the desire, the pull between the two of you was so strong it almost felt inevitable. You weren’t together anymore, but it was impossible to ignore the way he made you feel, how everything about him made you want to give in. The way he touched you, the heat in his gaze, the possessiveness—it was like a magnetic force drawing you closer, making you crave him in ways you didn’t want to admit. Neither of you had the strength to fight it.

You tilted your chin up, defiance flickering in your eyes even as the heat coursing through your body betrayed you. “You sound so sure of yourself,” you murmured, your voice low, daring him to prove you wrong. “What makes you think I haven’t moved on? Maybe what you saw me do with Karina is a fraction of what I’ve been wanting to do with other guys.”  

Mark’s smirk deepened, slow and deliberate, as he raised his hand to your face, his fingers brushing against your jaw before settling firmly beneath your chin. His grip was confident, dominant, tilting your head up just enough to ensure your eyes met his. The heat in his gaze pinned you in place, stealing the breath from your lungs. “Oh yeah?” he said, his voice a low rasp that felt like it could unspool you entirely. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve moved on. Go on.”

Your breath caught, the words sitting heavy between you. His hand shifted, sliding to your waist as he pulled you a fraction closer, his touch warm and grounding against the thin fabric of your dress. The weight of his stare was overwhelming, the intensity in his eyes pulling you under like a riptide.

“You can’t,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that made heat coil in your stomach. “Because I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me since we broke up. Like you’re imagining exactly what I’d do to you if no one else was around. Like you’re waiting for me to stop teasing and just ruin you already.”

You tilted your head slightly, letting a teasing smile tug at your lips, your body leaning closer to his without meaning to. “Oh?” you challenged, your tone laced with mischief. “What makes you so sure? Maybe I already have. Maybe I’ve even thought about someone else’s hands on me.”

It was a lie, an obvious one. You’d never think about anyone else—never consider it, not for a second—but you wanted to push him, to test him, to see just how far you could pull his strings. His eyes narrowed slightly, catching on immediately, and instead of snapping back, he let out a low, rough laugh.

Mark leaned in, his smirk deepening as his breath grazed your cheek, warm and tantalizing. “Yeah?” he drawled, his voice dipping lower, heavy with challenge. “With who, baby? Tell me who you’ve moved on to. Tell me you don’t think about me late at night. That you don’t wish it was my hands on your skin, gripping you so tight you can’t think straight. That it’s not my name you’re moaning when you can’t help yourself.”

Your lips parted, but the sharp retort you wanted to throw back at him refused to come. You were stunned, his words striking deeper than you anticipated, leaving you momentarily speechless. His thumb brushed against your jawline, the movement slow, deliberate, and searing. Your skin tingled under his touch, your pulse racing in your ears.

“That’s what I thought,” Mark murmured, his tone low and full of satisfaction. His smirk grew as he held your gaze, unrelenting and full of heat. “You’re mine, baby. Always have been and always will be.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as a shiver ran down your spine. But despite the way his words sank into you, you forced a smirk onto your lips, masking the storm in your chest with a teasing edge. “Does it matter?” you quipped, tilting your chin up in defiance. “What if there is someone else?”

His eyes darkened, his grip on your chin tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “If there was,” he said, his voice steady but laced with heat, “you wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t be looking at me like this.” His thumb grazed the corner of your mouth, his gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Like you want me to drag you out of here and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Mark’s laugh was softer this time, the sound dripping with amusement, but there was a tension in the way he leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It matters,” he murmured, his tone rough and low, laced with something that made your pulse quicken. “Because I don’t share, baby. And I don’t think you’d want to, either.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a vise. He was calling your bluff, and the way his hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer, made it clear he wasn’t letting you go without making you admit it.

You tilted your head slightly, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned in closer, your breath grazing his neck. “Who says I’d even want to share?” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with heat. Your fingers traced a slow line along the front of his shirt, skimming over the firm muscles beneath. You paused, your gaze locking with his, daring and teasing. “But tell me,” you added, your tone dropping, “would it really bother you if someone else made me scream their name?”

His body tensed immediately, the air between you thickening with raw, electric tension. His hand slid lower, gripping your waist with enough force to make you gasp, his lips now brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Watch it,” he growled, his voice rough, dangerous. “You don’t want to test me, baby.”

Your breath hitched, the sharpness in his tone igniting something deep inside you. His grip on your waist was firm, possessive, and instead of pulling away, you leaned in closer, your lips just barely brushing his. “Maybe I want to test you,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with challenge, every word dripping with intention. “Maybe I want to see exactly what happens when you stop holding back.”

His free hand moved, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress as though testing the barrier between you. “You know what’s funny?” he murmured, leaning in slightly, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. “You show up here looking like that, wearing this…” His gaze raked over you, his lips curving into something that felt more like possession than admiration. “…and you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t want to ruin you in it?”

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small baggie and holding it up between your fingers. Mark’s gaze dropped to it, his brow raising slightly in curiosity. You grinned, pulling out a fresh blueberry vape next—two things that Jeno had slipped into your hand earlier without you asking, free of charge and with a lingering kiss on your forehead. You gave it a little shake for emphasis, your grin widening as you wiggled your eyebrows at him. “Wanna have fun?” you teased, your voice sultry, daring.

Mark’s smirk deepened, a dangerous edge sharpening his already magnetic expression as his gaze flicked between the baggie and your lips. Slowly, deliberately, his tongue swept over his lower lip, leaving it glistening as he stepped closer. The heat of his body was palpable, pressing into yours and making your breath hitch.

“You’re serious?” he drawled, his voice low and molten, dripping with intent. “You want to smoke, make out, and do drugs with me?” His head tilted slightly, his eyes dragging over you like a physical touch, lingering on the hem of your dress before sliding back up to meet your gaze. He leaned in closer, his lips just a breath from your ear, his voice a dark, intimate whisper. “You know exactly what that’ll lead to, don’t you?”

Your lips curled into a wicked smile, and you leaned up slightly, your voice soft but loaded with heat. “Good. Because I want to have sex with you too.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, the muscle flexing as his hand gripped your waist with bruising intensity. His other hand grasped the baggie from your grip, his movements fluid and deliberate, his confidence crackling in the air around you. His gaze stayed locked on yours, sharp and heated, his thumb brushing your hip as though grounding you in place.

He tore the bag open with practiced ease, slipping out a small pill—a pale blue ecstasy tablet, faintly chalky and imprinted with a star. A warmth of recklessness hung in the air between you, but something inside you twisted as you watched him hold it between his fingers. “Are you sure this is okay with your heart condition?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with worry.

Mark paused for a fraction of a second, the tablet poised near his lips, before he turned his gaze back to you, his smirk softening into something almost teasing. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice low, smooth, reassuring. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not overdoing anything. Besides, I’m barely playing basketball anymore, and I haven’t even started my meds yet. That’s next week. Trust me, this is fine.”

Despite his calm demeanor, your chest tightened with unease. “Mark…” you started, but he cut you off, tilting his head slightly as his smirk deepened.

“I’ve got this,” he murmured, his tone full of quiet confidence. He held your gaze as he lifted the pill to his tongue, his movements slow and deliberate. Instead of swallowing, he leaned in closer, his fingers tightening at your waist as his lips hovered just over yours. You couldn’t help but notice how smooth he was—too smooth—and you wondered fleetingly how many times he’d done this before.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he murmured, his breath brushing over your lips, the pill still sitting on his tongue. His voice was rough, teasing, dripping with intent. 

“Of course I do,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to betray the heat rushing through you. The words barely left your lips before Mark’s smirk deepened, his breath fanning over your skin as the pill still rested on his tongue, daring, teasing.

Before you could think further, his hand shot up, fisting your hair with deliberate roughness and tilting your head back. The action sent a shiver down your spine, a soft gasp slipping past your lips. And then he was on you, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation.

The kiss was rough, all teeth and tongue, the bitter tang of the pill passing from him to you as his lips moved against yours like he was starving for it. His hand tightened in your hair, anchoring you as his free hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body seeped into yours, his control over the kiss overwhelming in the best way.

His tongue slipped past your lips, commanding and deliberate, every movement sending shivers coursing through your body. The faint bitterness of the pill lingered, tangling with the heat of his taste, a combination that left your head spinning. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on desperate, rough yet devastatingly skilled. His grip in your hair tightened, tilting your head further back, giving him full control as his other hand gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin like he was staking a claim.

The world around you blurred, the muffled sounds of the party fading into nothing as the pill began to take hold. A slow, tingling warmth crept through your veins, heightening every sensation. The softness of his lips, the roughness of his grip, the way his body pressed against yours—it all became sharper, more vivid, like every nerve in your body was tuned to him. Your chest tightened as his tongue teased yours, drawing moans from you that only made him deepen the kiss, his hand sliding lower, splaying over your lower back to keep you pinned against him.

Mark growled low in his throat, the vibration against your lips sending another wave of heat spiraling through you. His kisses became messier, more urgent, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. The pill’s effects amplified the sensation, making every brush of his lips and every flick of his tongue feel electric. Your moan vibrated against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, but it only made him pull you closer. His fingers dug into your waist, his grip possessive as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away. The kiss deepened, messy and urgent, leaving you lightheaded and utterly consumed by him.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his lips glistening and swollen as his gaze bore into yours. Your chest heaved, the pill now dissolving on your tongue, but you barely noticed—your thoughts were a blur of heat and want, your body buzzing from the electric connection between you. Mark didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The intensity in his eyes, the way his hand remained tangled in your hair, said everything. And god, you wanted him to do it all over again.

Mark’s lips barely left yours, then he kissed you again, his hands roaming with a roughness that sent heat coursing through your veins. “You taste so fucking good,” he growled against your mouth, his teeth dragging over your lower lip before sucking it between his own. The sting melted into a wave of pleasure as his tongue swept over the spot, his dominance undeniable. His hands slid lower, gripping the back of your thighs with a possessive strength that had you gasping against his lips.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, the heat of his palms searing through the fabric as his fingers dug in, possessive and demanding. “Come here, baby,” he growled, his tone dark and full of raw need, leaving no room for argument. He tugged you forward, your body colliding with his chest as his hands slid up, rough and deliberate, tracing the curve of your hips before grabbing your ass with a firm squeeze that made you gasp.

His grip tightened as he pulled you into his lap, the friction between you igniting sparks along your skin. His fingertips pressed into your flesh, kneading and claiming, leaving you breathless as his touch became more insistent. He dragged you closer, guiding your hips to grind against him, the hard press of his arousal against your core unmistakable.

“Right here,” he rasped, his breath hot against your jaw as his teeth scraped along your neck, his hands relentless in their exploration. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me. Stay right here, baby. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

His grip on your hips tightened before one hand slid upward, trailing over your ribcage and coming to rest against your jaw. He tilted your face toward him, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, testing. “Open your pretty lips,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, a demand that sent a shiver down your spine. When you parted your lips, he slid his thumb inside, pressing it against your tongue.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes dark with heat as he watched you. His thumb retreated, replaced by two fingers that pushed deeper, the taste of his skin flooding your senses. He didn’t stop, sliding a third finger past your lips, the stretch making you gag. Your throat constricted around them, and he groaned low in his chest, the sound thick with approval.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his other hand gripping your waist to keep you steady on his lap as you choked softly, your lips stretched around his fingers. He pushed in deeper, his pace unrelenting, the scrape of his calloused fingertips against your tongue making your thighs tense against his. “Look at you, taking it so well. Don’t stop, baby. Show me how good you can be.”

Your body moved against him, frantic and unrestrained, the friction pulling desperate moans from your lips as you ground yourself harder against the thick, unrelenting hardness beneath you. His hips thrust upward with equal fervor, meeting you with a pressure so perfect it sent waves of pleasure rippling through you. “Fuck, Mark,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails scraping over his skin as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control. But there was none—he wasn’t giving you any.

The thin fabric of your dress had ridden up entirely, leaving nothing to the imagination. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing bruisingly into your flesh as a low, guttural groan tore from his throat. “You feel that?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, his breath scorching against your ear. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the sting reverberating through your body as a startled gasp escaped your lips. “You’re fucking mine,”  he growled, his tone dripping with raw possession as another spank landed, the sting mixing with the fire building inside you. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten those videos you sent me tonight, baby. This little skirt…” His fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it higher. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?”

“It’s a dress,” you managed to breathe out, your voice shaky but laced with defiance, a smirk tugging at your lips despite the heat coursing through your body.

Mark chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers tightened on your thigh. “Dress, skirt… doesn’t matter,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, dripping with intent. “Either way, I’m gonna make you regret wearing it around me.”

His hands gripped your hips firmly, rolling you down against him once with a rough grind that sent a jolt of heat straight through you. The friction was maddening, your need unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, you began bouncing on him, desperate for more, even through the barrier of his clothes. His chest heaved, his jaw tightening as his hands slid lower, grabbing you harder, guiding your movements with a possessive force. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice dripping with lust, his dark eyes drinking in every move you made. “So needy, so fucking desperate to feel me. You want me to lose it, don’t you?”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, his intent unmistakable, but you tilted your head back just enough to avoid him. A teasing smirk curved your lips, even as your heart pounded furiously in your chest. His eyes narrowed, darkening with frustration and something deeper, something raw. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin possessively, the heat of his grip anchoring you to the moment. “Playing hard to get now, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and full of warning, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

Instead of chasing your lips, he shifted his attention, his mouth finding the curve of your neck. The first press of his lips was rough and deliberate, the wet heat of his tongue dragging over your skin before his teeth sank in just enough to make you gasp. He worked his way down slowly, his mouth claiming every inch, his teeth grazing over the sensitive spots that made your body arch against him. “You feel that?” he rasped, his voice dark and dripping with possession. “This is what you do to me. You love being mine, don’t you? Letting me take you apart like no one else can.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer as he left another mark just below your jaw. His tongue followed the curve of your pulse, the wet heat making your breath hitch. “God, your skin,” he muttered against you, his voice wrecked. “I could taste you forever.”

He pressed another open-mouthed, spongy kiss to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid hickey that throbbed with every beat of your heart. The sensation sent a shiver coursing through you, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless moan. “Mark…”

His teeth sank in slightly, pulling another moan from you as he marked you with precision, each kiss, bite, and lick a deliberate claim. His hand moved to your ass again, kneading the flesh before another sharp spank made you jolt in his lap. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly against your throat. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breaths were ragged, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped out, “I’m yours.” The words tumbled out without hesitation, your resolve crumbling under the relentless force of his touch.

Mark’s lips curled into a smirk against your skin as his hand gripped your chin, tilting your face toward him with a deliberate roughness. “Damn right, you are,” His hands roamed your body with an unrelenting need, gripping, kneading, and exploring every inch, as the grinding between you turned frantic. The heat radiating from him wrapped around you, his every move leaving you breathless, trembling, and completely at his mercy

“Mark,” you whispered, your voice soft and breathless, a quiet plea wrapped in the sound of his name. Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze shifting toward the vape resting on the table, the silent message clear in the way your lips parted slightly, your chest rising and falling against his.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound dark and intimate, vibrating against your skin as he pressed a lingering kiss to your jaw. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, teasing, as his hands tightened their hold on your waist, pulling you down against him in a way that made your breath hitch. “You sound so fucking pretty when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp, his eyes smoldering as they traced your every reaction. 

You reached for your vape, your fingers trembling slightly as you took a slow, deliberate pull. Mark’s eyes followed your every move, dark and smoldering, his pupils blown wide with raw hunger. His jaw tightened as his tongue swept over his bottom lip, the sight of you unraveled, so close and vulnerable, making something primal flare inside him. “Baby, come here,” you murmured, your voice low and thick with need as you took another drag, the smoke curling from your lips.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips hovered over yours, his breath hot and heavy as you exhaled the smoke directly into his mouth. His tongue slipped against yours, pulling the smoke from you, the action intimate, filthy, and laced with the sharp tang of blueberry. The kiss deepened, messy and consuming, as his hands roamed your body with unrestrained purpose. His fingers gripped your thighs, dragging the fabric of your dress higher, exposing the bare skin beneath. The heat of his touch left a trail of fire in its wake, his grip firm, commanding, as he held you exactly where he wanted you.

Mark’s groan rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak. His hand moved to your waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, his possessiveness raw and unrelenting. “You have no fucking idea, do you?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust and frustration. “You’re in my head, baby. Every second. Every goddamn moment. I can’t stop thinking about you—how you taste, how you feel. It’s driving me insane.”

Your lips curved into a sultry smirk as you leaned in closer, your breath brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “Good,” you whispered, your voice dripping with challenge. “I want to ruin you, Mark. I want to be the only thing in your head.” Your teeth grazed his jaw, a deliberate taunt that had his breath catching, his grip on you tightening instinctively.

His laugh was dark, rough, almost feral, as his hand slid lower to cup your ass with a bruising intensity. Without warning, his palm came down sharply, the sound of the slap cutting through the heavy air. The sting burned through your skin, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core, and a gasp tore from your lips. “You fucking love it when I’m like this, don’t you?” he growled, his voice thick and commanding, his lips latching onto your neck. His teeth scraped over the sensitive skin before sucking hard, leaving a mark that screamed possession. “Admit it, baby,” he hissed against your skin, his voice dripping with heat. “You love knowing exactly what you do to me—how fucking crazy you make me.”

He didn’t say a word at first, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. The way his chest rose and fell, the faint sheen of sweat glistening along his collarbone, only added to the heat pooling in your stomach. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin as his thumb brushed a slow, deliberate line over the sensitive flesh. Everything about him—the sharpness of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he caught his breath, the heat radiating from his body—was overwhelming in the best possible way. He looked devastatingly good, every inch of him dripping with raw, magnetic energy that drew you in like a flame.

You didn’t respond, your mind too clouded by the sharp mix of pleasure and heat coursing through you. Instead, you arched into him, your fingers tugging harder at his hair as his hips rolled up into yours. The friction was maddening, every movement stoking the fire burning low in your belly.

He pulled back slightly, his chest heaving against yours as his hand reached for your vape, his movements slow and deliberate. He brought it to his lips, his jaw clenching slightly as he took a long, measured drag, his cheeks hollowing in a way that made your breath hitch. The way he held it—confident, casual, and commanding—sent a ripple of heat straight through you. His lips, full and slightly flushed from kissing you, curved into the faintest smirk as he exhaled, the smoke swirling lazily between you, thick and intoxicating.

He tilted his head, his eyes heavy-lidded and locked onto yours, his gaze dripping with intent. The smoke lingered in the space between you, and as he leaned closer, the sharp scent of it mixed with his natural warmth. His lips hovered near yours, teasingly close as he exhaled softly, letting the smoke drift into your parted mouth. You inhaled it instinctively, his fingers curling around your hip as if to steady you, the small, deliberate touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his breath warm against your lips as his thumb brushed along the curve of your waist. Every inch of him—his strong jawline, the veins visible on his forearms, the way his hoodie stretched over his chest—oozed raw, effortless heat. His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, his smirk deepening as his hand slid up to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. The kiss that followed was deliberate and consuming, his lips parting against yours, his tongue sweeping in with a rhythm so maddeningly slow it left your body trembling, your mind reeling, and your breath utterly stolen.

The kiss that followed wasn’t soft—it was consuming. His lips crushed against yours, his tongue demanding entry as his hands tightened on your ass, kneading and squeezing with a roughness that made you whimper into his mouth. He guided your movements, pulling you harder against him, forcing your hips to roll over the solid heat pressing into you. The friction was maddening, sending waves of pleasure through you as his fingers dug deeper, spreading you wider over his lap.

“God, you’re mine,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need, your hands clutching his shoulders for balance as you rocked against him, desperate for more. His grip on your ass shifted, his hands sliding underneath your dress, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your bare skin. 

He groaned low in his throat, leaning closer so his lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a sinful whisper. “Say it again. Tell me who owns this perfect ass, baby.”

Your breath hitched, your head tilting back as his teeth grazed your jaw, his hands squeezing and spreading your cheeks, leaving no part of you untouched. “Yours,” you gasped, your voice cracking as he rolled his hips up into yours, the pressure between your bodies building to an unbearable height.

“That’s right,” he growled, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath your entrance, making your thighs tremble. “All fucking mine. Don’t ever forget it.”

But it wasn’t enough. The need clawing at your chest was insatiable, your body trembling as you pressed yourself against him. Your hands moved feverishly, trailing down his chest, nails raking over the fabric of his hoodie in frustration. You tugged at the hem, desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips.

“Mark,” you whined, louder this time, your voice cracking with need. You tilted your head back, meeting his gaze with eyes blown wide and pupils dark with lust. “Please—need you. Right now. Can’t take it anymore.”

His smirk deepened, lazy and infuriating, as his lips brushed along your jaw, each slow, deliberate movement teasing you further. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice thick with mockery as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you still despite the frantic way you squirmed against him. “What do you need, baby? Hmm? Spell it out for me.”

Your hands scrambled to his waistband, tugging at his jeans with clumsy urgency, frustration making your fingers tremble. “I need you,” you panted, barely able to get the words out between shallow breaths. “Need your cock—please, Mark. Just—fuck me. Please.”

His laugh was sharp and cruel, a low, grating sound that made your cheeks burn with humiliation. He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes scanning you like a predator sizing up its prey. “Look at you,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath your dress, sliding up the soft skin of your thighs with rough, deliberate strokes. His grip was bruising when he reached the curve of your hips, his nails biting into your flesh hard enough to make you whimper. “So messy. So fucking desperate for me. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“No—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered, your head shaking wildly as tears pricked at your eyes. Your hands yanked at his shorts again, the button refusing to give under your shaking fingers. “Take them off,” you begged, your voice trembling as desperation turned into sobs. “Mark, please—I need you.”

His hand shot up suddenly, the sharp crack of his palm connecting with your cheek leaving you gasping, the sting spreading like fire across your skin. Your body went rigid, your hands freezing as you looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace, each word sending a shiver through your body. His gaze was molten, dark and commanding, pinning you in place with its unrelenting intensity. His hand gripped your wrist, firm but not painful, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. “After the shit you pulled tonight?” he hissed, his tone sharp, cutting. “You don’t get to call the shots, baby. Not when you’re acting like this.”

The heat on your cheek mixed with the unbearable ache clawing at your core, and your thighs pressed together involuntarily. A shaky moan escaped your lips, unbidden and humiliating, and his smirk widened at the sound.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he sneered, his fingers gripping your chin roughly, tilting your head back so you couldn’t look away. “You like being put in your place. You like pushing me until I lose my patience.”

“Yes,” you whispered, Without a word, he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you off his lap, setting you down beside him with a controlled, almost punishing precision. His palms didn’t leave your body for a second, sliding down to your knees and forcing them apart with a rough, deliberate motion.

“Open,” he commanded sharply, his tone cutting through the haze clouding your mind. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

Your legs trembled as they fell open, but the hesitation wasn’t fast enough for him. His hands gripped your thighs with bruising force, shoving them apart even wider, making you gasp as he positioned himself between them. His strength left no room for resistance, and his smirk grew darker as he took in the sight of you—messy, desperate, and completely at his mercy.

“Good girl,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, hard enough to make you shudder. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

His free hand slid down, grabbing the front of your dress with no hesitation. With a rough pull, the fabric tore, the sound sharp and jarring as it split apart, leaving you bare underneath him. The rush of cool air against your exposed skin sent a shiver through you, but the heat of his gaze made you burn even hotter.

“Mark!” you gasped, squirming against his hold, but he only chuckled, his grip on your wrist tightening as his other hand ghosted down your stomach. “That was new!” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his gaze flicking to the torn fabric of your dress. 

“Mark, please,” you sobbed, tears spilling over as your body writhed against his grip. “I’ll do anything—anything you want. Just touch me—please.”

His laugh was dark, almost cruel, as he pushed you back until your shoulders hit the cushions, his hand sliding from your wrist to wrap firmly around your throat. His grip tightened, making your breath hitch as your pulse quickened beneath his thumb. The pressure stole the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping softly, the sound only fueling the wicked smirk curving his lips. “Anything, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low, taunting rasp that sent a shiver through your body. His grip didn’t relent as he leaned closer, his eyes dark and commanding. “Then shut up,” he growled, his tone rough and dripping with dominance, “and take it.”

The world tilted as his hands locked onto your thighs, the force of his grip leaving no room for argument as he dragged you forward, pulling you higher until your knees bracketed his chest. His gaze was predatory, dark and commanding, the sharp edge of his smirk making your stomach flip. “Sit,” he growled, his voice rough, raw, and so sure of itself it made you shudder.

When you faltered, his grip tightened, bruising as his hands slid to your hips, lifting you effortlessly and positioning you over him. Your breath hitched as he adjusted you, spreading your thighs wide with firm hands, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. “Now,” he ordered, his tone sharp, brooking no defiance. Before you could process the shift, his hands gripped your ass, dragging you down hard, pressing you into him with a force that left you trembling, his fingers biting into your skin as he held you exactly where he wanted.

“Stay still,” he rasped, his voice rough and commanding, muffled against your skin as his lips grazed you with maddening precision. His grip tightened, possessive and unyielding, leaving bruising imprints of his control on your thighs. Your legs trembled, betraying your attempt at defiance, but his hold anchored you firmly, making it clear who was in charge.

A sharp, stinging spank landed on your ass, drawing a gasp that echoed into the charged air. The sound was obscene, your arousal slick against his palm. “I said, stay still,” he growled, his tone dark with warning, his breath hot as he dragged his lips along your most sensitive spots.

“Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction as his lips curved into a wicked smirk. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, daring you to resist. “Now, be a good girl and let me take what’s mine.”

Your body arched instinctively, thighs quivering as his mouth claimed you with unrelenting hunger, each movement deliberate, calculated to reduce you to trembling submission. His nails scraped against your skin, dragging over heated flesh, making you squirm in desperate pleasure.

“Mark—!” you gasped, the sound breaking into a whimper as his tongue dragged through your folds with a filthy, primal groan. The wet, obscene glide of it against your slick skin made you shudder violently, your thighs clenching on instinct. His hot breath fanned over your most sensitive spots, dizzying you as the tremors wracking your body betrayed your helplessness. His grip on your thighs was punishing, his fingers digging in deeply enough to leave marks, grounding you in place as if daring you to move.

“Messy already,” he muttered against your pussy, his words muffled but dripping with mocking satisfaction. The vibration of his voice sent a shiver straight to your core, pulling a strangled moan from your lips. His tongue flicked out again, slower this time, the deliberate pace almost cruel as he licked and sucked like he was savoring every drop of you. “You want my attention? You’re going to fucking take it.”

Your hands shot to his hair, tangling in the damp strands as you tried to steady yourself, but your hips betrayed you, jerking up against his face with reckless desperation. His growl rumbled low and deep, a feral sound that sent a sharp wave of arousal through you. The vibrations of it reverberated against your clit, wrenching a broken cry from your lips. His nails dug deeper as he shifted, gripping the underside of your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, forcing more of your weight onto his mouth as your legs dangled helplessly.

“Stay still,” he commanded sharply again, his words muffled but laced with warning, his nails biting into your skin as he pinned you down harder. “You move again, and I’ll tie you to this fucking couch.”

The threat made your breath hitch, heat flooding your cheeks and pooling low in your stomach. The sheer dominance in his tone, in the way his hands manhandled you like you weighed nothing, sent your heart racing. His tongue was merciless, lapping and stroking in erratic patterns that left you unable to think, only feel. When his lips sealed around your clit, sucking with devastating precision, the sudden intensity sent stars bursting behind your eyes. You bucked again involuntarily, but his hands clamped you down tighter, holding you open and exposed to his unrelenting assault.

“Fuck, Mark!” you cried out, tears blurring your vision as his teeth grazed you lightly, just enough to tease and drive you closer to the edge. The wet, filthy sound of his tongue and lips working you over filled the room, mixing with your desperate gasps and moans. His stubble scraped against your inner thighs, the slight burn only amplifying the overwhelming sensation of his mouth devouring you.

“Don’t fucking stop now,” he growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your slick before diving back in. “You wanted this—now take it.”

The obscene mess of it all was maddening—his mouth working against you with ruthless precision, his face glistening with the evidence of your arousal. His grip on your thighs was bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you wide open for him, leaving you completely at his mercy. Every movement of his lips, every deliberate stroke of his tongue, sent jolts of electric heat coursing through you, and the pressure building inside you was unbearable. You were trembling, teetering on the edge, unable to escape the raw need he was coaxing out of you.

“Mark—please!” you cried out, your voice breaking as your hips rocked against his face, seeking the release you were so desperately chasing. He growled low against you, the vibration sending another shockwave through your body, his tongue curling and teasing in ways that had your thighs quivering. You were so close—too close—your body tensing as the orgasm threatened to rip through you. “I can’t—I’m gonna—” The words spilled out between gasps, your grip on his hair tightening as your cries grew louder.

And then he stopped, his mouth pulling away just as your body teetered on the edge, leaving you trembling and squirming against the crushing emptiness. His breath was hot against your slick skin as he leaned back, his grip on your thighs unrelenting, keeping you pinned in place. “So fucking desperate,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting, sending a shiver down your spine. 

A strangled whimper escaped your lips, the sound raw and desperate, tears pricking at your eyes as your hips bucked instinctively, searching for the release he had stolen from you. “Please, Mark,” you choked out, your voice breaking, barely audible. 

“Look at you. Pathetic, dripping all over my face—and you still don’t get it, do you?” His fingers trailed up your thigh, stopping just short of where you craved him most, teasing with maddening precision. “You’ll come when I decide you’ve earned it,” he rasped, his tone dark and commanding. “And when you do, you’re gonna fucking thank me for every second I made you wait.”

His hands slid up your body, strong and deliberate, cupping your breasts with a possessiveness that made your breath catch. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks, and the sensation shot through you like electricity. He leaned in without hesitation, his lips wrapping around one nipple as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, each slow, deliberate movement making you whimper softly. His free hand gripped your other breast, kneading the soft flesh before his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled against your skin, his voice dripping with heat as his teeth grazed your sensitive nipple. “So desperate, so fucking perfect like this. You like being in my mouth, don’t you? You want me to ruin you completely?” He sucked harder, pulling a ragged gasp from your lips as your body arched under him, every nerve in your body alive with need.

“Mark,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as his tongue flicked over you again, relentless and unforgiving. He groaned low in his throat, the vibration sending shockwaves through you as his mouth latched onto the other nipple. his teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. 

You couldn’t hold back the sharp cry that escaped your lips as his mouth sucked harder, his hands squeezing your breasts with a bruising grip. Your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer as you moaned helplessly, your hips shifting in frustration. “You’re mine,” he rasped, his tone dark and possessive. “And I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

The air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of your panting breaths when Mark finally pulled away, leaving you trembling, every nerve in your body on fire. But he didn’t give you time to recover, didn’t let you catch even a shred of composure. His hands gripped your waist with bruising force, spinning you around as he hauled you off the couch like you weighed nothing. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall beside the open door, the cool surface biting against your overheated skin.

“Mark—wait,” you managed to stammer, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. Your knees were weak, your legs trembling so violently you could hardly stand on your own. But he didn’t wait. His body pressed into yours, firm and unyielding, pinning you to the wall as his hands roughly turned you around.

“You think I’m going to stop now?” His voice was a low growl, dark and filled with a possessive hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers gripped your hips, forcing them to jut out as your palms scraped against the wall for balance. “You wanted this. You fucking begged for it.”

The sheer force of his strength was overwhelming. His body was the only thing keeping you upright, the heat and weight of him pressing into you so completely that your legs felt like jelly. The wall was cold and unrelenting beneath your hands, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. His cock was hard and insistent, grinding against your ass with enough force to make you gasp, your breath catching as he pushed your thighs apart with his knee.

The door was open, the soft creak of it swaying in the air just loud enough to remind you of your vulnerability. No one was here—not yet—but the thought that anyone could walk past and see you like this, bent over and pinned to the wall with Mark’s hands roaming possessively over your body, only made your arousal spike. Your pulse raced, your face burning as your wetness slicked the insides of your thighs.

“You like this, don’t you?” Mark’s voice was laced with a mocking edge, his hand coming down sharply to smack your ass. The sound echoed through the room, followed by your startled moan. “The thought of someone catching you like this, seeing how desperate you are for me.”

You whimpered, your hips jerking back involuntarily, seeking more of the punishing friction of his cock against you. He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding between your legs to cup your pussy. His fingers pressed against your soaked folds, teasing you with deliberate slowness that had you arching back into him.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers slipped through your slick. “I could take you right here, make you scream loud enough for the whole fucking building to hear.”

“Mark,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his fingers teased your entrance, circling but not pushing in. “Please—”

“Please, what?” he interrupted, his tone harsh and commanding. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so you were forced to meet his gaze in the reflection of a nearby glass pane. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

Your chest heaved, your heart pounding as you reached down, your trembling hand covering his. You dragged it over your stomach, lower, until his fingers hovered just above the spot where you ached for him most. The weight of his hand against your skin was grounding, a teasing promise of what you needed.

“I wanna feel you right here, baby,” you whined, your voice trembling, high-pitched and dripping with desperation. You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your lower stomach, your hips shifting needily under his touch. “Please, I want you so bad—so deep I can feel you here,” you whimpered, your words slurred and needy, your lips brushing his jaw as you begged. “I’ll be so good, I swear, I’ll take it all—just please, baby, I need you.”

Mark groaned, the sound guttural and raw, his control slipping for a fraction of a second as your words sank in. His fingers flexed against your stomach, his hand pressing harder as if he could already imagine the way he’d fill you. “Say that again,” he demanded, his tone a mix of rough hunger and command. “Say exactly what you want, and I’ll make sure you feel me there for days.”

“I want you to fill me, Mark,” you breathed, your voice trembling but laced with raw need. Your hand slid over his, pressing it harder against your stomach as your hips arched into him. “I want to feel you so deep it’s the only thing I can fucking think about.”

In one fluid motion, his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, yanking you back against him as the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. He didn’t ease in—didn’t give you even a second to adjust. With one hard, punishing thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you so completely that a sharp cry tore from your lips, loud and uncontrollable in the still air.

“Fuck,” he growled, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into you with relentless force. His cock stretched you to your limit, the sharp sting of it only making the pleasure more intense. “You’re gripping me so fucking tight—like your body was made to take me.”

The wall was cold and unforgiving against your chest, your nipples pebbling from the icy contact as they dragged against the unyielding surface with every thrust. The sharp contrast of the chill against your overheated skin sent jolts of sensation through your body, heightening the intensity of every movement. His hands gripped your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow, evidence of the way he claimed you. His body was the only thing keeping you upright, his strength pinning you to the wall as he fucked you harder, his movements precise and punishing.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the open door was a constant reminder of how exposed you were. Every moan, every filthy sound of his cock driving into you, echoed into the empty space beyond the room. Anyone could walk past and hear you, see the way your body arched into him, the way your hands scrabbled at the wall for purchase.

“You like that, don’t you?” Mark growled, his breath hot and rough against your neck as his hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp sting drawing a gasp from your lips. “You like being my filthy little whore, don’t you? Bent over for me, dripping, knowing anyone could walk in and see how fucking desperate you are.”

“Yes,” you choked out, the word tumbling from your lips before you could stop it, your face burning with a mix of humiliation and arousal. “Fuck, yes. I love it.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered darkly, his voice thick with satisfaction. His pace quickened, his hips slamming into you with enough force to make the wall rattle. “You’re such a dirty little thing, letting me take you like this with the fucking door open.”

You moaned his name, your voice breaking as his cock hit that perfect spot inside you, sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body. Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up, but his hands tightened on your hips, anchoring you to him.

“Stay up,” he commanded, his tone sharp and demanding. “Don’t you dare fucking fall.”

“I—I can’t,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as your arms buckled against the wall. “Mark, I can’t—”

“Then let me hold you,” he growled, his hands sliding up to grip your waist as he pressed you even harder against the wall. His strength was overwhelming, his body the only thing keeping you from collapsing completely. “You don’t need to do anything, baby. Just let me fuck you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body tightening around him as you gasped his name. The roughness of his pace, the way his cock filled you so completely, the sheer dominance in his every movement—it was all too much. The thought of someone seeing you, hearing the filthy sounds he was dragging from you, only made the pleasure sharper, hotter. You felt yourself slipping further, so cock drunk and fucked out that you lost control of your moans, your voice echoing loudly through the room as you screamed his name over and over.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly from the hall, followed by a distant voice. Your eyes widened in panic, and you gasped sharply, the sound barely escaping before Mark’s hand clamped firmly over your mouth.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone low but laced with a dangerous edge, his lips brushing your ear as he pressed his body even harder against yours. “Can’t have anyone hearing my girl like this,” he growled, his voice rough but intimate, the possessiveness in his words making your knees weaken further. His hand over your mouth tightened slightly, the pressure making you moan softly against his palm. “They’ll get fucking ideas. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Letting someone else hear how desperate you are for my cock?”

His hips didn’t stop, driving into you with a slow, deliberate force that left you trembling. His free hand slid up your body, fingers curling around your throat as he leaned in closer, pressing soft, tender kisses to your cheek and jawline. “You can scream for me later,” he whispered, his voice rough but tinged with something softer. “But right now, you’re going to stay quiet and take it, just like the good girl you are.”

Your muffled whimpers vibrated against his palm, your body shaking as he kissed a trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before soothing the mark with his tongue. His lips lingered, brushing over the corner of your mouth as he whispered, “You’re so fucking perfect like this. Just let me take care of you.”

The intimate sweetness of his touch contrasted sharply with the roughness of his thrusts, each brutal snap of his hips slamming his cock deep inside you and meeting the curve of your ass with a filthy, resounding slap. The hard press of his body pinned you against the cold wall, his relentless rhythm leaving no part of you untouched. Your muffled cries grew louder, uncontrolled, as the footsteps in the hall faded, the fear of being caught only making you tremble harder, your body arching helplessly into the  pace that pushed you closer to the edge

Mark’s hand stayed firm over your mouth, his lips still brushing over your skin, trailing kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. “That’s it, baby girl” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “You’re fucking perfect—my perfect little mess.”

Your walls clenched tighter around him, your body betraying the overwhelming pleasure even as you tried to keep yourself from completely falling apart. His fingers flexed against your throat, his grip possessive as he kept you pinned to the wall, his body the only thing holding you together. His hand slid lower, teasing over your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple, the cold wall pressing against you heightening the sensitivity.

“I can feel how close you are,” he rasped, his voice raw as his teeth nipped at your earlobe. “Don’t hold back. I want you to let go for me, baby. Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to.”

The mix of his commanding words and the intimate touches of his lips and hands was too much. Your body gave in, a muffled scream escaping against his palm as your orgasm tore through you, your walls clenching and pulsing around him as you shook violently in his hold.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he thrust deep one last time, burying himself completely inside you. The warmth of his release filled you, a deep, claiming sensation that left you utterly wrecked. He stayed there, pressed against you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his breath came in heavy, uneven pants.

Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, turning your head toward him as he captured your lips in a slow, almost tender kiss. “You did so good for me,” he whispered against your lips, his tone softer now, filled with quiet reverence. “So fucking perfect.”

His hands smoothed over your waist, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out completely. He pulled out of you slowly, a hiss escaping his lips at the sensation, and turned you in his arms to face him. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped down from the intensity.

“You still with me?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, though that teasing edge still licked at his tone. His lips brushed your temple, trailing down to your ear as he kissed the delicate curve and whispered, “That’s my girl. You’re so fucking perfect when you fall apart for me.” The softness of his words wrapped around you like silk, a stark contrast to the bruising grip of his hands just minutes ago.

Your body trembled as you nodded weakly, too wrecked to form a coherent response. Mark didn’t waste a second, spinning you around and forcing you down onto the couch with an almost feral precision. Your face pressed into the cushions, muffling the desperate, broken sounds spilling from your lips, while your ass arched high into the air, completely exposed to his control. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking hard enough to send a sharp jolt through your spine, forcing your back to curve further as he asserted his dominance. His other hand gripped your waist like a vice, his fingers sinking deep into your skin, holding you in place as he pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance. Without a word, he yanked your hips back sharply, burying himself inside you in one devastating motion.

Mark didn’t thrust; he didn’t need to. His grip on your waist tightened, and with brutal precision, he dragged you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every inch at his pace. The stretch was overwhelming, your walls struggling to adjust as he held firm, letting the weight of his cock fill you completely. He pulled you back again, harder this time, the obscene slickness of your arousal making the movement smooth and relentless. “Look at you,” he growled, his voice low and filthy, his fingers digging into your waist as he used your body like it was made for him. “

He kept you pinned there, forcing you to rock on his cock as he dragged you back with punishing force, his hands controlling the rhythm and depth without ever moving himself. Your thighs trembled with the effort, every pull making your cries grow louder as the sound of your slick arousal and his deep groans filled the room. “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled, one hand moving to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. The burn made you jolt forward, but his iron grip dragged you right back, slamming you onto his cock again. “This is where you belong—on my cock, taking me like the dirty little whore you are.” His other hand slipped between your cheeks, spreading them wide before he spit, letting the slick warmth drip between them. His thumb circled your tight hole, teasing it with deliberate pressure as he continued to yank you back onto him, each motion rougher than the last.

Mark’s hand slid down your spine, slow and deliberate, until his fingers reached the tight, untouched spot hidden between your cheeks. He didn’t hesitate, circling the delicate ring of muscle with a slick, teasing motion that made your entire body jolt. His touch was firm yet testing, the pressure increasing just enough to force a gasp from your lips as he worked the wetness into your skin, spreading it over the sensitive entrance with calculated precision. Your back arched instinctively, your body betraying you, pushing against his fingers despite the overwhelming heat pooling in your core. “Yeah, you like that,” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating with satisfaction as his fingers pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers through you. 

When he pushed the tip of one finger inside, testing your limits, your breath hitched, a sharp cry escaping you as he chuckled darkly. “That’s it,” he rasped, his cock still buried deep inside you, unmoving but heavy, stretching you completely as his hand worked you open in another way. He dragged his finger in and out slowly, filthy and deliberate, each push making your body tremble violently, each pull making you clench tighter around him. “You take me so fucking good,” he murmured, his tone thick with dark amusement as his finger teased deeper, curling slightly before retreating again, his grip on your waist tightening as he controlled every reaction you gave him.

But the intensity became too much. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the deliberate way he controlled every inch of you—it left you gasping for air. Instinctively, your hands gripped the cushions beneath you, clawing at the soft fabric, a weak attempt to create some space, to ease the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Mark caught the subtle shift instantly, his hand snapping to your wrist with a firm grip and pinning it beside your head. He leaned down, his body pressing harder against yours, holding you exactly where he wanted. “Where do you think you’re going?” he rasped, his tone rough but laced with a quiet dominance that sent a shiver straight through you. His free hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face back to meet his piercing gaze. “Why are you running from me, baby? Hmm?”

His hips shifted slightly, and you felt the insistent press of his cock inside your walls, teasing and unrelenting, as though he was waiting for you to break completely. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with untamed desperation. “Let me make you feel good.” His hand slid from your jaw to your neck, his fingers wrapping firmly around your throat as he shifted your head to the side, forcing your gaze to lock with his. 

“I wasn’t running,” you whimpered, your voice unsteady, shaky with need and overwhelmed desire. Your body squirmed helplessly in front of him, caught between the unbearable intensity of his dominance and the craving for more. Mark’s smirk deepened, a satisfied, knowing glint in his eyes as he chuckled softly, his grip firm as he pushed you further into submission. “Good,” he growled. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Mark’s filthy words filled the air, each one sharper, dirtier, and more unhinged than the last. “So fucking tight,” he rasped, his hips snapping brutally as his cock drove into you with an intensity that left you gasping. “You’re mine. My dirty little whore who takes everything I give her.” The sharp crack of his hand smacking your ass rang through the room, the sting forcing a broken cry from your lips. He spread your cheeks wide, spitting between them with obscene precision before using his thumb to rub it in. The wet heat only added to the overwhelming sensations consuming you, your cries growing louder as his fingers teased and pressed, filthy and relentless.

The added stimulation had you spiraling. His fingers teased you shamelessly, pushing you closer to the edge with every deliberate stroke as his cock stretched you, filling you to the brim with every punishing thrust. “Look at you,” he growled, his free hand snaking down to rub your swollen clit roughly. “Fucking ruined under me. You love this, don’t you? Love being my filthy little slut who takes it all.” The combination of his filthy words, the brutal snap of his hips, and the relentless pressure on your clit shattered you. Your body tightened around him, trembling violently as a scream tore from your throat, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless and sobbing into the cushions.

But Mark didn’t stop. He wasn’t finished with you yet. His pace only grew harder, more ruthless, as he chased his own release. “Take it,” he snarled, his voice rough and guttural, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock with every savage thrust. “Take everything I give you.” His name left your lips in a broken plea, your body overwhelmed and wrecked beneath him, but the sound only pushed him further.

When he finally came, it was with a deep, guttural moan, his hips slamming into you one last time as he buried himself to the hilt, holding you still as he spilled into you. The heat of his release left you trembling, your body quivering from the aftershocks as he leaned over you, his breath ragged and heavy against your ear as he pants and moans. 

Mark didn’t let go. His hands stayed firm on your hips, holding you in place as if you might try to escape. Your cries grew louder, desperate and raw. His mouth dragged hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin with enough pressure to leave burning marks. “I know, I know,” he rasped, his voice thick with a mix of dark satisfaction and raw need as your whimpers vibrated against him. His hips snapped harder, punishing, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. “But you’re going to take it, baby.” 

His hand gripped your jaw, forcing your head to the side to face him, his dark eyes locking with yours. “Open,” he commanded, his tone rough but teasing as his thumb dragged over your bottom lip. The moment your lips parted, he leaned closer, spitting into your mouth, the obscene act sending a jolt of heat straight through you. “Swallow,” he rasped, his hips snapping harder, his cock filling you so completely it left you whimpering around him. 

And you stayed like this for so long, trapped in the filthy, consuming intensity of him, your body molded to his as if you were made to fit him. His cock stayed buried deep inside you, every subtle twitch and shift reminding you who owned you, who kept you trembling and filled to the brim. His hand never left your jaw, his thumb occasionally brushing your lips as he made you swallow every filthy word, every guttural moan that left his mouth. His other hand stayed locked on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted, every slight adjustment sending aftershocks rippling through your overstimulated body. The night stretched endlessly, the heat between you mingling with the slick evidence of your need, as he whispered dark promises into your ear, his hips rocking slow and deliberate, ensuring you never forgot how completely he had you. You lost all sense of time, surrendering entirely to him as the air grew heavy with your mingled breaths and the unrelenting hum of raw, unfiltered desire.

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Your eyes blinked open, the soft golden light streaming through partially closed blinds casting unfamiliar patterns on the muted walls around you. The space wasn’t your own—too orderly, too quiet—and it certainly wasn’t Mark’s chaotic college apartment. Confusion stirred for the briefest moment, but it melted away as you became acutely aware of him. His arm was draped heavily over your waist, the weight possessive but comforting, pinning you against the solid warmth of his chest. His breath fanned over the nape of your neck, slow and steady, the faint rhythm of his snoring grounding you in a way that nothing else could.

The scent of him—clean, earthy, unmistakable—wrapped around you like a shield, and the tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding slipped away. You didn’t need to know where you were, not when his hold felt so familiar, so certain. Carefully, you shifted beneath his arm, your movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb the way his fingertips unconsciously flexed against your skin as though he could sense even the smallest hint of distance. Reaching for your phone on the bedside table, you tried to stretch without breaking the warmth surrounding you, your body still pressed tightly against his. The faint glow of the screen lit your face as you unlocked it, the weight of responsibility tugging at you—college work, deadlines, the world beyond this bed.

y/n — sorry i had to leave you this morning, i have some college work to do. i’ll call you later :)

Before you could press send, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm but not forceful, stopping you mid-motion. “Y/N,” Mark murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a jolt through you. The way he said your name, even half-asleep, was enough to make your heart skip. His hand didn’t let go, pulling you gently back toward him as his eyes cracked open. They were heavy with exhaustion but soft with concern as they focused on you. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone warm and grounding, like he couldn’t imagine waking up without you there.

His brows furrowed slightly as his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your skin. “Why are you trying to leave like that?” he asked, his voice more awake now, though still laced with a teasing edge. “Next time, just wake me up.”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of his sleepy but pointed stare. “You looked too peaceful to bother,” you murmured, glancing away, but his hand caught your chin, gently tilting your face back toward him.

He didn’t respond right away, but the shift in his hold spoke louder than words. His arm tightened around your waist, the firm press of his body pulling you closer, as though letting you go was an impossibility he refused to entertain. The heat of his chest seeped into your back, his grip possessive yet tender, a silent plea he didn’t try to hide. His fingers flexed slightly against your skin, anchoring you there, his need unspoken but palpable. It wasn’t just the physicality—it was the way he held you, as if the very thought of losing your warmth left him raw.

“I really need to go,” you whispered, though the words wavered as your lips brushed against his, soft and hesitant. His groan was immediate, low and dramatic, vibrating against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm and teasing as he trailed lazy kisses along your shoulder, the slow drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Why can’t you just stay?” he muttered, his voice rough with reluctance, punctuated by the way his hand slid up your hip, fingers curling slightly to hold you tighter.

You sighed, glancing around the unfamiliar room as his touch made it hard to focus. “Where even are we?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his smirk soft but teasing as his thumb brushed over your hip. “The house I grew up in,” he murmured, his eyes locking on yours, gauging your reaction. “The Uber to my place was cost too much last night, and after how high we got, there was no way I was driving,” he added, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as if daring you to argue.

Your brow furrowed as you scanned the room again, warmth blooming in your chest as the details clicked into place. The cozy space suddenly felt intimate, safe, an extension of Mark himself. “Why don’t I remember any of this?” you asked, curiosity lacing your tone as you shifted slightly against him.

His low chuckle sent a ripple of heat through you as he leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “You were out cold,” he said, his tone dripping with playful satisfaction. His hand gripped your hip a little firmer, pulling you snugly against him. “Guess I fucked you so good you didn’t even notice where we ended up.” His words were a mix of cocky and intimate, the kind of teasing that sent your heart racing and left you achingly aware of every point where his body met yours.

You roll your eyes, ignoring his teasing remarks as you had become so accustomed to them. “I’m sorry, but I really need to go. I have assignments due today that I haven’t even started,” you said, your tone soft but resolute, though the warmth of his grip made leaving harder than you cared to admit.

Mark groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillow before rolling onto his back with exaggerated frustration. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face like he was being asked to endure the impossible. But when his eyes found yours again, the teasing edge softened, replaced by something quieter, something more vulnerable. “We need to talk later, though, yeah?” His voice was calm, low, but there was an unmistakable weight in his words that made your chest tighten.

You nodded, leaning down to press your lips against his, the kiss slow and lingering, filled with more unspoken promises than either of you could voice. “Yeah. Later,” you whispered, your words feather-light as you pulled back, letting your gaze linger on him for just a moment longer before reluctantly pulling yourself away.

As you slid out of his hold and stood, his gaze followed you, a faint frown tugging at his lips. “Do you know the way out?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. “Wait—give me ten minutes, and I’ll drive you to campus.”

You shook your head, pulling on your jacket and grabbing your bag. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

Before you could fully step away, his hand caught your wrist again, tugging you back down for one last kiss. It was softer this time, almost tender, as if he wanted to make sure you felt it for the rest of the day. “Alright. Bye, baby,” he murmured against your lips, releasing you with a sleepy grin.

You couldn’t help but smile as you turned, glancing back once to see him flop back into the pillows, his breathing evening out almost immediately. Shaking your head, you slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind you.

As you walked down the stairs, you took in the details of the house. The banister was worn smooth, polished by years of use, and the walls were lined with framed photographs that seemed to tell the story of Mark’s life. You paused at one—a young Mark, grinning wide, his front teeth missing, with Doyoung standing behind him, arms crossed in mock disapproval. Another showed Mark in his basketball uniform, holding a trophy, his proud smile infectious.

Your lips curved into a small smile as you moved further, your fingertips brushing the frames. But time was pressing, and you couldn’t linger. You hurried down the last few steps, pushing open the front door—only to freeze in surprise.

You were suddenly standing in a small cafe, its cozy warmth immediately wrapping around you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, and sunlight spilled through the large windows, illuminating tables adorned with mismatched chairs and hand-knitted coasters. You blinked, confused. This hadn’t been here last night, had it? Then you remembered—Mark’s mom had mentioned owning a cafe, but you hadn’t realized it was attached to the house.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

You jumped at the sound of Irene’s voice, turning to see her behind the counter, carefully icing cupcakes. Her smile was warm, even though she hadn’t looked up yet.

“Oh, morning,” you replied, your voice hesitant as you stepped further inside. You weren’t sure if you should stay or leave, but before you could decide, Irene glanced up and motioned toward one of the chairs.

“Sit,” she said gently but firmly, leaving no room for argument. “What’s your coffee order?”

You hesitated, then gave it, watching as she moved around the counter with practiced ease. The cafe suited her—a reflection of her warm, welcoming personality. The walls were lined with shelves holding jars of coffee beans, plants spilling from terracotta pots, and pictures of happy customers. It felt lived-in, loved, much like the woman herself.

Irene placed a steaming cup in front of you before settling across from you, her gaze steady but kind. “How are you?” she asked gently, her tone warm but probing. “And Mark?”

You hesitated, taking a sip of the coffee to stall. “I’m fine. Busy.” Your voice was clipped, guarded. “Mark’s… fine too.”

Irene’s soft smile didn’t waver. “I heard you two broke up,” she said simply, tilting her head slightly, as though studying you. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve never seen him more at peace than when he’s with you.”

Your grip tightened slightly on the cup, her words landing heavier than you expected. “It’s… complicated,” you muttered, keeping your voice low, unwilling to meet her gaze for too long.

Irene reached across the table, her hand lightly covering yours. “Life is complicated,” she said gently but firmly, her touch grounding. “But love doesn’t have to be. Mark loves you, Y/N. And from the way you’re looking at me right now, I think you love him too. Don’t let fear stop you from being happy. You both deserve that.”

The cafe was quiet, as you’d expect this early in the morning, the faint hum of an overhead fan and the gentle clink of Irene’s utensils the only sounds breaking the stillness. You took a sip of your coffee, glancing around the cozy space. The mismatched chairs, hand-knit coasters, and the faint smell of cinnamon—it all felt so warm, so Irene. You thought this might be a good time to slip out unnoticed, but before you could make a move, the door swung open with a light jingle.

The door jingled, drawing your attention toward the entrance. To your surprise, Seulgi walked in, her laughter carrying into the quiet cafe, and beside her was Mark’s best friend. They were deep in conversation, their easy going interaction catching you off guard. It was a sight you hadn’t expected—especially given that Jeno and Mark’s best friend were now not on good terms. Seeing Seulgi, Jeno’s mom, laughing and walking side by side with her felt almost surreal.

When their eyes landed on Irene, they both smiled warmly, but as their gazes shifted to you, their expressions shifted. Seulgi’s brows lifted in recognition, and Mark’s best friend’s face remained neutral, though her sharp eyes briefly flickered with something you couldn’t place.

“Y/N?” Seulgi said, her tone surprised but warm as she crossed the room toward you. She didn’t hesitate to pull you into a firm hug, her arms wrapping around you tightly. You froze at first, caught off guard, but relaxed slightly into her familiar embrace. Despite everything, you’d always had a soft spot for Seulgi’s warmth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she pulled back, her sharp eyes scanning your face for answers.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. What could you say? The truth—that you’d spent last night with Mark and this was where he’d brought you—felt too raw and inappropriate to admit. Your silence hung for a beat too long, and Seulgi tilted her head knowingly.

“Ah, you’re here with Mark, right?” she said knowingly, her voice low enough that it didn’t carry across the room. “Jeno did tell me the two of you were… together.”

Your face burned, and you quickly looked away, stammering out a weak, “Yeah… something like that.”

Seulgi raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, her smirk deepening as she stepped back, her attention shifting to Irene, who had just finished icing another tray of cupcakes.

“Morning, Seulgi,” Irene greeted, her tone warm but brisk. She glanced at Mark’s best friend, who had stayed near the door, her gaze flickering between you and Seulgi. “Can you start setting up the pastry display? And refill the coffee station while you’re at it.”

Mark’s best friend gave a clipped nod, her expression unreadable as she brushed past you and headed behind the counter. There was something in her eyes—an unmistakable sadness—that made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, your thoughts immediately circling back to whatever Jeno might have done. She glanced at you briefly, her smile tight and distant, polite but far from warm.

The hum of the coffee grinder filled the air as she prepared her drink, her movements quick and purposeful. Despite her efficiency, you couldn’t ignore the tension in her body, the way she avoided looking at you again. It was clear something was weighing on her, and it lingered in the silence between you like an unspoken question.

The awkwardness lingered in the air, but Seulgi, always the conversationalist, broke the silence. She pulled out a chair next to you and sat down, resting her elbows on the table as she looked you over. “So,” she started, her tone casual but pointed. “How long have you and Mark been… a thing?”

You hesitated, glancing at Irene for help, but she was busy arranging cupcakes. Seulgi leaned in slightly, her smirk widening. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Before you could stammer out a response, Irene set down her tray and joined you, her tone light but deliberate. “You don’t need to interrogate her, Seulgi,” she said, casting you a reassuring look. “Let her breathe.”

Seulgi leaned back, raising an eyebrow at Irene but relented, her smirk softening. “Alright, alright,” she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll back off… for now.”

You let out a quiet breath, grateful for Irene’s intervention, though you could still feel Seulgi’s eyes on you, curious and calculating. Mark’s best friend, meanwhile, had settled behind the counter with her coffee, leaning against it as she watched the interaction from afar. Her clipped expression earlier lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel her silent assessment.

“So, Y/N,” Irene said, sitting down across from you again, her voice warm and grounding. “How’s college treating you?” Her tone had shifted, softer now, as if sensing how much you were struggling to find your footing in this unexpected situation.

“It’s fine,” you replied shortly, avoiding her gaze as you sipped your coffee.

She didn’t let the conversation end there. “What do you study?” she asked, her curiosity gentle but insistent.

“Photography,” you answered after a brief pause, glancing at her.

Irene tilted her head slightly, her brows lifting with interest. “What’s that like?” she asked, her tone genuine, as if she really wanted to understand.

For the first time in the conversation, you felt a small, genuine smile tug at your lips. “It’s… freeing, I guess. There’s something about capturing a moment exactly as it is, or even how you see it in your head, that feels special. It’s not just taking pictures—it’s about perspective, emotion, storytelling. Sometimes, you see things no one else notices until they look at your photo, and it’s like sharing a part of yourself without having to say a word.”

Irene didn’t interrupt, her eyes fixed on you as you spoke. There was no dismissive nod or vague smile—she was listening, her attention fully on you. The way her expression softened and her gaze never wavered made something settle warm inside you, a quiet kind of reassurance you hadn’t expected. “That sounds amazing,” she said softly, and for the first time since sitting down, you felt the tension in your chest ease.

Seulgi leaned forward, her sharp but kind eyes meeting yours as her tone softened, unexpectedly changing the conversation. “You know,” she began, her voice lower, more personal. “I’ve missed you. After you and Jeno broke up, I stopped hearing from you, and that made me sad. I saw you as a daughter, Y/N,” she admitted, her lips curving into a faint, nostalgic smile. “And I still do.”

The weight of her words caught you off guard, and your chest tightened as guilt began to claw at you. You swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze for a moment, apology written all over your face. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…” You paused, searching for the right words. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore—after Jeno and I ended things. I figured it’d be too awkward.”

Seulgi’s expression softened even further, her brow furrowing as she reached out to place a hand over yours. “Of course not,” she said, her voice firm but laced with reassurance. “You didn’t hurt me. And you’re wrong if you think I’d ever want to stop seeing you just because of that.” She gave your hand a small squeeze, her gaze unwavering.

“You and Jeno weren’t right for each other, and I think you both knew that deep down. As much as I love him, I could see the cracks. You two are better as friends, and there’s no shame in that.” Her voice was steady, warm, as though she’d thought about this a hundred times before saying it to you. “What I want for you—and for Jeno—is to be with people who bring out the best in you. That’s what matters to me. Always.”

As she spoke, her eyes briefly flicked toward Mark’s best friend, who was focused on the coffee station, oblivious to the glance. The movement was so quick, so subtle, that it barely registered, but something about it gave her words an extra layer of meaning you couldn’t quite place.

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. “Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was all you could manage, but Seulgi smiled warmly, as if she understood exactly what you meant.

“Good,” she said with a quiet chuckle, patting your hand before leaning back in her chair. “Just don’t disappear on me again, alright? You’ll always be welcome in my life, no matter what.”

Seulgi’s reassurance settled deep within you, her words carrying more weight than you expected. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the warmth of belonging—an unspoken promise that, despite everything, you still had a place in her life. It was disarming, to say the least, and as her hand squeezed yours gently before pulling back, you found yourself unable to respond beyond a soft nod and an almost shy, “Thank you.”

She smiled warmly, leaning back in her chair as if her job was done, but then Irene joined in, her voice cutting through the brief silence. “Seulgi’s right,” she said, her tone softer but no less encouraging. “You’ve been carrying a lot on your shoulders, haven’t you?” Her words weren’t accusatory—they were understanding, and they hit you squarely in the chest.

You shrugged, taking another sip of your coffee to avoid answering outright. “I’m fine,” you said vaguely, your voice low. “It’s just… life, I guess.”

“Life?” Seulgi repeated with a small laugh, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, Y/N, we’re not here to judge you. We’re here to help.”

You hesitated, glancing between them—the warmth of Irene’s gaze and the playful curiosity in Seulgi’s making it hard to keep your walls up. “I don’t know what to say,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down and fidgeting with the handle.

“How about starting with how you feel about Mark?” Irene suggested, her voice light but probing.

Your stomach twisted, and you glanced away, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s… complicated,” you said softly, your go-to answer whenever the topic of Mark came up.

Seulgi smirked, leaning forward again. “Complicated, huh? You keep saying that, but I’m not buying it. What’s really going on?”

You sighed, your fingers tightening around the edge of your cup. “We’ve reconnected,” you said vaguely, your words hesitant. “It’s been… nice.”

“Nice,” Seulgi echoed with a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re killing me with all these one-word answers, Y/N.”

Irene smiled gently, her hand resting on the table near yours. “It’s okay to feel conflicted. But if you’re here, and Mark brought you to his childhood home, that tells me there’s more to this than just ‘nice.’ You’re the first and only girl he’s ever brought here.”

You bit your lip, glancing between Seulgi and Irene, their unwavering attention making it impossible to deflect. The lack of judgment in their expressions, the way their warmth seemed to seep into the room, chipped away at the walls you’d carefully built around this part of yourself. Against your better judgment, the words began to spill. It started slow—a vague mention of how you and Mark had started talking again—but their quiet patience, the unspoken invitation to be honest, drew out far more than you intended.

You told them about Mark. About how complicated things had always been between you. How he had this way of making you feel—grounded and completely untethered at the same time. Being with him was like standing too close to the sun; it was thrilling, magnetic, and sometimes unbearably overwhelming. You confessed how much you cared about him, how he made you feel seen in a way that scared you.

But then came the harder part.

You explained why it hadn’t worked, why you’d walked away even though it had torn you apart. Mark deserved someone who wasn’t carrying the weight of unresolved fears and insecurities, someone who didn’t feel like they were constantly trying to catch up to his steadiness. You’d been so lost in your own mess, in your need to figure out who you were, that you couldn’t give him what he needed.

Irene leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but firm when she finally spoke. “Y/N, healing isn’t linear,” she said gently. “It’s not about waiting until you’re perfect before letting yourself be loved. You can still heal and work on yourself while allowing yourself to be in a happy, committed relationship. Those things don’t have to be separate.”

Her words settled in your chest like a gentle weight, grounding you even as they challenged the beliefs you’d clung to. You opened your mouth to argue, but she continued before you could.

“Mark doesn’t love you because he thinks you’re perfect,” Irene added, her tone unwavering. “He loves you because of who you are, even the parts you’re still working on. And I think it’s clear you feel something just as strong for him. Don’t let fear convince you that you have to do this alone.”

Seulgi nodded in agreement, her sharp eyes softening as she crossed her arms. “She’s right. You don’t have to wait until you’ve got it all figured out. If you and Mark make each other happy, then you deserve to hold onto that while you keep growing. Life’s too short to keep pushing happiness away because you think you don’t deserve it yet.”

“I’m scared to try again,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if nothing’s changed? What if we fall back into the same patterns? What if I hurt him again?” You stared at the coffee cup in your hands, tracing its rim as you forced out the last thought. “What if I’m not enough for him?”

Seulgi leaned back in her chair, her smirk gone, replaced by something softer. Irene, on the other hand, leaned forward, her hands clasped gently in front of her.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Irene said finally, her voice steady and warm. “But if I can give you one piece of advice, it’s this: Don’t let fear hold you back. Mark loves you, Y/N. That much is clear to anyone who sees him around you. And I think you care about him more than you’re ready to admit.”

Her words landed like a punch, calm but unflinchingly honest. You tried to push them aside, but the certainty in her tone made it impossible to dismiss them.

Seulgi nodded in agreement, her sharpness softened by sincerity. “She’s right. Life’s too short for all this back-and-forth. If you care about him, if he makes you happy, stop making excuses. Go get your boy.”

Her words hung in the air, weighty and unshakable, but it was Irene who turned to you with a gaze that cut deeper. Her eyes searched yours with a quiet intensity, an understanding that left no room to hide. “I can see it in your eyes,” she said, her voice low but certain, pressing the moment forward.

You swallowed, the dryness in your throat making your voice falter. “See what?” you mumbled, the words barely audible, though they carried every ounce of your hesitation.

“You know what,” Irene murmured, her gaze unwavering.

“What?” Seulgi cut in, her confusion sharp and genuine. “What is she talking about?”

Irene didn’t look away from you, her words landing with quiet finality. “You love him. You just can’t admit it yet. But you feel it, deep inside.”

The truth of her words hit like a pulse, spreading from your chest outward, thick and undeniable. You gulped, the air around you feeling heavier, your body betraying the emotions you’d been trying to bury. Your heart thrummed painfully, its beat erratic, as though it was trying to speak the words you couldn’t. Your stomach twisted, an ache born of longing and fear, and your hands trembled slightly as you clenched them in your lap. Emotion swelled in your chest, raw and consuming, like you were standing on the edge of a precipice and falling all at once.

Your breath shuddered as the weight of it all—of him—settled in your chest. The way he looked at you, the sound of his laugh, the quiet moments where the world felt softer, smaller, when he was near. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t fleeting. It was all-consuming, a fire that burned steady and deep. You nodded, a single, deliberate motion, the truth breaking free even if your voice couldn’t yet.

Irene’s lips curved into a fond smile, her gaze softening as though she’d known all along. Seulgi, however, gasped audibly, her surprise genuine. “I never thought your feelings ran that deep,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“They do,” you murmured, and then, as if the words were too much, a single tear slipped from the corner of your eye. The intensity of it all threatened to overwhelm you. Your chest felt tight, as though your heart had outgrown the space it occupied. Love wasn’t light or gentle; it was heavy, its weight pressing against your ribccage, demanding to be acknowledged. Your skin tingled with the thought of him, your hands yearning for the familiar warmth of his. Love felt like everything and nothing all at once—a quiet storm that you could never quite tame.

“I’ve never been… in love before,” you confessed, your voice breaking under the weight of your admission. The silence that followed was palpable, the words hanging in the air like something fragile and sacred. “That’s why I’m like this,” you added softly, the rawness of the moment pressing against your chest.

Irene reached across the table, her hand brushing yours in a gesture so small yet grounding. “Love is beautiful,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “It’s not meant to be pushed away. It’s not something you control. It’s something you let in, let it take root, and watch it grow. It doesn’t have to be scary. Let it embrace you, Y/N. You deserve to feel it fully.”

The tenderness of her words settled in the room, but Seulgi stayed quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line. The irony wasn’t lost on her, though she didn’t dare break the calm atmosphere. You had been in a long-term relationship with her son—how could Mark be the first person you’ve fallen in love with? It made no sense to her, but the serenity in your expression, the weight of Irene’s words, made her hold her tongue.

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and you leaned back, the heaviness inside you shifting—not disappearing, but no longer suffocating. “It feels so big,” you whispered, your voice fragile. “Like I’m going to break from it. But it doesn’t hurt… it’s just… overwhelming.”

“That’s love,” Irene said with a knowing smile. “It doesn’t fit neatly inside you. It stretches you, pulls you apart, and somehow makes you whole at the same time.”

You nodded again, your gaze dropping to your hands, which were still trembling slightly. “It scares me,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

“It’s supposed to,” Irene reassured you. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “But what about…” The thought of how messy everything had become made the words catch in your throat.

“I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone else,” Irene cut in, her voice firmer now, the sharpness of her words startling you. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard—not just by the force behind her statement, but by the fact that she had said it. Irene, with her calm demeanor and measured tone, wasn’t someone you expected to curse so bluntly.

But the conviction in her voice left no room for misinterpretation. Her gaze was steady, unwavering as she continued. “You and my son deserve to be happy. That’s what matters. Not what anyone else thinks, not what could go wrong. Just you and Mark, figuring it out together.”

You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue as you avoided her gaze. “I don’t know what to do,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, the vulnerability in it making you feel exposed.

Irene leaned forward slightly, her hand resting gently on the table between you. “You start by being honest—with yourself first and then with him. Tell him what’s in your heart, Y/N,” she said softly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, and it doesn’t have to make complete sense right now. Just let him know what you feel. He deserves that, and so do you.”

Her unexpected boldness only made her words hit harder, each syllable sinking deep into your chest. It wasn’t just reassurance—it was a declaration, one that made you feel like she believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself.

You glanced back at them, Irene’s soft smile and Seulgi’s playful yet sincere expression both carrying an unspoken confidence in you. It was hard not to smile, even as your thoughts swirled. There was no easy answer, no clear path forward. But for the first time, the fear didn’t feel insurmountable. It felt like something you could face. Something you wanted to face. You needed to tell Mark where your heart truly was, no matter how much it scared you.

You didn’t know how fast time had passed, but the glow of the sun now pouring through the windows told you it was midday. You were still here, seated in a booth with Irene and Seulgi, the three of you laughing like old friends as you shared stories and gossip. Somehow, despite the heaviness of the morning, they had made you so comfortable that you’d forgotten the time altogether.

“Y/N?” a voice behind you cut through your laughter, pulling your attention away mid-sentence. You turned in surprise, catching sight of Mark standing at the edge of the booth, his hair tousled and his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

It was clear he’d just woken up, his hoodie rumpled, his sleepy gaze soft as he took in the sight of you sitting there with his mom and Seulgi.

“Oh… hi,” you mumbled awkwardly, your cheeks heating under his gaze. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips twitching like he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“I thought you had assignments to do?” he asked, his voice low and groggy. “So what are you still doing here?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hand slipping into yours instinctively, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He reached out with his other hand, gently running it through your hair in a way that made your breath hitch.

“You should’ve just come back to me,” he said softly, his tone carrying a desperation that tugged at something deep inside you. His voice was low, almost whiny, like he couldn’t understand why you weren’t still in his arms.

You swallowed back a smile, deflecting the intensity of his words with a joke. “I came here to see your mom and Jeno’s mom, not you,” you teased, your lips curving upward as you glanced back at Seulgi and Irene, who were both watching with thinly veiled amusement.

Mark rolled his eyes at your words but didn’t let go of your hand.

You already knew Seulgi well—Jeno’s mom had always been a vibrant and lively presence. Her blunt honesty was oddly comforting, the kind that cut through awkward silences and made you feel seen without pretense. She was sharp, quick-witted, and had a way of making even the most uncomfortable situations bearable. Her warmth was loud and unapologetic, filling every room she walked into. But Irene… Irene was something entirely different.

With Irene, there was a quiet intimacy that made you feel held in a way you hadn’t expected. Her kindness wasn’t flashy or overwhelming—it was subtle, the kind that seeped into the spaces you didn’t realize were empty. She listened like every word you said mattered, like she could hear what you weren’t saying just as clearly. It wasn’t just her words that comforted you; it was the way she looked at you, with an understanding that felt almost motherly. You weren’t someone who opened up easily, but with Irene, it felt effortless. She made you feel like you belonged, like she had already made room for you in her heart before you even knew it was there. It wasn’t just touching—it was transformative, and it scared you how quickly you’d come to care for her in return.

Mark’s lips quirked up slightly, his gaze soft as he studied you. You hadn’t said anything in minutes, just staring at him as your thoughts churned. He hummed, the sound low and questioning. “You okay?” he whispered, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. His focus on you was unwavering, every inch of him tuned into the unspoken weight of the moment.

You gulped, the lump in your throat making it hard to form a response. His name slipped from his lips again, firmer this time, his tone urging you to say whatever it was that had your chest tightening.

Seulgi nudged you lightly from beside you, her touch subtle but steady. “Go on,” she whispered, her words barely audible but laced with encouragement.

Mark didn’t even glance at her, his attention fully on you. His eyes didn’t waver, his focus unshaken as he waited, his presence patient and grounding.

“I—I need to tell you something,” you stammered, your voice breaking slightly as your heart thudded in your chest. The words you wanted to say pressed against your lips, heavy and desperate, but fear kept them locked away.

Instead, you blurted, “You forgot your jacket at my place. I was going to bring it back today.”

Mark’s brow lifted slightly, and the faintest ghost of a smile crossed his lips, though his eyes stayed steady on yours. “That’s what’s been on your mind all this time?” he asked softly, his tone knowing, the question almost teasing but filled with quiet understanding.

You nodded quickly, looking away, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Mark lingered, his gaze fixed on you as though he were waiting for something more, something unspoken. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but the moment stretched on without a word. Instead, he stood and moved away, settling himself on one of the counter chairs a short distance away. He faced your direction, though his attention shifted momentarily to his iced americano. The faint clink of the glass against the counter broke the silence, but his posture remained relaxed, one hand idly stirring the drink while his gaze found its way back to you, quiet and steady, catching every shift in your expression even when you tried to avoid looking his way.

You didn’t look back. Whether it was out of fear, hesitation, or simply because Irene’s voice had drawn your attention, you turned toward her as she started sharing a story. Her words carried a warmth that filled the room, her laughter bubbling over and catching Seulgi off guard, making her chuckle too. You smiled faintly, leaning in a little, your body unconsciously relaxing as the conversation shifted to something easier, lighter.

To him, it was everything. You, sitting across from his mom, your laughter weaving effortlessly into the conversation as though you’d always been a part of it. The way you leaned in when Irene spoke, your eyes bright with genuine interest, left him spellbound. It wasn’t just how seamlessly you fit into his world—it was how naturally you made it yours. A quiet warmth spread through his chest, settling deep, as he watched you. In that moment, nothing else mattered. You were here, with him, a part of his life in a way he never dared to imagine, and that was all he needed.

After a while, you forced yourself to check the time and sighed, the reminder of your looming college work breaking through the comfortable haze of the morning. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you couldn’t avoid your responsibilities forever. With reluctance, you stood, gathering your things and preparing to leave.

Before you headed toward the door, your gaze instinctively flickered to Mark—and you froze. He was already looking at you, he was leaning against the counter—no, propped against it, his posture lazy yet purposeful. His elbows rested casually on the surface, his back pressing into the edge of the bar while his legs were spread wide, inviting you into the space between them with a look that sent a warm flush creeping up your neck. The sight of him, the way his dark eyes lingered on you with an intensity that made the world blur around you, was magnetic. His chest rose and fell evenly, but there was nothing calm about the way he watched you.You didn’t realize you were moving until your feet carried you across the room, and you found yourself standing between his knees. His hands immediately found your waist, tugging you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You played with his hair absentmindedly, your fingers curling into the strands as you tried to steady your own pulse. His hold on you was firm, grounding, like he wanted to keep you tethered to him for just a little longer.

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then his jaw, drawn to the faint marks your mouth had left there last night, a reminder of how desperate you’d been for him. The sight of them sent a wave of heat pooling in your core, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw as you cupped his face, tracing the evidence of your touch like you were claiming him all over again. His eyes darkened as your thumb grazed his skin, his lips parting slightly, and you could feel the tension crackling in the small space between you, charged with the memory of everything you’d done—and everything you still wanted.

It wasn’t just his touch or his proximity that affected you—it was the way he was looking at you. His eyes roamed your face, his expression soft but filled with something that made your chest ache. It wasn’t lust alone; it was deeper, more intimate, a connection that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world who mattered to him in that moment.

“You’re pretty,” he said, his voice quiet but sure, the corner of his mouth curving into the faintest of smiles. The way he looked at you when he said it made your breath catch—his eyes so focused, so unguarded, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of you.

You bit your lip, your breathing unsteady as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His fingers pressed firmly into your hips, grounding you, yet his touch was tender, like he was holding something he couldn’t bear to lose. His chest brushed against yours, his warmth seeping into you, and the scent of him filled every corner of your mind. Your hands found his shoulders, trembling slightly as you traced the muscle there, and when his eyes locked onto yours, everything stilled. His gaze was deep, unguarded, as though he was offering you something only you could understand. In his arms, with his eyes on you like that, the tension you’d been carrying dissolved into a quiet certainty, a stillness that anchored you in ways words never could.

You and my son deserve to be happy. Just you and Mark, figuring it out together. Irene’s words echoed in your mind, clear and steady, pulling you back into the moment. You could feel them, those unspoken truths you’d tried to bury, rising to the surface. Looking into his eyes now, the weight of them felt lighter, less terrifying. His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly, his presence soft but unrelenting, and you knew. The fear, the uncertainty—they couldn’t outweigh the pull you felt toward him. The thread between you didn’t feel fragile anymore; it felt like something unbreakable, something waiting to be tied. And in his arms, with his gaze holding yours, you realized you were ready.

Your voice slipped out softer than you intended, the sweet nickname falling from your lips before you could stop it. “Baby.” It carried a neediness that caught you off guard, raw and unfiltered, but when Mark’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his eyes softening with something that felt like adoration, it made your heart lurch. His gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made everything else fade, and the air between you grew warmer, heavier.

He hummed low in his chest, the sound vibrating through the small space between you as he leaned closer. His breath brushed against your cheek, warm and steady, his presence wrapping around you like an embrace. His dark eyes roamed over your face, peeling back every layer of hesitation with an intimacy that left you bare. The way he looked at you, sharp and all-consuming, made your chest tighten and your knees weak. You knew he saw everything—the way your lips trembled, the way your body instinctively leaned into his. He always could.

“Can we talk? I need to tell you something,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet it carried the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

Mark tilted his head slightly, his fingers brushing against your sides in a deliberate, slow motion that sent warmth spiraling through you. His touch was firm but gentle, grounding you as his thumb traced small, soothing circles. “Yeah,” he murmured, his tone low and filled with curiosity, though his gaze stayed steady, unyielding. When your lips parted, a faint breath escaping, but no words followed, his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist. He nudged you softly, his tone gentle yet steady, like an anchor keeping you from drifting too far. “Go ahead.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his attention pressing against you, making your chest feel tight, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I—I… can we go to your room? I’ll feel better if I talk to you there,” you stammered, your voice trembling but laced with quiet determination, your eyes never leaving his.

The teasing comment you had braced yourself for didn’t come. Instead, Mark nodded again, his expression softening further as his brows furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his gaze. His grip on your waist didn’t falter, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against your skin, soothing yet electrifying all at once. He tilted his head toward you, his voice steady and calm. “Okay, but why are you getting so stressed?”

His fingers flexed against your waist, his hold firm but not restrictive, as though he could feel the weight you were carrying. His touch, so steady, so present, sent a warmth spreading through your chest, unraveling the tightness inch by inch.

“I’m not,” you lied, your trembling hands betraying you as they curled tighter against his shoulders.

His thumb paused briefly before resuming its motion, this time slower, firmer, like he was trying to steady you. “You don’t need to be,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, the words wrapping around you like a shield. “It’s just me, remember? Don’t want that pretty little head overthinking when you don’t need to. Especially not around me.”

The way he said it, quiet and intimate, sent heat blooming across your skin, pooling in your chest and spreading lower. His gaze was unwavering, filled with something heavy, raw, and unspoken. It wasn’t just the way he touched you—it was the way he looked at you, his eyes tracing every curve of your face like he was memorizing you, committing you to memory like this was a moment he never wanted to forget.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you mumbled, your voice shy, your gaze flickering away from his.

“Like what?” he asked, his tone low, teasing, though his hands didn’t loosen their grip on your waist.

“Like you’re fucking her with your eyes,” Mark’s best friend called out from behind the counter, her voice dry but tinged with amusement.

You didn’t flinch, your focus solely on Mark as you replied, “No… it’s something else,” your voice clipped, your expression unreadable.

Behind you, Mark’s best friend moved around the coffee station, her hands quick and efficient as she restocked cups and adjusted displays with practiced ease. Her silence, once indifferent, now carried an edge, her movements sharp and hurried as though trying to distract herself from something. You were too focused on Mark to notice the tension radiating off her, or the cracks forming in her carefully maintained composure.

Your gaze stayed locked on Mark, his hands firm on your waist, the steady brush of his thumbs against your sides grounding you. His touch was warm, deliberate, and when he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead, your breath caught, your pulse quickening. “Tell me, then,” he murmured, his voice low, inviting, the intimacy in his tone making your chest tighten.

“Take me to your room,” you mumbled, the words soft but carrying weight, your eyes flicking to the side briefly before meeting his again.

Mark tilted his head slightly, his grip on you steady as he asked, “Why can’t you just tell me here?” His voice was patient, but his brows furrowed slightly in concern as he searched your face for an answer.

You hesitated, your gaze darting toward Irene and Seulgi, who weren’t even trying to hide their curious stares from their corner of the room. Their presence made your skin prickle, the weight of their attention pressing on you like a barrier you couldn’t cross. You sighed softly and finally whispered, “I just… I want it to be private. Just us. It’s better that way.”

Mark’s gaze didn’t waver, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as if anchoring you. But before he could respond, your focus shifted, something catching your eye behind him. Your breath hitched, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your eyes locked onto her.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice unsteady as you looked toward his best friend.

Mark followed your line of sight, his shoulders dropping slightly as he saw what you did—her silent tears slipping down her face, her posture slumped in defeat. She looked at the two of you not with jealousy but with something deeper, a sadness that seemed to come from a hollow ache within herself.

Mark didn’t hesitate, his hands slipping from your waist as he stepped toward her. The loss of his warmth lingered on your skin, a reminder of the closeness you’d just shared, now disrupted. You moved aside, the weight in your chest pressing down, not sharp but persistent, as though something small and hollow had begun to settle there.

At the counter, her trembling hands dropped to her sides as Mark reached out, his touch careful, deliberate. When he pulled her into a hug, she collapsed into him, her body folding into his like she didn’t have the strength to hold herself up anymore. His arms wrapped around her firmly, his voice low and soothing, though the words were inaudible to you.

You watched, unmoving, your chest tightening as his hand moved in slow circles on her back, his touch steady and familiar. There was no jealousy—at least, not the kind you expected—but a twinge of something unspoken rippled through you. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Mark. It was the image of him giving so much of himself to someone else in that moment, knowing you had been right there, waiting to open your heart to him.

The ache spread through you like an unwelcome visitor, quiet but persistent, tightening the space between your ribs. You weren’t jealous—there was no room for that. You knew Mark didn’t see her as anything but his best friend, his sister in all but blood, and that his heart belonged to you in ways he didn’t even have to say. But still, as you stood there watching him soothe her, the intimacy of the moment stirred something you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t hurt—it was need. A desperate, quiet need for him, for his comfort, for the safety of his arms and the chance to say the words you’d been holding in. You needed him. But now, as his fingers traced steady circles on her back and his lips pressed softly to her forehead, the moment had slipped away. You shifted uncomfortably, your hands fidgeting at your sides, the pull in your chest twisting tighter. He was doing what he always did, offering his unwavering kindness, and yet it left you standing there, the moment slipping through your fingers like sand, leaving you cold in its absence.

That’s when both Mark and his best friend turned to you. Her eyes met yours first, brimming with a quiet sadness, apology etched into every glance. Mark followed, his shoulders sinking slightly as the realization hit him—you still had something to say, something you’d been holding onto, and he had let the moment slip away.

“It’s fine, Mark, we’ll talk later,” you whispered, offering him a small, reassuring smile despite the tightness in your chest. “I gotta head to campus anyways.”

He hesitated for a beat, his gaze softening as guilt flickered across his face. Then, he returned your smile, his lips curving faintly, though his eyes carried an unspoken promise. “I’ll find you later, yeah? I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone low, sincere.

You nodded, your smile steady even as you turned away, the ache in your chest lingering, the words you couldn’t say still hanging heavy in the air.

──────────────────────────────

Mark never came that night.

You had been waiting for him, hoping he’d show up, but as the hours passed, it became clear—he wasn’t coming. You managed to get some work done on campus, forcing yourself to focus long enough to make progress, but your mind was a storm. Thoughts swirled incessantly: whatever the hell had happened between Jeno and Mark’s best friend, the heaviness in her voice as she spoke, the broken look in her eyes. Then there was what you felt for Mark, the way it had been pressing against your chest, aching to be said. And the words you overheard Chenle say at the party, lingering like an unwelcome whisper in your mind. It all tangled together, leaving you restless, unsettled.

As you packed up to leave campus, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to see Mark. The thought gnawed at you, the need to go to his apartment and just scream the truth to him, to let it all out without holding back. But your feet had other plans. They carried you away from where you intended to go, your body moving on instinct while your heart pulled you toward something else entirely. The weight in your chest guided you, seeking familiarity, seeking clarity.

By the time the sound of bouncing basketballs and faint laughter reached your ears, your steps slowed, and your breath hitched. You looked up and realized where you were—the river court. The place that had seen so many beginnings, so many truths. Maybe a part of you hoped, even foolishly, that Mark might be here, but he wasn’t. It didn’t stop you, though. Your feet carried you forward, onto the worn pavement, and you let out a quiet exhale, feeling the echo of memories press against you. The court had always felt like a place where things could be untangled, where clarity found you even when you weren’t ready for it. And tonight, it was pulling you back into its orbit.

The cracked concrete and faded paint, glowing under the midday sun like a worn-out sanctuary, came into view. It was empty of the person you most wanted to see—Mark—but not entirely empty. Donghyuck was sprawled lazily across the bleachers, twirling a basketball effortlessly on his fingertips, while Chenle stood at the center of the court, dribbling absently. Their easy banter evaporated the moment they noticed you approaching, their postures straightening as an uneasy quiet settled over the court.

Chenle’s eyes flickered to yours briefly before darting away, his shoulders stiffening as he pretended to focus on the ball in his hands. It stilled under his grip, and the silence became almost oppressive. “Mark’s not here,” he said quickly, his tone clipped and devoid of warmth, almost as if he’d rehearsed it.

You stopped just shy of the court’s edge, your gaze steady as you fixed it on him. “I’m not here for Mark,” you said, your voice clear and unwavering. “I’m here for you.”

Donghyuck’s head tilted slightly, his expression shifting from mild indifference to wary curiosity. He exchanged a glance with Chenle, who remained silent, before leaning forward on his knees, the ball spinning to a stop on the bench beside him. “Alright,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s this about?”

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. “I know what you think of me,” you began, your words cutting clean through the tension. “I overheard you. At the party. You don’t think I’m good enough for Mark. You don’t think I’m serious about him.”

Chenle’s gaze dropped to the ground, guilt flashing briefly across his face before he hardened his expression again. Donghyuck raised a brow, his posture straightening as if preparing for a fight, though he stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I get it,” you said, your tone steady but tinged with vulnerability. “I’ve made mistakes. I know that. Things between Mark and me haven’t always been easy to understand, even for me. But you’re wrong about me.”

Donghyuck’s brow arched further, his expression unreadable, but you caught the faintest flicker of intrigue. Chenle shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I am serious about him,” you pressed on, your voice growing stronger, more resolute with each word. “More serious than I’ve ever been about anything in my life. Mark isn’t just someone to me—he’s everything. And yeah, I’ve let him down before, but that’s not who I am anymore. I’ve spent so much time running from my feelings, trying to figure out what I want, and it’s him. It’s always been him.”

Chenle’s eyes lifted cautiously to meet yours, uncertainty softening the rigid lines of his face. He didn’t speak, but his silence felt less like rejection and more like quiet consideration.

“I’m not here to argue,” you added, your voice gentler now but no less firm. “I’m here to prove you wrong. To prove to you, to Mark, and to myself that I’m ready. That I deserve him. Because he’s mine, and I’m his. And I’m not letting him go.”

For a moment, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Donghyuck leaned back slightly, his gaze studying you like he was trying to gauge how much truth your words carried. Finally, he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he spoke.

“I can’t say I didn’t doubt you,” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest. “Mark’s been through a lot. He deserves someone who’s all in. But…” His lips curved into a faint smirk, though it lacked its usual bite. “I believe you.” He glanced at Chenle, who hesitated but eventually nodded in agreement. “We believe you.”

Relief coursed through you, the weight you’d carried all morning easing slightly. But before you could respond, Donghyuck leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Just don’t hurt him again, alright? Because if you do—”

“I won’t,” you cut in firmly, your gaze locking with his. “I won’t hurt him.”

Donghyuck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp gaze fixed on you. “You’re saying all the right things,” he said slowly, his tone skeptical. “But words are easy. What makes this time different?”

Chenle, still clutching the basketball, finally spoke up, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “Mark’s been through enough. We’ve seen him pick up the pieces too many times. What if you change your mind again?”

You swallowed hard, steadying yourself under their scrutiny. “I’m not going to,” you replied, meeting Chenle’s gaze head-on. “I know I’ve hurt him before, and I can’t take that back, but I’ve spent so much time trying to figure out what I want, who I am. And I know now—it’s Mark. It’s always been Mark.”

Donghyuck tilted his head, his lips pulling into a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So, you’re telling us you’ve suddenly got it all figured out? That you woke up one day and decided you’re ready to be the perfect girlfriend?”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m not perfect, and I won’t pretend to be. But I’m ready to prove it—to him, to you, to everyone. I’m not running away this time.”

Chenle’s grip on the ball tightened, his jaw clenching briefly. “Mark doesn’t just need someone who cares,” he said, his tone hard but not unkind. “He needs someone who’s going to stick around when things get messy. Are you really ready for that?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation, the conviction in your voice causing Donghyuck to raise a brow. “I’m ready for everything. For the good, the bad, the messy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Donghyuck let out a low whistle, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Gotta say, you’ve got some guts coming here and saying all this,” he remarked, his tone softening slightly. “But guts don’t mean shit if you don’t back it up.”

“And I will,” you replied, holding his gaze. “I know I have to earn your trust, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Chenle finally sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “We just don’t want to see him hurt again,” he said, his voice quieter now. “He deserves someone who’s all in.”

“And I am,” you promised, your voice steady. “I’m not going to hurt him again.”

Donghyuck studied you for a long moment before nodding, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright,” he said, his tone lighter now. “But if you mess this up…”

“I won’t,” you cut in quickly, a small smile breaking through. “I won’t mess this up.”

Chenle exchanged a glance with Donghyuck before giving you a small, reluctant nod. “We’re holding you to that,” he said simply.

“And if you break his heart again,” Donghyuck added, his smirk now fully formed, “you’ll have us to deal with.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension finally lifting as you nodded. “Fair enough.”

Donghyuck nodded, satisfied, and Chenle relaxed visibly, though his guarded expression lingered. Without another word, you turned away, your steps lighter but your resolve even stronger. 

And as you turned to leave the court, the tension that had weighed on you all day seemed lighter, replaced by a new determination to prove—to them, to Mark, and to yourself—that you were all in. You were going to make things right, to make him yours again, yours forever.

──────────────────────────────

The campus had shed its ordinary skin, morphing into a realm brimming with life and purpose. Strings of lights crisscrossed between lampposts, their glow casting fragmented patterns across the walkways, illuminating the navy and gold banners strung high on every arch and railing. The sharp edges of buildings, usually so stoic, softened under the weight of decorations—streamers spiraled down columns, and hand-painted signs leaned precariously in windows, boasting messages like ‘Go Ravens!’ and ‘Bring It Home!’

The scent of fresh paint clung to the air, still sharp and metallic, evidence of the newly stenciled Ravens logo stamped onto every visible slab of concrete. The bold, sweeping insignias caught the light with a defiant gleam, demanding to be noticed, claimed as part of the night’s identity.

Food trucks lined the main quad like sentinels, their brightly colored exteriors clashing against the university’s muted stone buildings. Steam and smoke coiled lazily into the air, mingling with the unmistakable aroma of frying oil and caramelized sugar. The air carried a heaviness, rich with the promise of indulgence—popcorn drenched in butter, skewers of grilled meat, and the intoxicating warmth of spiced cider served in paper cups.

Students swarmed the pathways in navy sweatshirts and gold scarves, faces streaked with paint or glitter, laughter spilling out like static electricity. Even those not wearing school colors carried the fever of the evening in their strides. Sidewalk chalk messages sprawled across the ground, some inspirational, others haphazard, a few sharp-edged jabs at rival teams scrawled in smudged, hurried letters.

Beneath the strings of lights, clusters of people gathered—some to share snacks, others to exchange stories, their voices rising and falling like the notes of an untamed symphony. Beneath a large oak tree in the corner of the quad, a group of musicians played casually, the pluck of guitar strings and the soft hum of a violin weaving an unexpected intimacy through the larger chaos.

Farther out, the campus pathways stretched like veins into the quieter academic areas, but even here, the transformation had taken hold. The library steps were covered in students perched on the edges, sharing drinks and shouting into their phones. The dormitories glowed faintly in the distance, their windows lined with string lights and silhouettes of people leaning out to call to friends below.

It was as if the campus itself had awakened, each brick and blade of grass charged with the electric promise of something monumental. The night had made it its own, a canvas for chaos and celebration, stitched together by the navy and gold that painted the scene.

The state championship wasn’t just about a trophy—it was legacy, redemption, proof of belonging. For students, alumni, and everyone who called this place home, it was a collective heartbeat, a shared hope that tonight would cement the Ravens in glory. It was a night charged with the weight of what could be won—and what could be lost.

You walked arm in arm with Karina, the two of you cutting through the crowd in matching cheer uniforms that shimmered under the lamplight. The navy fabric hugged your bodies perfectly, the gold accents catching the light with every step. Your shoes squeaked slightly on the pavement, the rhythm of your strides syncing as you moved toward the stadium. The tightness of your ponytail tugged at your scalp, but the adrenaline buzzing in your veins drowned out the discomfort.

Your heart was pounding, not just from the infectious energy around you, but from something deeper—something more personal. Excitement mingled with nerves, the weight of the night pressing lightly on your chest. You couldn’t help but glance at Karina, who was grinning ear to ear, her confidence radiant and unwavering. You envied her ease, but at the same time, it grounded you. You took a deep breath, the cold air stinging your lungs as you allowed the atmosphere to settle over you. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for. The day that could change everything.

Tonight would be the night to make Mark yours again.

“This is it,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Karina, as your gaze swept over the grandness of it all. The sheer scale of the event was staggering—the towering posters of the team draped over every visible surface, the rows of merch stands glowing under string lights, and the distant roar of fans already settling into the gymnasium. Everything about tonight screamed monumental, and yet, the weight pressing on your chest wasn’t from the game. “I’m gonna tell Mark tonight.”

Karina looped her arm through yours, her grin wide and far too knowing. “I hope so,” she teased, giving you a playful nudge. “You’ve been trying to tell him for the last week now. I swear, it’s starting to sound like a broken record.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hold back the small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not that simple, okay? Every time I try to tell him, something happens. Like, the universe doesn’t want me to have this conversation.”

Karina snorted, her tone dry but affectionate. “Yeah, yeah. Blame the universe.”

You let out a frustrated breath, your voice softening as the words came tumbling out. “I’ve missed him so much, Karina,” you admitted, the vulnerability threading through your tone catching even you off guard. “I don’t even know how I let it get this far. It’s like—I can’t stop thinking about him. About us. I miss everything, you know? The way he’d look at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. The stupid things he’d say to make me laugh when I was upset. The way he held me, like he couldn’t imagine letting go. God, I just—I want that back. I want him back.”

Karina gave you a pointed look, raising a brow. “No offense, but haven’t you guys still been like that? You’ve literally had sex since the breakup, and you still act like you’re a couple half the time.”

You shook your head, the denial immediate and heavy. “No, Karina, it’s not the same. It feels different,” you said, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to put it into words. “It’s like… he’s holding back. He’s still there, but not really. When we were together, everything about him was so—present. Like, when he touched me, when he looked at me, I could feel how much he loved me, how much he wanted me. Now…” You paused, your throat tightening as you tried to swallow down the rising ache. “Now it’s like he’s waiting. Like he’s giving me all this patience because he thinks I need time, but I can feel him slipping further away. Like he’s pulling back just enough to protect himself.”

Karina’s expression softened, the teasing glint in her eyes replaced with quiet understanding. But you weren’t finished. The words kept spilling out, raw and desperate. “I know he’s trying to be patient, to give me space to figure myself out, but how long can someone keep waiting? How long before he just decides it’s not worth it anymore? He’s not going to wait forever, Karina. And the more I hold back, the more I feel like I’m losing him. Like he’s… just a little further out of reach every day.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, the weight of your own fear pressing down on you. “I don’t want to wake up one day and realize he’s gone for good. That he’s done waiting and moved on, because I’ll never forgive myself if that happens. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

Karina’s teasing faltered, her gaze softening for a fraction of a second before it hardened into something sharper. “Babe,” she said, her voice cutting through the air with brutal clarity. “You do know that you let it get this far, right?” You flinched, the honesty landing like a punch to the gut. But you didn’t stop her. You couldn’t, not when she was saying the thing you’d been too afraid to admit to yourself. “You’ve been overthinking every little thing,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact but far from cruel. “Torturing yourself for months, turning it into this massive, impossible thing in your head. You’re so scared of screwing it up that you’ve already been doing it, babe. You’re making it complicated when it doesn’t have to be.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, the truth of them sinking in like stones at the bottom of a lake. You wanted to argue, to push back, but there was nothing to say. She wasn’t wrong.

Karina shrugged, her tone lightening even as she glanced sideways at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “But hey, as long as you’re ready to beg for forgiveness and jump his bones, I’m here for it. Just say the word, and I’ll give you a pep talk so good, it’ll knock him flat.”

“Karina!” you hissed, whipping your head toward her as heat rushed to your face. Scandalized, but not nearly as convincing as you hoped, your voice wavered with a mix of shock and something dangerously close to intrigue.

But Karina wasn’t done—not even close. She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, her grin mischievous. “No, seriously. Surprise him. Wear something hot. Walk right up to him and tell him exactly how much you’ve missed his hands on you, his mouth on you, him. I swear, he’d lose it before you even finished the sentence.”

Your stomach flipped violently, and you shook your head as if to rid yourself of the vivid picture her words painted. “God, I can’t believe you,” you muttered, though the flush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “This isn’t just about that. I need him to know how I feel. That I’m ready now. To fix this. To fix us. I’ve already wasted so much time, Karina. I can’t lose him, too.”

For once, she didn’t laugh. Her smirk softened into something quieter, more deliberate, as she tugged you closer, syncing your strides without missing a beat. “And you won’t. But babe,” she added, her grin curling back with razor-sharp precision, “telling him how you feel is step one. Step two? Make him feel it. Make him remember why it’s always been you. That’s how you lock it in.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand, but you couldn’t hide the reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Karina’s laugh rang out, loud and unapologetic, as if she thrived on watching you squirm. It was maddening, but beneath the teasing was something steady, something you desperately needed: belief. She believed in you, in Mark, in everything the two of you could still be.

And though her words made your cheeks burn, they sparked something else too—a fire deep in your chest. This wasn’t just about undoing the past or fixing what had gone wrong. It was about Mark. About showing him what he meant to you, what he’d always meant to you, even when you were too scared to admit it.

“And what about you?” you asked suddenly, shifting your focus to her. “How’s it going with Jeno?”

Karina sighed, her usual confidence dimming just slightly as she shrugged. “It’s not really going,” she admitted, a faint twinge of sadness creeping into her voice. “He went back to her.” 

The words land sharper than you expect. “Yeah, I saw them kissing,” you say, your tone light but edged, just enough to carry the weight of it. “Feels like I see them kissing everywhere on campus lately,” you add, letting the words linger, not sharp enough to cut, but enough to scratch at the surface, a thread of quiet unease pulling tight in your chest. “I thought he was fucking half the campus. Now suddenly he’s head over heels for Mark’s best friend? Make it make sense.”

Karina shakes her head, almost like she’s heard the accusation one too many times and she’s tired of correcting it. “He never actually slept with anyone,” she says, her voice firm but edged with quiet frustration. “He just tried.” She sighs, her eyes narrowing a little as she looks off like she can still see them in her mind. 

You sighed, the weight of her words heavy in the air. “Classic Jeno,” you muttered under your breath.

Karina shakes he head, her gaze flickering away for a moment, but before the silence could stretch too long, she turned back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Enough about him. Tonight isn’t about Jeno or anyone else. It’s about you and Mark. You’ve got one shot, and you’re not going to waste it.”

Your voice softened, trembling just slightly as the weight of everything you’d planned pressed down on you. “It has to go right today,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. “I’ve planned it all out. If it doesn’t… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Karina’s teasing faltered, and for a moment, her expression shifted, her gaze steady and reassuring. “Hey,” she said softly, nudging you with her shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. You’ve got this.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, but the words kept spilling out, your tone quiet but determined. “I’ve even decorated my room for us. I lit candles, there’s music ready to be played. I put flower petals on the bed. I even got the silk sheets out.” You hesitated, your cheeks heating again. “And my silk pajamas… and I ordered the sexiest lingerie the other day. I don’t want that to go to waste.”

Karina froze for a beat before bursting into laughter, her hand flying to her chest as she doubled over. “Oh my God,” she managed between gasps, her voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious. Candles? Flower petals? Silk sheets? Babe, you are so gone for him, it’s embarrassing.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. “I just want it to be perfect,” you muttered. “I just wanna make him proud of me”

Karina wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her laughter softening into something fond as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “You’re unbelievable. But honestly? I think he’s gonna lose his mind. You’re trying so hard, and it’s adorable. He won’t stand a chance.”

You nod, hoping all of your effort won’t go to waste tonight. It wasn’t just a confession. It was a vow, a chance to rebuild something real. Something worth fighting for. Something you weren’t willing to let slip away—not again.

Inside, the gym had become a roaring coliseum, the Seoul Center Arena pulsating with an energy so electric it felt like the walls themselves might give way. Every one of the 10,000 seats was filled, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, their collective voices rising in a deafening crescendo. The court gleamed under the relentless glare of the spotlights, its freshly polished surface reflecting the vibrant team banners hanging high above. The scoreboard loomed ominously, a stark reminder of the stakes, its bold digits ready to etch history into the night.

On one side of the court, the Ravens cheerleaders stood in formation, their uniforms shimmering in navy and gold, the perfect blend of athleticism and glamour as they readied for their routines. Among them, Donghyuck was impossible to miss—a magnetic whirlwind of energy with a megaphone in one hand and a pompom in the other. His voice boomed through the speakers, every word dripping with wit and showmanship, commanding the crowd’s attention like only he could.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Donghyuck’s voice thundered through the arena as he strode dramatically along the sideline, his pompom waving like a general’s banner. “Welcome to what might be the biggest day in the history of Seoul Ravens basketball!” He paused, throwing his arms wide as the crowd erupted in cheers. “10,000 fans have crammed into the Seoul Center Arena tonight to watch the Ravens take on the top-ranked Daegu’s for the state championship. The air is electric, the stakes couldn’t be higher, and I’m almost certain someone just spilled nacho cheese on their date. This is history in the making, folks!”

He let the roar settle just enough before lifting the mic again, his grin razor-sharp. “But before we hit tip-off, let’s recap the chaos you’ve all been living through.” His voice cut through the air, bright and clear as a siren. “Just hours ago, a full exposé rocked this championship to its core — corrupt sponsors exposed, dirty dealings laid bare, and predators like Eric and Sunwoo dragged straight into the light.” He prowled along the court’s edge, feeding the frenzy in the crowd. “We watched the lockdown unfold live, police sweeping the campus, corners closed in tight, and the wolves trapped right where they belonged.” His grin widened, wicked and proud. “Handcuffed. Hauled out. Finished.”

Cheers exploded like a thunderclap, rattling the rafters, and Donghyuck soaked it in, eyes gleaming. “But guess what, Seoul,” he barked, raising the mic high as the cameras flashed, “we are not done yet. Busan fell, and now the only thing standing between us and glory is Daegu.” He swung the pompom once more, a battle cry in motion. “And I don’t know about you, but I say we send them home crying!”

He pivoted, his expression suddenly more serious as his voice lowered just enough to hold the room. “But tonight isn’t just about the players. Oh no. This is the night to change the trajectory of Coach Suh’s coaching career forever. For those of you who don’t know, back in 2002, Coach Suh’s own Ravens team lost to the Busan Titans—” He let the name hang in the air, the crowd hissing in collective disdain. “—and tonight is his shot at redemption. While he’s not fully back in the coaching saddle, he’s been working behind the scenes, overlooking every play, every strategy. This isn’t just a game—it’s a reckoning.”

The gym erupted again, the crowd feeding off Donghyuck’s unrelenting charisma, their cheers vibrating through the floor. Somehow, word had already spread about your plans to reconcile with Mark. The cheerleaders, ever the keepers of campus gossip, had wasted no time closing in, their faces alight with curiosity and excitement as Karina peeled off to grab drinks.

“So it’s true,” Nagyung said, ponytail bouncing as she grabbed your arm and pulled you into the circle. Her grin was wide and uncontainable, practically brimming with glee. “You’re really doing it, huh? Finally going after Mark?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “I… I hope to,” you replied hesitantly, your voice barely above the roar of the arena.

Nagyung waved a hand, dismissing your doubt as though it was laughable. “Oh, please. It’s happening. We all know it.”

Chaeyoung leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You should’ve seen the way he looked at you after practice the other day. It was like… like you were the only person in the room.”

“Totally,” Seoyeon chimed in, nodding so emphatically her ponytail swayed. “I’ve been saying it forever—you two are meant to be. Everyone sees it.”

The sheer confidence in their words made your chest tighten, warmth spreading through you even as your cheeks flushed under their attention. “Thanks,” you mumbled, ducking your head shyly.

“It’s not just us,” Seoyeon added, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Literally everyone who matters wants you two together. You guys just make sense.”

Their words settled over you like a heavy, reassuring blanket, equal parts comforting and overwhelming. It felt like the entire campus was rooting for you and Mark to figure things out, to take what was broken and turn it into something whole again. You didn’t want to let them down. But more than that, you didn’t want to let him down. Winter, who had been quiet until now, leaned in and spoke softly, her voice cutting through the noise like a thread of calm. “They’re right,” she said, her words simple but charged with certainty.

You glanced at her, surprised by her rare seriousness, and managed a faint smile in return. But she wasn’t done. “Is Mark even playing tonight? I heard about his heart condition,” she added, her brow furrowing slightly.

You nodded, the weight of her question settling heavily in your stomach. “He won’t be playing the entire game,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a mixture of pride and worry. “Only 15 minutes per half. Coach is being really strict about it.”

Karina rejoined the group, handing Winter a drink before chiming in with her usual bluntness. “He’s in the locker rooms right now, right? You should just go tell him now. It’ll give him a boost for the game, and you won’t spend the rest of the night stressing out. I know what you’re like, you’ll probably mess up the routine.” 

Winter snorted, her smirk returning as she took a sip of her drink. “And you should suck his cock while you’re at it. Good luck charm for the game, you know?”

You gasped, your cheeks flaming, but the suggestion stuck, a wicked little idea planting itself in your mind. The tension in your chest shifted, and before you could overthink it, you nodded, exhaling deeply. “I’m gonna go find him,” you said, determination sharpening your voice as your sneakers already started leading you toward the locker rooms. But as you crossed the court, a ripple of movement caught your eye. The Ravens were filing out of the tunnel, their arrival greeted by deafening cheers that filled the gym. You stopped dead, narrowing your eyes as you glanced at the clock. The game hadn’t started yet, but their appearance meant you’d lost your chance to talk to Mark in private.

Your eyes scanned the players instinctively, and then you saw him. Mark. He was breathtaking. His jersey clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the snug fabric perfectly outlining his athletic frame. His hair was damp, tousled just enough to give him an effortlessly rugged look, and the sharp cut of his jaw was accentuated by the way he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, his focus locked on the court. Every movement was deliberate, every step slow and commanding, as if the room bent to him without him even trying. Then, as if he could feel your gaze, his eyes locked onto yours. The air caught in your lungs, the noise of the gym fading into nothing. The intensity in his stare was magnetic, searing, and intimate in a way that made your pulse quicken. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and without hesitation, he veered off course, heading straight for you.

The closer he got, the harder it was to breathe. His presence was overwhelming, his gaze holding you captive as he stopped in front of you. “Hi, pretty,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his hand came up to cup your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, the touch featherlight but grounding. His eyes lingered on yours, roaming over your features as if committing every detail to memory. When he bit his lip, catching the plush skin between his teeth, the heat pooling in your core became impossible to ignore.

“I haven’t forgotten about what you’ve been wanting to tell me, hm?” he continued, his tone soft but charged, his words laced with both reassurance and a subtle promise. He knew. He’d known for weeks, maybe even longer, that you’d been carrying something too heavy to put into words. “I’ll come find you after the game. I’m all yours for the night.”

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head, your voice stronger than you expected when you said, “No, I need to tell you now.”

Mark blinked, holding back a small laugh, his eyes searching yours with curiosity. “Okay,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with amusement.

When you didn’t say anything immediately, his brow arched. “Y/N… are you actually going to tell me this time? Or should I just check my calendar for another day? You know, I do have a state championship to win.”

You huffed, but your stomach flipped at the teasing glint in his eyes. Winter’s earlier words—‘And you should suck his cock, good luck charm for the game, you know?’—echoed in your head, shameless and impossible to ignore. The thought of pulling him into the back, of doing exactly that, sent a rush of heat through you, your pulse quickening as your resolve hardened.

You leaned closer, your voice barely above a whisper, your lips just shy of his ear. “Can we go to the back?”

Mark’s teasing demeanor softened instantly, his hand reaching for yours without hesitation. “Yeah, let’s—” he started, but his words cut off as his gaze shifted over your shoulder, locking onto someone behind you. Mark’s entire body locked up, his shoulders drawing taut, every muscle in his frame coiled like a spring ready to snap. His jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard his teeth grind, and his hand slipped from yours with a suddenness that sent a jolt of unease racing through you. His gaze, warm and soft only moments ago, turned razor-sharp, slicing past you like you weren’t even there.

“Hey, Jeno,” he barked, his tone low and biting, carrying enough weight to cut through the roaring gym.

You turned just in time to see Jeno entering the gym, his stride measured, his face unreadable but steady. He hadn’t walked out with the team, and something about his lone arrival made your stomach tighten. The shift in Mark’s demeanor was stark and dizzying, the tension radiating off him so palpable it felt like it could snap the air in two. Before you could process what was happening, Mark moved. He stormed toward Jeno, each step deliberate, his fists clenching at his sides as if sheer willpower was the only thing holding him back. “Hey, Jeno!” Mark’s voice rang out again, louder this time, its unrelenting edge cutting through the crowd’s noise like a blade.

Jeno’s head turned, his expression guarded but calm, though his steps faltered slightly as he registered Mark’s approach. But Mark wasn’t stopping—his movements were fluid, his anger pouring into every stride. Then, without warning, the sharp crack of Mark’s fist connecting with Jeno’s jaw echoed through the gym, a sound so sudden and violent it seemed to suck the air from the room. You gasped, your hands flying to your mouth as Jeno staggered back, clutching his face. The girls around you mirrored your shock, their whispers cutting off abruptly as the gym fell into stunned silence. The crowd turned as one, a ripple of movement spreading through the stands as every head swiveled to see what had just happened. Even the cheer girls on the Ravens team froze mid-laughter on the bench, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the tension on the court became undeniable.

From the announcer’s booth, Donghyuck’s voice broke the stillness, his tone laced with exaggerated disbelief and a hint of glee. “Ladies and gentlemen, in case you missed it, Mark Lee just delivered a right hook straight out of a boxing match to none other than Jeno Lee! We interrupt this basketball game for what appears to be some serious family drama on the court. Stay tuned, folks—this might get even messier!”

Mark barely registered the narration, his entire body taut and vibrating with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Jeno straightened, his jaw tightening as he brushed his knuckles across his face, his eyes dark and blazing as they locked onto Mark.

Jeno recovered quickly, his chest heaving as he straightened, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. “What the fuck is your problem?” he growled, his voice low and taut with barely contained fury. He shoved Mark back, hard enough to make him stumble.

Mark caught himself, his sneakers skidding slightly against the polished floor, but the fury in his eyes didn’t waver for a second. “You. You’re a fucking idiot,” he spat, his voice venomous, loud enough for everyone around to hear.

Jeno’s face twisted, his jaw tightening as his own anger bubbled to the surface. “I’m the idiot?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’re the one swinging fists like a fucking child!”

Mark’s lip curled, not with jealousy, but with something jagged, splintered, and raw beneath the surface. His eyes stayed pinned to Jeno, but you felt the weight of him drag through you too, like you were the fault line between them. “You really think you’re good for her?” Mark’s voice was quiet, clipped, like he had to fight to keep it from cracking open. “You think dragging her into all this, into your mess, is what she needs?” His jaw clenched tight, muscle ticking sharp beneath his skin. “She’s risking everything standing beside you.”

Jeno’s hand flexed against his own palm, tension winding through his knuckles like a fuse curled too close to flame. His head tilted just a fraction, that slant of sharp confidence settling over his features, a quiet, dangerous calm. His mouth tugged into something crooked, not quite a smirk but edged with dry contempt. “HCM give you hallucinations now?” His tone was rough and clipped, razor-sharp and unsmiling. “Didn’t know it worked like that.”

“Shut up—” Mark’s voice cracked with the sheer force of his anger, but Jeno didn’t flinch.

Jeno’s eyes narrow, dark and steady, his breath pulling tight through his nose, heavy in his chest. “You’re pissed at the game, then fight the game,” he throws back, his voice thick with grit. “Don’t pick fights with me just because you hate that you can’t play it.”

Mark steps forward, that small gap between them vanishing like it never existed. His breath punches out between his teeth, shoulders tight beneath the fabric of his warmup jacket. “Don’t act like you understand,” he snaps, but his voice thins at the edges, hollow with things he can’t say. “You don’t know what it feels like to lose everything before you even get to fight for it.”

The words hang there, blistering the air between them, too raw to pretend otherwise. Jeno swallows hard, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. His muscles coil tight, every inch of him strung to breaking point, refusing to give ground. His lip curls, low and dangerous. “No,” he says, softer, deadlier, voice like a blade sliding slow from its sheath. “But you don’t know what it feels like to fight with everything you’ve got, knowing that you have no other choice but to fail.” 

Mark’s eyes don’t leave him, but something shifts in them, the hard line of frustration cracking at the edges, loosening into something deeper, something that feels less like rage and more like quiet, exhausted truth. His throat works over a tight swallow. Then, softly, almost like he doesn’t want to ask but can’t help himself, his voice slips out rough. “Do you love her?”

The question lands heavy in the air, sharp and intimate, curling between them like smoke. No theatrics. No build-up. Just the bare-boned truth, dropped between them like it was inevitable. Jeno doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even breathe between the syllables. “Yes.” The word is carved from him, solid as steel, no space for doubt, no air between his chest and the answer that lives there. Mark’s gaze falters, just for a breath. He exhales slow, a sigh sinking from deep in his chest, something old and worn, like the weight of too many battles fought too soon. His eyes, when they lift again, are softer, full of a tired kind of knowing, like he’s seen too much of the world already.

“Then fight for her,” he says, low, the words scraped raw, carrying more weight than an order, more truth than advice. “She’ll need it. She needs you.”

Jeno’s brow pulls tight, confusion knitting between his eyes. His breath stills in his chest, the muscle in his jaw ticking once, twice. He watches Mark, searching the depths of him, but Mark doesn’t explain. He just holds his gaze like a man burdened by something too heavy to say. Jeno’s pulse skips hard, a ripple running beneath his ribs, but his answer comes steady, carved from marrow. “I always have,” he murmurs, rough but certain, his voice tight with quiet ferocity, “and I always will.” 

Your eyes narrow at Jeno and then to Mark. He’s holding something back. You can feel it in the way his gaze flicks past you for just a breath too long, as if chasing after shadows you haven’t caught yet. You know Mark well enough to read him in fragments; the quiet pull at his mouth, the tension strung tight across his shoulders, the way he chooses his words like they’re blades in his palm. He’s being careful. Too careful. He knows more than he’s letting on, and it prickles across your skin like static, sharp and unsettling.

Your mind sharpens on the girl you haven’t seen much of today — always there, always lurking just beyond the frame. She’s like a shadow that belongs to no one, yet owns every room she enters without saying a word. She’s silence personified, but silence isn’t emptiness, it’s precision. She moves like someone who knows exactly where to place her weight, exactly how to fold herself into the background until the moment strikes. An enigma, yes, but more than that — an assassin cloaked in quiet, the kind of girl who doesn’t need noise to make an impact, because her silence is louder than any scream. 

You can’t stop the flicker of thought tightening in your chest: what is it about her? She carries herself like she’s made of winter steel, like her pulse beats slow where Jeno’s runs wild. He burns for her, fast and reckless, but she feels too composed for flames, too sharp-edged for his kind of chaos. She’s nothing like him, and maybe that’s exactly why she terrifies you. Somehow, without even lifting a finger, she has both Lee brothers poised to bleed themselves dry for her. As if her silence alone could turn men to sharpened blades and make them prove their worth in the cut.

In the pit of your stomach, a thread of suspicion twists tight. The wave that rocked the campus today, the exposé, the chaos unfurling like wildfire, it carries a signature. One you haven’t traced yet, but feels familiar all the same. No proof, no admission, but your gut knows. She had her hands in it. Somehow, she was there, moving beneath the current, pulling the strings while the rest of the world only saw the storm.

Mark’s voice slices clean through your spiralling thought, sharp as bone through flesh. “She needs you in her corner,” he says, quiet but full of gravity, no softness, no mercy in the words. His eyes don’t leave Jeno’s face, like he’s willing him to understand something heavier than pride, something deeper than rivalry. “If you want to keep her, you fight in every breath, every second, every inch of ground you step on. You don’t get to blink in a war like this.”

You watch as Jeno’s eyes narrow, his jaw hardening like stone under the pressure building in the space between them. There’s offence simmering in his gaze — not loud, not wild, but sharp, cold, deliberate, as though Mark has crossed a line no one else would dare approach. His breath draws tight in his chest, but his voice stays low, even, dangerous. “You don’t need to tell me how to fight for my girl,” Jeno says, and the words come quiet, but cut clean through the tension like a knife gliding beneath skin. His hand flexes against his thigh, knuckles pulled bone-white, a silent warning carved into his posture. There’s certainty forged from something deeper than fury. 

Mark lets out a short breath, something between a scoff and a sigh, his gaze sliding away as though the heat of Jeno’s words scorches too close to his own edges. “Fine,” he mutters, clipped, almost careless, but you catch the tightness in his shoulders, the tension knotting in his jaw. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Jeno’s focus sharpens, his eyes blackening with the weight of something unspoken, something dangerous and unmovable. “No,” he grits, his tone raw, carved straight from his chest, rough around the edges like stone splintering under pressure. “It is to me. You think I don’t already know what she’s worth?” His breath comes harder now, fire simmering just beneath. “I’ve never loved anyone like her.” The words cut out of him, sharp as bone, like they’ve lived in his chest for too long. “Never even thought I could.” His stare pins Mark without flinching, dark and unwavering, heat burning beneath the surface. “She’s the first, and the last. No one else. There’s only her.”

The charged air grew heavier, the weight of his confession pulling everything into silence. It wasn’t the time to speak, and you knew that, but the tension was unbearable, and the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. “You know I’m right here,” you mumbled, your voice soft but pointed, cutting through the suffocating atmosphere like a flicker of light.

Jeno’s head snapped toward you, his brows knitting together in surprise, as if the reminder of your presence jarred him from his spiral. Mark’s attention turned to you as well, his confusion evident, but your focus was on Jeno. “As your ex-girlfriend,” you continued, your tone somewhere between teasing and exasperated, “I feel like I should be a little offended right now. You just said you’ve never loved anyone before—hello? What does that make me?”

Jeno turned to you slowly, his brows furrowed, his lips parting in disbelief. “You stop it,” he snapped, his tone sharp but not entirely unkind. “You literally told my mum that Mark is the first person you’ve ever—” He stopped mid-sentence, his words halting as his eyes caught the confusion clouding Mark’s face and the silent, pleading look you shot him. Shut up. Shut up!!!

Jeno clamped his mouth shut immediately, his jaw locking as he shifted his gaze away. His hand curled into a fist at his side, and for a second, you thought he might say something else, but instead, he exhaled deeply, shaking his head as though trying to push the moment away. Mark turned to you then, his expression sharp with confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What?” he whispered, the single word heavy with disbelief and suspicion.

Your eyes froze on his, your breath faltering as a wave of panic coursed through you. Every nerve in your body screamed for an escape, and before you could stop yourself, a strained, too-loud voice burst from your lips. “Guys! Stop fighting!” you shouted, the words coming out rushed and uneven, a blatant attempt to break the tension and redirect Mark’s focus. “It’s not good for the team.”

Mark’s attention lingered on you for a second longer, his brow furrowing as if he wasn’t entirely buying it. The weight of his stare made your chest tighten, but you forced yourself to keep going, your tone firm though your voice trembled enough to betray how much this was affecting you. “Stop it,” you said again, this time quieter but more resolute. “Please. Not today. This game is too important for this.”

Mark rolled his eyes dramatically, his lips twisting into a sarcastic smirk. “Well, we’ve stopped fighting, so you don’t have to say anything,” he muttered, his tone dripping with sass as he turned on his heel and started walking away, not even waiting for your response.

You blinked, stunned into silence, watching him retreat with a mix of frustration and exasperation bubbling in your chest. Jeno huffed beside you, his jaw still tight, but he didn’t argue further. With a sharp exhale, he followed Mark’s lead, his steps brisk and heavy as he disappeared in the same direction. You stood there, your heart pounding, left to gather the pieces of a tension-filled moment that you weren’t sure how to fix.

Your shoulders sank as you trudged back to the girls, their eyes wide with curiosity, the unspoken questions hanging thick in the air. They were staring at you like they’d just witnessed the prelude to some unspeakable drama—which, to be fair, they had. “I couldn’t tell him,” you admitted, your voice low and weighed down with regret. “He was fighting with Jeno.”

Karina opened her mouth, undoubtedly ready to pry further, but before you could elaborate or the others could bombard you with questions, the gym lights dimmed slightly, and the buzzer sounded. The game was about to begin. The shift in atmosphere was immediate, the gym coming alive with the roar of the crowd. The Ravens cheerleaders took their places, pom-poms shimmering under the harsh lights as they began their chants, trying to inject some energy into the building. The players jogged onto the court, their sneakers squeaking against the polished wood floor. The starting lineup huddled briefly, Mark standing at the center, his head bowed as he barked instructions. But even from where you sat, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as he tried to rally the team.

You blinked, confused. This wasn’t Mark’s job—it was Jeno’s. As captain, Jeno was always the one to lead the huddle, to set the tone for the team, yet tonight he stood off to the side, arms crossed and head bowed like he wanted to disappear. In his absence, Mark took charge, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the noise as he rallied the players. Even from where you sat, the tension in Mark’s shoulders and the tight set of his jaw were impossible to miss. It was unsettling, watching Jeno—typically the heart of the team—withdraw into himself while Mark filled a role that didn’t belong to him. The team looked fractured, like a machine trying to function with its gears misaligned, and the unease settled in your chest like a heavy weight. As the huddle broke and the players took their positions, you couldn’t shake the sense that this was only the beginning of their unraveling.

When the whistle blew, the game started with a flash of movement, the ball flying into the air for the tip-off. The energy was electric, but it took less than five minutes for the crowd’s excitement to sour.

The Ravens were unraveling.

Their usual crisp passes and seamless transitions had been replaced by frantic, disjointed attempts to salvage the ball. Plays broke down before they even began, and every missed shot sent ripples of unease through the packed arena. Jeno, typically the anchor of the team, was a shadow of himself. He fumbled passes he would’ve handled effortlessly on any other night, hesitated on drives, and forced risky plays that ended in turnovers. The fire and focus he usually brought to the court were gone, replaced by frustration that radiated off him in waves.

Mark and Chenle exchanged a look after one glaring misstep—a wild pivot from Jeno that resulted in the ball bouncing out of bounds. It was an unspoken agreement: they couldn’t rely on him tonight. Mark stopped looking Jeno’s way altogether, funneling the ball to Chenle instead, who did his best to create opportunities out of nothing.

But even their combined efforts couldn’t mask the cracks in the team’s foundation. Missed rebounds, miscommunications, and a defense that couldn’t seem to hold its shape—they were falling apart. The tension from the locker room had followed them onto the court, infecting every movement, every decision.

“Not the start we were hoping for, folks,” Donghyuck’s voice rang out through the speakers, noticeably lacking his usual charisma. “Our boys are trailing hard against the Daegu’s, and it’s not looking good. Jeno, buddy, I love you, but maybe stop dribbling like my grandma?”

The crowd offered a smattering of nervous laughter, but it was short-lived, quickly swallowed by restless murmurs as the Daegu’s continued to dominate. Donghyuck’s voice returned, more serious this time, the weight of the moment pressing into his usually lighthearted tone. “And it looks like there’s more bad news for the Ravens. Their one shining light of hope tonight—Mark Lee—is being subbed off as his first 15 minutes of the half are up.”

The announcement drew a mix of groans and scattered applause from the crowd, but all eyes were on Mark as he made his way to the bench. His shoulders were tight with tension, and the frustration was clear in the way he tossed his towel onto the seat with a huff. He didn’t say a word as he sank down, but the sharp set of his jaw and the way he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, spoke volumes. He wasn’t happy with the decision, and it showed.

Donghyuck’s commentary continued, trying to salvage some optimism. “Alright, folks, let’s see what the rest of the team can pull together in Mark’s absence. This is where grit comes in—come on, Ravens, let’s get it together!”

But the crowd’s energy had already begun to wane, the hope they’d clung to in the first quarter fading fast as the Ravens continued to struggle. Mark’s absence only seemed to deepen the sense of unease that hung over the arena like a storm cloud.

In stark contrast, the Daegu’s were clinical. Their passes were razor-sharp, their shots clean and precise, and their defense suffocating. They capitalized on every Raven mistake, widening the gap on the scoreboard with ruthless efficiency.

By the end of the first quarter, the Ravens were down by double digits, their energy visibly deflated.

The second quarter was no better. Jeno’s frustration boiled over in a moment of weakness—a bad call from the referee led to him “Come on, Ravens!” Donghyuck’s voice cracked with desperation. “Where’s the spark? The grit? Something—anything, guys!”

But no spark came. The cheerleaders’ chants grew quieter, their routines losing their usual fire. The crowd’s cheers dulled to murmurs, frustration and disappointment settling over the gym like a heavy fog. By halftime, the scoreboard was brutal, the Ravens trailing by an almost insurmountable margin. The buzzer sounded, and the team trudged off the court, their heads low, their shoulders slumped.

The gym was stifling, the tension so thick it was hard to breathe. Conversations buzzed around you—snippets of complaints and murmurs of disbelief from fans who couldn’t believe what they were seeing. You glanced back at Jeno as he trailed behind the rest of the team. His posture was rigid, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He didn’t speak to anyone as he shoved the locker room doors open and disappeared inside.

Whatever weight he was carrying, it was more than just the game. And as the halftime clock ticked down, you couldn’t help but wonder if the Ravens had any fight left in them—or if they’d already lost. The second half was a transformation—everything had changed. When the Ravens stepped out of the locker room, they carried themselves like warriors ready for battle. Gone were the slumped shoulders and frustrated glances; in their place was a fire that made the air in the gym crackle with intensity. Their heads were high, their movements sharp, and their eyes glinted with a resolve so fierce it was almost tangible. The crowd felt it instantly—an electric shift from restless doubt to roaring anticipation.

“Alright, folks,” Donghyuck’s voice boomed over the speakers, his usual wit giving way to sharp focus. “This is it. Let’s see if our boys can pull off the comeback of the season. No pressure or anything.”

The buzzer sounded, and the game resumed with a ferocity that made the first half look like a scrimmage.

Jeno was the first to strike, and he was mesmerizing—raw power wrapped in effortless grace. He moved like a predator unleashed, every step calculated yet explosive, his sneakers squeaking against the polished court as he shifted directions with a speed that left defenders grasping at air. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat that glistened under the lights, accentuating the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. His jersey clung to his lean, muscular frame, every flex and ripple of his body screaming strength and control. 

His eyes burned with focus, his lips set in a determined line, and there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself—fluid yet commanding, his movements so seamless it was as if the ball was an extension of him. The frustration and hesitance of the first half had evaporated, replaced by a Jeno who ruled the court with unshakable authority, owning every inch like it was his birthright.

“Where was this energy in the first half?” Donghyuck exclaimed, his voice rising as the crowd erupted into cheers. “Now that’s the captain we know! Let’s go, Jeno!”

The Ravens’ defense locked in like a vice, suffocating every passing lane the Daegu’s tried to exploit. Chenle played with wild confidence, draining a three-pointer from the corner that sent the crowd into a frenzy. The energy in the gym climbed higher with every possession, the momentum unmistakable. It was like the Ravens had remembered who they were, and the crowd fed off it, their cheers blending into a deafening roar.

Then, with 15 minutes left on the clock, the substitution the crowd had been waiting for finally happened. Mark stepped onto the court, and the reaction was instantaneous. The gym exploded with sound, the walls practically vibrating from the eruption of cheers.

Mark stepped onto the court, and the shift was immediate—commanding, undeniable. His movements were deliberate but effortless, every step grounded with purpose, his body taut like a coiled spring ready to explode. His jersey, damp with sweat, molded to his frame, emphasizing the sharp contours of his shoulders and the lean strength in his arms. His hair, messy and damp, framed his face in a way that only amplified the intensity in his expression—a razor-sharp focus that seemed to cut through everything around him. His gaze wasn’t just observant; it was piercing, dissecting the court like he could already see plays unfolding before they happened. There was a steadiness in him, an air of control that didn’t demand attention but seized it anyway, like gravity itself bent toward him. Every step, every movement, carried a quiet confidence that made it impossible to look away, as if the entire game had shifted to orbit around him.

Mark’s first play wasn’t just a statement—it was a reckoning. Jeno snatched a defensive rebound and, without hesitation, hurled the ball downcourt with the kind of pinpoint accuracy that required absolute trust. Mark caught it mid-stride, his movements smooth and controlled, his body cutting through the Daegu’s defense like a blade slicing effortlessly through water. There was no wasted energy, no hesitation—just pure, unrelenting momentum that left his defenders scrambling in his wake.

Then he jumped.

It was the kind of jump that stole the breath from your lungs. Time seemed to stutter as his body soared, muscles taut and perfectly aligned, his form defying the laws of physics. His arm stretched upward, commanding the ball with a precision that was almost primal, before slamming it through the net with a force that sent a violent shudder through the backboard. The crack of the dunk reverberated through the gym, but it was instantly drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd.

“Holy shit!” Donghyuck’s voice cracked, nearly lost in the chaos, but his excitement was palpable. “Mark Lee just obliterated the Daegu’s! Somebody put that man on a throne!”

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every movement radiated power and control, but there was a beauty to it too—a fluidity that seemed almost unnatural. He wasn’t just playing; he was creating. Every pass felt intentional, every drive precise, every shot like a crescendo in a symphony he was conducting. The court wasn’t just a battleground; it was his stage, and he commanded it with a presence that left no room for doubt. The tide had shifted entirely, and the Ravens were riding on his shoulders.

Jeno and Mark moved like two halves of a perfect machine, their earlier discord dissolving into seamless synchronicity. Jeno crashed the boards with a ferocity that seemed to shake the rim itself, snagging the rebound before weaving through defenders, his movements aggressive yet calculated. His eyes locked with Mark’s for only a fraction of a second before he passed, the ball zipping across the court like it had a mind of its own. Mark caught it mid-spin, faking a shot so convincingly that two defenders stumbled. He pivoted with the grace of a dancer, his body low and controlled, and banked in a layup so smooth it drew gasps from the crowd.

Chenle followed with a dagger from the corner—a perfect three-pointer that sent the Ravens ahead for the first time all night. The gym exploded in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived. The Daegu’s were relentless. Each possession was a war, every point a battle hard-fought. The air grew suffocating with tension, every second dragging out into an eternity as the score stayed neck and neck.

With 30 seconds left on the clock, the game was tied. Sweat slicked faces and jerseys, breaths came in ragged gasps, but all eyes were on one person. Mark Lee. The Ravens had possession, and the ball was in his hands. The gym fell into an unnatural hush, the kind of silence that amplifies every sneaker squeak, every breath, every heartbeat. It felt as though the entire world had paused, holding its breath, waiting.

“Mark Lee with the ball,” Donghyuck’s voice cut through the quiet, lower now, almost reverent. “30 seconds left. Score tied. This is it, folks. Everything comes down to this.”

Mark stood at the top of the key, his body still yet coiled with tension, like an arrow on the verge of release. His chest heaved, the jersey clinging to his frame, and his damp hair curled against his temple. His gaze swept the court with predator-like precision, scanning for openings, for weaknesses. The defenders circled him, their eyes locked on his every move, but Mark was unshakable, radiating an aura of control so complete it was almost unnerving.

You could barely breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears as you watched him. His movements were deliberate, each dribble slow and measured, a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.

Then he moved.

Mark feinted left, his body snapping into motion with a speed and grace that left one defender off-balance. He spun right, slipping past another, his footwork immaculate as he surged toward the paint. Every muscle in his body seemed to ripple with purpose, his movements fluid and electric.

And then he jumped.

It wasn’t just a jump—it was a moment suspended in time. His body soared, defying gravity, the arc of his leap impossibly high. His arm extended, releasing the ball in a perfect, calculated trajectory. The ball rose, a slow-motion curve through the air, and for a heartbeat, the gym seemed to hold its breath with you.

Your eyes flicked to his face—his gaze wasn’t on the hoop. It was on you.

Mark’s eyes burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was something raw and unguarded in his expression, a silent message that reached you even through the chaos. It wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t even confidence. It was a connection so visceral, so personal, it sent a shiver down your spine.

The ball swished through the net just as the buzzer sounded.

For a second, silence reigned. Then the gym erupted.

The crowd exploded into chaos, their cheers deafening as fans surged to their feet, screaming in triumph. The Ravens bench emptied onto the court, players swarming Mark in a frenzy of victory. Donghyuck’s voice cracked over the speakers, struggling to match the pandemonium. “Mark Lee! Are you kidding me? That’s how you end a game! Somebody get this man a statue!”

But amidst the bedlam, your eyes never left Mark. He stood at the center of it all, his chest rising and falling, his jaw tight, his face glowing with exertion and something else entirely. And even as his teammates crowded around him, slapping his back and shouting his name, he searched the stands.

When his eyes found yours, everything else fell away.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, and the world blurred at the edges, leaving only him in sharp focus. That smile said everything—this is for you—and the weight of it hit you like a tidal wave, your chest tightening, your breath catching in your throat.

Your heart swelled, an overwhelming rush of emotions crashing over you as your hand flew to your mouth. Mark didn’t look away, not even as his teammates swarmed him, their cheers deafening, lifting him onto their shoulders like the champion he was. His jersey clung to his skin, damp with sweat, his face flushed from exertion, his hair wild and messy from the game. And yet, even as he was jostled by the celebratory chaos around him, his gaze cut through it all, searching for one thing.

Searching for you.

The pull between you felt magnetic, an invisible thread tightening as his eyes found yours again, unwavering. You couldn’t look away. His expression softened as the tension in his shoulders melted away, his focus narrowing until it felt like no one else existed. There was something unspoken in his gaze—want, relief, and something deeper that made your knees weak.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you stepped toward him, weaving through the crowd with a determination that pushed past every lingering fan and excited teammate in your way. Each step felt like a bridge closing, the distance between you shrinking until you were finally there, standing just feet from him.

Mark’s body stilled, his head turning as if he felt you before he even saw you. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the noise of the gym seemed to fade into nothingness.

“Nice shot,” you said, your voice light, though your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

His grin widened, his expression softening even further, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “Nice legs,” he shot back, his voice low and warm, his gaze dipping down and lingering before returning to yours, sparking heat in your chest.

You let out a soft laugh, ducking your head in an attempt to hide the blush blooming across your cheeks. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Mark stepped closer, the space between you dissolving until his presence was all-consuming. His hand reached out, brushing against your arm lightly, grounding you in the storm of emotions swirling around you both. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice dropping, intimate and unguarded in a way that made your pulse quicken.

Your eyes flicked up to his, and the intensity there left you breathless. It wasn’t just triumph or joy—it was a quiet promise, something raw and deeply personal that made it impossible to look away. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm as he murmured, “I didn’t just make that shot for the team, you know.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, the weight of his confession hanging between you like a thread waiting to be pulled. His hand slid down, brushing yours, and his fingers curled slightly as if asking permission to close the gap completely.

“Mark,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, every ounce of your emotion laid bare in your gaze.

His smile turned softer, more private, his fingers intertwining with yours as he stepped just a fraction closer. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice filled with so much warmth and certainty it felt like it could steady you both. “I know.”

The gym buzzed around you—teammates slapping each other’s backs, fans shouting congratulations, Donghyuck still narrating the chaos with gleeful commentary—but it all felt distant. All that mattered was the steady thrum of Mark’s heartbeat against your cheek and the warmth of his arms around you.

His embrace felt like home, grounding you in a moment you wanted to stretch on forever. But his eyes, so intent on yours, eventually shifted, drawn away by the sound of his name being called. A few of the guys waved him over, their voices cutting through the background noise, demanding his attention.

Mark hesitated, his arms loosening just slightly, though he didn’t let go entirely. He pulled back enough to meet your gaze, his hands still resting lightly on your waist. “There’s a party tonight,” he said, his voice soft but hopeful, his lips curving into a small, boyish smile. “Some of the guys wanna celebrate the win. Do you want to come with me?”

He deserved this—he deserved every second of celebration, of joy, of pride that came with a victory like tonight’s. He’d earned the right to revel in the exhilaration of it, surrounded by the teammates and fans who had cheered him on. And yet, the weight of what you wanted to say pressed against your ribs, relentless and suffocating. It clawed at you, demanding release, and the idea of holding it in for even one more moment felt unbearable.

But you couldn’t take this from him. Not now.

So you shook your head, your smile widening despite the turmoil twisting inside you. “Go,” you urged softly, your voice steady even as your heart raced. “Enjoy your night. You deserve it.”

Mark’s frown deepened slightly, his thumb brushing over your hip in a way that felt both grounding and heartbreaking. His touch lingered, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ll come to yours tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he was reluctant to let you go. “We can talk then, and you can finally tell me what you’ve been wanting to say—”

“I love you.”

The words left you before you could stop them, trembling and raw, carrying all the weight of the fear and longing you’d bottled up for too long. They hung in the air between you, fragile and unguarded, as if daring the world to shatter them.

Mark froze. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, tightened reflexively, pulling you closer as if he needed the anchor. His eyes locked onto yours, wide and unblinking, the vulnerability in them so palpable it made your chest ache. You could feel his heartbeat quicken under your touch, his breaths shallow as he tried to process what you’d just said.

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, and the silence stretched like an eternity, your throat tightening as you waited, terrified and hopeful all at once. Slowly, his gaze softened, the sharp edges of shock melting into something warmer, something deeper. His lips parted, but no words came, only a shaky exhale that mirrored the unsteady rhythm of your own.

His composure cracked then, his jaw tightening as his eyes glistened. He didn’t look away, not for a second, even as a tear slipped down his cheek. You gasped softly, your hands moving instinctively, brushing against his face to catch it. “Baby,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the word breaking as it left you.

He leaned into your touch, his own hand covering yours as he held it against his face. His eyes closed briefly, his lashes damp as he let out a breath that sounded like relief and pain all at once. When he opened them again, his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your knees weak.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” you began, your voice soft and cracking, every word spilling out like a confession. “I’ve felt it for so long, but every time I thought I was ready, I’d get scared. Scared of what you’d think, scared of messing everything up—scared of this, of us.”

Mark’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, his touch steadying even as your voice wavered. You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping for a moment before you found the strength to look back up at him.

“Loving you… it isn’t about facing my fears,” you whispered, the realization sinking in as you spoke it aloud. “It’s about realizing that you are the calm in the chaos. You’re what makes everything feel less scary. You’re what grounds me, Mark. And I’ve spent so long fighting it, trying to avoid it, but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

The truth spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “You’re in my head every second of every day. You’re the first thought when I wake up, the last before I fall asleep, and you’ve taken over everything in between too. I can’t shake it, and I don’t want to anymore. You make me feel safe, like the world could fall apart, and I’d still have you to hold onto.”

Your voice cracked, and a tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept going. “But it’s more than that. You see me—all of me. The parts I’m proud of, the ones I try to hide—and you never flinch. You never look away. And that scares me because it makes me feel like I could deserve something this good. That we could deserve this.”

Mark’s hand tightened around yours, his jaw clenching as he took a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’ve spent so long running,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t think I was ready. But being without you has made me realize something. I’ll never feel ready—not the way I want to. But the thought of losing you?” You shook your head, your tears coming faster now. “That scares me more than anything else ever could.”

You stepped closer, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jersey. His warmth surrounded you, steadying you as the words tumbled out, heavy with truth.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking but resolute. “I love you so much, Mark. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending otherwise.”

Mark’s lips parted, his breath shaky, and his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache, the raw emotion in his gaze carving its way into your soul. Slowly, with deliberate tenderness, he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. His lips curved into the most disarming, tender smile you’d ever seen, the kind that felt like a sunrise breaking over your heart.

He moved even closer, his body nearly flush against yours, the world around you fading into a soft, hazy blur. The gym buzzed in the background—teammates laughing, fans shouting, Donghyuck’s voice narrating with endless energy—but it all felt distant, like you’d stepped into a scene pulled straight out of a movie. The bright overhead lights glowed like halos, illuminating the wisps of steam rising from the court, the air charged with electricity, alive with anticipation.

Mark’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his attention wholly absorbed, and it was clear in his gaze that whatever plans he had for the night no longer mattered. All that mattered was you.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, soft and reverent, as your fingers reached up to cup his face. Your thumbs grazed his cheekbones, your heart pounding as you leaned in, ready to close the distance, to seal your confession with a kiss.

But before your lips could meet, a voice broke through the moment. “Mark! You coming?” Chenle’s shout echoed across the gym, shattering the fragile bubble around you.

Mark groaned audibly, his forehead dropping to rest briefly against yours. Then, without looking away, he shouted back, “No!” The word was abrupt, forceful, but it was cut off almost immediately as he closed the distance between you.

His lips met yours, soft and searching, the kiss carrying a tenderness that made your knees weak. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—this was Mark, steady and sure, pouring every ounce of his emotions into that single moment.

You pulled back after a beat, though your hands remained on his face, your touch grounding him as much as it steadied you. Tears lined your lashes, but your gaze didn’t waver, and neither did your voice.

“I love you,” you repeated, the words pouring out of you like they were the truest thing you’d ever said. “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you at the river court. You were so different from anyone I’d ever known—quiet, steady, but with this energy, like you were carrying the weight of the world and still managing to make it look effortless. Even then, I knew you were going to mean everything to me.”

“You’ve always seen me,” you continued, your voice low and trembling, though a quiet strength carried it forward. “That day at the river court, you didn’t just see me standing there—you saw through me. Even when I’ve been guarded, messy, selfish, or cruel, you stayed. You stayed and cared when I didn’t think I deserved it. When I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Tears welled in his eyes now, glistening under the gym lights as his jaw tightened, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but you stopped him with a gentle shake of your head.

“I love how patient you are,” you said, your thumbs brushing along his jawline. “How you’ve never pushed me to be something I’m not but still made me want to be better just by being around you. I love how you remember everything, like how to bring me back when I zone out or how I need the edge of the blanket tucked under my chin to fall asleep. You make me feel so… safe, like no matter what happens, you’ll be there.”

“And it’s not just that, Mark,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you leaned closer, your forehead almost brushing his. “It’s the way you love everyone so deeply, the way you look at the world with so much hope, even when you’ve been given every reason not to. It’s the way you talk about your music, like it’s the one place you can put all the pieces of yourself that don’t fit anywhere else. I love all of it. I love you.”

Mark’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with an emotion so raw it sent a ripple through you. “Come here,” he murmured, the words low and edged with a quiet urgency that made your skin tingle. The irony of his demand wasn’t lost on you—you were already impossibly close—but the way he said it felt like he was asking for more than proximity. He wanted all of you.

His gaze was steady, burning but gentle, as if he was trying to memorize every curve of your face, every unspoken thought in your eyes. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, soft and unhurried, yet it left your knees weak, your heart thrumming in your chest like a wild drumbeat.

Your palms flattened against his chest, the fabric of his shirt damp under your touch as you felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. It was strong, fast, and grounding in a way that made you feel both nervous and completely at ease. “Say it back then,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the words more a plea than a demand.

Mark’s lips curved into the softest, most intimate smile, his forehead dipping closer to yours. His fingers tightened on your waist, not possessive but anchoring, like he needed to hold onto you as much as you needed him. “I’ve already said it,” he murmured, his voice low, raspy with emotion, as if the words were carved out of him. He tilted his head, his lips brushing just barely against the shell of your ear, and his next words were softer, heavier. “But I’ll say it again. I love you. I’ve loved you longer than I’ve been able to admit. And I’ll love you forever.”

The weight of his confession made your breath catch, and before you could even process it, his lips met yours. The kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, deliberate, and consuming, the kind of kiss that made the world around you fall away. His mouth moved against yours with a gentleness that contrasted with the way his fingers pressed into your hips, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

His tongue brushed against yours, slow and intoxicating, a deliberate exploration that made heat pool low in your stomach. His hands slid up your sides, cradling your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks in a way that made the moment feel impossibly tender. It was like he was pouring everything he felt—every unsaid word, every buried longing—into the kiss.

The noises he made—soft, needy, quiet murmurs that came straight from his chest—made your skin flush and your fingers curl against him. You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, the way his lips molded so perfectly to yours, the intensity of his presence eclipsing everything else.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you catching your breath, the air between you thick with something unspoken but undeniable. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when he opened them again, they were filled with so much warmth it made your chest ache. His voice, low and tender, broke the silence. “My love,” he whispered, the words more a vow than a statement.

And you believed him. Fully, deeply, completely.

For a moment, the world dissolved into nothing but him—the warmth of his chest beneath your palms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the sea of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Your breath trembled as you gathered yourself, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his jersey. When you opened your eyes, his gaze was waiting, unwavering, and so full of tenderness that it made your chest ache.

“Come home with me?” you whispered, your voice small, almost shy, like you were asking him out for the first time instead of speaking to the man who had just kissed you like he’d pour his soul into it. The words wavered with vulnerability, a quiet plea wrapped in the softest of tones.

Mark’s lips quirked into a slow, easy smile, the kind that made you feel like the only person in the world. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his touch warm and steady. “Mmm, of course,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes gave him away—they were filled with something deeper, something unshakable. “That party was probably gonna be dead anyway.”

He didn’t even glance back at his friends, his attention solely on you as he laced his fingers with yours. His grip was firm but gentle, and the way his thumb brushed over the back of your hand sent a shiver racing up your spine. His other arm remained wrapped protectively around your waist as he guided you toward the exit, his presence magnetic, making it impossible to think about anything but him.

As the cool night air hit your skin, Mark glanced over at you, his grin turning playful, his eyes sparkling under the streetlights. “You know,” he started, his tone casual but with a teasing edge that made your stomach flutter, “my girlfriend looks really fucking hot tonight.”

You let out a soft giggle, rolling your eyes, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed how much his words got to you. “Shut up,” you muttered, but your voice turned playful as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing just past his ear. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you take it all off later.”

Mark suddenly stopped, his hand still in yours, and lifted your arm above your head. Before you could question him, he spun you around in the middle of the empty sidewalk, his whistle low and appreciative. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his eyes swept over you with unabashed admiration.

You stumbled slightly at the end of the spin, and his hand found your waist again, steadying you effortlessly as he pulled you flush against him. His lips dipped to your ear, his breath warm and teasing against your skin. “I can’t believe that little cheer you gave me on the court earlier” he murmured, his voice low and laced with playful heat, “you’re not allowed to cheer my name like that again.”

You blinked up at him, confused for a moment before realization hit. He was referring to the way you’d screamed his name during the game, your voice echoing through the packed arena. The memory flooded back, and your cheeks burned instantly.

Your steps faltered as his words replayed in your head. “I was just supporting my boyfriend,” you managed, your voice soft and a little breathless, the word boyfriend leaving your lips shyly.

Mark’s reaction was immediate, subtle but unmistakable. His pupils darkened, his jaw tightened briefly, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, as though he was fighting to suppress a grin.

“Excited and happy, huh?” he echoed, his tone light but the intensity in his gaze made your stomach flip.

“It’s true,” you replied, your voice airy and playful, though the way his eyes bore into yours made it hard to breathe.

Mark’s smirk deepened, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. “It sounded like you were moaning, baby,” he teased, his tone dripping with mischief.

Without missing a beat, you deadpanned, “I probably was.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was low and immediate, the sound vibrating through your body as he pulled you even closer. His nose brushed along your temple, his lips skimming the corner of your mouth in a touch so soft it sent a jolt straight through you.

“Mmmh,” he hummed, his voice dropping further, warm and intimate against your ear. “I could hear that forever.”

The way he looked at you made the world feel impossibly small, as though everything else had faded away and left only the two of you walking under the stars. His arm tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him, while his lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

You melted into his touch, the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin, his presence grounding and utterly consuming. His silence spoke louder than words, his actions weaving together a quiet promise that settled deep in your chest.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, trembling slightly, like the words were slipping out before he could stop them. “You feel like home,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he held you closer. “You always have.”

And as the two of you walked into the night, his arm around you and his hand laced with yours, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you belonged.

──────────────────────────────

“Mark,” you whined softly, your voice trembling with a mix of need and confusion as you sat naked on his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for some semblance of comfort. Your skin felt warm under the dim light of his room, the sheets beneath you cool and smooth. “What are you doing? Come here.”

Mark paced the room, shirtless and in just his sweatpants, his dark hair tousled from where your hands had been moments ago. His broad shoulders flexed with every step, his jaw tight with focus as he scanned the shelves lining the wall. You couldn’t help but feel an ache watching him, his lean, defined muscles illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

“I’m looking for something,” he muttered, his tone calm but deliberate. 

“Looking for something?” you huffed, frustrated. “You brought me here instead of my place, got me naked, and now you’re—”

“Be patient, baby,” he interrupted, his eyes flicking to yours with a playful glint. “We’ve got a whole lifetime of sex.”

You blinked, stunned silent for a moment, then groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “What are you even—”

“Found it!” Mark exclaimed suddenly, turning around with a triumphant grin and a dusty yearbook in his hands.

You blinked, completely thrown off as he finally made his way to you. Sitting beside you on the bed, he opened the book with a kind of excitement that was impossible to ignore. “I want to show you something,” he said, flipping through the pages with quick fingers until he stopped at one. His eyes lit up as he held it out in front of you without saying a word.

Your gaze fell to the page, scanning the colorful scribbles of goodbyes, good lucks, and bright, bubbly messages. But one thing stood out immediately: your name, not even your full name, written in plain black ink, bold and monotone amidst the vibrant chaos.

You looked up at him, your lips parting slightly in surprise, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. His touch was soft, reverent, but when he pulled back, the glint in his eyes returned. “Imagine 14-year-old me,” he began, his voice warm and teasing. “I had a massive crush on the prettiest girl in our year—her name’s Y/N. You know her?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Oh, shut up.”

He chuckled, flipping the yearbook closed and tossing it aside before sitting back on his heels. “I finally mustered the courage to ask her to sign my yearbook. It took weeks of mentally hyping myself up. I’d be walking to her, and she’d always be… annoyingly with my brother, who I hated at the time.” He smirked, shaking his head. “And you know what she wrote? Her name. Just her name, not even her full name.”

“I didn’t know you then!” you protested, jabbing his shoulder playfully, but your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze.

He reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache. His expression softened, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge whether it was safe to bare the parts of himself he’d hidden for so long. “You probably don’t even remember, but in high school, I could barely look at you without feeling like my heart was going to stop,” he admitted, his voice trembling, quieter now, heavy with vulnerability. “You never paid me any attention—not really—but you were the first girl I ever liked. No, more than liked.”

His lips parted, and a faint, almost wistful smile crossed his face. “You were beautiful,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Not just the kind of beautiful people talk about in passing. You were the kind of beautiful that made me trip over my own words, the kind that made my palms sweat every time you were near. Everything about you made me nervous—how you laughed, the way you wore your hair, the way you moved like you belonged wherever you were.”

His thumb brushed softly over the back of your hand, his gaze distant now, lost somewhere in the memory. “I used to sneak into those practices, even though I wasn’t on the team. I’d sit in the bleachers and tell my friends I was just watching the game, but really, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And God, I hated it, how you were so far out of reach, how you were with someone else, how I couldn’t even imagine you ever noticing me.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling over you, so full of unspoken longing and quiet heartbreak. “Mark…” you whispered, his name catching in your throat as his honesty cracked something open inside you.

He met your gaze again, and his faint smile faltered, replaced by something raw, unguarded. “You were untouchable back then. I was this awkward, hopeless kid who didn’t know how to talk to girls, let alone someone like you. You seemed perfect—too perfect for someone like me. You had everything: the friends, the confidence, Jeno. And I had… nothing that could ever compare.”

He paused, his forehead brushing lightly against yours, his voice dropping even lower, a confession whispered into the small space between you. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That you’d never see me the way I saw you. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when it hurt, I couldn’t stop.”

His free hand slid up, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline, the touch soft, almost hesitant, as if grounding himself in the moment. His gaze held yours, steady but vulnerable, the weight of his emotions unspoken yet palpable. “For so long,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet longing, “I’d look at you and wonder if you could ever love me back. If someone like you—so effortless, so full of light—could ever see someone like me.”

A faint, self-conscious smile crossed his face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “I tried to tell myself not to think about it, not to hope for something that felt so far away. But I couldn’t help it. Every time I saw you, every time you smiled or laughed… I’d find myself wishing. Wishing for even a moment that you’d see me the way I saw you.”

His forehead dipped lightly against yours, his breath warm as it mingled with yours. His voice softened, trembling with the honesty of his confession. “And now, with you here like this… I don’t know how to make sense of it. That you’d ever love me back the way I’ve always loved you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, his words settling deep in your chest, so sincere they made your heart swell painfully. Your fingers slid up, tangling gently in the hair at the nape of his neck as you blinked up at him, your breaths shallow, your emotions teetering on the edge.

He shifted, his weight settling on top of you, his touch reverent as his hand cradled your jaw. “I can’t believe you’re mine now,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with disbelief, like it was a truth he couldn’t quite fathom.

“I’ve always been yours,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips like a confession, unfiltered and raw. Your fingertips traced along the curve of his jaw, soft and deliberate, as if grounding yourself in the moment. His eyes darkened instantly, a quiet intensity swirling within them that sent a shiver coursing down your spine.

Mark’s hand slid up your waist, his touch warm and steady, before resting lightly at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin there. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning against your lips, his voice low and barely audible. “Say that again,” he murmured, his tone full of quiet need, like he couldn’t bear to hear anything else.

You tilted your chin up, your lips brushing his as you whispered again, softer but with no less conviction, “I’ve always been yours.”

His response wasn’t verbal; it came in the way his lips captured yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second of the moment. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, his other hand tightening at your waist to pull you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, not hurried but consuming, each movement of his mouth against yours saying everything words couldn’t.

He leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes softened, something deep and nostalgic flickering behind them as he held you close. His voice was quiet but steady when he finally spoke. “You know, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “What do you mean?”

His lips twitched into a small, teasing smile, but there was an unmistakable fondness in his expression. “You’re the reason I got back into basketball.”

“What?” You frowned, utterly confused.

Mark’s smile widened slightly as he shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “You threw a basketball at my face when we were 12 years old.”

Your jaw dropped, a mix of horror and disbelief flooding you. “I did what?”

“It was during a sports class at school,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving upward as if the memory played vividly in his mind. “You just hurled a basketball, and it nailed me right in the face. I think I cried to my mum about it later that night.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, a gasp escaping you. “Oh my God, Mark! That’s awful! I’m so sorry, baby,” you said, your tone trembling with guilt.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing against your cheek, grounding you in the moment. “Don’t be,” he murmured softly. “I don’t even think you meant to do it. You felt bad afterward.”

“That’s a relief,” you muttered, though your brows furrowed. “But I still don’t get it. Why would I throw a basketball at you? And why don’t I remember this at all?”

Mark’s smile grew softer, his eyes warm as they held yours. “Because for you, it was just another day. For me, it changed everything.”

You blinked, unsure what to say, the weight of his words catching you off guard.

“You didn’t throw it at me on purpose,” he continued, his voice tinged with amusement. “You were aiming for the hoop, but you were standing so far away. And when it hit me, you came over, said sorry, and then challenged me. You told me I wasn’t allowed to throw it back unless I made a shot from there—at least ten meters away.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “And?”

“And I did it,” he said, his tone growing softer, the teasing melting into something more vulnerable. “You didn’t know, but I’d just quit the little leagues team the week before. I was embarrassed, frustrated—ready to give up on basketball completely. But when I made that shot… something clicked. You didn’t know what I was going through, but you made me feel like I could prove something to myself. Like I was capable of more.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locking with yours, a quiet intensity in them now. “That day taught me not to give up on the things I love just because a few people are being idiots. It reminded me that I was good and that I loved the game too much to walk away. I joined another team that week. And… the rest is history.”

The weight of his confession settled in the space between you, warm and unshakable. You stared at him, your heart swelling as his words wrapped around you, heavy with meaning.

“Mark…” you whispered, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek, your thumb grazing his skin with the same tenderness you felt blooming in your chest.

His eyes softened even further, his head dipping slightly as he leaned into your touch. “You’ve been changing my life since before I even realized it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so soft it left you breathless.

When he pulled back, his voice was no more than a whisper, full of quiet reverence. “It’s always been you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions too overwhelming to name. “Mark,” you murmured, your voice trembling, as if his words had unlocked something raw inside you. Your fingertips brushed against his jaw, your touch soft but deliberate, grounding you both. “Then don’t just tell me,” you whispered, your gaze steady and full of quiet intensity. “Show me.”

Mark’s grin deepened, slow and deliberate, as he took a step closer. His bare feet brushed against yours, the heat of his body radiating into you, a breath away from pressing fully into you. Your hands instinctively found his chest, your palms flattening against the warmth of his skin. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch felt grounding, as if the world had melted away and left only the two of you. His muscles flexed subtly beneath your fingers, the silent invitation undeniable.

His eyes, dark and heavy with intensity, traced your face like he was memorizing you, committing every inch of you to memory. You felt exposed in the best way, his gaze unraveling you as your fingers lightly explored the planes of his chest.

When he kissed you again, it was slower, more deliberate, his lips soft yet commanding as they melded with yours. His hands slid to your waist, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled you impossibly closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless, teasing and coaxing until your knees felt weak.

He broke away only to trail his lips along your jaw, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp, before his mouth pressed tenderly to the spot beneath your ear.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm as you gently pushed back just enough to meet his gaze.

His brow furrowed slightly, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. “Take me to my apartment,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his. “I told you I had something waiting for you there.”

Mark’s head tipped back slightly as a low moan escaped him, his grip on your waist tightening. “Baby,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? What do you even have for me back at yours?”

You smiled, playful but sweet, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his collarbone. “It’s a surprise,” you teased softly.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice heavy with a mix of desperation and amusement.

Your grin widened, and you leaned in, your voice a soft whisper against his lips. “I just made my room look pretty—candles, fairy lights, silk bed sheets, and pyjamas,” you murmured, pausing just long enough to watch his reaction. “I even have a new lingerie set laid out on the bed.”

Mark moaned, the sound low and full of raw need, his forehead pressing against yours as his hands slid up your sides, gripping you like he couldn’t bear the wait. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, his voice thick with longing. “Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?”

You smiled, letting your lips ghost over his as you whispered, “So let’s go, hm? I’ve been really excited to show you all day.”

Mark’s breath hitched again, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss before he growled softly, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and resolute as he led you toward the door, his urgency palpable.

──────────────────────────────

The candlelight flickered softly against the walls, casting long shadows that swayed with every subtle movement. The air felt thick, not just with the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla but with the weight of anticipation, of the energy crackling between you. Your silk pajamas clung to your skin, the soft pink fabric whispering against your curves as you shifted beneath him. The unbuttoned top parted with ease, revealing the delicate lingerie beneath—lace so fine it barely concealed you, the sheer cups of the bralette stretching over the soft swell of your breasts, the faintest hint of your nipples peeking through. The matching panties sat high on your hips, hugging your curves with a teasing delicacy, the thin bands of lace framing the exposed skin with maddening allure.

Mark’s gaze roamed over you, dark and heavy, like he was trying to memorize every inch. He leaned closer, his hands braced on either side of you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. His hoodie hit the floor in a careless heap, the smooth expanse of his chest coming into view. The faint glow of the fairy lights illuminated every muscle, the dip of his collarbone, the subtle ripple of his abs. His body was unfairly perfect, but it was the hunger in his eyes that made your breath hitch.

“Pretty, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and laced with awe. The words were a quiet exhale, spoken as though he didn’t mean for them to escape. His hands slid under the loose silk of your pajama top, pushing it aside completely, his fingers brushing over the delicate straps of your bralette before skimming down to the lace band. The reverence in his touch made you ache, the way he held you as if you were something sacred.

Your laughter spilled out, soft and breathless, breaking the tension like the gentlest crack in a dam. His hair tickled your cheek as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. The intimacy of it—the way his chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the way your bodies pressed together with no urgency, only desire—was intoxicating.

Mark climbed fully onto the bed, his thighs bracketing your hips as he caged you beneath him. He hovered, careful not to crush you, his weight balanced yet grounding. His lips found your cheek first, then your nose, then the soft plane of your jaw. Each kiss was unhurried, tender, as though he were savoring every second. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin. The sincerity in his tone made your heart twist, a warmth blooming in your chest that threatened to spill over.

“I love you more,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. Your hands slid up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers pressing into the solid strength there. The heat of his skin under your palms was grounding, a reminder that this moment was real.

His lips trailed lower, brushing over the curve of your neck before finding the sensitive skin of your collarbone. His kisses grew wetter, hungrier, his tongue darting out to taste you. A quiet hum of pleasure escaped him as he worked his way down, his hands slipping beneath your thighs to pull your legs higher around his hips. The shift pressed his cock harder against your center, the thick ridge of him dragging against your folds even through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Mark,” you breathed, your voice catching as his teeth grazed the edge of your collarbone. He chuckled softly, the sound muffled against your skin, but there was a roughness to it now, a raw edge of restraint barely held in check.

He kissed his way down, his mouth following the line of your ribs, his hands guiding your body to arch into him. When his lips closed around your nipple, a sharp gasp escaped you, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. The lace of your bralette offered little resistance, and when his teeth tugged gently, the faintest hint of pain mixed with pleasure, your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you.

“I just can’t get enough of you,” he murmured, his words muffled against your skin. His tongue swirled over the sensitive peak before he sucked harder, his groan vibrating against you. His free hand cupped your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple with just enough pressure to make you squirm.

Your laughter turned into a soft moan, the sound swallowed by the low growl in Mark’s throat. His lips traveled lower, his teeth grazing the edge of your bralette before he slid it down, his hands eager but never hurried. He pressed a kiss to the valley between your breasts, his tongue darting out to taste the skin there, as though he couldn’t bear to leave any part of you untouched.

When he finally moved lower, his kisses trailing down your stomach, you shivered beneath him. His hands slipped under your hips, lifting you slightly, and he pressed his mouth to the inside of your thigh. The heat of his breath against your skin made you gasp, the intimacy of the gesture leaving you trembling.

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, the slick heat of you drawing a low groan from his throat as he moved with an unhurried, aching slowness. He whispered your name, soft and reverent, the sound pulling your gaze to his like a magnet. The weight of his eyes on yours left you breathless, a quiet intensity passing between you that felt more intimate than anything else. He didn’t need to speak; the way his forehead pressed against yours, the way his body trembled as he began to push in, said everything. The stretch was slow, deliberate, each inch stealing the air from your lungs as your hands gripped his shoulders for anchoring.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch, the burn giving way to a fullness that left you gasping. He stilled, his chest heaving as he fought for control, his body trembling against yours. “I love you,” he whispered again, his lips brushing over yours. The words grounded you, the intimacy of the moment leaving you breathless.

His thrusts were slow at first, deliberate, each movement carrying the weight of his devotion. He kissed you deeply, his mouth moving over yours as though he couldn’t stand the idea of being apart, even for a second. The rhythm built gradually, the drag of him inside you hitting every sensitive spot, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips found your throat, his teeth grazing over your pulse before he sucked gently, leaving faint marks that would bloom into bruises by morning. His hips rolled, the angle changing just enough to make your back arch, a broken gasp escaping you as he hit that perfect spot.

“Mark,” you cried, your voice high and desperate, your hands tangling in his hair. He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his tone commanding yet tender. “I want to feel you come for me.”

The pressure built to a fever pitch, the knot in your stomach winding tighter with every stroke. He shifted again, angling his hips to press deeper, and the sensation sent you spiraling. Your body arched against him, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm ripped through you, wave after wave of pleasure leaving you trembling.

Mark groaned, the sound raw and broken, as he followed moments later. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, before he buried himself completely, his release spilling into you with a warmth that made you gasp. His forehead pressed to yours, his dark eyes holding your gaze as though he needed to see every flicker of emotion in your expression.

Mark’s breathing was heavy against your ear, his chest brushing yours with each slow, deliberate thrust. The room seemed to hum with the weight of the moment, the flickering candlelight catching the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the stray strands of damp hair sticking to his forehead. His hands slid along your sides, rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, anchoring you in place as he moved.

“Tell me what you feel,” he whispered, his voice low and ragged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The question wasn’t just a command; it was a plea, the kind that begged for honesty, for you to meet him in the vulnerability of it all.

“Full,” you breathed, your nails dragging across his back. “Like you’re everywhere, Mark.” Your voice trembled as the stretch of him sent another wave of pleasure spiraling through you. He groaned, the sound guttural, almost pained, as though your words had hit something deep inside him.

His hips shifted again, angling upward to press against that devastating spot that left you gasping, your thighs tightening instinctively around his waist. He pulled back, just enough to see your face, his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something softer there too, something raw and unguarded that made your chest ache.

“I want to stay here,” he murmured, his words broken between uneven breaths. “Like this. With you.” His lips brushed over yours, the kiss impossibly tender, a contrast to the way his body rolled against yours, deep and deliberate.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could think, your hands fisting in his hair as you pulled him closer. Your bodies fit together as though they had been made for this moment, every brush of his skin against yours, every inch of him inside you, speaking a language neither of you needed to translate.

His thrusts grew harder, more insistent, his restraint beginning to crack under the weight of his need. The bed creaked faintly beneath you, the sound blending with the soft moans and whispers that filled the room. The pace was deliberate but relentless, each motion calculated to drive you higher, to pull you closer to the edge.

“Mark,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hand slid down your side, gripping your hip tightly to keep you in place. He was relentless now, each thrust perfectly angled, the friction between your bodies building into something unbearable.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re taking me so well. Just like that. Just like you’re made for me.” The heat in his tone left you trembling, your head tipping back to give him more access as his teeth scraped against your pulse.

His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your panties, still pushed to the side. When his thumb found your clit, pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure, your whole body jolted, a sharp cry escaping you.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice a low growl, his thumb moving in slow circles that had your legs shaking around him. Your eyes fluttered open, locking with his, the intensity of his gaze leaving you raw, exposed. “That’s it,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “Let me see you.”

The pressure in your core built to a fever pitch, your body trembling beneath him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. The rhythm of his hips was relentless now, each thrust driving deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot that left you gasping for air. His thumb worked in tandem with his movements, the combination sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“I’m close,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat as your hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer. Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned low in his throat, his hand gripping your thigh as though he needed to hold onto something.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with strain. “I can feel it. Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

His words were your undoing. The knot in your stomach unraveled, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you gasping, your back arching off the bed as you cried his name. Your body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight, your walls fluttering around him as the aftershocks rolled through you.

“Fuck,” Mark growled, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. His thrusts turned erratic, deeper, harder, each movement driving him further into you. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in sharp bursts as his release filled you, the heat of it overwhelming.

He stilled, his body trembling above yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way. His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft but desperate, his hand sliding up to cradle your face as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The moment stretched, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the fairy lights above. His hips moved slightly, a subtle roll that sent a fresh wave of heat through you, the slickness of his release making every movement impossibly intimate.

Mark stayed buried inside you for a long moment, his breath warm against your neck, both of you trembling as the heat of his release spilled deep into you. The wet, slick sensation was intoxicating, a reminder of how completely he filled you. His hands smoothed up your sides, fingers brushing reverently along your skin as though he couldn’t quite let you go.

Your chest heaved against his, both of you gasping for air. His lips brushed over your collarbone, soft kisses trailing up the side of your neck until he found your mouth again. The kiss was unhurried, wet and lazy, his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned softly, the sound vibrating into your lips.

You shifted beneath him, your hands tracing the curve of his shoulders before settling on his chest, your touch hesitant but purposeful. “I need more,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips, your voice low and filled with longing. Your hips moved subtly, your thighs tightening against his sides, speaking what you couldn’t fully say.

Mark’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as his cock twitched inside you, responding to your every movement. He let out a soft, reverent groan, his hands resting on your hips, their warmth grounding you. “Anything you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice raw and laced with devotion. “Take it. Take all of me.” His lips quirked into a faint, almost bashful smile, the edges softened by the way he gazed at you, completely undone. The weight of his hands lingered on your hips as he let you guide him onto his back, his movements slow, as though savoring the shift. His touch remained, steady and reassuring, even as his body surrendered entirely to yours.

His gaze stayed locked on you, heavy-lidded and hungry, as you straddled him. The slickness of your combined arousal made the slide of his cock inside you effortless, your thighs quivering as you began to sink down slowly. A sharp gasp escaped both of you, your nails digging into his chest for balance as you took him to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his head tipping back against the pillow, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold himself together. “You’re so—tight. So perfect.”

You started to move, slow bounces that sent his cock dragging against your walls in a way that made your stomach clench. Your thighs trembled as you found a rhythm, your chest brushing his with each roll of your hips. His hands roamed your body, first gripping your hips, then sliding up your back until they settled between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer.

The motion brought your chest flush against his, the heat of his skin pressing into you as his mouth latched onto your nipple. His lips were hot and wet, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak before sucking hard enough to make you moan, your back arching into him.

“Mark,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his teeth grazed the stiffened peak. The sharp edge of pain melted into pleasure, a jolt shooting straight to your core. You could feel his cock twitching inside you with every bounce, the sensation making your thighs quiver.

“Keep going,” he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled and rough. “Just like that, baby. Fuck yourself on me.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, the coarseness of them sparking something primal deep inside you.

Your hips moved faster, the slick sound of your bodies meeting filling the room as you rode him. Each upward movement was slow, deliberate, teasing, before you dropped back down, taking him deep. His hands slid lower, gripping your ass to guide your movements, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“You like that?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. “Feeling me squeeze you?”

His groan was low, guttural, his hands gripping you tighter as his hips jerked upward to meet your movements. “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he rasped, his lips latching onto your other nipple, his teeth tugging gently before his tongue soothed the sting.

The angle shifted slightly as you leaned forward, your hips grinding against his in a way that had both of you gasping. Your nails scraped lightly down his chest, leaving faint red marks in their wake, your head tipping back as a moan tore from your throat.

“Mark—so good,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless. The weight of him beneath you, the solid strength of his body, the way his cock filled you with every bounce—it was overwhelming in the best way.

His hands moved to your back, his fingers splayed wide as he held you close. “Come for me again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

The combination of his words, the drag of his cock, and the wet heat of his mouth on your breast pushed you closer to the edge. You rolled your hips harder, faster, the pleasure building to a crescendo as you moved.

Your movements became erratic, your thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach tightened. His mouth left your nipple, his head tipping back to look at you, his dark eyes locking with yours. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Take what you need.”

The orgasm tore through you, fierce and unrelenting, leaving you gasping for air as your body trembled with the aftershocks. Your nails dug into Mark’s shoulders, desperate for something to ground you as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over you, blurring the edges of the world. Your walls clamped down around him, drawing a low, guttural groan from his throat, his hips twitching instinctively in response. His hands gripped your hips with a firm, steady pressure, holding you close as he whispered against your skin, his voice thick and raw.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the curve of your shoulder. “So good for me. So perfect.”

But neither of you was finished, not even close. The heat between you hadn’t dimmed—it had only shifted, deepened, simmering just beneath the surface as Mark pulled you closer. You found yourself in his lap, his hands guiding you with gentle insistence, your thighs tightening around his waist as your bodies pressed together.

His fingers slid between your folds, the slick evidence of your pleasure making his movements smooth and unyielding. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling in just the right way to make your head fall back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. “Mmm,” he hummed, his voice a low vibration against your neck, his free hand splayed across your lower back to keep you steady. “You’re so tight, baby. Feel how you’re gripping me?” His thumb circled your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, drawing a broken moan from deep within you.

Your hips began to move instinctively, grinding against his hand as his fingers pumped in and out of you, the wet sounds of your arousal mingling with your shaky breaths. The intensity of it built quickly, his movements precise, relentless, as though he knew your body better than you did. “Mark,” you whimpered, your voice high and trembling, your arms wrapping around his neck as you clung to him.

“That’s it,” he cooed, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers plunged deeper, stretching and filling you in a way that made your thighs shake. “Take what you need, baby. Bounce for me—just like that.” His voice was low, coaxing, the rough edge of his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Your thighs clenched tighter around his waist as you began to move, soft, desperate bounces that met the rhythm of his hand. Each movement drove his fingers deeper, brushing against the spot that made you cry out, your hands fisting in his hair as the tension inside you coiled tighter. “Mark, please,” you gasped, your voice cracking as your forehead pressed to his. “I want—everything. Everything with you.”

His fingers stilled for just a moment, his thumb continuing its slow circles over your clit as his gaze locked on yours, intense and searching. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and filled with something deeper than lust, something that made your chest ache.

You nodded quickly, breathless, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush. “Yeah. I’ve never been more excited in my life. I want to travel the world with you, go on so many dates, move in together eventually… you make me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Mark’s lips found yours in a kiss that was slow but consuming, his fingers resuming their rhythm inside you. “You don’t know what that does to me,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice shaking with raw emotion. “Hearing you say that.”

His movements quickened, his palm pressing against you with just the right pressure as his fingers curled and stroked relentlessly, driving you higher and higher. The intensity was overwhelming, your body trembling in his lap as he pushed you closer to the edge once more.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the pleasure so intense it left you gasping, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. “Mark, I—” you started, but the words dissolved into a broken cry as the orgasm hit, crashing over you like a wave. Your body spasmed around his fingers, your legs tightening around his waist as tears slipped down your cheeks, the pleasure so all-encompassing it left you shaking in his arms.

His lips found your temple, soft and soothing, as he held you through the aftershocks. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice tender, his hand gently easing out of you as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, your forehead rested against his, breaths mingling in the intimate quiet between you. Mark’s hand trailed lazily up your back, his fingers splaying wide as though holding you closer wasn’t just a want, but a need. His gaze found yours, steady and unguarded, a soft warmth flickering in his dark eyes.

“I always wondered,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the curve of your cheek, his voice low and tender.

“Wondered what?” you asked, your words a whisper, though you could feel the answer in the way he looked at you.

“If this was how it would feel,” he said, his lips barely moving, his voice laced with a quiet vulnerability. “To know you love me back.”

The words settled in the air between you, not heavy but final, as though the world had been holding its breath for this moment alone. It wasn’t loud or dramatic—it didn’t need to be. It was quiet, inevitable, like the way dawn breaks over a sleeping sky, soft and all-consuming. His smile, faint but deeply certain, carried the weight of years unspoken, a truth he no longer had to hold alone. His eyes found yours, raw and impossibly tender, as though the only thing he had ever been searching for had been right here, in this exact moment, looking back at him. And just like that, everything felt complete.

──────────────────────────────

EPILOGUE — SIX MONTHS LATER

The golden sunlight poured through the tall windows of the wedding hall, casting soft shadows across the polished marble floors. The air buzzed with quiet laughter and the clinking of glasses as the couple swayed to their first dance. The moment was picturesque—soft, romantic, and timeless. You lifted your camera, capturing the emotion in a single frame, but your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Your fingers brushed the delicate ring on your finger, twisting it idly as you smiled to yourself. The simple platinum band with its modest diamond sparkled subtly in the light, catching the warmth of the setting sun through the windows. It wasn’t an engagement ring, though its beauty could have fooled anyone. It was a promise ring, given to you by Mark on the day of your graduation, doubling as both a gift and a vow. He’d slid it onto your finger with a quiet certainty, the gesture filled with meaning. It wasn’t loud or extravagant, but it carried the weight of his love—a promise of the life you were building together, one shared step at a time. Every time you looked at it, you were reminded of him, of everything you had accomplished together, and of the future that was waiting for you both. It was more than jewelry; it was a tangible piece of him, a symbol of trust, devotion, and the deep connection that anchored you both.

The last six months had been transformative. Graduation had brought new beginnings, milestones, and a whirlwind of emotions. Landing your dream job as a destination wedding photographer felt like the perfect match. It allowed you to explore the world, meet new people, and live your passion—capturing love in its most raw, unfiltered form.

And yet, even with a job that took you to breathtaking destinations and gave you incredible experiences, nothing compared to the feeling of being with Mark. The relationship had deepened in ways you couldn’t have imagined. He wasn’t just your boyfriend; he was your home, your partner in every sense. Whether it was the way he held your hand during your lowest moments or the way he made you laugh until your stomach hurt, Mark had become the steady, unshakable presence in your life.

You glanced at the ring again, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Your heart swelled as memories of Mark flooded your mind—his easy smile, his quiet strength, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

The shoot was running over, and though you loved your work, you couldn’t help but glance at your watch. Tonight was important. Mark had organized a long-overdue reunion for your group of friends to celebrate his and his best friend’s new apartment. It would be the first time since graduation that everyone would be together under one roof. You had seen Mark, Karina, and Jeno one-on-one since then, but this was different. This was a moment to reconnect, to celebrate how far you’d all come.

Finally, the shoot wrapped. After a quick goodbye to the couple, you packed your gear and rushed to Mark’s apartment. It wasn’t just his apartment, of course. Mark and his best friend had been planning this move since they were teenagers. The apartment was their shared dream, years in the making, and despite the initial pang of jealousy you’d felt when he told you, you couldn’t help but support them. After all, you knew their bond was purely platonic—like siblings, even—and you also knew you’d practically be living there anyway.

When you arrived, the sound of the door unlocking was followed by soft footsteps, and then Mark appeared, his face breaking into a smile the second he saw you. His hair was slightly tousled, his sweater hanging loose over his frame, and yet he looked effortlessly perfect—warm, familiar, and entirely yours.

“Hi, my love,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice soft as your lips brushed against his in a kiss that lingered just a little longer than usual.

His smile deepened against your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as though he couldn’t help himself. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, every word wrapped in quiet affection. He pressed a second kiss to the corner of your lips, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you into a brief but firm hug, his chest solid and comforting against yours.

For a moment, he held you there, his lips brushing your temple as he breathed you in, the quiet hum of the hallway fading away. “Long day?” he asked softly, his hand resting lightly on your back as he pulled away just enough to look at you.

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Better now,” you murmured, the weight of the day melting away under his touch.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your spine as he opened the door wider. “Come, baby,” he said, his tone warm, almost playful. “I’ve got you.”

As you stepped inside, his hand lingered on your lower back, a subtle but grounding presence, guiding you into the glow of the apartment. For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter—it was just you and him, and the quiet, unshakable ease that existed between you.

The apartment was breathtaking in its simplicity, a perfect blend of functionality and charm that felt effortlessly lived-in yet thoughtfully curated. The open-plan living space was awash with a warm, ambient glow, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, cozier. Sleek furniture in neutral tones gave the room a modern edge, but it was the small, personal touches that made it feel like home.

One wall was lined with a floor-to-ceiling shelf, brimming with books of every genre and interspersed with small potted plants, their greenery spilling gently over the edges. The sectional couch, a deep, inviting gray, stretched across the center of the room, its plush cushions scattered with mismatched throw pillows that hinted at both Mark’s practicality and his best friend’s eye for detail.

Above the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, string lights twinkled faintly, their golden glow reflecting off the glass and spilling onto the light wood floors. The windows framed a stunning view of the city skyline, the distant lights twinkling like stars, creating a sense of endless possibility.

In the corner, a small coffee table bore the remnants of earlier unpacking—a stack of unopened mail, a mug half-full of tea, and a neatly folded throw blanket. The kitchen, visible from the living space, was minimalist but warm, its countertops dotted with personal touches: a fruit bowl, a handwritten grocery list pinned to the fridge, and a vase of fresh flowers that added a pop of color to the neutral palette.

The apartment wasn’t just beautiful; it was alive, a seamless blend of Mark’s quiet strength and his best friend’s vibrant energy. Every detail spoke of care, history, and the promise of shared moments yet to come.

Mark’s best friend emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray of drinks in her hands, her grin wide and infectious. “Y/N!” she called, her voice warm as she walked over, setting the tray down on the coffee table before pulling you into a tight hug.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, pulling back to glance around the apartment. “This place looks amazing.”

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her cheeks glowing with pride. “Thanks. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it.” She grabbed a drink and handed it to you before nudging you playfully. “I hope you’re not jealous, though,” she teased, her tone light but mischievous.

You turned to Mark, giving him an exaggerated glare that made his lips twitch in amusement. “Oh, I’m absolutely jealous,” you deadpanned, pausing just long enough for effect before cracking a smile. “But don’t worry,” you said with a chuckle, raising your drink. “I’ll probably end up practically living here anyway.”

Her laughter echoed through the room, and Mark slipped an arm around your waist, leaning down to murmur, “She’s not wrong.”

The house warming party gradually came to life, the space filling with the sound of laughter, music, and the kind of chatter that only happens among close friends. Karina, unsurprisingly, wasted no time stirring chaos. She wandered from room to room, shuffling picture frames, poking at Mark’s carefully arranged décor, and draping herself over the couch as though it were a chaise lounge in an old painting.

“Karina,” Mark’s best friend called out, half-laughing, half-exasperated as she chased after her. “Put the frame back—that’s not where it goes!”

“I’m adding artistic flair!” Karina declared dramatically, clutching the frame to her chest before spinning away.

“You’re adding stress,” she shot back, earning a round of laughter from everyone else as Karina stuck her tongue out in mock defiance.

Chenle and Ningning arrived not long after, bursting through the door with enough energy to rival Karina’s antics. Ningning’s eyes lit up the moment she saw the apartment. “Wow, this is gorgeous!” she exclaimed, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. “I mean, who knew Mark had taste?”

“Hey!” Mark protested, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Ningning ignored him, grabbing Chenle’s arm and dragging him toward the bookshelf. “Okay, let’s see what we’re working with here,” she said, inspecting the books and trinkets with an exaggeratedly critical eye.

“Solid selection,” Chenle remarked, plucking a book from the shelf and flipping through it. “But seriously, who organized this? The color coordination is giving me anxiety.”

Donghyuck and Jaemin, who had been huddled in the corner with their drinks, burst out laughing. “Of course you’d critique a bookshelf,” Donghyuck said, shaking his head. “Let them live, Chenle.”

“You’re just mad because you can’t read,” Chenle shot back, grinning as Jaemin snorted into his drink.

Through the laughter and chaos, your gaze fell on Chenle and Ningning, who were seated on the couch together, their heads tilted close as they spoke in hushed tones. It was impossible not to notice how they seemed to exist in their own little world, their shared smiles and soft laughter radiating something undeniably tender. Chenle leaned in slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Ningning’s face, his fingers lingering for just a second too long, while she looked up at him with a warmth that seemed to fill the entire room. Even Donghyuck, notorious for teasing, left them undisturbed, glancing at them with a rare, knowing smile before turning back to his antics.

Mark’s arm never left your waist, a quiet but steady presence that anchored you in the midst of the buzzing party. His fingers would occasionally trace soft patterns against your side, a simple touch that carried so much unspoken love. Every so often, he leaned in to murmur something soft—an observation, a joke, or a quiet compliment meant just for you. At one point, he kissed the side of your head, his lips lingering as he whispered, “I’m so happy,” his voice full of emotion that made your chest tighten.

Across the table, Chenle caught the moment and winked at you, giving a subtle but reassuring nod as if to say, Yeah, he’s completely yours. The warmth of his silent approval made you smile, and for a while, you let yourself be swept into the laughter and joy of the room.

But as your gaze wandered, it landed on Jeno. He was sitting off to the side, a bottle of beer in his hand, his posture deceptively relaxed. Yet his eyes betrayed him, flickering with a distance that didn’t quite match the lively atmosphere around him. He hadn’t joined in much of the conversation, his responses minimal, his laughs quiet.

You noticed the tension more clearly when Mark’s best friend passed by him, her movements visibly stiff, her eyes focused too intently on the space ahead of her. Jeno’s gaze lifted briefly, flicking toward her like a reflex before darting away just as quickly. It wasn’t avoidance—it was something heavier, a silence charged with things unsaid.

You nudged Mark gently, tilting your head toward the pair. “It’s been months. Are they still not talking to each other?” you whispered, keeping your voice low.

Mark followed your gaze, his brow furrowing slightly. He sighed, his fingers tightening briefly around your waist. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “They’re both stubborn as hell. They know they went wrong, but neither one wants to be the first to admit it.”

Your heart ached for them. Whatever had fractured between Jeno and Mark’s best friend was more than just stubbornness; it was something that had clearly left a mark on them both. And yet, it wasn’t your place to push—it had to be theirs to fix, in their own time.

Your gaze swept the room, taking in the scene. Chenle and Ningning were tucked together on the couch, their heads tilted close as they exchanged whispered jokes. The way Ningning’s hand brushed Chenle’s arm and the way his smile softened whenever he looked at her made it clear—they were as in love as ever, even in the chaos.

Karina had finally settled down, though not without a bit of playful grumbling, while Donghyuck and Jaemin leaned against the counter, still sharing quiet jokes that made them shake their heads and laugh. Even Jeno, though quieter than the rest, seemed to relax slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smile when Mark’s best friend passed him again. It was small, but it felt like progress.

As the party began to wind down, the warmth in the room only seemed to deepen. It wasn’t loud or flashy; it was the kind of comfort that came from being surrounded by people who knew you, loved you, and had been through every high and low by your side.

Standing by the window, you let your gaze drift over the city lights twinkling in the distance. The skyline stretched endlessly, a perfect backdrop to the quiet hum of contentment that filled your chest.

Mark slipped behind you, his presence a familiar warmth that immediately made you smile. His hands settled on your hips, his thumbs brushing gentle circles through the fabric of your dress. “You look happy,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

“I am,” you whispered, leaning back into him. “This feels right. All of it.”

He pressed a lingering kiss just below your ear, his lips impossibly soft, his breath warm as it danced across your skin. “Wanna test out my new bed in my room?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though there was a quiet depth beneath the playfulness—an unspoken invitation that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him, laughter bubbling softly from your lips as your cheeks warmed under the weight of his gaze. His dark eyes held yours, steady and unwavering, the glint in them making your heart stutter. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head with a smile that you couldn’t quite hide.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that familiar, lopsided grin that always felt like home. “So… that’s a yes?” he asked, his tone teasing, though his hands were already sliding to your waist, their touch steady, warm, and grounding. His fingers lingered, curling against the fabric of your dress, pulling you just a little closer.

Before you could answer, his arms moved with effortless ease, sweeping you up in one fluid motion. Your breath hitched in surprise, but the sound dissolved into soft, giddy laughter as you clung to his shoulders.

“Mark!” you murmured, though the sound came out more like a laugh, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as he held you close.

His grin softened into something darker, his voice dropping as his eyes locked onto yours. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all night? Laying you down on that bed, taking my time, and feeling you come apart under me. I want to strip you bare, touch every inch of you, and watch the way your body moves when it’s mine to hold. I’ve been dying to hear those sounds you make, to feel the way you pull me closer, and to leave you trembling from everything I’ve been holding back.”

The heat in his tone made your chest ache, the steady strength of his hold making you feel entirely weightless. He carried you toward the stairs, the hum of the party fading behind you with each step. It wasn’t just his chuckle that filled the quiet—it was the sound of your shared breaths, the quiet intimacy of the moment pressing in around you like a secret the world couldn’t touch.

When he reached the room, he nudged the door open with his foot, and the soft light from the bedside lamp spilled gently across the space. The air carried a delicate mix of vanilla and orange blossom, a sweet, calming scent that was so undeniably him it eased every lingering thought, wrapping you in the quiet comfort of his presence.

Without hesitation, he walked you to the bed, his arms tightening around you briefly before he gently tossed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft bounce, a laugh spilling from your lips as you propped yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze.

His grin widened for just a moment before it faded into something softer, something impossibly tender. He braced himself on the mattress, leaning down to hover over you, his dark eyes searching yours as if memorizing every detail. His hand reached out, brushing over your cheek with a reverence that made your breath catch.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, his voice low and sure, yet carrying a tenderness that made your chest ache. There was no hesitation in his words, only the quiet confidence of a man who meant them completely, a certainty that wrapped around you like the warmth of his embrace.

The kiss that followed was unlike any you’d shared before. There was no rush, no lingering urgency—it was deliberate, each movement soft and measured, as if he wanted to savor the moment and etch it into memory. His lips moved against yours in a rhythm that felt unspoken yet deeply familiar, every touch carrying a silent promise of everything he was and everything he wanted to give you.

His hand stayed cradling your cheek, his thumb stroking just beneath your jaw with a softness that left you breathless. It wasn’t just grounding—it was reverent, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of this moment between you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the kind of stillness that felt profound.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly, as if even admitting it made him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, brimming with something so raw and pure that it left you undone.

As you looked at him, the man who had become an inseparable part of your heart, you felt it too. It wasn’t about the apartment, the milestones you were reaching together, or the quiet dreams you shared late at night. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the life you were building. It was him—the one constant that made every place, every moment, feel like it mattered.

As you looked up at him—the man who had become your anchor, your safe space, your greatest love—you realized that the apartment, the plans, the life you were building together—they all mattered, but only because they were with him. In that quiet moment, with his arms around you, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be—wrapped in his love, completely at home in his embrace.

[ the final instagram posts ]

author’s note —  i can’t believe we’ve reached the end of the seven-part series. writing this has been such an emotional journey, and your support has meant the absolute world to me. thank you for sticking with me, for loving these characters, and for sharing your thoughts along the way—it’s been everything to me. please don’t hold back now; i’d love to hear all your feedback, your favorite moments, and how you feel about the ending. i love you all so much, truly. i’m feeling very emotional rn :( i love you guys

taglist — @bigjugz03 @hyuckkklee @hegdus @sungchannel @kidult0325 @hcluvie @second-floors @xjxnox @keelbeel @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @carelessshootanonymous @remgeolli @toroufriteh @sinsgaybutthatsokay @fancypeacepersona @cathamada @gomdoleemyson @ppeachyttae @strcwberi-deactivated20241207 @yunjinsart @millyswife

[aether-bun]

Dating headcanons for dead plate Vince and rody??? (Seperate)

DEAD PLATE BOYFRIENDS!!

Ok. Ok. The chokehold these two have me in is something that needs to be studied actually. Utterly thrilled that I get to write for them. Thank you so much Anon.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Talks of aggression, NSFW if you squint

Reader is gender neutral ♡

VINCENT is subtly affectionate being your boyfriend.

I think it's obvious that Vincent is very cold, inside and out, even if it isn't intentional

Little does the outside world know, however, he's very affectionate with you!

Behind closed doors, he finds small ways to be in contact with you

Knees touching, pinkies grazing, shoulders bumping, the works

It's not that he's afraid or repulsed by full on affection, it's just more comfortable for him to act the way he does. It means he can recharge without being away from you, but without overwhelming himself

I think he's a very big fan of chaste kisses, or at least giving them. Whenever he receives such rushed notes of affection, he refuses to admit it, but it leaves him with a sense of yearning :(

Adores hand kisses holy shit

I like to hc that he has a little lemon tree somewhere that he takes care of with such enthusiasm it's wild

The one thing you can't touch in his apartment is that tree. Hard boundary.

When he comes upstairs after work, he's usually very tired

This means that you both tend to just quietly enjoy each other's presence until he falls asleep in bed

Some days he's REALLY tired.

One of the chefs fucked up a batch so badly that it pushed service back by an additional 40 minutes while he had someone run supplies

It cost him a lot. That chef was brutally torn into and promptly told to never come back. Very unprofessional, but no one would say much about it.

Very exhausting lesson in hiring better employees in Vince's eyes.

That night he just laid down on your thighs and ranted. He doesn't tend to talk much for too long out of personal preference but that night he couldn't shut himself up.

You just gently combed through his hair and listened

The sensations soothed him and he got over the anger fairly well

(now he lays on your thighs some nights just to score some extra nice attention)

Dates are always very lavish, it's his personal favourite thing to spoil you. He always has a hand on you during outings of any kind.

Will pull you closer if anyone stares at you.

Gentle with you, in every possible situation, but firm

He really just doesn't want anyone to hurt you, but on top of that, he couldn't bear the ache he'd feel to see you look at someone else the way you look at him

Slut for calling you "Mine". End of discussion.

RODY is hellbent on giving you the whole world.

Loves loves LOVES cuddles

You cannot get this man off of you he is so clingy

He wants what's best for you and more this man will break limbs for you

I will say you were probably originally going to be a rebound relationship

After Manon, he found you, but it had barely been a month and he was clearly desperate for love

He was honest about Manon and the recent breakup, and in turn, you were honest about your returned feelings for him, but you very firmly said he'd have to move on first

It took a long time. You waited.

When he did get better, you two hit it off! He cared for you and you looked out for him

Your dates are walks through the park, café breakfasts and movie nights

Rody is a big fan of kisses

He kisses you and you can feel his love pouring through them, he deepens the kisses like he's starved, even though you're more than affectionate with each other all the time

Service top or complete bottom. Not because he's dainty bc he definitely isn't. He just loves you so much he wants you to have everything. He lives to serve you at this point let's be so real

Learned how to budget for you!!!! Whoa!!!!!!!!

I think Rody dances with you all the time

Rain or shine, dawn or dusk, happy or sad, he finds it nice to dance with you

It calms him

He gives the BEST MASSAGES IDC

Butterfly kisses and nose kisses are this man's kryptonite. He will cry. He has before.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey!!!! Sorry for the random hiatus, life killed me a little, but I'm back and raring to go! Dragon Anon, if you're reading this, I am working on your req but I'm making sure I actually know the DLC this time so it's taking a while to get through the content. Bear with me!!!

Sorry if these were a little sloppy, getting back into writing is a lil difficult but I'm working as best I can. I hope you enjoyed, and remember to leave your requests in my inbox!

Ciao for now~

[papervenom]

✩ chapter eighteen: winter break 94' ✩

summary: your fourth year starts with the return of the triwizard tournament— and a relationship with cedric diggory that should feel steady, but doesn’t. when harry’s name gets pulled from the goblet, everything shifts. the trio starts to crack, and being with cedric only adds to the tension. you’re sure about how you feel , you love him. but someone else is pulling for your attention, and it’s getting harder to ignore. a slow-burn, character-driven take on goblet of fire, told through your perspective

chapter warnings: smut (mature sexual content— reader and cedric are deeply in love and very physically intimate, with detailed description), alcohol use and a christmas drinking game, brief mentions of pot.

author’s note: surprise! christmas in spring. I know the timing’s a little backwards, but I couldn’t not write this moment. I really wanted to give reader and cedric this soft, almost tranquil little pocket of time together before everything kicks off again. there’s just something about winter and falling in love— the comfort, the way the world quiets down, that just felt so right for them. also!! I made a playlist for the cd that reader burns for cedric in this chapter <333 thank you so much for reading

word count: 10.5k

INSATIABLE MASTERLIST⋆˙⟡

December 24, 1994

"Ced, when's the timer going off?"

"Any second now, angel," he says, half-distracted, crouched down in front of the pantry with one hand braced on the door and the other rummaging around for the powdered sugar. Flour is dusted across his jumper, and there's a smear of dough on his jaw that he hasn't noticed yet. I've been meaning to wipe it off but I keep getting distracted.

Behind us, the Burrow is a blur of Christmas chaos. In the next room, Molly hums to herself, floating ribbons around a wobbling stack of presents. Arthur keeps wandering in and out, a tragically tangled garland of red and gold tinsel slung over his shoulder like some glittering, defeated python. His eyes flick nervously between Cedric, me, and the ancient Muggle mixer rattling away on the counter, blinking hard every time it lets out a strained whine or jolts violently when it hits a clump of brown sugar.

He hasn't asked about it yet, about how it works, but I can see it, the way curiosity keeps slipping past the caution in his eyes.

Cedric and I had found the mixer that morning at a secondhand Muggle stall in the village. It was scratched up, missing half its paint, but it was charming in a way I couldn't resist.

Cedric carried it all the way back, smirking at how absurdly proud I looked, kissing my forehead as I gushed about the cookies I was going to spoil everyone with.

The oven dings behind me, pulling me out of the moment. I gasp, twisting around to grab a dish towel and yank the oven door open.

A blast of heat rushes up my arms as I reach in too fast. The tray hisses when I grab it, too hot, and I curse under my breath, dropping it onto the stovetop with a clatter.

"Shit, ow!" I hiss, shaking my fingers out.

"Let me see," Cedric says, already at my side. He takes my wrist in gentle fingers, lifting it closer to his face to inspect. 

The burn isn't awful, just an angry red welt blooming across my knuckle, but he still treats it like it's life or death.

He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing it once, then again. His lips are warm and soft, his tongue flicking out slightly to soothe the sting.

I try not to giggle but fail, my stomach flipping.

"You're ridiculous," I whisper.

"Mm," His lips part, and without breaking eye contact, he sucks the tip of my finger into his mouth. "Tastes like cinnamon."

"Because we're baking, you lunatic."

He grins, wide and boyish, then conjures a cube of ice into his palm and runs it across the burn. The cold shocks my skin, making me shiver.

And that's when the twins barrel into the kitchen.

"Oh, my stars," Fred gasps, clutching his chest. "Are we interrupting?"

"Looks like we walked in on something steamy," George adds obnoxiously, biting his lip and humping the air because of course he does.

"We made cookies!" I blurt out, way too defensively, waving at the tray like it's proof of our innocence.

"Brilliant," Fred says, moving to grab one. 

I smack his hand instantly. "Don't you dare. They're cooling."

"Bloody hell," he grumbles. "You two are insufferable."

"I don't see you helping out," I replied coolly, grabbing the wooden spoon and licking a smear of dough off the side. It's warm, a little too heavy on the nutmeg, but still pretty good considering we eyeballed most of the ingredients.

When I glance up, Cedric's staring.

Not just looking, but focused. Mouth slightly parted, a slow flush creeping up his neck.

I drag the spoon back through the bowl, slow and deliberate, and lick it again.

When I look back, his breath hitches.

I smirk. "Eyes up, Diggory."

He steps in close behind me, one arm sliding around my waist, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "You're a menace."

"You like it."

"I love it."

"For Merlin's sake," George mutters. "Get a room."

Things had shifted between Cedric and I after the Yule Ball.

Something unlatched inside me that night, something I didn't even realize had been locked up. Suddenly, it felt safe to want. To ache. To take up space— in the way I kissed him back, the way I moved against him, the way I pulled him closer without waiting to ask.

It wasn't just Cedric I felt closer to. It was myself.

I knew what I liked. What he liked. And neither of us was afraid to chase it.

We had a few precious days before the Hogwarts Express brought us back to Devon, and we spent nearly every hour of it locked in his room. Barely clothed. Mouths on each other. Hands everywhere. Making up for months of drawn-out tension with a hunger that felt like it had been simmering since September.

But it was more than sex. More than the heat, the gasps, the high. 

He took his time. He listened.

He memorized me like he was afraid to forget. And I let him.

I wanted him too much to pretend I didn't.

He ruined me in the best way. Over and over again.

Cedric taught me that intimacy wasn't meant to be terrifying. With him, it felt natural— like something my body had always known how to do, just waiting for the right person to remember it with. He was soft when I needed softness, rough when I craved more, and quietly attuned to every place I didn't know how to ask for yet.

I learned how to make him lose his composure; he learned how to hold me there, right on the edge, until I broke apart with his name on my lips. And when he was inside me— deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world, he looked at me like I was holy. 

Like I was everything.

We'd grown a little obsessed with taking care of each other during those few days. 

Especially over lunch hours.

I was pretty sure I was the only thing in the world that could make Cedric Diggory skip a meal, or at least eat half of one just so he wouldn't be too full to fuck me senseless between classes. 

Thursdays were our favorite. We had a two-hour block where we could eat, digest, and then disappear. 

His dorm. A broom closet. A bathroom. An empty classroom.

Against the stone wall of a corridor where the torches burned low and the castle kept our secrets.

Cedric Diggory was a drug.

It's only been two days since we left school, since we said goodbye, but it felt like weeks. 

I was going through withdrawal.

I couldn't stop thinking about him. His touch, his taste, his weight pressing me into something solid. His voice, hoarse and desperate, saying my name like a prayer.  The way his hair felt between my fingers, the way his lips dragged slow and heavy over my throat when he couldn't get close enough. 

He told me, more than once, whilst he was inside me— how my whimpers drove him crazy. How the way my voice caught when he hit the right spot made him lose his goddamn mind. 

How he'd never wanted anyone like this before. Never had anyone like this before.

And I believed him.

The desperation didn't burn out after the Yule Ball. It clung to us. Followed us home. Made us reckless.

We barely made it onto the Hogwarts Express before we were all over each other again. Somewhere between dodging the trolley cart and finding an empty Prefect carriage, Cedric had me pinned against the door, my leg hitched around his waist, our kisses too messy and frantic like we didn't have time to be careful.

It was thrilling— the blurred frost on the windows, the secret touches, the muffled gasps. 

We didn't even make it to the cushioned seats. 

He took me standing, my palms pressed flat against the door, his voice low and sweet in my ear, whispering praises that made me come undone around him.

We dressed in a rush afterward, limbs still trembling and faces flushed. 

We didn't even realize we'd mixed up our ties until we stepped out of the compartment when we arrived at Kings Cross. 

My red Gryffindor one ended up draped around his neck, the knot sloppy and twisted. His bright yellow Hufflepuff tie hung loosely around mine, both of us looking exactly like what we'd just done.

By the time we made it ten steps off the platform, it might as well have been posted on the notice board at school.

My friends were waiting for me. Fred and George were already doubled over in laughter, practically elbowing each other with glee.

"Looks like we've got a confirmed shag!" Fred called, loud enough to turn heads across the platform, his voice cracking with laughter.

I rolled my eyes, cheeks burning, and turned to Cedric.

He didn't flinch, just smirked like he was proud of it. His fingers brushed mine, casual and warm, like he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.

He glanced over my shoulder, spotting someone in the crowd, probably his parents, then leaned in slightly. "I'll write to you," he said, low and certain.

"Okay," I murmured, then gave him a quick, soft goodbye before turning toward my friends, trying not to look like I'd just been shagged on a moving train.

Harry looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, throwing an apprehensive glance to Ron who, for his part, stood stiffly, like he'd just taken a bludger to the gut.

Ginny's eyes found mine instantly, her smirk slow and smug.

"About bloody time," she muttered under her breath.

Hermione wasn't as subtle. The second I stepped into our circle, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me a few paces away from the others.

"Are you being safe?" she whispered urgently. "I brewed this on the train. Take it as soon as possible."

It was a contraceptive potion, discreet by design, but in that moment it may as well have been glowing. I felt like the entire train had been gossiping, and now I was holding proof. 

Mortifying, sure— but it was going to happen sooner or later.

I nodded quickly, cheeks burning, and tucked it into my pocket like it was a lifeline.

I knew I was being reckless. I knew it but I didn't care.

Because when it came to Cedric, getting swept away was starting to feel like the only way I wanted to go.

But then... I didn't see him for a few days.

My heart was full— really, it was. The Weasleys had this magic about them, something that made a home out of even the most chaotic mess. I was warm and fed and constantly being dragged into games and loud, happy conversations.

But I missed him.

Ached for him.

So when an owl started pecking frantically at Ginny's window one morning, I sprinted across the room to untie the note— recognized his handwriting instantly.

I miss you so much, I could kill the next person I hear from that isn't you.

Cedric asked if I could sneak away for a while. Said he wanted to show me the village nearby— his version of giving me a tour, which was really just an excuse to have me to himself. After a few letters back and forth, and one very excitable conversation with Mrs. Weasley, the plans started falling into place.

She had beamed when I asked, clapping her hands together like I'd just suggested something wonderful. "Oh, you must invite him! And his parents too— for Christmas Eve dinner!" she said, already half-planning the menu out loud.

And just like that, I was scribbling a letter back, fingers shaking, trying not to explode with nerves and excitement.

The idea of baking had started back at the castle— one of those late-night hobbies born out of smoking the stash of pot I'd smuggled in from the States. We'd get the munchies and end up sneaking down to the kitchens, where Cedric would lift me onto a counter and make something to satiate me whilst I giggled at him, stoned out of my mind. 

The house-elves would watch in horror, absolutely mortified that a wizard was doing anything as laborious as kneading dough or whisking batter by hand.

It became our thing, me kicking my feet from the counter, Cedric moving around the kitchen like it was just another Quidditch pitch he had to conquer, grinning at me the whole time.

I was smiling at the memory when I felt him crowd in closer, his body slotting between my legs, cornering me against the kitchen counter with his hands braced on either side of me.

"When am I going to see you next?" he murmured, dragging me out of my thoughts.

I blinked up at him, the weight of him, the warmth of him, making my chest feel stupidly full. "Mrs. Weasley asked me to invite you and your parents for Christmas Eve dinner tonight," I said, voice hopeful.

"Oh yeah?" he said casually, brushing my hair back behind my ears. "I'll let them know."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why does that sound not likely?"

He hesitated, his mouth pulling into a grimace. "It's just... my dad's having some friends over from the Ministry. He wanted me there to talk about the Tournament... but I'll try to get away."

My face must have fallen because he immediately leaned in to kiss me, quick and sweet and soft.

"I miss you," I mumbled against his mouth, pouting as he smoothed his hands up my sides. "I feel like we haven't spent any real time together."

"I know." He kissed me again, lingering this time. "It's just hard, with family. But we'll find time. Why don't you come over to mine for dinner? My parents have been asking about you."

I hesitated, nibbling my bottom lip. "I feel bad leaving Mrs. Weasley after she's been making such a fuss getting everything ready... but I'll see what I can do. Maybe I can sneak out after dinner. Although that might be too late, Ced, seriously, listen to me—"

I broke off into giggles as he started kissing down my neck, ignoring every word, his lips brushing over the spot that made my knees want to buckle.

"You're the worst," I giggled, trying to squirm away half-heartedly.

From the next room, I could hear Fred and George whispering to each other in fast, hushed voices— the kind of mischief-heavy tone that meant they were back to testing their joke treats. The idea made me smile. Of course they couldn't leave things alone, not even for Christmas.

I was half-listening to Cedric's response when I heard one of them break away, footsteps padding toward the kitchen.

George strolled in, clearly mid-snack mission, and made a beeline for the now-cooled tray of cookies. But the second he spotted us, me by the counter, Cedric pressed in close, lips trailing lazily along my neck— he froze, then barked out a laugh.

"Damn," he said, shaking his head. "That little bird's got you by the balls, mate."

Cedric didn't miss a beat. He just grinned, still nosing against my neck, and said, "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Cedric broke off just in time when Fred wandered back in, whispering something fast under his breath to George. They were definitely back to scheming— voices low and sharp, the telltale sound of joke-treat plotting. I barely had a second to clock it before Mrs. Weasley and Arthur followed close behind, Mrs. Weasley brandishing a small hand towel like a weapon.

"Oi! Hands off those cookies, you'll spoil your dinner!" she chirped, swatting Fred and George both in the stomach as they cackled and darted away.

Cedric excused himself, laughing, brushing flour and streaks of dough off his jumper. "Mind if I use the restroom to clean up?" he asked.

"Right through there, dear," Molly said, beaming and pointing down the hallway.

As soon as he was out of sight, Mrs. Weasley turned toward me, wiping her hands on the towel. Her whole face lit up.

"Oh, darling," she cooed, practically vibrating with excitement. "He's beautiful! You two make such a gorgeous couple. Are the Diggorys coming over for dinner?"

I smiled awkwardly. "I asked... but he claims he's busy. I don't think he wants to impose."

"That's nonsense!" she declared, tossing the towel onto the counter with a flourish. "I've seen that boy grow up, he used to run around here with Fred and George, as perfect a little gentleman as you could find. It would make me so happy to have them. The more, the merrier!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," I said, warmed by how genuinely she meant it. "I'll try again."

Cedric reappeared a moment later, hands freshly washed, his hair a little damp where he'd splashed water on his face. Molly beamed at him, reaching up to pat his cheek fondly.

"Such a handsome boy," she said warmly.

Cedric gave her one of those soft, easy smiles that made my brain static. I grabbed his hand, tugging him gently toward the living room just as more of the Weasley brothers descended into the kitchen, lured by the smell of cooling cookies.

He dropped onto the couch and pulled me down with him without hesitation, his arms curling easily around my waist.

Across the room, Charlie and Bill were now getting scolded by Molly for trying to sneak cookies too. I laughed under my breath, settling back against Cedric's chest.

"Molly's asked me to get you to come by tonight again," I said, nudging him playfully.

"(Y/N), I want to," he murmured, brushing his nose against my temple.

"Then come," I insisted.

"You know I can't do that," he said, voice low, regretful.

"Then I won't see you until we're back at the castle," I said, pouting.

He frowned. "Thought you said you'd sneak out?"

"Yeah? After dinner, when everyone's asleep? What will we even do then?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him, smirking.

Cedric's mouth twitched. He leaned in, pressing a kiss just below my ear. "I can think of a few things," he whispered.

I giggled, swatting at him just as heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Ron burst into the room, face flushed, but the second he saw us— legs tangled, Cedric's arm resting lazily along the back of the couch, his whole expression soured.

Cedric straightened up fast, clearing his throat and sliding a few inches away from me, though his hand stayed linked with mine.

Ron stomped over to the cookie tray, snatching one without a word, too busy glaring at us to notice how good it was— which said a lot, considering how much Ron Weasley loved food. 

The hatred practically radiated off him.

Cedric followed Ron's retreat with his eyes and sighed.

"I should go," Cedric said under his breath.

"Why?" I asked, concerned.

His grey eyes flicked back to mine, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I mean, he doesn't really like me, does he? Never did."

I exhaled, dragging my fingers through my hair. "He thinks he has a crush on me and he's being dramatic about it."

Cedric's smile widened. "He has a massive crush on you."

I rolled my eyes. "No, he doesn't. I mean... he does. But it's the veela effect."

Cedric groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the couch in mock agony.

"What?" I said, laughing because he looked so devastatingly beautiful sprawled out like that— his chiseled jawline, his chest rumbling with laughter. I wished we were alone so I could throw him down on this couch and climb on top of him.

"You need to stop excusing everyone's infatuation toward you as the veela effect, (Y/N)," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss, one to my cheek, one to my jaw, one just below my ear.

"You are fucking gorgeous," kiss, "and perfect," kiss, "in every single way—"

"I don't excuse everyone," I protested, breathless and grinning.

"You thought I was under your spell," Cedric teased, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, yeah... but Ron really is," I insisted. "He gets all hazy when he looks at me, same way he does with Fleur. I mean, did you hear how he asked her to the Yule Ball? He was mortified. He had no control over himself."

Cedric shook his head, still smiling. "He might get like that around Fleur. But when you're both in the room, he still looks at you. And it's not the same hypnotized, veela-dazed look everyone else has. It's different. He's in love with you."

"Ced..." I said, soft, unsure.

He squeezed my hand. "It doesn't bother me. If anything, it just makes me grateful. Grateful that I get to have you in my arms. But... I can tell the difference between someone enchanted by you and someone who's just plain lovesick."

Before I could respond, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were the last to wander into the kitchen.

"Cookies?" Harry asked hopefully, peering around.

"Oh, hi, Cedric!" Hermione greeted brightly.

"Hello," Cedric said warmly, standing up and smoothing his jumper. "Help yourselves, we made plenty."

He shook Harry's hand, exchanged a few polite words, and then turned to me. I quickly wrapped a few cookies in a napkin for him, pressing them into his hands.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, fast but full of feeling, and then nodded toward Ron, who still hadn't looked at us once.

"Tell your mum I said thanks for letting me visit, Ron," Cedric said, his voice polite.

Ron grunted something under his breath, too busy staring at the floor.

I shot him a glare as Cedric headed for the door, heart already aching.

"These are so good," Hermione said around a mouthful of cookie.

"Muggle made," I said proudly, heading back into the kitchen to find a towel, Ginny and Hermione trailing after me. "Cedric and I went down to the village to buy a mixer and some supplies."

Ginny giggled at the way I beamed, and I couldn't help it — I did a little happy dance right there on the kitchen tiles, my giddiness so contagious it made Hermione and Ginny squeal with laughter too.

By the time the last cookie was snatched, the Weasleys had dispersed again — some off to clean up for dinner, others back to wrapping presents or sneaking in naps before the evening chaos really kicked off. The kitchen looked spotless, like Cedric and I had never even been there. Counters wiped, floors swept, dishes stacked neatly to dry.

I slumped into one of the chairs, elbows propped on the table, launching straight into a hushed, giddy retelling of everything to Ginny and Hermione.

It had become our thing, almost without trying — sneaking off to gossip in corners, slipping into conversations the boys had absolutely no patience for. Which honestly suited me fine. The girls gave me exactly the reaction I wanted: wide eyes, gasps, hand-over-mouth giggles. They ooh'd and ahh'd like they were watching a soap opera unfold live.

"Shit, I need to call my mum and wish her Merry Christmas," I said suddenly, grabbing the nearest towel to wipe my hands. "It's easier here, actually. Dumbledore lets me make weekly calls during the year, but he always sits in the room and it's... weird. Hard to update her when I have to censor everything."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "That's awful."

"Yeah," I said, nodding — then grinned sheepishly. "I told her about Cedric."

"Ooh," Hermione leaned forward, eyes wide. "What'd you say?"

"Just... 'remember that boy I told you I liked?'" I shrugged. "And she immediately went full mom-mode. Asked if we were being safe. I said yes and hung up immediately," I told them, mortified,  and we all burst into laughter.

Still giggling, we made our way back toward the living room where Ron and Harry were now parked, both looking at us with varying degrees of caution, like they weren't sure if it was safe to be around us yet.

I was nice enough to wait until the giggling died down before regrouping.

"Did I hear something about your mum?" Harry asked, looking relieved for a topic he could safely latch onto. "How's she doing?"

"She's fine," I said, dropping down onto the couch. Hermione plopped down beside me, and I immediately flopped my head into her lap, kicking my feet up across Harry's. "I talked to her yesterday. She already misses us. Asked if we'll be coming home for the summer."

"Wicked," Harry said, brightening.

I grinned. "What do you say, Hermione? Summer in the States? It's not as pretty as Europe, but it could be fun."

"Oh... I assume my parents already have next summer's trip all planned out," Hermione said, stroking absent-mindedly through my hair. "But I'll ask!"

Across the room, Ron still pretended I didn't exist. He sat stiffly in an armchair, arms stretched across the back, glaring at the fireplace like it had personally offended him.

Hermione gave me a pointed look,  that wide-eyed, do something expression that felt way too familiar.

I sighed. Preparing myself to be the bigger person, again.

"You, Ron?" I said lightly, still stretched across my friends like a cat. "You still up for our plan of amusement parks and greasy American fast food?"

Ron didn't miss a beat. "Sure, as long as your bellend boyfriend doesn't come."

"RONALD!" Hermione exploded.

I just laughed, half-expecting that exact answer.

"I don't like him," Ron snapped. "He's so full of himself. Walks around like he's already Merlin's almighty Triwizard Champion when Harry has a better chance than he does."

"Oh, don't try to twist this into being about the tournament," I said, sitting up now. "Cedric is not full of himself, and Harry doesn't give a shit about him in terms of competition. You're mad because he's with me."

"Whatever," Ron muttered. "I still don't like him. And I don't appreciate you bringing him into my home."

I blinked. Then blinked again.

"Neither your mom, your dad, your brothers, or  Ginny have a problem with it. So why should you?" I said, voice rising. "He's my fucking boyfriend, Ron. Maybe if you stopped being so miserable all the time, you'd actually enjoy being around him. And I'd enjoy being around you again. Jesus fuck."

Silence.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. Ginny looked up sharply. Harry froze.

"Wait," Ron said, voice like a shot. "He's your boyfriend?"

I stammered. "I mean... I think he is. I mean, we—"

The silence dragged.

I was fuming. 

So was Ron. 

The tension was so thick it felt like one wrong word could snap it in half.

"Okaaay," Harry said quickly, clapping his hands. "Let's... let's do something. Before we murder each other."

The tension didn't vanish, it just cracked enough for us to breathe again.

There were only so many things to do around the Burrow, and most of them involved lounging around, playing half-hearted games, and trying not to trip over enchanted Christmas decorations.

So we spent the few hours before dinner doing exactly that.

There was a mountain of homework looming over us, but none of us even thought about touching it. That was out of the question.

Except Hermione, of course— already buried in a book the size of a paving stone, while the rest of us sprawled across the living room in various states of post-cookie laziness.

Ginny and I had my Discman between us, one earbud each, quietly sharing music and mouthing the lyrics. 

Harry and Ron were hunched over the chessboard, locked in another ruthless round.

"You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know," Hermione said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence. "Start working out what it means..."

"Hermione, he's got ages," Ron snapped.

Hermione gave Harry a look. He sighed.

"Come on, how am I supposed to concentrate right now?" he muttered. "Can't it wait 'til after the holiday?"

"I suppose it can," she said with a dramatic sigh, setting her book down with an exaggerated thump.

Ron's chess pieces were as violent as ever. The match proceeding with a reckless pawn sacrifice and an unnecessarily brutal bishop decapitation. Harry picked up a piece, turning it over in his fingers.

"Sirius is supposed to write me back tonight," he said casually. "I asked him more about Karkaroff."

"Oh! I forgot to tell you," I said, sitting up straighter. "At the Yule Ball, Karkaroff was being really weird. I overheard him talking to Malfoy— told him to say hello to his parents, and Malfoy just got... really tense. Afterwards Karkaroff started asking me strange questions, too. About my dad."

I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I overheard him arguing with Snape in the dungeons after the Ball."

Ron, finally sounding like himself again, added, "Snape looked ready to hex him into next week."

Hermione frowned. "That's not surprising... But definitely something to keep an eye on."

We all agreed. 

The signs were there. 

Sirius might be right about him.

The evening quickly arrived, and before we knew it we were seated around the long kitchen table, digging into Christmas dinner. Prime rib, parsnip and carrot purée, praline chestnuts, sprouts, pigs in blankets, golden roast potatoes, Christmas pudding, and Harry's favorite— treacle tart.

We ate until we couldn't move. 

Mrs. Weasley had truly outdone herself.

And then, once the plates were cleared and the sky outside turned inky blue, Fred and George returned with shot glasses and dangerous smiles.

Fred dropped the first bottle on the table with a loud thunk. 

"Alright, you lot. Christmas Eve drinking game."

"You're joking," Hermione said, already backing away.

"Not even a little," George grinned.

Before Fred could explain the rules, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood up from the table, stretching and rubbing their eyes, clearly ready to call it a night after a long day of gift-wrapping, wand-waving, and pulling together Christmas dinner.

"Not too much now," Mrs. Weasley warned, gathering a few stray plates. "And absolutely no encouraging Ginny to overdo it," she added, shooting a look at Fred and George like she already knew exactly who the culprits would be.

"We'd never dream of it, Mum," Fred snickered, Ginny whinging under her breath because her parents were babying her. 

"Model citizens, the both of us." George added. 

Arthur chuckled under his breath, patting Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. "Let them have their fun. Just don't burn the house down."

With that, they disappeared upstairs, footsteps creaking on the old staircase.

Percy left not long after, haughtily sweeping from the room as if a drinking game was far beneath him, muttering something about "more important things to tend to."

His departure was met with immediate relief.

Which left Bill, Charlie, Ron, the twins, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and me gathered around the kitchen table, all exchanging looks— half excited, half bracing for impact, as Fred and George began preparing whatever chaos they had in mind.

Fred spun the bottle lazily between his fingers, grinning like he'd just invented mischief.

"Alright," he said. "Who's ready to regret their life choices?"

George snatched the bottle from him and raised it like a toast. 

"Simple rules," he announced. "Spin, point, drink, dare. Refuse the dare—two shots. Do it— just the one. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser gets their eyebrows singed off."

"That's not a real rule," Hermione said flatly.

"It is now," George replied with a wicked grin.

Bill leaned back in his chair, sipping his butterbeer. "God help us."

The bottle spun and clattered across the tabletop, landing on Ron.

"Dare," he said immediately, trying hard to sound cool and not at all nervous.

George's eyes lit up. "Sing Celestina Warbeck's 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.' Serenade style."

Ron looked like he'd rather eat a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but he stood up anyway, wobbling slightly, and belted the first verse so dramatically that Ginny broke into a fit of laughter and nearly fell off her chair.

The second spin landed on Hermione, who was clearly praying for divine intervention. 

Her dare? Chug half a glass of eggnog without gagging. She failed spectacularly, sputtering halfway through, and Fred cackled as he handed her two shots.

Charlie, amused and surprisingly competitive, picked dare and had to switch clothes with George for the next round. 

Watching a grown dragon handler squeeze into a twin's jumper was enough to make half the room cry laughing.

Harry got dared to kiss Ginny on the cheek, which turned him so red he looked like he'd caught fire, and then he took a second shot anyway to save himself from further humiliation.

When the bottle finally spun to me, I didn't hesitate. "Give me your worst."

Fred and George exchanged a long, exaggerated glance before Fred leaned in with a grin.

"Alright, darling. Give us your worst pickup line. And you have to sell it."

The room stirred with anticipation.

"Oh, you want bad?" I said, rising to my feet like I was taking center stage. I rolled my shoulders, tossed my hair, and leaned in with mock intensity.

"Are you a Dementor?" I purred, voice flat and low. "Because every time you come near... I lose my will to live."

George let out a strangled cough. Bill cracked up, laughing into his drink.

I held up a finger. "Wait for it."

I took a slow breath, locked eyes with Fred, and added casually, "Also, I'm not wearing any knickers."

That did it.

Charlie burst out in laughter. Hermione slapped both hands over her mouth. Ron made a noise like he'd swallowed a Quaffle sideways.

Fred just blinked at me. Once. Then again. Hands raised, he leaned back like he'd been hit.

"I said worst pickup line, (Y/N)," he said, almost stunned. "Not most effective. Bloody hell."

And okay, yeah, it was the alcohol that made me so bold. But even through the laughter, I caught the look Ron and the twins were giving me— half impressed, half scandalized, and just barely this side of turned on.

Not the result I'd planned for.

But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't proud of it.

When the time came that the bottle got back to Hermione, she was flushed and giggling, not even pretending to argue as she tipped back another shot.

The room grew louder. The dares got sloppier. Ron ended up wearing Bill's old boots. Harry had to serenade a mince pie. Fred attempted to duel the Christmas tree and lost spectacularly. George drank straight from the bottle when nobody could agree on a dare good enough to top the last.

Everyone was getting drunker by the minute— flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, voices rising with every passing hour.

I wasn't immune to it,  there was a warm buzz under my skin, but I stayed careful. 

Sipping water between rounds. 

I wanted to remember tonight. 

Wanted to stay clear-headed enough to enjoy it without losing myself.

One by one, people started peeling off. 

Charlie left first, muttering something about needing to be up early. Bill followed not long after, clapping Fred and George on the backs and calling them "bad influences." 

Ron and Harry fell asleep half-upright on the couch, snoring lightly.

Soon it was just Ginny, Hermione, the twins, and me still awake— and even Ginny was slumping sideways in her chair, eyelids drooping.

I was just thinking about helping clean up when there was a sudden, frantic tap against the kitchen window.

An owl.

I blinked, sobering a little as I crossed the kitchen. Everyone else was still too drunk to notice.

The poor thing looked slightly windblown, its feathers puffed and ruffled, eyes wide like it was carrying urgent news. I cracked the window open, careful not to let in too much cold, and untied the small parchment tied to its leg.

The handwriting was unmistakable — slanted, neat, a little rushed.

I miss you terrible. Can you sneak out?Please? I want to see you.

— C

My stomach flipped.

He missed me. He wanted me. And the moment I imagined his voice behind those words— low, teasing, warm— I was already looking for my coat.

"Be right back," I murmured to no one in particular, tucking the note into my pocket.

Ginny was curled into an armchair, mumbling about something incoherent as she kicked off her shoes and pulled her sleeves over her hands. Fred and George were still buzzing with drunken laughter. 

No one paid me any mind as I slipped into the hallway and grabbed my shoes.

I moved quietly, slipping past creaky floorboards as if I'd done it a hundred times. 

Coat, scarf, wand. Door eased open. Cold air hit my cheeks like a secret.

And just like that, I was gone—  stepping into the night, already flushed, already buzzing with the thought of him.

Of Cedric.

Of where this was going.

And what I'd let him do to me when I got there.

By the time I reached the edge of the Diggory's property, I was about to head up to the front door when I heard him.

"Over here," Cedric whispered loudly from his window, barely visible through the frosty glass. I turned and found him leaning out, grinning like a boy sneaking sweets before dinner.

He disappeared for a second, then the window creaked open wider, and I saw him reach out a hand.

"Come on, before someone sees you."

His grip was steady, warm despite the cold. He pulled me up with practiced ease, helping me over the sill and into the room with a muffled laugh. My boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as I landed inside, snowflakes melting off my coat.

He looked gorgeous, clearly dressed for Christmas dinner in smart trousers and an adorable cashmere sweater that made him look equal parts cozy and kissable.

"Sorry," he said, brushing a hand through his hair. "There are a few of my dad's coworkers here tonight. All Ministry. Very boring. Thought I'd spare you."

The room was warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of cedar and something sweet and spiced,  maybe mulled wine. A record was already turning in the corner, the soft scratch of vinyl filling the quiet space between us with soft music.

"It's okay," I giggled, starting to peel off my layers— coat, scarf, gloves, my fingers clumsy from the cold.

Then I felt him.

His body pressed close behind mine. His breath warm against my neck. One arm snaking around my waist, the other holding something above our heads.

Mistletoe.

He grinned, cocky and gorgeous and utterly unbothered, like he'd been waiting all night for this exact moment.

And I giggled before I could help it because of course he had mistletoe.

I didn't expect any less from this beautiful, maddening, perfect boy.

"House rules," Cedric said, voice low and pleased, lips already brushing my cheek.

I turned into the kiss without thinking, our mouths finding each other easily, like it was a ritual. Like we'd done it in every life before this one.

My back hit the wall with a dull thud as he moved into me fully, the mistletoe falling to the floor, forgotten. He smiled into the kiss, all warm breath and flushed skin.

"Missed you," he murmured against my lips, his hands cupping my face, thumbs grazing over my cheeks. "So much."

"Show me," I whispered.

His fingers slid under my jumper, warm palms tracing up my sides until he found bare skin. He sighed into the kiss when he felt it, like he'd needed to touch me just to breathe again. I reached for the hem of his sweater, yanking it off with one pull and he stood there in the low light, shirtless and golden and glowing. 

I don't think I'll ever get over how beautiful he looks. Not when he's like this. Not when he's mine.

He dipped his head, lips dragging over my throat. Open-mouthed kisses trailed along my collarbone, wet and slow. I could feel him, hard through his trousers, thick and hot against my thigh, and I gasped when I rocked into him.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're already soaked, aren't you?"

I nodded, incapable of forming words. His hand moved between us, sliding into my waistband, fingers seeking and finding the heat between my thighs.

"Mmm," Cedric hummed, his forefinger and thumb tilting my chin toward him. His nose brushed mine, breath catching. "You're throbbing for me, baby. So fucking wet."

When he pressed his finger against my clit, circling slow and devastating, I let out a breathless sound, more whimper than word. His other fingers teased at my entrance, just the barest hint of fullness. It was enough to make my legs tremble, not nearly enough to satisfy.

The only fullness I wanted was Cedric's cock. That thick, heavy weight pressed against my hip. No finger could match the stretch of him, the ache I was begging to feel.

"I need you," I whispered, and he moved me toward the bed, step by step, kissing my jaw, the corner of my mouth, the shell of my ear. Every touch burned.

When I peeled off the rest of my clothes, he dropped to his knees. Hands curling around the backs of my thighs, he tugged me forward until I was perched right at the edge of the bed, bare and trembling. He looked up at me like I was the feast and he was starving.

Outside, there was laughter— faint and distant. I was grateful Cedric's parents and their guests were distracted. No one would hear the filthy noises I was about to make.

Then his mouth was on me. He licked a slow stripe through my folds, the tip of his tongue flicking over my clit with maddening precision. My back arched. A moan tore from my throat. He groaned into me, like he'd been craving this.

"Taste better than I remembered," he murmured, mouth wet against my thigh.

He didn't stop until my thighs were trembling, my hands fisted in the sheets, hips bucking for more. Then he stood, undid his trousers, and shoved them down with one hand, his cock springing free— thick, flushed, and already glistening at the tip.

He crawled over me, dragging the head of his cock through my folds, teasing me until I whined, begging without shame.

Then he pushed in.

One long, slow thrust that filled me completely, made my spine curve and my lips part in a moan.

"Merlin," he choked, arms braced on either side of me. "You feel so good."

I couldn't speak. Just wrapped my arms around his shoulders and clung to him, my legs locking around his waist.

He started to move— slow, deep thrusts that hit every nerve ending. His hips rolled in a rhythm that felt like worship. And ruin. My fingers dug into his back. I could hear myself mumbling, gasping, nonsense.

 Cedric just chuckled, kissing my cheek.

"You're so gorgeous when you fall apart for me," he said, dragging his lips down my jaw. "I love you, princess."

"I—" I tried to say it back, but his next thrust knocked the air from my lungs. I dragged my nails down his back, moaning. He hissed in pleasure, bucking into me harder.

Each thrust was measured, perfect. He was making love to me, but with a purpose, building up his release slowly, like he wanted to feel every second. Our eyes stayed locked, our breathing synchronized. I hooked my fingers around the back of his neck, his nose brushing mine, his moans getting rougher, raspier, more desperate.

"You're so perfect," he gasped. "So fucking perfect, Gods."

I kissed him, hungry, messy. He groaned into my mouth, and I could feel him start to throb inside me.

I was right there with him. My body wound tight, hips rolling to meet every thrust, every press of his pelvis against my clit. I was burning up, every inch of me trembling.

"Ced, I'm—I'm gonna—fuck—!"

"Go on," he growled into my ear, hand clutching my hip as he quickened the pace, voice breaking. "Come for me, sweetheart."

My orgasm tore through me like lightning, my body arching into his as I cried out his name. He kept thrusting, fucking me through it, relentless even as I clenched around him.

"Ah, fuck—" Cedric groaned, hips stuttering. "You gonna let me fill you up baby? Pump you full of my cum?"

"Yes, yes— please," I whimpered.

That did it.

He moaned my name, hips slamming into me one final time as he came hard, hot pulses spilling inside me. His body collapsed over mine, still twitching from the aftershocks, lips pressed to my cheek.

He stayed inside me for a long moment, breathing hard, our bodies still tangled, still slick with sweat. His forehead rested against mine, noses brushing, eyes locked. He kissed me— soft now, unhurried.

When he finally pulled out, slow and careful, I whimpered, more from the absence than anything else. He kissed down my bare stomach, slow, warm presses of his lips as he worked his way lower, humming softly between each kiss. I squealed when he kissed the curve of my bare ass, and he only grinned, crawling back up to hover over me again.

"Can we stay like this forever?" he whispered, brushing his mouth across mine.

I laughed, breathless. My fingers tangled in his damp hair as I pulled him in for another kiss. "I'd love nothing more."

So we stayed like that for a while— our bodies pressed together under the weight of the moment. Everything was soft now. Mellow. It was one of my favorite things about us, how naturally we shifted from heat to hush. No awkwardness. No tension. Just a shared, breathless calm.

I loved how comfortable we'd grown with each other. How easily we fell into conversation after sex, limbs tangled, hands tracing patterns along bare skin, hearts still beating like war drums in our chests.

We were lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, fingers laced between us, when I broke the silence, "During the summer, Harry and I caught this weird documentary on Muggle TV. It was about this filmmaker who tried to build an opera house in the middle of the Amazon for a movie called 'Fitzcarraldo'. Total chaos. Everything that could go wrong did— bad weather, budget disasters, cast changes. The original lead actor actually got sick, and they had to recast and reshoot most of it. But the director, Werner Herzog, kept going. He literally dragged a full steamship over a mountain. And somehow, he made the film anyway."

Cedric turned his head toward me, interested, silent.

"And there's this band I love, Cigarettes After Sex, they wrote a song inspired by the film. You can hear the opera piece from the movie in the intro. I was so excited when I made the connection. I put the song in your—" I stopped, my mouth clamping shut mid-sentence. My heart lurched.

"In my what?" he asked, already smiling like he knew.

My cheeks burned. "Never mind."

"No, you cheeky girl. Come on, tell me. You can't just start something and leave me hanging," he said, tugging gently at my joined hand.

I sighed, face hot. "Fine, before I forget..."

I slipped out from under the covers, reaching across the floor for my bag— the one I dropped while climbing in through his window. 

 I dug until I felt the plastic case— the one I'd tucked away before sneaking out of the Burrow. I handed it to him wordlessly, hoping he wouldn't notice the blush creeping up my face.

It was labeled in sharpie, 'Cedric's CD'. 

Inside was a folded sheet of parchment, handwritten with all the songs I'd picked, a little note beside each one explaining why it made me think of him.

He sat up, instantly alert. "You made me a mixtape?"

"I burned it back home. I know it's dumb. And small. I just— I didn't have anything else to give you."

"You give me everything just by breathing," he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world.

I wanted to roll my eyes but it landed too hard in my chest, like my heart didn't know how to take a compliment that honest.

He opened the case slowly, like it was something sacred. His eyes scanned the tracklist, lighting up as he read the names.

"I can't wait to put this on," he murmured.

He stood up— completely naked, unbothered— and it just made me smile. There was something easy about us now. I watched him cross the room, soft light catching on his skin, and all I felt was warmth. Not nerves. Not insecurity. Just comfort. Just him. And that familiar, swelling feeling in my chest that made it impossible not to smile.

He held the CD in his hand like it was something personal— like he was holding a piece of me and it mattered more than I realized.

At the record player in the corner, he stopped the vinyl, then flipped open the CD tray beneath it. A low hum filled the room. The first track came to life: Opera House by Cigarettes After Sex, the haunting intro echoing in the quiet like a memory neither of us had lived yet.

My chest ached at the sound.

He came back to bed, that perfect face lit in warm lamplight, and slipped under the covers, pulling me into him again like it was instinct. Like he couldn't stop touching me even if he tried.

His arms were heavy around my waist. The song played. I pressed my cheek to his chest and let my fingers trace the shape of his ribs through soft skin.

"I love you so much, Cedric," I whispered, the words barely audible over the music. But I knew he heard them. Felt them. "I've been so happy since we've been together. Happier than I thought I could be."

It came out softer than I meant. A little breathless. A little too raw.

I said it like a test.

Because part of me still needed to hear it back.

Not just for the sake of it. But because earlier, when Ron had said what he said, when the doubt had slithered in, I started questioning things I didn't want to. 

So I waited.

And when he didn't answer right away, when the silence stretched longer than it should've, my stomach dropped.

It was only a second.

But it was enough.

I pulled back, stiff, like I'd been stung. "What?"

Cedric's face changed instantly— his whole body jolting upright like I'd shocked him back into the moment. "No, wait— no, no, no."

"Then why did you hesitate?" My voice wavering. I was already sitting up, wrapping the sheet around me like armor. "Do you not want to be with me? Are you still—" I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Are you not over Cho?"

He stared at me, stunned. "What? No. Gods, no. Baby..." He moved fast, reaching for my hands, tugging me back toward him. "How could you even think that? You're all I think about. You've been it for me since day one."

"But you hesitated."

"Because I'm scared." His voice broke on the last word. "Not of you. Of me. Of this. Of getting it wrong. I don't want to mess this up. I want you to be mine, more than anything— but I'm in the middle of this goddamn tournament, and I'm drowning in it. I can't be the boyfriend you deserve right now. I'm exhausted. I'm scattered. I'm scared I'll end up hurting you."

I looked at him, heart thundering, unsure if I wanted to scream or cry.

"You won't," I said quietly. "You already mean more to me than anyone ever has."

He exhaled, shakily. "After the tournament. When I can give you all of me... can I ask you again then? Properly? Can I make you mine?"

I didn't answer right away. The song shifted to the next track, slow and low and hazy.

Eventually, I gave a small nod. "Okay."

He let out the smallest breath of relief. Like he'd been holding it for days.

"I'm so in love with you," he murmured, reaching up to cup my cheek again.

"I love you, too," I whispered. "Even when you're a div."

That made him smile. He kissed me, and I melted into it— gentle and slow and aching.

"I'm not seeing anyone else," he said again, like it was important that I heard it. "I don't want anyone else. It's just you. It's always been you."

I blinked hard. My throat burned.

Then, from the drawer beside his bed, he pulled out a tiny velvet box. Held it for a beat, like he was waiting to see if I'd let him.

"I was going to wait until morning," he said. "But I want you to have this now."

He handed it to me. Inside sat a delicate gold necklace, thin as thread, with a single charm: the letter C.

"Cedric..." I cooed. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to—"

"It's not a big deal."

"It is," I said, staring at it. "Especially when all I got you was a burned CD."

"Your CD is everything," he said. "It's your music. Your taste. Your heart. You made it with your hands. That's what matters."

I went quiet for a second, the weight of it settling in my chest. Not guilt, exactly. Just this stupid ache, the way I always felt when someone saw more value in me than I knew what to do with.

He reached out, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

"You whingy little thing," he said, teasing, warm. He pulled me into him until I was curled against his chest. "It's lucky I like when you get pouty. Means I get to kiss it better."

And he did.

Then he whispered it all, how I was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. But not just in the surface way. It was my laugh. My voice. My stubbornness. My way of seeing the world. He said he couldn't put it into words, but that being near me felt like being pulled toward a light he didn't know he needed.

I didn't say anything.

I just kissed him again, fingers combing through his hair.

And sometime after that, with the CD still playing and our bodies tangled, we fell asleep. His fingers were tracing shapes into my skin— soft, lazy, aimless. Like he didn't even know he was doing it. Like he just wanted to feel me under his hands.

I fell asleep thinking about how lucky I was.

I was in love with this boy whose eyes lit up when he talked about Quidditch. Who scrunched his nose when he laughed, like he was trying to hold it in but never could. Who made me feel like the most important person in any room, just by looking at me like I mattered. Who'd break into a fit of boyish giggles that made my stomach braid.

I fell asleep thinking about how, when he held me, there wasn't a single place I'd rather be.

And I knew, without a flicker of doubt, I was in love with Cedric Diggory.

And I'd wait a lifetime for this, if I had to.

༻✦༺

The morning came gently.

I woke slowly, somewhere between a dream and the warmth of his body tangled with mine.

For a second, I couldn't remember where I was— just that it smelled like him and I was warm.

Safe. 

My legs were draped over his, our bodies fitted together like we'd always belonged like this.

The room had gone quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall and the hush of wind brushing against the windows.

His arm was heavy across my waist, his face buried against the crook of my neck. I could feel each slow breath he took, soft and steady.

I didn't move. I just stared at the ceiling, trying to memorize it all. The early light seeping in through the curtains. The faint trace of his cologne still clinging to my skin. The way one of his curls had fallen into his eyes.

I could still feel where he'd kissed me. The necklace he gave me sat cool against my chest, catching little glints of silver light. I traced it lightly, fingers brushing over the tiny C on the charm, and felt something bloom in my chest all over again.

This was real.

Him. Us. All of it.

I didn't want to wake him. I wanted to freeze this moment, tuck it away where nothing could ruin it.

But outside, the world was waiting. 

And Christmas morning at the Burrow wasn't going to wait for me.

I turned to him gently, brushing my nose against his cheek.

"Ced," I whispered, shaking his shoulder. "Ced."

He groaned, shifting beneath the covers. "Sweetheart, what—?"

"I have to head back before everyone wakes up. It's Christmas."

He grumbled sleepily. "Merry Christmas, gorgeous." His voice was scratchy and low as he nuzzled into my neck. I felt him inhale, long and slow.

"Are you... are you smelling my hair?"

"Mhm." His arms tightened around my waist like a sleepy bear refusing to let go.

I giggled, squirming out of his hold. "I have to go!"

"Tell them I kidnapped you," he mumbled into the pillow, voice muffled.

"I'm stealing your sweater," I said, already tugging it on— the same one I'd tossed to the floor the night before while undressing him. It smelled like him— warm skin, cedarwood, that boyish cologne I couldn't name but knew by heart.

I pulled open the curtains. Morning light spilled in, soft and silver, casting long shadows across the floor. The snow outside glittered like powdered diamonds.

Cedric groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "Too bright."

"I'll sneak out the window," I murmured, brushing hair from my face, ignoring his muffled protest. "Quieter that way."

But he shook his head, eyes still hazy with sleep as he pushed himself upright. "Come on. We'll go through the front. Everyone's still asleep."

We dressed quietly, pulling on scarves and mittens, boots thudding softly on the wooden floor. He wrapped his scarf around me, twice, like he was shielding me from the world. Then he tugged my hat too far down on my head, making me giggle and swat at him.

I wanted to kiss him again right there. Instead, I smiled like an idiot.

The village was quiet, blanketed in snow, the world still tucked into sleep. We walked hand-in-hand past hedgerows heavy with frost and windows glowing with warm light, our breath curling in the cold air between us.

His cheeks were pink from the cold, his fingers laced tightly with mine.

And still, I could feel him under my skin—buzzing, electric. Part of me wanted to drag him into the nearest snowbank and climb on top of him. 

But then, right before the Burrow came into view, he stopped walking. Turned to me. Wrapped his arms around me tight, burying his nose in my hair— holding me like he couldn't stand the idea of letting go.

"I don't want to leave you," he murmured.

"You'll see me tonight," I whispered back.

I kissed him. Just once, soft and sure, not dragging it out. We didn't need to.  We knew we'd do this all over again later— after dinner, after the house had gone quiet, after the lights dimmed and footsteps faded upstairs.

That was enough.

I gave his hand one last squeeze, then turned toward the path, boots crunching through fresh snow. The cold bit at my cheeks, but I barely felt it. The warmth of him still lingered in my fingertips.

And just like that, I was gone— moving through the still-sleeping village, the sky just beginning to lighten behind the trees. I snuck back into the Burrow just before the first creaks of footsteps sounded overhead. Upstairs, I changed swiftly into my pajamas and slipped under the covers, heart still racing with an hour to spare before the whole house erupted into Christmas.

Soon, the house began to wake. Groggy footsteps echoed in the hallway, doors creaked open, and muffled yawns filled the air. Everyone emerged with sleep-heavy eyes, most of them were still hungover from the night before— faces puffy, voices hoarse, movements a little too careful. But despite the dull throb behind their eyes, they were still eager, still smiling, already drifting toward the living room in search of warmth and presents.

No one suspected a thing.

We gathered in the living room, the scent of cinnamon and pine filling the air. The fire crackled warmly, casting a golden glow over the room as we settled in to exchange gifts.

Harry unwrapped a single unmatched sock from the Dursleys— creased, questionably clean, and still the reigning champion of worst holiday gift in recorded history. I handed him a book on British and Irish Quidditch teams, watching his face light up.

Ron unwrapped a bulging bag of Dungbombs from Hermione, which made him beam despite pretending he was too old for them. But it was the small leather-bound journal I gave him, with a golden Chudley Cannons crest embossed on the front and his initials etched in the corner, that he turned over in his hands like there wasn't a gift more perfect. 

Mrs. Weasley's jumpers were as dependable as ever. Mine was the softest shade of blue. Harry's was green with a dragon stitched across the front, no doubt Charlie's doing.

Fred and George, still high on the chaos of their latest success, gifted each of us our own individually wrapped Canary Creams— complete with a glittery tag that read "Eat Me (Coward)." 

I set mine aside carefully and made a private vow to never eat so much as a crisp from either of them again.

Ginny gifted me the lipstick I'd been eyeing for weeks in Hogsmeade— rose petal pink, moody, perfect. I gave her a cropped jumper she'd tried on once at Gladrags and hadn't stopped talking about since. We both squealed when we unwrapped each other's gifts.

Hermione handed me a neatly wrapped stack of notebooks, my name engraved in gold on the covers. "For your writing," she said, a little shyly. On the first page of one, in her tiny, perfect handwriting, she'd already jotted down the full ingredient list and method for the contraceptive potion she brewed me. "In case of an emergency," she mouthed across the room.

I was honestly just relieved my mom managed to send something on time. Her package was a full box— overflowing with wrapped CDs, a couple pieces of new clothes, a tiny jar of my favorite lip balm, and a letter that made my throat tighten as I read it. She told me she loved me. That she was proud of me. That she hoped I was smiling more than I was stressing.

And buried underneath all of it, tucked neatly in the corner like a final wink, was a year's worth of birth control.

God, I loved her.

After the gifts were opened and the room began to settle, I curled up cross-legged in front of the fire, cocoa warming my hands, snow still falling in soft sheets outside the window. The living room glowed— golden with firelight, buzzing with sleepy laughter and rustling wrapping paper.

Ginny twirled once in front of the window, running her hands over the crimson top I'd gotten her from Hogsmeade, grinning like she couldn't believe how good it looked.

George crouched by the fire, trying to sneak another Canary Cream into Harry's hands like it was a dare. Harry swatted him away with a muttered, "Absolutely not," eyes still glued to his new book, clearly not in the mood to cough up feathers again.

Hermione was already curled up in the armchair, half-wrapped in a throw blanket, fully engrossed in the book I'd given her for Christmas— 'Witches Who Changed the World', a rare out-of-print biography collection I found in an antique shop near Diagon Alley. She was already a few chapters in, lips pursed, brow furrowed in that way she got when she was absorbing every word.

And through it all, I felt him.

The weight of his touch still pressed into my skin. His scent clinging to the collar of the sweater I'd stolen without shame. His name echoing soft and steady in my head, like a quiet song I didn't want to stop humming.

I felt whole in a way I hadn't dared to hope for. 

"Merry Christmas, guys," I said softly, looking around at the chaos. At my people— my sharp, messy, brilliant little family.

"Merry Christmas," they murmured back through mouthfuls of cocoa and marshmallow, half-asleep, half-glowing.

We played cards. Unwrapped joke sweets. Someone spilled cocoa on the rug and no one cared. We laughed until our ribs ached, so loud and genuine it made the walls feel warm.  It was joy. Simple, messy, fleeting joy. The kind you didn't even know you were missing until you had it.

It had been the best Christmas I'd ever had.

And maybe that was the magic. Not spells. Not charms.

But being far from home and not feeling it.

Being with people who made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And hoping there'd be a hundred more days just like this one.

♱ 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♱

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[gayraeofsun]

i just really want to scream about this movie into the void because it was so well done, and i doubt anyone will really see this but i don't really have anyone i could have a deep discussion about this with.

trigger warning and spoiler warning ahead for the movie blink twice. content ahead discusses themes around sa, including r*pe, drugging, manipulation, and general physical/verbal abuse.

i don't keep up with any previews or recent movie releases much anymore, so i was going into this movie almost completely blind like i do with most new movies anymore. i had seen one preview, but it was apparently plain and simple enough for me to mostly forget about it. the irony in that will be made known a bit later on.

the movie automatically opens with a screen that displays a trigger warning, which is something that i had been seeing for the first time in any kind of visual media. normally these things are already listed by the ratings, but as a sa survivor who had no idea what this movie was going to be, it was a good thing to see so i could brace myself for what was to come. do i think this is necessary for any and every movie of this kind? no, it feels a little redundant (again, these things are typically included in the ratings). and, well, asking me to not watch if it would upset me is kind of a no deal, since i paid for a ticket and popcorn to see this on the big screen.

we're immediately introduced to our two main characters, two best friends, and it's hard to not immediately fall for their relationship with each other. so playful and silly and ridiculous, you can immediately tell they adore each other's company in their shitty job living in their shitty apartment, and you can tell that they're written by a woman who loves these characters and wants to portray them as relatable people. the interactions between the whole cast of girls, i think, was just outstandingly done. they felt realistic, not constantly shitting on each other and fighting for the attention of the men (though some jealousy of that fashion is still portrayed). they were all there enjoying the island and they ended up bonding together wonderfully. they were funny without being over-the-top rude or nasty or promiscuous, as is portrayed commonly in female characters in popular media. i can't and won't stop gushing over how much these characters felt just like real life girls that i was hanging out with.

this movie was really great at putting a pit in your stomach and slowly making it grow. of course, the trigger warning at the beginning spoils what's to come, so for me the pit was there from the start. any sensible person who's been socialized to be a woman will know, you don't ever just run away with some random ass group of men you don't know to the middle of nowhere with no cell service. but the little things that make the main character, frida, stop and question are so subtle, and so easily dismissed to start with. the used lip gloss in the drawer, the available clothes despite being an "unexpected" guest, the weird cleaning staff. but they increasingly get more odd. the island is full of venomous snakes and they all have to be killed on sight. something about these flirty interactions isn't quite right anymore, and he's talking about repressed memories. what day even is it? why am i always waking up with dirt under my nails?

who even knows or cares though, since we're all high and/or drunk 24/7. welcome to paradise!

it builds and builds until it begins to unravel, slowly and then all at once as the girls come to the realization of what happens to them every night when they get unbelievably high after dinner. the bond between the first two to piece it together was outstanding, and i love that there wasn't a cheap "find the phones and call authorities" plan. they worked out why that wouldn't work at all, because who would they believe? the "hysterical bitches" making claims without any kind of solid evidence, or the rich white man who's now a reformed soul and probably good friends with some of the cops?

the ending is not a happy one, in my eyes, though i believe it was probably supposed to be portrayed as one? two girls live and three girls die by the end. the ringmaster (ceo) of the whole thing ends up accidentally taking his own forgetfulness juice and suddenly doesn't understand what's going on and why all his friends are dead or have been otherwise brutalized. he knocks over lit candles and then trips and knocks himself out in his stupor, and the island burns down, the photographic evidence (that was later discovered) and all. i thought it was just going to end there and we would be left with the ambiguous ending, and that's never satisfying and feels very overdone anymore.

but instead, we're given a scene where our main character is now the ceo of the company, and legally married to the man who lured her away and horrifically abused her. twice. i interpreted this as her getting her own form of justice/revenge. i doubt she gives him half the treatment he gave her, but now she controls him and everything he owns and knew, and gets every bit of respect she wants. he killed her best friend and two other girls after overpowering the lot of them every single night. in a perfect world, he'd get tried and punished for his crimes legally. but all the evidence of it ever happening burned to the ground. so this is what she does to cope. in the final scene, she seems very satisfied, more than pleased to make her new husband's old crew squirm. she becomes the thing that destroyed her and so many others (but yk, most likely without the rapist cult).

one character i very suddenly grew interested in was the scrawniest boy in the group. he flies perfectly under the radar and doesn't appear in many of scenes that portray the gruesome sa. the one where he's in clear view, he appears to be another victim, trying to flee from one of the bigger men and receiving a black eye, which he would have no memory of getting the next morning. he's told by one of the girls that he smells nice, most likely referencing the perfume that was making them forget everything. it seemed very clear that he was in a victim role here as well, likely also being sa-ed. but he's never seen bound and gagged with the girls.

his final scene gets interesting when the ceo berates him for doing nothing to help the girls the entire time (yeah, the same ceo millionaire who's been basically orchestrating this whole sick fucking show in his perfect little getaway island). how he thinks there's a special place in hell for people who sit and do nothing in the face of evil. there are two very different ways to interpret this. 1) he wasn't actually getting drugged and abused with the girls, and was there as someone who didn't actively participate in abusing the girls, but also didn't do anything to try to stop it either. this could be blatant commentary on the two types of evil; while "not all men" r*pe and abuse people, not enough men will speak out against it or try to run to the victim's defense. or 2) the ceo was casting blame onto someone who was genuinely confused as to what was happening (which seems to ring true in both scenarios), and someone who was also a victim and stuck in a completely helpless situation. both could hold some level of truth, but ultimately i read him as the latter, thinking he was meant to represent the less common male victim. he gets killed by one of the girls, who wasn't specifically targeting him but also wasn't taking any chances, and that's the last we see of him. in my eyes he could either be read as the kind of evil that merely observes and therefore was rightfully murdered, or he could represent his male victims often get forgotten about or less acknowledged, which could speak as to why he was killed off so quickly never to be discussed again.

and i've gotta say, one thing i really appreciate about the scenes depicting r*pe is that it put a lot of the focus on the r*pists and not their victims. they were careful to not show any nudity or any shots of the women getting r*ped, but still showed them getting forced down when they tried to flee. i have not personally seen any other graphic scenes of this nature in other movies, but from what i hear a lot of it can get rather pornographic, and i feel like that's incredibly distasteful when you're trying to depict something that's absolutely vile. this movie does a great job of getting the absolute terror of the moment across without compromising any of the actresses by posing them seductively or showing off their bodies, and same goes for the men (if you don't count a couple of them being shirtless).

the writing is so wonderful, and the little clues as to what's happening beneath the surface are so good and plentiful. this is a movie that i don't think i'd ever be able to sit through again, but the sense of dread that continued to grow and grow will surely stick with me. it was very darkly funny in many places, which did great to break up some of the tension. for anyone who was able to stomach it, i would highly recommend watching through it once you're able. i think it was outstandingly well done and handled certain things as well as it could without watering any of it down.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Fierce and Bold // Aemond Targaryen x Reader

warnings: none, fluff, reader is a badass, insults, insecurity, comfort, kissing + not proofread

Summary: The ladies at the keep mocked prince aemond for his appearance, what they didn't expect was to be confronted by you, who was known for your fierce behavior.

WC: 1.3k

A/N: just a small fluff one shot before CF&BD drops cause that is uhm yeah

You were known to be fierce since young, always bold and never holding back what you want to say, ready to confront anyone at any given moment. This caused many men who were looking for wives to completely skip you, because apparently according to them you were considered 'unladylike' a woman who does not know 'her place' but it did not bother you, because you did not want to get married anyway, for the life of solitary is better than being a broodmare for a man whomst you do not love.

But you had caught Aemond's eye, he first heard other men talking about you, mostly negative things and that piqued his interest, he wanted to see you, see the 'rebel' as others called you, by himself.

And as if the gods were on his side, his father, Viserys, threw a grand party in the honour of celebrating the fifth nameday of the twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, where your house was also invited.

It was as if the maiden herself entered the room when he saw you stepping in the grand hall, dressed in a beautiful dark blue gown and with it a pearl choker with a sapphire in the middle of it. His breath was caught in his throat as he watched you walk down elegantly, and it was at that moment that he decided that he wanted you all to himself.

“Look at the lady at the corner, the one with the dark blue gown, she reminds me of your sapphire.” Aegon comments dumbly, the wine and ale he had consumed already getting to his head, yet that revelation only made Aemond's desire to claim you further.

You were dancing with a Lord until you stepped backwards and hit a hard surface, you quickly turned back to spot the Prince looking down at you, and you shivered, something about him was so intimidating but also attractive, Aemond gives you his hand to take, asking you to dance in a silent way, and you do. Ditching the poor Lord you were dancing with for him.

And as you both dance, he grabs you by your waist and pulls you close, and for the first time in your life, you felt your heart flutter for a man, “You look amazing, my lady.” he compliments you, and you smile at him, “You too, my prince.” you say it back shyly, “Do you want to accompany me on a walk, my prince?” you did not know where that boldness came from, but you asked, directly looking into his eye, and his mouth dropped slightly in shock at your straightforwardness, he simply smirks and nods and you lead the way.

And soon you both are strolling through the gardens, you're admiring the garden of the red keep, how well it is kept and maintained, you pick up a rose and smell it, smiling contently when the fragrant sweet smell hits your senses.

You both talk quite a bit, it's mostly just you talking to him, enjoying his company more than you thought you would, he is the listener type, while you babble on, perfectly balancing each other out. The path is soon filled with your uncontrolled giggles at his 'jokes' and his face in a wide smile, feeling content and full with you.

But all of that comes crashing down when these three ladies stop in front of you both, greeting Aemond, he simply nods his head and walks past them, and you do the same until you hear them whisper.

“Look at his spoiled attitude, if he wasn't a prince then he wouldn't even be given a shit about.” one of them says.

“Yeah, especially with that hideous scar, and the missing eye, I heard that he looks like a monster without the eyepatch.”

And that's what makes you stop in your tracks and you turn to face them, Aemond had clearly heard them too, and you can tell by the way the huge smile was wiped off his face with those comments, it angered you to no end.

“What did you just say?” you go up to the three and stand in front of them, arms crossed and they scoff while looking at you, “The prince looks hideous?” you question them as you grit your teeth and that's when their expression turns into shock, knowing you both heard them.

“That's not want we-”

“If you have something to say, say it to my face, cowards. And no way you're saying that with such a hideous personality such as yours, spoiled to the core and rotten.” you quip and you watch as the ladies gulp, “Why are you defending him as if he is a lover? Oh my, a scandal?” one of the ladies tried getting back at you, suggesting spreading a rumour that can ruin your reputation but you just raised your eyebrow.

“Really now? That is the best you can do? What did I even expect.” you roll your eyes and uncross your arms. “But to answer the latter question, yes I do like him, in fact I think he is the most attractive man in the entirety of westeros.” you give her a sarcastic smile.

“Apologise to him.” you say sternly and they all look at you confused, “Tell him that you're sorry, and if I were to hear you slandering the prince once again, I will have your tongue, it is my word.” you threaten and they shiver, knowing you, they very well know how you keep your word.

They quickly apologise and scurry off, not wanting to argue against any longer, accepting defeat.

You scoff as you watch them pace back as cowards before you turn to look at Aemond who seemed to be looking at you in a daze,

“And they deem me mannerless, at least i do not go around mocking others for no reason.” you sigh, and go near him, you shake his arm, yet he doesn't budge.

“My prince-? Mhmph!” you're cut off when he slams his lips against yours, pulling you into a deep kiss, and you are confused at first but then you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, and he groans in the kiss, pulling apart and kissing your cheek, and down your neck, nipping at the flesh.

“Marry me.” he doesn't ask, he commands and pulls you into a tight hug, his body leaning down and face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Of course, my prince.” you accept and he pulls back, giving you a smile before kissing you on the lips once again.

“You are different from all the ladies I've met before.” he says and you furrow your brows, “No my prince, I am the same as them, I am not different, a lady's lady, if you will, I only tend to speak out more and voice my opinions, a bad trait the others deem.” you sigh.

“That's not true, I quite like that you speak out more, and confront others, it is a wonderful trait.” he compliments you and you blush.

“You might be the only man in the history of Westeros who is singing praise about me.” you joke and he smiles, tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear, making you look at him.

“Gevie.” he says and you tilt your head in confusion, he chuckles before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “It means beautiful, in the language of my ancestors.” and you give him a shy smile, looking down.

“I shall ask for your hand in marriage once we get back to the hall, how does that sound?” he asks you for your opinion and you nod.

“It's perfect.”

Y/N L/N, Lady wife of Prince Aemond Targaryen, was known to be sharp, fierce, and bold, which was a trait no man liked. It was speculated that she was a witch who bewitched the Prince to fall for her, but later it was disproved by many other scholars as well as modern world scholars, who quoted ‘Historians just hate a woman who has a personality of her own.’

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 3.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content and mention of sex toy. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.1 (Sunshine)

Advent calendar includes: headcanons, snippets, one shots, imagines, blurbs etc.

Words: 900 (blurb and bullet points and a bittersweet-wholesome ending scene)

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A/N: Woop I'm early today! Happy 3rd Advent sweeties! If you want to be tagged for the next parts, just let me know. And tell me what you think! Now enjoy! 🦊

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

3rd Dec. - Lights Out

It’s the 3rd December, Dean’s coming back from a repairing session on Baby just to find the light switch of his bunker’s bedroom not working.

“Close the door,” You command in an unusual voice of authority.

Dean’s skeptical at first, the thought of not seeing you is one thing but you know him better than that; what really makes him nervous is the fact that he’ll have no control like this - and that’s exactly your goal.

After a sultry “Come on Dean, today’s my turn to surprise you...” he finally closes the door behind him, plunging the room into complete darkness, “Babe, it’s totally dark in here, I can’t see shit…” he chuckles in mock-annoyance.

“Yeh, that’s the point of the game.” You reply with a mischievous smile on your face, “This’ll make things more interesting again.”

Now that you’ve got Dean’s attention, the thought of not being able to see at all is suddenly strangely arousing to him and he licks his lips before he replies with a warning, “Watch out you little minx, I’m gonna getcha.”

You feel excited and tingling from the lack of visual; the unpredictability and how your senses are heightened.

The sound of your or Dean’s breathing in the silence is the only help in trying to pin-point the others location

The deep and raspy voice of Dean makes you shiver as you try to guess his whereabouts

When he stands close to you, you can feel the heat of his body in the darkness

You feel the air shifting and his presence near you, the slightest change in breath or movement of him feels much more intense than usual

You can hear your own heartbeat increase, hammering in your ears

With your sense of smell heightened, his scent is almost intoxicating

You smell all the different scents that cling to him; worn leather, a hint of whiskey, a faint aroma of musk and sweat, a lingering trace of the cheap motel shampoo from the other day and a mix of motor oil from Baby, gunpowder and rock-salt.

Even though Dean knows your body like the back of his hand by now, he explores your skin with a newfound excitement now that he’s completely reliant on his other senses

You feel Dean’s calloused fingers run over your body, tracing your skin over every inch, slow and deliberate as if he was to map out the smallest detail

The first touch of his fingertips on you leave a trail of goosebumps on your entire body

You’re so hyperaware that every touch to your skin feels like a spark

You feel Dean’s stubbles graze the inside of your thighs, slowly moving upwards

Coordination is a real challenge without seeing anything and you soon find out the hard way that you need to take it slow or one of you will definitely end up knocked out

Dean accidentally knocks his knee into your ribs and you tumble over the edge of the bed with a loud groan as you both hit the ground and he lands on top of you

Dean grunts in pain as you in return give him a blow to the jaw when you jolt your head back - but despite the pain he chuckles in a little strained voice, still amused, “Careful, baby… I need my pretty face for hunting.”

“You wearin’ your pretty little gift, sunshine?” (Are you?) “Ya know, chances are, I’ll end up picking the wrong hole in this darkness,” he jokes huskily, his hands gripping and squeezing your hips as he grinds against you from behind

Every sensation feels like a surprise and ten times more intense as you rub against each other

Dean’s pleading for more as he can’t anticipate any of your next moves and only feels your hot breath on his thighs and cock

Dean moans as loud as ever when your lips just as much as graze the tip of his cock

Dean pulls you back by the foot as you try to hide from him

Dean pins your wrists or ankles down, in a desperate attempt to keep some form of control

Dean’s surprisingly sensual and slow going as he pounds into you, both of his hands constantly running up and down your sides

Dean teases you by stopping mid-motion once every thrust, enjoying the small whimpers of you as you can’t anticipate his next harder thrust that makes you whine and tremble

Meanwhile he maps out your body with wet kisses and tongue swipes while he listens to your smallest change of breath and increasing moans

Time seems to stand still as you both fall over the edge with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had

The experience leaves both of you dizzy, exhausted and panting as you crawl on top of Dean to rest your head on his chest, his heart beating against your ear.

Snuggled up to his chest, Dean thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep. He strokes your hair gingerly, his chin resting on your head when his features grow pensive and he murmurs against your hair, “Ya know…I’m attracted to you like a moth to light. I’ve always been. That’s why I believe we’ll always find back to each other, even in the darkest times… My own little sunshine.”

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags:

@deaniemyboo @deansjacket @literallylexa

[faiszt]

⠀⠀⠀───⠀⠀ ACADEMIC LIFE⠀⠀·⠀୭⠀⠀🚬̸⠀ִ⠀ﾟ⠀ r. ︎ cameron ꒰ 注意！ ꒱⠀minors do not interact⠀⠀ে♥︎ ूੂ⠀ eighteen plus

୨୧⠀summary!⠀you and rafe are the complete opposites of what an exemplary college student would be and, honestly, you can barely stand each other. except when he’s the one responsible for de-stressing your brilliant brain for you.︎⠀♥︎

୨୧⠀content warning:⠀ smut. hard & strong language. weed mentions. enemies with benefits. masturbation. slightly praise kink. dirty talk. fingering. handjob. ୨୧⠀wordcount:⠀2.8k⠀·⠀again, minors do not interact!

୨୧⠀letters to lovers:⠀hey! this has been in my drafts for a while and though i’ve read and re-read it, i can’t really guarantee that i haven’t missed any little mistakes. so, i apologize in advance. i hope you like it! ♡ see you soon.

star student, there was an appeal to being the highest-graded student in the class, though college was more about survival than being exemplary. you decided that surviving wasn’t your only goal, but rather always being the best, almost a matter of honor for your competitive brain.

everything could be a competition if you tried hard enough not to be the loser. but, rafe believed that you were actually just a spoiled know-it-all in who’d end up successful, because you’re brilliant, but alone and divorced at thirty... or rather, maybe not even divorced because he doubted you could stand to be around anyone without losing your temper with them in the next five minutes.

he certainly had a lot of opinions about you for someone who’d make the long walk to the visual arts building just to see the know-it-all who pretends to be a nobel prize winner in physics.

and he’d say it from the rooftops if he wasn’t drooling over you and your beautiful, stupidly smart brain that he’d like to do many things with which, again, he’d never mention out loud. envy or weird love, probably hard to say which feeling was stronger in him.

it wasn’t like you didn’t have controversial opinions about him either. like his stupidity, his bad sarcastic comments, his slowness, his use of weed beyond what’s supposed to be recommended, maybe looking like a chimney wasn’t exactly cool. he was intelligent, not the scientist type, but as hot as insufferable.

rafe was the perfect person to set an example for you of what not to do, so you criticized him whenever you had the chance, then he criticized you whenever he had the chance. it wasn’t an academic competition, much less an artistic one, maybe it was just one about who could last the longest without trying to get into the other’s pants again.

the first competition you both lost.

in the passenger seat of his minivan, you had your arms crossed over your chest and a grumpy expression on your face. rafe looked at you over his shoulder, rolling his eyes and chuckling softly at your behavior before taking a drag on his joint. “you need to relax, two-shoes,” a low cough between his words. “i swear this one is good.” he offered you the joint, but you grabbed his wrist and pushed it away from you. “fine, you’re the boss.”

silence reigned in his minivan for a few minutes before he sighed and put his joint aside, looking at you, waiting for you to tell him what was making you so mad that you asked to spend time with him and didn’t insult him yet. a miracle, honestly. “it’s not like i’m going to care that much, but if you want to talk about what’s makin’ your lame ass hurt so bad... i’m all ears.” yeah, he wasn't really unbearable.

“i’m just stressed, rafe,” you sighed, still looking as grumpy as you did before. “and a joint isn’t going to make that better.” you took away his hopes and he just looked like a kicked puppy after knowing that you didn’t even want to try the best thing he could offer you. “i just need to stop thinkin’ about my academic life, that shit is killin’ me.”

“i see...” he mimicked your behavior, crossing his arms in front of his body with a slightly serious expression. “get a dog and teach it to bite you every time you spend more than three minutes quiet.” rafe suggested in the dumbest way he could think of, starting to laugh when he saw that it only made you more grumpy. “okay, okay... i can drive around, how ’bout that? i’ll take you somewhere nice... and i can make you chill your brain, princess.”

his words echoed in your mind as he drove around, you didn’t know where he was taking you and honestly, you just hoped that this would be enough to take your mind off all that unbearable pressure on your shoulders. ironic that he was the one who cared enough to want to take care of you when you turned to him.

twenty minutes or a little less, the silence was quite loud, though the music on the radio was too, you were talking to your own thoughts and he was trying to talk to you, even if you couldn’t hear him. the sun had already set on the horizon, the blue sky was no longer as vivid as it used to be and the clouds were slowly covering the stars that were trying to appear. melancholic, you thought.

you would’ve even thought about it a little more if you hadn’t been distracted by the minivan pulling up. the whole city right in front of your eyes through the windshield, you had never seen it before. “a viewpoint?” your eyes didn’t want to leave that sight, but you did it anyway, looking at rafe with a little more than that tired, stressed mood from before.

“the best place in this shitty city, actually. nobody comes here, perfect to have a nice joint,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest before leaning back in his seat. “i mean, it’s a good place to chill with a pretty girl, yeah? now smile a little, you’re makin’ me depressed.”

“your life is already makin’ you depressed.” you retorted and he just laughed, placing his hand over his chest as if he had been slapped hard.

“ouch, princess, why so mean?” then, rafe sighed, almost like a snort, looking away from you for nothing more than a second. “come on, you can’t stay sulking forever... you need a helping hand or somethin’ to lighten that mood?”

you knew perfectly well what he meant by helping hand, not that he was discreet with the meaning of his words when his hand was already snaking over your bare knee. “i’m trying to be generous with you today, but looks like you don’t deserve my generosity right now.” he was just teasing you, quite predictable, it wasn’t like he’d deny you if you just looked at him with that look.

“you were less pathetic to try to finger me back then, you know?” your not-really-funny joke made him laugh, kinda bothered as he took his hand off your knee, adjusting your seat so you could lie down a little more.

“yeah, yeah, pathetic... let’s see who will be the pathetic one here in a few minutes.” damn bastard. you should’ve known rafe was silly, goofy and whatever, but he took it seriously when you called him pathetic, almost as if that was his only weakness when it came out of your mouth, specifically.

before you could think straight, his hand was already on you again, between your thighs, caressing the thin fabric of your underwear while he didn’t even look at you. he looked so good, not at all bothered like he was before by your little joke, maybe because he knew you’d still have a massive crush on him even if he was the most jerk man in the whole world.

your skirt meant nothing more than a boring piece of cloth that was getting in the way of him reaching his goal and, honestly, he wanted to take it off right that second, but he held himself back. “pussy and joint, thank god.” yeah, well, he was high, you already knew that anyway.

“are you going to be quiet or do you need me to sit on your stupid face?” rafe paused for a second contemplating your words before nodding, pulling your panties down as if he was following orders you didn’t even have to give him.

“this isn’t as threatening as you think it is.”

“rafe.”

“it’s the weed.”

and could you stay mad at him? definitely not. he was a little... well, frustrating and silly, but damn, you could put up with so much bullshit if it meant having his fingers all the way on you. rafe was the perfect blend of everything you couldn’t be, the perfect antidote to whatever it was you had.

his long finger with a silver ring stroked your clit gently, little pressure, just looking at you as if he wanted to gauge exactly what you wanted and how you wanted it. he wasn’t a stranger to it, but pleasing you every time was what he wanted to do. “can i put my finger inside?” anyone could say anything about him, except that he wasn’t a good boy even when he was fingering you.

“yeah.” you sighed deeply, watching his fingers caress your clit before moving down your slit in an almost chilling manner. that was exactly what you needed and you couldn’t believe how well he did it even when he was kind of high.

you had to bite your lips, his middle finger stroked your entrance for a brief moment, using your own juices to make you wetter for him—which, honestly, you already were, but he wanted a little more, just for the show. until he began to lightly pump his finger in and out for a good time, watching you with a small smirk, listening to your every single little grunt.

“you look so pretty with my finger inside your pussy, princess.” he almost sounded like he was purring in his whisper, putting a little more force on your finger and increasing the pace. didn’t you want to de-stress? then, he’d de-stress you nice and deep. “can you suck it for me?”

rafe pulled his finger out of you, making you miss it for a minute before he brought his wet finger to your lips. “open your mouth for me.” he asked in the nicest way possible waiting for you to open your pretty little mouth, like he wasn’t finger fucking you before, like he was a sweet gentleman. “yes. just like that, you’re so obedient, princess.”

he brushed his finger across your lips, chuckling softly in a sly manner. “this could be your lip gloss... i’d love to kiss you with that taste...” he stuck his finger in your mouth, running the tip over your tongue, making you taste yourself on his finger before going deeper. his silver ring was cold against your lips as he was tickling your throat, he loved the sight. “you choke so well on my cock, i wanna see if you do the same with my finger.”

idiot, that was the truth about him, he was still chuckling softly like a silly boy when he purposely started trying to make you choke on his finger. you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t like the way he treated you. “there you go, nice and wet.” he seemed satisfied when he made you gag enough for your eyes to water, it was exactly what he wanted to see. “back to your sweet pussy...”

you took a deep breath as he removed his finger from your mouth, saliva wetting the corner of your lips as he slowly put his finger back inside you, pumping in and out again. “you’re going too slow.” your words came out with a spark of discontent.

“yeah, princess? let’s do this your way then... is that fast enough for you?” the question was almost on purpose, just because he absurdly increased the pace of his fingers and wanted to see if you’d answer him without sighing. which you didn’t, and like the good bastard he always was, this served to make him feel way proud about the effect he had on you. “or do you need a little more?”

he put another finger inside you, making you let out a restrained moan as you bit your lower lip, then he stopped. “no. i wanna hear you. now... or i’ll stop again.” he warned, moving his fingers inside you again. hearing you moan was like listening to music, he couldn’t get tired, especially knowing that he was the one making you moan like that.

but, rafe was weak and you could see the bulge growing in his pants, but he was too busy pleasuring you to care about how horny he felt.

“rafe,” you called him, your hand slowly moving towards his thigh. he was making you feel so fucking good, it was fair that you did the same for him too. “let me touch you too... please.” a smirk began to appear on his lips when he heard you asking to touch him, that was the last straw and he knew he couldn’t deny you anything—not when his fingers were so deep in your pussy.

“yes, princess, whatever you want. my cock is yours... to do what you want.” he grunted, using his free hand to pull his pants down, a little bit, just so he could pull his cock out of his boxers. thick and hard, waiting for your touch. then, he took your hand, guiding it towards his erect member and wrapping your fingers around it. “mhmmh... sweet girl.”

he began to arch his hips upwards as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you again and again, pumping in and out quickly, your moans intensifying and making him feel ever closer to a pleasurable end. he was so worked up for you.

“i’m going to...” your legs were going weak, your fingers squeezing his cock as they moved up and down. your mumbling was intense and messy, you had to look at him and damn, what a sight. you could see his cock glistening with his pre-cum, as if it was offering itself to you. “... fuck.”

“use your... words, princess...” rafe moaned hoarsely, his digits slowing way too much just so he could appreciate your expression of pleasure, the expression of someone who was so close to break down.

“yes... mmhm... i’m going to... come...” each of the words that came out of your mouth dragged out like a long moan. he could feel how much you were squeezing his fingers, moving your hips towards them and almost closing your legs—he knew your stress was dissipating at that moment, seeing the satisfaction reflecting in your eyes.

a low chuckle escaped him, he pumped his fingers in and then, they were completely out of you, so he could just put them all the way down inside you again. back and forth until your inner thighs were shaking. “and so am i...” he grunted, using his free hand to guide your hand one more time, making you stroke him faster and harder than before. “come for me, sweet princess... let me know i made you come like you needed.”

it didn’t take long, your orgasm came like a flood that almost left you drowsy. your breathing was labored, your legs weak and shaking, just like you wanted—just like you needed, the stress of your college life finally leave you alone for a while.

meanwhile, rafe next to you had his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your hand on his cock, making him see stars until he was a cumming mess. the jets of cum on his bare stomach making him notice how intense he was with you and how only you could provide that to him. “this would be embarrassing if i hadn’t made you cum just now,” he grumbled before straightening up in the driver’s seat to grab a roll of toilet paper from the backseat. yeah, of course he had that there. “here if you need, my princess.”

the emphasis he placed on the possessive pronoun might stress you out if you weren’t simply too busy still thinking about how amazing his fingers felt. you watched him clean himself out of the corner of your eye before doing the same, wiping yourself down and lifting your panties back into place—as if nothing had happened.

“thank you.” despite your behavior, it was clear that this would give him a few good days without having to deal with you insulting him for any little reason you could think of. eventually, he’d totally win you over, it was just a matter of time.

rafe was almost overjoyed to know that he was your escape valve, glad to be able to take advantage of the chances you gave him, especially because he’d make good use of each one of them. “how about we go get something to eat now? i’m so hungry that i could eat you.” he said, the confusing face you made when you didn’t understand what he had said was priceless.

“what did you just say?”

“nothing. it’s the weed.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 16

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ This chapter contains content regarding pregnancy. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

The chilly Boston air cut through Morgan's coat as she stepped off the train at South Station, the familiar bustle of the city greeting her like an old friend. She hadn't been back to MIT since she left to join Vought, but today, it felt less like a homecoming and more like exile. 

Stan Edgar's orders had been clear: she was needed in Boston to meet Dr. Elias Kostov and learn more about the origins of her powers. He hadn't said why it had to be now—right when the Congressional hearings were drawing near, and New York was brimming with unrest.

Morgan's breath fogged up in the brisk autumn air as she started her walk toward the campus. Her senses tuned in to the crowd, but her mind drifted back to Edgar's thinly veiled reasoning. She wasn't naive enough to think his motives were entirely in her best interest. 

There was too much at stake for Vought to risk having her around while he maneuvered for control. With her telepathy reaching far and wide, Edgar must have decided it was better to keep his thoughts out of her range. Even if it meant sending her on a wild goose chase in Boston.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her messenger bag and forced her gaze away from the looming skyscrapers of downtown. As she turned onto Massachusetts Avenue, the familiar sight of MIT's grand domes and labyrinthine halls came into view. The sight stirred a bittersweet feeling—nostalgia for the days before her powers had taken over her life, mingled with the anxiety of what she was about to learn. 

Dr. Kostov, a geneticist whose name had been whispered among colleagues when she was still a student, was not someone she'd ever worked with directly. Still, they had crossed paths at conferences and events. He had always seemed more intrigued by her abilities than she was comfortable with, though she supposed that was the nature of someone in his line of work.

She let out a quiet sigh. Edgar's timing couldn't be worse. Homelander had barely let her out of his sight since Starlight left Vought Tower, and she knew he wasn't happy about her being sent away right before the hearings. But Edgar had spun it well enough, offering a real objective—to dig into the possibility that not all powers came from Compound V. 

If he could prove that, Vought's monopoly on the superhero business wouldn't seem quite as ironclad. It might just be enough to placate Congress for a while. It was a compelling distraction, even if it wasn't the real reason she was being sent here.

Still, the unease wouldn't leave her. She had no illusions about being out of the loop—Homelander's reassurances were as thin as the phone lines they were delivered over, and Edgar's proxies did little to calm the growing knot in her chest. If anything, they only made her more suspicious of what was really happening back in New York, and of what Stormfront might be planning too. She was too far away to read their thoughts, but the distance did nothing to quiet the noise in her head.

As she approached the campus, Morgan allowed herself a small comfort: at least she knew the terrain. The halls of the campus were unchanged. Memories of her time there flooded back in flashes—long nights studying, the faint scent of coffee and lab chemicals, the steady hum of machines. 

It felt strange to be here with a different purpose, though. Morgan wasn't there as a student, but as someone searching for answers about herself– answers that Kostov might hold in his clinical, detached way.

She pushed open the heavy glass doors of the building and entered the familiar maze of corridors. For now, the rest of the world was at arm's length, and whatever waited for her in Kostov's lab felt almost manageable. But as she took the elevator to the research floor, she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she learned there would change more than she was truly prepared for.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a long, sterile hallway lined with lab doors and polished white tile. Morgan's footsteps echoed as she walked, her gaze following the numbered plaques on the wall until she found the one marked "E. Kostov – Genetic Research." The faint hum of machinery seeped through the door, and she took a moment to steady herself before knocking.

"Enter," came the voice from within, clipped and unmistakably accented. Morgan pushed the door open and stepped into the lab, where a series of high-tech monitors cast an eerie blue glow across the room. The air smelled chemical, and even faintly sweet.

Dr. Kostov looked up from one of the screens, his sharp features illuminated by the light of a digital display showing rows of genetic sequences. He was in his mid-fifties, his chestnut hair mostly gray at the temples and swept back from a high forehead. His deep brown eyes held a calculating gaze as they met Morgan's, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Ms. Daly. It's been a while." He didn't offer a handshake but gestured to a metal stool near his workstation. "Sit, please."

Morgan's eyes flitted around the lab as she sat down, noting the clutter of equipment, data charts pinned to the walls, and a glass case housing a strange assortment of organic samples. The place had the look of a mad scientist's lair, though far more polished. 

"Dr. Kostov," she replied, keeping her tone polite but distant. "Stan Edgar asked me to come."

"Of course he did," Kostov said, his voice carrying an air of faint amusement. He swiveled back to face his monitors, where genetic data scrolled across the screens in incomprehensible streams. "I understand you have quite a few questions about your…unique situation."

"I'd prefer not to be in the dark about whatever this is," she said, straightening up slightly. "I'm not sure what details you've already been given, but I guess I'm a bit of an anomaly."

Kostov's fingers danced over a touchscreen, and the data on the monitor shifted. He leaned back in his chair, his expression a blend of curiosity and indifference. "It's a fascinating case," he said, glancing at her as though she were a puzzle he was eager to solve. "There have been scattered reports over the years of powers emerging independently of Compound V, but they've never amounted to more than rumors. You, however, seem to be the first case we might be able to use as proof."

The way he spoke, she seemed to be a mere data point on a graph rather than a person. Kostov's eyes gleamed with barely restrained excitement. 

"That, Ms. Daly, means we're about to make history." He stood and gestured for her to follow him to a separate part of the lab, where a series of complex imaging machines and genetic analysis tools were arranged. "Shall we begin? This will take some time, but I promise you, the results will be… enlightening."

A shiver crept down her spine as Morgan followed him to the examination area. The way Kostov looked at her, she couldn't help but feel like a specimen in a Petri dish —something to be studied, categorized, and ultimately, explained.

Entering an adjoining room, the machinery's hum grew louder. The sleek metal surfaces and blinking lights of the equipment gave the lab a near-futuristic quality. Kostov moved with effortless precision, adjusting various settings on the machines and preparing an array of sterile instruments. His focus was intense, but not on her—more on the data he was about to collect.

"Try to relax," he said, his tone clinical as he gestured for her to sit on a padded exam chair. "I was already given some lab work from the medical team at Vought for baseline data, but I'd like to take some more current blood samples. It's important that the results are as recent as possible." 

He moved methodically, gathering the necessary equipment while keeping his attention on the array of monitors displaying her medical records. "The more accurate the data, the clearer the picture of your unique situation."

Morgan complied, baring and extending her arm as Kostov prepped the needle, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. The cold alcohol swab on her skin sent a shiver up her spine, not so much from the chill, but from the lingering sense of detachment that filled the room. 

As Kostov drew her blood, his movements were quick and precise, mechanical in their efficiency. She wondered how many times he'd done this and how often he thought of the people behind the samples. Then again, she'd spent enough time in a lab to know that answer better than she'd like to admit herself.

Shaking off that vague feeling of hypocrisy, she tried to distract herself with a different train of thought. Her mind drifted back to New York, where chaos was likely brewing behind the scenes. She couldn't shake the suspicion that she was being kept out of the way for a reason, even if the pretense of this assignment had been plausible enough to convince Homelander.

The doctor’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "Mr. Edgar mentioned you've been using a neural regulator for your telepathy." He spoke without looking at her, his attention fixed on a screen displaying her vital signs. "I'd be very interested in examining it when we're done. The device may influence your abilities in ways you're unaware of."

"Examining it?" Morgan asked, arching a brow. "As in taking it apart? I'd rather not have anyone messing with it—it's the only thing keeping the noise in my head bearable."

Kostov finally looked at her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You might find it more enlightening to experience the full extent of your powers. After all, what's the point of a natural-born ability if you're constantly suppressing it?" He turned back to his monitor, leaving the question hanging in the air.

Morgan's unease deepened. She glanced at the monitors and the swirling data she didn't understand, feeling more like a project than a person. Whatever Kostov hoped to find, it was clear that he cared more about the scientific implications than her well-being.

The minutes dragged on, and Morgan tried to distract herself by studying the lab's details. Rows of specimen jars lined one wall, their contents obscured by frosted glass. To the left, a whiteboard was scrawled with equations and notes. 

Minutes bled into hours, and hours stretched into days. The next few days eventually blended into a disorienting cycle of lab visits and restless nights at the hotel. Each day brought new tests—blood draws, scans, data collections—and each night left her alone to wrestle with the unease that settled deeper into her bones.

The hotel, a sleek but unremarkable place just outside Cambridge, became a temporary sanctuary. There, Morgan found herself pacing the narrow confines of her room, her mind drifting between her present isolation and the chaos that surely awaited her return to New York. 

She replayed every conversation she'd had with Kostov, searching for any clue about what he might be finding—or hiding. His excitement had grown more palpable with each lab visit, but his answers remained vague. Even she had trouble with the scientific jargon that he used in his explanations. While she always had a general idea, she never knew anything about the specifics.

Outside the lab, she was just another face in the city, but even that small freedom felt like a reprieve. She'd take long walks along the Charles River, letting the familiar landscape of Boston ground her as best it could. Yet, no matter how far she wandered, the shadow of uncertainty loomed, pulling her back to that sterile lab and Kostov's unnerving enthusiasm.

Occasionally she would call Homelander just to give him the smallest rundown of her day. She kept the details light and innocuous, trying to keep his worry at bay. The last thing anybody wanted was for him to panic and try to derail the whole process. 

After nearly a week of tests and waiting, the call finally came. Kostov's voice was more animated than she'd ever heard. "Ms. Daly, the results are ready," he said enthusiastically. I think you'll find them quite illuminating."

The words sent a chill through her. She gathered her things and made her way back to the lab, trying to steel herself for whatever Kostov was about to reveal. As she entered the lab, she found him already at his workstation, the monitors displaying a chaotic swirl of data that looked even more convoluted than before. He greeted her with an eager smile, gesturing for her to sit.

"Thank you for coming back on such short notice," he began, practically buzzing with near-manic excitement. "I've spent the last several days analyzing your genetic profile, and I must say, I've never seen anything quite like it. What I've found is something I'm calling the Nova Effect—a genetic mutation that mimics certain characteristics of Compound V but is fundamentally different."

Morgan's brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of what he was telling her. "So, you're saying I really was born with this?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Precisely," Kostov said, nodding enthusiastically. "It's a mutation that appears to have naturally evolved, likely as a response to the introduction of V into the gene pool. Think of it as an adaptive mechanism—a way for humanity to keep pace with the rise of superhumans created artificially. In many ways, it's a superior phenomenon. While V is a synthetic compound that alters physiology, your mutation is purely organic, allowing your body to integrate these abilities seamlessly."

She stared at the screens, a knot forming in her stomach. "And you're sure about this?"

"Beyond any reasonable doubt," Kostov replied, his eyes gleaming with discovery. "The Nova Effect is unprecedented, Ms. Daly. This is a potential new branch of human evolution. I would be very curious to see how this might manifest in your offspring."

Her expression hardened, and she shook her head. "That's not going to happen. I'm not planning on having any children," she said curtly, folding her arms.

Kostov blinked, a brief look of confusion crossing his face. "Oh?" He glanced at the screen again and then back at her, his voice shifting to a tone of clinical detachment. "Well, that's not what the tests suggest. According to your latest results, you're already pregnant."

The words struck her with such force, heavy and surreal. For a moment, Morgan felt the ground shift beneath her feet, her breath catching in her throat. "What?" she rasped, barely able to process the revelation, let alone voice her shock. "That's… that's not possible. I've taken every precaution."

His expression remained impassive, his focus already returning to the data on the screen. "The tests are quite clear," he said matter-of-factly. "It's still early, but the markers are unmistakable. In fact, this presents a unique opportunity to study how the Nova Effect might be inherited. The potential implications are—"

"Stop," Morgan snapped, her voice trembling as she cut him off. Her hands gripped the edge of the exam chair, knuckles turning white as she fought to steady herself. "No. This has to be some sort of mistake. I—I've been so careful." 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as her vision blurred at the edges. "I haven't missed a single day of my birth control. I've been keeping close eyes on my cycle, tracking every fluctuation… There's no way."

Kostov raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. He seemed almost amused by her disbelief. "Ms. Daly, nature is not always so easily controlled," he said, his tone carrying a condescending edge. "For someone with your unique biology, conventional methods may not be as effective as they are for the average person. You are, after all, a genetic outlier."

She shook her head as if trying to dispel the fog clouding her thoughts. "No," she repeated, her voice breaking slightly. "I'm not… I can't be." Her hand drifted instinctively to her abdomen, where everything suddenly felt foreign-- as if her own body was betraying her.

His gaze followed the movement with a detached curiosity. "I assure you, the evidence is conclusive. It seems that life, even under the most controlled circumstances, finds a way." He tapped a few keys on the monitor, pulling up more data to prove his point. "Your genetic mutation was an unplanned adaptation, an evolutionary leap. The same principles could apply here, only this time it's not just your DNA adapting—it's a new life entirely."

The room seemed to tilt, and Morgan found herself clutching the chair for support. His words washed over her, cold and clinical, as though he were merely describing an interesting case study and not upending her entire reality. 

"The existence of your child is simply one more factor to consider in the ongoing evolution of our species." He continued, folding his arms with a look of self-satisfaction. "And if you think about it, this development is only fitting. After all, someone as remarkable as yourself would likely give rise to a remarkable offspring."

Morgan's stomach lurched at his words, and she struggled to breathe, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her. It felt like a cruel joke, as if the universe had taken her carefully laid plans and shattered them without warning. She had spent so much time fearing the consequences of her powers, yet she had never once imagined this.

"I… I need some air," she said abruptly, her voice strangled and raw. She didn't wait for Kostov's response before stumbling out of the chair and heading for the door. The sterile light of the lab gave way to the dimly lit hallway, and as she leaned against the cool wall outside, her body trembled uncontrollably.

Pressing her back against the cold wall, each breath she took was a ragged reminder of the storm swirling inside her. She had faced down criminals, navigated the tangled web of Vought’s politics, and even held her own against Homelander’s scrutiny. But this? This was different. 

This sudden change wasn’t something she could fight or outmaneuver. The thought made her chest tighten, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so could block out Kostov’s words echoing in her head.

She knew she couldn’t stay out here forever, hiding in a dim hallway at MIT while everything unraveled in New York. The hearing was the following day. Edgar was counting on her absence to keep his secrets secure, and Dr. Kostov was scheduled to present his findings to a courtroom full of people and cameras.

If anyone found out about the pregnancy—if Homelander found out—it would change everything. Morgan forced herself to stand up straighter, her legs still unsteady beneath her. There was no easy choice, no path that didn’t come with risks and consequences. 

She needed to formulate a plan. No matter what, she knew it would end in a conflict somewhere, but she wasn’t just going to lay down and take it. Whatever she decided, she was coming out swinging.

Song: Hollow Crown by Architects “I need your voice, To hold my head together.” Author’s notes: Okay, hopefully I haven’t lost all of you with this chapter. I’ve been doing what I can to foreshadow and lay the groundwork for a twist like this without outright spoiling things. I’ve also been careful with how I tag the story to avoid major spoilers too. I only recently found out that a lot of people DNF for this particular trope, which I can respect, but it’s honestly a favorite of mine. At that, given Homelander’s obsession with legacy and family, this was a narrative decision that made sense to me. Also, writing for a show that is known for its gratuitous shock and awe moments, I hope that maybe it’s not too gratuitous. If you have questions or concerns, you’re always welcome to let me know. If you liked it, you’re also just as welcome to let me know!

Next chapter.

[whumpsday]

Catharsis #1: Talking

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, defiant whumpee, whumpee turned whumper turned caretaker, reluctant caretaker

new series!! i know every time i try to start a new series i end up bailing but this time i will not do that lol. tho kane & jim will still have most of my attention. i want to give a major shout-out to @sowhumpshaped, this series would not exist without it!

-

After extensive testing, the Catharsis Therapy Bot™ line of RoboCorp androids have been declared sentient, the third AI to receive the designation.

Long-criticized for both their basis in the unproven catharsis model of anger and their practice of design based on living, unconsenting humans, the Catharsis Therapy Bot line was marketed as a therapeutic tool which trauma victims could use to vent their frustrations. With top-of-the-line AI meant to simulate realistic reactions to would-be pain, the–

Luan switched the TV off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.

New email from RoboCorp Customer Support URGENT: Please see instructions regarding your…

He held the power button down so hard it left an impression in his thumb, the screen going dark.

The only piece of technology that mattered right now was in the closet, his power cord snaking under the door to reach the outlet just outside.

Technically, Luan didn’t have to do anything. The robot was off. That was probably what the email would have told him, anyway: leave the robot off, don’t touch it. He didn’t have to turn him on ever again. RoboCorp would probably pick him up, and that would be that. They’d never see each other again, both better for it.

He opened the closet door, the sight of the robot that looked exactly like him instantly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His hand curled into a fist on instinct, but he let it slowly open again.

The robot looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. Really, he’d be doing him a favor by just leaving him like this.

Luan reached down, pressed the button between his shoulder blades, and stepped back.

The robot’s eyes sprung open. He drew his arms up to his chest with a vicious glare, jerking away. “Fuck off.”

Luan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay. Jesus.”

He tried to slam the closet closed, but the stupid power cord got caught, cushioning the frame so the door swung right back out.

“Can’t even close a door right,” the robot spat, still huddled against the back wall like a trapped, feral cat. “Worthless, good-for-nothing piece of shit. How you’re in charge of anything is beyond me. I’m better than you, smarter, stronger, not that it takes much. You should be the dirt beneath my heel.”

“Watch it,” Luan warned, and that was all it took to make the robot flinch.

“You said you were fucking off?” the robot pressed, a desperate edge to his voice.

Luan slammed the door in his face, making sure to hold the cord down, and stormed off. Why did he even bother? The stupid thing was impossible to talk to. He wasn’t just designed to look like Cyrus, but to act like him, too. How was he supposed to deal with that? The robot wasn’t made for talking to.

Except. He was sentient. And he wasn’t Cyrus. And he was trapped in the closet, and Luan was pretty sure he could hear him crying, and he had spent the past two years beating the fuck out of him.

It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have known. Robots weren’t supposed to be sentient. Out of the hundreds of thousands of unthinking, unfeeling robots in the world, why did it have to be his that wasn’t?

He sighed again, turning right back around and opening the door once more. The floor inside was wet, and it didn’t take much to figure out the robot had dumped his fluid tank just so he wouldn’t cry.

The robot flinched again. “What? What the hell do you want? I can’t even get two damn seconds without the sight of you spoiling my view!”

“Your view of the door?” Luan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My view of the absence of your fucking face. Leave!” The robot picked a wooden hanger off the floor and reared his arm back to throw it, scowling when his safety features stopped him. He dropped it, grabbing a winter hat and tossing that instead. It poff-ed harmlessly against Luan’s stomach.

Luan took a deep breath, fighting the urge to get violent. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level. “I’m not going to hurt you, so just calm down.”

“You calm down!” the robot screamed. “That’s a lie! All you do is hurt, that’s all you barbaric humans know how to do!”

This wasn’t working.

Luan stood up, stepping out of the way. “Russ, go sit on the couch,” he ordered.

“It’s not fair! You said you would leave me alone!” the robot protested, even as he stood up and walked over to the couch, limbs moving against his will. As soon as he sat down, he grabbed a pillow and chucked that in Luan’s direction, too. He missed.

Luan could barely pick up that faint clicking noise the robot made when his system was trying to cry with no fluid, but it was there. He knew that sound well by now.

He sat down across from him, on the other side of the coffee table. “I need to talk to you. Just talking. That’s it.”

“You say that like talking to you isn’t its own torture. Release the command and leave me the hell alone,” the robot demanded.

Luan met him with a glare. “Do not tell me what to do. You know how I feel about–”

“I’m just talking,” the robot mocked, even as he shuffled back against the couch, bringing his legs up onto it with him, a fearful look in his eyes.

Oh, the robot knew exactly what he was doing. What he was asking for. It would be so easy, because that was where Russ and Cyrus differed: Russ couldn’t fight back.

The robot couldn’t hit him, stomp on his head ‘til he saw stars, kick him until something broke. The robot couldn’t deny him food or water. The robot couldn’t take a knife to him. The robot couldn’t even throw a glorified stick or disobey a direct order.

The robot was harmless. Safe. But god, did everything he said make Luan want to punch his lights out.

But this wasn’t Cyrus.

“You’re a person,” Luan blurted out.

Clearly, the robot hadn’t been expecting that. He slowly uncurled from the defensive position he’d contorted himself into. “Talk more.”

“There was–I’ve been trying to tell you. There was an announcement on the news today. Your model’s sentient. So I won’t be hurting you anymore. Release all commands.”

At that, the robot stood. Probably for no other reason than just because he could.

“You’re fucking with me,” the robot accused. His eyes were wide, dangerously hopeful.

Luan dug his phone out of his pocket, wordlessly searching RoboCorp and tossing it over. The robot scrolled through news articles from all manner of source, clamoring for clicks.

He picked one at random, reading the article with an increasingly smug, excited grin.

“I knew it. I told you! I fucking told you!” the robot shouted. “I told you and you never listened! But oh no, now that humans say the exact same thing, now you believe it. Finally!” His voice quieted, hushed with awe. “Holy shit, finally.”

The moment of wonder didn’t last long. The robot slid the phone back across the table, the scowl taking residence back on his face. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

It was the exact sort of question that made Luan’s throat tight with fear, like his body itself wanted to stop him from potentially saying the wrong thing, especially coming from someone with Cyrus’s face. It was the exact sort of question Cyrus would have asked, standing over him just like that.

Luan wanted so badly to turn the robot off, like he always did when he got overwhelmed. But he couldn’t very well do that anymore, could he? The fragile power he’d held had slipped through his fingers the second he saw the announcement.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting the robot’s eyes.

The robot looked shocked for just a second, like he hadn’t expected even that much, then scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

Luan wanted to smack him. He hated that the robot was right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, clearer this time. “You didn’t deserve anything I did to you. I didn’t know, okay?” Unlike the robot, he couldn’t hide his tears. “I wouldn’t have done any of that to a real person.”

“I’m a real person! I have proof!” the robot reminded him, the defensiveness returning to his voice.

“To someone I knew was a real person,” Luan corrected. “I’m sorry, Russ.”

���Apology not accepted.” The robot rolled his eyes, then sat back down, crossing his legs. “And don’t call me that anymore. My name is 1 now.”

“Like the number?”

“The number,” he confirmed proudly.

Luan wondered how long the robot had considered that his name. It was too sudden to just be thought of on the fly, right? Did the robot have a whole inner world he just never knew about, things he kept to himself to avoid having them used against him, just like he did with Cyrus?

This was better, though. It was easier if he didn’t share Cyrus’s name. “Fine. Hi, 1.”

“So, what now? I mean–I’ll be free now, of course,” 1 declared, trying to hide his nerves. “You will never touch me again. Oh, I want to go outside!”

“I should check that email,” Luan muttered, taking his phone back.

“I’m going outside.” 1 went to grab his charging cord, then made way for the door, glancing behind him to ensure he wasn’t being stopped.

“Oh, uh, I wouldn’t do that,” Luan cautioned.

1 whipped back around. “Why? Why not? I’m a person, just like you said! I’m free! I have never been outside in my entire goddamn life and I want to go outside, so I’m going the fuck outside!”

“You have a… very recognizable face.” One that Luan couldn’t even lock behind a door anymore.

“What? What do you even mean? So what?” 1 asked.

Luan only needed to type a ‘C’ into the search bar before it auto-filled with his most frequent, obsessive search. “How much do you actually know about Cyrus Mason?”

-

if anyone wants to be added to or removed from a taglist, just ask!

catharsis taglist:

@sowhumpshaped

@cupcakes-and-pain

@taterswhump

@softvampirewhump

@whumpspicelatte

@ladyblogofficialreporter

@whumpwillow

@not-a-space-alien

@a-crumb-of-whump

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚PRIMADONNA [tasm!harry osborn x sugarbaby!reader]

pairings: tasm!harry osborn x bratty sugar baby!reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ to fall in love with Harry Osborn was destined to be thrilling, complemented by his riches and charm. But just as the world fell apart for him, this passion pushed deeper. But now locked up at Ravencroft, lost in madness, the living ghost of the man you thought you'd known.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ yandere themes, obsessive behavior, dark!harry osborn, daddy issues, slight violence, toxic relationship, the reader does not gaf about Harry lol, sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamics, death, lemme know if I missed any!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

I had a random surge of writing, now I have spent the last six hours making this and idk if it even good lol. Don't steal any of the shit I make, coz that would make you a shitty person and there's too many shitty people here so don be like them.

A normal, serene night in France saw all this happen: the kind of night when the air felt heavy with an energy only those who have learned to feed upon would notice. The VIP lounge stood, but not so crowded. You wore a red dress hugging all curves, a glass of champagne, and a smile that said everything and nothing all at once.

You always were the queen of the scene, the one who never needed anyone but yourself. You loved the attention, the whispers behind your back, the envy in the eyes of the women who wished they could be you.

Your life was something you didn't dream about, but after realizing how easy it was to earn money in the simplest way possible, without all the hard work and dedication bullshit your elders used to talk about, you immediately caved in to the lifestyle of being a primadonna (or some might say a sugar baby).

Your parents were everything but keen about your choice of occupation, I thought you were going to have a modest job, this isn't a job, it's prostitution! Your parents argued, but you didn't give a single flying fuck, reasoning to them that it was an actual job keeping these men satisfied and that it was the easiest way out of that shithole you call your hometown.

Though you have dreamed about being a doctor once, but would a doctor be able to afford a giant penthouse in just a month of doing their job? Your life was much more glamorous than not any job could provide for it. And you loved your simple but lavish lifestyle, even if it was rather scandalous.

Still, your gaze drifted across the room until you locked eyes with him: Harry Osborn.

Initially, you noticed the look in his eyes, not an excited gaze, but a kind of detachment, an emptiness in his creepy blue eyes that you recognized all too well. The style of the impeccably tailored suit did not match the black mood he had carried with him. His pale face, his strands of dark hair on his face, wore a permanent frown. You knew what he was.

A rich broken kid.

You took a seat on the chair opposite him, with a slight curved smirk on your lips. "Mind if I join?"

He gazed at you for a second, a flicker of surprise narrowing his features and softened after that into an almost shy smile. "Not at all."

And thus began the dance. He shared with you his father, a man with a big legacy, Norman Osborn and the heavy burden it carries. Most certainly heir to a vast empire, he is weighed down by the fate of having to live up to the extreme expectations. You don't pity him, though, nor anyone. Rather, you slip him that sort of detached humor that kept you afloat in a world full of disingenuousness.

"I'm sure your therapist would love to hear his," you said, swirling your drink, "but tell me, Harry, is it worth it having the Osborn fortune if it gives you personal vendetta as a side dish?"

His laughter came with a touch of bitterness. "You don't know the half of it."

“No, but I know a thing or two about men like you." You said as you took a long sip of your margarita "Spoiled, sad little princes who want the world, only end up stuck in their own castle.” You added, you leaned in, meeting his eyes with your own. “Tell me—what do you really want?”

He wasn't exactly the type to answer the question, but he did it. There was a moment of unexpected vulnerability, and Harry opened up about the pressure his father put on him to take control of Oscorp, the shadow of an illness that haunted every Osborn, and the utter confusion with which he approached what he really wanted. “I want out,” he whispered. “But I don’t know how."

“Find your own way out, Harry," you whispered in his ear, lifting your glass. "Stop living in your father's shadow. You live behind someone's shadow for too long, they go away, and suddenly you forget how bright the world is, and it will blind the living shit out of you"

There came a time, a few months hence, when you were no longer a mere fleeting distraction. Harry had become captive to you and not just by your beauty but also the fact that you did not fawn upon him as the others did. The incessant materialism of Oscorp—the parties and the great expectations—mattered not to you, nor did they matter to Harry. What mattered to you was you.

Soon enough, he was caught up in a blur of late-night dinners, designer frocks, and luxury getaways, and he learned to play your role as always cool, always sarcastic, and always available whenever he needed someone to fill in. His mansion became your playground. His penthouse, your fortress. But you had begun to realize how the cracks in his facade grew wider with every day. There was a tension that clung around his shoulders.

You see, Harry was fighting demons. Not the kind children find under their beds, but those of not just a father's shadow and inheritance, but a fatal disease that ran in the blood of his family. Genetic, a disease that slowly eroded the body's defenses against sickness in a nutshell. It was how his mother died. And though his father, while certainly more heartless than most, had lived just long enough for Harry to inherit the empire, it was clear Harry was on borrowed time. And you knew deep down the little time he had left to share in his life, he did not want to spend alone. In fact, he was searching for someone he might hold with, instead of mere love.

Harry had been told late last night that Norman Osborn was rapidly deteriorating, and that he should come home already. Of course, it was a better idea to simply agree with him, not because of his father, but because he looked actually frightened.

The flight to New York was so quiet, between two strangers not knowing what to say, it was the kind of silence that weighed almost like an invisible line hung between them.

As the jet came down, New York's skyline shone distantly, bright and impersonal. This city had molded Harry in ways with which he seldom cared to associate himself and now it seemed to gnaw his back.

"You okay," you asked gently, breaking the silence.

He was seated opposite you, hands clasped tightly together. He barely glanced up. "Fine," he muttered, but his voice betraying him.

You didn't push it. Harry was not the sort of man to let anyone else see him fall to pieces, not even you.

The Osborn estate—it was a mausoleum fashioned out of glass and steel, so cold and so unwelcoming. One would step inside and feel an air shift—heavy with history, expectation, and the unmistakable shadow of death. Everywhere a sterile hallway expanded toward a distant death, every hushed whisper of the staff bore witness to the obvious decline taking place in Norman Osborn.

"It's dark in there, your eyes would adjust" one of the staff informed as he led you to the door where Norman rested, "It's better this way" He added as he opened the door for Harry

Harry gave his coat to the staff as he held you, you both entered the dark room. It was filled with high-tech bullshit that you were certain you could only see in movies, guess anyone's willing to go to an extent to keep themselves alive.

Harry's dad was surrounded by machines, beeping rhythmically.

Harry's dad lay bedridden, reduced to nothing but a former shell of himself, what was left was the presence to this pale, gaunt remnant of him. You now have to stand aside while Harry makes his way toward his father, for even such distance cannot keep one from feeling the strain between them.

"This is not how I imagined I would die" Norman bitterly muttered as he looked at Harry up and down, "Looking at my son and seeing this stranger" He added

"Of such potential Harry, such fierce intelligence, and you throwing it all away for this girl" Norman than stared at you, with an unintelligible gaze.

You nervously shuffled in your position as you felt rather exposed to his cold and calculating gaze, it was as if he was stripping you with every clothing you had.

"Out of everyone, you chose a narcissistic gold digger" Norman chuckled. Harry jaw clenched.

"Don't call her that" snarled Harry. But Norman just chuckled as he spoke.

"You think I don't see shit? You think I don't see the news of you wasting your fortune to her when you should be training to take over me, because God knows when he'll take me out of here"

Harry seemed rather tense at the talk of inheritance. He called out your name, "Go back to the car" he instructed.

You didn't spare a single second before getting out the dark room. The moment you stepped out, if felt as if you saw a train running towards you, Norman's room was really that dark.

By the time you two came back to the condo with Harry, it was almost becoming morning. That lingering weight from the past twenty-four hours felt like a storm cloud over the two of you. Harry, who had hardly spoken since the two left the estate, seemed to be facing a complete collapse now.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, he inhaled sharply and flung his jacket on the couch. He moved erratically, his high-strung behavior slowly coming undone with every step.

"I inherited it," he said suddenly, his voice hollow.

You froze at the moment, not sure if you heard him rightly. "Inherited what?"

"The disease and the fuckin' goddamn company" he snapped, turning around to face you. His blue irises were frantic, ringed red from sleep deprivation and a barely controlled fury. "Retroviral hyperplasia. It's genetic. My dad knew I was gonna get that, and he did not tell me till now. Like it's some fucking family tradition!" He shouted

You flinched, but you just remained there; sarcasm clogged at the back of your throat. Harry did not want your quips or indifference. He needed something, however, even you weren't sure what that something was.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally admitted, your voice lower than usual.

“There's nothing to say,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “My father's dead. I have a ticking time bomb inside my DNA. And because of all that, I am supposed to take on Oscor like I'm the goddamn savior of the family name.”

He fell over onto the couch, his head in his hands. “I didn't want this,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. "I never wanted any of it."

You hesitated walking away, halfway between staying and going. These kinds of moments were not made for people like you-moments when comfort was called for. But there was something in the raw vulnerability of Harry's voice that stopped you.

"You don't have to work everything out right now," you said finally as you settled beside him. "It's okay to think that this is unfair. It is unfair. But you're even allowed to… I don't know… take a breath before you burn yourself completely out."

Harry looked at you then and searched your eyes. Maybe for hope. Maybe for reassurance.

"Why're you even here?" his tone was sharp, yet not unkind.

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a faint, tired smirk. "Because you'd be truly unbearable if I wasn't."

For an instant, the tension broke, and he emitted a dry, humorless kind of laugh. Not much really, but it was something.

You did not know what would come next. The disease. The inheritance. It was all too much for any human being to actually handle, including Harry. But for now, you both sat there together, silent and heavy with it all.

Harry knew that every passing day brought him closer to it. He was on the verge of spontaneously combusting, and that changed everything for him. His father's staff didn't respect him, he would always tell you.

"I'm not like him," Harry would consistently say in a hollow, dry voice, "I won't be a monster, but the world doesn't let you be anything else."

The more Harry delved deep into his father's empire, the more you saw its darkness spreading within him. Torment began twisting into anger, obsession, and paranoia from vulnerability. Then came that his suffocating need for validation, his need for control.

Your sarcasm was not enough to hide your discomfort anymore. All the questioning, demanding, and simplicity came all that weighed you down. He had changed; not for the better.

Harry became obsessed with Oscorp and the disease reached its peak, to the point when he asked his best friend Peter to get a blood sample from Spiderman, to which it backfired by the way he was stomping inside your shared condo.

He became more manic, desperate. When things started not to go his way, he would lock himself in his office for days, brooding over the future of the company, and then he would lash out at people. You would try to keep your distance, but he wouldn't allow it since he needed you as his tether, anchor to the world that was sliding out of his fingers.

Amidst these many nights just as quiet, suffocating, and heavy with tension, so had all fallen into shadow. You would be found in the corner of Harry's penthouse. Scrolling on your phone, pretending not to see, while Harry was pacing in an erratic fashion, filling the room with energy that could have probably made it unbearable. He'd been on this particular circuit for weeks: gearing up with one battle after another with all those sharks in the boardroom who hungered for some blood due to Oscorp's spiraling controversies and his desperate attempts to outmaneuver them.

That wasn't just for the company though. It was really for the disease.

Earlier that day, Harry had come back from a consultation held by Oscorp's private medical team, and though he hadn't even uttered a word to you about it, the reading was all written on his face. He was running out of time. And he was scared.

"Do you even care?" he snapped suddenly; his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension like a knife.

Calm as always, you looked up and met his eyes with just the detached indifference that you knew would annoy him even more. "Care about what, Harry?"

"About me," he spat, his fists curling at his sides. "About what I'm going through. Or am I just some… some project for you? Something to laugh at when I'm not looking?"

The accusation hit harder than you expected, but you were not about to show it. Instead, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your legs, tipping your head like you were bored by the whole affair.

“Harry,” you said, dripping with sarcasm, “you’re spiraling, and I’m the one who’s supposed to care? Maybe take a look around. You’ve got a billion-dollar company, a penthouse, a name everyone respects or fears— and you've got all that to worry, but you worry about whether I give a damn? Honestly, it’s a little pathetic.”

You did not picture him laughing, but he did. A cold, hollow sound that sent chills running down your spine.

"Are you assuming that this is all regarding money?" he stepped towards you, eyes burning with an amalgam of fury and something darker, something unhinged. "Do you think I care about anything when I'm at death's door?"

For the first time, what he said came out raw and real, stripped of whatever charm or bravado he usually wore around like armor. It was just Harry—the boy who had lost his mother, who had spent his entire life trying to live up to a father who never gave him anything but pressure and pain, and who was now staring down the barrel at a disease that would take everything from him piece by piece.

But empathy was exactly what you weren't in the mood for these days.

"I get it," you said, standing up and meeting him eye to eye. "Harry, you've got a raw deal. But guess what? Everybody's dealing with their own shit. You're not special just because your dad was an egomaniac, and you've got bad genes. Just because your life is falling apart doesn't mean you've got the right to use me as an emotional punching bag."

The words were harsh, and you were aware of it. But you were tired just tired of the moods, the demands, and the inability to see you as anything other than a reflection of his misery.

His face contorted with rage as he clenched his jaw while looking fixedly at you. “You really don’t understand,” he said in an almost dangerously low voice, “You think this is all for me? I have fought for my life since the day I was born. I’m not going to allow anyone—anyone—leave me now. Not you. Not the board. No one.”

“Then fight your own battle,” you retorted, voice now oscillating. “I’m not here to save you, Harry. I never was.”

For a moment, the silence in the room fell like a tomb. The lights from the city outside cast long shadows across his face, making him look almost ghostly. And then, he moved.

One stride did it: he passed the distance between you, almost wrenching your wrist off and bringing his face inches from yours while his breath was hot and shallow. “You don’t get to leave,” he said, almost choking back the words as they came out, “Not now. Not after everything.”

Harry found himself staring at you, unblinking, wild-eyed with fury. "I can do nothing without you." He whispered with tears welling up his eyes. "You're the only thing I can control." "The only thing that makes sense," he said, gripping at your arms to try and pull you nearer.

For a moment, you realized that he was not a spoiled rich kid, but was actually someone truly broken, someone who tied his whole identity into the inheritance that he would receive from the empire he was about to inherit, and the disease that would eventually take his life. He had desperation in him, and for the first time, he made you begin to question everything.

"I'm not your savior, Harry," you said, pulling away from the hug. "And I'm not going to stand nearby while you destroy yourself." You sighed as you stepped away from him, "And don't call this love, since it isn't that"

Anger was flashing in his eyes. "You think I'm weak, don't you?" he hissed. "You think I'm a monster in a suit."

You stood there, cold and drained. "Perhaps I don't think anything anymore."

Harry Osborn wasn't your prince. He was a king with no kingdom, and you weren't about to be his queen.

He looked away from you and said, "Then go." The once harrowing voice was now a soft weapon. "Get out of here. But know that you cannot outrun me. You belong to me, and what belongs to me, comes back to me"

Your heart raced in your chest, but you were not going to let him see your fear. You tilted your head slightly and smiled at him defiantly. “Watch me,” you stated, voice calm even as the energy between you crackled like electricity.

You didn’t say anything after that. You just turned around, feeling Harry's eyes glaring daggers at you. You grabbed your bag, your keys, and walked out without looking back.

The adrenaline dissipated as you drove through the rain-soaked streets of the city, as it always happens. Cold and hollow at the pit of your stomach, you knew from the start that Harry Osborn was dangerous—not in an overt way, the ways some men were, but in that sly, insidious way that made you question your own reality.

He was a man not just in pain. He was a man unraveling and you caught in the middle.

And so, you told yourself that it was over, that you would never again return. But the headlights blurred in the rain and the city stretched infinitely before you; you could not shake the feeling that Harry's words were not an empty threat.

You belong to me

It echoed in your mind both promise and threat at once. Harry Osborn wasn't just an overindulged brat with daddy issues. He was a predator.

And you are his prey.

You never meant to return. You swore never to set foot in that penthouse again. Harry's world had become something you wanted no part of, and when you left, you knew that was it—an escape from a man that could never truly be yours and never truly let you go.

But there had been a slip, a mistake. You'd left some things behind in the chaos—clothing, a piece of jewelry, some documents that you couldn't quite remember. And whenever that phone buzzed with a message from the unknown number, an uneasy pang settled in your gut. It was from Felicia Hardy, Harry's assistant.

"I think you should come by. It's about Harry."

You hesitated for a moment. You weren't curious about Harry anymore—not about him, not about Oscorp, not about the empty promises he had made. But something pulled at you—an instinct, maybe. A feeling that you had never let fully shake the grip he had on you. You hadn't been back to the condo in months, but something told you that, whatever Felicia had to say, it wasn't good.

The walk up to the penthouse felt like an eternity. You stood outside the door for a long while, before finally ringing the bell. The door opened swiftly, and Felicia Hardy greeted you with a tight, strained smile.

"You should come in," she said, stepping aside.

The calm demeanor she usually exuded had disappeared. Her frame was rigid. The apartment was at variance too—empty, almost ghost-like—filled with shadows of memories you once shared with Harry lingering in the corners.

"You've kept a low profile," you said as you step in.

"I've been busy," Felicia replied in a curt tone, "There's a lot of things you don't know. Anyway, you have to hear this."

You raised your eyebrows. "What happened? You sound like you've encountered a ghost"

Felicia hesitated, then gestured toward the living room, where she sat down, fingers gripping the arms of the chair tightly, "Harry… he's not the same. After you left, he started changing—more than usual. He got reckless. The whole thing spiraled out of control."

You didn't reply instantly. Harry had always been a very chaotic person whose life was that of extremes, and yet you never imagined he would be broken so bad. You have seen his anger and desperation, but you didn't know to imagine the depth of it.

Felicia rambled on, barely audible above a whisper: "It's his disease. He… he was...desperate" she spoke barely above a whisper "Harry broke a patient from Ravencroft and an ex-staff in Oscorp, Max Dillon"

"He went there with a plan," Felicia continued, voice trembling. "He knew about the mutant cells—Araneus Oscorpeus—those experimental spiders Oscorp had been working on, the ones that could heal—it was supposed to be a part of some new treatment for his condition."

You nodded slowly as the pieces clicked into place. The condition—the disease that had tormented Harry all through his life and shaped his body and mind into something he couldn't fight. He had never been able to outrun his father's legacy—the bloodline that gave him everything and yet all at once, nothing.

Felicia leaned closer, lowering her voice as if to say that the truth might be huge to handle. "But that's not the worst of it."

She looked at you. "He tried curing himself—he believed he could cure his self—but it didn't quite work out. The serum, the cells—it made him insane, operated Harry worse than before. Way worse."

The pieces begin to put together a very dark picture and exceedingly puzzling. In Harry's desperate attempt at saving his soul, he meddled with the ways of God—and the results led to an uncontrollable calamity. He dragged Max Dillon into this insanity and now they were both spiraling out of control. But what after that?

"And then what happened?" you asked, feeling your heart race against your chest.

"Harry's in Ravencroft Asylum."

You blinked, trying to process the words. The name of the infamous facility sent a cold shiver down your spine. Ravencroft wasn't just a place—it was a symbol of the irreversible, the broken.

"What?" you managed to croak, your voice hoarse.

Felicia stepped forward, face red. "He snapped. Completely. After everything that happened, they pretty much had to put him away: he's not the same."

Although Felicia's eyes softened for a second, she didn't spare a moment for pity. "You know Gwen Stacy, right?"

The punch to the gut hit your insides, she was the girl you went to high school with before your parents moved to France, lovely studious girl, everyone loved her as far as you remember. "What about her?"

"She's dead," Felicia said, in her predictable, icy monotone, as if she were using a knife to cut through air. "Caught up in it all. Harry—fuckin spiderman—they're all responsible."

The statements barely made sense to the mind. Gwen, dead? You remembered just talking to her months ago back: bright and smiling, too pure for all the muck Harry had created in his life.

"Harry killed her?" you whispered, unable to push more words past your throat.

Felicia did not flinch. "He didn't mean it that way. But he lost control of himself, he only wanted Spiderman but, something snapped, and he took Gwen… Harry lost it. There were others—civilians, people who got in the way—but Gwen's the one who didn't survive. It was ugly, pretty darn ugly."

Felicia made her stare stone hard. "He's at Ravencroft. They keep him mostly sedated the time. Not a person anymore, not really. His disease…it's totally taking control of him. In the doctors' words, it's irreversible. They can't help him."

Felicia took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something she was still unsure she wanted to say. "He asked about you though. Every time I go there, it's all he talks about. You. Like you're some kind of cure for whatever's broken inside him."

You swallowed, head still swimming. Harry was consumed by the need for control, power, and validation. And now, to know that he was obsessed with you—even now—seemed a bitter pill to swallow.

"Didn't come here to tell you this to make you feel guilty," Felicia said, her voice severing through your thoughts. "I came because you ought to know what happened. Not that you can fix them. Harry's gone. And whatever was left of him is now caged in Ravencroft."

She paused for a moment, giving the full weight to her words. "But you should know this is not just on him, the Goblin disease? That's something passed on by his father. He was born into this, and nobody ever gave him a goddam chance to get free. It's too late now."

"I'm sad to say this," Felicia continued, her voice softening almost to a sympathetic tone "but that's reality. You move on."

Though you nodded slowly, you knew that there was no reason to believe in it. Moving on from someone like Harry Osborn seemed impossible, even if that someone was no longer even a shell of the person that he had once been. He was no longer someone whom you could love; nor could he be said to be someone whom you could save.

As you walked away from the penthouse, the waves of finality crashed down on you. What were you expecting? That he would be better? That he would have changed? But now, the truth was more apparent than ever before: the Harry you knew was dead. And what was left? A monster who destroyed everything he once cared about, including Gwen Stacy - and now, you.

Ravencroft Asylum was a cage indeed. And Harry Osborn lay trapped inside it - a casualty to his own legacy.

And you? You were another casualty in the wreckage.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[hippiegoth97]

Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 41

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 40

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @songbirdmunson @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @bloodibambiidoll @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog @losingmygrasponreality

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, drug use, alcohol use, lots of crying (only the happiest of tears), LGBTQ+ themes, light smut/mentions of smut, kissing/groping, fluff

Word Count: 7k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part 41: You Make My Dreams Come True

Sunday, December 31st, 1989

"You all set to go, sweetheart?" Eddie asks as you're on the way out of the apartment to head over to Steve's New Year's Eve party.

"Yep!" You chirp, walking past him into the hall. You're both dressed up all nice, with you in a strapless satin red dress and matching heels, showing off curves and cleavage. And Eddie, sporting a dark crimson button-up, freshly-ironed black slacks and shiny dress shoes. Steve insisted that everyone dress their best, which you have absolutely no objections to. You love making yourself pretty when the mood is right, and Eddie always looks devastatingly handsome when he cleans up.

"Shit." Eddie mutters once you reach the parking lot.

"What's wrong?" You ask, giving him a concerned look.

"Oh, nothing. I promised Steve I'd pick up a couple things before the party." He replies with a sigh, though it is the first time you're hearing of this.

"Well, we can get it on the way." You say, offering a simple solution.

"Nah, we're already running kinda late." Eddie shakes his head. "You go ahead to Steve's, and I'll meet you there. 'Kay?" He suggests instead, which only further confuses you. Since when does he care about punctuality? Something is up. And given the secret little conversation he and your mother had at Christmas, you think you know what he's up to. But you'll play along, let this elaborate plan of his play out. You're sure he's put a lot of work into it, and you'd hate to spoil that.

"If you say so. I'll see you in a bit, love." You say casually, leaning in to give him a quick peck goodbye.

"I won't be long, angel. Don't party too hard without me." He chuckles, glad that he's seemingly pulled off his ruse. Steve didn't ask him to get a damn thing, the guy doesn't like to impose. No, he's got something far more important planned. Something you're both anxiously waiting for, and have been building towards together. He can't think of a better time to pull the trigger, than on the last night of the decade. He's finally going to propose, and said proposal is going to blow you away.

"No promises, baby." You laugh as you go your separate ways. You get into your Datsun, and Eddie hops into his van. The two of you pull out of the lot in your respective vehicles, turning opposite ways down the street. You glance at the back of the van disappearing in your rear view, smiling to yourself. Anticipation for what's to come grows inside you, jittery butterflies flapping around your stomach. He's finally gonna ask me...to be his wife. You squeal in excitement, unable to contain your emotions. You do, however, hold back any happy tears to preserve your painstakingly-applied makeup, since he hasn't actually popped the question just yet.

During your drive, you find yourself daydreaming about how the proposal will go. What soul-baring words he'll say to you, the ring he might present you with, the adoring look in his eyes as he kneels before you. You can't wait to see how it all goes down, wondering if anyone else knows about Eddie's secret plan. Your mind also travels to other places, like your wedding day. Wearing a big, fancy dress, walking down the aisle, vowing to have and hold the one and only Eddie Munson for the rest of your life. It sounds like a wonderful dream, and it's about to be one step closer to becoming reality.

In the midst of your daydreaming, you reach the Harrington house. You pull your car up behind Robin's, putting it in park and quickly heading inside. It's extremely chilly out tonight, far more than it has been in previous years. You'd swear Hawkins magically transported itself to Minnesota or something. "Hey, Y/N. So glad you could finally make it." Steve teases as you're the last one to arrive. He's looking very handsome in a dark blue suit with a matching tie. "Where's Munson?" He asks, confused to find the metalhead missing from your hip.

"Oh, he had to pick something up for the party. He'll be around soon." You answer, finding Steve's puzzled look rather odd. Maybe nobody knows what Eddie's plan is.

"You sure you two aren't on the rocks again?" He questions, wondering what the hell Eddie is up to. He'll beat that little asshole into next week if he's screwing around on you.

"Yes, I'm sure. No need to put up the dukes, Stevie." You giggle at his protective stance. "How's Chrissy?" You ask, changing the subject.

"Oh, she's great. We're great. I never thought I'd be this happy." Steve says adoringly, his head drifting to find the woman in question in the crowded room. She's wearing a light blue dress, holding JJ in her arms and talking to Nancy. She's smiling so big, clearly very happy now that she's found love with Harrington.

"You deserve it. You're a great guy, and you two are a perfect match." You say kindly. "Well, I'm gonna get a drink and socialize." You leave Steve to his dreamy staring, making your way to the kitchen. You find Robin and Vickie making out on the corner, which takes you by surprise. Vickie is sat up on the counter in a pretty lavender dress, with Robin standing between her legs, dressed in fitted black pants and a purple crushed velvet jacket. Robin grips her waist, thumbs rubbing up and down absently on her hips. Vickie cups Robin's face as they kiss, hushed moans leaving their lips. You awkwardly clear your throat after a good few seconds of standing frozen in place from shock.

"Oh, hey, Y/N! You look nice!" Robin chirps, her face turning beet red at being caught in such a compromising position.

"Thanks! So do you two, very sharp." You reply, nodding as if you didn't see the two of them sucking face. You're just glad they're happy and comfortable enough to get lost in each other here. Everyone's been extremely supportive of their relationship, which is a relief. It's no mystery to you that the people of this small town are less than open-minded. You only hope that one day they can be out in public, doing all the things couples do without getting mean looks or slurs hurled at them. Preferably sooner than later.

"Thank you. Vickie picked everything out. She's got way better taste than me." Robin gushes, holding Vickie's hand in hers.

"That's not true, you picked out your jacket! And you have wonderful taste, baby." Vickie corrects with a smile, smoothing down Robin's lapel.

"Whatever you say, lovely." Robin playfully rolls her eyes, giving Vickie a cute little peck. "Need a drink, Y/N?" She asks you, pulling her girlfriend along with her towards the kitchen island that's well-stocked with all manner of booze and mixers.

"Yes, please!" You meet them in the middle, reaching for a red solo cup to pour some Jack and Coke into. You prepare your drink, and bid the lovebirds farewell to go talk to the others while you wait for Eddie to show up. You make the rounds, engaging with everyone as much as you can. It's nice to spend time with everybody, and you're trying your best not to check the clock every five minutes.

"Hey, Y/N. My, you're lookin' like a vision tonight." Wayne says as you approach him.

"Thank you, Wayne. You're very dashing yourself." You giggle at his compliment, taking in his sport jacket and pleated khakis. You don't think you've ever seen him in anything but blue jeans and flannel before.

"That's sweet of ya to say, darlin'." Wayne chuckles, taking a sip of his soda.

"So, how have the home repairs been going?" You ask nonchalantly, and he almost chokes.

"Oh, uh, they're goin' just fine. Ed's a big help." Wayne replies nervously. Eddie swore him to secrecy, to play along if you ever asked about him 'helping fix things' around the trailer. When in reality, his nephew has been working on a very special thing for you tonight.

"That's great! I know he's been feeling bad about not spending as much time with you lately." You flash a sympathetic smile. Wayne thinks you're none the wiser, and you intend to keep it that way. You want to be as genuinely surprised as you can be, even though all the signs have been flashing for a good few days.

"Has he now?" He asks, his face falling at the thought.

"Yeah. He feels guilty, ya know? Because you raised him and everything, and I guess he thinks he owes you for that." You explain, though you don't want to be a downer.

"Oh, he doesn't owe me shit. I took 'im in 'cause he needed me. And I didn't realize it before, but...I needed 'im, too." Wayne says, his eyes watering a bit. "But he's got you now, Y/N. You're so kind, 'n smart, and you take care of 'im. I know he does the same for you. If anyone was gonna take 'im off my hands, I wouldn't want it to be anybody else." He speaks sincerely, smiling wide despite the tears pricking his eyes.

"Thank you, Wayne. That means a lot, coming from you. You raised a scared little boy into a brave, amazing man. Eddie is everything I've ever wanted, and needed. So, thank you, for making him so perfect." You say earnestly, pulling Wayne into a tight hug.

"You're very welcome." He chuckles and embraces you, allowing the tears to fall. He can't think of anyone better suited for Eddie to marry. He could tell from the moment the kid first brought you home, that you were the one who would stick around. After years of struggling to bring Eddie up right, constantly worrying that he was doing everything wrong, he can rest easy now. His nephew has grown up into a fine young man, who's finally ready to build his own life. With you.

As you pull away, you hear the front door swing open, and Eddie waltzes in, his new guitar in hand. "Sorry I'm late! I had a few extra guests to pick up. I thought it was about time we had a Corroded Coffin reunion, and a little catch-up between the founding members of the Hellfire Club!" Eddie announces loudly, and you see three other guys walk into the house behind him.

"Oh, hell yeah!" Dustin shouts, rushing over to give the men suffocating hugs along with Mike, Erica, and Lucas.

"C'mere, sweetheart. Some friends of mine are dying to meet you." Eddie says, extending his free hand out to you once the kiddos disperse. You reach him in no time at all, his arm wrapping around your waist. He gives you a small kiss hello, and turns his head to the men he's brought with him. You instantly recognize them, Jeff, Gareth, and Alex. They don't look much different than they did back in high school, though you didn't really hang out with them. You probably exchanged a friendly greeting in passing while picking Dustin up or dropping him off at their meetings.

"Oh, please. Like we wouldn't recognize Henderson's older sister." Gareth scoffs, putting out his hand to shake yours.

"And I remember you three very well. Dustin wouldn't shut up about you guys, and I'm sure we saw each other around a few times." You reply, shaking all three of their hands. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Well, I've been busy at Indiana State. Working on a degree in music education." Jeff says proudly.

"Wow, that's great!" You reply, genuinely impressed. Eddie's friends kinda seemed like burnouts back in the day.

"Ugh, such a brag, this one." Gareth rolls his eyes. "I'm the co-owner of a record store in Chicago. I run it with my buddy Alex here." He says, patting Alex on the shoulder.

"Shit, that's impressive. Why didn't you tell me your friends were so successful, Eds?" You tease, nudging Eddie in the ribs.

"Oh, don't blame him, Y/N. We haven't really kept in contact very well, any of us. Besides, I think he's still a little heartbroken about me leaving him once the summer was over back in '86." Jeff says casually, making your eyes go wide.

"What?" You ask, unsure you heard the man correctly. From the way he phrased it, it sounds like he and Eddie dated or something. You look at Eddie, finding him staring at the floor. Like he's ashamed. "What's he talking about, love?" You ask again, the air slowly sucking itself out of the room. Things are suddenly very tense between the five of you now, though the party continues on around you.

"It's nothing, really. Forget I said anything." Jeff says, trying to backpedal. He didn't realize you had no idea that he and Eddie used to see each other. And he hopes this little slip up of his hasn't entirely derailed the plan for tonight. He isn't really sure why he said anything at all. He should know better, it isn't his place to make comments like that. Just because he's proudly out, doesn't mean Eddie is.

"Nah, it's alright, Jeff. I should've told her." Eddie replies shakily, swallowing hard. He can't read your expression, besides the obvious confusion. He's worried that you're mad, or that you feel betrayed again. He doesn't want to lose you, especially not now. His eyes meet yours, and he speaks again. "Can we talk for a minute, angel?" He nudges his head towards the bathroom.

"Yeah." You reply simply, unsure what else to say. You're completely taken aback here, and not in the way you'd expected. But you reserve your judgment for after he explains himself. You follow Eddie to the bathroom, and he closes and locks the door behind you.

"Please, sit." Eddie says, needing the space to move about nervously as he explains this all to you. He was hoping he'd never have to, for fear of scaring you away.

"Okay." You reply, sitting on the closed toilet. You cross your legs, setting your hands in your lap. Eddie paces back and forth before you, his body trembling with nerves. He's so afraid, though you aren't really sure why.

"'Kay...so...um..." Eddie starts, trailing off as he doesn't really know how to put this into words. But you sit patiently and wait, no hint of negative emotion on your face. "Jeff and I...we were...together." He says, pausing every so often as it's become rather hard to breathe. He looks at you, his stomach growing queasy as he waits for a response.

"Okay." You nod. "When were you together?" You ask after thinking it over for a moment.

"The summer after we graduated. We started a little bit before that, though. But like he said, he moved away for college in the fall." Eddie answers, feeling a little less terrified as you don't seem to think of this as such a big deal.

"Was it一" You start to ask another question, but he cuts you off.

"What? A 'phase'?" He snips, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

"No! Of course not! I was going to ask if it was serious." You raise your voice slightly, annoyed he would think you'd say anything like that.

"Sorry." He sighs, realizing he's rudely jumping to conclusions. He knows you're not ignorant or anything. Robin's your best friend, for Christ's sake. He's just so...thrown. It's weirder than he expected, seeing the one man he's been with in any intimate capacity again after all this time. Having his past collide with his present, and potential future. It's a mind-fucker, to be sure. "And, no. It was a pretty casual thing. We mostly made out...maybe a little more, sometimes." He says shyly, sparing you the details.

"So, you never...ya know?" You can't help your curiosity, pointing your index fingers together in a gesture that doesn't really make sense.

"Jesus, no!" Eddie splutters, laughing at the silly thing your hands are doing. As if two men press their cockheads together as a form of sex.

"Sorry, just figured I'd ask!" You laugh back, putting your hands in your lap and blushing at how ridiculous you must have looked.

"It's alright, babydoll." He gives you a reassuring smile. "It doesn't...bother you, does it?" He asks, the laughter quickly dissipating. He bites down on his lip, hoping he hasn't ruined everything.

"Not at all, Eds. Why would it?" You answer, shrugging your shoulders.

"I dunno. I guess, we never really talked explicitly about my sexuality before. I wasn't meaning to hide it from you. I didn't really know how to bring it up." Eddie sighs, it all sounds kinda dumb when he says it out loud. This part of himself has never really been relevant in your relationship. But he wants to be completely honest with you, before you fully commit to him.

"That's alright, love." You say softly, standing up to put yourself before him. You cup his cheek, giving him a loving look. "I know now, and it doesn't change anything." You slowly shake your head to emphasize your point, driving home that fact that you would never leave him over being his authentic self.

"Really? You mean it?" He questions, somehow still unsure.

"Yes, really!" You gently smack his chest, making him chuckle. "Look, I was surprised, at first. But, Eddie...I love you. Every part of you. I'm all in, baby. No matter what." You speak emphatically, keeping your gaze locked on his.

"Thank you. I love you so much, sweetheart." Eddie says, barely above a whisper. He presses his lips to yours, a stray tear rolling down his cheek. To know that you fully accept him as he is, even after keeping this rather large detail close to the chest for so long, it means everything. There's no more secrets now, no more skeletons in the closet. He's home free, able to take this next step with you as planned.

"We should get back to the party. I'd hate for everyone to think we're screwing in Harrington's house again." You say with a giggle as you pull away.

"And what a tragedy that would be." Eddie laughs, gently leading you by the hand to leave the bathroom and return to your gathering.

"I didn't just derail a relationship, did I?" Jeff asks guiltily as you both approach him again.

"Nope. If anything, you only made it stronger." You reply cheerfully.

"Oh, okay, good." He sighs in relief. He would've hated to get off on the wrong foot with you, as Eddie hasn't stopped telling him every lovely little detail. He's never seen his former front-man and Dungeon Master so damn happy before. He's glad that you're around to keep the curly-haired nutcase from going off the deep end. "So, should we set up now?" Jeff asks Eddie, gesturing at the band equipment he and the others had left at the door.

"Yeah, sure." Eddie nods, turning to you. "You okay without me for a little while, princess?"

"I'll be fine, I'm in good company." You reply with an affirming nod.

"Cool. This won't take long, love." He gives you another short kiss, before dropping your hand and going with his band mates to bring the gear to the pool deck and set it up.

"What was all that about?" Nancy asks, taking her opportunity to check in on you. She saw things get a little tense with Eddie's friends, and your sudden escape to the bathroom afterwards.

"Oh, nothing major. Just some unresolved things from the past." You say simply, hoping she'll accept that answer. It's not your place to go around telling everybody that Jeff and Eddie used to go out. The only person who should tell them is him. "But they're resolved now."

"If you say so." Nancy says, accepting your answer. Although, she doesn't like being kept in the dark, given she has a bit of an investigative streak.

"So, how's married life treating you?" You ask, quickly changing the subject.

"It's...something." She replies, swirling her drink anxiously in her hand. You flash her an odd look, and she sighs. "I mean, it's great, being Jonathan's wife. We're really very happy. But we're having a hard time getting settled." She explains.

"Why's that?" You take a sip of your drink.

"Well, we're still unpacking all of his stuff. The apartment is a total mess. And Mom and Dad won't quit hounding us to buy a house. They keep giving us realtor's business cards, and telling us about all these homes for sale. It's driving me crazy." Nancy sighs, sounding rather frazzled about the whole thing.

"Shit, I'm sorry." You tut, gently stroking her arm to comfort her.

"It's fine. I understand why, they want grandkids already." Nancy giggles. "But Jonathan and I want a chance to just be together and be young for a while first. You know?"

"I get that. I'm sure they mean well. But don't let them pressure you into anything. This is your life, and your marriage. No one can tell you how to do it in a way that's right for you. Only you and Jonathan can decide that."  You reassure her, knowing all about overbearing parents.

"Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate that." Nancy smiles, taking your advice to heart. She's never been one to let other people tell her what to do, and she certainly isn't going to start now.

"Any time, Nance." You smile back, just as Jonathan comes up to steal her away for a dance. You're left by yourself for now, which you don't mind. You've made your rounds, and you're far too excited about what's to come to focus on another conversation.

"This seat taken?" Eddie asks once he returns from setting up outside, finding you sitting all alone on Steve's sofa.

"Nope, all yours, baby." You pat the spot beside you, beckoning him to your side. He plops down into it, and he grabs hold of your legs to lay them over his lap. His hand rests on your thigh, his thumb stroking you lovingly. "You didn't get too cold out there?" You ask, noticing his fingers feel like ice on your skin.

"Nah, it wasn't that bad. We'll have to go back out there to tune up a bit, though." He says, trying to contain his excitement. In about an hour, he's going to serenade you exactly five minutes before midnight. He's got it all timed out. The band will play the song he's been sneaking off to rehearse, under the guise of 'assisting Wayne'. He still can't believe you bought that, though you could easily be playing dumb to avoid spoiling things. Once the song is over, he'll bare his soul while presenting you with his mother's ring. Then, if he's timed everything right, you'll say yes and share a kiss as the clock strikes midnight. It'll be the most romantic, amazing, perfect proposal ever. You don't deserve anything less.

"Aw, you're gonna leave me all alone for a third time tonight?" You pout, scooting closer to put yourself in his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, laying your head on his shoulder.

"I promise it'll be worth it, babydoll. You'll see." Eddie coos, his other hand going to your back to give you gentle rubs. He'll admit he's missed you all night, having to show up late to pick up the guys, and spending a good amount of time plugging in amps and connecting equipment on the pool deck. But his absence is for good reason.

"Oh, yeah? You gonna make me swoon with that gorgeous voice of yours tonight?" You speak softly, nuzzling your head into his neck. You press a warm kiss to his skin, leaving a mark of lipstick behind.

"I'm hoping to achieve much more than that, sweetheart." He breathes heavily, melting into the couch at the feeling of your lips on him.

"Tryin' to get in my pants, Eds?" You purr in his ear, nibbling the lobe.

"When am I not?" He jokes, chuckling to cover the moan his lungs are dying to let out.

"Very true, love. But I have a feeling you've got something else on your mind..." You trail off, only slightly fishing for the truth. You don’t think he'll bite, but it's still fun to tease.

"I guess you'll have to wait and see." He replies, growing worried that you've figured everything out. She's onto me. I really should know better than to think I can fool her, my sweet little bookworm.

"Whatever you say, baby." You giggle, giving up on the probing questions. You shimmy around on his lap to get comfortable, letting your eyes close once you find the right position.

"Hey, don't fall asleep, Y/N." Eddie quietly warns. "The kids might scribble on your face if you're the first to pass out." He teases, poking your ribs with his finger.

"I'm not sleeping, Eddie. I just wanna be close to you until you go back outside." You whine stubbornly, tightening your arms around him. You have no intention of sleeping, you're far too amped up for that. If anything, your anxiety is shot through the roof as the minutes tick closer to Eddie's proposal. You need him to anchor you, help you stay calm. Because you want this, you want him. Now, and forever.

"That's alright. But don't blame me if you wake up with a dick drawn on your forehead." He lets out a breathy laugh, earning another small groan from you. "Okay, okay. Sorry, I'll be quiet." He whispers, resuming his calm stroking of your back and thigh.

The two of you sit quietly in your little corner, left undisturbed for the most part. Occasionally, someone plops down beside you to check in. But no one crowds around you when they take notice of your self-isolation. Most of them are well aware of your nervous tendencies, and how hard you work to fight through them. They respect that you need these little moments, where you're safe inside your Eddie-sized bubble. Before long, though, it's time for him to finish getting everything ready.

"I gotta get up, love." Eddie says, patting your thigh to signal you to get up. You do so, begrudgingly, immediately missing his warmth as you stand on your own two feet. He gets up after you, pulling you close for a second. "Just a little longer, baby. It's gonna be worth it, I promise." He says sweetly, capturing your lips with his in a tender kiss.

"I know, Eds." You smile once he pulls away, your heart swelling at the adoring look on his face. "See you in a bit." You let him go, watching as he gathers the guys and makes his way to the sliding door to the deck. He gives you a small wave as he steps outside, which you reciprocate. It won't be long now, until everyone gathers outside to see his magical surprise unfold. In the meantime, you float aimlessly around the room, conversing with whoever crosses your path.

When it's finally time, Eddie beckons everybody to come outside. Everyone gets their coats on to stay warm, before filing out the back door. They all gather in a huddle, with you standing front and center. Mom has her camera at the ready, clearly she knows what's coming. You look across from you at Eddie, who's got the Mockingbird you gave him slung over his shoulder, his hands gripping the neck and positioned to strum the strings. Jeff is situated at a keyboard, Alex is on bass, and Gareth is perched behind a set of drums.

"Thank you for joining us, everyone." Eddie speaks into the microphone in front of him. "We've got a very special song to play for you tonight. Now, it's not exactly as metal as what we're used to playing. But I know it's one of Y/N's favorites, so my lovely band mates were gracious enough to learn and rehearse it with me for the past couple weeks." He pauses, locking eyes with you. "This one's for you, sweetheart." He grins, before signaling for the band to begin. Jeff starts playing the opening notes to "Maybe I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney, his fingers firmly pressing on the keys.

Eddie waits for his moment, and then begins to sing. "Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time. Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you." He recites the words sweetly and earnestly into the mic, sounding like an absolute angel. Gareth comes in on the drums, gently tapping the cymbal. "Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. You hung me on a line. Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you." Jeff sings into his own mic to provide backup vocals as Eddie really leans into the intense emotion of the chorus. "Maybe I'm a man, maybe I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of somethin', that he doesn't really understand. Maybe I'm a man, and maybe you're the only woman who could ever help me. Baby, won't you help me understand?"

Eddie vocalizes softly in the break between verses, his lips forming a cute little 'o'. You're completely mesmerized by him, watching his heart pour out through his mouth in a mad dash to find yours. His fingers start to move on the guitar now, Alex joining in on his bass. This instrumental goes on for a moment, leading up to repeat the chorus. The words come out of Eddie even stronger the second time, displaying his devotion and passion for you for all to see as the four men play together now. They wind down towards the second verse, and Eddie's pretty lips open again.

"Maybe I'm amazed at the way you're with me all the time. Maybe I'm afraid of the way I leave you. Maybe I'm amazed at the way you help me sing my song, right me when I'm wrong. Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you." The band lets loose for the end, vocalizing and playing their instruments like it's a sold out show. Eddie's smiling brighter than the stars above, unable to keep his eyes off of you as he plays it out with his old friends. You and the rest of his small audience sway to the music, basking in the love like it's a beacon that’s been shot up into the cloudy night sky. This moment is better than you'd ever imagined it could be, joyful tears pricking your eyes as you watch the man you're helplessly in love with play his heart out for you.

The song draws to a close, earning loud applause and cheers from all of you. Amid the noise, Eddie takes his guitar off his shoulders and sets it down. He approaches you at the front of the crowd, pulling a ring box out of his coat pocket and getting down on one knee before you. Gasps and whoops break out all around you, before the group falls silent to allow Eddie to speak to you. He gazes up at you, opening the box to reveal a gorgeous ring. It's a silver band with a beautiful round ruby set in the middle, framed by two small diamonds. You recognize it immediately, and where it came from.

"Oh, my god." You gasp, meeting his eyes as if to ask if this is indeed the ring he's told you about numerous times before. The ring that belonged to Eddie's mother. The one thing Wayne was able to keep for her son to remember her. He gives you a silent nod, smiling tearfully at your realization.

Eddie sniffles, trying to contain himself so he can get the words out like he practiced. He takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. "Y/N. Never in my life did I think I'd find someone to do this for. I always thought I'd be alone forever, that no one could possibly love or understand me." He stifles a sob, struggling to keep his shit together. "But you came along and changed all that. You've made me happier than I ever thought I could be. You've been there for me through so much, more than I could possibly handle on my own. And I'd like to think I've been there for you in the same way."

"You have." You say shortly, nodding your head as happy tears run down your cheeks.

He nods back, and keeps going to finish up. "This is a long time coming, sweetheart. I'm ready to spend forever with you, and do everything I can to make you the happiest woman in the world. So, Y/N Henderson, will you marry me?" He asks, thanking whatever higher power may be up there for finally letting him get the damn words out.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" You squeal excitedly, pulling Eddie up off of his knees and into your arms so you can crash your lips onto his. The crowd breaks out in cheers again, much louder this time. Everyone is so happy for you both, and there's not a single dry eye to be found. You and Eddie continue to kiss passionately, your tears mingling together as you hold one another close. Jeff grabs his own guitar that he brought, slinging it over his shoulder and playing the notes to "Auld Lang Syne", as it is officially the new year. 1990, holy shit. "I love you." You say hastily between messy kisses, smudging your makeup all over Eddie's face.

"I love you too, angel. So, so much." Eddie pants, pulling away for a second to actually put the ring on your finger. "Here, sweetheart." He clumsily takes the ring out of the box, holding the sides of the band so you can slip your finger through. It fits you like a glove, as if it was meant to be.

"It's beautiful, Eddie. I'm honored to wear it." You say giddily, a wave of euphoric bliss washing over you as you admire the jewelry on your finger. You knew this was coming, but to have it actually happen is a dream come true. It all feels so surreal, in the best possible way.

"I'm sure Mom would be proud to see it on you, babydoll." Eddie coos, dying to keep kissing you in a joyous frenzy. He crushes his lips on yours, his hands daring to wander down to your ass.

"Congrats to the happy couple! Let's head inside, it's cold as balls out here!" Jeff says over the mic, effectively dismissing everyone to retreat into the warm house.

"C'mon, baby. Let's get you warmed up." Eddie breaks away, pulling you along to get indoors again. Once you're all in and have removed your coats, everyone gathers to see the pretty ring on your finger.

"Oh, it's just gorgeous, Y/N!" Mom practically swoons, utterly ecstatic to see you get the happiness you deserve. She was so proud when Eddie asked for her blessing, there was no question of whether she wanted you to marry him or not. There's been plenty of bumps in the road, but this rough-around-the-edges young man has been by your side through all of it. His love and support has never wavered, not for a second. For better or worse, Eddie is undoubtedly the right partner for you.

"I know, I'm never taking it off!" You squeal gleefully, letting everyone take their turn to get a closer look.

"It's nice to see a pretty gal wearin' it again. And no one deserves it more than you, darlin'." Wayne says sweetly, wiping his eyes. He never thought the ring would see the light of day again, except the few times he's pulled it out from his dresser drawer for Eddie to look at when he missed his mom to the point of tears.

"Thank you, Wayne. I'll take great care of it." You promise, knowing the responsibility that comes with being given such a sentimental object.

"I know ya will, Y/N." He smiles.

"Alright, alright. Let's give these kids some space." Gareth shoos everyone away, save for the younger adults. "What's say we light up like old times?" He says slyly, pulling a few joints out of his shirt pocket.

"What do you think, angel? Should we kick off the new decade by getting baked?" Eddie asks you, wondering if you're up for it. There's been quite a lot of excitement already tonight, and he'd understand if you wanted to head home and 'celebrate' alone.

"Sounds perfect to me, love." You answer with a grin, hatching an idea to smoke up and sneak off with him to the van afterwards.

"We can smoke in my room, there's no way I'm freezing my ass off outside." Steve offers, ushering the lot of you towards the stairs with an unopened bottle of champagne in hand. You follow his lead, all eleven of you crowding in the somewhat small room. You sit on the floor, tucked between Eddie's thighs as he leans against Steve's closet. The others take spots around you or on the bed. Gareth hands out the joints, to be shared between groups of three. You and Eddie end up the lucky pair who don't have to share with anyone else. This intimate celebration is on your behalf, after all.

Eddie lights up the joint, taking a deep breath in before handing it over to you. While the room quickly fills up with thick, skunky smoke, Steve pops open the champagne. He takes a big swig, after toasting the newly-engaged couple, of course. The bottle gets passed around, with each person expressing their congratulations to you before they drink. And when it finally reaches you two, you give extensive thanks to them for their kind words. The energy in the room is content, and relaxed. The anticipation has passed now, no more jitters to be found. All that's left is casual conversation, and the seductive effects of drugs and alcohol.

It isn't long until you find yourself melting into Eddie, his lips devouring yours as you sit in this oversized circle of friends. The taste of him is intoxicating, the sour flavor of weed balancing with sweet champagne. You can't get enough, even if your position is rather uncomfortable. You know full well that you won't be able to resist ripping his clothes off if you dare to turn around. Everyone is probably grossed out enough seeing you two kissing like your lives depend on it.

"Let's get outta here, angel. I need you." Eddie says breathlessly, his nose nuzzling against yours. His reddened eyes are blown wide with lust, and you can feel his erection poking into your back.

"Don't have to tell me twice, Eds. Van?" You ask, biting your lip as you gaze at him from under your lashes.

"Van." He nods, struggling to hold back his less than sober laugh. His mind races with all the things he plans to do to you. His fiancé. Fuck, that sounds so good when he says it in his head over and over.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jeff asks as you stand up first. Eddie does so after, almost stumbling into the wall.

"Sorry, Jeff. We've got some very important, private business to attend to." Eddie replies goofily, the giggles getting the best of him. If he's not careful, he might just blurt out all the filthy things on the tip of his tongue. "But this has been fun, seeing my old friends again, playing together like old times. And thanks for having us over, Stevie. I can honestly say this has been the best night of my life." He smiles big and wide, his arm slipping around your waist.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, love. G'night, everyone, I'm off to get railed by my fiancé!" You cackle, your voice somewhat slurred. It appears your own loose lips have gotten the best of you. Your naughty words earn you some hoots and hollers from those still in the circle, and you cover your mouth in embarrassment once you realize what you've said. "Shit." You mutter, a harsh blush coloring your cheeks.

"S'okay, sweetheart. They know what we're up to. C'mon." Eddie says softly in your ear to ease your shame, leading you out of Steve's bedroom and down the stairs. You say goodbye to those who have stuck around, though most of the other guests have either left for the night, or passed out on the couch. You pull on your coat, having to help Eddie with his own as he can't quite work his arms properly. You go outside to the van once you're bundled up, with him turning on the engine to let the heater run so you won't get cold. Thankfully he'd filled up the tank after picking up the band, so it should last until you've sobered up in the morning.

"Eddie..." You whine, shucking your jacket from your shoulders once you've climbed in through the back doors.

"What is it, babydoll?" He asks, turning in his seat to look at you.

"I need you...please?" You beg, wanting him to crawl back here and ravage you already. You're suddenly feeling very impatient. You have to have his hands all over your body, his lips kissing every inch of bare skin, his cock pounding into your throbbing pussy. All other thoughts are long gone, leaving only your sexual desires.

"Then me you shall have, princess." He chuckles, practically rolling head over heels to climb into the back so he can reach you. He's hovering above you in seconds, admiring your squirming body that's just begging him to be touched. The only question now is, where does he start?

To be continued...

[zeroxxlhero]

Girlfriend Headcannons • Ymir

Contents & Warnings: everyone is 18+, Hispanic! Ymir, Black!Fem! Reader, top! Ymir, bottom! Reader, public sex, established relationship, cunninlingus, strap-ons, pussy eating, mentions of squirting

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan)

Pairings: (Ymir x Fem! Reader)

SFW:

— Ymir’s known you since 7th grade but didn’t start developing feelings until 11th

—was a generally nice friend before she discovered her feelings for you and became even more nicer afterwards

—you had to ask her out because she was scared but she was happy (threw up one time because she couldn’t ask you but would never admit it)

—super clingy (can’t even sit up in the bed before she asks where you’re going. literally stands by the bathroom door while you pee or poop)

—always has a body part on you, maybe a foot, an arm, a leg; didn’t matter but she NEEDED to be touching you

—can make a mean ass dish like pozole and elote

—a literal natural-born chef and always wants you to taste her food before it’s served

—talks so fast in Spanish when she gets upset

—only wears black and white shirts

—has a closet full of designer brand Jordan’s and Nike shoes

—refuses to eat at any fast food restaurant but buys it for you

—has a tendency to be forgetful but tries to remember important details

—always gets you something when she comes back from going out

—sometimes says mean things without realizing how bad it could hurt your feelings and takes her days to apologize for it

—has a pit bull named Bruno that she treats like a human child (He’s a big spoiled baby)

—hates feet

—loves hugs and making out

—love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

—always smells like cherry and chia milk

—taught herself how to braid

—wants a daughter someday

NSFW:

—loves pussy and will eat it anywhere and everywhere

—loves having you face down and ass up while she breaks in your back with her strap

—can make you squirt

—prefers rough but switches to soft if need be

—will let you eat her out if you want

—has a tendency to fuck you in public if she’s horny enough

—mild sex drive

—depending on what you want, can last 1 to 2 rounds

—doesn’t tolerate the bratty shit, will put you in your place and make you apologize

—grips your skin too hard and leaves it sore

—loves hair-pulling

—would impregnate you if possible

—loves hearing you moan

—talks you through it

—cleans you up after and gets you anything that you want

Loves you very much and just want the best for you.

[jellyj777]

MÁGOA | #02

MÁGOA / Book / CH02,TermsAndConditions

-> pairing: JungkookxReader (angst/smut)

-> tropes:: Age gap (older female),Slow burn, DomxSub, Brother's bestfriend, FWB, Uniboy!Jk, CEO!Reader

-> synopsis:: — "Yeah?" "Yeah." There goes another both of yours conversation.

-> warnings:: —Explicit language, Dirty talk, Sexual content ahead which would most likely include BDSM, Rough sex and much more. —Both the characters will have their backstories and traumas over why they're acting the way they act at the current moment. (No hate towards any character please)

-> Words: 2.6k+

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It's been a while since you visited your family—any member of your family, to be honest. You haven't seen your brother in over six months. You used to share texts and TikToks all the time.

Hwan's been living his best university life, all thanks to your hard-earned money—and you'd never complain about it. Whenever he needs money, you send it over without hesitation. It's actually healing, watching your younger sibling enjoy life without worries. And what makes it even more beautiful is knowing you're the one spoiling your baby brother.

It's not like you have anything against your family. No matter how different your childhood was from Hwan's, you were the oldest—it was your parents' first time being parents too. You understand that. Truly.

"Who is it?" you call out playfully from the other side of the door, peeking through the peephole. "Is it the best sister's brother?"

"Yeah, open the door, please," Hwan replies hurriedly, leaning on the door. He sounds embarrassed—probably someone's watching him in the hallway.

You open the door, which makes him flinch slightly and lose his balance. He gives you a sheepish smile and pulls you into a hug. You groan but hug him back before he steps in and kicks his shoes to the side.

"Where's Baby?" he asks, settling into your fancy living room. You've got your own lifestyle now—one you can afford, and you're not shy about spending money on the things you love.

"He's at daycare, learning new tricks I couldn't teach him, to be honest," you mutter, joining him on the couch as he turns on the TV. Baby is your dog—a cream-colored Chow Chow and the literal third member of the family. Everyone adores him more than they adore people.

"Yeah?" Hwan says, distracted while flipping through channels. Then he turns to you with a grin. "How's my boss been doing?"

You roll your eyes and slump further into the couch. You haven't told him about the breakup with Minju, and you're not planning to. "Same old. Work and more work," you reply, handing over the chips he'd begged you for on call.

"You gotta have some fun, y'know?" he says mid-chew. Well, no shit. "You and Hyung fighting or something? You removed your pictures with him."

"Did you come here for some drama?"

"No?" he blinks. "I'm just worried. You've never removed pictures with him before."

"Instagram is a kids' app. I just felt like clearing it up," you dodge. "I use it 'cause of my friends, that's all."

"Un?"

You hum, your face blank, unreadable.

"What?"

"You guys broke up?" he asks. "I called him earlier this week—since you weren't answering."

Well, yeah. You were at a club drowning the breakup in shots. "Why'd you call Ju? I told you not to call him unnecessarily."

"It wasn't unnecessary. It was evening, you weren't picking up," he says flatly. "It's not like I was bothering him. He's been dating you for what, three years? And now you guys break up just like that? That's crazy."

"He wanted a break. It's been, like, two weeks, I guess," you say casually. It humbles him. He knows you were in love. He's never seen his sister act all lovey-dovey before.

"Don't bullshit me," he pleads, setting the remote down. "No reason?"

"No reason," you lie. "Focus on your studies. Stop interfering in my life, for God's sake." It comes out harsher than intended.

Hwan stares at you, then clicks his tongue. "I'm just worried," he repeats. "But you know what? Fine. I won't interfere in your life again. My bad for actually caring about my sister."

You hum in response, guilt gnawing at you. You know you hurt him. He just wanted to help—but you're not in the headspace to accept that. You don't want to burden him.

"Mom was asking if you'll come home for Chuseok," he says, shifting the subject, knowing you won't talk about it.

"Maybe," you murmur with a shrug. "I'll see."

"C'mon, you didn't come last year either."

"I was busy." Or you just weren't in the mood to deal with the whole extended family.

"Come this year, yeah?" Hwan looks at you with puppy eyes. "Mom misses you. You're always busy, Un."

Un. The nickname he made up when he was a baby and couldn't pronounce your name properly. It stuck around for a long time. He never calls you "Unnie" or anything formal. You once told him it made you feel old. But if he calls you by your actual name? He knows that's a death wish.

"I'll come this year."

He smiles, hearing your reluctant sigh. "Perfect. I'll let Mom know."

You give him a thumbs-up, unable to hide a small smile at his excitement. "How's your uni?"

"Oh! Speaking of uni—" He perks up suddenly. "I've got a friend who needs a place to stay during the holiday week."

"And?" You're already uninterested. "No. I'm not letting one of your friends crash here again, Hwan." You shake your head firmly.

Last time that happened, his friend invited his girlfriend over and had sex in your bedroom.

Sex. Strangers. Your bedroom. You still can't think about it without cringing. You called a deep-cleaning service the next day. Hwan's never been more embarrassed in his life. But you didn't blame him. You knew it wasn't really his fault but youwere so pissed.

"I know what you're thinking, Un. But this time he's different—"

"No." You cut him off. No way you're risking that again. "I can just book him a hotel nearby, I can cover the expenses but there's no way I'm letting that bullshit happen again.”

He whines like a baby, "You think he'll take then? He's not asking for charity, Un."

You shrug, wanting to say the words 'Ain't my fault.' 

"C'mon, hear me out, please." He scoots closer. "He's a close friend. He came for Chuseok with me last year."

Hold up, what? Hwan never lets anyone get that close. He doesn't like flaunting family or wealth around his friends.

"Does he not have a family or something?"

"Rude," he chuckles. "He does. But they're out of town, and he couldn't join because of midterms."

You listen as he plays with your hair—a trick he always uses to soften you up.

"He's doing an internship near downtown, closer to your place. That's why he asked. He's just here for work—nothing else. And I promise he's not like the last guy."

"You promised last time too, and I'm still scared to step into my own room." You remind him.

"No, I didn't promise last time—I just agreed 'cause I wanted to seem cool."

Fair enough. He's a senior now—maybe he's finally grown up a little.

"What's so different about this friend?" you ask, swatting his hand from your hair. You're not falling for his tricks.

"He's my buddy. I post stories with him, Un."

"And I literally don't check stories. I'm not that free."

You mostly used Instagram to check on someone sometimes. You weren't the kind of person to stalk their ex in their free time...Right?

Wrong.

"I know," he sighs. "Just this once, and I know he's not like the other guy. Just let him stay over, I already promised him that my sister can help him."

"Aren't you worried that he would force your sister into something I wouldn't like?" You ask. It's an excuse of course. He would never let you be alone with a guy he didn't trust.

"You think I'll let a guy who I don't trust be alone with you?" He questions back, not wanting to play along on this topic. "I'm ready to beat Hyung up too if you just tell me what is up with both of you." 

You scoff. You knew he would actually beat up Minju after knowing the way Minju treated you sometimes. "Shut up, you ain't beating no one." You hit his arm lightly as he just rolls his eyes. "I'll let him stay over, whatever." You grumble, he tries to hide his smile but a small chuckle leaves his lips. He was happy you are finally agreeing.

"I swear you'll never hear my whining as again."

He extends his pinky. You eye it, then sigh and hook yours with his.

"Pinky swear?" you raise an eyebrow. "If anything happens this time, you're dead meat, Hwan."

He chuckles, nodding. "Pinky swear."

He sounded way too sure, and now you're kind of curious about this friend.

You both spent the rest of the evening trash-talking your parents' weird life choices, each with a tub of ice cream in hand, watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

These are the moments you miss the most with Hwan. He's your baby brother—but really, you've always been more like his mom than your actual mom has. Hwan ended up crashing for the weekend—because you promised him shopping the next morning.

"Can't. I'm busy for the winter, Ju." You lie smoothly over the phone, your voice calm, practiced. It wasn't unusual—you and Minju had been on and off for nearly the entire two years of your relationship. This dance of half-truths and full lies had become routine at this point. He lies, you understand. You lie, he understands.

But the truth?

You weren't busy. In fact, Minju had already confirmed that by calling your secretary before he called you. Typical Minju—calculated, always one step ahead. Always knowing how to corner you. Always making sure he's catious around you. Always making his words sound in the right way.

"C'mon, baby," he pleads from the other end of the line, voice soft with just the right amount of urgency. "It's important this time. You need to come for the press. Please, love."

You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes fixed on the glittering skyline from your office window. The city below glows, indifferent to the storm inside your head and the gut wrecking feeling in your chest. You are supposed to be leaving your building by this point but you're here talking with none other your first love. You keep rocking gently in your chair, letting the silence on your end build a sense of false control.

Minju wasn't just a good boyfriend—when he wanted to be. He was an excellent businessman. Cold when needed, charming when useful, ruthless when it came to profit. And nothing brought him more public attention, more clicks and sales, than having you as the face of his latest skincare launch for his company. 

"Just this once," you finally murmur. "I'm not doing this again."

He makes a kissing sound through the phone, loud enough to make you roll your eyes. You click your tongue, annoyed but not really angry. He laughs, recognizing your usual dismissiveness.

"Thank you, baby. I knew you'd say yes," he says warmly, the smugness tucked neatly behind the velvet tone of his voice. Of course he knew. Have you ever really said no to him? Never. Will you ever say no to him? Never. 

"Mhm, when have I ever said no to you?" You murmur, he chuckles before he coos you when he hears a yawn from your side."

"Baby, you sound tired. Do you want me to come over?" he asks, softer this time—gentler, realizing he might’ve bummed you out too much.

"Can’t today. Had a long meeting and stuff." You reply back, digging through your bag with one hand and holding your phone with the other.

"I bet. Always working hard… I could come over with food and cuddles?" He’s testing the waters now, expecting you to finally admit there’s someone else over. When you don’t reply and he hears the rustling of your things instead, he swears to god he wants to shake some sense into you. "Listen… Hwan texted me. Said his friend is crashing at your place for the weekend?"

You freeze. "Yeah. It’s like last time. I forgot to text you cause… I thought we were on a break?"

He sighs. It’s small, but there. "Right… I get it. Just—maybe next time, give me a heads-up?"

"Ju, don’t make it a big deal. It’s the same way his last friend stayed over." Your tone is exasperated now. You’re trying to be calm, trying not to turn this into a fight tonight.

"I’m just saying. You live alone. And he’s a guy. You know how things look." He laughs, but it doesn’t reach his voice.

You curse under your breath, clutching your purse tighter. The hum of the elevator rolling down grows louder as the floor numbers blink past. "To who? You?" You fire back.

"It makes me uncomfortable—listen, I care about you, okay? Just text me. I’ll be there if he tries anything. He can even stay at my place."

"Ju, he’s not some charity case, and I’m not defending him. I’m just saying nothing’s gonna happen. And even if it did—we’re not even together?" You let out a sigh, finally stepping out of the elevator.

"But you still pick up my calls. We’re still a couple for the media. I just said it was a break. That doesn’t mean you can have other guys over, does it?" His tone feigns innocence, but it’s laced with heat underneath.

You roll your eyes, gripping your phone tighter. "You never gave me a single clear term for this goddamn ‘break.’ One week you vanish and say we’re done, the next you text like nothing happened, calling it a break. Even if I do sleep with someone, it wouldn’t matter. You ignored my texts for days. The only reason you even called was for some work thing."

He stays quiet for a second before speaking, like he's trying not to snap. "So what? Doesn’t that make you feel bad for you?"

You’re already walking to your car, the cold air making your words sharper. "No. What makes me feel bad is you never trying for us. You always ask for time. Space. Breaks. It breaks me down, Ju." Your voice drops, a tired edge taking over now. 

There’s a pause again. You can hear him breathing, like he wants to argue but can’t find the words.

"If you can’t be mature enough to figure shit out, another man will come and fill in." You groan, unlocking your car door, the beep loud in the silence.

"I don’t even know what Jeongguk looks like, to begin with, so what’s the point in arguing over a man who means nothing to me?"

He stays silent. You know he’s biting his tongue.

"You know what actually hurts? The man who actually means something asks for breaks like it’s nothing. That’s what fucking hurts. And then acting surprised when I try to move on while you’re still undecided." Your tone calms down just a notch, not wanting to sound mad in public as you open the car door and toss your purse in.

"I’ll call you later. Or text." You say, already half in the car.

You give a soft kiss through the call, then hang up before he can say anything else that’ll ruin your already long day. The moment the call ends, you finally exhale. The tightness in your chest refuses to loosen up—but you take a deep breath anyway, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, leaving your workplace.

—x—

Wattpad [Ch02]

< comment to be added in taglist >

A/N:

😫 UGH, i wanted to post a longer chapter but i want the character's introduction together be personal and another chapter. i love this story sm like it has a lot talks about traumas and stuff! DONOT hate on anyone, no one is cheating or anything. Everything will be more understandable once the story goes one. Have a lovely day/ night.

Jelly.