#River Bubble AUs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chloe-petrichors · 4 months ago

Text

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins.

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers. “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jace x reader #hotd fanfic #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys vaaryon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys targaryen fanfic #jacaerys targaryen imagine #my writing

1K notes · View notes

shellshocklove · 9 months ago

Text

wet nights | joel miller

pairing/AU: bfd!joel miller x female!reader – no outbreak

summary: getting beer spilled down your dress at your best friend sarah’s birthday party might not have been so bad– not when her dad can help you clean up.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 25 and joel is 47, reader is described as wearing a dress, swearing, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, exhibitionism, praise with a dash of degradation kink, one small touch of your clit, soft dom!joel, use of sir, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: mom said it was my turn to write bfd!joel lol. basically this is just me wanting to write joel getting his cock and balls sucked bc it's what he deserves 😌 as always thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this for me! and happy reading <3

main masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Nodding your head to the beat of the music you gulped down a cooling sip of beer. The bar was stuffed to the brim tonight for Sarah’s birthday. Every chair and booth occupied, large groups huddled together against the walls, and a growing crowd of brave, seemingly deep enough down their drinks, dancers moved across the makeshift dance floor. Leaning against the bar right at the end, you were shielded from the continuous line of people looking for a drink to sate their thirst on this hot summer night.

You’d missed Sarah since graduation. She’d moved back to Austin to be closer to her father – a man you had still to meet even after all these years of knowing Sarah. You’d met in undergrad where you’d had a couple of overlapping classes the first year. She’d been one of those people where you’d just clicked, like a hand in a glove, you two just fit together.

Now you had moved to Austin. It wasn’t exactly planned, but you’d applied to a postgraduate program at the University of Texas, not necessarily thinking you’d get in– but then you had. Sarah had been ecstatic when you’d told her. You hadn’t seen her in person in over a year, but you couldn’t wait to live in the same city as your best friend again.

But first, her 25th birthday party.

Tonight would be your first night out as a new Austinite. Sarah had invited all her closest friends and family to her favorite bar to celebrate. You’d dreaded it a little, you weren’t gonna lie. That nagging anxiety had bubbled under your skin all week at the prospect of being the only one at the party who didn’t know anyone already. Sarah had told you not to worry though when you’d voiced your concern to her a few days ago – she’d introduce you to everyone – nothing to worry about, and she’d been right.

All Sarah’s friends had been extremely friendly and nice, and you’d been taken under their wing immediately. Quickly, your anxiety had melted away, condensing into nothing as you’d started to have a good time.

It was deep into the summer, and Austin had shown itself from its hotter side the last few days. Inside the bar everything ran hot, even with the AC on blast and with the amount of people who’d made their way inside in the last hour, looking for a good time on a Saturday night, it never stood a chance.

Trying to cool off you’d excused yourself from your new group of friends to order yourself a cold beer. One of the ACs blew cold air directly towards the bar, keeping the frantic bartenders cool as they pushed out order after order of drinks. You watched them from where you stood perfectly in the wind of the AC, glass raised to your lips when you felt a hard bump against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” you cursed as your full glass of beer spilled all down your front, staining your white summer dress.

“Shit– sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t have time to react as your beer was lifted out of your wet hand and placed on the rough wood of the bar.

Looking up from your ruined dress you took in your beer thief as he reached across the bar for some napkins. He was older, forties maybe, maybe older if you were to take the sprinkle of salt and pepper in his hair into consideration, but he was gorgeous. A strong jaw and sculptured nose. Clad in a t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, you thought he looked casual– not like he belonged to the rest of the birthday party. The material of his t-shirt strained against his bicep as he leaned back from over the bar – a stack of napkins now in his hand. Standing to his full height before you, you noticed just how broad he was, and it made a drop of desire pool in your core.

The man’s previous frantic movements came to a halt as he took you in for the first time; his dark brown eyes rolling down your body and leaving a trail of heat. His fist full of napkins stalled when his eyes landed on your dress, quickly diverting them with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Um– here,” he said, voice strained as he handed you the napkins.

Pulling your eyebrows together in a frown, you looked down at yourself again. The fabric was completely soaked through, and you felt a prickling heat tickle your cheeks as you realized you now looked like a walking ad for a wet t-shirt competition.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, taking the napkins from the man as you tried your best to cover yourself.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart– bumpin’ into ya like that.”

Pressing the napkins to your dress you shook your head at him, “It’s fine– eh,” you looked up from your body.

“Joel,” he introduced himself.

“It’s fine, Joel. It was an accident. I’ll just go to the restroom and try to get the stain out,” you said with a grimace, and reached for more napkins.

“Let me help ya,” he offered as he placed a friendly hand on your elbow.

As Joel guided you through the crowd towards the toilets, hand hovering at a polite distance behind your back, he continued to apologize.

“I feel terrible– let me at least pay for it if it ends up needin’ replacin’.”

Inside the bar’s toilets, you jumped up on the stone countertop lining the wall, turning the closest sink on.

“It’s okay,” you repeated as you busied yourself with trying to clean yourself up, “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten beer spilled all over me,” you said with a teasing laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Standing beside you with his hip leaning against the stone and a knee popped, Joel huffed out a strained laugh, a laugh somewhere between embarrassment and relief.

“Yeah?” He questioned, eyes falling to your working hands.

“Tell you this much– I’ve had plenty of wet nights.”

A sound escaped Joel at your words, one he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, and you realize your innuendo a second too late. When you looked up from your hands, eyes wide, you noticed that Joel’s cheeks had flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed that he’d even caught onto the innuendo you hadn’t meant to make.

“Oh! No, not like that–” you rushed, tone slightly mortified as your eyes met his, trying very hard not to stutter through the rest of your sentence, “I–uh... I only meant that I uh–... I‘ve had plenty of situations in which I’ve gotten wet–”

At this sentence, Joel raised his eyebrows in a look that seemed half-surprised, half-amused, and your stomach dropped even further into your ass in embarrassment.

“–with water!” you clarified quickly, before you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, closing your eyes as you huffed out a laughing sigh, “There’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully, is there?”

You heard Joel’s chuckle to your side, deep and syrupy, like the stuff you’d liked to pour over your pancakes in buckets when you were a kid.

“You’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started explainin’, I think,” Joel told you, his tone joking, and you chuckled bashfully, nodding before you looked up at him.

There was a moment in which you exchanged a look, before you felt the smile break over your face and you dissolved into embarrassed laughter, shaking your head as Joel laughed, too.

“Off to a great start,” you muttered in between chuckles, “First week in Austin and I’m already making passes at handsome strangers in bar bathrooms.”

“I never said I was complainin’,” Joel said jokingly, and you let out a chuckle, “First week in Austin, hm?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “Here for a postgrad.”

“Smart and beautiful,” he mused, “Reckon I should spill beers more often if this is what I get in return.”

Delicate wings fluttered in your tummy at his words as a feeling of excitement filled your chest. Looking up at him with a raised teasing eyebrow you said, “Not sure spilling beer on someone is the tried and tested formula.”

“Well, that depends, really,” Joel answered back in a teasingly contemplating voice, “‘s it workin’ on you?”

Your stomach dropped slightly at his words, and when your eyes moved to meet his, he was looking at you with a look that made your insides burn.

“Maybe,” you told him with a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

You were never usually this bold, but there was something in the way he was looking at you and the syrup-y tone of his voice. You could tell he knew what he was doing, knew exactly what to say, and you wanted more. Biting down on your bottom lip coquettishly, you leaned backwards on your arms, giving Joel a full view of the soaked front of your dress, and more specifically, everything he could see underneath.

“And what works on you, Joel?”

You watched with some satisfaction as Joel's eyes ran over the length of your chest, before he quickly redirected them to your eyes.

“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman here, sweetheart,” he almost whispered, his eyes as dark as the Austin summer night sky. You gave a noncommitted shrug as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. Then, you leaned forward so that you were closer to him, feet dangling slightly.

“I never asked you to be,” you told him, your voice low but not quite a whisper as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Behind your rib cage your heart quickened with excitement as Joel’s darkening gaze bored into yours, and you knew you him right where you wanted him. His eyes danced over your face for a moment, before they flickered down to your lips. It almost made you stop breathing for a second, the tension in the air between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was just something about this man, something about Joel – and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before.

Maybe it should’ve scared you, the speed at which you’d fallen under his spell (or was it the other way around?), but right now, with Joel’s darkening eyes staring into yours, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any fear. You could only look at him, could only feel his breath fanning over your lips and the intensity of his gaze on your face.

“You’re trouble, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, but full of deep bass.

You felt the expanse of his hand fall on your bare knee, rough and calloused over where your sundress had ridden up.

“Nothing you can’t handle.” You batted your eyelashes semi-innocently, spreading your thighs slightly, which made Joel’s mouth twitch in amusement.

“’s that so, darlin’?” He asked, taking his place between your legs, your face now only inches from his as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” you nodded slightly, your hand falling over his to guide it slowly up your thigh, “Don’t you wanna find out?”

As Joel’s index finger made contact with the side seam of your underwear, he closed the space between you and pressed his lips against yours. The hairs of his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow as he dove deeper, lips rolling over yours. You sat up slightly when his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your core rubbing up against his growing bulge. You whimpered against his lips at the contact, and Joel inhaled it, consuming every breathy moan and whimper.

His hand slid slowly downwards to your ass where he gave it a nice squeeze, pulling you even closer when your legs came up to wrap around his waist. He licked at your lower lip hungrily, and you opened yourself up to him to allow him to deepen the kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. He was a great kisser, probably the best you’d kissed. His lips moved expertly over yours, soft and firm at the same time as he guided you through it.

The grip on your ass tightened again and soon you were half-way to hanging off the counter as he rocked his front steadily against your core, where your arousal had started to pool. The kisses turned needier then, shorter and desperate between quiet whines. You could feel the shape of him against you, hard and thick, and big. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you as you imagined yourself on your knees before him, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. He was so fucking hot, and you wanted him so fucking badly.

“Can I suck your cock?” you panted through frantic kisses.

Joel pulled back slightly, head tipped back to find your eyes.

“You wanna suck my cock?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You only nodded, head tipping slowly with the bite of your lip.

Joel tsk-ed, “Dirty girl,” he said and rocked his hard bulge against your core, which earned him a moan. It made a wicked grin spread across his face, like he’d just proved a point.

His hands left your body as he slowly stepped backwards – that same cocky grin adorning his features as he nodded towards one of the stalls. Jumping off the countertop, you almost tripped over your feet to follow him inside.

“Relax, baby– ain’t no need to get on your knees until after we’re inside,” he teased, holding the door open for you, bicep bulging against the fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, he looked so hot.

“Ha-ha,” you fake-laughed at him with a teasing roll of your eyes as you stepped past him and into the bathroom stall. When the door clicked behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning, you felt a pair of strong hands land on your hips as he pressed his body against your back.

“I’m only teasin’,” he reassured you in your ear, his breath fanning over the shell and sending a tingle down your spine. Turning around in his hold, your own teasing smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” you queried with the raise of an eyebrow, “Well two can play that game, sir” you teased as you slowly sunk to your knees, missing the way Joel reacted to the title you’d assigned him.

From above Joel watched you, body relaxed and composed like he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked, but the lust in his eyes gave him away. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip as you fumbled with his belt, the sound of metal clinking bouncing off the tiles as you focused on popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t take your eyes off the shape of him hidden behind the denim, and it made your mouth water, your thighs squeezing together. You were mesmerized as you let your pointer finger run over the covered length of him, the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs soft under your fingertips.

For a moment, you couldn’t believe what you were about to do – suck a man you’d just met less than an hour ago off in the bathroom stall of some dingy bar? But then again, something excited you about it.

Maybe it was Joel? Or maybe it was the thrill of it all– of maybe getting caught?

“Go on, darlin’, it’s okay– be a good girl n’ take it out f’me,” Joel ordered from above, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, caught the way he studied you, gauging your every move and reaction.

Then something shifted in his eyes, a flash of insecurity making its presence known, “Or don’t– we can stop f’you want– if you ain’t feelin’ it anymore.”

You shook your head before he’d even finished his sentence. God, no! You sure as hell didn’t want to stop.

“I wanna keep going, Joel,” you smiled, your fingers hooking into the elastic band of his boxer briefs.

A genuine smile bloomed across his face then, his rough hand coming down to cup your chin, “That’s good, baby,” he said, swiping his thumb slowly over your skin, before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Know you’ll be good f’me, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, drawing a breathy whine from you at the praise.

“Yes,” you sighed, almost breathless as he kissed you again quickly before he murmured against your lips, “Yes, you will, darlin’– you’re gonna choke on my cock ‘n thank me for it, won’t ya?”

He was driving you mad with all these questions. In just a few minutes, this man had turned you inside out, pushed every button to turn you on– you were practically swimming in your panties, your mind clouded in hazy arousal.

You didn’t know what to do, and not thinking clearly, you chased his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chuckled, pulling away slightly, “lemme hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you sighed again, “thank you for giving me your cock.”

“Thank you for giving me your cock, what?”

This manwas relentless.

“Thank you for giving me your cock, sir?” you tried, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

Pleased, a satisfied grin pulled at Joel’s lips. He rewarded you with a quick kiss before he pulled away, standing to his full height again.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to touch him. Hooking your fingers into the elastic band of his boxer briefs again, you slowly pulled them down, revealing inch by inch of the base of his fat cock.

He was big, and the sight made your mouth water, but what excited you the most was the weight of his heavy balls.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide with fascination.

His hand found the back of your neck in a grounding hold as he guided you closer, your lips bumping against his tip. “Give it a kiss, baby… just like that,” he praised as you did exactly what he wanted, placing a kiss to his cock the same way you’d kissed his lips.

Over you, you could hear Joel release a content breathy chuckle, “That’s so good, baby, such a good girl.”

Egged on by his praises, you shifted a little on your knees, steadying your hands on his thighs as you pooled a blob of spit in your mouth that you let drip down the head. Joel watched you intensely as you used your dominant hand to slowly work the spit over his length, earning yourself a strained grunt. He grew even harder in your hand as you familiarized yourself with the weight and size of him in your hand.

“Wanna taste it, sir,” you said and placed another soft kiss to the head, swiping your tongue over the slit to taste the precum that had started to pearl.

“Yeah?” he taunted, almost degrading, “You wanna taste my cock that badly?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes.

Joel watched you for a beat before he tapped at the hand wrapped around him, shooing it away as he fisted himself. “Open wide then, honey, ‘f you want it that bad,” he said, slapping his cock against the side of your face.

Your mouth dropped open in an instance as Joel stuffed his cock inside your mouth slowly. You opened up as wide as you possibly could, relaxing your jaw to accommodate the size of him in your mouth. It was a wide stretch, and the tip touched the back of your throat far too soon, making you gag around the head.

He pulled back to let you breathe for a moment, before he sunk back down your throat again, a large and grounding hand resting at the back of your head. The second time you were more prepared to take him, holding him in your throat for a few moments longer before you started to gag. Over you, Joel let out a strained grunt; the noise sending a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

After that, Joel let you take the lead.

You started out slow, taking the head into your mouth as you let your spit-covered fingers glide over his shaft in an experimental tug. Under your fist, a slick sound echoed off the tiles with every jerk of his cock. You made sure his cock was thoroughly coated in your spit as you set a steady rhythm. You let your tongue glide over the underside of his tip, his hips bucking when you dipped your tongue into the slit.

It was sloppy, and wet, and the noises coming from your throat were entirely too obscene as you started bobbing your head, taking him down your throat.

“That’s a good girl,” Joel praised you, helping guide his cock down your throat with the hand resting at the back of your head. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you? Love havin’ a big cock fill up that tight throat?”

Suddenly, you heard the muted music coming from the bar grow louder before dying again at the sound of the door slamming shut. You stilled your movements in panic as you heard someone slip into the stall to your right. Your eyes met Joel as you slipped his cock out your mouth, but to your surprise he looked far from concerned about the new audience.

Stretching his neck he turned his head in the direction of the occupied stall, while he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. Even in his hands it looked big, and you started to wonder how you’d ever managed to fit it down your throat. A beat passed before he turned his head to look at you again, a wicked grin coating his lips as he bobbed his cock in your face, rubbing the head over your closed lips before he slapped it lightly against your cheek.

“Open up,” he mouthed with another light slap to your cheek. His actions made a tingle of arousal spread throughout your body, and you realized in shock how much the thought of getting caught turned you on.

You did as Joel said and opened your mouth for him to feed you his cock again. He watched you very closely this time, letting you ease yourself down his cock at your own pace, trying your best to be quiet. When the very tip of your nose made contact with the thatch of coarse dark hair at the base and your lips were snug around his cock, Joel couldn’t help himself. The grounding hand at the back of your head held you down as he shoved himself as deep as he possibly could down your throat, his balls bouncing against your chin at the movement.

To your right you heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet being flushed and a lock being twisted. Your eyes welled up with tears, your vision fogging over as you tried your best to fight against your gag reflex. Over you, Joel watched you with a proud smirk on his lips. When the sound of the sink turning on echoed through the restroom, you allowed a whimpering gag to escape you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but the thrill of getting caught choking on an older man’s cock, a man who was essentially a stranger, made you wonder if you could come untouched. You were so close already, just a flick of your clit would send you off the edge of bliss.

Your eyes were about to roll back into your head when Joel finally pulled back. You gasped violently for air at the exact moment the door opened, filling the toilets with loud music for a moment before you and Joel were locked away again in your own little world. Like you were on autopilot, your hand slipped between your thighs to find your clit, and soon you were withering with your orgasm.

“Oh, there you go, honey, come all over those fingers f’me, just like that,” you heard Joel say, though the force of your orgasm made it seem like he was far away, like your ears were filled with cotton.

When you finally calmed down, you steadied yourself with a tug at Joel’s jeans – the fabric rough under your fingertips. Over you Joel fisted his cock as he watched you with a wild look in his eyes.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that just from gettin’ your throat fucked.”

“Thank you, sir,” you managed to let out, your voice strained and hoarse.

Realizing he must’ve been close, you sat up straighter on your knees, ready to pull him off the edge too. Leaning forward, you stuck out your tongue, licking a fat strip up the seam of his balls to the underside of his shaft. His cock jumped in his hand as Joel let out a breathy laugh.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, “Look me in the eyes honey– look me in the eyes when you lick my balls.” Joel jerked his cock above your face as you continued to lick at his heavy balls – your eyes locked with his.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he choked out through groans, “Suck on ‘em, baby, suck on my balls.”

Blinking up at him you tried your best to fit one of them in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking greedily and lapping at the skin, before you moved on to treat the other with the same amount of love.

Joel’s mouth dropped open in a gape, his breath coming out quicker and more staggered. He squeezed himself harder at the base with each jerk before skating his thumb over the swollen head, massaging it.

“Fuck,” he panted, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”

Popping his balls from your mouth you hurriedly sat up in front of him, the tip off his cock brushing over the plump of your bottom lip with every thug of his cock.

“Please, sir,” you begged, “Please, come in my mouth.”

Joel wasn’t one to deny your request, especially not when you were sat so pretty in front of him with your tongue sticking out.

A second later, Joel shoved his cock in your mouth and came – balls drawn tight as he shot his load down your throat. The force of it made you gag a little at first, the restriction around his sensitive cock only making him come harder. He groaned above you as you sucked him dry, before he pulled back when it was too much, and caught his breath.

“Say Ah,” he said, a gentle but firm hand cupping your jaw. The squeeze of his fingers made your mouth drop open to reveal the cum coated on your tongue and where it pooled at the back of your throat. “Don’t swallow– Let me see, darlin’.”

Your smile fought against his grip. Sticking your tongue out the best you could, you let him see the state he’d left you in; chin coated in saliva, tears starting to dry on your cheeks, mouth puffy and fucked, and marked in this stranger’s cum.

“Pretty as a picture,” he tutted before he let go of your jaw, and with a pat to your cheek finally gave you permission to swallow.

After that it was like the spell had broken between you. Joel helped you to your feet, both of you giggling when your legs wobbled like a foal unsteady on its feet. He held you upright with a strong hand to your waist, while the other one traveled up the length of your body to cup your face, and bring it closer to place a slow and sensual kiss to your lips.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’d never done anything like that before?” You asked him a moment later as he helped you clean your face by the sink.

Joel gave you a look in the mirror.

“You don’t?” you exclaimed.

Joel gave you an infuriatingly casual shrug, “It ain’t your first time suckin’ dick that’s for sure,” he teased with a pinch to your side which made you jump.

Giving him a playful shove, you said, “I’m not lying! I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

“Well, the night’s still young,” Joel joked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and dipping his head to place a soft kiss to the column of your neck.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the soft grip of his hands on your body, and the soft presses of his kisses as you watched the two of you in the mirror. You found that you liked the reflection looking back at you, and if you were lucky, you hoped he liked it too; maybe enough to want to see you again.

“I can’t go back out there like this,” you said after a moment.

Your dress had finally dried, but so had the beer – staining it yellow.

Joel lifted his head from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scanned your body in the mirror.

“I have a flannel in my truck I can borrow you?”

“More layers in this heat?” you questioned, already sweating at the thought.

A wide grin spread across Joel’s face, full of mischief, “I guess I’ll just have to take ‘em off of you later, then.”

Turning around in his hold, you wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair curling at his neck as you met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, painfully aware of the wet stain of arousal soiling your panties and sticking to your cunt.

“No, it doesn’t,” Joel hummed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked and brushed your lips over his.

A moment later Joel guided you out the restrooms with a protective hand resting at the small of your back. Weaving through the crowd, you’d made your way almost to the exit when you heard a shout of your name over the music.

“There you are!” Sarah shouted again as she moved through the crowd towards you and Joel, arms reached out to the sky.

“Oh! And you’ve finally met my dad!”

i hope this was okay and that someone liked this? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #bfd!joel miller #dom!joel miller #pedro pascal #*writing

2K notes · View notes

leejenowrld · 1 month ago

Text

‘love me back’ — four

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 33.3k words

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

synopsis — a tense confrontation exposes your secret relationship with mark, sending ripples of tension through your lives. whispers spread quickly, straining your friendships and mark’s relationships with his friends. despite this, you and mark grow closer, your relationship deepening to more intimate levels. but one moment of misunderstanding—one miscommunication—is enough to make it all begin to unravel.

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, wall sex, rough sex, gripping, biting, and physically forceful actions public/party setting with a risk of being overheard or caught, y/n uses sex as a coping method, really soft sex, vanilla sex, emotional intimacy, soft giggles, soft breathing, hand holding, eye contact, confessions, intense party scenes, intense fights, y/n + mark go on campus together, they choose to go public, soft loving moments, mark takes y/n to river court, wholesome moments, tension between mark and his best friend, themes of guilt, betrayal, and emotional tensions, tense basketball practice as always

[fic ml]

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

The pounding bass from the party music muffled the sounds of your heavy breathing and desperate moans as Mark held you firmly against the wall. His body pressed into yours, his cock driving deep inside you with unrelenting precision. Your back arched as you clawed at his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough to bruise.

“Fuck, baby,” Mark groaned against your neck, his lips trailing open-mouthed kisses over your skin, biting and licking between gasps. His breath was hot, his words strained as he buried himself deeper. “You feel so fucking good. So tight for me.”

Your walls clenched around him, the sensation drawing a guttural moan from his throat that made your thighs tremble. You could barely think, your focus consumed by the way his cock stretched you perfectly, each thrust hitting that spot that made you cry out. The coolness of the wall contrasted with the heat radiating from your bodies, adding another layer of sensation to the raw, frantic pleasure coursing through you both.

Mark’s lips found yours, kissing you with a fiery intensity that left you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours as his hips snapped harder, faster. “Don’t stop,” you whimpered into his mouth, your voice trembling as you dug your nails into his back. The tension building inside you was overwhelming, and you could feel the knot in your stomach tightening with every powerful thrust.

But then, the sharp ping of your phone pierced through the haze of pleasure. For a fleeting moment, you ignored it, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of Mark’s deep, relentless thrusts. His hand slid down to your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh with a possessive grip that sent a jolt straight to your core. He groaned low against your ear as you ground back against him, meeting every thrust with a desperation that matched his own. The curve of your ass fit perfectly in his hand, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jawline, then back to your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses and bruising bites.

Another ping, and your eyes fluttered open. The sound pierced through the bubble of bliss you were in, dragging you back to reality. You tried to lean towards your bag on the floor, your hand outstretched, but Mark caught your wrist mid-reach, pinning it back against the wall.

“Don’t check it, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear before kissing you softly. “Stay with me. Let me make you feel good.” His voice was soothing, almost pleading, and for a moment, you let yourself give in, nodding as you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist.

His thrusts became deeper, slower, as if to recapture your full attention. You felt every inch of him filling you, dragging against your walls in a way that had your toes curling. Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him back to kiss you, desperate to drown out the distraction. His groans mixed with your soft cries, the friction between you both unbearably delicious as the pressure inside you built again.

But the phone kept going off. Ping after ping. Each sound sent a chill down your spine, your anxiety creeping in despite the heat of Mark’s body against yours. Something felt off—a gut feeling you couldn’t shake.

“Mark, wait,” you finally whispered, your voice shaky. You pushed lightly against his chest, trying to break free even as your body screamed at you to stay. His brows furrowed, his thrusts slowing but not stopping as he studied your face.

“What is it?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His hands stayed firm on your hips, grounding you. “You’re shaking. Baby, talk to me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip, before motioning toward your bag. “I just… I need to check my phone. Something’s wrong.”

His jaw tensed as he exhaled heavily, stepping back just enough to let you slip down from the wall. You winced at the emptiness as he pulled out, your legs wobbling as you bent down to grab your phone. Mark’s hands were on your waist, steadying you, but you barely noticed as your eyes scanned the screen.

Your heart dropped as you saw the flood of notifications—messages, missed calls and alerts have piled up on your phone. A cold dread seeped into your chest, replacing the warmth you’d felt moments ago. You covered your mouth with trembling hands, your chest tightening as you took in the flood of messages from Karina. Each one was a brick in the wall of a panic building inside you.

Your breathing grew shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The reality of what you were reading seeped in slowly but painfully, like ice spreading through your veins. The room now felt suffocating. You couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t feel the way his soft lips caressed against your skin, his body pressed close to yours. All you could feel was the weight of the words on your screen.

“What’s wrong?” Mark’s voice was soft, his tone tender, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. He kissed your temple softly, his hands never leaving your body. His presence was steadying, but the panic bubbling in your chest was threatening to take over. “Talk to me.” He whispers, hands cupping your face, trying to ground you.

You forced the words out, your voice breaking. “Karina—she… she’s flooded my phone with messages.” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. “She told Jeno. She let it slip that we’re… that we’re exclusive.”

Mark froze, his jaw tightening slightly, but his concern stayed focused on you. “Jeno knows?”

You nodded frantically, the tears pooling in your eyes threatening to spill over. “He knows everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Mark’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t look angry—just steady. His hands slid to your waist, holding you in place, his touch gentle but firm as if trying to anchor you. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside you. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it. Just stay here. I’ll go talk to him.”

“No,” you said quickly, grabbing his arm. Your eyes darted to the door, imagining the scene waiting just outside. Your panic spiked at the thought. “I should deal with this,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him softly, your lips trembling against his. “I’ll come right back to you.”

Mark hesitated, his brow furrowing as he searched your face. “They’re all gonna be standing out there. I can’t let you deal with that by yourself, I won’t.”

His protectiveness made your heart ache, but you forced a small smile, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “Please, Mark. For me.” Your voice was low, almost pleading, and you saw the way his resolve cracked—his weakness was always doing anything to make you happy, no matter the cost.

He exhaled heavily, his hands tightening briefly on your hips before letting go. “You’ll come back?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the worry etched clearly in his expression.

“I will,” you promised, your voice faltering as you stepped back.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the muffled bass of the party is almost drowned out by the blood pounding in your ears. The guilt weighed heavy on your shoulders as you stepped into the chaos. Each step felt like a betrayal—to Mark, to yourself, to the fragile world you’d both built in secret. Your chest tightened further, shame and anxiety warring within you as you braced yourself for the confrontation waiting just ahead.

Each step you take feels heavier, but you push forward, scanning the sea of blurred faces in search of Jeno. It doesn’t take long—he’s already heading toward the room you left, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd, partygoers stumbling out of his way.

Jeno’s steps are purposeful, his jaw set and his fists clenched at his sides. His usually warm brown eyes are dark with rage and betrayal, his expression like a storm about to break. It feels like everything slows down when his gaze locks onto yours, confusion flickering across his features for just a moment before it hardens into something colder.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. Too calm. “We need to talk. Now.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. Glancing briefly at Karina, who’s hovering nearby with a guilty expression, and Mark’s best friend, who looks like she’s bracing for a bomb to go off, you nod. “Okay,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

You lead Jeno away from the chaos, down a quieter hallway, your heart pounding with every step. Karina follows for a moment, her steps hesitant, but you whirl around and glare at her. The anger in your eyes makes her freeze.

“What the hell, Karina?” you hiss, your voice low but venomous.

“I didn’t mean to—” Karina starts, her voice desperate, trembling with guilt. She looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, her hands wringing nervously. “I swear, Y/N, it just slipped out. I didn’t think he’d—”

Her words falter as your gaze sharpens, cutting through her excuses. Without a word, you turn fully to Jeno, ignoring her completely. Karina clamps her mouth shut, realizing the futility of her pleas. Shoulders slumped, she walks away, her steps heavy with shame.

“I trusted you,” Jeno begins, his tone measured but heavy. “I told my dad he was lying. I defended you, Y/N. I believed you when you said nothing was going on with Mark.” His voice rises slightly, his composure cracking. “And now I find out you’ve been fucking him behind my back?”

Your face flushes hot with shame. “Jeno, it’s not like that—”

“Then explain it to me!” he snaps, stepping closer. “Make me understand why you lied to me. Why did you let me look like a fool for trusting you?”

You’re panicking, your mind racing for something, anything, that will diffuse the situation. The words spill out before you can think better of them. “It’s just sex, Jeno,” you say quickly. “It’s nothing serious.”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, he just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying. “Just sex?” he repeats, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Yes,” you say, nodding frantically, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “We’re not exclusive. Mark’s seeing other girls, and I’m—” You cut yourself off, realizing how ridiculous it sounds even as the words leave your mouth. “It’s casual,” you add weakly.

Jeno scoffs, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Ahhh, makes sense then,” he says mockingly. “Because, you know, a lot of girls are talking about wanting to fuck Mark.”

Jeno steps closer, his presence looming as his eyes search your face. “So you’re sure it’s just sex?” he asks, his voice sharper this time, pressing you like a blade against the wall. “You’re not lying to me again?”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his stare unbearable. You can barely meet his eyes as you nod slowly, weakly, the lie slipping out before you can stop yourself. “Yeah,” you whisper, the word catching in your throat. “It’s just sex.”

Jeno’s jaw tightens as he exhales sharply through his nose, taking everything in, his frustration is barely contained. “You know what really gets to me?” he says, his voice cutting through the tense air. “It’s not even the fact that you’re with Mark. Hell, yeah, I’d be pissed if you told me it was serious, but this?” He shakes his head, his tone growing colder. “It’s the lying. Over and over again. Making me look like an idiot for trusting you, for defending you against my dad.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unrelenting. You flinch, the guilt crashing over you in suffocating waves. Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth to respond, to say something, anything to fix this, but Jeno’s head shakes slowly, his calm veneer slipping. His jaw clenches, and his hands ball into fists at his sides, trembling with restrained fury.

Your lips part, but no words come. The weight of your guilt keeps your voice locked in your throat, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Jeno stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize the person in front of him anymore.

Without waiting for your response, he turns on his heel and stalks back toward the party, leaving you standing there, guilt and shame choking you like a noose. Your legs feel weak, and you lean against the wall, your head spinning.

The air feels heavy around you, suffocating, as if the weight of your lies to Jeno is pressing on your chest. You stay rooted in place for a moment, your thoughts spinning out of control. Regret mixes with guilt and a hollow ache, your mind replaying his words over and over.

Karina approaches you hesitantly, her hand reaching for your arm. Her face is soft with remorse, her lips parting to say something, but the moment her fingers brush against your skin, you shrug her off. “Just… don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling with exhaustion. You don’t wait for her response. Whatever she has to say, it won’t make this any better.

You don’t look back. Instead, you turn and walk away, leaving Jeno behind in the shadows of the quieter corner you’d taken him to. Your chest tightens, your pace quickening as a single thought pulses through your mind: Mark. You need him—his comfort, his touch, the way he makes the world feel smaller, safer. Your guilt feels like a raging storm, and he’s the only calm within it.

As you weave through the crowd, your steps falter for a moment when you pass Karina again. She calls out your name, her voice pleading, but you don’t stop. You don’t even glance at her, keeping your gaze straight ahead. The music pounds in your ears, and the noise of the party blurs into a dull hum as your focus sharpens on one goal—getting back to Mark.

Your guilt gnaws at you, whispering that you don’t deserve his comfort. You told Jeno another lie. You left Karina without so much as an acknowledgement. Yet none of it matters when you think of Mark’s arms around you, his warmth, his reassurance. The idea of his touch ignites a desperate craving in you, a visceral need to feel grounded again.

You find him exactly where you left him, his back leaning against the wall. His dark eyes light up the moment he sees you, his brow furrowing slightly as he takes in your expression. He’s always been able to read you too well. Before you can say anything, he’s already moving toward you.

“Baby,” Mark murmurs, his voice soft and laced with concern. His hands find your waist, pulling you close. “What happened?”

You don’t answer, your throat tightening as the chaos in your mind roars louder. Instead, you bury your face in his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around him. His scent surrounds you—familiar and comforting—and you feel his hand move to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His words are like a balm to your frayed nerves, and you let out a shaky exhale, leaning into him even more. His hand moves to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently as if he knows exactly what you need to calm down. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his touch light yet firm, anchoring you in a way nothing else can.

You don’t know how long you stand there, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. The noise of the party fades into the background, the rest of the world ceasing to exist in the bubble of safety Mark creates around you. His hands never stop moving, never stop soothing, and you feel your heartbeat slowly returning to a steadier rhythm.

When he finally tilts your chin up to look at him, his dark eyes are filled with nothing but patience and understanding. “You don’t have to talk about it now,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “But whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod weakly, your throat still tight with emotion. He leans down and presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft and lingering. It’s not rushed or frantic, but slow and consuming, the kind of kiss that speaks of comfort and reassurance. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m here,” he whispers again, his voice steady and unwavering. “Always.”

You don’t have the strength to say anything back, so you just hold him tighter, hoping he feels the gratitude and longing in the way you press yourself against him. For now, being in his arms is enough. For now, you can let him hold you together even as the storm continues to rage inside you.

After a long moment, you pull back slightly, your eyes darting away as you muster the words. “I managed to calm him down,” you say, your voice softer than you intended. “It should be okay now.”

Mark leans back slightly, searching your face for a beat. “He’s calm?” His tone carries a hint of disbelief. “Just like that?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. “Yeah,” you reply, avoiding his gaze. “I told him it’s nothing to worry about, and he seemed… fine.”

Mark’s brows knit together as he tilts his head, studying you. “Nothing to worry about?” he echoes, the confusion evident in his voice. “That doesn’t sound like Jeno.”

You force a small smile, gripping his arm to redirect his attention. “It’s over now, Mark. Let’s not ruin the night talking about it anymore.”

Mark hesitates, the furrow in his brow deepening, but he eventually nods, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Alright,” he says softly, though the faint edge of uncertainty lingers in his tone.

What he doesn’t know—and what you desperately try to suppress—is that you told Jeno it wasn’t serious with Mark. That it was just sex. That Mark was seeing other people, and so were you. The words had spilled out so quickly, a desperate attempt to deflect the weight of Jeno’s betrayal, to calm his anger, to keep the storm at bay just a little longer. But it was all a lie. A cruel, selfish lie that not only diminished what you and Mark had, but betrayed him in a way he’d never expect from you.

And now, standing here in Mark’s arms, the guilt gnaws at you relentlessly. It feels like a sharp claw digging into your chest, scraping against your ribs with every passing second. Your stomach twists painfully as the reality of what you’ve done presses down on you. You lied to Jeno to protect yourself, but in doing so, you betrayed Mark. And you didn’t stop there. You lied to him, too, letting him believe that everything with Jeno was resolved without telling him how you did it—or the price of that lie.

The guilt is suffocating, a heavy weight settling in your chest, stealing your breath. It clouds your thoughts, turns your skin cold, and makes your limbs feel heavy, as if you’re sinking into quicksand. The sting of your betrayal is sharp, because you know Mark would never do the same to you. He trusts you, and yet here you are, taking advantage of that trust.

You cling to him harder, burying your face in his shoulder as if that could shield you from the truth of your own actions. You try to focus on the way his arms feel around you, the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his heartbeat. But even that comfort is tainted, because you know he wouldn’t be holding you so tenderly if he knew what you’d done.

Mark whispers soothing words into your hair, his fingers threading through it gently, but they only make the guilt worse. The weight of the lie grows heavier, coiling tighter around your chest, a constant reminder of the storm you’ve set in motion.

What you don’t realize is that this fragile calm, built on the weight of your lies, is merely the prelude to a storm far greater than you can imagine.

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the hallway, the noise of the party surges around you like a wave, jolting you back to reality. You move quickly, separating from Mark as agreed, your heart pounding—not from the music, but from the remnants of his touch and the lingering heat between your thighs.

The party is in full swing, the pounding bass reverberating through the walls, vibrating the floor beneath your heels. The air is thick with the heady mix of sweat, alcohol, and a haze of smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. Laughter and chatter surround you, bodies swaying in rhythm with the music, but it all feels distant. Detached.

It becomes clear to you that word has been going around that you and Mark are seeing each other. A few people have already approached you, their faces curious and probing, asking pointed questions. You’ve muttered blunt and uninterested responses, trying to downplay the situation, but each interaction leaves your skin crawling and your mind racing. The tension between wanting to protect what you have with Mark and not wanting to be exposed weighs heavily with each passing second.

You keep your head down as you navigate through the crowd, the pulse of the music syncing with your own frantic heartbeat. Mark had disappeared into the opposite direction, as planned, and you could feel the phantom weight of his hands on your hips, his breath against your skin. It takes everything in you to keep your expression neutral, to blend into the partygoers lost in their own worlds, oblivious to the tension simmering just below the surface for you.

The room feels stifling, the lights dim and flickering, casting shadows that seem to dance with your anxiety. Your throat is dry, your hands clammy as snippets of conversation float past you. Names are exchanged in passing, jokes about who’s hooking up with whom, the usual party gossip that you’re suddenly terrified might include you and Mark.

You make your way toward the kitchen, hoping for a moment to compose yourself. The smell of spilled liquor and faint cigarette smoke assaults your senses, grounding you in the present, but it’s not enough to shake the gnawing feeling in your chest. Your mind replays images of him over and over again: his hands gripping your hips, the way his lips brushed against your neck, the sounds he drew from you. You shouldn’t feel this exposed, but you do.

Oblivious faces pass you by, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if anyone suspects. If anyone knows. You glance over your shoulder instinctively, searching for him, but Mark’s nowhere to be seen—at least, not yet. You know he’s lingering nearby, waiting for the right moment to rejoin the chaos without drawing attention.

A hand brushes your arm, and you flinch slightly before realizing it’s just someone stumbling past with a drink in hand, laughing too loudly at a joke you didn’t hear. The world around you feels sharp and muted all at once, and the only thing grounding you is the faint memory of Mark’s whispered reassurances still echoing in your head.

It’s been two hours since you and Mark agreed to keep your distance, and somehow, you’ve managed to follow through. Barely. Your eyes keep darting around the room, searching for his figure even though you know you shouldn’t. The ache of missing him has settled low in your stomach, and the memory of his touch lingers like a phantom, teasing and relentless.

You glance around and notice people starting to head home. It’s late—really late. The crowd has thinned, and the air feels less suffocating. For the first time in what feels like hours, no one’s looking at you suspiciously, no whispered questions about you and Mark linger in the air. It feels safer, quieter. You let out a slow breath, thinking this might finally be the moment.

Grabbing your phone, your pulse quickens as you type out a message.

you — i need you. now. upstairs bathroom, second door on the left.

mark — fuck, baby, you sure you don’t wanna just go to my car? easier to get away with.

you — i promise we’ll be okay. jeno’s house is massive. no one goes to that side.

A soft smile tugs at your lips despite the nerves coursing through you. Your heart races at the thought of seeing him again. You glance around one last time, ensuring no one’s paying attention, before slipping through the crowd. The pull toward him is magnetic, impossible to resist.

Having been to Jeno’s house more times than you can count, you know the way by heart, even in the chaos of the sprawling mansion. The upstairs bathroom is tucked away in a quiet corner, and as you reach the door, your hands tremble slightly with anticipation. You slip inside, closing the door softly behind you, and wait. The minutes feel like hours, the quiet amplifying the heat bubbling under your skin.

When you finally see Mark’s figure rounding the corner, relief and excitement flood through you. It had taken him several minutes after you arrived, and you knew it was for the best—if anyone had seen the two of you slipping into the bathroom together, they’d immediately suspect the worst, and all eyes would’ve been on you. Without hesitation, you pull him by the arm into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly with a sharp click of the lock.

Before either of you can speak, your lips find each other, crashing together in a desperate, heated kiss. The door bangs shut behind you, but neither of you flinch, too consumed by the feverish need building between you. Your hands grip his shoulders as his arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Finally,” Mark mutters against your lips, his voice thick with impatience. His dark eyes lock onto yours, his fingers pressing firmly into your hips. “This place is like a fucking maze.”

You giggle softly against his lips, the sound muffled as his mouth moves with heated intent down your jawline, leaving a trail of scorching kisses that make your skin tingle. Your head tilts back instinctively, giving him more access as his hands slide up to cradle your face, his grip firm yet tender.

“You found me,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice catching as his teeth graze your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“After getting lost a hundred times, yeah I did,” he teases, his voice low and playful, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The humor in his tone makes you giggle against his mouth, the sound melting into the space between you.

His hands roam over your body, gripping and pulling, and the frustration of those two hours apart is evident in every movement. “Missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and rough as his teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Missed you so fucking much.”

You shiver at his words, barely able to respond before he turns you around, pressing your front against the cool bathroom sink. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping the hem of your skirt and yanking it up around your waist. “No more waiting,” he growls, pulling your panties aside. You feel the hard press of his cock against you, and your breath catches as he positions himself.

Mark pushes into you with one swift, fluid motion, and the stretch has your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. The thickness of him fills you completely, a delicious ache building as your walls tighten around him. His low, guttural moan vibrates against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and strained, as if holding himself back takes everything he has. The sound of your wetness is obscene, mingling with your shaky breaths and the quiet whimper that escapes your lips as he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“You take me so well, baby,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your waist possessively, his thumbs digging into your skin. “So tight. So perfect for me.” Your legs tremble, a moan spilling from you despite your attempt to stay quiet, and his low chuckle vibrates against your neck. “Can’t stay quiet, can you?” he teases, pulling back slightly before driving into you again, the sharp slap of his hips making you cry out.

Mark’s hands grip your hips tightly, his nails digging into your skin as he thrusts into you from behind. Your palms press against the cold bathroom sink for support, your breaths coming out in broken gasps that barely keep up with the rhythm he’s setting. The music from the party pounds against the walls, but it does little to drown out the sound of your moans and the wet slap of his hips against you.

“Fuck, baby,” Mark growls, his voice thick with need as he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back. His lips find the curve of your neck, kissing and biting, muffling his own groans as he loses himself in the heat of you. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your response is nothing more than a whimper, your head dropping forward as he pushes into you deeper, harder. The angle sends a shockwave through your body, and your knees threaten to buckle, but his grip on you keeps you steady.

“God, you’re so loud,” he teases, his words ragged against your ear. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the next moan, but it’s futile. The desperation in his movements, the way he’s taking you like he can’t stand to be apart from you, pushes you to the brink. Your moans only grow louder, your body trembling as his pace becomes rougher, more frantic.

But outside the bathroom door, someone is listening.

Jeno leans casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Mark slip inside the bathroom earlier. He saw Mark go in alone and he believes that it’s just another girl meeting him there. His lips curve into a smug grin, his chest puffing with misplaced pride at his brother's growing reputation.

Internally, Jeno marvels at how things have shifted. Damn, Mark’s really making a name for himself, he muses. Two different girls in one night? Impressive as hell. He’s smug, thinking about how Mark— his brother, is thriving, winning both on and off the court. He’s not sure when it happened, when Mark shifted from someone he hated to someone he genuinely cares about, but he doesn’t fight it. Their relationship has come a long way, and for once, Jeno feels content with where they stand.

“That guy can’t go ten minutes without pulling someone,” Jaemin chuckles nearby, elbowing Jeno. “Man’s got it good tonight. Two girls in one night.” Jaemin references you and the girl he believes to be in there, nobody knows it’s you.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jeno replies with a laugh, shaking his head as he waits, fully expecting to tease Mark once he comes out.

“Guess all the cheerleaders want a piece of him now, huh?” Soobin adds, grinning as the others laugh.

Jeno smirks to himself as he leans against the wall outside the bathroom, his knuckles rapping lightly on the door. He isn’t sure if he’s doing it to wind Mark up or because he’s debating barging in—maybe both. Chenle’s voice cuts through the moment, teasing and light. “Yo, Mark, you good in there? Taking your sweet time, man,” he calls out, his tone teasing.

Inside the bathroom, Mark stiffens slightly at the knock but doesn’t falter. He doesn’t know that it’s Jeno and the guys on the basketball team on the other side of the door. The chatter from the party outside create a blur of indistinct noise, masking voices. Mark assumes it’s just another drunk partygoer trying to get in, too caught up in you to give it a second thought.

You, lost in the haze of your own desperation and need, don’t even register the knock or Chenle’s voice. Mark’s cock stretches you perfectly, each thrust making your body arch into him. The tension in the air between you is intoxicating, leaving no room for outside distractions. Every ounce of your focus is on the way Mark fills you, his rough groans in your ear, and the way his hands grip your waist as if he can’t let go.

The knock on the door persists, louder and more impatient this time, cutting through the haze of the moment. Mark barely glances toward it, his focus unwavering. “One minute,” Mark shouts in response, his voice rough and breathless. His tone gives nothing away, but his movements don’t falter. He keeps going, his pace relentless, too caught up in the moment to care about anything outside this bathroom.

Jeno exchanges glances with the guys from the team lingering nearby, all of them snickering and making quiet remarks about Mark’s prowess. Jaemin mutters something about how Mark never misses, earning a laugh from the group. Jeno nods in agreement, his chest swelling with a strange pride. Brotherhood. The thought amuses him. They’ve come a long way, and moments like this feel like they’re finally on the same page.

But then the moans inside grow louder, more frequent, and something shifts in Jeno’s expression. His smirk fades slightly as a sense of unease creeps in. He leans closer to the door, straining to hear. Another moan echoes, higher-pitched, almost desperate—and far too familiar. Jeno’s jaw tightens. Is it you? The thought is maddening, the possibility clawing at him. He tries to brush it off, to convince himself it’s not you in there. But deep down, the sinking feeling grows, refusing to be ignored.

Jeno’s stomach tightens, his fists clenching instinctively. No way. It can’t be… He shakes the thought away, trying to convince himself it’s just another girl. Mark’s seeing other people, right? That’s what you told him. The logic steadies him, but not for long.

Jeno leans closer to the door, his breath catching as he tries to make sense of what he’s hearing. At first, it’s just muffled groans and the occasional moan, but then Mark’s voice cuts through, rough and possessive. “You’re all mine,” Mark growls, his tone dripping with intensity. “This pussy—fuck—it’s mine. Always so tight for me, baby.”

Jeno’s eyebrows furrow, his smug smirk faltering as confusion begins to creep in. He glances around at the other guys still joking nearby, their laughter and teasing comments fading into background noise. His focus is razor-sharp now, every nerve on edge.

Then, he hears it—your voice. Breathless and high-pitched, crying out, “Daddy!” The word pierces through the haze, and Jeno freezes. His heart pounds in his chest as his mind races. No. No fucking way. He doesn’t want to believe it, but the sound is unmistakable. He knows your voice, knows the way it pitches when you’re about to cum.

Inside, Mark groans again, louder this time, and his next words are like a hammer blow. “You’re my girl… no one else gets to have you like this. No one else ever will. You’re mine, baby. All mine.”

That doesn’t sound fucking non-exclusive to me, Jeno thinks, disbelief twisting into anger as the words loop in his head, sharper and louder with each repetition. His fists clench at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he tries to process the weight of it all. You fucking lied to him. Again. The betrayal sits heavy in his chest, simmering and threatening to boil over.

Each possessive word Mark utters from behind the door chips away at his denial, solidifying the truth. Mark? With you? His thoughts spiral, flashing back to your earlier conversation—your insistence that you and Mark were seeing other people, that it wasn’t serious. The memory feels like a slap in the face now, the sting of your lie more painful than he’d expected.

He takes a step back from the door, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, rage, and betrayal. The way Mark spoke to you—raw, possessive, intimate—contradicted everything you had told him. The reality of it burns, each word replaying in his head as he struggles to make sense of how the two of you could have been hiding this all along.

You and Mark? The thought twists his stomach. How the hell did this happen?

The air in the bathroom is thick with heat and tension, every sound amplified by the closeness of your bodies. Mark’s hands grip your waist tightly, his fingertips pressing into your skin with a possessiveness that makes your breath hitch. His lips hover by your ear, brushing against it as he whispers, his voice a husky caress. “Mine,” he murmurs, the words dripping with a mix of tenderness and hunger. “Always mine.” He kisses the shell of your ear, his breath hot and tantalising as he coos softly, “You feel so good. You’re perfect for me.” Each word sends shivers down your spine, his touch and voice grounding you in the moment, making you forget everything but him.

Then the door bursts open.

It’s not until the booming voice of Jeno fills the space that the moment truly shatters. His voice is loud enough to rival the pounding bass of the party. “What the fuck is this?!”

The sound crashes through the room like a gunshot, so abrupt and jarring that you jump, your entire body tensing. Mark’s movements halt instantly, his breathing faltering against your neck as his grip on your waist tightens protectively. Both of you freeze, wide-eyed, as your heads whip toward the doorway.

Jeno stands there, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides, and his face twisted in a fury so raw and unfamiliar it sends a chill down your spine. The weight of his presence is suffocating, the sheer intensity in his gaze cutting through the heat and leaving only cold dread in its wake.

The heat drains from your face as shame and panic take its place. You scramble to pull your skirt down, your hands trembling as you try to smooth yourself out. Mark steps in front of you instinctively, his body taut, his jaw clenched as his gaze locks with Jeno’s. His voice is firm but cautious. “Jeno—”

“Don’t,” Jeno snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. His gaze burns into you now, cold and unforgiving, before flicking back to Mark. The silence that follows is suffocating, Jeno’s fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Jeno, just—please let me explain,” you begin, your voice shaky as you step forward, but he silences you with a look so chilling it makes you falter.

His voice drops, quiet but deadly. “You don’t need to explain. It’s all pretty fucking clear.”

You can see the realization sinking in for him, the pieces falling into place with a terrifying clarity. His nostrils flare sharply, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths as though he’s fighting to keep himself from exploding. His jaw clenches so tightly it looks like it might snap, and the veins in his neck strain against his skin. His fists are balled at his sides, knuckles white, trembling ever so slightly, and the sharp intensity in his gaze makes it hard to meet his eyes without a shiver of unease crawling down your spine.

Its anger barely contained, simmering just below the surface, threatening to spill over at any second. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, cutting like a knife. “You lied to me. Again and again. Do you even know how to tell the truth, Y/N?”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jeno. I was just trying to avoid—this. This exact situation.”

His laugh is bitter, sharp. “This exact situation? You mean me finding out you’re fucking my brother behind my back?” His gaze darts to Mark, then back to you, and it’s as if the realisation hits him again, harder this time. “You had every chance to be honest with me. I trusted you. I defended you to my dad—do you even get that? He told me this was happening, and I said he was lying. That you wouldn’t do this to me.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What could you possibly say?

Jeno shakes his head, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m just so confused about what I heard in here. You two didn’t exactly sound like you’re fucking other people or keeping it casual.”

Mark’s head snaps toward you at Jeno’s words, confusion flickering across his face before realisation sets in. That’s why you told him you managed to calm Jeno down—you lied to him about your exclusivity. His brows draw together, and a flash of hurt ghosts over his features, quickly replaced by a tense stillness. He doesn’t say anything, but the silence is deafening. The subtle clench of his jaw, the tightening of his shoulders, the way his eyes search yours for an explanation—all of it weighs heavy, making your stomach churn with guilt.

“It’s not what you think—” you start, but Jeno cuts you off with a harsh laugh.

“Not what I think?” he repeats, his voice rising. “Mark’s in there saying you’re his girl, acting like you’re his fucking everything. So tell me, Y/N, what the hell is it, then?”

Mark finally speaks, his tone low but steady. “Jeno, I don’t think this is the time—”

“No,” Jeno snaps, his gaze narrowing at his brother. “I think it’s exactly the time. Because she made me believe this was nothing. She made me believe you two were nothing.” He turns back to you, his anger giving way to something deeper—betrayal. “Was it easier for you? Lying to both of us? Was it easier to just pretend it didn’t mean anything?”

Mark looks at you then, his eyes softening despite the obvious hurt lingering there. He doesn’t say anything, but the weight of his stare makes your throat tighten. He knows you—knows why you lied, understands that your intentions weren’t malicious, that you were just trying to diffuse the situation. But that doesn’t make it hurt him any less. And that realisation is almost worse than Jeno’s anger.

The silence stretches, the tension crackling like a live wire between the three of you. You feel trapped, your chest heavy with guilt as you try to think of something—anything—to diffuse the situation again. But the truth is, there’s nothing left to say.

Jeno’s anger isn’t just about you and Mark—it’s a culmination of everything he’s been bottling up for weeks, months even. The weight of his father’s expectations, the constant pressure to excel in basketball, the results he’s supposed to deliver and the relentless scrutiny from Sunwoo and Eric. It all comes crashing down at this moment.

But what makes it worse, what makes it personal, is that he chose to trust you over his dad. He defended you when Taeyong accused you and Mark of sneaking around, dismissing it as another instance of his father meddling in his life. And now, the realisation that his dad was right all along, that you let him down, feels like a betrayal he can’t ignore. It’s not just about Mark; it’s about the cracks in everything Jeno thought he could rely on, and right now, you’re at the centre of it.

Jeno rounds on you suddenly, his eyes blazing. “When did it start?” he demands, his voice low but sharp enough to cut. “Tell me, Y/N. When the fuck did you and Mark start seeing each other?”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, your heart racing. The words stick in your throat, guilt twisting in your chest like a knife. “The night we broke up,” you admit softly, your voice barely audible. The confession hangs in the air like a thunderclap, and Jeno cackles—cruel and sharp. The sound cuts through the tense air like a blade

“The same night we broke up? Is that when it happened? You hooked up with him that fast?” His words sting, each one designed to deepen the guilt that’s already suffocating you.

You lower your gaze, unable to meet his piercing eyes, your hands shaking as you clutch the hem of your skirt. The shame feels like a physical weight pressing down on you. “I didn’t mean—” you try, but the words feel hollow, insufficient.

“Didn’t mean what? To fuck my brother?” Jeno hisses, his tone sharp and laced with bitterness. “You really didn’t waste any time, did you?” He scoffs, his anger boiling over into something cruel. “What, are you just a slut now? Jumping from one brother to the next?”

The word lands like a slap, and your breath catches in your throat. He doesn’t mean it; you hope he doesn’t. But it still cuts deeper than anything else he’s said.

At first, Mark stays close, his jaw tight but his posture calm, watching the argument unfold without interfering. He doesn’t want to speak for you, respecting your ability to handle the situation, even though tension ripples through him with every sharp word from Jeno. But when Jeno’s anger boils over, his voice cutting harshly as he calls you a slut, Mark’s calm exterior cracks. He’s momentarily caught off-guard by the sheer intensity of Jeno’s words. His voice slices through the tension before you can respond. “Jeno, that’s enough.”

Jeno’s head snaps toward Mark, his glare darkening as if his anger has only grown. “You don’t get to tell me what’s enough,” he spits, his tone venomous. “This is between me and her.”

Mark doesn’t rise to the bait, his expression steady but firm. “You’re angry, and I get that. But don’t talk to her like that. You’ll regret it later,” he says, his voice measured but with a distinct edge of protectiveness.

Jeno scoffs, his fists clenching tighter. “Oh, I’ll regret it? How about you regret fucking my ex behind my back? How about that?” His voice rises, drawing more attention from the growing crowd.

Mark’s jaw tightens, and he steps forward, placing himself subtly between you and Jeno. “We’re happy, Jeno. And we’re serious about each other. We are exclusive,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The declaration seems to be the breaking point for Jeno. His eyes darken, his anger bubbling over as he steps closer to Mark. “You’re proud of that, huh?” he growls, and before anyone can react, his fist flies forward, landing squarely on Mark’s jaw.

That’s when you notice a large group of people that’s formed around the three of you. A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Some people shout, others pull out their phones, the scene unfolding like a movie in real time. You rush forward, your hands trembling as you reach for Mark, but he doesn’t budge. His jaw is tight, and he stares at Jeno with a calm intensity, even as a faint bruise begins to form on his cheek.

“Mark, please,” you whisper, trying to tug him away, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Jeno’s.

“I’m not going to fight you, Jeno,” Mark says evenly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “But you don’t get to call her names. You don’t get to treat her like this.”

Jeno glares at him, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched. “You think you’re better than me? You think you’re some fucking saint?” he sneers.

Mark steps closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its strength. “This isn’t about being better. It’s about respecting her. I get you’re angry but don’t take it out on her. Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

The confrontation is electric, the air charged with unresolved tension and emotions too volatile to name. Around you, people whisper and gawk, their eyes darting between Mark and Jeno, waiting to see who will make the next move. You can feel the weight of their stares, the judgement pressing down on you, but your focus is solely on the two men in front of you, both hurting in different ways because of you.

The tension in the room spikes as Jeno’s fist connects with Mark’s jaw again, the sickening thud drawing gasps from the crowd. Mark stumbles back slightly, his jaw tightening as he lifts a hand to wipe the corner of his mouth. He sighs deeply, his fists clenching at his sides as he straightened himself.

“Okay,” Mark starts, his voice steady but simmering with controlled anger. “Maybe I deserved that. I get why you’re mad.” He takes a deep breath, glancing at you briefly before his gaze sharpens on Jeno. “Actually, no. I didn’t deserve that.” His tone hardens. “You have no right to tell me who I can and can’t fall for. I don’t care if she’s your ex, and I don’t care if we got together the night you broke up with her, you were the one who left her all alone that night. Not me.”

The room grows quieter, the weight of Mark’s words cutting through the murmurs. Jeno’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing dangerously, but Mark doesn’t back down.

“It’s not like your relationship was healthy,” Mark presses, his voice rising slightly. “So don’t call her a slut and act all surprised she moved on so fast. She deserved better. She deserves to be treated the way I treat her. Take notes, Jeno, because what we have? It’s real. It’s not just a fling.”

Jeno’s eyes darken, his hands balling into fists as the crowd watches in stunned silence. Your heart pounds, the suffocating weight of all the attention making your knees feel weak. All eyes are on you, the judgment and whispers carving into your skin like knives. You feel like you’re drowning, desperate to shift the focus elsewhere, anywhere but on you.

And then Jeno’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “And I fucking felt guilty about seeing your best friend behind your back, while all this time you’ve been fucking my ex behind my back, keeping it a fucking secret.”

The silence that follows Jeno’s words is suffocating, a deafening kind of quiet where everyone holds their breath, waiting for the inevitable fallout. His eyes burn with anger, his chest heaving as if the weight of his confession is both a release and a punishment. You know why he says it—why he chooses this moment to lash out, even though it places him in the exact position as you, betraying those close to him and going behind their backs. It’s desperation, an attempt to justify his own actions by leveling the playing field. He’s cornered, humiliated, and furious, and this is his way of clawing back some semblance of control.

Your own reaction is quieter, more internal. You knew this moment would come, knew Mark would find out eventually, but the way it’s unfolding—so public, so raw—makes your chest tighten with guilt and fear. You can’t stop glancing at him, reading every twitch of his jaw, every flicker of emotion in his eyes. You want to speak, to explain, but the words catch in your throat. All you can do is stand there, rooted to the spot, as the crowd drinks in the drama unfolding before them.

The crowd’s reaction is a mix of shock and barely concealed excitement. Gasps ripple through the group, followed by low murmurs and exchanged glances. The buzz of whispers spreads like wildfire. It’s the kind of spectacle people live for, a front-row seat to chaos. Mark’s best friend, who had been hanging back, looks like she’s been slapped. Her face flushes red, a mix of anger and embarrassment flickering across her features. She’s trying to disappear into the background, but the weight of the accusation makes that impossible. She stares at Jeno, then at Mark, her mouth opening as if to say something, but no words come out. The betrayal she feels is written all over her face, her shoulders hunched as if shielding herself from the collective judgment of the crowd.

Mark’s reaction is what scares you the most. It’s immediate but layered. His brows knit together in confusion at first, processing the weight of Jeno’s words. Slowly, his expression shifts—his jaw tightening, the veins in his neck becoming more pronounced. His chest heaves, his mouth parts slightly, and for a terrifying moment, he’s silent. His eyes, usually warm and soft when they’re on you, turn dark and stormy as they flick to Jeno’s best friend, who stands frozen, guilt etched into her face. She mutters an apology, shaking her head frantically as if trying to plead with Mark to calm down.

You’ve seen Mark annoyed, even angry, but this feels different—deeper, colder. And you’re worried. Worried about what he’ll say, what he’ll do. You can see the gears turning in his mind, each revelation adding another layer of hurt and betrayal.

But it’s too late.

Without warning, Jeno’s fist flies again, landing hard against Mark’s cheek. This time, Mark doesn’t hesitate. He punches back, his fist slamming into Jeno’s jaw with a force that sends him stumbling. The crowd erupts in a mix of gasps and shouts, some people pulling out their phones again to record the chaos.

Mark steps back, his breathing ragged as he turns to you, his lip bleeding but his eyes softening momentarily as he reaches for your hand. But before he can pull you away, Jeno lunges at him, shoving him to the floor. The two of them crash to the ground, grappling and throwing punches with a rough, unrelenting intensity.

Mark grits his teeth as Jeno’s weight pins him momentarily to the ground. He throws a sharp elbow into Jeno’s side, using the momentum to shove him off, but Jeno retaliates quickly, swinging another punch that glances off Mark’s jaw. The sound of skin meeting skin is sickening, each hit fueled by frustration and betrayal. Mark counters with a rough shove, sending Jeno stumbling back, only for Jeno to lunge forward again, grabbing Mark by the collar and dragging him to his feet.

They’re both seething, their movements chaotic and unrelenting. Jeno lands a solid punch to Mark’s ribs, making him double over briefly, but Mark recovers fast, tackling Jeno into a nearby table. Glass shatters as cups and bottles spill onto the floor, and the crowd around them recoils, a mix of gasps and murmurs filling the room. Mark swings again, his fist connecting with Jeno’s shoulder, but Jeno grabs his wrist, twisting it away and shoving him back with enough force to send him skidding across the floor.

“Stop it!” you shout, your voice cracking as you step forward, but neither of them listens. Your heart clenches as you watch them fight, torn between defending your relationship with Mark and the remnants of your friendship with Jeno. Words fail you, the weight of the situation is too much to bear.

Jaemin and Chenle push through the crowd, their faces pale as they rush to break up the fight. “Enough!” Jaemin yells, grabbing Jeno by the shoulders and pulling him back, while Chenle grabs Mark and drags him to his feet. Both men are breathing heavily, their faces flushed with anger and bruises already beginning to form.

Mark’s eyes flick to you as you step forward, your hands trembling as you cup his face gently, your touch grounding him. “Let’s go,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. He nods, his jaw still tight as he takes your hand, ignoring the blood dripping from his split lip.

Together, you leave the party, the chaos fading behind you as you step into the cool night air. Mark’s grip on your hand is firm, protective, and you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

───────────────────────────────

The drive back to your apartment was suffocating in its silence, the hum of the car engine the only sound filling the space between you and Mark. Even as he parked, neither of you moved for a moment, both too caught up in the weight of the night. It wasn’t until he muttered a soft, “I’ll stay the night,” that you both finally stepped out, the tension following you like a shadow.

Inside, the low hum of candles flickered against the walls, their warm light casting soft, dancing shadows. The apartment felt quieter than usual, almost too still, the kind of silence that made every small sound feel amplified. Mark sat on the edge of your bed, his shirt discarded beside him, revealing the fresh bruises already forming on his torso. His lip was split, and a faint scrape ran along his cheekbone.

You moved toward him with the first aid kit, your chest tightening at the sight. You hated this—hated seeing him hurt, hated that it was always for you. Wordlessly, you dipped a cotton pad in wound alcohol, your hands trembling slightly as you knelt in front of him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking the silence like a fragile thread snapping. “You’re always getting into fights for me, getting hurt because of me.”

Mark’s gaze softened, his eyes steady on you as you dabbed the alcohol-soaked pad gently against the cut on his cheek. He hissed at the sting, his jaw clenching, and you immediately pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice quieter this time, guilt lacing every syllable.

Mark shook his head, offering you a small, reassuring smile even as his hands found their way to your waist, grounding you. “Don’t be,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. “I’ll always protect you. Always defend you. That’s not gonna change.”

His words should have been comforting, but instead, they felt like a dagger twisting in your chest. Every wince from him, every bruise you touched, felt like a punch to your gut, a reminder of the chaos you brought into his life.

How does he still look at you like that? you wonder, your eyes flickering to his face as his hands rest on your waist. Like you’re worth all this? After everything you’ve done—after lying to him, to Jeno, to yourself. You don’t deserve this.

“You’re too good to me,” you whispered, almost to yourself, as you moved to dab at the cut on his lip. He flinched, and your heart sank even further. “I hate seeing you hurt,” you admitted, barely holding back the tears threatening to spill. “I was so scared during the fight. Watching you get hit—it…”

Mark’s thumb brushes gently over your neck, grounding you in the moment. He leans in closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering before he whispers, “Hey.” His voice is tender, steady, pulling you from the spiral of your thoughts. “I’m fine,” he murmurs softly, the reassurance in his tone making your breath hitch and your chest tighten with emotion.

Time stretched on after that. The room was quiet again, but this time, the silence felt heavier. Awkward. It never felt like this between you two. Even in your worst moments, Mark always managed to make you feel like everything would be okay. But now, the charged atmosphere pressed down on both of you, suffocating and unrelenting.

The revelation at the party hangs in the air like a storm cloud, filling the silence between you and Mark with unspoken tension. Of course, the campus now knowing about you two explains part of it, but deep down, you know this runs deeper. This tension isn’t just external—it’s something personal between the two of you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fiddling with your hands as he leans against the wall, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. The low hum of a candle flickers on your nightstand, casting faint shadows across his face. You finally muster the courage to ask what’s been clawing at your chest since he brought you home.

“Mark,” you whisper, your voice trailing off so softly he almost doesn’t catch it. “Are you angry at me?”

He looks up, his expression flickering with something you can’t quite place. Then, he chuckles—a quiet sound that wasn’t meant to make you feel small, but it does. “I’m not angry,” he says, though his tone holds a subtle edge. “I just don’t understand why you lied to Jeno and said we weren’t exclusive.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you scramble to explain, unease clawing at your throat. “I only said that because I thought it would make him less suspicious of us. I didn’t want any drama or arguing, but I know I made things worse. I shouldn’t have lied.” A tear slides down your cheek, and you quickly brush it away, ashamed of your own actions.

He’s quicker, though, his thumb gently wiping the tear from your cheek. “I know why you lied,” he says, his voice softer now, though there’s still tension beneath it. “I just wish you’d thought about it first. Being exclusive with you means a lot to me, so it stings that you didn’t admit that to Jeno. I understand why you didn’t, but I’m still allowed to be hurt and confused by it.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words settling over you. “Being exclusive with you means a lot to me too,” you say, your voice cracking with sincerity.

Mark studies you for a long moment, his jaw tightening and loosening as if warring with his emotions. He looks somewhere between understanding and actually annoyed, a thin line that feels far too precarious.

“If you didn’t want to tell him we’re exclusive,” he says finally, his voice calm but pointed, “what does that mean for us? Is it because you didn’t want him to know we’re serious and risk his reaction? Or…” His gaze locks with yours, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Do you not take being exclusive with me seriously?”

Your heart sinks, and the tears come faster now, the floodgates bursting. “I was scared, okay?” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Scared of what Jeno would do, scared of losing you if things got worse. I panicked, and now I’ve made everything worse.”

Mark steps closer, his hands finding your waist as he kneels in front of you. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice gentler now, though there’s still a lingering hurt in his tone. “You didn’t lose me, okay? But you’ve got to stop letting fear make your choices for you. We’ll get through this, but only if we’re honest—with each other and with everyone else.”

You nod through your tears, leaning into his touch as the weight of the night finally catches up to you both. The tension doesn’t dissolve completely, but for now, his steady presence keeps you grounded.

Mark sighs, pulling you down with him onto your bed, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist as he tugs you under the covers. The weight of his gaze feels almost overwhelming, his eyes locking with yours in a way that makes your knees weak even as you lie beside him. There’s something so intense yet comforting about the way he looks at you—like he’s memorizing every detail of your face, like he’s anchoring himself in you despite everything that’s happened tonight.

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy, until you break it by tracing the sharp line of his jaw with your fingertips. Your touch is light, almost tentative, as you follow the curve of his cheekbone, brushing your thumb softly over the corner of his lips. A faint smile tugs at his mouth as he catches your hand, holding it in his gently. “You’re just gonna stare at my lips?” he teases, his voice low but warm.

A quiet laugh escapes you, and you feel some of the tension ease. “They’re nice to stare at,” you murmur, your voice shy but honest.

His smirk deepens, but his expression softens as he shifts slightly, moving on top of you. The weight of him presses you into the mattress, and you gulp, your arms instinctively circling his back to pull him closer. Your eyes flicker to his lips again, the longing to kiss him tugging at you, but hesitation holds you back. Does he even want that right now?

Before you can overthink it, he leans down, cutting off your thoughts with the press of his lips to yours. The kiss starts soft, tentative, but it quickly deepens, turning feverish and consuming. His lips move against yours with a quiet desperation, and soft sighs and steady breaths fill the space between you, every second pulling you further into him.

When you finally pull back, your voice is soft and a little breathless as you whisper, “You’re still kissing me?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing as if the question confuses him. “Why would I not?” His voice is steady, his words making your heart ache in the best way.

You lean up to kiss him again, melting into his lips. This time, when he pulls back, it’s his turn to speak. “I guess I’d be more annoyed if you lied about knowing about Jeno and my best friend and tried to act like you never knew,” he says after a moment of thought, his voice low but sincere.

A soft hum escapes you as you nestle closer to him. “I’m glad I didn’t go with that decision”

He huffs lightly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Were you gonna?”

You shake your head, your fingers slipping into his hair, playing with the soft strands. “No. I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t want any tension between us. You’re too important to me now, and I can’t lose you—not after I’ve let you see so much of me.”

His lips brush against you forehead, the kiss featherlight but full of meaning. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady. “You’re the most important person to me right now too.” His brow furrows slightly, and he sighs. “I’m still mad at you, though. And I don’t know how the fuck we’re gonna face Jeno after today. But it’s okay. We’ll do it together, hm?”

You nod weakly, your chest tightening at his words. He presses one last kiss to your lips before leaning back slightly. “Go to sleep, baby. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” Without another word, you nestle into his arms, your head resting against his chest as his steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep.

───────────────────────────────

You groan as you reach for your alarm clock, shutting off the incessant beeping. Rolling over, you bury yourself deeper into Mark’s chest, his warmth enveloping you like a shield from the world outside. His scent—a mix of his cologne and the faint remnants of your body wash—grounds you, soothing your frayed nerves. “I don’t wanna go to campus today,” you mumble against his bare skin, your voice muffled and tinged with reluctance.

Mark’s hand moves up your back slowly, his touch light but firm, tracing lazy patterns with his fingertips. “Why not?” he asks, his voice still rough from sleep, the vibrations of his words rumbling softly against your cheek.

You let out a sigh, your shoulders sagging. “Everyone’s been messaging me. Everyone’s gonna stare at us,” you admit, anxiety coiling tightly in your stomach. The thought of all those eyes, the whispers, the judgment—it’s too much.

Mark tilts your chin up gently, his gaze steady and unwavering as his thumb brushes over your jaw. “We haven’t done anything wrong,” he says softly, his words a quiet reassurance. Leaning down, he presses a tender kiss to your temple, lingering there as if willing some of his calm to transfer to you. The kiss is light but deliberate, and the way his lips linger makes your chest ache in a way you can’t quite describe.

You stay in bed for a while longer, his arms wrapped securely around you as you steal soft kisses and exchange quiet murmurs. His lips graze over your hairline, the corner of your mouth, trailing along your neck as if grounding you with his presence. But eventually, the real world pulls you from the cocoon of his embrace, and you force yourselves to get up.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the two of you laugh softly at some half-forgotten joke, his hand brushing against yours as you walk. But the second you step inside, the warmth between you evaporates. Karina is standing by the counter, her posture stiff, her guilty expression painfully obvious as she busies herself setting out three plates of breakfast. The smell of toast and coffee fills the air, but it feels suffocating, too heavy for the sudden tension thickening the room. Mark’s hand instinctively brushes against your lower back, steadying you as your eyes lock on her. The air feels charged, fragile, like the slightest word could shatter the silence.

You stop in your tracks, your laughter fading. Rolling your eyes, you move to turn back toward your room, but Mark’s hand gently wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “Don’t,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours, calm and reassuring. “You should talk to her.”

“I don’t want to,” you reply, crossing your arms defensively, your jaw tightening. “I don’t see the point.”

Mark’s grip on your wrist loosens, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Do it for me?” he murmurs, his tone warm but tinged with quiet insistence.

You huff, your resistance faltering under his steady gaze. “Fine,” you mutter, your voice laced with reluctance. “I’m doing this for you. Only you.”

Karina’s gaze flickers up as you and Mark step into the kitchen, her shoulders tensing the moment her eyes meet his. Her hands, which had been idly tracing the rim of her glass, freeze mid-motion. The silence is thick, her expression unreadable at first, but her gaze lingers just a second too long on the way Mark’s hand rests lightly against your lower back. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She looks away quickly, but not before you catch the flicker of unease in her eyes, the tell-tale flush that creeps up her neck and into her cheeks. Her fingers resume their fidgeting, now twisting the hem of her oversized sweatshirt, pulling at the fabric like she can’t keep still.

“Hey,” she says finally, her voice soft but strained, her words barely audible over the quiet tension filling the room. She doesn’t look at you again, her eyes fixed on a spot on the counter as if avoiding your gaze will somehow make the moment pass faster.

Mark murmurs a casual greeting, but you don’t say anything, your eyes narrowing as you watch her shift nervously from one foot to the other. Her entire body language screams discomfort—her shoulders hunched slightly, her weight shifting as though she wants to leave but doesn’t know how to. When she finally glances up again, her gaze flickers briefly to yours, then darts away, her lips parting like she wants to say something but can’t quite get the words out.

The knot of frustration in your chest twists tighter. You’ve caught this before— a mix of something unspoken, something that feels uncomfortably close to jealousy and longing. It’s subtle, but it’s there, thick in the air, her expression tightening every time she sees you with him. You’ve never brought it up, always brushing it off as your own overthinking, but now, standing in this tense, charged silence, your resolve crumbles.

Karina clears her throat, the sound too loud in the silence. Her hands move to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, but the motion is jerky, almost frantic. When she speaks again, her voice is uneven, like she’s forcing herself to sound normal. “So, um, how did you sleep?” The question is directed at both of you, but she doesn’t wait for an answer, her hand reaching for the glass in front of her. She grips it too tightly, her knuckles whitening, and takes a long sip, her gaze fixed anywhere but on you and Mark.

“So…. I’ll be in your room if you need me.” With that, he grabs the coffee Karina had poured and takes a bite of the toast she made, muttering a quick “Thanks” before leaving the kitchen.

Her stare lingers on Mark as he brushes his hand against your lower back as he leaves, the small touch protective and intimate, and it feels like that stare sears into your skin. The knot of frustration in your chest tightens, twisting painfully, and you can’t keep it in any longer.

“Why do you always look at us like that?” you ask suddenly, your voice sharper than you intended as you take a step forward.

Karina’s head snaps up, her brows furrowing. “Like what?” she asks defensively, though her voice wavers slightly.

“Like you hate seeing us together,” you bite out, the frustration spilling over, your emotions pushing past your usual restraint. “Like you don’t want me to be happy.”

Your voice trembles slightly, and the vulnerability in your own words makes your chest ache. Karina’s lips part like she wants to respond, but the guilt written across her face is undeniable. Her eyes dart away, and she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, avoiding the weight of your gaze. The room feels suffocating, the fragile thread of your friendship fraying with every second of silence.

Karina struggles to meet your eyes, her guilt evident in every nervous shift of her body. Her gaze darts to the floor, her lips pressed into a tight line as if holding back an apology she can’t quite voice. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt, twisting and untwisting it—a tell she’s never been able to suppress. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, okay?”

You folded your arms across your chest, leaning forward slightly, the weight of her excuses pressing harder against your already strained patience. “Then why did you do it?” you asked, your voice sharp enough to cut. “Why would you go behind my back and tell Jeno of all people?”

Karina’s mouth opened and closed like she was searching for a response that wouldn’t make things worse, but her silence only made your anger simmer closer to the surface. “I thought…” she started, then faltered, biting her lip. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought if he—”

“You thought what?” you snapped, your voice rising as you took a step closer. “That it wasn’t messy enough? That maybe you should blow it all up for good measure?”

Her head jerked up, her brows furrowing, but the guilt in her eyes was unmistakable. “No! I swear I didn’t mean—”

“You knew exactly what you were doing, Rina. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did it because you don’t want us to be together. What’s next? Are you going to admit you have feelings for Mark?”

That accusation landed like a blow. Karina froze, her eyes widening briefly before narrowing in anger. “You’re unbelievable,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with restrained frustration. “Why the hell do you think everything is about you? You’re more delusional than I thought.”

The words hit harder than you expected, like a slap across your face, leaving your chest tight and your throat dry. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the weight of her anger settling heavily in the space between you.

But Karina wasn’t done. She stepped forward, her own voice sharper now, edged with something colder than you’d ever heard from her. “You think I want your man? That’s what you’ve convinced yourself of? You’re so wrapped up in your own mess you can’t see past your perfect little bubble. Not everything revolves around you, Y/N.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, her words cutting through your anger and hitting something deeper, something raw. “You’re twisting this around,” you said, but your voice cracked, the weight of her accusations settling over your chest.

“Oh, am I?” she shot back, her words quick and scathing now. “You’re the one sneaking around with Mark. You lied to Jeno. You’ve been lying to yourself, to everyone, and you somehow expect me to clean it all up for you. Like I always do.”

Your voice rises, refusing to back down. “I’ve seen it—the way you look at Mark. It’s like you’re waiting for something to fall apart, like you don’t want us to work.”

Karina’s flush deepens, but instead of denying it outright, her frustration explodes. “You don’t get it,” she snaps, her voice trembling with emotion. “Everything just works out for you. You get Mark, you had Jeno’s trust, and even when you screw up, people bend over backward to forgive you. Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch you get everything while I’m left dealing with the fallout?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears, and anger flares in your chest. “Why now, Karina? Why does this matter so much to you?”

She exhales sharply, her tone cold. “Because you’ve dragged me into this, made it my problem. And maybe if you’d been more careful, Jeno wouldn’t have found out.”

The argument had reached its boiling point, voices echoing in the kitchen like thunder. Karina’s face was flushed with anger, her arms crossed defensively, while your own hands trembled at your sides. You shouted, your voice cracking with the strain. “You think I wanted this? You think I asked for all of this chaos?” Your breath hitched, emotions boiling over as you tried to steady yourself against the counter. “You’re just mad because for once, I have something good, and you can’t stand it.”

Karina’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Good? You call lying to Jeno and dragging Mark into your mess ‘good’? Maybe Mark deserves to know just how selfish you really are. Or better yet—maybe he already knows.” Her words hit you like a slap, and before you could even think of a response, she stormed out, leaving you standing there, reeling. The finality of her words left a jagged silence in the air, and you felt your knees weaken as you crumpled to the floor, your breath hitching into sobs.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, curled into yourself in the corner of the room, the tiles cold against your legs. The sound of your phone vibrating against the counter barely registered, and when it stopped, you heard Mark’s voice calling your name. His footsteps grew louder, quicker, until he rounded the corner and found you there.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with urgency as he dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Baby, I’m here,” he whispered, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

Your shoulders shook as you broke down, burying your face into his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you, grounding you in his warmth as his fingers threaded through your hair. “Let it out, baby,” he murmured against the crown of your head, his lips brushing your skin with every word. “I’ve got you.”

His voice was steady, his presence a solid anchor against the storm swirling inside you. His hands moved to your back, firm and reassuring, drawing soft circles as he let you cry into him. The weight of Karina’s words, the fight, everything—it all spilled out in heaving sobs that left you trembling in his hold.

When the tears finally slowed, Mark didn’t rush you. He stayed quiet, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck as he tilted your head to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm, deep with understanding, and when he leaned in to kiss your tear-streaked cheek, you felt a sliver of calm settle in your chest. “Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t,” he said softly, shaking his head as he pulled you even closer. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ve got you, okay? We’ll get through this —”

Mark didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before your lips crashed against his, cutting him off. It wasn’t soft, nor sweet—it was desperate, rough, and full of fire. Your teeth scraped against his bottom lip, your tongue forcing its way past his, and the kiss was messy, all-consuming. You straddled him in an instant, your nails digging into his scalp as you tugged his hair with a force that made him hiss against your lips. The sting didn’t stop him—it spurred him on. His groan was guttural, his hands locking onto your hips as you ground against him without hesitation.

“Slow down, baby,” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal, though there wasn’t a hint of true resistance in his tone. His grip tightened on your hips, trying to steady your relentless movements, but you didn’t stop. If anything, you pushed harder, grinding down until the hard length of him pressed perfectly against you through the thin layers separating your bodies.

You didn’t care about the consequences or about taking your time. All you wanted was to drown in the heat of him, to feel him in a way that would push out every other thought. Mark groaned again, his hips jerking up to meet yours. “Fuck,” he muttered, his head falling back as your lips left his to kiss along his jaw, then down to his neck. Your teeth scraped against his skin before you sucked hard, marking him, branding him as yours. The sharp gasp that escaped his throat sent another surge of heat rushing through your veins.

His cock strained against the confines of his sweats, and you made quick work of sliding your hands beneath the waistband. He was hot, hard, and heavy in your grip, and the way he hissed when your fingers wrapped around him was enough to make your thighs clench. Without a word, he stood, gripping your ass tightly as he carried you upstairs, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your lips never left his as he moved with practiced ease, making it to the bed without hesitation.

Mark barely had time to drop you onto the mattress before you were on him again, pushing him back until he fell onto the bed. You straddled him, your movements fueled by nothing but lust and frustration. With a sharp tug, you yanked his sweats down just enough to free him, your eyes darkening at the sight of him fully exposed and aching for you. The need in your chest was unbearable as you sank down onto him in one swift motion, your slick heat enveloping him completely.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice wrecked as his hands gripped your thighs tightly, his blunt nails digging into your skin. The stretch of him was intense, almost too much, but you didn’t slow down. You rode him with a rough, desperate rhythm, your hips slamming down against his with each movement. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies echoed through the room, mixing with your sharp breaths and his guttural groans.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Mark growled, his hands sliding to your ass, guiding your movements as he thrust up to meet you. The force of his hips made you gasp, your nails raking down his chest as you leaned forward, capturing his lips again in another bruising kiss.

He tried to slow you down, murmuring your name as if to coax you into easing up, but you shook your head, your expression hard. “Don’t,” you bit out, your voice laced with irritation as you moved faster, taking what you needed. “Don’t try to fix this. Just—just let me.”

Mark’s jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as he realized what you were doing. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, and for a moment, he let you take control, let you use him. But when you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear, and whispered, “Maybe I should ask for someone else’s help,” the tension in his body snapped.

“Maybe Jeno’s.”

Mark’s reaction was instant, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest that sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could even process it, he flipped you onto your back with an almost primal force. His hands captured your wrists, pinning them above your head and the hard length of his cock grinds into you through the thin barrier of fabric. The dominance in his gaze was undeniable, his eyes blazing with frustration and unrestrained desire, the intensity making your breath hitch.

His lips curled into a dark chuckle, his voice dripping with mockery. “Is that so?” he murmured, his tone equal parts teasing and dangerous. “But that’s too bad, baby. Jeno probably can’t handle how needy you are all the time. Or maybe…” His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “…I’ve just let you push me around for too long.”

Your pulse raced as his words settled over you, the heat in his tone both thrilling and unnerving. You met his gaze, defiance flickering in your eyes as you pushed back, testing the edge he was toeing. “And what if I did ask for his help?” you murmured, your voice trembling but bold. “What would you do?”

The air between you turned electric, the sharp press of his cock grinding against your soaked core making your breath catch. His hips rolled with deliberate force, the friction igniting every nerve as your thighs tightened instinctively around his waist. The sharp edge of his teeth grazed your jawline, a low, guttural growl rumbling from his chest. “You really want to test me like that?” he bit out, his voice a dangerous whisper, his hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned beneath him. The rigid heat of him pressed harder, dragging against your clit in a way that made your body writhe against him, desperate for more. “Go on,” he growled, leaning in so his breath fanned hot against your ear, his hips bucking just enough to make you gasp. “Ask for Jeno’s help. I dare you.”

Your teeth grazed his neck, sinking in just enough to leave a mark, and the way he tensed beneath you made your stomach flip. “You’re mine,” you whispered, your voice trembling with equal parts desperation and resolve. The possessiveness in your tone lit a spark in his eyes, and the dark, primal hunger that flickered there sent heat coursing through your veins. His body pressed harder against yours, his cock throbbing against your core, and the sharp inhale he took was pure, raw desire.

His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t stand even the slightest distance between you. Before he could speak, you clung to him, your nails raking down his back as you gasped, “But you won’t leave me, right?” Your voice cracked, frantic and pleading, every word a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. “You said—we’d figure it out together. Please, Mark. Don’t go. Please.” The urgency in your tone sent a jolt through him, his lips parting as his breath grew heavier. Without hesitation, he crashed his mouth into yours, the kiss consuming and feral, his hands roaming your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every shiver, every moan.

The bed groaned under the force, matching the rhythm of his hips, and his grip on your wrists remained firm, holding you exactly where he wanted you. Yet, despite the commanding edge, there was something sweet in the way his thumbs brushed your skin, his mouth trailing soft kisses along your jawline between gasps. His every move was possessive but laced with care, making you feel claimed and cherished all at once as he drove you closer to the edge, whispering, “Mine too.”

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice softer but no less authoritative. His eyes locked onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your chest tighten, the vulnerability of being so exposed under his stare sending a thrill through your body. “I want to see you, baby. Every part of you.”

You couldn’t look away, even as the overwhelming pleasure built to a breaking point. His thrusts grew deeper, rougher, his cock hitting the perfect spot inside you with every movement. Your hands slid up to cradle his face, your voice trembling with affection as you whispered, “You’re so good to me, Mark. So perfect.” Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t bear to let him go. “I love how you make me feel,” you murmured against his lips, your words punctuated by soft moans, each one driving him to thrust into you with even more intensity.

Suddenly, Mark’s hips moved slower, deliberate in their pace, drawing a frustrated groan from you. Your nails scraped lightly against his shoulders, trying to spur him on. “Why are you going so slow?” you demanded, your voice laced with irritation as you attempted to grind harder against him.

His thrusts didn’t falter, staying maddeningly unhurried as his gaze locked on yours. “You feel so tense, baby,” he whispered, his voice soft but steady, a stark contrast to the heat between you. His hands moved to your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes, your lips parting to deflect. “Mark—just—don’t.”

But Mark wasn’t letting it go. He stopped completely, his length still buried inside you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’m not going any faster until you tell me why that talk with Karina has you so upset,” he murmured, his tone calm but firm. “I need you to trust me, baby. Let me in.”

The ultimatum hung heavy in the air. You clenched your jaw, your body trembling slightly from the emotions bubbling up, but you stayed quiet, your eyes darting away. Mark’s thumb brushed your cheek, coaxing you to look at him.

“Okay, baby,” he continued, his voice softening further, “I’ll fuck you. But we’re not going to do that thing where we don’t communicate. I want to know you. Your feelings, your emotions, what’s on your mind. I want you to talk to me.”

His words caught you off guard, and your breath hitched, the frustration in your chest threatening to spill over. You hesitated, your lips pressing together as you tried to avoid the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare.

Finally, the tension broke, and your voice came out trembling, thick with the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “Our talk went nowhere,” you admitted softly, the words stumbling out like they couldn’t wait any longer. “The party, when she told Jeno about us, was my last straw. I don’t care if she made a mistake.” Your breath hitched as the memories replayed, her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

“It’s been building for weeks, and then today, we just—screamed at each other. She said things—things I can’t get out of my head.” Your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to keep going. “She said I don’t deserve you. That you’ll figure out how selfish and what a liar I am—or that you already know. That you’ll leave me.” Each word hung in the air like a wound, the hurt laced with an underlying fear that maybe, just maybe, Karina had a point.

As the first tear slipped down your cheek, Mark leaned forward, kissing it away with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. His lips brushed against your temple, lingering there as his hand moved to cradle the back of your neck. “I’m sorry you’re carrying all that, baby,” he whispered, his voice warm and soft. “But you know that’s not true, right? You deserve everything. You deserve me. All of me. I wouldn’t ever leave you”

The dam broke, and a sob escaped your lips. Mark pulled you closer, letting you bury your face in his neck as the tears came. His hands stroked soothing patterns along your back, his presence steady and unwavering. “It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing the side of your head. “I’m here. Just let it out.”

As the tears spilled down your cheeks, Mark’s embrace tightened around you, providing a refuge from the storm of your emotions. He gently cradled your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His hands roamed your back in slow, comforting strokes, each touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering support. “You don’t need to do anything to make me stay,” he whispered, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your hair. “I’m here, no matter what, through every high and every low. Just be here with me too, that’s all I need.” His voice was a calm anchor in the tumult of your feelings, reminding you that his commitment wouldn’t be tied to moments of happiness or intimacy alone, but was a constant, steadfast presence in your life.

You nodded, your voice still trembling. “I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Mark’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, his touch grounding and steady. “Hey,” he started softly, his voice low and calm. “I’m not saying what she said was okay—because it wasn’t. But maybe try to see where Karina’s coming from. She’s probably feeling overwhelmed, maybe even cornered, and people say stupid, hurtful things when they’re angry. That doesn’t mean she meant all of it.” He paused, his gaze locked on yours, making sure his words didn’t come across as dismissive. “I’m not defending her actions, baby. I’m just saying… try not to let it eat you up. She’s been your friend for a long time, and I don’t think she really believes those things about you.”

He shifted closer, cupping your face with both hands as his thumbs brushed the tears lingering on your cheeks. “You don’t have to fix this right now. Let time heal everything, yeah? Give her space, give yourself space, and let things cool down.” His forehead pressed gently to yours, his lips ghosting over your skin in a comforting gesture.

You let out a shaky breath, Mark’s steady voice and grounding touch doing their job to ease the storm inside you. His words didn’t erase the pain Karina had caused, but they softened it, giving it a shape you could begin to understand. “You’re right,” you murmured, your voice small but earnest. “I know you’re right, but it’s so hard not to take it personally. Especially when she said those things about me not deserving you. It just—it really got to me.”

Your tears came harder, your sobs shaking your body as the weight of everything seemed impossible to hold in any longer. Mark stayed silent, holding you tightly, his presence grounding you as he pressed soft, reassuring kisses to your damp cheeks. His hands moved gently along your back, tracing calming patterns that made your breathing hitch but also steadied you. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. His touch, the way he kissed you softly, conveyed everything he wanted you to feel: that you weren’t alone, that he was here for you.

When he moved inside of you, it was slow and deliberate, his body leaning into yours with quiet intention. His hips rolled softly against you, deliberate but unhurried, each movement meant to comfort rather than overwhelm. His forehead rested against yours, his lips brushing tender kisses over your cheeks, your temple, your lips. “I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, a promise that carried more than just words. “I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

Each thrust was unhurried but deliberate, his hands guiding your body as he moved inside you. He wasn’t just fucking you—he was holding you, grounding you, reminding you of everything he was for you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, letting yourself melt into the safety of his embrace.

As your cries softened into quiet gasps, he held you closer, his body a steady anchor against the storm inside you. The lewd, wet sounds of your connection filled the air, mingling with your breathless whimpers. His lips brushed over your ear, his voice rough yet tender. His strokes became slower, deeper, coaxing your body to relax completely against him. His name fell from your lips in broken whispers as his pace evened out, each thrust rocking you gently back into his arms.

Finally, when the exhaustion overtook you, Mark’s movements grew softer, coaxing you to the edge of sleep. He stayed buried inside you, his hands stroking your back, his lips pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice a low hum that matched the soothing rhythm of his body. You mumbled his name in a half-asleep murmur, feeling the comforting weight of his body against yours.

“Baby, can you promise me something?” Mark murmured, his voice low and filled with earnest warmth as he held you closer, his steady presence enveloping you in comfort. His eyes locked onto yours, soft yet intent. “Can we always make sure to be honest and communicate with each other, no matter what?”

A wave of vulnerability washed over you at his words. A silent fear crept in, rooted in the complexity of your own thoughts—deep, sometimes dark, and intricate. You worried silently that the full extent of your inner turmoil might be too much for him, that the raw, unfiltered parts of your mind could push him away.

Mark noticed the slight tension in your expression and reassured you with a tender, affirming tone. “You don’t need to ever hide anything from me, you know I’ll always prioritize and understand you, right? You won’t scare me away; you won’t ever do anything to make me leave,” he whispered, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Nodding. “I promise, baby.” You extended your pinky finger towards him, a small but significant gesture. He linked his pinky with yours, sealing the promise. As your fingers intertwined, Mark leaned in to kiss you softly, then playfully added, “You know, pinky promises are legally binding, right? You can’t break it now.” His light-hearted tease drew a soft smile from you despite the lingering tension from earlier.

Holding his hand, you kissed it gently, reaffirming your connection. Mark then pulled you into his arms, creating a safe haven as you nestled against him. You kept your hands interlocked, a silent testament to your need for his presence, your fingers tightly clasped as you drifted towards sleep.

As your breathing evened out, his warmth surrounded you, pulling you into a dreamless, comforting sleep. Mark stayed with you and inside of you, his hold never wavering, ensuring that even in your most vulnerable state, you felt completely and utterly safe.

───────────────────────────────

The morning light filtered softly through the windows, casting a golden glow over your room as you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of your mini skirt. The fabric skimmed your thighs, perfectly accentuating your curves. Paired with a fitted tank top that clung to your figure and your favorite boots that added just the right edge, the outfit made you feel bold—confident in a way you hadn’t felt in days. It wasn’t your usual choice for college, but today wasn’t a usual day. You needed a distraction, for yourself and for everyone else.

“Is your plan to dress slutty to make people distracted so they don’t ask you about us?”

The deep, teasing drawl of Mark’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned, meeting his gaze as he leaned casually against the doorway. His smirk was lazy, but his eyes gave him away—dark, intent, and utterly fixated on you. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly as his gaze roamed over you, taking in every detail of your outfit with an intensity that sent a ripple of heat through your body.

“You like it?” you asked, your tone light but knowing.

Mark’s presence was a steady warmth as he comes behind you, grounding you in the moment. His fingers clasped the delicate necklace around your neck, the chain cold against your skin as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned back into him, letting his arms circle your waist briefly.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep my hands off you today,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice was low, sultry, and sent a shiver down your spine. His hands slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, the rough pads of his fingers gripping the curve of your ass possessively.

“Should I just take it off then?” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

His grip tightened slightly, his voice deepening as he responded, “Yes, please.” The way his hands lingered made your knees weak.

“—And change into something else?” you finished, tilting your head to look at him. His lips quivered into a knowing smirk, but the tension was momentarily broken. He let his head rest on your shoulder. Unable to resist, you turned your face toward his, brushing your lips against his in a tender kiss. The contact started soft but quickly deepened, a spark igniting as his mouth moved against yours with deliberate pressure. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your face to his liking, the kiss growing hungrier, more intimate. You sighed into him, your lips parting to welcome the heat of his tongue. The exchange left you breathless and for a moment, everything felt simple again.

But simplicity wasn’t the reality.

“Let’s go now, you ready?” His voice was gentle, but the weight of his question wasn’t lost on you. Today was the first day back on campus since everything had changed—since everyone knew. Your relationship with Mark wasn’t a secret anymore, and the fallout had left your closest relationships in shambles.

You nodded, the tightness in your chest making it hard to find your voice. Although you looked calm, the emotions beneath the surface churned like an unrelenting storm threatening to break free. As Mark opened the door and you stepped out, the reality of facing campus settled in. By the time you reached the college after a short car ride, the sight of the familiar buildings had your stomach twisting in knots. You gripped the edge of your bag, your fingers trembling slightly. You felt like throwing up.

Mark’s arm slid around your waist, his touch firm yet soothing as he pulled you into his side. His body pressed against yours, his warmth acting as a buffer against the rising tide of your nerves. Leaning against the car, he cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. There was that look in them—one that made you feel like the rest of the world could fade away if you stayed close enough to him.

“Will you be okay if I hold your hand? Kiss you?” His voice was soft, his tone layered with concern.

You hesitated, glancing down at your intertwined hands. “Everyone already knows, Mark. What’s the point of hiding now?” Your sigh carried a note of resignation, your gaze flickering to the groups of students scattered across the campus, their eyes already beginning to wander in your direction.

Mark’s thumbs caressed your cheeks softly, his touch as reassuring as his words. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready for this, we can wait.” His voice was so tender it made your chest ache. “You’re all that matters to me. Not them. I just want you to be comfortable. I don’t care what anyone thinks as long as you’re okay.”

His sincerity pulled at the tight strings of your heart, and you nodded, touched by how deeply he cared. “I’m sure, baby. Yeah… okay. Let’s stop hiding.”

He smiled softly before leaning in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting—it was a promise, one that calmed the chaos within you for just a moment. “Just squeeze my hand if you feel like it’s too much, yeah?”

Stepping onto campus hand in hand, the sun bathed everything in a golden glow, soft and warm against your skin. It should have felt like a fresh start, but instead, the whispers and pointed glances started almost immediately. Mark, ever aware of your unease, kissed your temple in passing and whispered, “You’re doing amazing. Just focus on me, okay?”

Still, the weight of the stares and hushed conversations started to press down on you. Your breathing quickened, your chest tightening as anxiety curled around you like a vice. You squeezed his hand tightly, your grip almost desperate. Mark immediately noticed, gently removing his hand to assess you, his brows furrowing with concern.

He guided you into the quiet corner he’d found, his hands steady on your shoulders, grounding you as the hum of campus life faded into the background. You could still feel the lingering stares, the weight of whispers clinging to your skin. The tension was suffocating, and your voice came out barely above a whisper, wavering with unease. “Mark,” you murmured, unable to stop your gaze from darting nervously around. “Everyone’s looking. Everyone’s whispering. It’s like they’re just waiting for us to fall apart.”

Mark’s expression softened, his brows furrowing as he gently turned you to face him fully. His hands slid from your shoulders to your waist, his touch firm yet comforting as he leaned in closer. “No one is waiting for anything,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with determination. “People will talk, but that’s all it is—talk. It doesn’t matter what they think. No one’s looking at us like that. Everyone’s too wrapped up in their own lives. This will all pass, I promise. You just have to breathe through it. I’ve got you, alright?”

His words, so intimate and full of care, managed to pull you out of the spiral, and for the first time, you let yourself believe him. “Okay,” you whispered, the tension easing slightly.

When you returned to the open campus, you felt lighter, his hand back in yours. But the need for closeness overwhelmed you again, and without thinking, you squeezed his hand. Mark, misunderstanding, pulled his hand away again, only for you to grab it right back, intertwining your fingers tightly and leaning into him.

You laughed softly at his confused expression, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not letting go this time,” you murmured, and Mark chuckled, his smile warm as he pulled you even closer.

Your gaze swept across the courtyard, heart pounding as you took in the scattered students milling about, laughing, talking, entirely caught up in their own worlds. For a moment, the anxiety threatening to consume you ebbed, replaced by a quiet realization—none of them mattered. Just like they were in their own world, you had yours. And your world, right now, was Mark.

With a steadying breath, you moved your hand from his and slid it around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Before he could question it, you leaned in and kissed him, hard and purposeful. The action was unplanned, raw, but it felt right. The connection between you sparked like a live wire, and for a heartbeat, Mark froze, startled by your boldness.

Then, just as quickly, he melted into you, his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you back with just as much intensity. His lips pressed against yours, eager yet tender, and his breath hitched as if he couldn’t quite keep up with the rush of emotion. The world around you blurred, students and whispers fading into nothing as he pulled you even closer, his grip firm but protective. It was just the two of you now, fully and unequivocally together—no hiding, no hesitation. You were his, and he was yours, for everyone to see.

───────────────────────────────

The late afternoon sun filtered through the gymnasium’s high windows, its golden glow casting long shadows across the bleachers. You sat with Winter, your cheer practice bag tossed carelessly at your feet. The buzz of practice filled the air—shoes squeaking on polished floors, low chatter, the occasional barked command from Coach Suh—but your focus was split. Winter’s sharp voice had dragged you out of your daydreams, and now you found yourself regretting it.

“So, I heard you and Mark started groping each other on campus,” she said, a smug tone coloring her words.

Your face flushed at her phrasing, irritation bubbling up immediately. “All we did was kiss,” you muttered, your voice clipped. You weren’t one for public displays of affection beyond holding hands or a casual kiss. Mark respected that, never pushing the boundaries, and you appreciated it. You weren’t sure why Winter made it sound so scandalous, but her tone had you instantly defensive.

“How’s it going?” she pressed, her curiosity too pointed, her gaze too observant.

“Good,” you replied curtly, hoping your brevity would end the conversation. It didn’t.

“Is he your boyfriend yet?” she asked, her tone lilting with feigned innocence.

You exhaled sharply, biting back the words you wanted to say: You know, it’s really none of your fucking business. Before you could give her a polite response, she barreled on. “You know, you should be the one to ask him to make it official,” she suggested, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

You stared at her blankly, unsure where this was going. She continued, “I mean, isn’t he always the one doing all the ‘firsts’? I heard he initiated your first time, plans all your dates, decided when you’d be exclusive… Maybe you should surprise him for once.”

Her words stuck, even as you bristled at the assumption. Winter wasn’t a mean girl, but her observations often felt more invasive than helpful, leaving you feeling exposed. Whether she meant it or not, her comment hit a nerve. It planted a seed of doubt you hadn’t realized was there. Had Mark been carrying the weight of your relationship all along? Did he ever feel tired of being the one to make things happen? What if he got sick of trying?

Your thoughts spiraled further when you wondered how Winter even knew so much. The answer was obvious: Karina. You had confided in her about so much—your highs and lows, your doubts and hopes—and now it seemed she had shared those details with others. The idea stung, a sharp pang of betrayal that simmered quietly under your skin.

Your gaze drifted toward the court, where the guys were joking and laughing between drills. Mark was talking with Jaemin, his grin wide and carefree, and for a moment, your heart softened. But then Coach Suh’s voice cut through the air like a whistle.

“Lee,” he barked. Both Jeno and Mark turned to him, but the coach clarified with a nod towards Mark. “You’re excused from practice today. You can go.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched Mark grab his bag and leave the court without much fanfare. Before you could process what had just happened, Karina’s voice broke through your thoughts. It was soft and measured, her tone at odds with the tension lingering between you.

“Y/N, you can go too,” she said. “Catch up at the next practice.”

You didn’t question it, grabbing your bag and heading out without a backward glance. Whether Karina did it out of spite or indifference, you didn’t care. Cheerleading was the last thing you wanted to deal with right now.

As you wandered the empty corridors, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and saw a message from Mark.

mark — come meet me by my car.

Curiosity piqued, you made your way outside. The parking lot was nearly empty except for his familiar figure leaning casually against the hood of his car. His arms were crossed, but his smile softened the stance as you approached.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, giving him a quick kiss.

“Why aren’t you in practice?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I asked Karina to work something out so we could both get out of practice and classes for the day,” he said with a small smile.

You felt a pang of irritation at her involvement, but you forced it down and smiled back. “And she managed to pull that off?”

He chuckled. “She can pull off anything, apparently.”

You wiggled your eyebrows playfully, trying to lighten the unease inside of you. “So, what’s the plan? You wanna take me home?”

He shook his head, his smile turning softer. “Not quite. I wanna take you somewhere. Come on.” He opened the passenger door, pressing a kiss to your temple as he gestured for you to get in.

You slid into the seat, your curiosity growing. Wherever he was taking you, you could tell it was more than just a simple getaway. And for now, you let yourself trust him, letting the tension of the day slowly melt away.

As the car slowed to a stop, it didn’t take long for you to realize where Mark had brought you. The river court came into view, the familiar chain-link fence surrounding the cracked pavement and faded lines. Basketballs echoed against the asphalt, accompanied by the faint sounds of laughter and chatter that carried on the breeze.

Mark reached over, his fingers intertwining with yours as you stepped out of the car together. “Come on,” he said, his voice soft but encouraging. As you walked toward the court, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, sensing the hesitation in your step.

When the sounds of his friends’ voices grew clearer, you turned to him with wide eyes. “Who’s here?” you asked, your tone both surprised and slightly nervous.

Mark’s smile was calm, reassuring. “I wanna introduce you to all of my friends,” he said, his expression warm as he glanced down at you.

You nodded, but your heart raced. Even though you’d been here once before with Mark, this felt entirely different. This wasn’t just the two of you stealing a quiet moment together—this was stepping into a world that meant so much to him, meeting the people who had shaped and supported him long before you were in the picture. The weight of the moment settled over you as the court came fully into view, the sacred space alive with movement and laughter.

Mark stopped, his eyes scanning your face. “You sure you’re okay with meeting them?” he asked, his protective tone laced with care. “If it feels like too much, we can leave.”

You took a deep breath, the tension in your chest easing as you met his gaze. His concern was so genuine it made your heart ache. Smiling softly, you squeezed his hand back. “I’m okay, I promise. I want to be here.”

His lips twitched into a satisfied smile, and he leaned down to press a quick, tender kiss to your temple. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. He led you forward, his hand never leaving yours, the small gesture grounding you as the court bustled with life.

The moment you stepped into their line of sight, all eyes turned to you. There was a beat of silence before Donghyuck’s smirk broke the stillness. “Well, well,” he drawled, raising his camera to get a shot of the two of you. “Lee’s finally brought a girl to the court. Everyone act normal, don’t scare her off.”

Chenle elbowed Renjun, his voice far from subtle. “She must be a saint to put up with him.”

Wooyoung’s laugh rang out, light and teasing. “Or maybe Mark finally got his shit together.”

You couldn’t help the mix of nerves and amusement bubbling inside you. Their jokes felt lighthearted, but you still clung to Mark’s presence beside you like a lifeline. Sensing your unease, his hand slipped to the small of your back, a soft but steadying touch. “Ignore them,” he murmured, his voice just for you as he guided you toward the bench. “They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots.”

You smiled despite yourself, leaning into him just slightly as he led you into his world, his fingers never letting go of yours.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as the game kicked off, painting the river court in golden hues. You perched on the bench between Donghyuck and Chenle, your laughter blending with the rhythm of basketballs hitting the pavement. Donghyuck leaned forward, his hands mimicking a microphone as he began his dramatic commentary.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the legendary river court showdown! Lee Mark with the ball, ready to either prove he’s a legend or will he trip over his own feet?”

You giggled, nudging Chenle. “Does he always do this?”

Chenle smirked, his gaze fond as he watched his friends on the court. “Always. He started narrating games when we were kids. Now he’s official at the matches, but this place is where it all began. It’s where we all started—me, Mark, Hyuck… this court made us who we are.”

You glanced around, taking in the faded lines and worn pavement. This wasn’t just a court; it was a piece of history, etched with memories. The warmth of their bond enveloped you, a reminder of how special it was to be here, to be a part of this world.

Your eyes caught Mark’s from across the court, and everything else seemed to fade for a moment. The way his gaze softened at the sight of you made your chest ache, your grin widening on instinct. Without thinking, you raised your hand in a small wave before blowing him a playful kiss. He froze mid-dribble, his hands faltering just enough for Wooyoung to swoop in, snagging the ball and making an effortless shot.

Donghyuck’s voice rose, gleeful. “And look at that! Lee Mark pauses mid-dribble to make heart eyes at his girl. Focus, Lee, focus!”

Mark’s jaw tightened as he glared at Donghyuck, but the edges of his lips betrayed him, curling into an irrepressible grin. His eyes flicked back to yours, and you could see the amusement—and something deeper—shining in them. It made your cheeks warm under the attention.

Chenle leaned in beside you, his smirk both knowing and mischievous. “So,” he drawled, voice low enough for only you to hear, “you’ve officially broken Mark’s streak of never bringing a girl here.”

Your soft laugh slipped out before you could stop it, tinged with the heat of your flushed cheeks. “I guess I have,” you murmured, the words carrying a quiet pride you hadn’t realised you felt.

Donghyuck, ever the instigator, caught the tail end of your exchange and immediately chimed in. “Breaking records and breaking hearts! But real talk —” His voice took on a conspiratorial tone as he leaned toward you, eyes glinting with playful curiosity. “Is she his girlfriend? The people need answers!”

Mark groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, his face tinged with embarrassment. “Can you not?”

Chenle pressed, leaning in conspiratorially. “Seriously, though. Girlfriend or…?”

Mark opened his mouth, but you beat him to it. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” you said confidently, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

The words hung in the air, and Donghyuck gasped, dropping his imaginary mic. “You heard it here first, folks! She claimed him!”

Mark froze mid-dribble, the ball rolling away unnoticed. His wide-eyed gaze locked onto yours, the joy in his expression unmistakable. “Wait, really?” he called, his voice cracking just slightly.

You nodded, heart pounding as his grin spread. “Yeah, really.”

In an instant, he was across the court, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into a deep, breathless kiss. The cheers and exaggerated gagging noises from his friends melted into the background. Mark’s lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, his hands steady on your waist, grounding you in the moment.

“I need to hear you say it,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and warm, his forehead pressing against yours. “Ask me to be your boyfriend.”

Your voice trembled, but the words came without hesitation. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his lips crashing back onto yours. The kiss was harder this time, full of raw, unspoken emotions, his fingers gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him. It was your first kiss as boyfriend and girlfriend, and it felt monumental, like the entire court tilted just for the two of you.

Fueled by your words, Mark returned to the game with an energy that bordered on unstoppable. He dominated the court, each basket sharper, more purposeful. His grin widened with every point, the happiness radiating from him infectious. The other players groaned and cursed playfully as Donghyuck narrated with over-the-top enthusiasm. “And Lee Mark takes the crown! Powered by love, apparently!”

As the game wrapped up, Mark jogged over to you, slightly breathless but glowing with joy. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulled you close, his lips brushing your temple. “Told you it was the best game ever.”

Mark leaned in close, his breath warm against your cheek as he ducked his head to position his ear near your lips. His proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and your words were a whisper, low enough for only him to hear. “Can we go home soon? I want to suck my boyfriend’s cock, you know, as a reward for winning.”

His reaction was immediate, a stifled moan rumbling from his chest as his eyes snapped to yours, darkened with adoration and lust. His fingers squeezed your hand, grounding himself, and a smirk teased at the corners of his lips. “We will,” he murmured, his voice husky, “but come with me first.”

You barely had time to register his words before he clasped his hand firmly in yours, pulling you gently but purposefully toward the court. His steps were confident, his touch commanding, and you followed without question, drawn to him like gravity. He stopped in front of the hoop, his body close enough to block the breeze, his presence shielding you. You furrowed your brows in confusion, but when he retrieved the ball and placed it in your hands, realization hit.

“Mark—don’t make me shoot. It’s gonna be embarrassing,” you protested, laughing nervously.

His eyes held yours, steady and unwavering, and the intensity in his gaze left you breathless. “You’ve got this,” he said simply, shaking his head as if your doubts were ridiculous. He stepped behind you, his body pressing softly but unmistakably against yours. His warmth enveloped you, his chest flush with your back as his hands slid over your arms to guide you. The faint scent of his cologne surrounded you, woodsy and rich, and it made your head spin.

“Just like this,” he murmured, his voice low as his fingers adjusted your grip on the ball. “That’s my girl,” he whispered in your ear, the praise sending a rush of heat through you. His lips brushed your temple briefly before he straightened, his hands still steady on yours.

You tried to focus, making a few practice throws, but every attempt fell short, the ball missing by a mile. “You’re doing great,” he encouraged, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he stayed close. “Don’t overthink it, baby.”

His words only made your cheeks heat further, and your laughter bubbled out despite your frustration. “You’re gonna be saying that when I miss again?” you teased, your voice lighter now.

He chuckled against you, his breath tickling your neck. “No, I’m gonna make sure you get it this time.” His hands shifted on your waist, pulling you even closer, his body pressed firmly into yours. His touch was deliberate as his hands moved back to your arms, guiding you again, his voice low in your ear. “Relax. Breathe. Keep your eyes on the rim.” His fingers flexed against your skin, steady and sure, and the heat of him seeped through your clothes.

This time, with his hands guiding you, the ball arched perfectly through the hoop, the satisfying swish drawing a cheer from the boys. Mark’s grin widened. “That’s my girl. See? I knew you could do it.”

For the next shot, his hands left yours, though he stayed close, his chest still brushing against your back. He leaned down, his voice dropping into something deeper, something charged with promise. “If you make this one, I’ll give you a reward.” The tone of his words sent a shiver down your spine, the implication unmistakable.

You whimpered softly, your body reacting before your mind caught up. “Really? I think I might need more details,” you whispered back, your voice breathy as your gaze flicked over your shoulder to him. “Can you give me a hint about this ‘reward?’”

Mark’s hands gripped your waist more firmly, his body pressing into yours as his lips brushed against your ear. “Just feel me, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough and laced with promise. The hard, unmistakable press of him against you sent a wave of heat through your body, and when you instinctively pushed back, the low, guttural moan he let out made your breath hitch. His touch was intoxicating, each subtle movement igniting something deep inside you, but Donghyuck’s loud commentary from the sidelines jolted you back, forcing you to suppress a smile as you refocused on the hoop, fueled by Mark’s quiet, teasing presence behind you.

Mark moved to stand beside you, his voice firm but soft as he gave you pointers. “Feet shoulder-width apart, knees soft,” he murmured, his voice steady and calm. His fingers grazed your arms as he helped you position the ball, then shifted to your hips, guiding you slightly forward. “Elbows in, aim for a smooth arc, and don’t overthink it—just let it glide naturally,” he added

Your breathing hitched, Mark’s promise of a ‘reward’ was more than enough to push you. You took a deep breath, centering yourself. You aimed, focused, and released. The ball sailed through the hoop with precision, the swish drawing loud cheers and exaggerated commentary.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Donghyuck announced dramatically. “She shoots! She scores! Lee Mark’s girl just became the queen of the river court!”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the happiness bubbling up in you so intense it felt like it might burst. Mark didn’t waste a second. He crossed the distance, cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss that was both deep and electric. “That was so hot,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with barely restrained need. “I’m so turned on.”

“Yeah?” you whispered back, breathless as your fingers curled into his shirt.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he picked you up, spinning you around as laughter spilled from your lips. The pure joy in your expression made his chest tighten, and he couldn’t help but kiss you again, harder this time.

From behind, Donghyuck’s voice rang out, “Look at this guy! So down bad for his girl. Get a room!”

Mark ignored his friends and their teasing, laughing softly against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours. His fingers traced gentle circles on your waist, his eyes never leaving yours as the world around you blurred into nothing but him.

───────────────────────────────

The surprise had come later than you’d expected, testing the limits of your patience in the best way. After leaving the river court, where the tension between you had already been palpable, you made an unplanned stop by the beach. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, and for a time, the two of you simply sat together, hand in hand, basking in the quiet sanctuary of the moment. You had both even posted on Instagram, making your relationship public.

By the time you returned to his apartment, the longing between you had built to an almost unbearable crescendo. It only took minutes for his hands to find your body, for his mouth to claim yours, and for your clothes to scatter in a trail to the bedroom. Desperate to show your gratitude and admiration, you’d begged him to let you take him in your mouth, to show him how thankful you were for everything—the win at the river court, his unwavering care, his presence. But Mark had only cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he whispered, “I just want to be inside you, baby. I need to feel you.”

And now, with him buried deep inside you, every movement is a testament to that need. His cock draws soft whimpers from your lips that he swallows with a kiss, his mouth capturing yours like he can’t get enough. “Mine,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and full of adoration. You can feel the slight tremor in his grasp, betraying how much he’s holding back to savor every second of this. “Look at me,” he whispers, his voice low and firm, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes meet his, and the vulnerability in his gaze makes your chest tighten.

He pauses briefly, his lips brushing your temple first, lingering there with a tenderness that sends a wave of warmth through your chest. He moves to your forehead, pressing a firm, deliberate kiss there as if sealing a silent promise. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you tilt your head slightly as his lips travel down to the bridge of your nose, then to the tip, soft and teasing, making you smile despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. When his mouth finds your cheeks, he kisses each one slowly, as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. The sensation makes your breath hitch, your entire body tingling under the deliberate care of his affection.

His lips trail to the corner of your mouth, brushing over the sensitive skin before finally capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and consuming it leaves you breathless. He pulls back only to place a tender kiss on your chin, his eyes locking with yours as he smiles softly, his love and desire for you written in every touch. Each kiss feels reverent, grounding you, while the weight of his body against yours reminds you just how connected you are. The world fades away under his attention, the only thing anchoring you being the sheer intimacy of his touch and the heat radiating between you.

“You feel so tight, baby,” he groans, his hips pressing deeper, his movements unhurried but full of intent. Your nails press into his back as your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him even closer, your breath catching when his hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your face back to claim your lips once more. “I love how well your body takes me,” he breathes against your mouth, his voice dripping with desire. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten instinctively around his waist, locking him closer as you meet his thrusts with soft, deliberate movements of your own. His cock fills you completely with every roll of his hips, and the way he watches you—eyes dark, yet so tender—makes your chest ache with something deeper than just pleasure. “Mark,” you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands slide up his back, nails grazing his skin gently. “You’re always gonna be mine.”

Mark’s response comes as a low groan, his hips stuttering slightly at your words. His hands slide down to grip your hips firmly, pulling you even closer, making sure there’s not an inch of space left between you. “Always yours, baby,” he breathes, his voice thick with need and emotion. He leans down, brushing his lips over your temple, your nose, and then capturing your mouth in a kiss so deep it makes your toes curl.

“My boyfriend,” you whisper, giggling softly, your voice light and full of joy.

Mark’s response was immediate—a deep, guttural moan that vibrated through him as he surged forward, burying himself inside you completely. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your giggle dissolving into a soft gasp as he adjusted his grip on your thigh, pulling your leg higher and tighter around his waist. The angle allowed him to hit even deeper, each precise thrust leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

“Say it again,” he whispers into your ear, his voice thick with desire, his breath brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. His lips ghost along the shell of your ear before trailing down to the curve of your neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that make your breathing hitch. His hands slide up your sides, gentle yet firm, his fingertips grazing over your skin as if he’s memorising every inch of you. The warmth of his touch makes your chest tighten, and when you whisper, “My boyfriend,” it’s barely audible, your voice trembling with emotion and pleasure. A soft moan escapes you, and before it can fully form, his mouth captures it, his kiss deep and consuming, stealing your breath as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Again.” He moans into your mouth.

“My boyfriend,” you murmur again, your voice trembling as soft, needy moans spill from your lips into his. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and intense, yet brimming with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. The corners of his lips tug into a faint, knowing grin, and he leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your mouth, his tongue brushing over yours with a deliberate slowness that leaves you breathless.

His hands cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever held, even as his hips move against yours with an intoxicating rhythm. The slick, tight pull of your walls around him makes his breathing hitch, his lips brushing over yours in breathy whispers of praise as the quiet rhythm of your bodies fills the room. The wet sounds of your bodies moving together echo softly in the room, mingling with his deep, guttural groans and your breathless whimpers, your toes curling and your back arching against him.

“I didn’t expect you to make me your boyfriend—not that I’m complaining,” Mark murmurs, his voice soft but full of warmth. His eyes glimmer as they stay locked on yours, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m happy. So happy.”

You lace your fingers with his, bringing his hands closer to your lips as you kiss his knuckles tenderly, the gesture intimate and grounding. It feels like the right moment to explain yourself, the words spilling out as your heart races. “I feel like from the start we both knew it was always more than just sex,” you begin, your voice quiet but steady, filled with emotion. “I’ve been falling for you, Mark. I really have. You’ve made my days better in ways I can’t even explain.”

You press his hand to your chest, right where your heart beats wildly beneath your skin. “Do you feel that?” you whisper. “It’s what you do to me. Every time I’m around you, it’s like my whole body remembers how much you mean to me.” Your pupils widen as your gaze locks with his, and he tilts his head slightly, the corners of his mouth curving into a playful smirk.

He coos, brushing his thumb over your cheek, silent as he absorbs your words, fully aware of how rare yet precious these moments of vulnerability are for you. You hold his hands tighter, wanting to be even closer. “I would do anything to make you happy,” you say earnestly, your voice trembling with sincerity. “You’re the most important thing to me, Mark. It’s been difficult these last six months, keeping us a secret, and I know how much you’ve had to agree to for my sake. You’ve respected my pace, how anxious I can get… And I just wanted you to know I see that. I feel it. And I’ll always appreciate you for it.”

You take a breath, your hand brushing his neck gently. “I guess I felt like I wasn’t doing enough to show you how much I care. You’ve initiated so many of our firsts, and I wanted to do this for you. I wanted you to feel what I feel every time you remind me how much you care. I thought it would make you happy.”

“I want to make you happy the way you make me happy,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never felt this way before, Mark. Never.”

He leans into your touch, his smile softening as he presses his lips to your palm. “You do make me happy. In every way,” he says, his voice low and reverent.

But then, his breath catches, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you instinctively shift beneath him, your walls clenching tightly around his cock. “Baby,” he groans, his voice strained, a mix of pleasure and desperation, “don’t do that. I won’t last.” His head falls into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he whispers for you to stay still. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down your spine, and you nod softly, grounding yourself in his closeness.

The stretch of him inside you is intoxicating, his size filling you completely, every inch of him pushing your limits but somehow fitting perfectly. He’s so big, so thick, the press of his cock against your walls leaving you feeling full and so warm. He stays still, buried to the hilt, his body flush against yours, radiating heat that seeps into your skin. The way he fills you is unlike anything else, a connection that’s both physical and emotional, his presence grounding you in the moment.

The two of you knew what this night would entail—slow, deliberate movements, soft kisses exchanged between gentle moans, whispers of love and quiet reassurances shared in the dim light of your bedroom. This night wouldn’t be about chasing release; it’s about savoring each other, the intimacy of simply being together. You’re more than happy for him to stay like this, his cock nestled deep inside you, keeping you warm and connected as his lips press soft kisses along your temple and down to your jaw.

“I want to tell you something, and I don’t want you to get scared,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. The weight in his tone pulls you to reality, grounding you as his serious gaze locks with yours, full of sincerity and vulnerability.

Your stomach twists, and despite his reassurance this entire time, your breath catches in your throat. Your mind races, a familiar pang of fear creeping in. What did I do wrong? The moment had felt too perfect, too good to last. But then his next words cut through the haze of your doubt, wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m in love with you. I’m so fucking in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and unshaken, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. There’s no hesitation, no fear in the way he says it. His eyes lock onto yours, his expression so raw, so vulnerable, that you can’t look away even as the intensity of his words makes your chest tighten.

It feels like the world shifts beneath your feet, his declaration grounding and unmooring you all at once. You feel warmth spreading through you, an overwhelming swell of emotion that makes your throat tighten and your hands tremble. Love. The word itself feels impossibly big, heavy with meaning, yet his voice makes it feel lighter, softer—like something you could finally hold onto without fear of it slipping away.

And yet, there’s a small part of you that resists. You’re unsure whether you can call it ‘love’ yet. You’re not sure if you can claim that word yet, not sure if you’re ready to let yourself fully embrace it. The depth of what he’s said, of what he feels, terrifies you. You’ve spent so long second-guessing yourself, so long wondering if you’re worthy of this kind of love, of someone like him. His words are like a mirror, reflecting all the things you’ve been too afraid to believe about yourself.

He doesn’t rush you. “I’ve felt like this for a long time,” he continues, his tone gentle but insistent, like he’s determined to let you know exactly where he stands. “It’s something that’s been building in me for so long, and now just felt like the right time to tell you. You can feel it, can’t you? How much I love you?” His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, grounding you in the present.

You nod slowly, your eyes soft, pupils blown wide with a mix of nerves and something deeper, something unspoken but mutual. You lean into his touch, pressing your palm lightly against his. But it’s the silence that lingers between you that catches his attention, and it doesn’t surprise him. He knows you—knows your tendency to retreat inward when the weight of your emotions becomes too much. And he doesn’t take your silence as a rejection.

“You don’t have to say it right now, don’t want you to feel pressured” he says, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so soft it feels like a promise. “I know you’re not ready.” The fear doesn’t leave completely, but it softens in his presence and at his words.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t demand anything from you that you’re not ready to give. There’s no expectation in his expression, just quiet patience and unwavering care. His words echo in your mind, weaving through all the doubts and insecurities that have kept you guarded for so long. I’m in love with you. I’ve felt like this for so long. The way he says it makes it clear he’s not waiting for reciprocation; he’s simply giving you the truth of his heart, letting you hold it if you’re ready.

“I know what we have is real for both of us. Until you can say it, I’ll just keep reminding you, hm?” He adds. His voice is a soothing hum, filled with patience and understanding.

“Reminding me of what?” you mumble, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, your coyness earning a fond chuckle from him.

“That I love you,” he repeats without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. The flutter in your chest is undeniable, and you can’t help but smile through the happy tears that well in your eyes. It amazes you how easily the words roll off his tongue, how unafraid he is to show you the depths of his feelings. For the first time in your life, you feel truly seen, truly worthy of something this profound.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently as you tease, “But in the photo you posted of me on Instagram, you said you were falling in love with the view—not that you were actually in love.”

A grin spreads across his face, and he matches your playful tone. “I was talking about the view at the beach,” he says, his chuckle warm and light.

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, right.” You know he was fully referring to you, and the thought makes your cheeks flush.

His teasing melts into something more serious as he shakes his head, his expression softening. His eyes, so full of tenderness, meet yours as he speaks. “Well, for a while, I was trying to figure it out—wondering if I was really in love with the view. But then…” His smile grows, and his hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer. “The view asked me to be her boyfriend, and that made me realize I’d been in love this whole time.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his words wrap around your heart, makes you lean forward and kiss him deeply. And in that moment, you know without a doubt that this love—this connection—is yours to keep.

───────────────────────────────

As you step onto campus, it feels like the world shifts around you—your bubble bursts so violently it’s like being jolted awake from a dream. The quiet, warm haze of being with Mark yesterday is gone, replaced by an overwhelming awareness of the world outside. The early morning air is crisp, the sun casting soft golden light over the scattered groups of students. Though the campus isn’t as packed as it will be later in the day, it feels impossibly crowded to you, every sound amplified, every face turned toward you.

Mark had left early in the morning after spending the night, waking you with the lightest shake and a soft kiss on your lips, his voice low and raspy as he murmured, “I’ve got to finish that project—it’s due today.” His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, brushing a thumb over your cheek and promising, “I’ll come by later.” Now, without him beside you, the campus felt unusually quiet, the absence of his presence leaving an ache you couldn’t quite shake.

You walk alone, your shoes tapping softly against the pavement, the sound oddly loud in your ears. Eyes seem to follow you with every step, whispers trailing just behind them. It’s disorienting. Yesterday, with Mark by your side, you’d felt invincible—his hand in yours was like a shield, grounding you and keeping the world at bay. But today, without him, every glance, every hushed word cuts through you.

Your chest tightens, and a rush of heat creeps up your neck as your heart pounds erratically. The air feels thinner somehow, and you struggle to draw a full breath. Your fingers tremble slightly, and you clutch at the strap of your bag as though it might anchor you to reality. Your legs feel heavier with each step, the weight of invisible eyes pressing down on you. By the time you near the performing arts building, your head spins, the whispers around you blending into a low hum that grows louder with every passing second.

“Did you hear?” a voice filters through the noise, sharp and distinct enough to make your stomach churn.

“I heard she was with Jeno first…” Mia says, her words cutting through the haze like a blade.

You glance toward the group of girls, their laughter grating as they openly stare at you. Your gaze drops to the ground, unwilling to meet their eyes, but the tension coils tighter in your chest.

“She’s so lucky to have Mark,” Aisha adds, her tone almost admiring but laced with speculation. “But did she really cheat on Jeno with him?”

The word ‘cheat’ sends a jolt of nausea through you. Your pace quickens instinctively, but their voices still reach you, each syllable sticking like thorns in your mind.

“What does he even see in her?” Mia responds, her words ringing louder than the rest.

Your vision blurs slightly, and you force yourself to keep walking, even as your pulse races. The air feels heavier, your throat tightening with every breath. You hear a final mutter, this time from Ryujin, loud enough to be deliberate: “He could do so much better.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, their words echoing in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your spiraling thoughts. They’re saying I cheated. The accusation feels like a foreign object lodged in your chest, sharp and suffocating. Your mind twists and turns, trying to make sense of it, trying to remember every step you took with Mark, every moment you shared with Jeno. Confusion clouds your thoughts. You want to defend yourself, to explain, but there’s no one to listen, no one to tell you what’s true or false anymore.

Your steps falter as the weight of it all pulls you down, threatening to crush you. You’ve never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, and the performing arts building ahead feels impossibly far away. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself forward, though every step feels like a battle.

Focus on Mark, you reminded yourself, gripping the bag of breakfast tightly as you made your way to the music department. Mark had left in such a rush this morning, his stress about the project radiating off him. You could tell he hadn’t eaten, and the least you could do was bring him something to keep him going. He needs this, you thought, and you need to see him.

As you step into the music department, the atmosphere changes instantly. The bustling energy of the main campus fades, replaced by a quieter, more focused hum. The high ceilings, clean white walls, and warm wooden accents give the building a sense of calm. The halls are lined with soundproof practice rooms, each one a small sanctuary for creativity. You pass students engrossed in their music, their heads bent over pianos, guitars, and laptops, completely absorbed. No one spares you a second glance, and the weight on your chest begins to lift.

This is what you needed. This side of campus feels safe, far from the gossiping whispers and pointed stares. The arts students are too focused on their own work to notice you, and the quiet hum of melodies drifting through the air feels like a balm. You tighten your grip on the bag in your hands and smile when you push the door open to the room he was in.

He sat at a desk cluttered with audio equipment, headphones on, completely immersed in the layers of music on his laptop screen. The room is spacious, with a sleek desk covered in audio equipment, a keyboard against one wall, and a few guitars propped in the corner. A large monitor displays multiple tracks on Mark’s laptop screen, the intricate layers of his music in progress. The faint glow of the monitor highlights his features as he sits at the desk, headphones snug over his ears, completely absorbed in his work. His fingers fly over the keys, pausing occasionally to adjust a slider on the audio interface. His head bobs slightly to the rhythm, and his brows are furrowed in concentration.

For a moment, you just watch him. He’s in his element, so focused, and it makes your heart swell. Last night’s memory flashes through your mind, the way he’d held you, kissed you, murmured soft words against your skin. The thought sends warmth through you, pushing away the remnants of anxiety from earlier.

“Mark,” you called softly, stepping further into the room, but he didn’t so much as glance your way. A grin tugged at your lips as you took in how absorbed he was, Perfect. Quietly, you tiptoed up behind him and tapped his shoulder, leaning in slightly as you waited for him to jump.

Nothing.

His posture didn’t even shift. His focus was unshaken.

With a dramatic sigh, you sat down next to him, close enough for him to see you in his peripheral vision. “How do you do that?” you pouted, crossing your arms. “You always make me jump when you sneak up on me, but I can’t even get you to blink.”

Mark finally smiled, pulling off his headphones and turning to face you. Without a word, he leaned forward and kissed you softly on the lips, the warmth of his affection melting away your mock annoyance. “Because I’m always ready for you,” he murmured against your lips, his smile widening as he pulled back just slightly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Nice try, though.”

His gaze drops to the bag in your hand. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” you said simply, placing it on the desk. “I know you didn’t eat before leaving, so…”

His expression softened as he opened the bag and found exactly what he liked: an everything bagel, avocado slices, crispy bacon, and his coffee—medium roast with oat milk, no sugar. He took a bite, followed by a sip, his smile widening. “You’re amazing,” he said warmly, looking at you with so much affection it made your heart skip. “Best girlfriend ever.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I try.”

As he continued eating, you stood, ready to head to class. “I should go. I don’t want to distract you,” you said, already moving toward the door.

Mark caught your wrist just as you started to move away, his touch firm but gentle, pulling you back toward him. “Don’t go yet,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a soft yearning that made your heart skip. His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, a small, intimate gesture that sent warmth spreading through you. “I need recharging.”

“Recharging?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, though your lips tugged into a playful smile.

He grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief as he tugged you onto his lap effortlessly. His hands settled on your waist, fingers spreading wide against your sides as he adjusted you to fit perfectly against him. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice dropping lower. “You’re my battery, baby.”

You laughed, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, your fingertips playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “You’re ridiculous,” you teased, though your heart swelled at how easy it felt to be close to him like this. His presence had a way of grounding you, making the world fade into the background.

Mark’s lips lingered against your temple, soft and teasing as he murmured, “And you love it.” He slid his headphones over your ears, his fingertips brushing lightly against your skin, and hit play. The music enveloped you instantly, a perfect blend of layered harmonies and intricate beats. It was beautiful—raw and unmistakably his. Your eyes fluttered shut as the melody filled your senses, drawing you into the world he’d created. When he finally pulled the headphones away, his gaze was full of quiet anticipation, his lips quirking into a small, hopeful smile.

“I love… it,” you breathe, your voice trailing off into a soft moan. Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as the kiss deepened, slow and tender at first before turning playful. He nipped at your lower lip, making you giggle, and followed it with gentle smooches along your jawline and back to your lips, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His warmth surrounded you, grounding you in the moment.

But the sound of the door creaking open shattered your bubble. Both of you pulled away abruptly, your eyes darting to the figure standing in the doorway—Mark’s best friend. She stood there, her expression unreadable, but her gaze flickered between the two of you before settling on Mark with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

“Hey, Y/N, can I have a moment with Mark?” she asked, her tone polite but firm.

You blinked, caught off guard, and nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course.” You started to rise, already thinking that maybe they needed this—time to talk and mend whatever had fractured between them.

But before you could take another step, Mark stood too, his hand slipping into yours as he turned to her. His jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened, the warmth from moments ago replaced by something distant and cold. “No, you can’t,” he said flatly, not even looking at her before he guided you toward the door.

You hesitated, your steps faltering as you glanced back at her. Guilt churned in your stomach, and you gently stopped Mark, placing your hands on either side of his face to get his attention. “Don’t you want to talk to her?” you asked softly, searching his eyes. “It’s a good idea. Just… get everything off your chest. Listen to what she has to say.”

“I’m not interested,” he muttered, his tone clipped, leaving no room for argument. His expression was set, frustration simmering just beneath the surface as his fingers tightened slightly around yours.

Still, you turned back to her, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” you murmured, your voice small before Mark pulled you out of the room, his grip firm yet protective.

Once outside, the tension in your chest only grew. “I can’t believe you still haven’t made up with her,” you mumbled, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. It was hard to ignore the guilt gnawing at your edges. Jeno’s revelation about you and Mark had sent shockwaves through everyone’s lives, exposing secrets and unravelling relationships. The fallout between Mark and his best friend, the strained connection between you and Karina, Jeno’s own conflicts—it all stemmed from the lie you’d told, the choice you’d made.

Mark’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you again, but the guilt didn’t dissipate. How could you and Mark be so happy, so wrapped up in each other, when everyone else around you was hurting? The thought clawed at your insides.

The tension in the air was palpable as Mark tightened his grip on your hand, trying to reassure you. “Look, one day I will talk to her, but I don’t want to right now. I just want to enjoy my time with you.” His voice was calm, steady, as if trying to convince both you and himself.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of the door creaking open cut you off. She stood there, her expression unreadable as her gaze flickered from Mark to you. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she let out a soft sigh. “Can I talk to you then, Y/N?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

Mark’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, his hand tightening around yours protectively. “You don’t have to,” he said softly, leaning in as if to shield you.

You shook your head, giving him a small smile to reassure him. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “Go ahead. I’ll see you later.”

He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on yours before he nodded reluctantly. “I’ll message you,” he said, his voice low and careful. His eyes stayed on you as he left, clearly uneasy about leaving you alone with her.

You followed her back into the music room, the once-welcoming space now feeling cold and uninviting. The door shut behind you with a soft click, the sound reverberating in the silence that followed. You didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the venom that dripped from her words the moment she spoke.

“This is fucking unbelievable,” she began, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. How the hell hasn’t Mark gotten away from you?”

“What?” you asked, the single word escaping you before you could even process her attack.

She didn’t stop. “You’re everything he doesn’t stand for. The lying, the deception, the attention—the negative attention. I’m so surprised he’s still with you.”

Her words were like daggers, sharp and precise, each one finding its mark. You felt your chest tighten, your breathing shallow as you tried to formulate a response. “You don’t know anything about us,” you said quietly, biting your tongue to hold back the surge of emotions threatening to spill over.

Her laugh was humorless, almost cruel. “But I know him,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer. “I’ve known him since we were kids, Y/N. Trust me, this? This entire thing with you? It’s unlike him. I’m in disbelief that he made you his girlfriend after everything… That isn’t like Mark at all. He doesn’t rush into things.”

The words hit harder than you expected, each one planting seeds of doubt in your mind. You tried to tell yourself she was speaking out of anger, that she didn’t mean it, but the cracks in your resolve were already forming. Your voice was small when you finally responded. “How do you know I’m his girlfriend?”

Hanni tilted her head, an incredulous smile tugging at her lips. “Well, now I do,” she said, a bitter laugh escaping her as she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving you alone in the room with your spiraling thoughts.

The silence that followed was deafening. Her words echoed in your head, relentless and unforgiving. Mark making you his girlfriend isn’t like him. It replayed over and over, each time driving deeper into your insecurities. Your chest felt heavy, your throat tight as tears threatened to spill. You couldn’t stop the doubts from taking root, couldn’t stop the suffocating feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

“He’s been shutting me out,” she said flatly, her voice pulling you from your train of thoughts, she speaks heavy with resentment. “Mark doesn’t do that. He doesn’t just disappear from my life the way he is right now. We’ve had arguments before, but he’s never ignored me for this long. I’m the one who’s always been there for him. But ever since you came into the picture, it’s like I don’t exist anymore.”

“That’s not true,” you said quickly, the defensiveness in your tone giving you away. “Even when we were together, he always found time for you. He hung out with you, checked in on you—he never forgot about you. The only reason he’s shutting you out right now is because he’s hurt. You know that. The whole Jeno situation broke something between you two, and it has nothing to do with me.”

Her eyes narrowed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “It has everything to do with you,” she snapped. “If you hadn’t lied about what was going on between you and Mark, none of this would’ve blown up the way it did. You’re the reason he’s pissed off at me. You made this mess.”

You took a step back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. “That’s not fair,” you said, your voice quieter now but still firm. “You’re projecting all your anger onto me because you don’t want to face the fact that you messed up. You’re the one who didn’t tell him about you and Jeno. You kept it a secret just like we did.”

Her laugh was short and bitter, her frustration spilling over. “Are you really trying to compare the two? I was protecting my relationship. What were you protecting? A secret fling? A lie?”

“It wasn’t a lie,” you shot back, heat rising in your voice. “Mark and I didn’t even know what we were at first. It wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. You and Jeno made your own choices, just like we did. Don’t blame me because Mark’s mad at you.”

She shook her head, her gaze cold and unrelenting. “You don’t get it. Mark and I have been through everything together. He’s my best friend. And now, because of you, he’s shutting me out. Do you even know how that feels?”

“I do,” you said softly, meeting her glare. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re losing someone you care about. But this isn’t about me. If you really care about him, then stop blaming me and talk to him. Own up to what you did. Don’t use me as your excuse for why he’s mad.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but no words came out. Instead, she shook her head again, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “You think you know him, but you don’t. Not like I do.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, your voice steady now. “But I do know that he’s not shutting you out because of me. He’s shutting you out because he’s hurt. And that’s something only you can fix.”

The silence between you hung heavy, her glare still sharp but faltering. For a moment, you thought she might say something else, but instead, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving you alone with the echo of her words and the tightening knot in your chest.

You sank into the chair Mark had vacated moments ago, the wood creaking softly beneath your weight. Your hands trembled as they rested on the table, a faint shiver running through your body despite the warmth of the room. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your breathing, but your mind refused to quiet. Every word, every sharp edge of her accusations replayed in your head like a relentless loop.

You told yourself you’d held your ground—that you’d spoken logically, defended yourself and Mark with the conviction you knew the situation demanded. But her words still cut deep, slicing through your carefully crafted walls. You understood, at least on some level, that she spoke from a place of hurt—hurt caused by Mark’s indifference, by his attention shifting entirely to you. Yet knowing that didn’t dull the sting; it only made the ache sharper, heavier.

Your thoughts spiraled as doubt crept in. Is this too much for him? Are you dragging him down, pulling him into something he doesn’t deserve? Does he regret this? The questions churned in your chest, twisting the knot of frustration and guilt that had taken root there. You curled your fingers into fists, pressing your nails into your palms as if the slight pain could pull you back to reality.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the chaos in your mind to subside. But her voice lingered like a shadow, her accusations clinging to you in a way that felt impossible to shake.

You knew Mark’s best friend was struggling, torn between her newfound relationship with Jeno and the fallout with Mark. For her, it wasn’t just about the sudden public nature of her relationship; it was the weight of the friendship that had stood the test of decades, now fractured under the strain of secrets and misunderstandings. She had never been in a relationship before, and you could see how she was still figuring it all out—discovering herself as she went.

Still, the hurt between her and Mark was palpable. Mark, for all his cool demeanor, carried his own weight of sadness and betrayal. You understood why he was keeping his distance—he was trying to approach things logically, to avoid letting fresh emotions lead to more arguments and deeper fractures. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. She had been his confidant, the one person he trusted to share the depth of his feelings for you without judgment. The fact that she hadn’t reciprocated that same trust stung. Maybe he understood why she hadn’t told him—because of who her relationship was with, and how delicate things used to be between him and Jeno—but understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

And you? You felt like the weight of it all somehow rested on your shoulders. Even though you hadn’t been the one to drop the bombshell, you felt responsible for the fallout anyway. You hadn’t told Mark because of your promise to his best friend, but seeing the pain in his eyes, knowing how much her silence had hurt him, left an ache you couldn’t ignore. You wanted to fix it, to push them to talk and sort it out, but you knew it wasn’t your place. This was something they had to navigate themselves, and all you could do was hope they would find a way back to each other.

Your chest tightened further, the unspoken weight of their fractured relationship pressing down on you. You felt like you were caught in the crossfire, the burden of loyalty tugging you in opposite directions. And yet, as much as you wanted to help, you knew you had no right to intervene. This wasn’t your story to resolve—it was theirs. Still, the guilt lingered, making it harder to breathe as you stared at the empty coffee cup Mark had left behind, wishing for an answer that didn’t exist.

You pick up Mark’s empty coffee cup, your hands trembling slightly as you toss it into the bin. The sound of it hitting the bottom feels sharper than it should, echoing in the silence left after the confrontation. You take a deep breath, trying to push away the conversation that still lingers like a shadow over your thoughts. But the knot in your chest refuses to loosen.

Needing a distraction, an anchor, you go to find Mark. He’s sitting in one of the other music rooms on the same floor, leaning over his laptop, his fingers typing steadily. When you step in, he looks up almost instantly, his eyes softening as they land on you.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

You hesitate, shaking your head quickly. “Nothing,” you say, though it comes out too abrupt to be convincing.

Mark furrows his brows, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studies you. You know he doesn’t believe you. He knows you too well, sees you too deeply, and you can feel him reading every flicker of emotion you’re trying to suppress. But to your surprise, he doesn’t push.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before turning his attention back to his screen. “Okay,” he says softly, giving you the space you weren’t sure you even needed.

You stay where you are, hovering by the door, your mind still replaying the conversation. It had shaken something in you, and now all you wanted was to bury it, to forget it entirely. Anchoring yourself to Mark felt like the only way to ground the spiraling thoughts in your head, but his silence—his willingness to wait for you to come to him—left you unsettled in a different way.

He must know something’s wrong. Mark always knows. He can see through you so easily, always has, so his restraint is surprising. Maybe he’s giving you time, you think. Space to sort it out and come to him when you’re ready.

He glances at you again as he stands, brushing his hands over his thighs before stepping closer, his presence magnetic and grounding. His hands find your waist, pulling you gently but firmly against him. He rests his forehead against yours for a brief moment, his breath warm as it fans over your lips. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, his tone laced with both curiosity and reassurance. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, even though the answer feels far from true. “Yeah,” you say, forcing a small smile. “I actually need to go to class now. I’ll be late.”

His hands shift, one sliding up your side, his fingers grazing the curve of your ribs, while the other moves to cradle your face. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, his touch slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way your skin feels under his fingers. “I’ll walk you to class,” he says without hesitation.

You shake your head quickly. “It’s okay, it’s not far from here.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and familiar. “That’s good, because I do really need to focus on this project.” He leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s soft at first but lingers longer than it should, his mouth moving gently against yours like he’s trying to tell you everything he can’t say aloud.

When he finally pulls back, he presses another kiss to your forehead, then to your temple, before his hand slides down your arm, his fingers grazing yours. “I’ll see you later at practice, yeah?” he murmurs, giving your hand a light squeeze before letting go. You stand there for a moment, watching him as he steps back toward his desk, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. You nod to yourself, exhaling shakily before stepping out of the room.

───────────────────────────────

The gym buzzed with the familiar rhythm of practice—basketballs thudding against the court, the screech of sneakers cutting through the air, and the sharp whistle blasts from Coach Suh. The cheer squad was set up at the far end of the gym, practicing their own routines with bursts of laughter and chatter, but your focus was on the game unfolding in front of you.

You had been excited to see Mark at practice, eager to anchor yourself to his calm presence after the tension of the day. But when your gaze landed on the court, that excitement fizzled into unease. The air was thick with tension from the very start, and it didn’t take long to see why.

Mark and Jeno were locked in what could only be described as a silent battle. They were hyper-focused—but not in the usual, coordinated way. Instead of working together, they seemed intent on outplaying each other at every turn. Jeno went out of his way to block Mark aggressively, shoulders colliding in ways that bordered on outright shoving. Mark retaliated by intercepting passes meant for Jeno, his movements sharp and deliberate, as if to prove a point. When communication was necessary, they outright ignored each other, their glares speaking louder than any words.

The sound of the ball bouncing on the hardwood echoed with every quick dribble, but the game itself was messy. Passes were intercepted, plays were broken, and rebounds turned into outright battles for the ball. You winced as Jeno and Mark collided under the basket, neither willing to back down as they scrambled for the rebound.

It wasn’t long before their frustration boiled over into outright defiance. Mark intercepted a pass meant for Jeno, ignoring his teammate’s call for the ball as he sprinted up the court. Jeno, visibly irritated, blocked Mark hard enough to send the ball flying out of bounds. Instead of a quick reset, they glared at each other, the tension crackling between them.

Coach Suh blew his whistle, the sharp sound echoing through the gym and silencing everyone instantly. He stormed onto the court, his face a mix of frustration and disbelief. “What the hell is going on with you two?” he barked, his voice booming across the gym. “You’ve gone back to square one! You’re supposed to be teammates, not enemies!”

Mark and Jeno stood a few feet apart, both avoiding each other’s eyes. Jeno’s jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling as he tried to keep his cool. Mark looked just as tense, his hands resting on his hips, fingers flexing as if itching to say something. The rest of the team stood frozen, their eyes darting between the two, the tension thick enough to choke on.

“You want to throw this season away? Because that’s exactly where this is heading if you two don’t get your shit together,” Coach Suh continued, his voice cutting through the stillness. “Figure it out, or you’re both benched. I don’t care how good you are—this isn’t about you; it’s about the team.”

The whistle blew again, signaling a break, and the players dispersed toward the benches. You watched as Mark grabbed a water bottle, his movements stiff with frustration. Jeno lingered nearby, pacing slightly, his jaw set in a hard line.

You could feel it before it even happened—the inevitable explosion.

“You gonna keep hiding behind the coach, Lee,” Jeno muttered, his voice low and sharp, “or you gonna play like a man?”

Mark’s head snapped toward him, his brows furrowing as his eyes narrowed. “You’re the one acting like a damn child,” he shot back, his voice louder than Jeno’s but no less tense. “Bringing personal shit into practice? Real mature.”

Jeno stepped closer, his grip tightening on his water bottle. “Personal shit? You mean like you sneaking around with my ex behind my back? Or maybe it’s about you telling me to stay out of your business while you’re all over mine.”

Mark’s jaw ticked, his shoulders squaring as he closed the gap between them. “You’re really gonna stand there and act like you’ve been some innocent saint in all this?” he snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re the one who can’t keep things professional. I’m here to play, not deal with your goddamn insecurities.”

The exchange was loud enough to catch the attention of the rest of the team, who pretended to stretch or hydrate but couldn’t hide their curious glances. Murmurs rippled through the players, their eyes darting between Mark and Jeno like spectators waiting for the next move in a boxing match.

Coach Suh stormed over, his face red with anger. “Enough!” he bellowed, his voice silencing every murmur in the gym. “Sort your shit out, or get off my court.”

Mark and Jeno didn’t look at each other, their standoff ending as Coach Suh’s words sank in. Mark’s lips pressed into a thin line as he turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Jeno exhaled sharply, his grip on the water bottle tightening before he tossed it onto the bench.

You watched it all unfold, your chest tightening with unease. The tension between them was suffocating, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse before they got better.

“What’s going on with Mark and Jeno?” Aisha asked suddenly, nudging your side. Her tone was casual, but her sharp gaze suggested she was already piecing things together.

“I don’t know,” you lied, shrugging and forcing your face to stay neutral. You focused on straightening the hem of your cheer skirt, avoiding her eyes.

But Aisha wasn’t the only one curious. Yiren, standing nearby, leaned in closer. “It looks intense,” she said, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Is it true you and Jeno used to date? And now you’re with Mark?” Her voice dropped into a teasing lilt, her words dripping with faux curiosity. “That’s so messy.”

Yiren wasn’t deterred. “I mean, Jeno’s hot, but Mark?” She let out a low whistle. “How did you even pull him? Like, for real.”

You stiffened, your cheeks flushing hot, the bluntness of Yiren’s words hitting like a slap you hadn’t braced for. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your throat felt tight, constricted by the sudden weight of humiliation pressing down on you.

“Guys, stop,” Chaeyoung said, her voice cutting through the tension. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a pointedness to it that made the others fall momentarily silent. For a split second, you felt a flicker of gratitude—until she kept talking. “Her and Mark are just hooking up though, right? I mean, it would be so much worse if she actually got with him as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

The words sent an icy chill through you, the blood draining from your face. It was like the floor had been pulled out from under you, leaving you standing there exposed and vulnerable. Your eyes darted to Chaeyoung, searching for some sign that she realized how cruel her comment sounded, but she was already looking back at Yiren and Aisha, her expression almost too casual.

You couldn’t believe they were talking about you like this—as if you weren’t standing right there, as if your entire life was just gossip fodder for their entertainment.

“Seriously?” you finally managed, your voice low but edged with disbelief. The words barely made it out, drowned by the lump in your throat.

Aisha tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What? It’s not like it’s a big deal. People hook up all the time. But, like, you guys aren’t actually dating, are you?”

Across the court, the tension between Mark and Jeno reached its peak. Mark stormed off first, his face dark with frustration, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. Your heart sank as his eyes briefly flicked to yours. The anger and hurt in his gaze made your stomach twist painfully.

Moments later, Jeno stalked past, his steps deliberate, his posture rigid with barely contained tension. His expression was cold, unyielding, and his gaze stayed locked ahead, not sparing you even a passing glance. Yet, his proximity was enough to make your skin prickle, a sharp, invisible chill creeping up your spine. You could feel the storm of his emotions radiating off him—anger, frustration, maybe even betrayal—all tightly bottled beneath his unreadable mask.

The air around you felt colder as he moved away, like he’d sucked the warmth out of the gym with him. His presence lingered, heavy and suffocating, long after he disappeared into the hallway. The echoes of his retreating footsteps seemed impossibly loud against the muted murmurs that filled the gym.

The cheerleaders had fallen silent, the weight of the scene settling over them like a shroud. Their gazes darted between Mark, who had stormed off moments earlier, and Jeno, who was now gone, before finally snapping back to you. Their stares burned, each glance feeling like a spotlight, their judgment palpable in the charged silence.

Then the whispers started again.

“Wow,” Aisha muttered, breaking the quiet with a tone dripping in mock awe. She leaned slightly toward Yiren, her lips curving into a smirk. “I can’t believe you’re at the center of all this. Must be nice to have two guys fighting over you.”

Their words hit like a physical blow, leaving you frozen in place, your cheeks burning. You couldn’t stay here—not with their judgmental stares and whispered comments suffocating you. “I need some air,” you said quickly, excusing yourself before they could say anything else.

The hallway outside the gym was quiet, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space. You leaned against the cool wall, willing yourself not to cry, but the tears pricked at your eyes anyway. The guilt, the humiliation, the overwhelming weight of everything—it all felt like too much.

You pushed off the wall and made your way into the nearest bathroom. The door creaked shut behind you, and you stood frozen for a moment before slipping into a stall. Closing the cubicle door, you locked it and sat down on the closed toilet seat, trying to catch your breath. Your hands rested on your lap, trembling slightly as you stared at the tiled floor, your mind racing with the words and stares from earlier.

The silence was short-lived.

The bathroom door swung open, and the sound of footsteps echoed across the tiles. You heard the faint hum of conversation as a group of girls entered.

“I mean, it’s messy as hell,” Aisha’s voice cut through the quiet, casual but loud enough to make your stomach twist. “Jeno and Mark? And she’s just… right there in the middle of it all.”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized they were talking about you.

“Exactly,” Yiren chimed in, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. “She’s been playing both sides, whether she realizes it or not. Like, come on, you don’t get in the middle of something like that and act innocent.”

Chaeyoung’s voice joined the conversation, softer but no less cutting. “I mean, people are going to talk. She’s kind of brought it on herself, don’t you think? Dating Jeno first and then Mark? It’s messy, and it looks bad. Of course people are going to notice.”

You clenched your fists in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as the words echoed around you. Each comment felt like a blow, the knot in your chest tightening with every passing second.

But then, Karina’s voice cut through, sharp and firm. “That’s enough.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable even from your hidden vantage point.

“What?” Aisha asked, her tone defensive but cautious.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Karina snapped, her voice carrying an edge of frustration. “Mark and Jeno have had problems for ages—long before she was in the picture. This isn’t on her.”

“But still,” Yiren argued weakly, “she’s kind of—”

“She’s kind of what?” Karina interrupted, her tone icy. “Trying to live her life while everyone judges her for shit she can’t control? Seriously, do you even hear yourselves?”

There was a pause, the kind of awkward silence that came when people realized they’d been called out.

��I’m just saying, it looks bad,” Chaeyoung mumbled.

Karina didn’t back down. “And maybe it wouldn’t look so bad if everyone minded their own business instead of turning her life into gossip. You don’t know what she’s dealing with. So just drop it.”

The other girls muttered faintly, their tones subdued now. After a moment, you heard the shuffle of footsteps as they made their way out of the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind them.

You stayed in the stall, frozen, your breath shaky as you tried to process what you’d just heard. Karina had defended you—fiercely, unapologetically—even though you hadn’t expected her to. Even with all the tension between you two lately, she had stood up for you when you weren’t there to do it yourself.

The lump in your throat returned, but it wasn’t entirely from sadness this time. It was something else—a mix of relief and gratitude that left your chest aching.

You stayed in the stall for a few more moments, letting the quiet wash over you, before finally standing and unlocking the door. Your reflection in the mirror looked just as tired as you felt, but there was a flicker of something steadier now, a tiny spark of strength.

Karina’s words lingered in your mind as you splashed cold water on your face, steadying yourself for whatever came next.

You left the bathroom quietly, making sure no one saw you as you slipped back into the empty hallway. You wandered aimlessly until your feet carried you toward the far end of the gym, where you hoped to find Mark. You needed him. Even if you couldn’t explain everything, even if you couldn’t ask him to fix this, you needed him.

But as you rounded the corner, you stopped in your tracks.

Mark and Jeno were standing near the vending machines, their voices low but tense. You couldn’t make out every word, but their body language spoke volumes. Mark’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw set, while Jeno gestured sharply, his expression hard.

You lingered at the edge of the hallway, torn between stepping forward and retreating. The sight of them talking—arguing, maybe—only made the knot in your stomach tighten. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache, but it refused to go away.

For now, all you could do was watch, your heart sinking further as their conversation continued, the tension between them refusing to break.

Mark stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw set in a way that made his frustration painfully evident. His stance was defensive but grounded, like he was trying to maintain control of his emotions. Jeno, on the other hand, was a storm. His hands gesture wildly, his tone laced with bitterness and anger, his words cutting even from a distance.

“I started to see you as my brother,” Jeno said, his voice trembling slightly with an edge of anger. “I actually thought we could finally be something after all these years. I thought maybe we could be close, that the distance and bullshit between us didn’t matter anymore. I fucking believed you, Mark. I believed you over my dad.”

Mark’s brows furrowed, his expression softening just slightly. “And we still can be,” he said, his voice even, like he was trying to diffuse the situation before it spiraled further. “We can still be brothers. Nothing has to change, man.”

Jeno’s laugh was short and bitter, the sound echoing in the. “I didn’t believe my dad when he warned me,” Jeno said, his voice low and full of venom. “He told me you’d try to take everything from me—my spot on the team, my friends, my life…” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he leaned slightly closer. “My fucking girl.”

Mark’s laugh came suddenly, cutting through the tension like a crack of lightning. It was sharp and humorless, a sound so unlike him that it sent a chill down your spine. “You mean my girl?” he said, his voice dropping into something almost possessive. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably clear. “She was never yours to begin with, Jeno. Not in the way that matters.”

Jeno’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his face twisting with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Don’t bullshit me,” he hissed, his voice sharp and cutting. “You want to stand there and act like this wasn’t about proving a point? Like you didn’t look at her and see another chance to one-up me? To take what was mine?” You just want to prove that nothing I have is safe from you, that you can take away anything I value.”

“You know what?” Jeno continued, his voice rising slightly. “Congratulations, Mark. How does it feel to live in the shoes of the better Lee brother? The one our dad always picked over you? You’ve finally got it all, haven’t you?”

Mark laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh—it was sharp, humorless, full of disbelief. “You’re so full of shit,” he said, shaking his head. “You really believe this, don’t you? That I’m living to compete with you?”

Jeno crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

Mark’s response came quickly, his tone hardening. “Believe whatever you want to. At least I’m not drowning in my insecurities. If you think I stole Y/N from you, then yeah, you definitely feel threatened by me, huh?”

The words hit you like a freight train.

Your chest tightened painfully, and your breath caught as Mark’s voice echoed in your mind. You hope he didn’t mean it but the laugh, the lack of a direct denial, the way he didn’t defend you against Jeno’s accusations—it was like a knife to your already fragile heart.

The cheerleaders’ voices echoed in your mind, their careless words stacking like bricks on the weight pressing against your chest. Their gossip, so casual and cutting, played on a loop: how you and Mark were probably just a fling, how messy the situation was, how someone like Mark could have anyone he wanted. But it was his best friend’s earlier comment that hit the hardest, resurfacing now with sharper edges: the observation that it wasn’t like Mark to move so fast into a relationship. The weight of those words settled heavily, twisting your insecurities further, feeding the voice in your head that whispered Mark’s feelings might not run as deep as yours.

Your thoughts spiraled uncontrollably, your dark mind overpowering the light and love you’d been holding onto. Maybe it was true. Maybe Mark didn’t really love you. Maybe this was all some petty way of proving a point to Jeno. The laugh—the way he hadn’t argued against the insinuation—it felt like confirmation.

Your chest heaved as anxiety clawed its way through you, your heartbeat thunderous in your ears. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache, but it refused to go away.

You wanted to burst into the conversation, to scream that they were both wrong, that you weren’t some trophy for either of them to fight over. But your legs refused to move, your throat constricted too tightly to form words.

Mark’s voice brought you back to the present. “You think I care about what you or anyone else thinks?” he said, his tone steady but cold. “You’ve always been so focused on yourself, Jeno, that you can’t see the bigger picture. None of this is about you.”

But to you, it felt like it was. Every word they said cut deeper, even the ones meant to shut Jeno down. Your mind twisted them into something else, something cruel, something that made you feel smaller and more insignificant than ever.

His voice rose slightly, trembling with barely contained frustration, as if every word was dragging up years of resentment he’d kept buried. “All she fucking is to you is a trophy. Another way to show me you’re better. You started screwing around with her behind my back when I was still seeing her. So don’t stand there and play innocent. At least admit it.”

Mark shifted his weight slightly, his hands dropping to his sides as he took a step forward. His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “Not this fucking broken record again,” he said, a hard edge to his tone. “You fucking broke her heart, Jeno. That’s when we started seeing each other. Don’t twist the narrative just to fit your sob story.”

Jeno’s bitter laugh returned, loud and sharp, his disbelief pouring out of him like a broken dam. “Yeah, because you’re just the fucking hero in all this, aren’t you?” he spat. “You swooped in to save her when I couldn’t. You’ve been waiting for your chance, haven’t you?”

Mark stood frozen for a moment, his jaw tightening as Jeno’s words hung in the air. The silence stretched unbearably, and you could feel your chest tighten, your pulse quickening in the stillness. When Mark finally moved, it wasn’t with the fire or frustration you expected. Instead, he let out a slow exhale, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at Jeno with an unreadable expression.

“Think what you want,” he said quietly, his tone clipped, the words stripped of any emotion. “I’m not here to argue with you.”

Your heart sank.

He didn’t deny it. Not outright. Not in the way you’d desperately hoped he would.

Mark’s posture shifted slightly, his arms falling loosely to his sides, his shoulders tense but no longer squared. He wasn’t leaning forward to make his case, wasn’t stepping into Jeno’s space to defend himself or you. He just… stood there, letting Jeno’s accusations settle like they didn’t matter enough to correct.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he added, his voice low and deliberate.

Your breath hitched. The words felt like a dismissal, not just of Jeno but of everything—of you, of your relationship, of all the things you thought he might stand up for.

Jeno scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, but you barely registered it. Your attention was fixed on Mark, on every subtle movement, every microexpression that your anxiety twisted into something damning. The way his eyes darted briefly to the side before meeting Jeno’s gaze again. The way his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding something back. The way he didn’t rush to correct the narrative, didn’t immediately say what you needed to hear.

Your thoughts spiraled, crashing into one another in a wave of self-doubt and dread. Maybe this was true. Maybe Mark didn’t care enough to argue because there was nothing to defend. Maybe he had seen you as something to win, another way to prove he was better than Jeno.

Why isn’t he saying more? Why isn’t he stopping this?

Mark’s gaze flicked briefly in your direction—so quick, so subtle, you weren’t sure if he’d actually seen you. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t call out, didn’t soften, didn’t come to find you. He turned back to Jeno with the same detached calm, his voice cutting through your spiralling thoughts.

“Believe whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said, his tone almost disinterested. “If it makes you feel better to think I took something from you, fine. But don’t blame me for the things you lost on your own.”

The words hit hard—not just because of what they meant for Jeno, but because of what they didn’t mean for you. Jeno’s accusations and Mark’s responses felt deeply rooted in their rivalry, a tug-of-war between their insecurities and unresolved history. But none of it felt like it was about you, not really. Mark didn’t defend you, didn’t affirm your place in his life, didn’t even acknowledge the accusations for how they might affect you.

Instead, his words were focused on shutting down Jeno’s insecurities, on countering his claims, and that made it feel like you were just a symbol in their conflict—another thing for them to fight over. You wanted Mark to say something for you, to fight for you, to make it clear that you weren’t just caught in the crossfire of their issues. But he didn’t. And in the silence, your anxiety whispered the worst possible answer: Maybe you were never the point at all.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but the ache wouldn’t go away. Your brain latched onto every little thing—the way Mark’s tone lacked warmth, the way he avoided direct confrontation, the way he didn’t once defend your relationship. It felt like confirmation of everything you feared, even if logic tried to tell you otherwise.

He didn’t fight for you.

Your hands trembled as you stepped back, the sound of their voices fading into the background as your thoughts drowned out everything else. You didn’t know how long you stood there, watching, waiting for something that never came. But when Mark finally turned his back to Jeno and walked toward the vending machine without another word, your heart clenched painfully, and you knew you couldn’t stay any longer.

You turned and slipped quietly down the hall, your legs heavy and unsteady as you tried to make sense of the weight crushing your chest. Every breath felt harder than the last, every thought louder, more invasive. You didn’t want to think it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Maybe Jeno was right. Maybe Mark never loved you at all.

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

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

380 notes · View notes

amourane · 7 months ago

Note

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST *CHEF’S KISS*

You deserve all the notes ⭐️ would it be ok to request a post hogwarts with theo? Angst to fluff if that’s alright?

TIA if you decide to do it!!

—🍄

calm after the storm

pairing: theodore nott x gn!reader

genre: angst to fluff, post hogwarts au

w/c: 1.2k

summary: theo has a hard time dealing with his emotions and you were always there for him but what if one day it becomes all too much.

warnings: it's going to hurt <3

a/n: 🍄 thank you so so much for this request because i read it when u sent it and i remembered it in my exam and i managed to write this banger (i dont know if its word for word but i tried to write as much as i could remember) i just added the fluff at the end. BUT THIS IS FOR YOU <33333

Rain.

It was the first thing that hit Theo’s face when he stormed out of the door. Thick and heavy droplets that fell from the sky, marking his perfect face. They streaked down his cheeks parting into different directions like rivers. The cold sensation enveloped him as he listened to the pitter patter that flooded his ears.

He was angry. He was frustrated. He was livid. The ugly emotion bubbled within him, threatening to burst. It twisted and toiled, shrieked and screamed. It was like a monster, feeding on his anger, waiting to pounce at any second.

The fight wasn’t meant to escalate this badly. Insults were thrown and meaningless threats were made as the both of you shouted at each other.

The argument could have been solved. The solution simply lay right in front of Theo but he had refused to see it. He had refused to accept he was wrong. You hadn’t asked for much, hadn’t asked anything unreasonable yet he had lashed out. He chose to ignore what lay in front of him and blame you instead.

“I should have never accepted your pathetic excuse for a confession.”

The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could’ve stopped them. Harsh cutting words that dug into you and twisted with malice. He saw the way his words clawed at the seams of your heart, ripping it to shreds. He watched as your face fell and broke. The once bright smile he always saw was replaced with a heart wrenching stare.

It was all too much. So he ran.

Bitterness swallowed him whole as he thought back to the moment. Festering anger turned into anguish. You had always been so full of joy. Ever since he had met you all those years ago when he watched as you got sorted and skipped to your table with glee. You were so beautiful, so kind, so pure. Your eyes would always look at him with so much adoration and love. Theo loved you more than he could imagine.

Then the fight would resurface. It overtook his honeyed memories of you like an infectious plague, tainting the sweet thoughts. They replaced your beautiful smile with a heartbroken expression. Your eyes, that he was so used to seeing filled with love, looked at him with incredulous horror. The sight haunted him.

Rain brought Theo back to the present. The thunderous clap resounded through his ears. At first, he had wanted to run far away but he only found himself able to walk so far before his feet refused to move. He stayed stuck to the ground as he felt the rain wash over him. Theo didn’t care what others thought, didn’t care if the passersby looked at him oddly.

All he cared about was you.

Theo didn’t know how long he stayed outside letting the water rush over his body. He simply stood. Time seemed to pass slowly as he tried to remind himself of your laughter and smiles. He forced himself to forget about what had happened but he couldn’t. The memories were constant, a never ending cycle that would taunt him.

The rain slowed and eventually stopped. The dull grey clouds cleared to reveal the peaceful sky as if nothing had happened.

Even though the sun beamed down on Theo he still felt the endless rivers that ran down his cheeks. He still felt the streaks of water as they rolled down his face. The tears didn’t stop as he stood there.

The streets were still damp, the scent of rain hanging in the air. Theo felt a gentle touch on his arm and he flinched, spinning around to meet your worried gaze. Your voice, soft and full of concern, broke through the haze.

“Theo, you’re soaked. You’ll catch a cold out here.”

He turned to face you, his eyes red and puffy from crying. The moment his gaze met yours, the dam broke. Sobs racked his body, and he fell into your arms, clutching you as if you were his lifeline.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out between sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. I was just so angry, and I took it out on you. I was wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

You held him tighter, your touch soothing him. He continued to cry, unable to stop the tears as they continued to fall. The guilt ate him up inside, gnawed at his conscience, continuously banging on the iron bars that he kept his heart behind.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You whispered, stroking his wet hair. “It’s okay, Theo. We’ll get through this.”

Your words broke him even more. You were so kind. He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve your kindness. You had always been the understanding one, the one to resolve fights, the one who would reach out and tell him it’ll be okay. Theo knew he had a problem with his emotions, he knew that he had a hard time expressing how he felt. You knew it too. He would always be grateful for the way that you still stuck by him despite everything.

“I hurt you. I said such horrible things. How can you even look at me?” He whispered against you, his voice cracking. His throat was dry and hoarse from the crying and he pulled away to look at you. His vision was blurry but he could still make out your beautiful features.

You cupped his face in your hands, wiping away the tears with your thumbs. “Because I love you, Theo. We’ve had our fights, but this…this is something we can fix. We just need to talk and understand each other.”

Theo could only watch as you smiled despite the fact tears were spilling from your eyes too. He felt the emotions whirl in his mind.

“I love you so much Y/n. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Y/n. I’m such a bad boyfriend. I’m so sorry. I never meant any of it. I love you so much, so so much.” He hugged your body tight, trying to grasp onto the warmth you always provided him with. “Can we - can we start over?”

You nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Yes, Theo. We can start over. But first, let’s get you out of these wet clothes and somewhere warm.”

The two of you walked back to your apartment, your hand holding his as you led him inside. No words were said as you helped him dry off, grabbing new clothes so he didn’t fall sick from the rain. Each touch that you left filled his cold body with warmth. He pulled you towards him, embracing you tightly.

“Thank you.” He whispered against your hair. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You held him tighter, making sure that he knew that you would always be there for him, making sure that he felt all of your love and comfort.

“I would never give up on you.” You breathed out a sigh as your hands massaged his back. “We’ll get through this, just like how we got through everything else.”

The two of you stayed in silence, letting the day pass by. No words needed to be exchanged as the both of you enjoyed the comfort of each other's love. Theo knew he had issues. He knew he had problems. Yet as long as you stayed by him he knew that life wouldn’t be so bad.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott imagines #theo nott imagine #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott angst #theodore x reader #theodore nott fluff #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #theo nott x y/n #fluff #angst #theodore nott x you #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott

688 notes · View notes

jbm04 · 1 year ago

Text

I stand by a statement I wrote long ago that every conceivable river bubble AU that Harrow had would have ended in a conflict where Gideon would die for her.

There are some things you can't change. Harrow can't change whose grief it is that she is feeling. And that small shard of Gideon that is with Harrow always can't stop saving her at any cost. Reverend daughter Gideon? Probably dies for Harrow Nova in the fight against Cytherea at Canaan. 100%. Harrowhark, who would never seek to compete for her divine highness' hand with her face, would live only because her Divine Highness would die to protect her. Probably Cytherea related. And Gideon Nav, most skilled baristar of the cohort, would die to save Lieutenant Harrowhark.

#the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #River Bubble AUs #Harrow Nova #All the other Harrows #Uh... and some Gideons #TLT ramblings

137 notes · View notes

dixons-sunshine · 2 months ago

Text

Trick Or Treat | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was that time of the year. An event you loved celebrating as a child, one you wished to teach your own daughter about. You wanted to make her first Halloween memorable. Meeting a potential new friend was only an added plus to that.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: No apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: None, really. Small mention of death.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Hi, hello @dix0nvix3n. Thank you for allowing me to add your AU into my AU. I hope I managed to capture your reader and her daughter at least half decently. Also, this fic concludes my participation to @lazyneonrabbitt’s Halloween challenge. I hope y’all like this!

“Trick or treat!”

“Oh my gosh, you two are adorable! Power Rangers, right?”

You smiled at the children that beamed up at you, their expressions screaming that they only wanted candy, but they were polite nonetheless. The kids’ mom smiled at you, her gaze drifting down from your face to the little girl in your arms—yours and Daryl’s one year old girl, Hazel River Dixon, dressed up as a little hazelnut, in honour of the affectionate nickname given to her by her father.

“Aww, well isn’t she just the cutest little thing!” the woman cooed to the baby girl in your arms, successfully coaxing a small smile from Hazel.

“Thank you,” you replied to her statement with a smile, acutely aware of how cute your daughter was, before chuckling when you noticed the impatient looks on her two kids’ faces. You picked up the huge bowl of candy that rested on the table next to your rocking chair, and extended it towards them. “Here you go.”

The kids laughed and reached forward to grab multiple candies from the bowl, before placing them in their respective pillow cases. “Thank you!” the both of them echoed in sync, before giggling and running off down your porch steps.

The mom laughed lightly. “Sorry. Have a nice Halloween!”

You waved to her as she walked away. You sighed and leaned back in your rocking chair, holding Hazel close to your chest as she closed her eyes. You smoothed your palm over her back, pressing a soft, tender kiss on top of her head.

“Tired, Baby?” you asked rhetorically. She did not say anything—not that you had expected her to—but she nuzzled her face into your chest in response. You chuckled fondly at her. “I know, Sweetheart. Daddy and I will put you to bed in a bit, okay?”

Hazel opened her eyes and looked up at you, before her eyes drifted to something over your shoulder. She smiled happily, her chubby cheeks pulling up to reveal her adorable dimples. You did not have to turn your head to figure out who was behind you. The familiar touch of your husband soon rested on your shoulder, along with a soft press of his lips to the top of your head.

“How’s my girls doin’?” Daryl inquired in an affectionate tone of voice, a softness reserved only for you and your daughter evident in it.

You turned your head to peer up at him, sending him a small smile. “We’re good. Hazie is tired, though. I think after the next family comes up, it’ll be time to call it.”

“That’s probably for the best, yeah. S’gettin’ pretty late,” Daryl agreed. He reached forward and gently ruffled the wispy hair on Hazel’s head, smiling fondly when he successfully elicited a giggle from her. “How ‘bout I get her a bottle?”

You nodded in agreement to his suggestion. “That would be great. Thank you, Dar.”

“Ain’t nothin’, but yer welcome.” He leaned down and pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, doing the same to Hazel, before disappearing into the house with his task in mind.

You turned your attention back to the busy streets of your neighbourhood in King County. You felt content as you watched parents walk around with their happy, bubbly children, waving to one of the mom’s and her child, who was in the class you taught. You had a few regrets in your life, but if there was one thing you did not regret, it was agreeing to buy this house in the small town. It was a big adjustment to the bustling city life you had grown accustomed to whilst living in Atlanta, but you did not mind the change. The move was needed, especially after all the bad things that happened over the past two years.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the unwanted negative thoughts. You did not want to dampen the good mood you had sported the whole day. Daryl was fine now. You did not need to worry anymore.

Your salvation from your steadily wandering thoughts came in the form of a mom and her daughter. You smiled at the outfits they were wearing, thinking to yourself that it was truly amazing. Morticia and Wednesday Addams from The Addams Family. They absolutely nailed the outfits.

“Hi!” you greeted the pair enthusiastically, getting up from the rocking chair and smiling at the mother and daughter duo. “Morticia and Wednesday Addams, right?”

The mom smiled at you brightly, and nodded. “Yeah!” She nudged her daughter slightly, who giggled and looked up at you with a bright smile. “It was her idea. She even got her dad to dress up as Gomez. I wish you could see his costume. He had to run into the corner store for something, though.”

“It’s okay. If your outfits are anything to go by, I bet his is just as amazing.” You jiggled Hazel slightly when she began fussing, shushing her quietly with whispered words of reassurance. “Sorry. She’s tired. She usually has no trouble falling asleep around noises but she wants to stay up and greet all her new friends, it looks like.”

The woman waved you off with a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. I get it. My husband and I did something like this with Delilah when she was about her age. She got a bit fussy towards the end, too.”

“The Halloween when I was a pumpkin?” the girl—Delilah—asked with a big smile, laughing softly when her mom nodded. “Awesome.”

You grabbed the bowl from the table with one hand, extending it towards Delilah. “Here you go, Sweetheart. Take as much as you want.”

“Really?” Delilah asked with a bright smile.

You nodded. “Of course.” Delilah reached forward and grabbed a handful of different candies, placing them in her basket. You noted that she did not go back for a second handful, and you smiled. “That enough, Sweetie?”

Delilah nodded. “Yes, thank you. I don’t wanna take more than my share. Other kids might want some more.”

“That’s really considerate of you. You’re so sweet,” you complimented her, placing the bowl back on the table.

Delilah’s mom smiled at you. “We try to raise her right.”

“Well, you’re doing an amazing job.”

“Mama, I see Daddy!” Delilah exclaimed excitedly. She turned back to you momentarily, not forgetting her manners. “Thank you, ma’am!” Then she sprinted away, rushing towards her father. You could vaguely make out his figure, but other than that, you could not see anything else.

The mom smiled at you and shook her head. “I should probably go. It was nice meeting you… I never caught your name.”

“Y/N,” you replied. The woman repeated her name to you as well, and the two of you exchanged handshakes. “It was nice meeting you too. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Hit me up if you ever wanna go for a drink or something. You know where I live.”

She chuckled and nodded. “I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.” Almost instinctively, her eyes drifted down to Hazel, who you had cooed at quietly a moment ago to soothe her fussing, successfully coaxing a giggle from her. “She’s absolutely precious.”

You looked up from Hazel and looked up at the woman. You noticed a look in her eyes, one that you could only classify as nostalgia. It was a look you were all too familiar with back when you had visited your mom when she was still alive. Your heart went out to the woman. You could see how much she loved her daughter, and seeing Hazel must have transferred her back to the days when Delilah was Hazel’s age. You got emotional looking back at pictures of Hazel when she was a newborn, almost a year prior. You were sure you would be in her boat soon enough.

“Thank you,” you thanked her with a smile. “She’s my absolute pride and joy.”

“I can tell,” she replied, a sweet smile on her face. “Well, I have to get going now, for real this time. It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you for that drink soon. I’m not letting that one go.”

You chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t mind. Just tell me when.”

“Will do.” She sent you one final smile. “It was really nice meeting you. I’ll catch up with you another time.”

With that, she walked away and met up with her husband and daughter, leaving you alone on the porch once more. With one last wave at her and Delilah, you turned around and grabbed the bowl from the table again, deciding to call it a night. Hazel had rested her head against your shoulder during your exchange with the mother and daughter duo, but she had not fallen asleep yet. However, you were sure she would do so after her bottle.

You walked into the kitchen, where you found Daryl testing the heat of the milk against his wrist. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, and sent you a small smile.

“Done for the night?” he asked softly.

You nodded and placed the bowl of candy down on the counter in your kitchen. “Yeah.” You walked towards Daryl and leaned back against the kitchen island, rubbing Hazel’s back soothingly. “We’re both beat, her probably more than me.”

Daryl chuckled and reached forward to gently take Hazel from your arms. Hazel made no protest, melting against her daddy’s chest almost instantly and making grabby hands at the bottle in his hand.

“Let’s get her settled down for the night,” Daryl suggested, bringing the bottle up to her mouth and laughing when she eagerly latched onto it. “I think she agrees.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” You pushed yourself away from the kitchen island and motioned over to the leftover candy in the bowl. “And then we can overeat on a bunch of stuff that’s probably not good for us.”

“Now that,” Daryl began, “sounds like a good plan.”

Taglist: @holdmytesseract (comment/DM me to be added/removed.)

229 notes · View notes

toweringclam · 11 months ago

Text

Is it just me or does nobody ever talk about that one?

#the locked tomb #tlt #locked tomb #harrow nova #coffee shop au #regency au #river bubbles

21 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months ago

Text

For the Love of God(dess) || CL16 {2}

Summary: Greek God/dess AU. You show Charles a part of your world and he shows you a part of his. Warnings: angst, fluff WC: 2.6k Part One || Two

The old stone path should have been worn for all the centuries that it had been used as the entrance to Olympus but it was still as perfect as it was the first time you walked it. Nothing ever changed, not since the war ended and a new hierarchy settled among the gods. For two thousand years nothing had changed in the Eternal City.

“Love, what have you done?” The imposing form of Ares filled the road to your temple, his arms the size of your waist. His molten red eyes barely glanced at the man at your side before snapping back with a double take. “Kàrolos?”

“Uh, so everyone keeps saying,” he answered quietly, his eyes sizing up the God of War as he spoke for the first time since arriving through the portal. “And you are?”

“Intrigued,” Ares said with a smirk. “Good luck.”

The god vanished and Charles rubbed at his head, murmuring, “Fucking weird dream.”

“You’ll wake up soon,” you sighed. It might not be the wake up he expected, but it was coming - you just had to find Athena. “I know someone who can help make sense of this, we just need to get you back to my place first. It’s right over h-” your words froze as turned towards your temple.

Where grey stone walls had stood, great white pillars of marble rose. Where empty garden beds lay, hundreds of white roses bloomed.

Your temple had been restored.

“This is your home?” Charles asked, a little awestruck by the sounds of it. It was quite amusing that he walked among the gods but he found beauty in a building of all things.

“Our home.”

“I have a home - in Monaco.”

You opened your mouth to argue but saw the quiet desperation in his features. He was clinging to his humanity and it forced you to remember that this wasn’t the Kàrolos you knew, this was a stranger. The only resemblance they held were their eyes, but they were the window to the soul and they still had the same soul.

“Let’s just go inside.”

The doors beyond the marble arch swung open on your approach and the interior had changed just as much. The vast room was open to the sunlight and a fountain filled the centre, the sound of bubbling water a calming feature. Open arches led to more rooms but you made your way to the furthest one.

Charles followed sedately into the bedroom and out onto the balcony that overlooked the city. Above rose the peak which Zeus had claimed, his golden palace glittering beneath Apollo’s sunshine. Below, the forests of Artemis spread far and wide with lush green canopies and the Orlias river winding through it.

Your palms warmed on the stone railing as you watched a herd of deer pick their way to the river for a drink. “I know you have a million questions and I’m sorry for…everything.”

Charles’ shoulder leaned into yours as he drank in the scenery but he jumped back when an owl swooped in, the spotted wings brushing his cheek. A flash of light burst from the owl and bare feet touched down on the balcony.

“Hmmm, you have had quite the night, Love,” she said with an appreciative look over Charles. She reached out to his face with a smile and wiggled her fingers. “May I?”

“Why? What are you going to do? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” she laughed. “I am Athena, I am knowledge, and if you want the answers then you will let me touch you.”

He looked to you for help and gods damned if it didn’t make something in your chest hurt before you nodded. He swallowed the fear of the unknown and trusted you as he stepped into her waiting hands. Lightning shattered his brain, blinding him with flashes of images that moved too fast to see. But he knew. Knowledge expanded and exploded in his mind at an exponential rate until he knew everything. Thousands of years of history burned into his retina in less than a second. The history of the gods and goddesses that called this place home. The history of the wars and the destruction it brought. The history of you and everything you lost.

He knew it all. And it hurt more than the pain that splintered his head.

He didn’t even realise he collapsed until he felt the softest mattress dip beneath his weight as you laid him down. Your concerned face appeared above him, the sun catching your hair and weaving a golden halo around the strands. A thought crossed his mind and he laughed, shaking his head.

“What?” you asked curiously as his fingers twitched like he had to fight the urge to reach out to you.

“When we met I thought you looked like a goddess, but of course you do. You are.” He looked to the balcony but the owl had already taken flight back to her palace on the hill. “I’m not him, you know.”

“I know.” The man you loved had died a long time ago. You had your time together, no matter how short, and you had mourned for him. It was time to move on. “I don’t want you to be Kàrolos. I want to learn who you are, Charles.”

“And what if you don’t like who I am?”

“I am the Goddess of Love,” you teased, climbing onto the bed to sit beside him. “My arrows don’t work unless there is compatibility between the souls. Psyche is probably better off explaining that but my power only amplifies what attraction is already there. Can’t say I have been on the receiving end of it before. This will take some getting used to.”

“What will?”

“The want, the need to touch you,” you confessed as you looked down at your hands that gripped the bedspread tightly. “It is difficult to be this close and not reach out.”

Charles frowned. “You loved Kàrolos but you didn’t use an arrow?”

“Not everyone needs an arrow to fall in love. Like I said, it only amplifies. People find love on their own everyday, only some need a little poke in the right direction. Those friends who have been dancing around each other for years, the abused who don’t think they are worthy of being loved, the colleagues who only flirt at work. The fates weave their tapestry with a trillion threads of life and when there is a snag, like two lovers who failed to meet, then I repair it so the loom can continue its creation.”

Charles blinked as he began to understand how complex the roles of the gods were. “Fuck.”

You laughed and his lips tugged up at the sound.

“I don’t mind, if you want to touch me,” he admitted quietly, reaching for your hand and unfurling it from the bedding. His hand was larger than yours but your fingers settled between his comfortably and your body sagged with relief. “So what do we do now?”

You shrugged, not exactly knowing the answer yourself. Time was plentiful so there was no rush, but you were eager to find out who it was your heart had been given to. “What do you enjoy?”

Charles’ smile dropped as he suddenly remembered the world he had left behind. “Shit, we need to go back. I have a race this week.”

–

“Breaking News: Peace had been brokered between nations all over the globe in a dramatic turn of events. For more information we will be heading to our correspondent at the United Nations HQ…”

Charles turned off the TV in the hotel but he didn’t miss the way your eyes remained fixed on the screen, or the way your lip wobbled. Crossing the room, he grabbed your hands and bent his knees so you were eye to eye. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered through the lump in your throat. “I failed my duties.”

He looked back at the TV where you could still see the breaking news. Peace had come after two thousand years of skirmishes and wars on the mortal plane. There should have never been wars to begin with.

“That isn’t your fault,” he argued, but he had the knowledge of the gods, he understood how your power worked. The gods were a fragile ecosystem that required balance. You were the balance to Ares’ power and his effect on the world.

“I was weakened when Kàrolos died, I lost half of myself, half of my strength. It left Ares unchecked - of course it is my fault.”

Charles wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck so you couldn’t stare at the TV. “You’re making things right now, that’s what matters.”

“It’s not even me,” you laughed bitterly. “It’s you. I couldn’t do this on my own.”

“Come on,” he said as he started to drag you towards the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You need a distraction, and I know just the thing.”

Charles drove to the circuit he would be practising on in the morning and it was relatively quiet as he led you through the paddock. A few teenagers excitedly asked for photos with him and you smiled as he stopped to talk with each one. He was so different to Kàrolos. Kàrolos was a warrior, proud and unmoving. Most children gave him a wide berth when they saw the scars that littered his body. It wasn’t in him to idly chatter or placate others, the only soft spot he had was for you.

“You’re very patient,” you commented as he waved goodbye and continued to the edge of the track.

He smiled shyly and looked at his shoes as he shrugged. “I try my best to talk to fans, especially when I have the time. Take a few laps with me?”

You followed his gaze to a Ferrari that was parked in the pit lane. “I’ve never been in a car.”

“No, really?” His eyes were wide with disbelief and you laughed at the innocence in those eyes.

“I go where I want, I’ve never needed to drive.”

He grabbed your hand and excitement flowed through you as he set a quick pace to the car. “Trust me?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.

You were immortal so it didn’t matter if he crashed. Sure, it would hurt but you would eventually heal. But the question felt heavier than just asking if you trusted him not to crash, more that you could trust him to keep you safe. “Yes, I trust you, Charles.”

You slipped into the seat that was moulded to cradle you before he bent down and buckled the clips in for you. His cologne reached your nose at the close proximity and you inhaled deeper as you committed the rich scent to your memory.

“Is this comfortable?” he asked as he tugged the harness.

“It is…managable.” Restrictive, confined, and claustrophobic came to mind but you didn’t want to worry him as he went around to his side. There was energy in his step that had been missing in Olympus, an ambience that brightened the moment he arrived at the racing track, and you wanted to keep that light in his aura.

“We’ll take the first one slow,” he promised as he started the engine and gripped the wheel.

You had flown into battle on the back of a pegasus, you had held onto the fins of charybdis as they raced through Posiden’s domain. Nothing came close to the thrill and the speed of Charles’ car.

Your heart jumped up your throat as you were thrown back into the seat and then the world around you blurred. Everything faded away except for the window ahead and you didn’t dare blink in case you missed a moment. There were no thoughts on the what ifs of the future, or the regrets of your past. There was only the car, and Charles grinning at you.

“Are you sure this is slow?” you asked with a giddy laugh as the adrenaline reached your head and the initial surprise was erased.

“Hold on, cherie.” The engine roared louder and like a beast it leapt forward. A scream of exhilaration filled the car as Charles lassoed the metal beast and wrangled it through each corner until he finally slowed to return to the pit lane.

“I finally understand the obsession,” you admitted as he parked back where he had left. Your fingers were almost stiff where they had gripped the harness over your chest and you flexed the feeling back into them before unbuckling it. “I can’t even describe it, but I feel alive - if that makes sense? I can’t think quite clearly now.”

“I understand.” Charles smiled softly and wiped away the stray tear that ran down your cheek from having your eyes wide open for so long. “It’s getting late.”

You climbed out of the car and looked up to see stars dotting the desert night sky. It felt like time stopped while you were in the car but nothing could stop time and it all came rushing back. “Can we do this again?” you asked, a little sheepish at how needy you sounded.

“Of course,” Charles promised, taking your hand as naturally as breathing. “After this race it’s winter break and I am all yours.” He stumbled and caught himself. “I mean, if you want to hang out and, uh, stuff. I don’t have any plans, but if you do we can figure something ou-”

You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek that was turning pink in the moonlight and he fell silent. “I don’t have any plans either.”

Charles stared at your lips, still feeling the warmth on his cheek and he touched the skin as a smile tugged at his lips and he nodded to himself. “Okay. Okay.”

“You’re cute,” you said as you felt the urge to kiss his lips next.

His nose wrinkled at the compliment. “Cute?”

“Amongst other things,” you added, biting your lip to keep your other thoughts to yourself.

He grew confident and curled his finger under your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and pulling it free from your teeth. “You’re beautiful.”

Your lungs refused to work as his head dipped down slowly, giving you time to change your mind. You could still feel the remnants of that thrill in your veins and the charge was electric as you gave into your desire and threw your arms around his neck. The kiss started slowly, hesitation holding you both back as you tasted the chemistry, but it grew deeper as his arms curled around your waist, pulling your bodies flush.

The track faded away as you spared one last critical thought to teleport back to the hotel room. Charles blinked as he looked around the bedroom, but the surprise turned to a smirk. “That is handy.”

“You can do it too,” you said as your fingers traced the hem of his shirt. “You can just have to picture the image in your mind.”

Cold kissed your skin and you looked down to see your own shirt had disappeared.

“Holy shit, it worked,” he gasped. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

Your shirt returned in an instant but it was now the same shade of red as his team colours.

“I wasn’t complaining,” you smirked but the humour dimmed as his hands came to rest on your waist that was still wrapped in red cotton. “We can take it slow, Charles.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you, not your regrets. I want you to be ready.” Ready for an eternity together.

Charles sat at the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap. “The first thing you should know about me is I have never been good at going slow,” he admitted as he cupped your cheek and crushed his lips to yours.

#greek gods au #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

492 notes · View notes

thewriterwithnoplan · 11 months ago

Text

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five. Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect.

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.”

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach.

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth.

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you.

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards.

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!”

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?”

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?”

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily.

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.”

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time.

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it.

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion.

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch.

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within.

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy.

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only.

“You’re here.”

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse.

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing.

You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls.

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly.

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you.

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur.

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?”

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.”

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser.

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back.

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.”

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin.

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.”

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.”

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate.

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red.

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?”

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you.

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.”

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily.

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.”

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest.

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.”

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.”

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison.

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment.

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.”

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed.

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.”

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat.

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.”

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?”

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy.

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head.

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it.

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things.

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it.

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?”

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

#luke castellan x reader #soulmate au #luke castellan #pjo luke #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo show #percy jackson show #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction

458 notes · View notes