#but also to make these conversations desirable
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wifes-xxx · 3 hours ago
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There have been moments, especially when we open our hearts to a husband , where you have felt a distance between you. I know It's as if the door to your heart opens just halfway, holding back parts of you out of fear, caution, or maybe something you now can't quite understand. It struck you deeply like a slap, and you couldn't help but fee this realisation, it sounds like you are being self centred "I can't believe you would be someone so selfish. That you cant give yourself over completely to your relationship. What a dried up and broken woman you have become"
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The beauty of exploring love languages and embracing our vulnerabilities lies in their reflection of real-life relationships. These concepts encourage us to examine our own connections, fostering a deeper understanding and appreciation for the complexities of love. It's an invitation to reflect on how we communicate affection and how we can better align with our loved ones, paving the way for more fulfilling relationships
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Have you noticed sometimes when you do want it from a your guy , it almost feels like you’re invisible to him?
Are you nodding along?
Has this happened to you?
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You already know you’re smitten. With your husband, only…you’re not bold and slutty, so you don’t feel comfortable just walking over and dropping to your knees and unzipping his pants and pulling it out, or telling him that you’re horny and need fucking… now!
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So what can you do because you know it’s insulting to him for you to be a boring prude?
It’s fairly easy to get attention, but that doesn’t in any way guarantee that he will want to fuck you. Just something to be aware of. Once you have his attention, you’ll want to really notice what his reaction to you is. Does he smile while listening to every word, or is he busier checking his phone than talking to you? The sharper your observation skills, the less time you waste on knowing how to please him.
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Grow up…you’re acting like you’re in middle school. You’re not. There are better, high-value ways to get his attention. Be his wife, his woman and his lover. Show him what you have and let him enjoy you.
Never be boring or distant.
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Instead make yourself interesting and be interested in him and his desires. Learn what makes him hard.
Think of each moment like the dating game, you may be insecure about flirting or expressing your interest. It will take practice, but you’ve got this! Show some sexual aggression and really let him know what you have in mind. Use your brain. Or play open docile and ditzy. If it makes him hard and your feeling horny and wet, know in your heart its working for you. Remember that.
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Be his good girl a figure out what turns him on and makes him hard, and interested. Usually, within a few minutes of conversation and , you can deduce this. Obviously, look for a bulge, but also keep an eye out for signs of breast gaze and lip gazing what part of your body is he focused upon! Display yourself with abandon like the women these men look at on Tumblr. They are interested atvtmhem for a reason. Forgot you self and think about why men masturbate to these kind of women pictures.
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Let it change you prudish self.
Keep the conversation going once you have his attention, and make it clear that you’re not just being normal friendly (you’re being flirty friendly!). Use your language in and out of the bedroom to keep him engaged.
“You make me so wet”
“Never Stop”
“That feels amazing”
“Does that feel good?”
“I can feel your dick throbbing”
“I want you here right now”
“I want You so bad”
“I was thinking about you today”
“ oh fuck me, Just Like That”
“You make me want to scream”
“Fill me up”
” I'm curious honey what porn makes you. Hard“
“Fuck me like you mean it”
“Harder”
“I feel tiny in your arms”
“I love you”
“I love your dick”
“I want your cum”
“Kiss Me”
“Make me cum baby”
“Seeing you right after a workout”
“Taste Me”
“Your cock is stretching me out”
“I'm not wearing my panties today“
Feel free to share you favourites with me.
Oh God, this felt amazingly good to write. I am sooo ready for him.
S_XXX
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leejenowrld · 2 days ago
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‘love me back?’ — part 3
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pairing — mark lee x reader
word count — 33.3k words 
genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love
synopsis — you and mark deepen your secret relationship, becoming exclusive while navigating tensions with jeno and his father. however, the secrecy of your romance is threatened by intense basketball games, dramatic party revelations, and escalating conflicts among your friends, risking the exposure of your intimate world with mark.
chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit themes, so much smut this chapter! reader cockwarms mark as he tries to concentrate on his work, plenty of riding and bouncing on his cock throughout the chapter. nipple sucking, photography sex, mark takes nude photos of her for one of her ‘projects,’ lots of body praise and affection from him, they both switch around with being dominant/submissive, super rough sex, dirty talk, name-calling such as ‘daddy’ and ‘good girl,’ and big cock mark like always, size worship, elements of jealousy and possessiveness, pussy, cheek and ass slapping, spitting, sucking on fingers, manhandling, power play. car sex, semi-public setting with rain pouring outside, reader riding mark’s cock, desperate bouncing and grinding in tight, confined space, dirty talk, “i’m all yours,” “you’re all mine,” possessiveness and dominance from mark, rough hands guiding hips, controlling pace, intense eye contact during intimate moments, jeno and reader sweet moments, mark and yn aren’t good at keeping secrets, karina and yn bestie moments, mark and jeno get a lot closer, they start considering themselves as actual brothers, tense basketball matches like always, karina is stressed about the cheer team, donghyuck is a cheer maste, boys got moves, jeno and mark brother moments, massive fights break out after the game, yeonjun is a dick, you will meet mark’s mom and his uncle!!! they’re the best, cute family scenes, yn feels apart of the family, mark and yn actually communicate healthily, have personal and deep chats, mark opens up about his upbringing, about his family, mark gets emotional :(, he takes her to the river court!! they have even more personal convos, open their hearts up, but shit will go down at a party!! that’s all i’m gonna tell you hehe enjoy 
[fic ml]
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE
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It’s been a few weeks since you and Mark started seeing each other, and things between you two have escalated quickly. Every day, almost without fail, you find yourselves tangled in sheets, having a lot of sex—so much, it’s nearly every day. But it isn’t just about lust; you’ve formed a deep, gratifying connection that’s bloomed remarkably quickly. You can’t remember another time in your life filled with so much laughter, or when you’ve felt this intensely satisfied both sexually and emotionally.
With Mark, it’s not only the sex that’s addictive; it’s also the depth of your conversations and the quality time spent together that deepens your connection. His presence is compelling—drawing you in irresistibly. It’s not just his body that you crave but also his mind and the genuine intimacy that you share.
Being around him means constantly craving his touch and his attention. He makes you feel desired, seen, and cherished. The rapid progression of your relationship feels completely natural, as if everything in your life had been leading up to this connection. Every kiss, every orgasm, every whispered secret not only intensifies your physical connection but binds your emotions closer, turning what could have been just a fling into something profound and all-consuming.
You’ve been spending a lot of time in Mark’s room lately, and it feels more like home every day. The walls are adorned with soft, muted tones that reflect his calm demeanor, a stark contrast to the vibrant life he leads. Around the room, carefully chosen photographs hang in a curated display—snapshots of him with friends at the river court, heartwarming pictures with his mother and uncle who have shaped much of who he is today. Each image tells a story of love and support, echoing the warmth of his personality.
The room also houses eclectic art pieces that speak to his varied interests, from abstract paintings to a sleek, modern sculpture that catches the light from the window. In one corner rests his guitar, a constant in his life, its wood gleaming softly under the room’s ambient lighting.
Nearby, his desk is a testament to his multifaceted life: cluttered yet organized, with stacks of music sheets and textbooks balanced precariously next to a high-powered laptop and mixing equipment. The desktop is littered with little personal touches—guitar picks, a worn notebook open on a half-written song, and a coffee mug from a concert he never stops talking about.
As you glance over at Mark, working intently on a music composition, you can’t help but admire how effortlessly handsome he looks in his natural habitat. His ash brown hair falls just slightly over his forehead, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he pores over his work. The soft lighting of the room highlights the swell of his cheekbones and the focus etched into his features. His lips, plump and slightly reddened from your earlier kisses—and from going down on you—are parted as he hums a melody under his breath. He wears his headphones like a crown, lost in the world he creates with every note.
Currently, you’re nestled against him, straddling his lap—more precisely, cockwarming him while he works. The sensation of his cock, thick and warm inside you, sends faint pulses of arousal through you. The heat radiating from his body blends with your own, making every inch of your skin hypersensitive, intensifying the connection that makes the rest of the room fade into insignificance.
“Stop moving,” Mark’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. The tone alone sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the distraction in his eyes, glued to his laptop, that fuels your defiance. You shift slightly, testing his limits, and feel the subtle press of his cock, the angle changing just enough to make you clench around him involuntarily.
“I’m so still, it’s you,” you respond, teasing him with a playful lie. Truthfully, you were both moving, his hips subtly meeting yours in small, almost imperceptible thrusts.
He hisses, the faintest sound of his restraint breaking. “Behave,” he warns, his voice low, gravelly with irritation and something deeper. But you can’t help it—he’s buried so deeply, stretching you so perfectly that the need to move, to do anything but sit still, is consuming.
“I am behaving,” you murmur with a coy smile, rolling your hips slightly, just enough to make him twitch inside you. “If anything, you’re the one moving.”
Mark’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking to yours, dark and heated despite the glare of his laptop screen. “You’re testing me,” he mutters, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before he quickly hides it. The challenge in his voice stokes your defiance, and you shift again, this time slower, more deliberate. The reaction is immediate—his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he growls, but the flicker of fire in his tone betrays his resolve. The sharp edge of his voice sends a thrill through you, making you bite your lip to keep from moaning outright.
When you attempt to slide off him in mock frustration, his hands snap to your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm, laced with an unmistakable possessiveness. The way he pulls you down again, seating you fully on his cock, makes you gasp, your walls clenching involuntarily around him.
He leaves no room for doubt—he wants you exactly where you are, seated on him, his warmth enveloping you. He finally turns to face you, a defeated yet tender look in his eyes that softens when you giggle. Smiling back, he leans in for a kiss, a gentle sigh escaping him as he closes his laptop and sets his headphones aside, surrendering to the moment.
The kiss deepens, his lips soft against yours, tasting faintly sweet. His hands roam from your hips to your thighs, the touch both soothing and stimulating, urging you to move. You begin to bounce, initially slow but picking up pace, the motion seamless and increasingly desperate. Moans spill into his mouth, muffled by the kiss, as the room fills with the sound of your escalating breaths and the subtle squelch of intimacy.
“Keep going, just like that,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and husky. Each word is a vibration that drives you wilder. Your movements become less restrained, more fervent. The pace is relentless now; you’re riding him hard, each bounce drawing a deeper groan from his throat.
The sounds of your bodies moving together fill the room—your shallow breaths, the soft slap of skin meeting skin, and the faint creak of the chair beneath you. Mark’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, threading into your hair to tug your head back so he can trail kisses down your neck. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way his hips start to meet your movements, thrusting up to meet you halfway.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your movements grow frantic. The chair is too small, the space too tight, but none of it matters. All you can focus on is his cock filling you completely, how every thrust sends a ripple of pleasure through your body.
“Look at me,” he commands, and you lift your gaze to meet his—intense, filled with raw desire. It’s too much and yet exactly what you need. He grips your thighs tighter, urging you on, faster, harder. The sound of your bodies coming together punctuates the air, a lewd, satisfying slap that echoes off the walls.
Leaning away from his fervent kisses, you murmur breathlessly, “Bed.” Despite the heat between you, fatigue begins to seep into your muscles, exacerbated by the confined space. His hands on your back offer support, his words encouraging, yet the allure of a larger, more accommodating space is undeniable. Your voice is a quiet whisper and it breaks slowly. “Please, I need you in me properly.”
Without missing a beat, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you across the room to the sprawling comfort of his bed. As he lowers you onto the soft mattress, the change in setting reinvigorates you. You resume your rhythm, now with more vigor, bouncing passionately on him. Each movement causes your breasts to sway enticingly, capturing his attention immediately. He leans in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking with a fervor that sends ripples of pleasure through your body. The needy sound of your combined moans fills the room, the sexual energy palpable.
“I can’t get any work done for my uni project that’s literally due tomorrow,” you gasp out between bounces, “you keep distracting me with sex.” Each word is punctuated by the rhythm of your bodies meeting.
“And what about you?” he retorts with a groan, his hands gripping your hips to meet your every move. “I ask you to sit still while I work, not bounce on it.” His playful complaint is laced with arousal, emphasizing how much you distract him as well.
He shakes his head and chuckles, changing the subject, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing his face. “What’s your project about? Maybe I can help, though you really should have gotten it done earlier,” he teases, his voice light yet hinting at a genuine offer of assistance.
You slow your movements, catching your breath as you explain, “Professor Jeong asked us to capture things that we find beautiful and physically stunning,” you say, the topic steering your mind momentarily from the carnal to the cerebral. “It’s about the correlation between visual beauty and emotional well-being—how art impacts our happiness and mood.” You’re tasked with compiling this into an A3 page, presenting it effectively and thoughtfully.
Suddenly, inspired by your words and perhaps the visual before him, Mark reaches for the camera positioned on his nightstand. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he starts snapping photos of you in your most uninhibited state. The camera clicks rhythmically, capturing every flush of your skin, every bead of sweat, and the raw, unfiltered desire in your eyes. His gaze, intense and focused, drinks in every detail as he shoots, clearly turned on by the sight of you—powerful, beautiful, and utterly entrancing.
“Mark?” you murmur, your voice catching slightly as you hear the soft click of the camera. You feel exposed, suddenly shy, and instinctively, your hands fly up to shield your eyes.
“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm, carrying a quiet authority that makes you immediately drop your hands. There’s something irresistibly commanding about the way he says your name. You can’t help but comply, and it thrills you. His dominant demeanor, the way he takes control in these moments, is incredibly arousing. You’ve given him the reins in the bedroom, and every session leaves you deeply satisfied, the pleasure almost overwhelming.
The room is charged with an electric tension as you approach the climax. His eyes never leave you, capturing every flush and gasp as you ride him, the camera documenting every moment. You feel him close to the edge, his movements becoming more urgent under you.
Then, the release comes. It’s intense, leaving both of you breathless and spent. You collapse beside him, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heart pounding in his chest as he flips through the digital images he captured.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs almost reverently as he reviews the photos. The breath catches in your throat when he hands you the prints, the images stark and raw in their honesty. One captures you in full motion, riding him, your eyes fierce with determination and pleasure, hands pressed flat against his chest, lips parted in a silent moan. Another shows you when fatigue began to edge in, your expression one of blissful exhaustion, a sheen of sweat highlighting your features. The third is a close-up of your breasts, buoyant and full, the image erotic and powerful.
“I can’t believe I look like this when I’m fucking you,” you say, your voice a mix of awe and embarrassment as you survey the photos.
He responds with a soft kiss on your lips. “You can see how beautiful you look, hm?”
Your cheeks flush with warmth, and you quickly shift the topic, though his intense gaze makes your heart race. “Mark, I don’t know how I’m gonna use my nudity for a university project. What if Professor Jeong sees.”
He chuckles, his eyes still glued to the photos. “I mean, Professor Jeong is sexy,” you add playfully.
“I’m sexier,” he counters smoothly, his smirk evident in his voice as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Plus, it’s not for him or anyone else, it’s for me. All mine,” he whispers huskily, his words sending shivers down your spine. The possessive intensity in his gaze as he scans your body and face makes your heart thump louder. The idea that these images are his, that this moment is just for him, ignites something wild within you.
“Do you actually like those? Are you gonna keep them?” you ask, curiosity in your tone.
He nods enthusiastically. “If you’ll let me,” he asks sweetly, his eyes widening with a plea, and he grins triumphantly when you nod in agreement. He draws even closer, resting his forehead against yours, his lips meeting yours in a soft, earnest kiss before he murmurs, “And of course, I like them. You’re absolutely breathtaking,” he continues, his voice deep and stirring. The intensity of his stare and the richness of his tone fill you with a fluttering nervousness, making it hard for you to maintain eye contact.
“I’m not really the photogenic type,” you joke half-heartedly, trying to brush off the compliment.
“That’s not true, and you know it,” he scoffs, his look of reassurance mixed with a gentle challenge, pushing back against your self-doubt.
You sigh and respond with another kiss, this one quickly flaring into a heated exchange. His hands roam over your body, each touch sparking electricity across your skin. His lips press urgently against yours, his movements poised and ready. He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock teasing you, testing the waters. It takes several tries as you adjust to his size, each attempt leaving you feeling more exposed and vulnerable yet increasingly desperate for the fullness he promises.
Finally, after a few deep breaths and some coaxing, you manage to relax enough for him to slide in, stretching you deliciously. “Good girl,” he growls approvingly, as you start to synchronize your movements. His thrusts are deep, powerful, unrelenting. Each plunge sends a ripple through your body, his pace rough and determined. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, alongside your intertwined moans and gasps for air. “Just like that,” he pants, his voice husky with desire. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you to meet each of his punishing thrusts, ensuring you feel every inch as he drives deeper, stretching you to accommodate him fully.
“Capture something you find beautiful,” he murmurs almost to himself, the camera back in his hands, snapping photos of you in your blissful abandon. He focuses on capturing the intensity of your expressions—the soft flutters of your eyelashes, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy, the way your lips part on a sigh, then morph into a moan. The room is filled with the continuous soft shutter sounds of the camera, documenting every moment of your ecstasy.
As the session grows more intense, his hands roam across every inch of your body, each touch a silent testament to his sheer obsession with you. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers fiercely, his mouth traveling across your skin, planting kisses that are both tender and demanding. “You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he declares between breaths, his voice thick with lust as he continues to thrust into you, each movement designed to provoke another cry of pleasure from you. His relentless pace, combined with the deep, deliberate thrusts, draws out moans that fill the room, blending seamlessly with the rhythmic sound of the camera’s shutter.
The room fills with the symphony of your breathy moans and soft whimpers, the air thick with the melody of your pleasure. Each affirmation from him is punctuated by his rhythmic, firm thrusting, his movements deliberate and paced to stoke the fire that builds with each of his profound, measured strokes. Your body responds instinctively, arching towards him, craving more of the exquisite friction he masterfully creates.
Every touch he delivers is precisely calculated to heighten the cascade of sensations that engulfs you. His murmurs, husky and intimate, resonate along the curves of your body. “Every inch of you is perfect,” he whispers with intensity, his voice rough as his hands navigate your skin. His fingertips trace your collarbone, glide between your breasts, and sweep over your stomach, pausing to circle your navel before venturing lower with slow, deliberate intent. His lips follow the paths his fingers set, each kiss and lick sending shivers through you, your skin tingling with each featherlight touch.
As his lips and tongue lavish attention on every part of your body. The room fills with the sounds of your breathy moans and the soft clicks of the camera, creating a symphony of sensuality. He treasures each response—every shudder and whimper that escapes your lips—using them as cues to elevate the intensity of your shared experience, driving both of you toward a crescendo of intense satisfaction.
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All day, you’ve been on a mission to find Jeno, but he’s proven elusive. Jeno wasn’t the easiest person to track down—unless he was at the gym or playing basketball, his whereabouts were anyone’s guess. Rumors often placed him in the company of various girls, but today, none of the usual spots had panned out. This search wasn’t fueled by curiosity alone; it was tinged with anxiety. It had been a few weeks since his dad had caught you and Mark in a compromising situation, and Jeno hadn’t said a word about it. You were left to wonder if his dad had kept the incident to himself.
Your intent wasn’t to confront Jeno about his father; that could make things worse if he was oblivious. Instead, you hoped to gauge his demeanor, to see if he would hint at any suspicions or knowledge of the situation.
As you walked across the campus, the environment buzzed with the typical mid-semester activity. Students lounged on the grassy quads, some absorbed in their books, others laughing and chatting in small clusters. The paths were busy with the comings and goings of students between classes, a vibrant backdrop to your own restless thoughts.
Finally, you spotted him. Jeno was unmistakable even from a distance, dressed in a hoodie that obscured his hair, and headphones likely shielding him from the world. “Jeno! Jeno!!” you called out, but he didn’t turn—his music evidently drowning your voice. Quickening your pace, you followed him toward the tutor center, puzzled. Jeno had never struck you as someone who needed academic help; his grades were more than decent.
Just as you were about to follow him inside to catch his attention, you froze. Inside, Jeno wasn’t alone; he was with Mark’s best friend. Your eyes narrowed as you watched their interaction through the glass—low whispers, soft smiles, gentle eye contact. The scene before you didn’t add up; they were an unlikely pair, never known to interact, let alone in such a close, personal manner.
Curiosity piqued and hidden by the doorway, you strained to catch any piece of their conversation, but their voices were too low. Then, it happened—the moment that stilled the breath in your chest. Jeno leaned down with a tender smile and kissed her. It wasn’t just any kiss. It was soft, intimate, beautiful, and sweet—so starkly genuine that it felt like it belonged in a more private world than this public space.
Stunned and suddenly feeling like an intruder, you stepped back from the door, your mind racing with questions. Were they keeping it a secret? Why? The weight of the moment pressed down on you, a mirror to your own hidden truths with Mark.
Choosing to respect their privacy, you walked away, your steps heavy with the complexity of your thoughts. If they were indeed keeping whatever was blossoming between them under wraps, who were you to expose them? You understood the need for secrecy all too well. As you left the tutor center behind, your mind was a whirl of unanswered questions and newfound secrets, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the paths that felt somehow more twisted than before.
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Lee Jeno, with his sharp features, has an unmistakable resemblance to his father. He often catches the eye for the same reasons his father does. From the strong jawline to the sharpness of his cheekbones, Jeno is almost a carbon copy of Taeyong. Even their expressions, when thoughtful or focused, mirror each other. Jeno’s eyes, a deep, reflective brown, carry the same intensity as his father’s, yet there’s a softness in Jeno that suggests a gentle spirit.
It turns out that you didn’t have to find Jeno after all; he has come to find you. You watch him approach with a smile, trying to shake off the memory of the intimate kiss you witnessed earlier. It’s hard not to think about it, but you remind yourself it wasn’t any of your business.
As you settle into the cozy corner of the campus café, Jeno approaches with his usual easy grace. He boops you on the head playfully with a finger before taking a seat opposite you. Reaching for the popcorn you offered, he takes a few bites, his smile spreading warmly as he makes himself comfortable. The silence between you is comfortable, filled only with shared smiles and an easy familiarity that speaks volumes of your current relationship.
After everything you’ve been through—the breakup that surprisingly mended more than it broke—your bond with Jeno has evolved. It’s surprisingly the best it’s ever been. There’s a newfound respect and calm between you two, a stark contrast to the past’s turbulence. You’ve both acknowledged the toxicity that once clouded your relationship, realizing that being apart has made each interaction healthier, more supportive.
Jeno is incredibly important in your life; he’s more than just a past love, he’s a steadfast friend. Since you were young, he’s been a significant figure in your life, one of the first people you truly got close to. Despite the messiness of your past relationship—moments that now make you cringe when you remember them—your friendship has endured. To you, Jeno isn’t just an ex; he’s like a brother, a best friend whose presence is both comforting and irreplaceable.
As you watch him, you notice a certain hesitancy in his eyes, a telltale sign that there’s something on his mind. Your history together has attuned you to these subtleties in his demeanor. You’re about to inquire, to delve into whatever is weighing on him, when a thought crosses your mind about his father. Why hasn’t his dad said anything yet about you and Mark? Is there hope that he didn’t want to interfere in the lives of the young people in his son’s life? This unspoken question hangs in the air, adding a layer of complexity to the comfortable silence between you.
Jeno finally speaks up after battling with his thoughts for the last few minutes. Gathering his courage, he says, “Hey, so my dad was trying to convince me of something crazy.”
You gulp, trying to calm your breathing and maintain a composed expression, secretly relieved that Jeno hasn’t noticed your anxiety yet. “What did your dad say now?” you attempt to joke, playing into the well-known fact that Jeno’s dad often spreads lies and toxicity.
“He told me that you and Mark are seeing each other, that you guys are fucking, and he even saw you make out,” Jeno states, his eyes searching yours for any sign of truth.
Your eyes widen, and your mouth feels dry, the sudden anxiety palpable. “That’s crazy, right?” Jeno asks, almost laughing, trying to convince himself that his dad is just trying to stir up drama again. His face betrays a mix of disbelief and a trace of underlying betrayal, disturbed by the thought that you could be seeing Mark behind his back.
You force a laugh, deflecting the accusation. “That is the craziest, most unbelievable lie your dad has ever told. Do you remember when he accused me of trying to seduce your uncle? I was 16 at the time,” you say, putting on your most convincing demeanor, playing into Taeyong’s notorious character to bolster your denial.
Jeno nods, visibly relieved as the tension drains from him. “That’s what I said. I told him he was crazy and to stop trying to interfere in our lives and create a mess out of nowhere.”
Given his strained relationship with his dad, Jeno opts to dismiss it as another of Taeyong’s manipulations, choosing to believe your lie over his dad’s truth, showing how deeply he trusts you.
“But if you actually were seeing Mark behind my back, that would be absolutely insane and unbelievable. I mean, what would you even see in him?” he scoffs, trying to make light of the situation but clearly uncomfortable with even the notion.
Shaking your head, you carefully respond, “He’s not that bad.” You bite your tongue, holding back from defending Mark too vigorously to avoid suspicion.
Jeno scoffs again. “Apparently, Mark fucks around a lot, so I just told my dad he probably saw him kissing another girl.”
Puzzled, you ask, “Really? He fucks a lot?”
Jeno nods. “Yeah, his body count is literally higher than mine.”
You choke on your coffee, truly shocked. Knowing how high Jeno’s count was, especially since you two had numerous breaks in your relationship when he’d see other people, the revelation that Mark might be even more experienced brings a mix of intrigue and unease.
Jeno changes the subject, standing up and moving to sit beside you on the couch. He drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close with a gentle firmness that feels reassuring yet suffocating given the conversation. His eyes are soft and earnest as he looks into yours, searching for something unspoken.
“We’re in a good place, right?” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “So, if anything like that were to happen, I trust you’d tell me. I believe you trust me enough to communicate and not hide anything from me. I’m glad we’re in a healthier, stronger place now, that we realised how toxic we were together and that we’re better off as friends. I wasn’t going to let my dad’s lies ruin that or sabotage my life any further.”
You feel a tightness in your throat as he speaks, a mix of anxiety and guilt constricting your chest. The physical discomfort is palpable, manifesting as a slight tremble in your hands that you hope he doesn’t notice. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm, pounding against your ribcage as if trying to escape the duplicity of your reassurances. You gulp, struggling to manage a nod, your mouth dry.
“Yeah, we are in a good place. And of course, I’ll always tell you anything. I have so much trust in you, and I’m glad you trust me too. You’re still so important to me, Jen,” you manage to say, your voice slightly strained as you force the words out, hoping they sound more convincing to him than they do to you.
He gives you a smile, one that’s meant to be reassuring, but it only deepens the knot of guilt in your stomach. With a casual affection, he scruffles your hair and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek before standing to leave. You watch him walk away, each step echoing like a verdict in the quiet room.
Left alone with your thoughts, the guilt washes over you in waves. His trust feels like a weight, heavy with the burden of your secrecy. The warmth of his kiss lingers on your cheek, a reminder of the bond you cherish yet betray with each passing moment of deception. The silence around you feels oppressive, filled with the ghosts of words unsaid, and you sit there, grappling with the reality of your actions and the fear of losing one of the most stable connections in your life.
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It’s been a few days and you still haven’t mentioned to Mark what Jeno told you. It’s been weighing on your mind, knowing it could stir up tension. You’re torn on how to bring it up—discussing such sensitive topics has always been a challenge for you. The thought of addressing it tightens your chest with anxiety, making you hesitate each time you think about revealing it.
The room is dim and cozy as you both sink into the sofa, the television casting a soft glow around you. You lean against Mark, feeling the reassuring strength of his shoulder against your cheek. Your hand finds his, fingers interlacing as you absently trace patterns on his skin. His steady breathing and the rise and fall of his chest bring a comforting rhythm to the moment, while his laughter vibrates warmly against you, pulling you away from the thoughts that weigh on your mind.
Despite the movie flickering in front of you, your eyes wander, unfocused, as anxiety subtly stirs within you. The comfort of Mark’s grip is grounding, yet it can’t quite still the restless thoughts that distract you from the plot unfolding on the screen. The room, with its soft shadows and gentle light, feels both safe and confining as you struggle to anchor yourself in the tranquility of the moment.
Mark senses the shift in your mood; his perceptiveness is one of the things you cherish about him. He turns to you, his voice a soft whisper against your hair. “What’s up with you?” His lips brush your scalp gently as his hand cups your face, coaxing you to look at him. You resist his gaze, too intense in the moment, and sigh heavily.
“I’m okay, just stressed about college,” you mumble, a half-truth that hangs awkwardly in the air between you.
“I don’t believe you,” he replies with gentle firmness. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”
In response, you pull away from his embrace and lean forward to grab something from the desk in front of you. You’re not ready to delve into your worries, not when they feel so heavy and complex. Instead, you retrieve your art portfolio, a safer subject to share.
“I want to show you something,” you whisper, opening the portfolio to divert the conversation. Mark nods, understanding your need to share on your terms.
As you flip through the pages, Mark’s attention is fully on the art before him. “This is so good, Y/N,” he breathes out in awe. Each page reveals a different facet of your talent: a striking portrait of Jeno donned in stylish sunglasses, his features sharp against a blurred background; a vibrant landscape that captures the serene beauty of nature, the colors vivid and alive; a whimsical depiction of Karina in a flowing dress, set against the backdrop of a sunlit picnic scene; and an abstract piece, swirling colors and shapes that evoke a sense of deep emotion and creativity.
Mark studies not only the artwork but the meticulous notes beside each piece, written in your neat, flowing handwriting. He takes in every detail, from the annotations on technique to the thoughtful descriptions that accompany each image.
Leaning forward, he kisses you softly, admiration tinting his words. “I can’t believe how talented you are.”
A shy smile plays on your lips as you confide in him. “Professor Jeong talked to me after class. He said I should be applying for graduate schemes and postgraduate opportunities, but I’m too nervous about being rejected. I’m scared I’m not good enough.”
In response, Mark gently pulls you onto his lap, facing him. His eyes are earnest as he looks up at you, his hands resting reassuringly on your hips. “I want you to promise me that you’ll apply for these schemes. You’re incredibly talented, and I know you’ll be accepted. You need to see how good you are,” he says, his voice imbued with a conviction that makes you want to believe him.
The hesitation in your eyes is met with the calm certainty in his. The soft glow of the room highlights the sincerity etched across his face, making him look almost angelic, grounded yet hopeful.
“Will you promise me?” he asks. The weight of his gaze compels you to nod, his belief in you nudging you out of your comfort zone.
“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice a soft echo in the dimly lit room, drawing you nearer. His lips capture yours in a kiss that quickly sheds any pretense of gentleness. It deepens voraciously, fuelled by the mingling of mutual desire. Each press of his lips against yours sends a thrill through you, while the low, contented giggle that escapes you adds a playful undertone to the fervent exchange. His hands roam across your back, pulling you impossibly closer with each breath you release—a sigh, a moan, a whisper of his name.
The room resonates with the sounds of your combined breaths, an intimate symphony punctuated by the occasional brush of your fingers along his shoulders, tracing the contours of his muscles that flex under your touch. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss to explore new depths. You react instinctively, your hands venturing lower to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if trying to merge further into him. The kiss escalates, driven by a shared urgency that pulses in the air around you, your bodies moving in a fluid dance of give and take.
As you pull away momentarily to catch your breath, the air between you thickens with desire. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intensity, reflecting a hunger that mirrors your own. “Keep going,” he murmurs, voice thick and husky, compelling you back to his lips with an irresistible force. Your response is immediate and desperate, your lips crashing against his with renewed passion. Hands roam more boldly now, mapping the landscape of each other’s bodies with a familiarity that only heightens the intensity of each touch, each kiss. The space around you feels charged, every sigh and touch a spark in the quiet darkness, fueling the fire that you both stoke with every moment that passes.
Lost in the rush of the moment, you and Mark are oblivious to the sound of the front door swinging open. While you’re completely absorbed, Mark, who is usually more attuned to his surroundings, hears the noise but dismisses it, assuming it’s Karina. Since she’s the only one who knows about the two of you and has kept your secret, you’ve grown comfortable being openly affectionate around her—kissing, touching, and more, without the need for concealment.
“I told you they were seeing each other,” a voice cuts through the air, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, breaking away from Mark’s lips as the unfamiliar tone slices through your bubble of intimacy. Scrambling off his lap, you turn to see Winter standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with amusement and curiosity. Beside her, Karina wears an expression that’s a complex tapestry of apology and sadness, her eyes avoiding yours as if carrying a burden of guilt.
“Karina!” Your voice cracks, laced with disbelief and anger. “Why is she here? I thought we agreed I’d have the apartment tonight,” you protest, pointing accusatorially at Winter, trying desperately to regain some control over the situation.
You fight the urge to panic, aware of how much Winter relishes drama and her close ties with Jeno. The thought of her running to him with this information sends waves of anxiety crashing through you. Karina, arms crossed, meets your gaze with a defiant shake of her head. “Y/N, I messaged you that Winter was coming. It’s your fault for not checking your phone.”
“That’s not the point,” you retort sharply, the tension palpable.
“I just came here to get something,” Karina says flatly, her voice tinged with irritation as she storms off towards her room, her back to you, cutting off any chance for you to explain or mitigate what she saw.
Now, it’s just you, Mark, Winter and an awkward silence. Mark, still visibly horny and frustrated, looks desperately out of place. You know he’s just dying to drag you back onto his lap and fuck you until you forget this mess ever happened.
Winter’s voice cuts through the stillness, sultry and probing, as she leans towards Mark, her intention clear in the curl of her lip. “Mark…” she purrs, her gaze locked on his with a mischievous twinkle. “Do you remember?”
Unmoved and steady, Mark’s expression gives nothing away. “No,” he states, his voice a flat denial that leaves no room for doubt or continuation.
Undeterred, Winter presses on, her voice dropping to a whisper that only you and Mark can hear. “You don’t remember, like, two weeks ago, your cock—” She pauses, watching him for any sign of acknowledgment.
Mark turns towards you, his look serious, the lines of his face hardened by the need to clarify things before they spiral further. “It was a month ago, way before we started seeing each other,” he explains, his voice low and earnest. “It was just sex, it didn't mean anything more.”
Your arms fold over your chest as a knot of confusion and jealousy tightens within you, a reaction you can’t fully suppress. “How many girls have you fucked?” The question escapes you almost without thought, a reflex to the swirling doubts.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replies with a calm that feels both comforting and final. His eyes hold yours, gentle yet firm, as he tries to redirect the focus from his past to the present, to what matters the most to him right now — you. 
At that moment, Karina reenters the room, her annoyance palpable. “You know, ever since you both started seeing each other, you’ve just been fucking all over his apartment, every room, every corner. It’s really careless and annoying.”
Karina turns to Mark, her tone laced with biting humor as she tries to mask her true annoyance. “And you,” she says, her voice dripping with feigned surprise, making Mark visibly tense. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a virgin, that you were innocent. After hearing and seeing how you two go at it… I’m honestly surprised Y/N’s pussy is still intact.” 
Mark scoffs, clearly offended. “You—you what? You thought I was a virgin?” he asks, disbelief coloring his tone.
Karina nods and crosses her arms, maintaining her assertive stance.
Mark laughs heartily. “Why?” he inquires, genuinely puzzled by her previous misconception.
Winter interjects, her voice clear and matter-of-fact. “Before Mark started seeing Y/N, he was pretty active. He’d sleep with several different girls every few weeks. His body count is way higher than Jeno’s.”
Mark looks shocked at her blunt disclosure. “How do you know so much?” he quickly asks. The fact that he doesn’t deny it confirms the truth of her words, making you squirm uncomfortably.
“I didn’t need to know that!” you exclaim, covering your ears. You can’t help but feel unsettled by the idea of Mark’s sexual history with other girls before you.
“Guys, none of this matters. What matters is how selfish Y/N is being by fucking in every corner of this house,” Karina retorts, her frustration now plainly directed at your recent actions.
“Don’t call me selfish or try to make me feel guilty,” you fire back, irritation rising. “We agreed that I’d get the apartment today. You knew I was having Mark over tonight.” Your voice is sharp, your patience clearly wearing thin with the ongoing accusations.
Karina’s frustration seems to boil over. “It’s just—it’s everywhere, Y/N. Can’t you keep it to one room, at least?”
“Are you serious? What the fuck is your problem? Sorry I’m getting some and you aren’t. What do you want me to do about it?” Your voice matches hers in sharpness, the edge in your tone reflecting the tension that’s been building.
Mark and Winter exchange a wide-eyed, awkward glance, opting to remain silent amid the escalating confrontation. Mark’s arm tightens around you, his fingers drawing comforting patterns on your skin, grounding you with his touch, which is intimate and reassuring amidst the brewing storm.
Mark coughs awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood as you lean into him, visibly frustrated. “Hey guys, do you wanna see Y/N’s art portfolio? It’s really good; she’s amazing,” he offers, pointing to the portfolio on the table.
Intrigued despite the tension, Winter nods. “Show me.” Winter’s interest in seeing your art isn’t just casual curiosity; it’s rooted in her appreciation for creativity, shared through the same course you both study.
As Mark reaches for the portfolio, you quickly intervene. “Don’t,” you whisper firmly, taking it in your hands. You retreat to your room, shutting the door behind you, needing a moment alone.
“Did Y/N let you see her art portfolio?” Karina’s shock is evident, her voice laced with disbelief.
Mark nods, preparing to follow you to offer comfort but pauses as Karina continues. “You know Y/N doesn’t let anyone touch her art portfolio. She doesn’t even let me touch it, and we’ve been best friends since we were kids.”
A soft smile spreads across Mark’s face as he processes her words, pride swelling in his chest. He feels a flutter of happiness, realising the trust and special place he’s starting to hold in your life. With a renewed sense of closeness and privilege, he makes his way toward your room, his steps light, eager to reassure you and perhaps, share in the intimate parts of your life that you guard so closely.
Karina’s demeanor speaks volumes as she stands there, her expression betraying a complex blend of emotions that extends beyond mere annoyance. It’s evident, even to a casual observer, that her discomfort stems from a place deeper than superficial jealousy. She doesn’t harbor romantic feelings for Mark—rather, her reaction is rooted in an acute sense of infatuation and perhaps, a touch of envy towards the closeness you share with him. Mark, with his undeniable charm and increasing popularity, has become a focal point of attention, making him the object of many admiring glances, including Karina’s.
As she watches the effortless intimacy and laughter you and Mark share, a pang of loneliness strikes her. It’s not just the affection but the ease of your interaction that seems to highlight her own isolation. In your shared apartment, where she once felt at home, she now feels like an outsider looking in on a world where she no longer belongs. This sense of displacement is sharpened by the realization that her connection with anyone has never mirrored the depth and vibrancy of what you and Mark have, which intensifies her feelings of solitude.
The jealousy, therefore, isn’t about wanting Mark for herself but about missing that profound emotional connection. Seeing you two so synced and happy together magnifies her own insecurities about being alone, about not having someone who looks at her the way Mark looks at you—with undisguised adoration and admiration. This internal turmoil manifests as tension and a somewhat sharp edge in her interactions, not because she despises what you have, but because it serves as a mirror to what she lacks in her own life.
Her frustrations are further compounded by the fact that she can’t openly express these feelings without seeming petty or envious. So, she remains silent, wrestling with her feelings privately, which only adds to the weight of her isolation. Every laugh and whisper she overhears, every moment she witnesses of your shared happiness, is a reminder of the void within her own emotional landscape, making her feel even more detached and alone.
Thus, her reactions and expressions are not just about the disruption in the household or the inconveniences caused by your romantic escapades. They are about a deeper, more personal ache—an ache for connection, for being seen, for being part of something as effortlessly beautiful as your relationship with Mark. In her quiet moments, she grapples with these feelings, unsure how to bridge the gap between her loneliness and the contentment she observes in you.
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“Y/N?” Mark’s voice is gentle as he taps lightly on your bedroom door, his presence just outside a comfort in itself.
“It’s open,” you call out, your voice muffled by the pillow. He enters, quietly shutting and locking the door behind him before his eyes find you. Wrapped in your sheets, tear streaks marking your cheeks, you look up as he approaches.
“Hey, baby,” he coos, his tone soft and caring as he sits at the edge of your bed. His hand reaches out, tenderly brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face. You don’t resist when he gently pulls you into his arms, arranging you so your head rests against his chest—a silent fortress against the storm brewing inside you. His fingers stroke your back in soothing patterns, each touch a silent promise of his support. The soft kisses he plants on your temple are like whispers of reassurance, telling you he’s there, waiting for you to share when you’re ready.
After a few moments cradled in his embrace, you find the strength to speak, your voice quivering slightly. “I need to tell you something,” you start, feeling his chest hum in response, a non-verbal cue that he’s listening.
You take a deep breath, your story pouring out in a nervous rush. “Jeno came up to me earlier, and it turns out his dad did tell him what he saw. He said that Taeyong tried to convince him that we were having a relationship behind his back.” The words tremble as they leave your lips, tears welling up again.
Mark’s hold tightens, his voice concerned. “Oh,” he murmurs, clearly taken aback. “But I had practice with Jeno today. He was… normal. We joked around, practiced together. If he knew, wouldn’t he be mad at me? Try to confront me?”
“That’s the thing,” you sniffle, wiping away a tear. “Jeno told me he chose not to believe his dad because he knows Taeyong is a liar and manipulative. Me and Jeno have gotten a lot closer as friends, and he’s choosing to trust me—to believe that I’m not going behind his back.”
Mark’s expression softens, his eyes filled with empathy yet tinged with concern. “Is that why you were so quiet earlier?” he inquires, referring to the strained silence that had hovered between you during the movie.
You nod, the weight of keeping your relationship with Mark a secret pressing down on you. “Mark, please, we need to keep ‘us’ a secret. No one can know, not Jeno, not anyone. It’s already bad enough that Karina and now Winter know, but I’ll make sure they keep it quiet. We just… it’s too risky otherwise. I don’t want any drama or tension. I’m just so tired of it all.”
Mark nods solemnly, his voice firm yet filled with an aching tenderness. “If that’s what you want. I’d love to touch and kiss you in public without caring who’s watching, but I’ll always put your needs first. Whatever makes you feel safe, I’m in.”
Relief floods through you at his words, and you exhale a shaky breath. “Thank you, Mark, truly,” you murmur, feeling the sincerity of his promise wrap around you like another blanket.
He exhales a deep, contemplative sigh. “It’s probably for the best,” he admits, his tone mixing resignation with newfound understanding. “I’m actually starting to get along with Jeno. It’s surprising, I know, but he’s proving me wrong. Beneath that tough exterior, he’s not that insufferable. I still think he’s a jerk but as I get to know him better, I see why. He’s just putting up a front, but he’s really not so bad once you break through that.”
Mark’s eyes meet yours, filled with a sincere resolve. “He’s my brother, and family is something I don’t have much of. I’m starting to realise what little I have. I don’t want to jeopardise what’s building between Jeno and me. Not now. So, I agree—we keep our relationship under wraps for a bit longer. I don’t want to lose the chance to really become brothers, not over a misunderstanding or impatience on my part.” His voice is steady, the words flowing more from a place of understanding and less from frustration, showing his maturity in handling the delicate balance of family ties and personal relationships.
You hum, relieved yet thoughtful. Despite the shroud of secrets surrounding your relationship, you feel a profound sense of rightness about how things are unfolding with Jeno through Mark. “What’s the deal with your family?” you ask softly, realising you’ve only ever known the outlines of his familial ties. You know that Mark and Jeno share a father, one who abandoned Mark’s mother while she was pregnant, leaving Mark without a father figure.
You’ve never met his mother, but from what Mark’s shared, you imagine her as a formidable woman who raised a son with a resilient mix of kindness and strength. Mark embodies so many qualities that speak to a loving, though challenging upbringing—he is confident yet unassuming, talented yet humble, and possesses a sharp wit paired with a deep-seated kindness. These traits endear him not just to you but to everyone around him. His laughter, easy and infectious, has a way of lightening even your darkest days, and his support has been unwavering, a testament to his character and the values instilled in him.
Mark’s empathy, perhaps his most striking quality, seems to come naturally. He listens intently, making those around him feel understood and appreciated—a likely gift from his mother, who needed to be both parents at once. He supports you quietly but wholeheartedly, celebrating your successes and standing by you through challenges as if they were his own. These qualities, deeply woven into his character, paint a vivid picture of the woman who shaped him, a person of strength and unconditional love.
He’s silent for a moment, the weight of his history reflected in the depth of his gaze. You can see the struggle, a mixture of resignation and resolve, as he contemplates his past. Finally, he offers you a small, somewhat weary smile. “It’s a long story, another time?” His voice is soft, tinged with vulnerability and an emotion so palpable it makes your heart tighten in your chest.
You nod, your understanding clear in the softness of your eyes. Reaching out, you take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Okay, whenever you’re ready,” you whisper gently, showing him that there’s no rush, that you’re here for him whenever he wants to share more. To further comfort him, you lean in and press a tender kiss to his forehead, then gently push back a lock of his hair from his face. 
His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, lingering and intense. Each touch is a promise, a silent communication of his deep feelings for you. He breaks the kiss only to continue his tender exploration, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, his movements gentle and reverent. The adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, a profound affection that speaks louder than words. His smile, boyish and breathtaking, lights up his features, making your heart flutter with the sheer beauty of the moment.
You feel the warmth of his affection enveloping you, each kiss a testament to his deep feelings. His eyes, alight with warmth and a hint of desire, hold yours in a gaze so intense it sends shivers down your spine. The air around you thickens with intimacy, each breath you take mingled with his. It’s a connection that goes beyond the physical, charged with an emotional depth that makes every touch, every kiss, feel like the first and only.
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The morning light sneaks in softly as Mark stirs beside you. His early morning departure starts with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing yours as he murmurs about having to head to practice. His voice was low and still thick with sleep, he promises to see you later, his words a soft echo as he leaves. Despite the warmth of his farewell, the quiet that settles after his departure does little to calm the storm of thoughts whirling through your mind, all echoing the tensions from last night.
Reluctantly, you slip out of the comforting tangle of sheets, still dressed in Mark’s shirt and your own shorts, you shuffle towards the kitchen. The sight of Karina munching on cereal and Winter’s unexpected presence doesn’t startle you, it only compounds the morning’s heavy air. They both pause, eyes following you in silence as you approach the coffee machine, their gazes laden with unspoken words.
Karina cuts through the quiet first, nodding towards the counter. “I already made your coffee,” she mutters, a subtle peace offering in her tone. Gratefully, you wrap your fingers around the familiar mug, the warmth seeping into your palms. 
“Thanks,” you manage, the rich aroma soothing some of the rough edges of your wakefulness.
Karina hesitates before speaking again, her voice softer, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Her apology hangs between you, earnest and hopeful. 
You meet her eyes, finding sincere regret there, and it nudges your own words forward. “Me too, I didn’t mean for things to get so heated.”
As you both step tentatively around the remnants of last night’s fallout, discussing the sharp words and misunderstandings, the air begins to clear. “Just, please, make sure you don’t tell anyone about me and Mark,” you add, needing to hear it again. 
Karina nods firmly, her assurance steady. “You can trust me. You know I’ve got your back.”
Winter, who had been quietly observing, chimes in, her agreement soft but certain. “You have my word too, Y/N.” Relief floods through you, easing some of the tightness in your chest. Their honesty, their readiness to support you—it fortifies the trust you place in them, reminding you of the solid friendships you’ve built.
Winter catches your eye, her question probing gently but deeply enough to unsettle the surface of your calm. “Mark makes you really happy, doesn’t he?” she asks, a soft curiosity in her voice.
You deflect, shaking your head and looking away. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, unwilling to peel back layers of emotions you aren’t ready to acknowledge yet.
Unable to resist your own curiosity, you shift the conversation towards a less vulnerable topic, one that needles at your insecurities though you hate to admit it. “So, you’ve had sex with Mark?” The words taste bitter, revealing more about your feelings than you’d like.
Winter nods, and without any reservation, begins detailing her brief encounters with Mark. “Yeah, it was only a couple of times. He’s really good, you know? His cock is huge, and he knows exactly how to use it. And his dirty talk? Absolutely mind-blowing.” She pauses, a hint of reminiscence flickering across her features. “But it was just sex. He made sure I knew that. We both knew what it was.���
Hearing Winter’s casual recount helps; it echoes Mark’s assurances to you that whatever happened before you was meaningless. Yet, a part of you tightens at the thought, a mixture of relief and residual jealousy tangling inside you.
Karina watches you closely, her gaze piercing as she catches the subtle relaxation of your shoulders at Winter’s words. She leans in, her voice barely above a whisper, “You’re really falling for him.”
Your reaction is immediate and visceral. You choke on your coffee, coughing and sputtering as you vehemently shake your head. “No, I’m not. We’re just fucking,” you assert, a desperate denial coloring your tone. 
Deep down, you’re terrified to admit these burgeoning feelings, to acknowledge that what’s between you might be more than physical. You’re scared to open your heart fully, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with real attachment. Your laughter and denials are just shields, protecting you from the possibility of heartache, even as you unwittingly fall deeper each day.
But Karina knows better; she sees through the facade. Your actions betray your words—constantly smiling when he’s mentioned, always eager to be near him, your face lighting up in a way that only someone falling hard could relate to. Despite your protests, it’s clear in the way you seek his presence, the way your mood lifts perceptibly around him, and how you relish every intimate moment—even as you tell yourself it’s nothing serious.
Karina’s confusion deepens when she considers the lack of formal commitment between you and Mark. Despite the clear signs of deep affection and mutual respect, the two of you haven’t yet defined your relationship with any official labels, nor have you discussed the potential of becoming exclusive. This hesitancy puzzles her, given the unmistakable chemistry and closeness that anyone can observe. To her, it seems apparent that you are falling for Mark in a way she hasn’t seen before. Having been so close to you for many years, she knows you well enough to recognize the signs of genuine emotional investment. Mark isn’t just another fling; he’s becoming a significant part of your life, a constant thought, a person whose absence you feel deeply even in brief separations.
Her own experiences with fleeting connections make her all the more sensitive to the nuances of yours with Mark. She sees the way your eyes linger on him, the way your laughter seems fuller when shared with him, and the softness in your voice when you speak to him, all indicators of a burgeoning affection that even you might not fully acknowledge yet. It’s this burgeoning reality, contrasted starkly against the backdrop of her own solitary existence, that stirs a blend of hope and melancholy within her. She wonders why, with all the evidence laid bare, you haven’t moved to cement what clearly seems inevitable. Is it fear of commitment, the remnants of past hurts, or perhaps a reluctance to change the dynamic that currently brings so much joy and fulfillment? Whatever the reason, it underscores a cautious dance around a conversation that could either solidify what you have with Mark or expose vulnerabilities that are easier left unexplored.
In these reflections, Karina grapples with her mixed emotions—envy at what you have, yet concern for what might happen if these unspoken truths remain buried. Her understanding of love, tainted by her own loneliness, makes her both a silent cheerleader for your happiness and a reluctant witness to the complexities of modern relationships, where labels are sometimes the barriers rather than the bonds.
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The gym was buzzing with frantic energy, underscored by Karina’s sharp commands that cut through the air. “Y/N! I thought I told you to switch off your phone,” she shouted, her voice a mix of irritation and stress. With a quick flick, you silenced your phone, muttering an apology as you caught her distressed gaze. Karina was on edge, her role as cheer captain weighing heavily on her today.
“Guys… we’re so screwed,” Karina groaned, collapsing to the floor with a dramatic flair, her pom-poms tumbling beside her. She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled but thick with despair. “We’re a member down, Ningning is still out of sync, and Yeji keeps missing the double back handspring…” Her list of grievances spilled out, each member’s flaw punctuated by her sharp, directive tone, correcting stances and motions with a precision born of desperation.
You crouched beside her, your hand rubbing her arm in a soothing rhythm. “It’s okay, Rina. Listen, we have time to turn this around. I’m sure we can find someone to fill in for Giselle and then we can touch up on our routine.” Optimism was your lifeline, even if it felt a bit misplaced in the chaos of the moment.
She shook her head, frustration etching deeper lines across her forehead. “How are we going to find someone to fill in for Giselle? Who could possibly learn our routine that quickly?”
As if on cue, the door swung open, and in walked Mark’s best friend accompanied by Donghyuck, his presence like a burst of fresh air. You hadn’t known Donghyuck long, but his upbeat personality had already made an impression. He was one of Mark’s closest friends and a roommate, someone whose charm was effortless and infectious.
“Okay, so we managed to do our spying,” Donghyuck announced, his voice a beacon of hope. He was known for his optimism, a trait that seemed particularly invaluable today.
You turn to Winter with a puzzled expression. “Since when did Karina start talking to Donghyuck?” you whisper, confusion evident in your tone. It felt like different worlds were colliding—your circle with Mark and his friends now overlapping unexpectedly with your cheer squad. The lines were blurring, and it was both intriguing and unsettling to see these separate parts of your life merging right before your eyes.
Donghyuck continued, oblivious to your confusion. “The Hawks are looking strong this year—synchronised lifts, tight formations, and their music is spot-on,” he explained, his tone both informative and slightly ominous.
Karina’s response was immediate; a strangled yell escaped her as she threaded her fingers through her hair. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” The pressure was palpable; the big match was just two hours away, and the cheer squad was visibly unravelling.
Donghyuck, ever the optimist, clapped his hands, his eyes bright. “We still have time to turn it around. I can teach you guys some fresh moves. Your current routine isn’t bad; it just needs some tweaking.”
He stepped forward, launching into a demonstration. “Instead of this move,” he said, smoothly executing a complex sequence of a cartwheel followed by a high kick that transitioned into a split. “Try this one,” he suggested, shifting into a full twist layout, his movements crisp and clean. Each step was executed with such unexpected grace that it earned shocked and admirable gazes from the team.
Karina, fueled by Donghyuck’s enthusiasm, stood, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. Yet it faltered as she remembered another crucial gap. “We’re still a member down,” she muttered.
Without missing a beat, Donghyuck pointed at Mark’s best friend. “She can join!” His suggestion came with a burst of excitement. “She’ll fit in perfectly. She’s a quick learner.”
Karina eyed Mark’s best friend with a mix of skepticism and faint amusement. The corner of her mouth twitch into a wry smile. Her arms were crossed, and her stance exuded a challenging aura. “Let’s see what you’ve got then. Go on, impress me,” she said, her voice laced with a dare, half expecting to be entertained rather than impressed.
Mark’s friend stepped into the center of the room, her movements hesitant at first. She tried to mimic some of the team’s signature moves, but her execution was more comical than competent, her limbs not quite syncing up with the beat or each other. Each awkward shuffle and misplaced step made her look less like a dancer and more like someone tangled in an invisible web.
From the sidelines, Donghyuck’s initial enthusiasm waned, replaced by a cringe as he watched her fumble. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth, each misstep making him visibly wince. “It’s like watching a puppy try to walk on ice,” he muttered under his breath, but then, squaring his shoulders, he jumped in to help. “Okay, okay, let’s break it down,” Donghyuck interjected, his tone bright and coaching. “Imagine you’re more… graceful. Yeah, try to channel a swan, not a duck.”
Karina’s smirk grew as she watched Donghyuck lead Mark’s best friend through the basics, his patience comical in its contrast to her lack of rhythm. Each instruction he gave, paired with her faltering attempts, turned the session into something unexpectedly amusing. Unable to suppress a chuckle, Karina leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, amusement flickering in her eyes.
“Well, if enthusiasm alone won championships, we’d be unstoppable,” she remarked, the dryness of her tone belied by the grin tugging at her lips. She watched them for a few more moments, her smirk broadening with every misstep that somehow managed to look even clumsier than the last.
Karina sighed, then her gaze softened, and she reached into a nearby bag, pulling out a spare uniform. She tossed it to the new recruit, who caught it awkwardly. “We don’t have any other choice,” Karina said, a half-smile appearing as she accepted their fate. “Come on, then. You’ve got a whole routine to learn, and just under two hours to get it down.”
Laughter and chatter filled the room as Mark’s best friend quickly changed and joined the group. Donghyuck took the lead, demonstrating the choreography with a precision that belied his non-cheer background. His instructions were clear, his demeanor light yet focused, making the practice session feel less like a crisis and more like a spontaneous dance party. Everyone was surprisingly in sync, their spirits lifted by Donghyuck’s charisma and clear guidance. The routine gradually took shape, laughter mingling with the music as they practiced, the earlier tension dissolving into a collective effort to nail the performance.
“Donghyuck, you sure you haven’t done this before?” Mark’s best friend joked, trying to mimic his flawless execution of a particularly complex cheer move.
Donghyuck flashed a grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Maybe in another life!” he quipped, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, team, from the top, and this time, let’s make sure those lifts are as sharp as my dance moves!”
As the girls lined up, Donghyuck moved through the formation, correcting postures and demonstrating the sequences with an infectious enthusiasm. He detailed each step, his instructions interspersed with humorous comments that kept the mood light. “Remember, it’s not just about the height; it’s about style. Imagine you’re trying to impress your crush from across the field!”
Karina, usually the stern one, couldn’t help but laugh, her earlier stress momentarily forgotten. The group followed Donghyuck’s lead, their movements becoming more fluid with each run-through. The camaraderie in the room grew as they started feeling more confident in their routine.
“Alright, when Winter is up in the air, let’s not look like we’re struggling with a maths problem,” Donghyuck teased, his eyes twinkling as he demonstrated a smoother transition for the lift. The team erupted into laughter again, with energy at an all time high.
As the laughter begins to fade, a palpable tension fills the air when the rival team— the Highland Hawks—struts into the gym, their cheer squad in tow. The Hawk’s cheerleaders, with Yeeun leading them, give Karina and your team a condescending once-over. They mock the frantic pace of your last-minute practice, predicting a lacklustre performance from your group.
“You’re still trying to polish that tired routine?” Yeeun taunts, her voice dripping with faux sweetness as she exchanges a glance with her friends, Ryujin and Arin, who snicker beside her. “It’s adorable how you think you stand a chance.”
Karina, usually unflappable, clenches her jaw, her fists balling at her sides. “We’ll see who’s adorable at the end of the match, Yeeun,” she retorts sharply, her tone icy. The fake niceties hang heavy between them, laced with years of rivalry and mutual disdain.
However, you find yourself distracted from the brewing showdown. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mark walking alongside Jeno, a sight that still surprises you—both of them engaged in what appears to be a friendly conversation, far from their usual confrontational antics.
You attempt to look away as Mark passes, fearing your expression might betray the turmoil and longing he stirs within you. Despite your efforts, your gaze meets his; the connection is instantaneous, his eyes reflecting a mix of desperation and affection. It’s clear he’s yearning for a moment alone with you, his glance heavy with unsaid promises of how intensely he wants to fuck you, but the timing couldn’t be worse.
Mouthing a quiet “sorry” with a helpless shrug, you see him smirk in response, his expression softening as he whispers, “It’s okay,” before turning to continue his walk.
Winter, who’s been observing the exchange, leans in and murmurs with a teasing edge, “Stop eye fucking each other, you’re making it really obvious.” You give no reply, too caught up in the rush of emotions Mark’s brief interaction has left you with, the words echoing in your mind, leaving you flustered and even more aware of the palpable sexual tension that you both seem unable to conceal.
The moment lingers, suspended in the charged air of the gym, until it’s abruptly shattered. Your breath catches when you spot someone familiar among the opposing team— a casual hookup from a past you almost forgot. You remember him mostly for the string of intense, sexually-filled encounters during one of your many breaks with Jeno. The surprise of spotting him here sends a twist through your gut, unsettling you deeply.
His recognition is immediate, his smirk widening as he steps closer, his gaze sliding over you with unwelcome familiarity. The discomfort of his stare pricks at your skin, his eyes tracing contours that only serve to remind you of a past best forgotten. He approaches with a cocky tilt of his head, his words dripping with insinuation. “Miss me? We had some good times, didn’t we? Come on, let’s recreate some old memories,” he suggests, the arrogance in his tone grating against your nerves.
Before you can react, his audacity crosses a line—his hand reaches out, grasping your ass with a brazenness that snaps your restraint. You shove him back, hard, the impact echoing your surge of anger. Around you, the other cheerleaders rally, their voices raised in a cacophony of protests, demanding he back off.
The commotion catches the attention of the nearby players, including Mark and Jeno, who glance over, instantly alert. Mark’s eyes, sharp and protective, find yours first, reading the distress etched across your face. His jaw tightens, and without a second thought, he strides over, his presence like a shield. Jeno, recognizing the man and the threat he poses, follows close behind, his own anger flaring up.
The guy laughs, mistaking their approach for a casual challenge, but the cold fury in Mark’s eyes belies the seriousness of his intent. “You think you can just touch her like that?” Mark’s voice is low, dangerous, a clear warning. Jeno stands shoulder to shoulder with him, adding, “She said back off. That means you’re done here.”
Their stance is confrontational but calculated, designed to intimidate without revealing the depth of their personal stakes. Mark’s protective nature is on full display, yet he’s careful to frame his intervention as if he’s merely backing up Jeno, keeping the true nature of his and your relationship under wraps.
As the guy backs down, muttering under his breath, the tension doesn’t fully dissipate but shifts, leaving behind a charged silence. You’re shaken but grateful. This incident reminds you of the complex layers of past and present entanglements. Yet, in this moment, the support shown by Mark and Jeno, despite their complicated history, highlights a growing respect and understanding that moves beyond old grudges.
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The team didn’t win at the cheer competition, finishing behind the Hawks again, but the loss didn’t hit as hard this time. Karina, usually the most disheartened by defeat, seemed surprisingly upbeat. The atmosphere had shifted from intense competitiveness to a focus on fun and team bonding, thanks in large part to Donghyuck’s efforts to keep everyone laughing and relaxed during practices.
Mark’s best friend, who joined the team temporarily, also made a noticeable impact. She received quite a bit of attention for her spirited presence and the way she fit into the cheer outfit, which complemented her well during the performances. Her addition to the team brought a fresh energy that was well received by everyone, including the spectators. You didn’t miss the way Jeno kept glancing over to her, the way he was checking her out. His interest was subtle yet unmistakable.
The gym buzzes with anticipation as the Seoul Hill Ravens prepare for a pivotal game. The stands are a sea of excited faces, the air charged with the collective energy of hopeful fans. As the team warms up, the sound of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking against the polished floor adds to the building tension. Above this din, Donghyuck’s voice cuts through, clear and enthusiastic: “The crowd is electric tonight! With one more win, the Seoul Hill Ravens will make the state finals for the first time in 18 years. Tonight, all eyes are on Lee Jeno.”
Just then, Jeno spots two unsettling figures, Sunwoo and Eric, lurking in the audience. He nudges Mark, nodding toward the duo. “Hey, what are those guys doing here?” he whispers.
Mark frowns, tension lining his face. “How should I know?” Jeno snaps, clearly irritated.
“Well, I saw you talking to them on the river court earlier today,” Mark pushes, trying to make sense of their presence.
“Mind your own business, Mark,” Jeno retorts sharply, turning away to focus on the game ahead.
The whistle blows, and the game kicks off with intense energy. The Ravens start strong, but the Highland Hawks are close on their tails. Donghyuck continues his narration, his voice filled with excitement, “The Ravens are leading but not by much. Every move, every play could tip the scales!”
Mark dominates the basketball court with a commanding presence, each movement a blend of power and grace. His jersey, damp with exertion, clings to his muscular frame, emphasising his athletic build as he leaps for layups and darts past defenders. There’s a raw magnetism in his play, a compelling allure that captures your undivided attention. 
However, despite Mark’s standout performance, the team’s usual synergy seems off. Jeno, normally a key player, is visibly distracted, often glancing towards the audience where Sunwoo and Eric sit watching. The pressure isn’t coming from his father tonight, it’s something else—something that has Jeno playing far below his usual standard.
Donghyuck’s voice fills the gym again, laced with concern, “Oh, and Jeno misses another shot that normally would be a sure thing for him. Something’s off today. He’s not himself.”
The frustration builds on the court; Chenle shouts from the sidelines, visibly annoyed, “Hold onto the ball, Jeno! Oh my god, kick it out, man. What’s wrong with you?”
Jeno’s responses are subdued, his usual fiery spirit dampened, “Sorry,” he mutters, his eyes not meeting his teammates’.
As the game progresses, the lead narrows even further. Mark, catching a bad pass from Jeno, can’t hide his frustration. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you want us to lose?” he yells across the court.
“Chill out, man, we’re still leading,” Jeno shoots back, though his tone lacks conviction.
“Yeah, by FOUR,” Mark retorts, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
The game is a rollercoaster of emotions, with every Raven feeling the strain of an unexpectedly tough match. As the final quarter approaches, the outcome hangs precariously in the balance, and everyone senses that the usual harmony of the team has been unsettled by whatever is weighing on Jeno.
At halftime, the locker room is echoing with Coach Suh’s booming voice, his frustration palpable and resonating off the walls. “What is going on out there? Can somebody explain to me why we’re only four points up when we should be blowing them out of the water? It’s like you guys are trying to give away points! Get out there and shoot around!” His tone is both incredulous and demanding, pressing the team for answers and better performance.
The mood among the crowd mirrors the tension in the locker room—spirits are notably dampened, the usual vibrant cheers replaced with anxious murmurs and restless shifts in the bleachers. Everyone senses the unusual underperformance, the atmosphere charged with concern rather than the typical energetic support.
Back in the locker room, Mark confronts Jeno amidst the turmoil, their conversation low but intense. “Hey, Jen… what’s going on?” Mark probes, his voice laced with worry rather than accusation, sensing there’s more beneath the surface of Jeno’s distracted plays.
Jeno’s response is defensive, a clear indication he’s not ready to divulge any truths. “With what?” he counters, dodging the question with a feigned ignorance that doesn’t fool Mark.
Mark doesn’t let up, his observation sharp. “Well, the way you’re playing tonight. It’s not nerves, I can tell.”
“You can’t tell anything, you don’t know me,” Jeno snaps back, his voice a mix of defiance and weariness.
Despite Jeno’s resistance, Mark pushes for clarity. “I know you’ve somehow gotten into trouble with those two guys, and suddenly they’re here in the audience and you’re playing like crap. What do they want you to do, Jen? What… lose the game? Betray your teammates and your coach for some money?” His accusation, though harsh, is driven by concern not only for the game but for Jeno himself.
Jeno’s reply is tinged with desperation. “All right, listen to me. Take the self-righteous attitude and shove it. You can’t begin to understand what’s happening and the shit I’m in, so leave me the fuck alone and mind your own business.”
Mark’s patience thins, his frustration palpable. “Well, you better help me understand, or I’m going to Suh,” he states firmly, his tone indicating that he’s not willing to let this slide.
Jeno’s face tightens, a mixture of defiance and resignation washing over him. “Listen, I’d never throw a game, okay? We’re still gonna win… just by less than 10 points.”
Mark huffs, disbelief etching his features as he rolls his eyes. “Oh… Jeno,” he mutters under his breath, his voice laden with disappointment. He can’t fathom Jeno’s rationale, his brother’s words sounding more like excuses than justifications.
Jeno’s expression hardens, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Don’t, okay? The only reason we’ve gone this far is because of me. And besides, all anybody cares about is winning. Nobody cares if I gave it my all or not.” His words spill out, laced with a mix of defiance and resignation, reflecting the pressure he feels from all sides.
Mark’s frustration is evident as he retorts to Jeno, “Do you really believe that? You’re the star player, you’re supposed to be, you’re the captain.” His voice carries a mix of incredulity and concern, highlighting the gravity of the situation unfolding between them.
As their intense discussion continues, you leave the gym and decide to approach the locker room, hoping to catch a moment with Mark. Most of the players are already heading back to the court, the game’s urgency pulling them from the confines of strategy talks and hurried pep talks. You suspect Mark is alone and you wish to offer a quick kiss and some words of comfort, knowing he’s stressed about the slim lead.
However, as you reach the door, you overhear the tail end of a heated conversation. Your steps falter, a frown forming as you recognise Jeno’s fiery voice. The possibility of a private moment vanishes, replaced by concern as you catch fragments of their exchange.
“Yeah, okay? I have to believe that. I got no other way out. Unless you got 15 grand lying around,” Jeno’s voice is thick with desperation and resignation. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications heavy and dark.
At that moment, Coach Suh enters, his presence like a sudden gust of wind that slices through the thick atmosphere. “Is there a problem here?” His voice is stern, demanding truth in the stifled air.
“No,” Jeno responds curtly, his tone dismissing the underlying tension. He exits swiftly, his annoyance palpable, with Suh following closely behind, leaving the room charged with unsaid words. You retreat into the shadows, hiding briefly to avoid detection. Once the coast is clear and the echoes of their departure fade, you slip into the locker room.
Inside, you find Mark, his expression stormy, the weight of the team’s performance and his brother’s troubles etched deeply across his brow. His shoulders are tense, bearing not just the physical demands of the game but the emotional turmoil that the day has brought.
“Hey,” you whisper, breaking the silence gently. He looks up, a mixture of relief and sadness in his eyes. His smile, though soft, doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and needing. You walk over and pull him into an embrace, feeling his body tense under your touch. As you hold him, the room’s residual stress seems to dissolve slightly, confined to the background as you focus on the man in front of you.
You lean back just slightly, tilting your face up to meet his lips with a gentle, tender kiss. “What was that about? Jeno seems really stressed,” you murmur, pulling back to look into his eyes, seeking answers in their depths.
“No clue,” Mark replies, his voice laced with frustration. He glances at you, a flicker of concern crossing his face as he raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t overhear us talking, did you?” he asks. You shake your head, and you notice a subtle sigh of relief escape him, though he tries to mask it.
He kisses you again, his yearning clear. “You look so beautiful today. Can’t be bothered to finish this game, just wanna be in you,” he confesses, his voice low with need, a smirk playing on his laps as he catches you gasping at his tone. His hands find your waist, fingers splaying wide over the fabric of your cheer skirt, edging daringly beneath to grip your ass with a boldness that sends a thrill through you.
You offer him a warm smile, your eyes softening as you feel a rush of affection. “There’s not much time left in the game. Go out there, win it, and then I’m all yours for the evening,” you say, your voice low and encouraging, aiming to boost his spirits. You reach up, tracing the line of his jaw tenderly with your fingertips, adding a playful yet sincere, “Make me proud.”
Mark’s response is immediate and intense; a low growl vibrates from his throat as he pulls you closer. His hands roam over your back, tracing the contours of your body with a possessive touch that sends shivers through you. “I’ll win it for you,” he promises, his voice thick with anticipation, his eyes burning with a mix of determination and desire as he looks down at you.
Mark’s affection is tender and constant as he dots kisses across your face, each touch soft and deliberate. He starts at your forehead, then gently presses his lips to your cheek, your nose, and the delicate skin of your eyelids. A soft kiss lands on your chin, and then he’s back to your lips, lingering there longer. Between these gentle caresses, he murmurs, “I wish that idiot from the other team could see how I’m kissing you, wish he could see that you’re mine.”
You can’t help but giggle, the warmth of his words spreading through you, making your cheeks flush with a mix of delight and a hint of shyness. As he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes with a softness that makes your heart race, he asks, “Who was he anyway?” His tone is curious, tinged with a protective edge. 
“Just someone I used to see,” you reply quietly, avoiding his gaze as you recall the uncomfortable encounter. “I think he’s mad that I ghosted him.”
Mark’s protectiveness flares instantly. “If he makes you feel uncomfortable again, you’ll tell me, hm?” he asks, his gaze intense and serious.
You nod, feeling a surge of affection for his concern. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer. “I know you’ll always protect me,” you affirm softly.
He responds by leaning down to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. The kiss is gentle, yet filled with all the emotion he’s holding back, a quiet statement of his care and connection to you. The world around you fades, leaving only the feeling of his lips on yours, tender and full of unspoken promises.
───────────────────────────────
Donghyuck’s voice fills the gymnasium, keeping pace with the game’s intensity. “The game is still on. Time is winding down in the fourth quarter, and the Ravens have a 7-point lead… now 9 points. And the Hawks are gonna call time-out.”
The whistle blows, signaling a pause in the action. Coach Suh takes the opportunity to strategize, calling his team over. “Jeno, take a seat.”
Jeno looks perplexed and protests, “What? Why?”
Coach Suh’s voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “Because we’re up by 9, and I’m not gonna expose my best player to injuries.”
“But Coach, we only got a couple seconds left,” Jeno tries to argue.
“It only takes one to blow out a knee. Now sit down,” Suh commands. Jeno, though reluctant, obeys and takes his place on the bench. Suh then turns his attention to Mark. “Mark, come here. Look, they’re gonna be looking to foul. You’re our best free-throw shooter. Now, I want you to go in there and ice this thing.”
The Ravens team gathers for a quick huddle, hands together in unison, their voices echoing in the gym, “One, two, three — Ravens!”
In the stands, the atmosphere is tense. Sunwoo and Eric, cynical and watchful, observe the proceedings with keen interest. Sunwoo mutters to his accomplice, “If the Ravens score one more point, Jeno Lee doesn’t leave this gym in one piece.”
The game resumes with the clock ticking down. Donghyuck continues his commentary, “The Ravens are up by 9. Just five seconds stand between them and a trip to the state championship… three seconds now.”
As the crowd holds its breath, Na Jaemin executes a quick steal for the Ravens, clinching their lead. Donghyuck exclaims, “Na Jaemin picks up a quick steal! And that’s gonna ice it. With two seconds left on the clock, the Ravens are headed to the state championship. All that remains is for Mark Lee to seal it.”
From the sidelines, you catch Mark’s eye, sending him a small, encouraging smile. He holds your gaze, his expression softening as a confident, almost playful smile curls at the corner of his lips—a silent promise that he’s got this. You can feel the quiet intensity in his look, as if he’s drawing strength from your presence, fueling him with that last bit of resolve for the final seconds of the game.
Donghyuck inquires to his co-commentator, Yeri, “What’s his free-throw percentage, Yeri?”
“Well, he’s 92% from the line… and 100% hot,” Yeri replies, a hint of attraction in her voice.
Mark prepares for the shot. You know him well enough to sense that something is off—it isn’t nerves; Mark doesn’t get nervous. He’s always confident in his abilities. It must be something else. As lines up at the free-throw line, bouncing the basketball methodically, a ritual of focus before each shot. His posture is the epitome of readiness, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the rim, yet there’s a subtle tension in his frame that you’ve come to recognize. This isn’t the usual concentration or the typical pre-shot jitters that some players exhibit. There’s a deliberateness to his movements, a measured nature that seems out of place.
He takes a deep breath, and you can see the slight furrow in his brow, an indication of the internal conflict perhaps stirring within him. Mark is not one to falter under pressure, nor is he one to let the crowd’s energy sway his composure. His confidence on the court has always stemmed from a deep-seated belief in his skills and a clear mental focus that rarely wavers.
Yet, today, as he stands ready to take what should be a routine free throw, his glance briefly drifts to Jeno, who’s seated on the bench, his own expression a mixture of tension and unreadable thoughts. This fleeting look, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying close attention, suggests a connection to the younger player’s troubles—a shared burden or a silent acknowledgment of a situation only they understand.
As Mark adjusts his grip on the ball, his usual smooth rhythm seems slightly forced, his movements minutely hesitant. It’s clear to you, having watched him play countless times, that whatever is weighing on him is affecting his usual seamless play. This shot, normally a mere formality for someone of his skill, now carries an unspoken weight, hinting at stakes much higher than just the points on the scoreboard.
Donghyuck builds the anticipation, “If Mark can make this free-throw, the lead will be 10 points, and that would be the Ravens’ ninth double-digit victory of the season.”
Mark steps up to the line, his usually steady hands briefly faltering as he takes a deep breath. His gaze shifts, not just to the basket but to the bench where Jeno sits, a silent tension passing between them. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even a glint of reluctance—as he dribbles the ball once, twice, then steadies himself. The gym is a quiet hum of anticipation, the crowd holding its collective breath. 
Finally, Mark raises his arms, releases the ball with precision, and… it’s just slightly off. The shot hits the rim, bounces wide, and the opposing team rebounds just as the buzzer blares through the gym. “The shot is up… and it’s no good!” Donghyuck announces as the buzzer sounds. “The Hawks rebound, the buzzer sounds, and this one’s over! We won! The crowd goes on the floor, and this place is going crazy. The Ravens have won by 9! They’re headed to the state championship, baby! Yeah!”
The Ravens have won, the crowd exploding into cheers as fans rush the court in a frenzy of celebration. Mark’s teammates are ecstatic, embracing each other, but you can’t shake the feeling that Mark’s miss wasn’t an accident. You watch him, his expression unreadable amid the jubilation, silent questions linger in your mind. What are the brothers hiding? What the hell is going on?
You’re pulled from your thoughts by an all-too-familiar voice. Yeonjun—finally placing a name to the face of the guy who’s been giving you trouble—saunters over with that arrogant smirk plastered across his face. He’s the guy you had a casual fling with ages ago, nothing serious, and certainly nothing you thought you’d have to deal with again. The irritation flares up instantly as he nears you, unbothered by the glare you give him.
“I’ll call Jeno over,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice low but firm. “He’ll beat you up like he did before. We both know he can’t stand you, so get the hell away from me—”
“But he’s not your boyfriend anymore, is he?” Yeonjun cuts you off, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “You should’ve told me you were single. Would’ve saved me some trouble.” He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, clearly delighted by the reaction he’s getting.
Your pulse quickens, a mix of anger and discomfort rising in you as you realize that your relationship status only fuels his audacity. Knowing him, it wouldn’t have mattered whether you were single or taken; guys like him ignore boundaries regardless. He inches closer, continuing with his unwanted comments, his eyes trailing over you in a way that makes your skin crawl.
“Come on, babe. We both know you missed me,” he sneers, voice dripping with condescension as he leans in, hand reaching out to grab you.
You push him back firmly, raising your voice in defiance. “Get your hands off me!”
The force of your voice draws attention from the crowd, heads turning toward the commotion. Mark, who had just finished high-fiving his teammates, catches sight of what’s happening. Any remaining patience vanishes from his face as he watches Yeonjun’s approach, eyes narrowing with fury. The restrained frustration he’d been holding back—after everything with Jeno, not being able to touch and kiss you in public, and the weight of the game—is now focused entirely on Yeonjun.
Mark steps forward, his eyes dark and unyielding as he stares Yeonjun down. His posture is tense and unyielding, he reaches Yeonjun in seconds, shoving him with enough force that he stumbles back and away from you. “You need to back off. Now.” His voice is calm, but the underlying threat is unmistakable.
Yeonjun scoffs, tossing a condescending look at Mark. “What’s your problem, man? She’s not yours to protect.”
Mark stands firm, his expression unyielding. “Yeah? Well, she sure as hell doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
With a smirk, Yeonjun leans in, his tone venomous. “Oh, I get it, you want her too, huh? She has such a tight pussy… I’ll tell you, it’s something else.” His words are calculated, aimed to incite a reaction.
Mark’s jaw clenches, a vein throbbing at his temple, signaling the fraying edge of his composure. He steps forward, closing the gap between him and Yeonjun in a heartbeat. With a swift movement borne of frustration, he shoves Yeonjun hard. The force catches Yeonjun off guard, causing him to stagger backwards, his feet scrambling to regain his balance. The smug smirk that had been plastered on Yeonjun’s face falters, morphing into a scowl as he realizes he’s not dealing with someone who’s going to back down.
As Yeonjun steadies himself, his eyes narrow, and without warning, he launches a punch aimed directly at Mark’s face. But Mark, anticipating the move, dodges to the side, his own anger simmering just below the surface. The miss doesn’t deter Yeonjun; instead, it fuels his rage, and he lunges again, more recklessly this time.
Mark’s response is swift and decisive. As Yeonjun swings, Mark catches his wrist, using his momentum against him. With a quick twist and a firm push, Mark pins Yeonjun against the wall. His grip is tight, controlled—marking the restraint of someone well-practised in keeping his cool.“ Think very carefully about your next move,” Mark hisses into his ear, his voice low and menacing. The immediate area around them grows tense, players pausing as the altercation unfolds, ready to jump in at any sign of escalation.
Jeno had been silently observing everything since Mark went over to defend you against Yeonjun. He was puzzled—what was all that about? As far as he knew, you and Mark weren’t particularly close; there was no obvious reason for Mark to get so worked up unless he had some personal issue with Yeonjun. His confusion only deepened with the ongoing situation.
His father, Taeyong, watching the exchange from a distance, chuckled cynically and nudged Jeno with a knowing smirk. “Still don’t believe me? It’s obvious they’re fucking, son.”
Jeno shot his dad a withering look, choosing to ignore the crude comment. Despite the seed of doubt his father tried to plant, Jeno’s trust in you remained unshaken. He wasn’t going to let his father’s baseless accusations color his perception of you or Mark. Turning his attention away, Jeno scanned the gym’s bleachers for Eric and Sunwoo. A small sigh of relief escaped him when he saw they had already left, sparing them from any more of the drama.
Jeno, with a look of renewed determination, wastes no time in joining Mark’s side. His approach is swift and determined, his loyalty to Mark unmistakable as he positions himself as a barrier between Mark and any further threats. Spotting a player from the opposing team trying to intervene, Jeno grabs him by the arm and firmly pushes him back, effectively blocking him from escalating the fight. 
The atmosphere in the gym quickly becomes charged as the altercation draws more attention. Teammates and opponents alike dive into the mix, with some trying to break up the fight and others fueling it. Fists fly and shouts fill the air, creating a disorder and chaos. The floor becomes a maelstrom of moving bodies—players dodging, weaving, and colliding as the skirmish grows. In the midst of the fight, Mark swiftly gains the advantage over Yeonjun. The crowd’s attention is locked on the action, their cheers growing louder as Mark dominates the confrontation.
Amidst the frenzied chaos, tensions between Karina and Yeeun, the opposing cheer captain, reached a boiling point. The air was thick with rivalry as they squared off, their frustrations from the entire season spilling over.
“Still think you’re better than us?” Karina taunted, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, the muscle in her jaw twitching with anger.
Yeeun stepped closer, her sneer sharp and cutting. “Better at everything. Especially not losing my head over stupid boys,” she shot back, her voice dripping with disdain.
That was the last straw for Karina. In a flash of fury, she lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Yeeun’s hair and yanking her head back with a fierce tug. Yeeun retaliated instantly, her nails digging painfully into Karina’s arm as she tried to free herself.
The scuffle escalated quickly into a wild flurry of kicks and screams, each girl trying to overpower the other. Winter and Ryujin rushed to intervene, desperately pulling and pushing to separate them, but their efforts only intensified the struggle. Arin joined the fray, shoving Winter aside with a harsh push that sent her staggering back.
Amid the chaos, Karina found an opening. She pulled her arm back and landed a solid punch on Yeeun’s cheek. “And that’s for trying to steal my man that one time,” she hissed, her breath hot with anger. Not giving Yeeun a moment to recover, Karina swung again, connecting another punch. “And that’s for stealing my move at the last Nationals—the Twisted Halo jump!”
The gym is a storm of chaos, with shouts, punches, and unrestrained aggression filling every corner. Coaches, teachers, and spectators scramble to intervene, but the tension has reached an uncontrollable peak.
Time seems to slow as the chaos finally fades away, leaving a heavy stillness in its wake. Mark bears the visible signs of the recent confrontation—a few fresh marks bruising his hands and a harsh line across his face. It’s painful for you not to rush to his side, especially now when all you want to do is envelop him in your arms, thank him, and tend to his wounds. But the reality of your secret relationship keeps you at a painful distance in the crowd.
The two of you had tried to sneak away to the locker rooms for some privacy, only to be halted by the loud echoes of Coach Suh’s furious voice berating the players involved in the fight. With a mutual sigh of resignation, you both came to the conclusion that there would be no moments alone tonight. 
However, you can’t help but to find yourself constantly searching for Mark in the crowd. Your heart swells as you watch him embrace a woman. Even from a distance, her youthful vigor is apparent, but the maternal pride in her eyes is unmistakable—this is his mother. You can’t hear their words, but her gestures, filled with boundless praise and affection, speak volumes. She reassures him with a fervour that despite his missed shot, her pride in him is unwavering, her love absolute.
The light in Mark’s eyes and the broadness of his smile as he embraces his mother capture you completely. He seems to radiate happiness, the kind that fills the space around him and draws people in. His cheeks, surely aching from smiling so much, only add to the warmth that his expression carries. Watching him in such a pure moment, you can’t help but feel a surge of joy that tightens your chest in a familiar, yet always surprising, way. It stirs something deep within you—a mix of admiration and a sharp pang of longing. What was this tightening in your chest that seemed to draw tighter with each of his smiles?
Seeing him like this makes you ache to be by his side. You want to be the one he shares these moments with, someone who can give him the same comfort and support that he gets from his family. The happiness on his face brings a soft smile to yours, even as you feel a small pang of longing, wishing you could step closer, congratulate him, and tell him how proud you are. But, for now, you stay where you are, letting the warmth of his happiness reach you from afar.
“That’s how he looks when he’s with you,” Karina murmurs, startling you. She’s right beside you, and her presence snaps you back to reality. You quickly ask about her condition, recalling the fight she’d been involved in. She waves off the concern, showing only a few scratches. “We handled it,” she assures with a wry smile. 
Your attention drifts back to Mark, who now converses with a man standing close to his mother. The man’s presence is comforting, almost fatherly as Mark looks at him with evident respect and fondness. Curiosity about his identity flickers through your mind, but the warmth of seeing Mark surrounded by love overshadows it.
You stifle a giggle as his mother scolds him for his involvement in the fight, her hands gesturing animatedly. Yet, in the next moment, she’s gently tending to a cut on his face, her touch tender. Relief washes over you, grateful that he’s being cared for.
Mark had assured you earlier, his voice earnest as you felt guilt over how he defended you. “Don’t worry about me. I’d do anything for you.” And somehow, you knew he meant it with every word, that this barely scratched the surface of what he’d be willing to do for you. As they prepare to leave, you watch them go, a silent goodbye lingering on your lips, mingled with regret that you couldn’t openly share this moment with him. 
Moments later, you stand alone in the nearly empty gymnasium, the echoes of the night’s chaos still lingering around you. As you wait for Karina to gather her things, your phone buzzes with a message. It’s Mark. A small smile forms as you read his words, and soon, you’re lost in a back-and-forth exchange, your fingers typing quickly as he fills the silence around you. Each message from him brings a warmth that eases the tension left from the night’s events, grounding you in the comfort of your shared connection.
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You’re giggling, smiling down at your phone as you text back and forth with Mark, so absorbed in your conversation that you don’t notice someone walking up to you.
“Texting Mark?” a voice asks, amusement clear.
You look up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise to see Mark’s best friend standing there, an amused smile on her face. Quickly, you try to cover, stammering, “No—uh, I mean… no, I’m just texting… someone else.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So, you’re just randomly blushing and giggling at your phone for ‘someone else,’ huh?”
You bite your lip, fumbling to keep up the charade. “Yeah, we’re not… I mean, it’s not… Mark and I aren’t close like that. We just… hang out sometimes.”
She crosses her arms, clearly enjoying this. “Listen, you don’t need to lie to me. I know you’re seeing Mark.”
Your jaw drops in shock. Why would he tell her? After he promised to keep it between you two. The panic must show on your face because she quickly adds, “Hey, don’t get mad at him. He told me before you asked him to keep it quiet. He’d never have told me otherwise. He really likes you and respects your wishes. He wouldn’t want to lose your trust.”
“Oh… okay,” you mumble, feeling the tension slip away. You glance back at your phone, your heart easing a bit.
She nods, leaning in a bit. “Considering Mark and I share everything, it means a lot that he’d respect your privacy. I know he’d have kept it a secret if you’d asked him sooner. But since I already knew…” She pauses, looking at you seriously. “I’m really close with him. He’s my best friend, and he’s one of the best people in my life. I care a lot about his happiness, so please… don’t hurt him, okay? I’ve never seen him this into anyone before. It’s always been you.”
“I… I don’t plan to hurt him. You don’t need to worry,” you whisper, taken by the sincerity in her tone.
She watches you carefully, then tilts her head. “Is it serious between you two? Or is it just… you know, sex?”
You gulp, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. You search for the words. “It’s… I’m not sure. We’re not at that stage yet. I mean, we haven’t had those conversations… it’s complicated.” You try to explain, feeling a mix of uncertainty and honesty.
She studies you, then sighs, her tone firm but gentle. “You can try to brush it off all you want, but I see how he looks at you—and I see how you look at him. You’re not fooling anyone. If you keep denying it, you’re just going to end up hurting both yourself and, most importantly, him. Just… don’t hurt him, okay? I swear to god.”
Her words hit you harder than you expected, her serious expression making it clear how much this means to her. You hadn’t expected this level of protectiveness, this strength behind her words, and it leaves you momentarily speechless.
Finally, you manage to nod. “I won’t. And… don’t hurt Jeno either,” you add as the words spill out, you’re unable to find any other words. You watch her reaction carefully.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and then she laughs softly, clearly not expecting you to have figured it out. “You… know about that?”
You smile, shrugging. “Yeah. Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me, I just know. I saw you guys making out near the tutor centre. I won’t say anything, your secret is safe with me.”
“So… Mark doesn’t even know?” you add, watching her closely.
She shakes her head, exhaling softly. “No, he doesn’t,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of anxiety and determination.
You raise an eyebrow, a small smile forming. “Figures. I feel like he’d be pretty angry if he found out, right?”
She nods, visibly tense at the thought. “Yeah, he would be. That’s why it’s really important that you don’t tell him. I need to handle this on my own terms. I’ll figure it out… I’ll find a way.”
You nod, feeling the weight of her trust. “You’ve got my word. It’s safe with me,” you reassure her, squeezing her hand gently.
She lets out a small breath of relief, her grip on your hand tightening. “Thank you. Really. I mean it.”
You both share a quiet, understanding laugh, and then, in a light-hearted moment, you pinky promise to keep each other’s secrets safe. She beams, gushing a bit as she talks about Jeno, her words spilling out in excited whispers about how much she likes him, how they’re still figuring things out.
You listen, genuinely happy for her, the warmth between you both growing as you share these moments. It feels good, this small, unexpected connection, knowing that you both care deeply for people who mean so much to you.
You glance away from his best friend, your attention shifting as footsteps approach. Your heart jumps when you see Mark walking towards you, his gaze locked on yours. You remember he said he was heading home earlier, but by the look in his eyes, that’s clearly not his plan anymore. A smile tugs at your lips, the warmth spreading through you as you realize he’s here for you—probably wanting to surprise you, hoping to spend the night together. He’s always like that, slipping in small surprises just for you.
The way he’s looking at you sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze dark and intense, holding so much unspoken need. He’s barely able to keep his hands to himself, his eyes tracing over you, lingering in a way that makes your skin heat up. There’s something raw, almost desperate, about his expression, and it’s clear he’s fighting hard to keep his composure with his best friend standing right there.
When he’s close enough, you lean toward him slightly and whisper, “I know you told her.” Mark’s tense posture softens as he sighs, relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters before he finally lets go. He doesn’t waste a second, closing the distance between you in one fluid motion, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that takes your breath away. The intensity of it makes you forget the space around you, his lips moving urgently against yours, stealing every thought from your mind. His hands tangle into your hair, anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss, his movements strong, unyielding. You find yourself pressed back as he leans closer, his hands gripping you as if he never wants to let go.
Every sensation overwhelms you—the warmth of his mouth, the way he’s pouring himself into the kiss, the firmness of his hands guiding you. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting gently against yours before he drops a soft kiss onto your forehead, a stark contrast to the intensity just moments before. “Let’s go, yeah?” he murmurs, holding out his hand, his expression tender yet filled with anticipation, waiting for you to take it.
Mark’s best friend tosses a playful remark, her tone teasing. “Guess this is it, huh? Figured once you got her, you’d forget about me.”
Mark smiles, briefly letting go of your hand to give his friend a quick, but heartfelt hug. It’s short and warm—a stark contrast to the lingering, intense hugs he reserves for you, where his hands roam freely. You watch, a small smile playing on your lips as she enthusiastically praises him for the win. “Nicely done, Mark!”
He returns the gesture with a grateful smile, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before reaching back for your hand. “Thanks,” he replies, warmth evident in his voice.
You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer with a soft smile. “I thought you were leaving with your mom and that man. Who is he, by the way?”
“He’s my uncle,” Mark replies, his voice warm with affection.
Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I just told them to head off without me. They’re going on a date,” he continues.
Your eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “Your mom and your uncle going on a date… wait, that’s not your mom’s brother?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, you dummy. Why would my mom go on a date with her brother? He’s my dad’s older brother.”
You laugh, feeling a mix of relief and amusement at the misunderstanding, and before you can speak again, Mark leans in. His kiss is gentle, a soft press of lips that eases the tension from the earlier confusion. The kiss deepens slowly, rich with tenderness and unhurried desire. Your hands find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, while his hands settle on your waist, holding you firmly yet softly.
The kiss lingers, a quiet statement of affection that resonates with the comfort of knowing each other well. As you part, a smile lingers on your lips, mirroring the affectionate glow in his eyes. The moment is intimate, cushioned within the soft hum of surrounding conversations.
Breaking the soft silence, Mark teases, “Did you and Jeno ever talk? Or just have sex? Surely he would’ve mentioned that his dad had an older brother?” His tone is light, playful.
You jab him lightly in the chest, your face animated with mock annoyance. “Well, you and I won’t be having sex tonight,” you declare, pointing between the two of you with a humorously stern expression.
Turning to his best friend, you continue with exaggerated seriousness, “Mark keeps on making fun of the relationship I had with Jeno, this is his tenth jab at us this week! I said that when it reached that number then I wouldn’t let him fuck me.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” Mark replies with a grin, his laughter mingling with yours.
You shake your head and pout, the playful banter drawing a more pronounced smile from him. “It doesn’t matter,” you sigh playfully.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s just so easy,” he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection, lightening the atmosphere further.
His voice drops to a low whisper, the words barely a breath between you. “So you won’t let me touch you or fuck you, really?” He smirks, a hint of challenge in his tone as he watches your slow nod, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and desire.
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“Fuck, Mark.” Your moan escapes, desperate and raw, as the pressure in your core surges toward a shattering climax. Your thighs burn with the relentless effort, your entire body ignited by the overwhelming sensation of him thrusting deep, stretching you perfectly, filling every inch. Yet it’s still not enough—you’re greedy for more, clenching tightly around him to pull him even deeper. Clenching around him, you grind down hard, then lift yourself only to slam back onto his cock, chasing the relentless wave of pleasure with fervent intensity.
“This isn’t fair,” you whisper breathlessly, your fingers digging into his chest as you lean in close, your breaths mingling. “You’re meant to be on a sex ban.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His smirk brushes against your lips, his voice a mix of defiance and amusement. You had only been half serious about imposing a sex ban, playfully wanting to test his limits and see how desperate and needy he could become for you.
Yet, it turns out you were the one who ended up begging for his cock. When you arrived at his apartment, the visible bruises from his recent fight marked his skin. You took your time to carefully examine each one, your touch soft yet charged with underlying desire, expressing concern while silently thanking him for enduring so much for you. 
He then requested you sit on his cock to “mend” him. At first, you shook your head and crossed your arms, determined to stand firm. But it only took one pleading look from his soft, desperate eyes to make your resolve crumble.
“I didn’t ask you to bounce on me like this, fuck baby. I thought you were just gonna sit on it.” His voice was a mix of surprise and raw desire when you began to move, not just sitting but actively riding him.
But you couldn’t help it. After initially settling on his lap, his cock nestled deep inside you, the intensity built too quickly. What started as a tender moment—your lips brushing his, your hands roaming his body as you whispered soothing words—soon spiraled into desperation. Soon, you found yourself begging him to let you ride him fully, craving the feel of him deep inside you, surrendering to the desire instead of maintaining the control you know he usually likes to exert. All you wanted was to make him feel good tonight, to alleviate the burdens of his day—he deserved that intense pleasure after everything he had endured.
“Fuck… just like that,” Mark groans, his gaze intense as he watches you take control. His hands are firm on your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh, yet he lets you dictate the rhythm entirely. He’s fully immersed in the moment, savoring every second of your boldness. “You gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby? Huh? You gonna ride me until you come?”
“Yes, baby,” you moan out, the words tumbling between heavy breaths. The pace is brutal—each time you slam down onto his cock, it’s like you can’t get enough. You bounce harder, faster, your whole body moving with reckless abandon as you chase your release. “I’m gonna fuck myself dumb on your cock, Mark… fuck, I’m so close.”
His grip tightens, but he lets you ride him, lets you take what you need. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Take it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me.” His encouragement spurs you on, his hands now guiding your hips to meet each of your desperate, plunging descents, amplifying the pleasure that spirals out of control within you.
Your thighs shake uncontrollably, muscles burning with the exertion, yet you don’t relent. Driven by raw need, you’re consumed by the sensation of his cock stretching you, filling you completely, relentlessly hitting all the right places. The pleasure is overwhelming, your movements frantic and almost desperate as you lose yourself to it.
“Mark… fuck… Mark!” Your scream is loud, hands pushing against his chest for more leverage as you ride him with fierce intensity. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes around the room, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you.
“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna break me,” Mark gasps, his voice strained under the intensity. He’s struggling to keep pace, but his eyes remain fixed on you—captivated by the sight of your breasts bouncing with each violent thrust, your body surrendered to uninhibited lust. His hands roam upwards, grasping your breasts roughly, squeezing in rhythm to your wild movements.
“Can I go faster?” you murmur, even as he slides a finger between your lips. You choke slightly, a reflex that quickly turns into eager sucking, your tongue swirling around him with desperate intensity. Even though you’re the one on top, driving the rhythm, there’s a thrilling sense of submission in asking for his permission. His nod, firm and eager, grants you the consent you crave, emboldening you to increase your pace. Fueled by his approval, you ride him with renewed vigor, each movement more intense. “Daddy!!!” you scream, overwhelmed by the escalating pleasure. 
“Yeah?” His voice is lower now, husky with desire as his hands tighten on your hips. His thrusts slow but intensify, each one deliberate, plunging deeper, stretching you completely. “You feel how deep I am?” His tone is raw, his gaze intense and locked with yours, challenging you to respond.
“You feel me here?” Mark growls, his hand pressing down on the slight bulge at your lower belly, marking where he fills you to the hilt. The sensation of his fullness, combined with the pressure of his hand, elicits a whimper from you. He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours, fully aware of the control he wields over your senses. “Daddy’s cock stretching you out so well, isn’t it?” He mutters, lust thick in his voice. “
You nod frantically, overcome, but he demands more. “Use your words, baby,” he insists, his grip firm on your waist. His cock throbs inside you, his gaze dominating, claiming every part of you, igniting a surge of arousal through your body.
“Y-yes, Daddy,” you gasp, your voice breaking, breaths ragged. “I can feel you so deep… so fucking deep.”
“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice a mix of wonder and desire as he watches you ride him hard. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like it’s what you were made for.”
His words stoke the flames inside you, driving you to move even more fiercely. You bounce on him with such force that the bed creaks under the strain. The sound of your bodies colliding, the slickness between your legs amplifying the raw, primal nature of your coupling. You’re beyond thought, the pleasure consuming you entirely.
As you move above him, your breasts bounce enticingly with each rhythmic thrust. Mark watches, captivated by the sight, his arousal heightening at the vision of your body in motion. “Fuck, your tits are perfect,” he moans against your skin, his lips closing around your nipple with a fierce pull. “I could suck on them all fucking day, baby.”
With a mischievous grin, he reaches up, his thumbs teasing your nipples into taut peaks before he grasps them gently, rolling them between his fingers, heightening your sensitivity to a fever pitch. Driven wild by the dual sensations of his cock and his fingers, your vision blurs with ecstasy. “Fuck, yes, suck my tits, Daddy,” you cry out, your voice quivering with intensity.
Unable to resist the inviting bounce, he leans forward, capturing one nipple with his lips and pulling it into his mouth. The sensation of his hot tongue swirling around the stiffened bud, coupled with the intense suction, sends waves of pleasure cascading through your body. The sounds of his enjoyment, the wet, sucking noises mingling with your gasps and moans, fill the air, creating a symphony of desire that drives both of you closer to the edge.
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he strains, his voice thick as he struggles to maintain his composure. “Keep going, baby. Use me. Take what you need. I want to see you come all over me. I want to feel how fucking tight you get when you climax.”
He switches to the other nipple, his actions relentless, his tongue flicking rapidly, drawing sharp, pleasure-laden whimpers from you. “That’s it… ride me, baby. Ride my cock. Don’t stop.”
“God, Mark…” you gasp, your voice barely audible through the thick haze of pleasure enveloping you, but he hears every whisper.
Mark’s response is a deep growl against your flesh, his mouth fiercely attaches to your other nipple, sucking with a voracious intensity while his other hand aggressively massages your other breast. “You’re fucking perfect,” he grunts, his voice muffled against your skin as he savors you. His tongue lashes over your sensitive skin, his lips pulling at your nipple, drawing deep, uncontrollable moans from you. “These tits… fuck, they’re so perfect. Bouncing just for me, baby. You like when I suck them?”
“Y-yes, Daddy,” you whimper, your movements growing more frantic as pleasure mounts explosively. The sensation of him sucking your nipples while you ride him is overwhelming. “Fuck, I’m so close… I’m so close…”
Your entire body trembles, thighs screaming with the exertion, but the pleasure is so intense, you can’t think of stopping. “Please, Mark,” you beg, your voice laden with desperation and need. “Please, I don’t want to stop.”
“You’re not fucking stopping until you come all over my cock,” Mark commands, his eyes blazing with lust. His hands clamp down on your waist, dictating your rhythm as he thrusts up into you with even greater force. “You feel that?” His voice is coarse, breath scorching your skin as he leans in close. “You’re gonna come for me, baby. I want to feel you fucking soaking for me.”
His rough words ignite a surge within you, and you’re on the edge, barely holding on. His cock penetrates you so deeply, each thrust ruthlessly targeting that perfect spot inside, making your mind spin out of control. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” you whisper, a breathless plea.
That’s all it takes. With one final, desperate grind, you shatter, catapulting into the most intense orgasm you’ve ever known. Your entire body seizes, clenching tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Your breath catches, your vision momentarily whites out as the full force of your orgasm crashes over you. Your hips lose their rhythm, jerking spasmodically as your body trembles violently, clinging to him in desperate need. The slickness from your release pools between your legs, coating him, making each of his thrusts slide even deeper, intensifying the raw, primal sensation. Sweat sheens your skin, your chest heaves, completely unraveled by the overwhelming pleasure.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction, his eyes devouring the spectacle of you coming undone. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it.” Lost in the ecstasy, you feel every pulse, every slick slide of him inside you, your release drenching him as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. His hands grip you firmly, guiding each shudder of your climax, his voice low, rich with pride. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he murmurs, his lips trailing hot, urgent kisses along your neck, punctuated by his deep, guttural moans. “So fucking tight for Daddy.”
The wetness between your legs soaks both of you, but as you climax, it feels as though your entire body explodes. Your muscles clench around him in pulsing, relentless spasms. Heat floods through your belly, radiating down your thighs as you shake uncontrollably. The slick sounds of your bodies mingling fill the room as you drench him, your release and his relentless thrusts merging into a crescendo of ecstasy.
As the intensity of your climax washes over you, you’re just about to collapse into his arms and share a tender kiss, but with a swift movement that leaves you dizzy, he flips you over. The sudden change is so unexpected that you burst into giggles, and his chuckle resonates against you, his chest vibrating against yours as he positions himself to enter you again.
The pace he sets is fast and urgent, leaving no time for you to adjust, though it seems you no longer need it. His gaze is intense, focused entirely on you, pleased with how well you’re handling the swift, deep thrusts. Laughter still lingers between you, the sound mixing with the rhythmic noise of your bodies moving together, suggesting the session might remain light and playful. But then, his expression shifts, and the mood changes drastically.
Without warning, his hand comes down sharply on your cheek, the slap crisp and startling. You gasp, the sting mingling with a rush of unexpected arousal. He does it again, harder this time, and you can see the dark intensity flood his eyes. “Fuck,” you moan, your body reacting to the mix of pain and pleasure.
“I can’t believe you fucked Yeonjun,” he growls, his voice thick with a sudden, raw jealousy. Now his rough movements make sense; his thrusts become even more aggressive, each one a claim, a reassertion of his presence.
He tightens his grip, pulling you closer, and in a bold move that sends a thrill through you, he lets a drop of spit fall deliberately into your open mouth. The act is daring and intensely intimate, highlighting his control in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His hot breath fans against your ear as he thrusts deeply, his voice a rough whisper that curls into you, “Can he fuck you like this? Make you feel as good as I can?” Each word vibrates through you, amplified by the relentless, commanding rhythm of his body against yours, underscoring his dominance with every movement.
You shake your head, overwhelmed by the force of his movements, the room tilting as your senses are consumed by him. “No, no he can’t,” you gasp out, each word a breathy echo of his impact on you. “Mark, please…” The rest of your plea dissolves into a moan as you reach for him, your hands grasping, pulling him closer, needing more. Each motion towards him is a silent acknowledgment of his effect on you, drawing him deeper, compelling him to claim every part of you.
As he continues, he demands you vocalize your loyalty, to affirm that he’s the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Each command he issues is more assertive than the last, each thrust deeper, claiming you entirely. The room is filled with the explicit sounds of your union, the slick, rhythmic noise that underscores his total control over your senses.
As Mark’s movements grow more forceful, the atmosphere becomes charged with a potent, almost tangible intensity. His hands explore assertively—gripping, pushing, and pulling you into each powerful thrust. He completely overpowers you, his strength undeniable as he drives into you with relentless depth. Suddenly, you feel a sharp slap on your ass, the sound crisp in the air, each strike a clear declaration of his control. 
The stinging sensation melds into the heat building inside you, spurring a mix of pleasure and a raw, primal response that courses through your body.
“Did he even make you cum, baby?” Mark’s voice is low and taunting, resonating with a rough edge that sends shivers racing through your body. “Or are you just letting losers fuck you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, his eyes locked onto yours, reading the undeniable truth in the way your body clenches and arches toward him, utterly consumed by his intensity.
Words escape you, swallowed by the overwhelming tide of sensation he stirs within you; your voice fractures into moans and broken pleas, “More, Mark, please,” each plea spilling out in a desperate cadence. He dominates the rhythm, pulling out completely, the absence of him almost as intense as his presence, only to surge back in with a force that robs you of breath. Each deliberate thrust pushes you closer to the brink, his pace a calculated assault designed to shatter your composure.
Mark’s grip tightens around your thighs, manhandling you into the perfect angle for him to dive deep with every thrust. The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, a lewd soundtrack to the overwhelming intensity of his movements. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and heavy. “You can’t even form words, can you? Just moaning and begging,” he growls, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches your frazzled expression.
He increases his pace, each thrust plunging deeper and with more force, overwhelming your senses. The room seems to tilt and spin as the intensity escalates. You hover at the precipice of total loss of control, each deep connection blurring the line between overwhelming pleasure and sheer sensory overload.
“You’re mine, understand?” Mark’s voice cuts through the haze, commanding and absolute. “Say it,” he insists, his tone brooking no argument, pausing his forceful rhythm just enough to focus fully on your response.
With each labored breath, you muster the clarity to respond, the words tumbling out breathlessly, “I’m yours, only yours.” Your voice is weak, tremulous with the force of your nearing climax under his unyielding command.
Pleased with your capitulation, Mark drives forward once more, resuming his punishing pace. Each thrust pushes you further into the depths of ecstasy. Your combined cries—the sounds of his dominance and your surrender—fill the room, creating a raw symphony of unchecked passion. The intensity of your interaction charges the atmosphere, leaving an indelible mark of your shared fervor.
He pulls out only to slam back into you with ferocious intensity, each penetration deep and precise. This torturous pattern he orchestrates—withdrawal to the brink of absence, then a forceful return—sends a surge of conflicting emotions and sensations through you. Each pullback leaves you gasping, the absence keenly felt, while each forceful re-entry fills you completely, stretching and overwhelming you with raw pleasure.
His movements are unrelentingly rough, each thrust deliberate, meant to disorient and dominate. The sound of his skin slapping against yours punctuates the air, rhythmic and harsh. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with desire, burning with the need to see every flicker of response across your face. He watches you unravel under him, a mix of satisfaction and lust in his gaze as he pushes you over the edge again and again.
With every deep thrust, you find yourself unable to hold back the moans and cries that spill from your lips, each one louder and more desperate than the last. He’s relentless, driving into you with a pace that’s both punishing and intensely gratifying, his every move calculated to bring you both to a fever pitch of raw, unchecked ecstasy.
Mark’s relentless pursuit to explore every inch of you intensifies as he shifts you effortlessly into various positions, each one designed to probe deeper, stimulating you relentlessly. As he flips you onto your back, lifting your legs for deeper penetration, his thick arousal hits all the right spots, drawing loud, uncontrollable moans from your lips.
Observing your writhing form with a lustful smirk, Mark commands you to climb on top. Despite the aftershocks of multiple orgasms still coursing through your body, you obediently straddle him. Your movements are slow, unsteady from the intensity of your previous climaxes. Mark’s impatience quickly surfaces as he watches you tentatively find your rhythm. His strong hands grip your hips tightly, taking control. He guides you at first but soon begins to drive upwards into you with vigorous, insatiable strokes.
Each of his powerful thrusts jolts you, sending deep, resounding waves of pleasure that ripple through your core. Your moans fill the room, each one louder and more desperate than the last, mingling with the rhythmic slapping sound of his skin against yours. Mark’s relentless pace and the depth of his penetration stir a wild, overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.
As he continues to thrust upward, your control unravels completely. He angles his hips, each movement designed to hit all the spots inside you that scream for more. His gaze is fixed on you, dark with desire, watching every reaction, every collapse of your will under his command. His hands wander with possessive intent, one sliding up to grasp your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry kisses. The other hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight, deliberate circles that send you spiraling toward another explosive climax.
As you moan on top of him, you softly murmur, “Baby, I’m all yours.” Mark hums in response, his chest tightening as he hears the affectionate term you utter so rarely—only in moments like these when you’re deeply connected and seeking intimacy. The sound underscores how precious these moments are to him. 
He smiles broadly, his gaze intense and possessive as he whispers back, “Yeah, that’s right. You’re all mine.” Driven by his words, Mark’s thrusts grow even more powerful and deliberate. He pulls you down against him, his lips meeting yours in a fierce kiss that mingles your moans. His hands roam over your body with a possessiveness that heightens every sensation, each touch sparking more desire. As he continues to thrust upward, each movement is perfectly timed to drive you closer to the edge.
“I’m yours, only yours,” you keep repeating, gasping between intense moans, the room echoing with the sounds of your fervent union. The intensity peaks as you both climax together; your body spasms around him, your cries mingling with his in a chorus of ecstatic release.
As the waves of pleasure slowly recede, you collapse onto him, your body soft and pliant in his strong arms. Your kisses are tender yet charged, each one a seal of your mutual satisfaction and deep connection. “Mark…” you whimper softly against his lips, overwhelmed by affection and the depth of your shared intimacy.
He responds with gentle, yet still possessive touches, his hands exploring your back as you nestle closer, seeking his warmth. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs reassuringly, his voice low and soothing. The room is quiet now, the air thick with the afterglow of your intense encounter, each breath and soft hum of contentment weaving an even deeper bond between you.
“Ahhh,” you moan against his lips, leaning in for a kiss that promises to deepen—but a loud knock at the door jolts you apart, making you scream in shock. Instinctively, you jab Mark’s arm. “You said you had the apartment to yourself until tomorrow morning, who’s that?”
He shrugs, a mix of confusion and annoyance fleeting across his face as he gently lifts you off his lap and climbs out of bed. Hurriedly, he pulls on his boxers while you dive under the covers for cover. Mark cracks the door open just a sliver, careful to shield you from view.
You hear a deep, unfamiliar voice, definitely not one of his roommates. “Mark, why don’t you come down and have dinner with us?”
“Uncle Doyoung!” Mark’s response is laden with forced enthusiasm, a clear contrast to the intimacy of moments ago. “I thought you and mum were heading out to dinner and staying at a hotel. Wait, how did you guys get in?”
“You gave us a spare key to your apartment, remember?” His uncle chuckles, amused by Mark’s forgetfulness. “We told you we’d be coming over later. Your mom wanted to cook you dinner, especially since you moved to university. She hasn’t been able to do that much anymore.”
“Come on, come down. Me and your mother are waiting. Also, tell your girlfriend to come and join us, we’ve been waiting to meet her.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and departs, leaving Mark standing there, laughing nervously before he turns to you with an apologetic look.
You’re under the covers, wishing they could swallow you whole, your heart still racing from the abrupt shift from passion to panic. Mark catches your eye, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and reassurance as he extends a hand to you. He leans in, his lips find yours in a soft, reassuring kiss. “I guess you’re going to have to meet my mom and uncle now,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a mixture of resignation and gentle amusement. The warmth of his kiss offers a silent promise that he’ll be right there with you, facing this unexpected introduction together.
Moments later and you’re pacing frantically around the room. Mark stands by the door, his expression patient yet attentive as you pace the room, the suddenness of the situation weighing heavily on you. “Baby, you don’t need to dress up,” he mumbles, his voice low and soothing.
“Do I need to meet them? Just convince them I was some random skank you’re sleeping with. I promise I won’t get mad!” you whisper back half-jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckles, shaking his head affectionately. “You’re not some random skank; you’re my girl. So can you stop worrying so much? It’s just my mum and my uncle,” he reassures you, his tone firm yet gentle.
“It’s not easy to just ‘stop worrying’,” you hiss back, your breath quick with anxiety. “What happened to us not telling anyone?” you add, frustration evident in your shake of the head. 
As you panic, Mark tries to assuage your fears with a calm explanation. “Y/N, it’s my parents. I didn’t straight out tell them ‘me and Y/N are seeing each other.’ They obviously heard us together just now and put two and two together,” he says, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the awkward revelation.
You cringe, the reality of the situation hitting you hard. “Oh fuck, they heard us,” you cry out, the embarrassment coloring your voice. “Mark, I shouted ‘daddy’ like a hundred times.”
Mark can’t help but respond with a smirk, attempting to inject some humor into the tense moment. “Nah, you could’ve said it more,” he jokes.
You send him a death glare, not finding the situation amusing in the slightest. “Stop! This isn’t funny, we were so loud,” you protest, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you imagine what his parents must think. The lightness in his attitude does little to soothe your mortification at being overheard in such a compromising situation.
As Mark wraps his arms around you, the tension in your shoulders begins to melt under his gentle touch. He pulls you close, his presence a comforting barrier against the rush of sudden nerves. His hand lightly strokes your back in slow, soothing circles, grounding you with the rhythm of his touch. “Just wear one of my hoodies and your leggings, okay? You don’t need to worry about what you’re wearing; we’re at home.”
He coos softly into your ear, trying to ease your nerves. His breath was warm against the shell of your ear, whispering reassurances that are both calming and intimate. Feeling his steady presence, your breathing gradually deepens, matching his calm, deliberate breaths. With each inhale and exhale, you feel more anchored, the earlier panic subsiding into a quiet trust. His words, simple yet sincere, remind you of the normalcy and safety of the situation, easing the swirl of anxiety.
“Fine,” you mumble, finally relenting.
Hand in hand, you walk downstairs, your nerves bundled tightly within you. However, the moment Mark’s mother’s eyes land on you and she beams a sweet, welcoming smile, a wave of calm washes over you. She was undeniably beautiful; despite her age, her features retained a youthful glow that radiated warmth and kindness. Her hair, long and soft, flowed gracefully around her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. Her eyes, a deep and soft brown, sparkled with the same gentle warmth as her smile.
Mark had her eyes. 
Now that you’ve seen both of Mark’s parents, it’s apparent to you that while he shares certain features with them—he has his mother’s soft eyes and his father’s defined facial angles—he doesn’t closely resemble either of them. As your eyes shift to his uncle, a realization strikes you: Mark looks like a carbon copy of his uncle. They both share the same sharp jawline that sets the structure of their faces, the same full, expressive lips that curve into identical smiles and their expressions and mannerisms are strikingly similar. The way they both laugh, with a throwback of their heads, or the way they furrow their brows in concentration, highlights their familial connection beyond any doubt.
Before she even has a chance to greet Mark, his mother sweeps you into a warm embrace. “You must be Y/N,” she says with a bright smile that radiates maternal warmth as you respond with a chuckle and a nod, instantly feeling welcomed.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lee,” you manage to whisper, your voice soft with a mix of nerves and respect.
“Oh, please, call me Irene,” she insists, her tone as warm as her smile. Her kind, loving eyes and the genuine enthusiasm in her voice envelop you like a cozy blanket, making it immediately clear why Mark is the caring, grounded person he is today. Her presence is comforting and her energy infectious, hinting at a deep well of love and strength that has clearly shaped her son into the man you know and adore.
Dinner with Mark’s mom and uncle feels surprisingly comfortable, almost like being at home. The conversation is light and filled with laughter, sharing stories that highlight the close and loving nature of their family. When Mark formally introduces you, his voice is filled with pride, and you can see the affection in his eyes. It’s a straightforward and welcoming experience, making you feel connected to both him and his family.
You learn that his uncle was more of a father figure to him. He even calls him Dad and plans are underway for him to officially adopt Mark and be his father legally—though legality was just a formality. He had been Mark’s dad for as long as Mark could remember, raising him, shaping him into the man he is today.
You also discover that his uncle and his mother are in a newly blossomed relationship after years of unresolved romantic feelings. Their story of finding confidence to be together resonates deeply, leaving you touched and genuinely happy for them.
As the evening unfolds, you feel increasingly settled, the initial anxiety replaced by a warm sense of belonging. Seeing the depth of their relationships, the love that binds this unique family together, you feel a profound connection, not just with Mark, but with his family as well. In this shared space, laughter and heartfelt conversation flow easily, and you find yourself not just at ease but genuinely joyful to be part of such a special moment.
In the middle of your meal, just as you’re taking a bite of your potatoes, Ms. Lee catches you off guard with a question that nearly makes you choke.
“I have to ask, you and my son are in a strong sexual relationship. Is that right?” she inquires suddenly. “He’s making the right choices, right? You guys are staying protected?” she presses on.
“Mum…” Mark begins, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he shakes his head, but Irene simply waves him off, showing no discomfort with her line of questioning.
“Of course,” you respond with a nod, managing a smile while shooting a sideways glance at Mark. Both of you try to hide your smirks, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. You could definitely be more diligent with protection. Often, you run out of condoms, and sometimes, you’re simply too caught up in the moment to pause and get them.
Mrs. Lee sighs, her smile broadening, seeming to accept your response, while Uncle Doyoung, catching the exchanged looks between you and Mark, chuckles quietly to himself, amused by the undercurrents of the conversation.
As the dinner progresses comfortably, Mark’s mom leans forward with a twinkle in her eye, clearly excited to engage in conversation. “So, you’re Mark’s first ever girlfriend,” she announces with a smile.
You freeze, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, we’re not—” you start to clarify, unsure how to label your relationship in front of his family.
Mark quickly senses your discomfort and jumps in to smooth things over. “Mum, we’re still in the early stages,” he explains, giving you a reassuring glance.
His uncle, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chimes in with a playful grin, not missing a beat. “Oh, well I hope you come to your senses soon,” he adds, smirking as he nonchalantly continues to chew on his vegetables. The room fills with a light tension, punctuated by his playful nudge to the conversation.
───────────────────────────────
Later, as you fold some blankets in Mark’s living room, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your back. The comfort of his presence makes you lean back into him with a content hum. “Not so bad, huh?” he murmurs, his voice warm in the quiet space.
“It could’ve been worse,” you admit, feeling the residual warmth of his family’s company, even though the interaction had been somewhat draining.
“You have such an amazing family; it makes so much sense why you are the way you are,” you mumble, genuinely impressed by the love and complexity within his family.
He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek, his voice soft and inviting. “Come sit with me, baby,” he suggests, patting the couch next to him. Instead, you choose to sit on his lap, facing him with a sly smirk. His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly adjusts, leaning back to give you more room. “That works too,” he smiles, pulling you closer into his embrace.
“So, what’s the deal with you and your family? It’s such an interesting and intricate family tree,” you probe, genuinely curious about the dynamics that shaped him.
“What do you mean?” Mark asks, his gaze meeting yours with an openness that invites honesty.
“I just wanna know about you, Mark, about your family. I want you to let me in,” you press gently, your hands resting against his chest.
He nods slowly, a sign of his trust in you. “Okay, what do you wanna know?”
You sigh, unsure where to begin. “Okay, firstly, well, I’m quite surprised how close you are to your uncle, considering he’s your dad’s brother. I’m assuming your uncle is a really good man?”
Mark nods. “Uncle Doyoung has always been loving and giving for as long as I can remember. He was there for me and my mum when my dad never was. He’s miles ahead of my dad in kindness, nobility, love, sense… just everything. It’s surprising to me that they’re even related and had the same upbringing.”
“So your dad and your uncle aren’t close?” you question further.
He shakes his head. “Doyoung does try, he’s a good man and sees the best in everyone, but they evidently have a very tense and fractured relationship.”
“Why?” you whisper, drawn into the complexity of his family lore.
Mark shakes his head, a faint shadow of old pain crossing his features. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think my dad’s ego just can’t handle that my mom moved on after he left her. They broke up for good when she told him she was pregnant with me, and even after all these years—over twenty—he still hasn’t gotten over it,” he explains, his voice tinged with a dry chuckle.
“So Doyoung filled in when your dad couldn’t?” you ask, piecing together his narrative.
He nods again. “He’s always given me the fatherly guidance and affection that my own biological father never did. My dad initially rejected me and didn’t want anything to do with me. He viewed me as a reminder of his own failures and past mistakes. Even though I was just a child thrown into the middle of this mess. His rejection stems from his complicated history with my mum; they were high school sweethearts, but he left her when she became pregnant, then quickly moved on to Jeno’s mum, Seulgi. Seulgi fell pregnant with Jeno, and Taeyong chose to raise Jeno instead of me.”
“So that’s why me and Jeno are so close in age; I’m a few months older than him though. Taeyong got both of our mums pregnant in a short span of time,” Mark adds, a note of disbelief in his voice.
You gasp, feeling a sharp pang of empathy for Mark, who had to face such complexities at a tender age. “Did you always know about Jeno? When you were younger, did you know you had a half-brother on your dad’s side?”
Mark shakes his head. “I had no clue until I was 10 years old. We played in the junior league basketball league together. I loved playing there; have you ever had something you knew you were better at than almost everyone else?”
“Sex,” you quip lightly, trying to lighten the mood, but as Mark lets out a small laugh, you quickly apologise, realising this wasn’t the moment for jokes as he was opening up about something deeply personal.
“Anyway, when I joined the official team, I remember there was one other player with the same surname. I was so excited because I’d never known someone to have the same surname as me. But then I found out he was my brother. Guys kept teasing me about it, about how Jeno’s dad was my dad too. So I asked my mom, and she said he wasn’t, but I got home and heard her crying in her room. I knew it was true. So I never went back. I told my mum it was because I didn’t want to have to see his face, but it was mostly because I didn’t want her to have to go through seeing the man who abandoned her and her son every week,” Mark concludes, his voice tinged with sadness.
“So you and Jeno grew up as complete strangers?” you ask, trying to understand the full extent of his isolation.
He nods, his expression serious. “We barely spoke, just saw each other in the halls at school. Taeyong was really good at shaping Jeno; his behaviour and attitude towards me were like reflections of his own,” Mark explains, highlighting the strained relationship shaped by his father’s influence.
You decide to take the conversation in another direction, one that feels equally loaded but less raw. “What’s your opinion on Jeno’s mother? On Mrs. Lee?”
Seulgi, once Kang Seulgi and now Lee Seulgi, was a woman whose presence lingered quietly yet profoundly. She carried an aura of warmth, a kindness that was understated but genuine, even in the most difficult moments. The only resemblance Jeno had to her was her good heart—a trait buried deep within him, often obscured by the tougher, colder exterior shaped by his father, Lee Taeyong.
“Her and my mum are close,” he says, his tone tinged with an incredulous edge. “I’ve always found Mrs. Lee to be kind. She used to invite me and my mum over for dinner. I guess she wanted to try and make us feel like we belonged or something.” He pauses, the corners of his mouth lifting into a sad smile. “Those dinners were always awkward as hell. Tense, too. But she tried. She did a hell of a lot more for us than Taeyong ever did.”
Seulgi’s good nature seemed out of place in the world she was tethered to. She had an enduring gentleness, a quiet resilience that somehow survived her toxic environment. Despite being surrounded by manipulation and control, particularly from Taeyong, she remained steadfast in her care for Jeno, her love for him unshakable. You always admired that about her, how she never let the darkness around her snuff out her light.
“She’s a good person,” you say softly, your voice laced with sincerity. Your thoughts drift to the times you’d interacted with her. Seulgi had a way of making you feel cared for—gentle smiles, soft-spoken words, and the warm way she welcomed you into her home. Even during the times when arguments with Jeno would escalate, when you’d storm out or snap at him, she never treated you differently. There was no judgment in her eyes, only understanding, as if she saw past the chaos and into the heart of who you were.
She was sweet, caring, and undeniably maternal—qualities that made her impossible not to like. You could see how deeply she cared about Jeno, in the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, in the subtle but significant efforts she made to protect him from the worst parts of his father’s world. And yet, you could never understand how she ended up with someone like Taeyong. It baffled you, how someone so inherently good could bind themselves to someone as toxic and manipulative as him. Was it love? Obligation? A misplaced hope that things might change? You didn’t know, but it left an ache of pity in your chest whenever you thought about her.
You shake off these thoughts, not wanting to linger on the ache they bring. It makes you upset, a heaviness settling in your chest that you’re not ready to face. Instead, you focus on him, on the openness he’s already shown, and how much more you want to uncover. Your curiosity sharpens, especially about recent developments in his life. So, you probe further, your questions carrying a gentle eagerness, wanting to understand him even better.
“You’ve known your best friend since high school, right? So, Jeno probably knew her too? Did they get along?” you ask, trying to piece together how she and Jeno could have recently become close, wondering if it was perhaps a rekindled old connection.
Though you grew up walking the same school hallways as Jeno, Mark, and his best friend, you never really paid attention to the intricacies of their relationships or social entanglements. Back then, Jeno was more reserved, rarely opening up or letting you in, so you had little insight into whom he might have been close with on a deeper level. This gap in your knowledge makes you even more curious about the nature of his current interactions with Mark’s best friend.
He shakes his head, amusement clear in his voice. “No way, she’s been my best friend forever. It’s not about being possessive or claiming she’s all mine, but she chose to keep her distance from Jeno. She hated Jeno just as much as I did,” Mark states directly, firmly dismissing any notion of a past friendship between them.
You sigh, accepting that their connection must have been recent. “You’re really close with her, right?”
He nods, smiling fondly. “She’s like family. Always there, supporting me no matter what. We’ve given each other that kind of unwavering support, protection, love, and stability all our lives. It’s crucial, having someone you can truly rely on,” he expands, his words warm with appreciation.
Appreciating his sentiments, you smile. “She seems really important to you. I’m glad you’ve always had her, especially since Jeno was such a jerk to you when we were teenagers. And honestly, I was too caught up in my own mess to notice much, including you.”
He laughs, a knowing look in his eyes. “Oh, believe me, I know,” he says, his voice rich with layers of unspoken stories and memories, hinting at depths yet to be explored.
The way he says it, the look in his eyes brimming with past reflections, compels you to delve deeper. It feels as though he’s holding back, as if there’s more he wants to unveil about your shared history—a history that, until now, seemed nonexistent. Despite growing up in the same school hallways, you never once had a real conversation with him, nor did you ever make an effort to reach out. His words and the look in his eyes now make you wonder if you were truly non-existent to him. 
Yet, a different curiosity nags at you, related to the kiss you witnessed between her and Jeno. You approach the subject cautiously, not wanting to betray her trust. “So, your best friend has never been in a relationship?” you ask casually.
He laughs, clearly surprised by the question. “No, why?” he responds.
“Oh, no reason. You sure she’s never been in a relationship? It’s always the quiet ones,” you murmur, deliberately keeping it vague and nonchalant, trying not to arouse his suspicion.
Mark frowns slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he probes, his suspicion evident.
Realizing he might be catching on, you quickly dismiss it. “Nothing, ignore me,” you say hastily, knowing he’ll respect your request. Mark has always been attuned to you, listening not just to your words, but also understanding your heart and mind, and you rely on this now more than ever.
Mark shares openly, his words unfiltered. “Trust me, she hasn’t been in any relationship. She would’ve told me if she was seeing anyone—we share everything. Instead, she’s always complaining about feeling left out and how she’s inexperienced.”
You tease him playfully, “I’m surprised you haven’t offered to fuck her.”
He feigns shock, his hand clutching at his chest. “Take that back. That was uncalled for.”
“Why?” you giggle, enjoying the banter.
“She’s like a sister to me. Plus, I don’t just go around fucking just anyone. Who do you think I am?”
“Someone who’s fucked Winter, Nancy, Mia, Lia… I could go on. I’m just lucky and glad you haven’t fucked Karina; I think I’d let her run me over,” you retort.
He huffs, a bit annoyed. “What? You got a list or something?”
You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Well, if I did, how many pages long would it be?”
He pauses, he’s about to count but then stops. “This seems like a trap.”
You cover your face with your hands and groan. “I didn’t want the list to be so long that it needed several pages.”
He tries to lighten the mood. “Isn’t your body count high too?”
You shake your head solemnly. “It’s 3, Mark. I wish it was just 2. I wish I never fucked Yeonjun. Somehow he knows he’s the only guy who ever fucked me apart from Jeno at the time, and now he’s obsessed with me.”
He shifts the conversation, his tone softening with seriousness. “Listen, out of all the people I’ve slept with, the only one that mattered was you. No one else meant anything; they were just placeholders until I could get my hands on the real thing.”
You hum, a soft smile playing on your lips, yet the words spill out before you can stop them. “That’s a lot of placeholders.”
He chuckles, shaking his head at your response. “Y/N.”
“How many placeholders would you say you had?” you can’t help but ask.
He remains silent, and you huff, “Fine, I don’t wanna know.”
“There are two lists in my head: one of the girls I’ve fucked and one of the only girls who’s ever mattered to me and who I truly care about. There’s only one name on the second list. It’s you, baby,” he confesses, his eyes intense yet tender, making you feel vulnerable again.
“You’re a corny fucker, has anyone ever told you that?” you respond, laughing, not allowing yourself to fully absorb the depth of his affection and the calmness his words bring.
You gently shake your head, breaking the intense moment, and lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you trust me enough to let me in like this,” you whisper, your eyes soft with affection. “Knowing more about you and your life—it means a lot to me.”
Mark hums, a sound deep in his throat, as he melts into your touch. Your fingers gently comb through his hair, soothing him as he opens up about his past. The warmth and care in your actions reflect the depth of your empathy for him.
As Mark continues to share the more painful parts of his family history, you draw even closer, your voice a tender murmur. “I’m so sorry, Mark. It must’ve been really tough growing up like that.” Your sincerity envelops him, offering comfort as he navigates through his memories, making him feel understood and deeply connected to you
He nods, and a tear escapes, tracing a path down his cheek. The sight of him so raw and open tugs at your heartstrings. “It was mainly for my mum,” he confesses, his voice cracking slightly. “I hated seeing her go through that. It’s just so unfair—bad things happening to really good people.”
You hum softly in agreement, your hand reaching up to gently wipe away his tears. You feel the weight of his trust in you, knowing how significant and fragile this moment is for both of you.
Mark continues, his voice steadier but still filled with emotion. “I never felt like I missed out on anything, though. I’ve always been happy, content. I was so lucky to be raised by my mum and Uncle Doyoung. I always feel like I got the better end of the stick. Jeno… he grew up shallow, egotistical,” he pauses, searching for the words, “and he lacked empathy and care for anyone who wasn’t him or didn’t meet his standards. I often wonder if I would’ve turned out like that under different circumstances.”
You contemplate his words, recognizing how profoundly one’s upbringing and environment shape character, morality, and values. But looking into Mark’s eyes, seeing the kindness and understanding reflected back at you, you shake your head firmly. “You have a good heart, Mark. I’ll always believe that, no matter what.” Your voice is filled with conviction, a pledge of your faith in him, underlining the intimacy and the bond you’ve forged through this heartfelt exchange.
Mark’s question catches you slightly off guard as he brings up a memory you both share. “Do you remember Jeno’s party? The day we first made out, and you tried to have sex with me?” he asks, a hint of nostalgia mixed with something deeper in his voice.
You nod, mumbling a quick “yes,” the memory vivid in your mind.
“That was my first time at Jeno’s apartment. I couldn’t believe how big and grand it was. I mean, that’s just his college place, not even his family home. One of the rooms there is bigger than my entire family house where I grew up,” Mark continues, his tone a mix of awe and bitterness. “And my dad’s house? I’ve heard it’s like a mansion. It just hurt, seeing all that.”
He pauses, his voice growing heavier. “My mom worked her ass off when I was growing up, you know? Early mornings, late nights, juggling multiple jobs at once to give me a decent life. And there’s my dad—barely works, his money’s mostly from old reputation and family ties. He profits off the people under him while they barely make ends meet. It’s unfair how the wealth and good living seem to go to those who don’t work for it.”
As Mark’s voice trails off, laden with the heaviness of his past, you don’t immediately find the right words to respond. Instead, you step closer, driven by an urge to bridge the gap his words have opened between you. Gently, you pull him into a warm, enveloping hug, your actions speaking the comfort you struggle to voice.
Mark’s one hand moves to slip under your sweater, his touch warm against your skin, while his other hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers and securing a tender connection. He begins to gently rub soothing patterns on your back with his hand, pulling you even closer to him. The softness in his gaze mixes with a flicker of gratitude for your silent understanding. You pepper his face with gentle kisses, each one a silent murmur of your presence and care, as you feel him relax under the tender assault.
Feeling the wet trail of tears on his cheek, you tighten your hold, whispering reassurances that mingle with the quiet of the room. “It’s okay, I’m here,” you murmur directly into his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart aches with empathy as you continue to comfort him, your touch a constant reminder of your support.
Your bodies pressed together, the warmth of his hand under your sweater, and the steady rhythm of your intertwined fingers—it all coalesces into a profound moment of solidarity and comfort. Mark’s gradual easing of tension, the slow steadying of his breathing, lets you know that right now, this closeness is everything. 
With a heavy sigh, Mark closes the distance between the two of you, his movement a silent invitation. His eyes, deep pools of emotion, lock onto yours, communicating a depth of feeling words could never fully capture. As he draws nearer, the space between you dwindles until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
His lips meet yours in a kiss that is gentle, almost tentative at first, as if he is savoring the moment before it deepens. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the heavy emotions shared just moments before. It’s a kiss filled with the promise of understanding and commitment, an intimate connection that speaks to the soul. His hands cup your face tenderly, thumbs caressing your cheeks as if to memorize every detail of this moment.
The world around you fades into a distant murmur, leaving nothing but the feeling of Mark’s lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both new and timelessly perfect. The kiss deepens, growing more assured as you both immerse into the sensation, into the profound connection that binds you. It’s a kiss that communicates more than any conversation ever could, laden with gratitude, acknowledgment, and the silent vow of shared futures.
As the kiss intensifies, Mark’s hands move from your face to your back, pulling you closer with a firm yet gentle touch. Your own hands roam over his shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the physical strength that contrasts with the tender way he kisses. The physical closeness, the heat of his body so near, heightens every sensation. The brush of his lips against yours is both electrifying and soothing, a paradox that sends a shiver down your spine. You are drawn deeper into the intimacy, each kiss a reaffirmation of the connection you share.
You reach to pull off his hoodie, eager to feel more of him, but Mark gently catches your hands, stopping you with a playful chuckle as you pout in response.
“Come with me,” he whispers, his eyes pleading as he looks deeply into yours.
“Mark… it’s nearly 1 a.m.,” you laugh, curiosity piqued by his unexpected request.
He kisses you softly, his touch lingering even as he pulls back. “I wanna show you something, please. Come with me.”
Nodding, you take Mark’s hand as he leads you outside. He presses another soft kiss to your lips as he opens the passenger door for you, waiting patiently until you’re comfortably seated before closing it with a gentle touch. Moments later, he’s in the driver’s seat beside you, the engine humming softly to life. He takes your hand again, holding it in his while he steers with the other, the warmth of his grasp reassuring.
As he drives, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly handsome he looks under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The drive takes about 30 minutes from campus, he tells you it’s much quicker at night when the roads are mostly empty. When he pulls up beside the familiar space, a realisation dawns on you, and a smile spreads across your face. He’s brought you here. The river court. It seems unchanged since your youth. Although you’ve always felt like an outsider looking in, this is only your second time here, the first being when you watched the showdown between Jeno and Mark.
You’re glad the river court is still close to campus, providing Mark a nearby refuge whenever life feels overwhelming. The proximity allows him a quick escape to a place where he can lose himself in the game, finding solace in the rhythm of dribbling and shooting, away from the pressures of daily life. As you step out of the car and onto the court, you feel a deep appreciation for this quiet, familiar spot that holds so much significance for Mark.
The river court, under the cover of darkness, transforms into a serene, almost otherworldly place. The cool night air carries the soft glow of nearby street lamps that illuminate the empty court, casting gentle shadows that dance across the worn asphalt. Here, the distant city sounds fade into a quiet backdrop, allowing the rhythmic bounce of the basketball and its echoing thud as it hits the backboard to dominate the soundscape, giving the place a haunted, nostalgic feel.
Mark is in his element, moving fluidly across the court with a practised ease. Every now and then, he glances over to make sure you’re still there, his gaze pulling you closer even from a distance. As he dribbles and shoots, his movements are precise and confident, each shot a testament to countless hours spent on this very court.
When he pauses to catch his breath, Mark walks over to where you’re seated on the old, weathered bench, your knees crossed over. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against them.
You run your hands through his hair, pulling him closer. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you bring me here at 1 a.m.?” you laugh.
He explains as he takes a seat next to you, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “This place is like a second home to me. I always used to play basketball here with my friends growing up. It’s special to me, that’s why I wanted to bring you here, to show it to you.”
He teases gently about how cute your reaction is, your cheeks flushed as you murmur, “Oh, cool.”
“But I’ve been coming here less and less since joining the team,” he continues, a trace of guilt in his tone. “I just don’t have the time as I’m practicing on official courts. It makes me feel guilty, you know? My dream has always been to join an official team and compete in tournaments, but in a way, I’ve left this life behind—the boy who used to shoot hoops with his friends on the river court. I feel like I’ve betrayed the past me.”
You shake your head, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to chase your dream, you deserve to be on the official team, you’ve earned your place. You’re still the same guy who used to play on the river court, still the same kind-hearted, mature guy. Nothing’s changed about you, that’s why I like you so much. You’re still so humble and down-to-earth despite how amazing you are.”
He hums, letting your words wash over him, allowing himself to believe each one. The night air, the echo of the river nearby, and the solitude of the court create a perfect backdrop as you both sit, hands intertwined, sharing this moment of reflection and reassurance, continuing to talk about dreams, memories, and the paths you choose in life.
Mark takes a deep breath, seeming to absorb the tranquillity of the empty court around you. He looks back at you, his eyes grateful. “Thank you, baby. It means a lot to hear you support me like this. Sometimes, I just worry that I’m losing a part of myself in all this hustle.”
“You aren’t losing anything, Mark,” you reply softly, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “You’re growing, evolving. That doesn’t mean you’re leaving the best parts of yourself behind. It means you’re building on them. The boy who played here, who loves this court—he’s still part of who you are today.”
Mark nods, reflecting on your words. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How places and times seem so permanent when you’re in them, but life just… moves on. Coming here tonight, it’s like stepping back into those memories for a bit.”
You nod, looking around the dimly lit court, feeling the countless games and laughter. “I appreciate you sharing this with me.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Because seeing this side of you makes me understand more about where you come from, it makes me feel closer to you. And I love that. I love seeing the world through your eyes, even if it’s just a basketball court at one in the morning.”
Mark laughs softly, the vibration from his chest tingling under your cheek. “I’ve never thought that you could make the river court sound like such a romantic spot,” he teases, his eyebrows wiggling playfully.
You shake your head, trying to hide your smile, but the intensity of his gaze suddenly makes the air between you feel electric. “Stop that,” you murmur, though your voice lacks any real conviction.
He gently turns your face to meet his, his fingers brushing your cheek with a touch that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes lock onto yours, deep and mesmerizing, making your heart flutter uncontrollably. “And what if I did bring you here for that reason?” he asks, his voice low and husky. The way he’s looking at you—so direct and full of unspoken promises—makes you feel both weak and exhilaratingly alive.
You’re silent for a moment, caught up in the intensity of his gaze. “Like a date?” you manage to say, and when he nods, you continue hesitantly, “Well, I don’t know—”
“I’m joking,” he cuts in, his tone lightening as he sees your reaction. “I’d never bring you here for our first date. I mean, how lame is that? I’d bring out all the stops, I’d make it unforgettable.”
“Oh really?” you gasp, your voice a mix of challenge and intrigue. The overwhelming need to close the distance between you grows stronger, and you lean in closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity is intoxicating, filling you with a desire to explore the promise of his words.
His smile turns more seductive as he senses your interest, his face inching closer to yours. “Absolutely,” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips. 
You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His lips meet yours, the kiss a perfect blend of everything he’s promised—intense, passionate, and utterly unforgettable. You moan softly against his lips, the sound mingling with the quiet night around you, heightening the intimacy of the moment as your senses are enveloped in the warmth and taste of him.
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You bounced on Mark’s cock, each powerful thrust causing the car to rock aggressively. The tight space heightened every sensation, your sweat-slicked bodies sliding against each other as you impaled yourself deeper on him with each desperate rise and fall. The car’s frame shook with the intensity of your movements, merging with the relentless drumming of the rain outside to form a raw, primal rhythm of unchecked lust.
You were making out on the benches outside when suddenly it started pouring down. With giggles and laughter, you both dashed to the car, the playful chase intensifying the night’s electricity. Once inside, the pounding rain on the roof enclosed you in a private, tempestuous world.
You were supposed to head home as the rain intensified, but the charged atmosphere between you sparked something more urgent, more demanding. As Mark glanced over at you, the low light of the dashboard illuminating his features, you leaned over and kissed him, the taste of rain still fresh on your lips. Murmuring breathlessly, “I want your cock so bad right now,” you saw heat flare in his eyes. Without a word, he pushed his seat back, creating as much space as he could within the confines of the car. “Ride me then,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire.
You didn’t hesitate, quickly straddling him, pulling your soaked clothes aside. The car rocked gently as you began to move, your hips grinding down onto him, taking him in deeply. The space was tight, your bodies pressed so close there was no room for anything but the heat between you. Every thrust was intense, confined by the car’s limited space, making each movement feel more pronounced, more desperate. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, urging you to go faster. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, your breaths coming in short, heavy moans that fogged up the windows.
The rain began to patter against the car windows as you sat parked beside the river court, the quiet patter turning into a heavy downpour that blurred the outside world into streaks of water. The rhythmic drumming of raindrops created a cocoon around the car, amplifying the silence of the deserted court outside. It was just the two of you, the empty court, and the night—everything else faded away, swallowed by the sound of the storm.
Mark’s whispered encouragements were hot against your ear, “Go faster, baby, just like that.” You responded to his urgency, your movements becoming more erratic as pleasure built up. The car’s gentle rocking grew more pronounced with the rhythm of your bodies moving in sync. “You couldn’t wait until I drove us home?” he teased, breathless.
“You’re the one who pulled me onto your lap,” you managed to moan back, your voice drowned out by the sound of rain and the creaking of the car seat. The intensity of being so close, his body heat mixing with yours, the limited space making each touch feel more intimate, more vital—it was overwhelming, almost too much, but perfect in its urgency.
As you bounced harder on his cock, your moans echoing through the rain-soaked car, you leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his. “So… how many girls have you taken to the river court?” you asked, your tone teasing but laced with a sultry edge that made his eyes darken.
His lips quirked into a smirk, his chest vibrating against yours as he chuckled lowly. “Does my mum count?” he teased, the playful comment earning a sharp roll of your hips that pulled a groan from his throat.
“Mark,” you whined, your voice dripping with faux irritation, though your smile betrayed you. “I want a real answer.”
He gripped your waist tighter, guiding your movements as his voice dipped, thick with desire. “Just you, baby,” he murmured, sealing the confession with a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than tenderness. His lips moved against yours with fervor, his hands urging you to ride him harder, the raw intimacy of his words leaving you breathless.
Emboldened, you pushed further, your voice a breathless challenge between moans. “And how many girls have you fucked by the river court?”
His eyes locked onto yours, blazing with heat as he whispered, “Just you, baby.” His voice was low, reverent, each word laced with possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. “Only you.”
The fervent energy of your earlier movements gradually subsided into a slower, more deliberate pace, allowing you to savour the closeness between you. You moved together gently, the sound of your synchronized breaths filling the car. Between the slow thrusts, you exchanged soft kisses, each one deepening your connection, punctuated by quiet giggles and warm smiles that spoke volumes about your shared affection.
Mark’s gaze captured yours, intense yet filled with a tenderness that made you pause. “Y/N, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he whispered, his fingers lightly playing with your earrings, adding a touch of playful intimacy to the moment.
“Go ahead,” you hummed, the softness in his voice making you feel safe and cherished.
He took a deep breath, his gaze never wavering. “You know I fully understand and respect your decision to keep us a secret, at least for now. Although, eventually, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to start letting more people know, to stop hiding because we’re not doing anything wrong.”
You felt a pang of fear, your eyes widening slightly. “Mark, I can’t—”
“Baby, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about today, though,” he quickly reassured, sensing your discomfort. “I know you’re not ready for that right now, but I was wondering if you were ready for something else.”
“For what?” you mumbled, your heartbeat quickening with anticipation.
“I want to be exclusive with you. Well, privately exclusive, which kind of defeats the purpose of being ‘exclusive,’ but I think it’s a good start. We’ve become close, spending most nights together, having all these personal conversations and having so much good sex, but what’s the point if it doesn’t go anywhere?”
His words struck a chord, and a wave of guilt washed over you. Mark was right, and it was hard for you to open up like this, especially considering your past relationship with Jeno, which had left you wary of trust and full of unresolved pain. Each word Mark spoke, filled with understanding and patience, tugged at the emotional walls you had meticulously built. 
“Us becoming exclusive wouldn’t change much; it would just make us more official. I don’t have any interest in getting to know or fucking anyone else, and I know you don’t either. We’ve basically already been exclusive since we started seeing each other. I just think it’s a good idea if we put an official label on that. It would make me happy and mean a lot to me. What do you say, baby?”
You contemplated his words, the idea of labels and official commitments still daunting. Yet, his next words melted your defences. “And you know I’ll never hurt you or make you lose my trust. You’re the only one I want and care about, and I want you to feel that.” He kissed you softly, his lips tender against yours, reassuring and gentle.
“I truly see you and feel like you’re ‘mine,’ and ‘my girl.’ I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, no one has come close. That’s gotta mean something, right?” He whispered huskily. His lips then met yours in a soft, insistent kiss
“So, until you’re ready to take it further with me and become more serious, I want you to exclusively be mine. All mine,” he murmured against your lips.
Your heart warmed at his understanding and patience, your doubts easing under his sincere expression. You whispered back, the words almost a sigh, “I’m all yours.”
As you moved to deepen the kiss, feeling him respond with equal fervor, you began to bounce harder, picking up the pace. But Mark gently pulled away to look into your eyes seriously, his hands on your hips controlling the rhythm. “I want to hear you say the words, baby.”
Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally let the words spill out with conviction: “I want to be exclusive with you too.”
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Karina’s hands were a flurry of activity around your face, her fingers deftly maneuvering brushes and sponges as she concealed the marks on your neck. “I can’t believe how many hickeys I’m having to cover,” she muttered, her tone light with mock annoyance. However, a flicker of something more serious passed through her eyes, making you wonder if she was more concerned than she let on.
You were seated at your vanity, prepping for the night’s party at Jeno’s house—a celebration for the Ravens’ recent victory over the Hawks. Karina had offered to help you get ready, and you were more than grateful. Whenever she did your makeup and hair, you knew you’d look your best. She had a knack for choosing the right tones that suited your facial features perfectly and always made sure your hair framed your face beautifully, enhancing the overall look.
“Why are you so quiet?” she asked, her voice pulling you back from your thoughts as she dabbed more concealer on your neck. Satisfied with the coverage, she instructed softly, “Close your eyes lightly,” before she began to work on a smoky shadow accented with just the right amount of glitter.
“Just thinking,” you responded, your voice a murmur.
“About what?” Karina’s hand was steady as she maneuvered the eyeliner, her other hand lightly holding your chin to keep you from moving too much. “Is it because you and Mark are exclusive now?” she prodded, a knowing tone in her voice as she expertly flicked the brush to create a perfect wing.
You let out a soft sigh. “We’ve been exclusive for a few days and it feels really good. He’s a lot more touchy and possessive, which I love, but I’m just still so scared,” you confessed, feeling the weight of the revelation.
Karina paused, her brush mid-air, then resumed with a hum as she applied a pretty blush to your cheeks, making you look naturally flushed. “Then why did you agree to become exclusive with him?”
“I agreed because of the way he was looking at me when he asked; I just couldn’t say no. And then how he smiled and kissed me when I said yes,” you recalled, a smile playing on your lips at the memory.
“I don’t regret it, Karina. Especially after how good these last few days have been,” you affirmed, your confidence in your decision clear in your tone.
“Then why are you still scared?” Karina asked, genuinely puzzled as she stepped back to survey her work.
“It’s difficult to explain, Rina. It’s just that I’m constantly worrying about the future and what could happen. I always worry about what’s uncertain,” you explained, your gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “But Mark’s different; he’s more of a ‘live in the present’ type of guy. He doesn’t worry as much as I do.”
“That’s a good thing, right? It’s good when two people in a relationship balance each other out,” she mused as she packed away her makeup tools.
“We’re not in a relationship,” you corrected softly, a hint of wistfulness in your voice.
“Yet,” Karina rolled her eyes, muttering just loud enough for you to catch.
“Huh?” you asked, not quite hearing her.
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, giving you a wink in the mirror and a smile that suggested she knew more than she let on. The room filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the rain outside as you both reflected on the night ahead, ready to face whatever it might bring, together.
“Hey, this came for you.” Winter breezed into your room, her presence as striking as her attire. She looked radiant in a beautiful white dress that clung softly to her curves, her hair cascading down in perfect waves. She placed a parcel on your bed with a casual grace.
You glanced over, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “I didn’t order this, is this yours?” you asked, turning to Karina, who shook her head and gestured towards the package. “Open it,” she encouraged.
Curious, you reached for the box, instantly recognizing the logo of Lumière Couture, a luxury brand known for its exquisite design and timeless elegance. The box was elegantly designed, adorned with a sleek, satin ribbon, hinting at the opulence inside.
“Wait, it is for me, my name is on the label,” you murmured, a mix of excitement and bewilderment in your voice. It was a surprise, definitely out of your usual budget.
As you lifted the lid and peeled back the tissue paper, your breath caught. Inside was an emerald green dress, the very one you had eyed for the longest time. It was exquisite, cut short to highlight your thighs, with intricate details that made it uniquely stylish—backless, enhancing its allure. The material felt as luxurious as it looked, promising a night where you’d feel nothing short of glamorous.
Next, you pulled out a mini black skirt, the fabric thick yet form-fitting, designed to accentuate your figure without weighing you down. It was daringly short, radiating a bold, sexy vibe that matched your taste perfectly.
Accompanying these was a white shirt, tailored to be well-fitted with three-quarter sleeves. You knew exactly how to style it to showcase your fashion sense.
Tucked beneath these items was a note that drew your attention. Picking it up, you read, ‘For my girl, you deserve it, I’m so proud of you. Love, Mark xx.’ A wave of emotion swept over you as tears welled in your eyes. Karina, reading over your shoulder, smiled supportively, though you missed the flicker of sadness in her eyes.
You remembered a day spent window shopping with Mark, dragging him into an upscale boutique. You had whispered longingly about the pieces you loved—the very ones now before you. How had he remembered so well? How had he managed to pay such close attention?
After Karina completed your makeup and styled your hair into a smooth, refined style, you chose to wear the mini skirt and cropped shirt that came in Mark’s gift. Underneath the shirt, you opted for a sheer lace black bra, its intricate details subtly visible due to the shirt’s single button fastening just around your midriff. This deliberate choice added a hint of allure, with the lace texture teasingly visible and the outline of your nipples just perceivable, enhancing the sultry vibe of your outfit. You rounded off the look with sleek black boots and elegant jewelry Mark had gifted you, including a gold charm necklace and delicate, dangly earrings. 
With gold charms around your wrists and rings on your fingers, you spritzed on your best perfume, then stepped back to admire yourself in the mirror. The reflection that stared back made you feel utterly beautiful. Overwhelmed by gratitude and feeling exceptionally styled, you took out your phone and snapped a mirror selfie, capturing the moment and your radiant look.
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You arrived at Jeno’s party, the excitement palpable as soon as you stepped through the door. Jeno, clearly in high spirits and somewhat intoxicated, greeted you and your friends warmly. He hugged Winter and Karina, and when it was your turn, he dropped a gentle kiss on your cheek, his eyes lingering a little longer on you as he complimented, “You look hot.”
His gaze was appreciative and a bit hazy, his voice carrying the mellowness of someone who’d already been enjoying the night’s offerings. You playfully jabbed his arm in response, amused by his blatant once-over.
The house itself was stunning—a sprawling manor that spoke of wealth and luxury, its grand scale making it feel almost like a palace. Inside, the party was in full swing: the air vibrated with pulsating music, colorful lights flashed across laughing faces, and the scent of various perfumes mingled with the aroma of alcohol. Everywhere you looked, there were people dancing, some tucked away in dim corners sharing intimate moments, while others shouted over the music, drinks in hand.
Despite the many eyes that skimmed over you, assessing your daring outfit and the confidence with which you wore it, there was only one pair of eyes whose gaze you truly felt—a gaze that didn’t just look, but seemed to touch, intense with desire. Mark was across the room, and the way he looked at you was laden with possession and a raw hunger that made your heart race. His eyes held a promise, one that spoke of what the night would hold once you found each other alone.
You sent Mark a quick message, telling him you’d join him after a little while. You didn’t want to make your new exclusive status too obvious just yet, despite every fiber of you aching to be near him. For now, you stood with Karina by the bar, not shying away from the drinks or the more potent indulgences of the night. Pills and alcohol freely mixed in your system, heightening the buzz that kept you both anchored and adrift in the sea of party-goers.
As the night deepened and your inhibition lowered under the influence, you finally felt ready to seek Mark out. Navigating through the packed house proved challenging; your steps were unsteady, the world tilting a bit with each movement. But then, a familiar and strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you instantly. The scent of lavender and a deep, musky sweetness enveloped you, unmistakably Mark.
His presence instantly grounded you, his touch a clear signal of his intent and protection as he guided you away from the crowd and toward the quiet of a vacant room where privacy promised a continuation of the intense connection you both craved.
“Found you,” Mark’s voice was low and reassuring, his breath warm against your ear as he steadied you against him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” you admitted, leaning into his solid form, grateful for the support.
As you both manoeuvred through the throng of bodies, his proximity was a potent reminder of the night’s possibilities. “I’ve been watching you since you came in,” Mark confessed as you reached the doorway to a secluded room, his tone laced with a mix of desire and concern. “Couldn’t wait to get you alone.”
You smiled up at him, feeling the buzz of anticipation mix with the alcohol in your veins. “And I’ve been thinking about you all night,” you responded, your voice a whisper meant only for him. “Lead the way.”
Mark pushed the door open, a grin spreading across his face as he pulled you into the privacy of the room. “Finally,” he murmured, shutting the door behind you both, sealing away the chaos of the party. His hands found your waist again, pulling you closer. “Now, where were we?”
As you eagerly followed Mark, your mind buzzing with anticipation for the moment you’d be alone together, you were completely oblivious to the intensity of the gaze that tracked your every move. Across the room, Jeno watched with a storm brewing in his eyes, his confusion etched deeply into his furrowed brow as he saw Mark’s hand firmly around your waist, guiding you into a secluded room. The door shut with a definitive click of the lock that Jeno could almost hear over the music.
“What the fuck?” Jeno muttered under his breath, a mix of shock and confusion knotting in his stomach. He couldn’t piece together the scene unfolding before him—his brother and you, a pair he had never thought to suspect, disappearing together with such intimacy. His gaze lingered on the closed door, his mind racing with questions. 
Jeno’s stance was rigid, his hands clenched at his sides as he tried to make sense of the unexpected revelation. The image of Mark’s protective, almost possessive, gesture replayed in his mind, challenging his understanding of his relationship with both of you. Was his dad right after all? Jeno never expected to witness such a close and intimate moment between you and Mark. The sight unsettled him, challenging his previous perceptions and leaving him questioning what else he might have overlooked. 
As Mark pulled you into the room, his gaze captured you entirely—soft yet piercing, filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race. He bit his lip, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made every nerve in your body tingle with anticipation.
“Look at you,” he murmured in a sultry tone, his hand pressing against the wall just above your head. He took your hand, spinning you around effortlessly. His whistle was low, filled with appreciation, as he took in every detail of your appearance, the sound turning into a soft moan that sent shivers down your spine.
Mark’s gaze lingered on the subtle outline of your nipples pressing through the sheer fabric of your lace bra, visible beneath your barely-buttoned shirt. His eyes traced the length of your thighs, up to the curve of your neck, and finally to your lips, as if memorizing every detail.
Leaning down, he began to press fervent kisses against your neck, his mouth moving with a practiced intensity. He sucked and licked, marking your skin anew, as if he was fully aware that Karina had meticulously covered the previous marks. “Hey, there’s makeup all over my neck,” you giggled, the vibration of his chuckles against your skin making you urge him, “Go harder,” as you tangled your hands in his hair, lost in the bliss of his touch.
He briefly paused to press his lips to yours, wet and plump from his attentions, pulling back just enough for you to catch your breath and admire him. Mark was effortlessly stylish in a brown jacket and blue jeans, his white top stretched just right across his torso, a chain adding an edge to his outfit. His light brown hair perfectly complemented his sharp yet carefree look, enhancing his undeniable appeal.
“Hi,” you breathed out, a smile spreading across your face. He mirrored your expression, leaning in to kiss you deeply. “You look so fucking hot,” you moaned into the kiss, feeling his grip tighten.
Without missing a beat, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He pushed your skirt up, his hands moving with a purpose as he aligned himself with you, and in one fluid motion, he began to move, his actions deliberate and driven by the electric charge between you.
At the party, Karina slumped into her chair, visibly disheveled. Her movements were sluggish as she lifted the glass to her lips, the alcohol burning its way down her throat—a fleeting attempt to drown the burgeoning jealousy that gnawed at her. With each gulp, her resolve thinned, loosened by the intoxicating mix of spirits and the sting of exclusion.
She had seen it all: your hasty departure with a barely-there excuse, Mark’s hand possessively resting on your back, the shared secretive giggles as you both disappeared yet again. It was too much. Drunk and tinged with envy, Karina’s eyes clouded over, her mood a volatile mix of irritation and resignation.
Jeno approached, his voice tinged with disbelief, “Did you just see that?” He sat down beside her, grabbing her drink without asking and finishing it off. His sudden presence barely registered to her dulled senses.
“What?” she responded, her voice a slurred mumble.
“Did you not see Mark lock him and Y/N in that bathroom? What the fuck is going on?” Jeno pressed, his brow furrowed in confusion and concern.
Karina muttered under her breath, a string of incoherent thoughts that even she didn’t fully grasp. She shook her head, biting her lip as she fought the urge to spill everything. The alcohol swirled in her head, making it harder to keep the secrets that were not hers to reveal.
Suddenly, Mark’s best friend approached, her voice low and urgent as she pulled Karina aside, aware of Jeno’s curious gaze. “Where’s Y/N?” she asked, scanning the room.
Karina merely shrugged, too intoxicated to be helpful. The friend continued, her tone worried, “I need to tell her to be more careful. Chaewon saw her go into a room with Mark, and now she’s telling everyone they’re seeing each other. Word is spreading fast.”
At that, Karina let out a loud, bitter laugh, the sound slicing through the music. “So what? If she wants to be careless and make it obvious that they’re seeing each other, then who are we to look out for her?” Her words were sharp, her tone caustic. “I’ve done enough, made excuses to cover for her when she disappears with Mark and is dumb enough to make it obvious. I’m done.” Her declaration hung in the air, a mixture of defiance and exhaustion, as she leaned back, the fight draining from her.
“If Y/N wants to be exclusive with Mark, then it’s not my problem to keep their secret,” Karina’s voice, normally subdued and discreet when discussing you and Mark, breaks into a shout, the words slicing through the dense atmosphere of the party. She’s too loud, too caught up in her own whirl of emotions to notice the volume of her confession.
Beside her, Mark’s best friend reacts too slowly, her mouth opening in a delayed attempt to hush Karina, but the damage is done. Jeno’s expression undergoes a dramatic transformation. The initial confusion on his face hardens into a stony mask of anger. His eyebrows draw together tightly, the skin around his eyes tightening, as his gaze sharpens and his jaw sets firm. The muscles in his neck tense visibly, a physical manifestation of his rising fury.
It’s the sudden, stark realisation that his father was right—the suspicions he had dismissed as mere familial discord were actually true. Jeno turns slowly, his gaze shifting from Karina, whose face is flushed with a mix of guilt and intoxication, to Mark’s best friend, who swallows hard, her eyes wide with the dread of impending chaos. Then, his eyes dart toward the room where you and Mark had vanished.
Suddenly, the muffled sounds that he had subconsciously tuned out before become piercingly clear. The unmistakable sounds of moans and fervent movements echo from behind the closed door, the auditory evidence of betrayal now impossible to ignore. He doesn’t understand why these sounds are so clear now; perhaps it’s because he had chosen to ignore them before, much like he had chosen to disregard his father’s warnings. This selective hearing had masked the truth until now, before the stark revelation of betrayal forced him to confront what he had denied—believing you and Mark over his own Dad.
Jeno’s fists tighten at his sides, the strain turning his knuckles bone-white. “What?” he barks out, the word erupting from him like a growl of raw fury. “What did you say?” His voice thunders through the room, louder than he intends, each word saturated with a venom that rattles him to his core. As he swallows hard, his throat constricts; his nostrils flare with each heavy breath, and the veins in his temples pulse visibly. The shock of betrayal carves harsh lines across his face, marking the precise moment his reality is irreversibly altered.
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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 — @keelbeel @d3nbl4d3 @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @second-floors @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @xuyiyang @remgeolli @toroufriteh
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barnacles34 · 2 days ago
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Diamond Ring (Karina x male reader)
tags: 2.4k, historical smut (French Empire), subby sub karina, marriage, and sex.
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Wealthiest of them all, you are the Medici of North Europe. Your vast estates span back to the plantagenets - an everlasting relationship established between the English and French - Duke of Touraine, wealthiest of them all. 
It would be an understatement to state that you have seen greed - you are the epitome of greed, and even you would be appalled by the display of greed and such bad humors. And there’s no such thing as the French without bureaucracy: a long, lengthy, powerful bureaucracy.
And, you, Duke of Touraine, are the master of the bureaucracy. This wasn’t some practiced effort or a hereditary nepotist agenda. You were akin to Ivan the Terrible: all hereditary claims stripped, your entire family stripped of its glory and massacred in cold blood, but you weren’t killed - that was Frankia’s fatal mistake.
Coal turned diamond, endless pressure as if you were held under the deepest part of the Earth, and forced to endure its endless torture for years gone will drive anyone to adapt - it just happens to be you.
This backstory, alongside the natural cunning of the plantagenet dukes before you, led you to gain some significant, absolute, palpable advantage over all else. Stories of you utilizing those very debased by this society: cunning troubadours, your faithful concubines (most of which you never engaged with in lustful relief), and all else ignored with a distaste. Somehow, someway, this became the lever with which the entirety of medieval Europe moved, and you jammed it, over and over, until you became Master of Europe.
And, this lever, also became the bane that you resent - the lever that led you to fall in love with the serene, beautiful Karina. 
“Emperor Napoleon? He’s decided to invade Prussia?” You ask, with a pen in hand, mostly focused on the writing rather than the person begging to talk to you.
But when you hear that first word, laced with everything that you desire, deeply pavlovian, your eyes stick on Karina.
“Yes, Master, he’s set his sights on Prussia and likely Russia if he crushes the coalition.”
“He’ll crush the coalition.”
“What?” A surprised remark from Karina, she’s never so informal, dear bird.
“He has an army that has stuck with him since the time he first commanded control, dear. Experience in this dastardly elitist century beats all else. The only thing that could possibly kill his momentum is if his army is slowly dwindling, and that’s something that he hates to the very core, paradoxically, those who die first are one of the most faithful to him. He’d rather use them for menial and laboriously easy wins.”
“Excuse me, amor, but how would he go about this operation? Winter is rapidly approaching and the coalition is only of the most efficient winter warriors.”
“Confidence is a trap that is waiting to be set up. Expect some sort of feigned retreat, then absolute destruction.”
All of this conversation, natural to the core, all happened during the duration while Karina - now, your only concubine, and by proxy: lover - placed your favorite tea and a cup of the sweetest Swedish mead atop your table, that was brought across the Ottoman Bosphorus.
And during this moment, slight and short kisses were exchanged. First, she’d plant a peck on your cheekbone; then, she’ll decide that it wasn’t enough, then plant a peck on your lips; then, she’ll indulge her own desires, into a kiss that was more involved, of tongues and spittle.
It was clockwork, and she didn’t for a second notice this routine that she so adorably set for herself. And, how could you resist her? This matchwork routine never bored you, in fact, excited you to the very core.
And so, it’s very distressing when you can’t destroy her over the table, let her back bend in angles only ventriloquists even dare to attempt, let her throat return to its usual color after a daring handprint - white where you gripped - makes her squirt all over your expensive table.
But she leaves regardless, that’s her duty, because you’re so buried in work these past months, of course, being master of Europe is a job that’ll always be difficult. But, you don’t let her leave without a few words of encouragement. You grip her thin, soft wrist, leading her on so that her ears are closer to your mouth.
“I’ll fucking destroy you today.” The words had the intended effect, you felt the tremor in her body, that’s how you deconstruct Karina. If she’ll train you pavlov-style, you’ll fight back, fire with fire, and you’ll fucking win.
You let your hand go below her dress, and grab, hard, on the soft ass-cheek that so cheekily points towards you. God. You’re already salivating thinking of all the ways you can get Karina to wet your entire master bedroom.
It’s a shame she’s so brilliant at desktop research: you would’ve had her, under your desk, suckling on your nuts and your length till hell freezes over.
Royalty from the eastern world, Karina was suddenly here, in Paris. She cites her reasons to be fairly absurd, she was just forgotten: she wasn’t royalty to the extent of high status, rather a scholarly sort of lineage that lost any sort of favor with the Chinese Emperor, and to your understanding, was a sort of exile. You just hope, somewhat, that you provide her the homeliness that she deserves and desires.
Oh, and, yeah, it’s a fucking surprise that Karina loves to be submitted so fully.
The steam of the bath rose in the heavily humid room, dew drops form on your face - the day’s hardships melted off your face, physically and mentally. Especially because Karina was next to you, with a scrub that’s often too harsh for princely skin rubbed considerately all over your body.
“Eyes up here, amor.” While she scrubbed the remaining area of your chest.
“No.” As is, cause, how can anyone keep their eyes off.. that?
“Heyy!” She splashes some water toward you, some sort of cover to hide her beautiful breasts.
Oh, now her arms are covering it, such a shame.
“Karina, let me.” Pointing towards the scrub, and of course, Karina suspects some ulterior motive; and, it’s justified, you’ve failed 100% of the time to avoid her breasts.
You place your hand on her shoulder, let handfuls of water flow off the perfect curve of her back - you could do it for hours. Then lightly press on her skin with the palm of your hand; then, softly moving your palms around the entirety of her body while you are behind her.  She’d already washed, and your request to wash her body was a pathetic excuse to touch her body - but, she never seems to mind it, her face knits in a fake frustration, then when she’s turned around, she slowly vibrates against your firm touch.
Sometimes, this turns into a wet fuck session around the large bathroom, and today, might just be one of those days. Because, the hand that trailed her shoulders, then her collarbone couldn’t stop its firm grasp on her throat. 
She lets out the faintest gasp, she wants it, she so badly wants to be ravaged against these tiles of various blue hues. Her head retreats back, letting it slot right in the dip of your clavicle as you begin pinching her pink nipples - erect in a place as humid and hot as this place can only mean one thing only: an utter rutting desire to be fucked into oblivion.
She’s just begging for it, her resting head on your clavicle turns to the side, trying her best to goad you in some way - and, you’d wish she’d stop, otherwise both of you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.
Yet, still, she nibbles on your earlobe, trailing kisses on the side of your princely face. If you asked her what reward she desires, and as a joke, she’ll say your dick, your hands, your lips, but sometimes you suspect whether or not that was some Freudian slip showing her true intentions.
That hand that endlessly teased her breast trailed down her body, letting you feel the curvature from the tip of nipple to her underboob, then the slight curvatures of her abdomen, sleekly muscular yet feminine. Then the purely smooth lower pelvis, and finally, her flower - a word that she begged for her pussy to be called, rather than it being used for its intended purpose, it quickly turned to a joke.
And… this is where she seriously breathes in, preparing for the soft onslaught she has to face with the pads of your fingers trailing over her sopping wet cunt. Circles around her hooded clit, wet to the touch, slick, and you’re just dying to have a look. And she’s just dying with the arousal, not even penetrative, and she’s already creaming on your fingers.
“You’re a fucking slut.” You nearly growl into Karina’s ears. 
And her eyes are closed, fighting back against the onslaught of pleasure, yet still, she has something witty to say, “I - I’ll seri- seriously just leave.”
“I doubt that, you good-for-nothing slut,” you tighten the grip on her throat, and she just begins gyrating her hips over your fingers, speeding up every so often until she’s just about to climax.
And then she’s just rutting her hips, against nothing, and every so often her pussy looks for the phantom feeling that your fingers left just at the cusp of her orgasm, leading to an unsatisfactory orgasm. Now, that’s fucking irritating, and she’ll press you until the end of time for that, and you’ll fucking love it.
The finger that dwelled on her wet cunt, that also left prematurely, swiftly went to her face, first, a soft slap on her cheek, then a shove into her mouth - there, she’ll taste the essence of herself. 
Oh, and she’s just loving it, you don’t even have to look at her to see in your peripheral that her mouth is just perpetually letting out these uneven moans - moans indicative of the highest pleasure - and her dilated pupils just rolling everywhere.
“How do you feel that you get an intense orgasm from just the cyclical motion of one or two fingers, huh?”
You pull her neck in, and she’s just blasted out of her mind - all sorts of pleasured, and she hasn’t even sampled the main course yet.
“I lo…ve it… so much,” you swore you could see heart pupils for a moment when Karina was staring at you: she wants your dick to punch against her cervix.
“That’s right. Who’s the master? Who owns you entirely?” 
“You! Amor, you are my master.” She’s back to reality, but she’s even more insatiable, the way her eyes dart every second down to your erect length.
Well, you’ll just have to give it to her.
This time, you both enter back into the knee-deep part of the bath, and as standard protocol would have it, she’s bent over, perniciously waiting and rutting.
And then you realize something, that she doesn’t have the largest bedazzled diamond ring on her ring finger. The smack was loud enough that Karina immediately, abandoning all pretenses of a submissive session, came over to attend to you. 
“I’m sorry Karina.”
And, she seemed to know exactly what you were thinking about, the facepalm, the tone.
And she hugged you, “That’s okay, amor, I would’ve waited until the end of time.”
A contradiction that shows how badly she wanted to be called your wife.
It’s rather ridiculous, this situation, this relationship, all of it, but you couldn’t be happier.
You’d propose, and she’d say yes, then you would resume destroying her soft and supple pussy, then cream it with your baby batter.
“I’ll get the biggest diamond ring.”
“Hmph. You better.” Pretty angel.
“That’s a yes?” You ask, just to be sure.
“Dummy.” Karina kisses you deep, stroking your cock while she’s at it. 
And she knows that you’re gonna say something stupid like, “cockdrunk slut, you want it so bad?” so she’d rather just seal your mouth with a kiss, either way, you’re happy to oblige.
Then, the fateful penetration, the way Karina still stares at you - the same as the day you deflowered her - is always the extra hardness that drives Karina crazy.
Face-to-face, your dick prods at her squishy entrance; then, you enter, the velvety folds full of the arousal that Karina accumulated, likely, from the assgrab at the office, so almost the entire day. That’s why it’s so soft, yet so succulent. Everytime you exit, her pussy drags along, smearing a trail of her delicate arousal, flowery, from her flower.
And, she’s just fucking losing it.
“I love it! Amor! I love it so fu- fucking much!” Her voice gets all manners of shaky, and misconstrued, yet she’ll still profess her love for you.
And, you just know exactly what’ll drive her over the edge. A grasp on her throat, and a steady stream of hard slaps against her ass, or the side of her thighs - any place’ll do, in fact.
Up and down, up and down, her breasts - perfectly aligned with the law of inertia, has a delayed bounce that just interests you to no end, and Karina will stare at you, confused at how a person could love someone’s breasts so much. You probably couldn’t name a single thing that you disliked about her body, or her personality or anything for that matter.
And that’s the progressive upscale, the deadly slope that you climb, your thoughts get more opulent and luxurious as you approach climax. Everything becomes one-sided truths, that’s when you know you’re about to cum.
“Karina, where do you want it?”
“I want it everywhere, especially inside me.” 
“As you wish, dear.” One thrust, then two, then three.
You grab hold of her asscheeks, one completely red and the other normal, both’ll get the treatment that you administer. Then you enter to the deepest part possible, and you’re just completely painting her insides, your throbbing length pulsating till the very last second.
“Argh!” You growl against her.
And she moans, squeals, an unintelligible amount of squirt trails down her legs while you’re still face-to-face. 
She’s on her 5th orgasm, she must’ve really like the assurance for the ring.
As you pull the plug, a stream of semen just trails out of her, passing her folds, then trailing against her left thigh - what a fucking sight.
And, with an intense propensity, you pull Karina down, holding all her hair as she cleans your cock.
When she finishes, remnants of semen still on her chin, looking up, she says, “Amor.”
And you reply, “Dear.” Rubbing her soft, pliant face.
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dailyanarchistposts · 2 days ago
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Turbulent times are upon us. Already, blockades, demonstrations, riots, and clashes are occuring regularly. It’s past time to be organizing for the upheavals that are on the way.
But getting organized doesn’t mean joining a pre-existing institution and taking orders. It shouldn’t mean forfeiting your agency and intelligence to become a cog in a machine. From an anarchist perspective, organizational structure should maximize both freedom and voluntary coordination at every level of scale, from the smallest group up to society as a whole.
You and your friends already constitute an affinity group, the essential building block of this model. An affinity group is a circle of friends who understand themselves as an autonomous political force. The idea is that people who already know and trust each other should work together to respond immediately, intelligently, and flexibly to emerging situations.
This leaderless format has proven effective for guerrilla activities of all kinds, as well as what the RAND Corporation calls “swarming” tactics in which many unpredictable autonomous groups overwhelm a centralized adversary. You should go to every demonstration in an affinity group, with a shared sense of your goals and capabilities. If you are in an affinity group that has experience taking action together, you will be much better prepared to deal with emergencies and make the most of unexpected opportunities.
This guide is adapted from an earlier version that appeared in our Recipes for Disaster: An Anarchist Cookbook.
Affinity Groups are Powerful
Relative to their small size, affinity groups can achieve a disproportionately powerful impact. In contrast to traditional top-down structures, they are free to adapt to any situation, they need not pass their decisions through a complicated process of ratification, and all the participants can act and react instantly without waiting for orders—yet with a clear idea of what to expect from one another. The mutual admiration and inspiration on which they are founded make them very difficult to demoralize. In stark contrast to capitalist, fascist, and socialist structures, they function without any need of hierarchy or coercion. Participating in an affinity group can be fulfilling and fun as well as effective.
Most important of all, affinity groups are motivated by shared desire and loyalty, rather than profit, duty, or any other compensation or abstraction. Small wonder whole squads of riot police have been held at bay by affinity groups armed with only the tear gas canisters shot at them.
The Affinity Group is a Flexible Model
Some affinity groups are formal and immersive: the participants live together, sharing everything in common. But an affinity group need not be a permanent arrangement. It can serve as a structure of convenience, assembled from the pool of interested and trusted people for the duration of a given project.
A particular team can act together over and over as an affinity group, but the members can also break up into smaller affinity groups, participate in other affinity groups, or act outside the affinity group structure. Freedom to associate and organize as each person sees fit is a fundamental anarchist principle; this promotes redundancy, so no one person or group is essential to the functioning of the whole, and different groups can reconfigure as needed.
Pick the Scale That’s Right for You
An affinity group can range from two to perhaps as many as fifteen individuals, depending on your goals. However, no group should be so numerous that an informal conversation about pressing matters is impossible. You can always split up into two or more groups if need be. In actions that require driving, the easiest system is often to have one affinity group to each vehicle.
Get to Know Each Other Intimately
Learn each other’s strengths and vulnerabilities and backgrounds, so you know what you can count on each other for. Discuss your analyses of each situation you are entering and what is worth accomplishing in it—identify where they match, where they are complentary, and where they differ, so you’ll be ready to make split-second decisions.
One way to develop political intimacy is to read and discuss texts together, but nothing beats on-the-ground experience. Start out slow so you don’t overextend. Once you’ve established a common language and healthy internal dynamics, you’re ready to identify the objectives you want to accomplish, prepare a plan, and go into action.
Decide Your Appropriate Level of Security
Affinity groups are resistant to infiltration because all members share history and intimacy with each other, and no one outside the group need be informed of their plans or activities.
Once assembled, an affinity group should establish a shared set of security practices and stick to them. In some cases, you can afford to be public and transparent about your activities. in other cases, whatever goes on within the group should never be spoken of outside it, even after all its activities are long completed. In some cases, no one except the participants in the group should know that it exists at all. You and your comrades can discuss and prepare for actions without acknowledging to outsiders that you constitute an affinity group. Remember, it is easier to pass from a high security protocol to a low one than vice versa.
Make Decisions Together
Affinity groups generally operate on via consensus decision-making: decisions are made collectively according to the needs and desires of every individual involved. Democratic voting, in which the majority get their way and the minority must hold their tongues, is anathema to affinity groups—for if a group is to function smoothly and hold together under stress, every individual involved must be satisfied. Before any action, the members of a group should establish together what their personal and collective goals are, what risks they are comfortable taking, and what their expectations of each other are. These matters determined, they can formulate a plan.
Since action situations are always unpredictable and plans rarely come off as anticipated, it may help to employ a dual approach to preparing. On the one hand, you can make plans for different scenarios: If A happens, we’ll inform each other by X means and switch to plan B; if X means of communication is impossible, we’ll reconvene at site Z at Q o’clock. On the other hand, you can put structures in place that will be useful even if what happens is unlike any of the scenarios you imagined. This could mean preparing resources (such as banners, medical supplies, or offensive equipment), dividing up internal roles (for example, scouting, communications, medic, media liaison), establishing communication systems (such as burner phones or coded phrases that can be shouted out to convey information securely), preparing general strategies (for keeping sight of one another in confusing environments, for example), charting emergency escape routes, or readying legal support in case anyone is arrested.
After an action, a shrewd affinity group will meet (if necessary, in a secure location without any electronics) to discuss what went well, what could have gone better, and what comes next.
Tact and Tactics
An affinity group answers to itself alone—this is one of its strengths. Affinity groups are not burdened by the procedural protocol of other organizations, the difficulties of reaching agreement with strangers, or the limitations of answering to a body not immediately involved in the action.
At the same time, just as the members of an affinity group strive for consensus with each other, each affinity group should strive for a similarly considerate relationship with other individuals and groups—or at least to complement others’ approaches, even if others do not recognize the value of this contribution. Ideally, most people should be glad of your affinity group’s participation or intervention in a situation, rather than resenting or fearing you. They should come to recognize the value of the affinity group model, and so to employ it themselves, after seeing it succeed and benefiting from that success.
Organize With Other Affinity Groups
An affinity group can work together with other affinity groups in what is sometimes called a cluster. The cluster formation enables a larger number of individuals to act with the same advantages a single affinity group has. If speed or security is called for, representatives of each group can meet ahead of time, rather than the entirety of all groups; if coordination is of the essence, the groups or representatives can arrange methods for communicating through the heat of the action. Over years of collaborating together, different affinity groups can come to know each other as well as they know themselves, becoming accordingly more comfortable and capable together.
When several clusters of affinity groups need to coordinate especially massive actions—before a big demonstration, for example—they can hold a spokescouncil meeting at which different affinity groups and clusters can inform one another (to whatever extent is wise) of their intentions. Spokescouncils rarely produce seamless unanimity, but they can apprise the participants of the various desires and perspectives that are at play. The independence and spontaneity that decentralization provides are usually our greatest advantages in combat with a better equipped adversary.
Bottomlining
For affinity groups and larger structures based on consensus and cooperation to function, it is essential that everyone involved be able to rely on each other to come through on commitments. When a plan is agreed upon, each individual in a group and each group in a cluster should choose one or more critical aspects of the preparation and execution of the plan and offer to bottomline them. Bottomlining the supplying of a resource or the completion of a project means guaranteeing that it will be accomplished somehow, no matter what. If you’re operating the legal hotline for your group during a demonstration, you owe it to them to make sure someone can handle it even if you get sick; if your group promises to provide the banners for an action, make sure they’re ready, even if that means staying up all night the night before because the rest of your affinity group couldn’t show up. Over time, you’ll learn how to handle crises and who you can count on in them—just as others will learn how much they can count on you.
Go Into Action
Stop wondering what’s going to happen, or why nothing’s happening. Get together with your friends and start deciding what will happen. Don’t go through life in passive spectator mode, waiting to be told what to do. Get in the habit of discussing what you want to see happen—and making those ideas reality.
Without a structure that encourages ideas to flow into action, without comrades with whom to brainstorm and barnstorm and build up momentum, you are likely to be paralyzed, cut off from much of your own potential; with them, your potential can be multiplied by ten, or ten thousand. “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world,” Margaret Mead wrote: “it’s the only thing that ever has.” She was referring, whether she knew it or not, to affinity groups. If every individual in every action against the state and status quo participated as part of a tight-knit, dedicated affinity group, the revolution would be accomplished in a few short years.
An affinity group could be a sewing circle or a bicycle maintenance collective; it could come together for the purpose of providing a meal at an occupation or forcing a multinational corporation out of business through a carefully orchestrated program of sabotage. Affinity groups have planted and defended community gardens, built and occupied and burned down buildings, organized neighborhood childcare programs and wildcat strikes; individual affinity groups routinely initiate revolutions in the visual arts and popular music. Your favorite band was an affinity group. An affinity group invented the airplane. Another one maintains this website.
Let five people meet who are resolved to the lightning of action rather than the agony of survival—from that moment, despair ends and tactics begin.
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morelikeravenbore · 2 days ago
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Sebastian Sallow, the yapper.
And other such headcanons.
I woke up this morning with the most pressing desire to word vomit some random Sebastian headcanons. These are all based on my fic How to Make a Villain but I've used "you" in place of Aurélie's name for delulu's sake. 
I literally haven't proof read this so. 
*chucks*
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✨ He's enchanted every single pocket in every item of clothing he owns and keeps EVERYTHING in them. Books, sweets, potions, wiggenwalds, quills, parchment, plants, rocks, a snitch, notebooks, food. Good luck doing his laundry or trying to find ANYTHING he needs. 
✨ Hoards sentimental items the way a magpie hoards shiny things. Yes, that twig you fiddled with during your first conversation is INCREDIBLY important to him and he'll never ever get rid of it. 
✨ He interrupts a lot but it's only because his brain whizzes at a zillion miles an hour. 
✨ Can't sit still.
✨ Definitely has adhd. 
✨ Constantly snacks on sweets (which he keeps in his enchanted pockets, usually loose because he lost the box.) His favourite is Every Flavour Beans, he'll scarf them down by the handful and isn't put off by the disgusting combination of flavours. In fact, he the worse the flavour combo, the funnier he thinks it is. Do not accept any sweets he offers you because who knows how long they've been in his pockets. 
✨ His innate optimism is what keeps him toeing the line between light and dark but is ultimately what saves him. 
✨ Can always make you laugh even during the most stressful times. 
✨ He needs some ONE to fight for rather than some THING. Hes incredibly goal oriented but as long as it centres around his loved one/s. Will fight harder for you than he will for himself. 
✨ Is overly physically affectionate and will never ever stop touching you, hugging you, smooching you, playing with your hair, poking your face, lifting you up, dragging you around by the wrist, sleeping on top of you, pinching you, tickling you. 
✨ Sleeps like 3 hours a night, somehow manages to function.
✨ HIGHLY intelligent, like I'm talking gifted kid level kinda smart.
✨ But also highly impulsive which explains his whole "genius who does a lot of dumb shit" thing. 
✨ On account of his childhood trauma, he will literally BEG you to marry him but will take a bloody ridiculously long time to decide to have kids.
✨ Speaking of marriage, his love for you runs DEEP but he's about as romantic as a slug so expect his proposal to burst outta him on a whim.
✨ He won't hesitate to defend you, threaten for you, commit Muggle violence for you, duel for you, but he treats you soooo gently. 
✨ Certified yapper. Sometimes he'll wake you up in the middle of the night to yap. Sometimes he'll want to show you how high he can karate kick for like fifteen minutes straight.
✨ He hates cutting his hair and usually grows it out all wild and unruly until you can't take it any more and force a haircut on him.
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sturniolosiphone · 1 day ago
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introducing...morose!reader and pinning!matt
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divider by: @bernardsbendystraws
In which morose!reader and pining!matt are best friends. Inseparable. They're there for each other..whether it's morning coffee, running an errand, or a night on the couch. There's connection, safety, and desire..they can feel it; they can tase it...
morose: sullen and ill-tempered.
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⋆.˚morose!reader can come off as a little bitter, a little detached to strangers who aren’t in her inner circle. She finds small talk hard, and she simply does not have the energy to make new friends. 
⋆.˚morose!reader will disappear for days at a time. She is usually hidden in her room, racking up screen time on her phone or attempting to read the book she restarted four times. Her room is her safe space, filled with trinkets, clothes, and vinyls. 
⋆.˚morose!reader took "My Year of Rest and Relaxation" too literally.
⋆.˚morose!reader can watch movies for hours a day and constantly log them into letterboxd. She also loves the movie theater and often calls it her church. She allows herself to break down in the worn-down theater chair as her feet stick to the flooring covered in diet soda.
⋆.˚morose!reader is always saying she could do more, be more. She can’t feel fulfillment in any career path, any passion project…anything. She will come off confident and unnerving, but as soon as that bedroom door closes, she stares at herself in the mirror until she is unrecognizable. 
⋆.˚morose!reader is constantly changing her appearance. Cutting her hair, bleaching her eyebrows, small tattoos, and piercings. She is always trying to find herself, and understand why she is the way she is. 
⋆.˚morose!reader who knows Matt would be good for her but she just...
pining: suffering with or expressing longing or yearning for someone or something.
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⋆.˚pining!matt, who is captivated by morose. He had been in love with her since the first time he saw her at that weird basement party, where they both decided to leave together and go to McDonald’s because the vibes were just off. He’s at her beck and call and is willing to do whatever to make her happy and satisfy her. 
⋆.˚pining!matt is soft and loving. He may come off as a little standoffish, but that is only because he is shy. 
⋆.˚pining!matt, who keeps his journal in his back pocket. He holds a list of all of morose's favorite things. What to order her at restaurants, how she likes her coffee, things that make her happy, and things that make her angry or upset. 
⋆.˚pining!matt is always lost in thought. He is having conversations in his head and lingering on other people's words. He keeps quiet most of the time, absorbing information and taking things in. 
⋆.˚pining!matt hates all of that “new age” shit but owns every Apple product. He refuses to use Apple CarPlay in his car and will only listen to CDs. He hates the internet and tries to keep off social media as much as possible. If he posts anything on social media, it's either morose or his album reviews that get five likes. 
⋆.˚pining!matt who prays one day morose will break, finally let him in completely and let him show her what it feels like to finally let go.
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[A/N: this is my first AU! I have been absolutely taken by other writer's AU's and I love how free and creative you can be. I'd love to write for this AU if it is received well!! Please feel free to send in asks about morose!reader and pining!matt]
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vianbarnes · 23 hours ago
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my buddie going canon ideal scenario and why it could happen before eddie fully realises he’s gay
i’ve been cooking up this scenario for a while now but before going into it i wanna clarify that i don’t think eddie’s homosexuality is tied to buck and just that. i could write a full essay about eddie’s queerness without even mentioning buck. HOWEVER i do think buck could be the key to eddie’s discovery, the last puzzle piece that makes it all make sense.
narratively speaking, i think it could be interesting to see buck and eddie get to the same conclusion (that they’re in love with each other) but in the complete opposite way. while for buck it’s oh shit i’m bi > oh shit i’m in love with eddie, for eddie it would be oh shit i’m in love with buck > oh shit i’m gay. and obviously eddie is starting his own journey just now, so he might realise he’s gay and then it could click for him that all he’s been looking for was there all along, but i do think that - since this is a tv show - it would be interesting to offer a different side of the story to the audience. and yes i know that buck’s queerness and eddie’s queerness are very different already, but i’m specifically referring to their storylines leading up to buddie. (also this is just a personal side note but i think i would be lowkey crazy to have both of them realise they’re queer and still not understand their feelings for each other, like i know they’re dumb and dumber but c’mon!!!)
ok so now let’s put on the tinfoil hat
we literally know nothing about what’s gonna happen in the next episodes so i don’t have any solid theory on how we could get to this scenario. some of the interviews were teasing some potential tension (or angst even) between buck and eddie so my brain took this information and ran with it. a lot of us were also theorising a nde for buck, for eddie or for both of them at the same time and that could also be the setup for what i’m thinking.
but first let’s analyse where buck and eddie are right now (and in the upcoming episodes)
buck was just broken up with so now he’s trying to explore his sexuality and understand it more. it feels like the search for “his last” has just started and he’s excited to look at relationships and love through a new lens, but he also might feel a little discouraged that he has to do it all over again. he might be thinking “now that i have all these new possibilities, why is it still so hard to find my person?” (average bisexual experience i will tell you that much).
eddie on the other hand is slowly trying to forgive himself and love himself, accepting joy and not pushing away his desires and needs. allowing himself to feel certain feelings and just let go. he’s taking small steps to show up for himself just like he does for his loved ones every day (we still don’t know how far they’re gonna go with his story so the next episodes are definitely gonna be interesting)
so, with all that being said, here’s how buddie could go canon:
it’s late and buck shows up at eddie’s house. they’re in the kitchen drinking a beer, both leaning on the counter and not looking at each other at first. something has happened between them that they need to clear up (could be an argument, a fight or some very important words exchanged when they thought they were about to lose the other).
as much as i love a “because i love you!!” screamed during an argument, i don’t see that happening in this scenario. i imagine them having the softest, most honest and open conversation where they lay it all out - without even realising what they’re doing. at some point, buck is gonna say something that will make it finally click for eddie. if it’s an argument he could say something like “i need you in my life”/“i want you in my life forever”, or if this happens after a nde he could say “i can’t imagine my life without you”/“i don’t know how i could live without you” (i’m not a writer but you get the gist lol)
and that’s when eddie finally allows himself to feel what deep down he’s been feeling for years, and so he leans over and kisses buck. the kiss is pretty short: eddie pulls away almost immediately, as if his body was possessed by something and he just snapped out of it. buck can’t believe what just happened, but it takes him just a few seconds to realise and to grab eddie’s face and kiss him back. they start making out, they go out of frame, the screen turns black, the episode is over.
now let’s talk about the aftermath of the kiss. because if we know 911 we know that this goddamn show can’t let people just be happy so of course there’s gonna be some angst and miscommunication.
after the kiss, they don’t really talk about it. they might even get interrupted by something else (maybe eddie has to go to texas to get chris back?) so they have to postpone the what the fuck just happened conversation. and that’s when both of them start to spiral, but for different reasons. buck of course thinks that eddie’s distance means that he regretted the kiss, that they got caught up in the moment but that he doesn’t feel that way about him and he basically ruined their friendship. eddie is also freaking the fuck out: he’s panicking about how they could make their relationship work, how they could tell christopher, he’s questioning literally his whole life and past relationships like oh my god have i been gay this whole fucking time??, he’s worried about their jobs, how they’re gonna tell bobby and the others. basically questioning everything but buck.
being the idiots that they are, they’re gonna convince themselves that the other regretted everything and they’re gonna avoid each other and never have that much needed conversation. the 118 obviously notices that something is off, but no one knows what it is. until hen and eddie finally talk and he tells her everything: what happened, what made him panic and doubt everything and what’s stopping him from talking to buck. hen is shocked but not necessarily surprised. her and karen look at eachother (yes karen is there too because of eddiekaren bestfriendism that is very real to me) and then hen says something like “i don’t have the answers to all of these questions, but i’m sure of one thing: you love him and he loves you. you can figure out the rest together. go talk to him” (i think it would be nice for eddie to have this conversation with henren as a couple, since his biggest fears and concerns are about how they could make the relationship work)
eddie feels like he just woke up from a 20+ year long sleep. he runs out of hen’s place, hurrying to his car, and from now i’m picturing a full romcom montage with him just fighting for his life to get to buck’s apartment: traffic, construction work so he has to take a detour, his shirt is drenched in sweat so he has to go back home to change because surely he can’t show up at buck’s looking like that. once he gets home, he sprints to his room to find a new shirt (maybe he puts on too much cologne - the one buck likes - and he has to change again. just because it would be fun to see him in distress). he fixes his hair for the 100th time, grabs his keys, finally opens the front door and stops in disbelief. buck is on his doorstep, hand mid-air about to knock. they look at each other and in that moment they just know. they both lean in and go for the kiss aaand BUDDIE CANON !!!! (+ the buck at eddie’s door parallel finally having the romcom resolution it always meant to have)
of course i have no clue how we could get there, but i do feel like it would be true to the show if they didn’t immediately get together and if there was some angst between them. i hope that once they get together they won’t try to break them up (even just temporarily) so they might have to go through some shit at the very beginning of their relationship for that to happen.
alright tinfoil hat OFF folks. i always try to stay consistent to the show and only come up with theories that i could truly see being developed and i don’t think any of this is unrealistic. buuut i’m still a clown so who knows. quite frankly i’m fine with buddie canon either way (as long as their first kiss is initiated by eddie and it happens in his kitchen <3)
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rosquinn · 2 days ago
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One of my Dorian Gray hot takes is that there was absolutely nothing in Dorian and Basil's relationship that was healthy. I keep seeing posts like "Basil's love for Dorian was so pure, that's why the portrait was so pretty and the real villain of the story is Wotton because he corrupted it"
As I see it, yes, Wotton did corrupt him, but saying Basil's feelings for Dorian were pure is simply inaccurate to the story. Basil says himself he merely sees Dorian as an artistic ideal [Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in art. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours. That is all; ch1] and admitted he (a 10 year older man, who had power over him) tried to isolate him from other people and "keep him to himself". Furthermore, Basil also plays a big role in the way Dorian sees himself and his beauty, by painting him everyday and not maintaining any conversation with him, he's indirectly reaffirming what Wotton tells him: people only care about you because you're pretty and young. There is also this scene from the second chapter:
Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. "I believe you would, Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say.
The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and his cheeksburning.
"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself."
Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have suchanother. You are not jealous of material things, are you?-you who are finer than any of them!"
Dorian is even dealing with a suicidal ideation over what Wotton has told him and the way Basil sees him, he needs emotional validation, he's asking to be told there's more than him than that, and Basil's reaction is just─ no. You're prettier than any other object (indirectly comparing him to one, too).
Basil's view of Dorian influences how he sees people as much as Wotton's. For example, to Dorian Sybil was only what she pretended to be, he loved her performance, her acting, how she did exactly what the public wanted (which can apply to Dorian himself), not the real her. She was only an artistic ideal to him, she meant to him exactly what Dorian meant to Basil. He ignored her desires, pain and everything not related to what he wanted to see, since that's what he's been taught he must appreciate.
I also disagree with the interpretation of the portrait as a "pure" reflection of Basil's love (I would personally rather describe it as an obsession, though) and Dorians soul because it's not. At least not entirely. Part of the point of the book is that everyone only saw the part of Dorian they wanted: the portrait represents Basil's idolized version of him, what he wanted to see and how he refused to see Dorian as a person instead of an artistic ideal. That's why he tried to make him redeem himself, because he hated seeing his version of Dorian shatter into pieces. It was never Dorian entirely, not even after aging terribly because that's the result of Basil and Wotton's influence. The portrait was not his soul, it was a modified version of it other people played with because nobody cared about the whole thing, and the influence was so big those parts became his whole being. It was just an idolized, molded version at first but turned into his real self with the time and the sins. Dorian's soul (the portrait) was constructed upon what others appreciated about him, so when Wotton motivated him to sin, because Dorian's potential to be terrible was what mattered to him, it became ugly and terrible. There was absolutely nothing pure about that portrait since day 1.
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hainethehero · 2 days ago
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No hate, genuine question. Why do yous think bucktommy was such a good relationship? Tommy bought him tickets to basketball when its established he doesn't like basketball and buck didn't even know if Tommy was gay or bi after 6 months like that doesn't seem like they knew each other at all what makes it seem like they have such a good relationship?
Genuine answer, I liked that Buck finally had someone that was upfront with him and really interested. Before then, it was mostly him chasing interests.
As for the basketball tickets etc., it was terrible writing. The writers clearly got direction from whoever (showrunner, execs etc) to just half-ass it. The writing was just terrible bc Tommy up until then was very in love with Buck, and even Oliver said, they were in the early stages of learning/exploring each other.
And again, there was clearly a miscommunication between the show & the interviews that Tim and Oliver did.
Tim said he liked Lou a lot and felt like Tommy was the perfect guy to set up Buck's queer storyline and relationship with. He also said he wanted to give the relationship respect and didn't want to make a big deal about it because a lot of shows do that, when queer couples should be treated not as something gratuitous and showy, but as something natural. He also said that he wanted to change up the fact that Buck has always been on a rollercoaster of relationships and has never quite settled and he wanted the opposite of that to happen with Tommy.
Oliver said that he wanted to do the same and be respectful of showing a genuine queer relationship. He even said that Buck and Tommy were taking things slow and getting to know each other and exploring this new territory for Buck. He even said he wanted a slow burn where the desire just builds etc.
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Then, in the show, after season 7, there were barely any Buck and Tommy scenes. Yes, Buck and Tommy were there for Christopher's birthday, but that was more about Eddie. There was no genuine effort to develop their relationship. Most of season 8 was about Bathena & Henren, (not even Eddie or Chimney got enough screentime tbh). But they clearly showed through the writing and the pacing that the Buck/Tommy relationship was no longer something they wanted to spend time and energy on. The discrepancies then, are the difference in the interviews and then the show. People genuinely thought they were going to do what they said (see interview above & Google the rest of interviews bc there were a lot with the same sentiment expressed about being respectful about Buck and Tommy.) But they clearly didn't and went with the, "oh we were tricking you and rly just going to break them up so that Buck can kick off his yt boy angst" arc.
Honestly I'm still confused af:
Why did they dive into this plot if Tim and Oliver knew they were just going to half-ass it?
Did Oliver just not like Lou and ask Tim to end it abruptly?
If Oliver/the cast didn't like Lou, why did they keep him on?
If they did like Lou, why did no one defend him when he was getting sent death threats, petitions to get him off the show, degrading comments about his looks, name-calling etc?
And if Tim and Buck were genuinely truthful, that they wanted to be respectful in developing and building this queer relationship, why did they let it get railroaded by sloppy writing, bullying from stans, no promotion of the relationship ship whatsoever and minute long scenes where there's no deep conversations or focus on their dynamic?
If the 911 cast didn't like Lou so much, whyd they keep him on? Why did they continue the storyline? Why lie in interviews and say things like slow burn, instead of being brave and saying, well, i don't like the direction my character is going in, so we're scrapping Buck and Tommy?
It all just seems like blatant cowardice to me, from the entire cast, but specifically Tim and Oliver. And now that they broke up, Oliver's brilliant response is, "i want Buck to fuck this guy and that girl, and that girl and this guy and this girl..." like, CLEARLY he did not give a f--k about the relationship, so he should've expressed that earlier, instead of making stuff up about slow burn and desires, and getting over hurdles together.
So to answer your question, we were expecting what Tim and Oliver alluded to, (and up until 8x05 they seemed smitten with each other, even with boils on Buck's face- and then immediately broken up next ep) and instead got shitty pacing, little to no development of the relationship, and weak, half-assed writing that seemed more from a middle-schooler than an actual writer.
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talonabraxas · 9 hours ago
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Goddess Venus in Her Chariot Talon Abraxas
Venus In Capricorn
Venus in Capricorn is getting rid of all the scrubs from our lives and telling us to date peeps who are at our level. As a direct Earth sign, Venus in Capricorn isn't known for its frilly and thrilling nature. This placement is very cautious about love and relationships so between November 11 and December 7 we will be very wary and particular regarding how we express what’s in our hearts.
Venus in Capricorn has its own unique attributes. This transit doesn't allow us to take other people for granted; we must take others seriously. We must constantly put our best foot forward to resolve issues and create long-term dynamics.
Venus in Capricorn operates with both eyes on the future. It only allows us to commit to those we see ourselves growing old with. We'll run for the hills if we lack compatibility with the person we desire. Being with someone who understands our needs and interests compels us to share our world with them.
There’s also a business vibe to Venus’ dalliance in Capricorn — particularly when it comes to who they align with. Venus in Capricorn will only set its sights on people who can promise security and are a worthy investment of our time. This astrological placement urges us to veer away from those who we may consider unsafe or complicated because it likes a straightforward approach to relationships. This is because Venus tends to be a little bit lazier and Capricorn is the CEO of the zodiac, always working hard to achieve its goals. When these two energies unite, the cardinal Venusian placement allows us to structure our relationships based on practical and reasonable sentiments.
We might seek validation from others because we secretly want to be told we’re the most fantastic lovers of all time. This need for acceptance might cause us to rebel against our partner if we do not feel seen or valued. Venus in Capricorn can take on an authoritative role in relationships and will undermine situations or people if they're not being cared for in the required ways. The important thing is to find balance and work towards a shared goal that allows both parties to be equal and grow together.
Even though Venus in Capricorn will not love-bomb us, it can bring good times our way. After all, Capricorn is an Earth sign and indulges in pleasures and decadence. Venus in Capricorn doesn’t shy away or hide its kinks. Venus in Capricorn is extremely open about their turn-ons with their lovers, friends and inner circle. In demure Capricorn fashion, it won’t be shouted from the rooftops but discussed if a conversation presents itself. Work hard and play harder is the motto.
If you’re experiencing a Venus return right now (when Venus comes back to the sign and degree it was in at your birth), you’re in for a pleasant surprise as the vibe will be lighter than it’s been in years. You’ll have the opportunity to heal and make decisions that will rock your world — for the better. Caring for others is going to come second to loving yourself. Lean into the positivity!
This year, Venus in Capricorn squares the Nodes of Destiny on November 16, pushing us to redefine what we want. The same old patterns might not do it for us anymore; it’s time to break out of any ruts. Conversely, we may find that recommitting to the one we adore allows us to flourish into amazingness. On November 22, Venus connects with Saturn, forming bonds with others. Venus links up with Uranus retrograde on December 2, helping us find an exciting way to spice things up with our crush or significant other. Finally, Venus in Capricorn harmonizes with Neptune retrograde on December 4, making our fantasies a reality and bringing our romantic dreams to life. -Lisa Stardust, Refinery29
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owl-it-here · 2 days ago
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AU idea - One Piece #1
So I was thinking about this fic I read about a year ago (or re-read it?) -> Luffy was raised as a marine and makes it everyone's problem [An amazing read - I recommend checking it out]
And I really like the idea behind it. Using skills that may have been learned before is always cool, especially if there's a chance that they may be canonical. More than that, I think we should go even further.
So far, we don't know enough about Brook and Jinbe's childhoods to make any assumptions (so I won't touch on them in any depth here - but they are both experienced in diffrent ways), but most of them, to put it mildly, had rather difficult childhoods. And that made them perfectly specialised in the areas they chose to remain safe and survive. Moslty had one mentor or were raised by themselves. All except Luffy and Sanji, if you think about it.
The education system in the OP sucks, just like the real one. But the difference in knowledge and experience should be used as an advantage to make comedy out of this tragedy.
Nami had Bellemere, who probably gave her a basic education. She later self-taught herself out of curiosity and a desire to survive. Her time in the Arlong crew gave her more problems than opportunities to learn (but she may have picked up a few tricks here and there).
Zoro studied in the dojo. He had one sensei, one slightly more experienced rival and one older one to talk to. (Definitely not enough but it sure gave him his rather unique perspective).
Usopp only had his mum. Later, maybe some villagers helped him a bit, or Kaya to thank for the stories - but he is also mostly self-taught.
Chopper studied only under two doctors, and neither of them was sane. Maybe some reindeer instincts from his herd passed on to him before he ate the devil's fruit (but he was young, and later under stress so).
Robin grew up on an island full of scholars, but is still mostly self-taught. And apart from her special interests, everything she learned was from survivalism (so a PhD in history (and related stuff) and random knowledge, if I had to guess - well she's clever enough to learn/teach herself more if need be).
Franky, as far as we know, studied technical fields. We don't know enough about him before he came under Tom's wing, but we can assume that most of his knowledge comes from those years. (He created his own little mafia family, but we don't really know if he learned from anyone how to manage it or not).
And then we have Luffy and Sanji.
Luffy had a grandfather who tried to teach him to be a marine and to fight. Makino taught him the basics (and attempted manners). Dadan and her gang showed him by their example how to be a good bandit. Shanks and his crew taught him the basics of being a good pirate. And of course his brothers, taught him how to be a real jungle kid and a few tricks. And all this probably gave him quite mixed signals - especially with his logic.
And finally Sanji. As a prince born to a scientist (an evil sperm donor, but still the person responsible for his education, who probably with his big ego believed that his children even without modification should be as brilliant as he was) Sanji certainly had some sort of super special royal education (which he tried to perfect because it was probably easier than a physical test and he wanted to fit in somehow). He learned manners, politeness and most of all kindness from his mum. How to cook, fight and be a pirate from Zeff. And probably a few other cooking and odd skills from the various chefs he met over the years on both the Orbit and the Bartie. Working in the kitchen is conducive to conversation.
So I've come to the conclusion that I want to read a fic where both Luffy's and Sanji's upbringing has a greater impact on the strawhats' journey. Yes, I want Luffy to occasionally use his random nautical knowledge to help them escape or get something. (Like the author used it to save Ace, but also to help Robin faster etc.). Someone should also note that the style in which he manages his crew is similar to the bandits. Or they should meet some on the way and only Luffy should know how to behave to be respected. I also want Sanji to talk more about things that pirates should know. Or even about political stuff. (Robin could add more too, but Sanji has a slightly different perspective on it than she does.) Even if he doesn't want to talk about his past, the excuse that he knows everything from Zeff works and is practically undeniable, because no one on the crew knows what he went through as a pirate.
It would have been fun to see Luffy explain to his crew why this marine is bad news, but the other one isn't so bad because his grandfather likes him or something. Or if Sanji, after fighting for Nami's freedom, had stopped and asked the crew if any of them knew a bit of hooks (and Luffy realised that Garp was trying to teach him that - but, as standard, he didn't explain just went on to practice-torture).
Bonus if the only person who can immediately use this random information is Zoro. Who on everything just says: it sounds just about right. Because it perfectly balances the Monster Trio in this way.
This could also be a good idea for a larger crew fic. After the whole situation with Nami, the crew starts talking about heading to the Grand Line and a dialogue like this ensues between them: Sanji: so where are we looking for the other members? The others: We are not looking? Sanji: And what about the watch? Grand Line is very unpredictable. Since you knew some pirates Luffy, I'm sure they talked about it…. Luffy: They told super cool stories! Sanji: Then how do you think we'll be able to have a night shift with just five of us? With such a small number of people, especially with no medic on board, it will affect my cooking….
And let's not kid ourselves but the food argument has a pretty good chance of working.
Luffy: Setting out I thought having 10 members would be ideal! Sanji: For influencing the Grand Line - sure - to just look for them there with the unpredictability and adventures waiting for us there - there aren't enough of us now. We need a few more hands and a pair of eyes.
And honestly this conversation probably doesn't affect Luffy that much, he continues to be as picky about selecting his nakamas as he was in canon, but maybe enough that they select perhaps 3 more people for the lineup. Which allows us to stay fairly ok with the storyline and right away adds diversity and some power. Which may have made some of the arks funnier because we have more room to play. (This Bites! makes it look like a good idea).
I call this idea: Luffy was brought up as he was, and that makes it everyone's problem, but it is Sanji's existence that makes everyone else question it - Zoro you should have a bigger problem with that!
In a nutshell: The gray cells are working!
If anyone ever uses it, PLEASE tag me - I want to devour it in every form. I probably could have outlined it better, but well it's just an idea.
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admiral-mason · 23 hours ago
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Yo, sorry if this is out of the blue but I just had this idea and I have to share: Inazuma (cuz I'm still obsessed with the place) has specific hair styles with meanings attached to them, like flower language but for hair.
And the Creator, also apparently a budding hair styler, knowingly or otherwise cooks up chaos after practicing on their inazuman acolytes.
Fucking imagine Ei goes to visit Miko or smth and she nearly loses her composure cuz WHAT THE FUCK is Ei doing with a 5-strand marriage braid- AND WHY IS SARA'S HAIR TIED BACK WITH A RED RIBBON MEANT DEBUTING MAIDENS? WHAT IS HAPENING-
Trolling in Roblox but for Teyvat instead lmfao
Also I apologize if I don't do this idea justice, I can understand symbolism but not in flowers or hair
Reader is gender neutral as usual
Creator trolling Inazuma with hairstyles
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So when you visit Inazuma you eventually find out through conversing with the people that a person's hairstyle reveals some ways they live their life.
For example, Kujou Sara (or Sara Kujou depending on name order since her name is a Japanese name with family name before first name) keeps her hair cut short and tidy, representing discipline,
But people like Arataki Itto who, with their messier hair, symbolizes a more laid-back lifestyle (Kuki Shinobu is an exception to this rule since she apparently just likes it)
Most of the Arataki Gang apart from Itto and Shinobu do have neat-ish haircuts but I headcanon that they have to go to Shinobu to help maintain them lmfao
Generally speaking, the neater someone's hair is the more likely they are in a position of nobility/professionalism
Now, you did mention a 5-strand marriage braid of sorts. There are braids with fewer strands; by this logic, the more braids a woman accumulates, the more visible she's in love with someone with the fifth braid being the marriage one.
Then there's the red ribbon: not sure what you mean by 'debuting maidens' and maiden does mean an unmarried woman though, so let's make this a twist:
Red in Japan has many meanings, from authority and sacrifice to joy and happiness.
Inazuma draws heavy inspiration from Japan, so here's the twist:
Someone who wears a red ribbon implies that they desire to obtain the opposite of their current traits (I.e. Sara Kujou would want to wear a red ribbon if she ever wanted to wear a symbol of her possibly attempting to learn some domestic ways of life, contrary to her rigid and stalwart lifestyle)
Now, the trolling commences.
So you possess hairstyler skills from back in your world, likely either as a job or an activity in your free time.
After realizing the amount of tomfoolery you could commit with this information, you decided to use it.
One night, you asked Kujou Sara if she wanted to personally accompany you to see the Shogun. She accepted, albeit with a bit of hesitation and fluster since she's not used to being singled out.
Once the two of you arrived at Tenshukaku and greeted Ei. Then, you asked the two how they felt about different hairstyles before you revealed that you had hairstyling skills.
Then you deviously grinned/smirked and explained the plan,
Which was for you to troll Inazumans by styling their hair. Ei would grow long hair for you to eventually style into a braid, while Sara would have her hair styled to a more gentle and off-guarded look with a red ribbon.
Both women were flustered with red all over their faces, to say the least. Their holy one wanted to style their hair? Of course they'd let them!
Day after day, you'd check in on the two to check their hair growth on whether it was long enough to change, and you simply gave a clueless expression and a cheeky "don't question it" to those who wondered what you were up to.
Finally, after around two weeks, their hair grew long enough for you to style. Ei silently hummed as you braided her hair while Sara stayed flustered as you tied a red ribbon to her hair.
The sun was still out when you finished styling the two, so you offered them to go on a walk with you.
Imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they see their shogun with a marriage braid and Sara's red ribbon telling everyone that she's attempting to take a more laid-back approach to life.
Everyone has their jaw dropped in some way or another.
News didn't take long to reach Yae Miko's ears, and then when you three actually visited her,
She's openly surprised at Ei and Sara's hairstyles while you three pretend as if this is totally normal.
A day later a rumor sprung up that you decided to marry Ei, and writers had a field day with this.
Light novels about a relationship between you and Ei skyrocket and fly off shelves far more so than any other novel beforehand, leading to further rumors such as how you two might start a family or including Sara in the relationship-
So you tell everyone that you pulled a prank of sorts on them and that you knew how to hairstyle.
The rumors eventually died down, but it turns out you now have a new crowd of people wishing to receive hairstyles from you
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whenyuuwish · 23 hours ago
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bluecherry in the Cinderella AU
✦. ❝ so this is love, so this is what makes life divine. i’m all aglow and now i know the key to all heaven is mine. my heart has wings and i can fly. i’ll touch every star in the sky so this is the miracle, that i’ve been dreaming of
warnings: child neglect and abuse, bullying, confinement/imprisonment loss and abandonment, emotional manipulation
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Whitney is raised in a harsh orphanage, where she takes on the responsibilities of caring for her younger brothers, Jordan and Myles. Despite being the oldest, she's forced to do all the chores, while the other orphans neglect to help.
Jordan and Myles secretly help Whitney with her work, but are punished whenever they’re caught. The boys are like Whitney’s little small friends, loyal and protective of her.
Whitney is drawn to stories of adventure and romance, spinning tales of magic for her brothers and longing for a life beyond her mundane duties.
The king of the Queendom of Roses, Riddle Rosehearts, announces a ball to find a bride for his friend, Prince Ace Trappola (Son of the Kingdom Caelumrose, where the other/oldest son gave up on the crowd as he wished for adventure). Whitney learns that all eligible maidens are invited, fueling her dream to attend and escape her harsh life, even if just for a night.
Her orphanage rivals, the “older girls,” mock Whitney’s desire to go to the ball. They take advantage of her enthusiasm by adding to her chores, making it seem impossible for her to prepare in time.
As Whitney faces the disappointment of missing the ball, a mysterious, mischievous fairy named Lilia appears. Understanding her wishes, he transforms her into a regal young lady with a beautiful blue dress and glass slippers. Lilia also transforms a nearby pumpkin into a carriage and her the orphanage mice into horses to take her to the ball. He reminds her that the spell will break at midnight.
At the ball, Prince Ace is surrounded by eager suitors (he’s not that interested in romance), yet none capture his attention until he meets Whitney. Despite her old-fashioned manners and shy demeanor, Ace is captivated by her charm and mystery.
Whitney and Ace share a dance and quickly become close, bonding over their mutual desire to defy their rigid roles in society. The Prince’s friends Riddle, Deuce, and others watch, shocked by Ace’s sudden interest in someone so different.
Just as the two are about to share a deeper conversation, Whitney hears the clock chime midnight. Remembering Lilia’s warning, she rushes from the palace, leaving behind a single glass slipper.
The next day, Prince Ace declares that he will marry the girl whose foot fits the slipper. The royal Duke, Deuce, is sent to every household in the kingdom.
News reaches Whitney’s orphanage, and her rivals do everything possible to hide her, locking her away in a storage room so she can’t try on the slipper.
Jordan and Myles, with the help of some of the orphanage animals, manage to retrieve the key to free Whitney from her locked room, allowing her to reach Deuce just in time.
Deuce arrives, and the slipper fits perfectly on Whitney’s foot. Her rivals are horrified as Deuce declares her the Prince’s chosen bride.
Whitney is taken to the castle, where she and Prince Ace are reunited. The two fall deeply in love, each finding in the other a kindred spirit who shares their desire for freedom and adventure.
Whitney, now free from the constraints of her old life, brings her brothers to live with her in the palace.
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sagesparrow394 · 2 days ago
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Headcanons for if JRWI characters ended up on the QSMP (aka Just QSMP With it)
Continuation of this post and this post! Other posts about this AU are on my blog under the tag #just qsmp with it
I think Chip is initially resistant to cooperating with the Order and the other islanders’ resistance against the Federation. He’s too concerned with just getting his ship fixed and trying to leave the island, making that his priority over whatever is happening on the island. It’s only once it properly sets in that there is no feasible way of leaving as long as the Federation is in control that he agrees to formally join the Order. He’s the last of the Riptide pirates to do so, Jay joining pretty quickly, and Gillion being recruited by Etoiles after expressing a keen desire to help free everyone.
While Gillion helps Pomme train and teaches her fighting skills, Pomme would absolutely return the favour by teaching Gillion French. I also think it’d be funny if Gill was inexplicably really really good at picking up the language. Bro’s almost fluent after a single month, able to have full conversations with Etoiles in French as the two spar.
Jay and Jaiden definitely become friends. Is this partially because their duo name would be Bluejay and that’s too good to pass up? Maaaybe. But I can see Jaiden initially trying to befriend Jay because hey, another woman, we’ve got three now! Girls gotta stick together! (going off the idea the Riptide crew arrive before the frozen islanders are thawed). And then they just bond further over their shared experiences with loss and grief. Jaiden’s death in Purgatory hits Jay pretty hard.
Runt doesn’t get recruited to the Order, she forces her way in. She tails someone and finds the secret entrance, spies in on a meeting or two, and then confronts Cellbit like “I know you’ve got a whole resistance thing going on, and I want in.” And so, not counting the eggs, she becomes the youngest member of Ordo Theoritas. Her first action after joining is to upgrade the Order’s security systems, making it more Cucurucho-proof.
Blink is recruited by Cellbit to the Order after Cellbit learns of his sheer power of bullshitting his way into places. Blink is specifically tasked with bullshitting his way into the Federation workforce. I mean, so far the only spies in the Federation are Fit (just a janitor), Foolish (playing both sides), and Cellbit (basically just a pawn Cucurucho likes to play with). Luckily, thanks to his powers of bullshitting and the Federation’s fondness for birds, Blink successfully is able to get the position of an A-Rank worker, becoming a vital informant for the Order (rip Blink x The Overseer, Blink x Cucurucho is the new ship /j)
At the end of Purgatory, Troy doesn’t leave Egg Island, choosing to stay behind for his egg Hope. Runt tries to convince him otherwise, but Troy just screams “I CAN’T FUCKING LEAVE HER”, refusing to move. Blink drags Runt away, both heading to the boat without him. Troy ultimately joins Baghera and Cellbit as the killers of Purgatory 2, developing a closer friendship with the two of them and exploding strangers with an extra super duper cool sled provided by the Watcher. Then Hope, Pomme, Richarlyson and Philza arrive on their rescue mission. Troy can’t help but feel a little hurt Runt and Blink don’t come too, but buries those feelings deep down. I mean, what was he expecting from the guys who left him to fight 28 guards alone, right?
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svartalfhild · 2 days ago
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More thoughts!
Illario is extremely sus.
THE CAMEOS!!!!! IN MINRATHOUS!!!!!
I always knew from the lore that the First Warden was a little bitch, but actually meeting him is a next level experience. What a fucking asshole.
Taash is such a fun character. They're so delightfully blunt, but also sweet in their own way. The gamer bros are so mad about Taash and those whiny little pieces of detritus can go fuck themselves.
Every now and again, there's a wild Matt Mercer, and I'm delighted. He Has The Range.
I'm genuinely enjoying the puzzles, which is a wild concept for a BioWare game. Finally, some good fucking level design.
They keep dropping deep lore bombshells that have put years of me going full Pepe Silvia over this world to shame, and I'm so excited about it.
Ghilan'nain is a straight up nasty bitch in every sense of the term, which I already kinda knew from Tevinter Nights, but fighting her makes me think Rook should invent bleach just to deal with her mess.
Emmrich's personal arc villain has energy somewhere between Yzma and Doc Ock, and I am very entertained.
Emmrich may not wear black, but he's the gothest motherfucker in this entire series and I couldn't be happier.
Everyone is so concerned about Lucanis' pantry living and it's very sweet but also hilarious.
I love watching Lucanis develop friendships with everyone else. That's right; open your heart, sad bird man.
Love how Taash is immediately Lucanis' #1 fan for assassin reasons and he's so confused by it.
Unlocking the pieces of Solas' backstory is so fun because you get worldview-altering lore drops and then the Veilguard has a family meeting every time to discuss the new info and read Solas for filth.
Absolutely worth reading any codex entries related to the Lighthouse or companions, because you get fun insight into the daily domestic living of the Veilguard in the Lighthouse on top of whatever lines you already get about it when they're talking to each other at home. They really are like a household.
I enjoyed the Descent DLC of Inquisition, so Harding's personal arc is an absolute joy.
All the gamer bros complaining that the game isn't dark, mature fantasy like the rest of the series are honestly probably just mad at the lack of Desire demons, because there is absolutely no shortage of dark shit in this game, y'all. I mean, for fuck's sake, the major factions in the story include 1) a struggling abolitionist resistance movement that routinely tangles with people engaging in horrifying ritual murder, 2) a guild of assassins who have way too much political power but have also been forced to become a resistance group because their country has no army, 3) the supposedly apolitical army of people who poison themselves to fight evil until they inevitably die horrible deaths, and 4) straight up necromancers. And that's just the factions! That's not even getting into the plot!
Neve and Lucanis continue to have stellar chemistry.
Bellara needs so many hugs and it frustrates me that I can't provide them.
Experienced a very funny glitch during Harding's second personal quest in Act 2 where something seemed off about my Rook and then I realized that her left boob was missing. Her left boob was Sir Not Appearing in This Film. Straight up had decided not to participate in this conversation. I lost my shit. I may share a screenshot of it at some point.
Taash admitting in an argument with Emmrich that they don't like him because they think necromancy is freaky allowed me the opportunity to be like "Do you think that about me? 🥺" as a Mourn Watcher, which I'm so glad of, because a lot of the companions are uncomfortable with Emmrich's necromancy and I have been dying to get the chance to call them out for not considering how that would make Rook feel.
Emmrich made a move on my Rook last night and *fans self* hoo lord. Lucanis better show up with some extremely strong game very soon, otherwise he will have thoroughly lost to Thedas' very own Hammer Horror Man.
(Davrin fell out of the running pretty quick, since his personality ended up not fitting well as a romance for my Rook. Ironically, when they first announced the companions, I was almost certain I would end up being a Davrin girlie. Alas, he is not the type I'd thought he'd be. He also failed to show up in a waistcoat, unlike the other two, and we all know how weak I am for a good waistcoat.)
I love that Act 2 is just like The Gang Goes To Therapy. Sometimes this involves killing things. Or people. But not always!
Some fun DATV things I'm experiencing:
Playing as female Rook makes the first few quests until you get Lucanis very Girls Night, which I really started to notice after a friend pointed it out and she is so right.
Neve is bestie.
Lucanis' intro cinematic made me feel so attacked. That shit was so my brand lol.
Lucanis and Neve's banter is hilarious and if I don't romance Lucanis I may end up shipping him with Neve.
Did Bellara's first personal quest and almost cried. Hit me a little close to home.
Neve's hangout quest was delightful. I want to chat and snack and walk around with her all day.
Neve and Bellara's developing friendship is so fun. I want to see a scene where Lucanis gets involved in their cooking adventures.
Shopping and getting coffee with Lucanis was like Oh No He's Thoughtful And Charming And I'm Weak.
Chose Lucanis over Neve in that one decision that made me want to scream and now she's hardened and I'm so sorry bestie I was thinking of the defenseless people and I will never be okay again.
Varric playing mentor to Rook got me right where it hurts. He's there for when you need an adultier adult to tell you that you're doing okay and that he's proud if you. I cry forever.
Assan and Manfred are my SONS and I LOVE THEM and I make the most ridiculous noises when they are on screen. THEY ARE SUCH GOOD BOYS.
The quest to acquire Emmrich is fucking delightful if you're a nice Mourn Watcher and you bring Bellara along. Just three huge nerds enjoying each other's company while doing dangerous shit.
Davrin and Emmrich's banter is like two dad's comparing notes.
As a Watcher, Myrna kinda feels like my mentor-mom, which is funny.
More thoughts to come. Just wanted to scribble down a few things so far for the people to let y'all know I'm having a fucking blast.
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luckyricochet · 5 months ago
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"Gloire au grand défenseur de la liberté." "Charles. De quelle taverne avez-vous été jeté aujourd'hui?" "Aucune. Mais il est encore tôt. Quand partez-vous sauver l'Amerique?" "D'un jour à l'autre, le cour m'honore d'une commission."
THÉODORE PELLERIN as GILBERT DU MOTIER, THE MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE
EVERY LAFAYETTE SCENE, 7/? ✧ 1x02, FRANKLIN (2024)
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