#but it's me so we all know they get together and fuck a lot
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annasellheim · 7 hours ago
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So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).
Anyway, the story:
I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.
"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned these techniques, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.
We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. But I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching, overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together. And there were 25 of you in my class, it took me a few years to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom. Again, I'm really sorry for the pain it caused."
I tried to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dish any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons.
The man in front of me was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I might be reading too much into it.
I took a sip of my coffee.
"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"
He looked surprised and snorted.
"What?"
"You swore."
It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.
Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."
"I never thought of it that way..."
"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."
We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.
"Do you still make art?"
"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"
"Your last required art class. Got it."
I gave him a side eyed glance.
"You know you could get back into it at any time, right?"
He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.
I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.
"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.
The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."
I gave him my business card.
"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."
We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.
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Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
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leejenowrld · 2 days ago
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‘love me back?’ — five
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pairing — mark lee x reader
word count — 49.5k words… sorry 
genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love
synopsis — a late-night visit from mark exposes the cracks in your fragile relationship, pushing you further apart with every unspoken word and lingering wound. distance grows, heartbreak deepens, yet amidst the chaos, your bond becomes raw and consuming. but just as it feels like you might find each other again, one devastating misunderstanding threatens to destroy everything, leaving you questioning if love can survive when the world around you refuses to let it thrive.
chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit themes, really angsty chapter (get tissues), rough sex, manhandling, fucking against the lockers, degradation, dom (male) and sub (female), oral sex (male receiving), throat fucking, deep throating, hair pulling, choking, spanking, impact play, overstimulation, possessive behavior, degradation, praise mixed with humiliation, rough handling, marking/bruising, choking, spitting, tense conversations and confrontations, so many emotions, so much guilt, fear, and longing, overthinking and overanalyzing girlies unite, moments of rawness and vulnerability, lots of internal conflicts, mark gets heated this chapter, frustrated mark, he eats her up i fear, karina and y/n bestie moments, wholesome girl moments 🫶, jeno and reader bestie moments too, jeno is such a flirt lmao, oh also his dad is a little bitch but we know! boy toy auction (oth viewers you’re welcome!), beautiful gala scene, ending … :((
authors note — this is not the final part! i’ve added another chapter. this is the penultimate chapter. 
[fic ml]
ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX
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Karina’s voice cuts through the quiet, distant and curt. “It’s for you,” she says without sparing you a glance. 
Your brows pull together as you glance at the clock—just past midnight. Confusion lingers until you open the door, and the sight before you instantly shifts your mood. Mark stands there with a familiar, easy smile tugging at his lips, a warmth that never fails to pull you in. His backpack rests over one shoulder, a clear sign he plans to stay the night, and in his hand, he’s holding his guitar case, always an extension of him, always something that feels so uniquely his.
The apartment felt heavy with unspoken tension, the kind that lingered in the air and wrapped itself around every glance. Karina had barely said a word since letting Mark in, her movements sharp and deliberate as she shut the door behind him. She didn’t look at you, didn’t offer her usual teasing remarks or warm goodnights. Instead, her body language did all the talking—the stiff set of her shoulders, the tight grip on her phone, the way she turned away almost immediately after ushering him inside.
You tried not to notice, but it was impossible not to. The silence between you wasn’t loud, but it was deafening. A growing chasm that neither of you had dared to bridge, and tonight was no exception. Karina muttered a curt, “It’s for you,” before retreating to her room without another glance. The faint sound of her door closing echoed down the hallway, leaving you and Mark standing in the dim light of the living room.
The second you see him standing there, your chest tightens with an anxiety you’ve been carrying all week. It’s not just the guilt from avoiding him or the exhaustion from endless deadlines—it’s the weight of what you overheard. Mark’s voice in your mind, the conversation with Jeno replaying like a broken record. You’ve tried to shake it, rationalize it, but the words cling to you, making your stomach twist. Now, standing in front of him, you feel it all at once: the unease curling in your stomach, the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands fidget almost unconsciously. Your breaths feel shallow, your heart racing like it’s trying to escape the uncertainty building inside you.
But then he looks at you—soft and unassuming—and shoots you a boyish smile, the one you love so much, the one that never fails to undo you. It’s a simple curve of his lips, but it’s everything. It’s the smile that pulls you into him when you’re hesitant, that tells you you’re safe even when your thoughts are screaming otherwise. His teeth catch on his bottom lip briefly, a fleeting nervous habit you’ve always found endearing, and the warmth in his eyes crinkles the corners just slightly. It’s not a practised grin—it’s him, open and vulnerable in a way only he can be. And just like that, the tension in your chest loosens. It doesn’t disappear entirely, but it dulls enough for you to step closer, to let him in.
Your eyes lingered on him, a mix of warmth and unease unfurling in your chest. It had been a long week, both of you buried under deadlines and responsibilities, and seeing him now—at midnight, no less—sent your heart into an uneven rhythm, caught between relief and guilt. “You’re here,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips as you took a step closer. “Hi.”
Mark set his guitar down by the couch, his backpack sliding off his shoulder before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. “Hi, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice low and familiar as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Missed you.”
You melted into him, your arms looping around his neck as his warmth seeped into you. For a moment, the world outside this embrace didn’t exist—the deadlines, the doubts, the noise in your head. It was just Mark.
“I missed you too,” you whispered, burying your face in his hoodie. But even as the words left your lips, the shadows of last week crept back in, whispering doubts and questions you weren’t ready to voice. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, grounding you in the present, and you sighed softly against him.
When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, warm and steady. “I know you love me, but why are you here at midnight?” you teased, tilting your head slightly.
He blinked at you, deadpan. “We agreed to hang out, dummy. You really forgot?”
A guilty laugh bubbled out of you. “Oh… I don’t remember that.” You glanced down, feeling a pang of guilt as his words sank in.
“I told you on the phone earlier.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, reassuring kiss. “It’s fine. You’ve been swamped. But I’m here now.”
You nodded, your smile returning faintly. “Let’s go to my room,” you murmured, tugging gently at his hand.
As soon as the door closes behind you, the quiet intimacy of your room wraps around you both. The soft glow of your bedside lamp casts a warm, amber light over the space, and the faint scent of cinnamon lingers in the air from the candle you forgot to blow out earlier. It feels cozy, almost too intimate for the distance you’ve been feeling lately, but Mark doesn’t hesitate. He sets his backpack down by the desk and carefully leans his guitar against the wall before turning his attention back to you.
You sit on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, watching him with a mix of guilt and affection. He shrugs off his hoodie, revealing his bare torso beneath, the lean muscle and smooth skin catching the low light of the room. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath makes your stomach flip, the sight both comforting and electrifying. His hair is slightly messy, falling into his eyes as he looks at you with that same unreadable softness he always seems to carry.
You see how his mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but then it closes just as quickly. He watches you closely, his gaze flickering over your face, your body language, your unusual silence. The weight of his attention is almost too much, his eyes catching every detail you wish you could hide. His hands tighten slightly at his sides, and you can see the gears turning in his head as he pieces together the things you’re too afraid to say. He’s about to ask something—you can feel it—but you speak first, your voice soft and edged with distraction.
“Take this off too,” you whisper, your fingers ghosting over the waistband of his sweats, your attempt to shift the focus. The words are meant to sound teasing, playful, but there’s a hollowness in your tone that even you can hear. You tug lightly at the fabric, your lips tilting into a faint, forced smile as you look up at him. He hesitates, his brows furrowing just slightly before he lets out a quiet sigh, his hands reaching down to brush yours away gently.
“Y/N…” His voice trails off, unsure, the usual warmth in it replaced by something heavier—concern, confusion. His fingers linger over yours, trying to read you without pushing too hard. But when you don’t meet his eyes, when your hand slips away from him too quickly, he knows something’s wrong. He kneels slightly, coming to your eye level, his voice low and soft. “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Come here,” you murmur, extending a hand toward him, trying to redirect the moment, to distract him. But even as he steps closer, even as he leans into your touch, his focus doesn’t waver. He notices how you avoid his gaze, how the softness he’s used to isn’t there.
He steps closer, letting you pull him to stand between your knees. His hands instinctively settle on your waist, his thumbs brushing against the soft fabric of your shorts. You look up at him, your fingers slipping under his shirt to rest against the warm, firm skin of his stomach. It’s such a simple touch, yet it feels grounding, as if you’re trying to tether yourself to him. But your mind drifts, clouded by the remnants of overheard words and the storm of doubts you haven’t been able to shake all week.
“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice low and careful, the tenderness in it making your chest ache. You don’t register it at first, your thoughts wandering to the weight of everything unsaid between you. He gives your waist a small squeeze, his thumbs pausing their soothing movements. “Baby,” he tries again, leaning down slightly to catch your gaze. “Are you okay?”
You blink, his words finally piercing through your haze. “Hmm?” you mumble, your voice distant, the weak “yes” that follows sounding unconvincing even to your own ears.
Mark tilts his head, his brows knitting together as he studies you, his hands still steady on your waist. “You sure?” he presses gently, the warmth in his tone steady, but his eyes flicker with concern. You don’t meet his gaze fully, your fingers idly brushing against his skin, your body present but your mind far away.
His silence stretches as he watches you, trying to piece together the shift in your demeanor. “What’s going on?” he finally asks, his voice softer now, but laced with worry. The question lingers, the weight of it pressing against the air between you, and you feel his unwavering gaze as he waits for an answer.
You shake your head to assure him it’s nothing, wanting to lie and tell him everything’s okay, but the words catch in your throat, heavy and unconvincing. Instead of speaking, you tug him closer, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s slow and tentative at first. He responds immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as he leans into you. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. You can feel the tension in his body, the restraint as he tries to let you set the pace.
You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your hands trailing up his chest and over his shoulders. “I’m sorry I’ve been… distant,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve just been swamped with assignments, and—”
“Baby, it’s okay,” he cuts you off gently, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I get it. We’ve both been busy.” His lips curl into a small smile, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—concern, maybe even doubt.
He knows it’s not just that. There’s something else lingering, something you’re not saying, but he doesn’t want to push you—not yet. He hopes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, that you’ll let him in on whatever’s weighing so heavily on your mind. Still, the way your eyes flicker away from his, the faint tension in your shoulders, doesn’t go unnoticed.
“But it’s not just that,” you admit, your hands gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “I’ve been in my head a lot. I didn’t mean to shut you out.” Your voice wavers, but you force yourself to keep going, the weight of the week catching up to you. “I missed you, Mark. I really missed you.”
His expression softens instantly, and he cups your face with both hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I missed you too,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to explain everything right now, okay? Just let me be here for you.”
His patience disarms you, and for a moment, the walls you’ve built around yourself feel like they’re crumbling. You nod softly, your fingers trailing over his wrist before pulling him down onto the bed with you. He moves easily, settling over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Your hands instinctively go to the waistband of his sweatpants, your legs beginning to wrap around his waist—but you stop. The look in his eyes freezes you. It’s not lust, not entirely. It’s something deeper, something raw. His gaze is steady, filled with an emotion you can’t quite name but feel all the way to your core.
He leans closer, his face hovering just inches from yours. You expect him to kiss you, to close the gap, but instead, he just smiles—a soft, almost awe-struck curve of his lips that catches you off guard. You lean up slightly, chasing his mouth, but he pulls back just enough to keep you from reaching him.
Your brows scrunch in confusion. “What?” you whisper, the question more annoyed than breathy.
He shakes his head lightly, the corners of his lips quirking upward even more. “Just can’t believe how fucking beautiful my girl is,” he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with sincerity. His words make your stomach flip, warmth flooding through you, and you feel yourself falter under the intensity of his gaze.
You hum softly, the sound low and teasing, and he moves with a deliberate ease, shifting to sit back against the headboard. Without hesitation, you follow, you straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly, earning a quiet groan from him that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and full of heat, but there’s a softness in them too—a contradiction you’ve come to crave.
His hands settle on your thighs, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your shorts. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, not being able to help himself as he repeats it. His eyes trace every inch of your face. The sincerity in his voice makes your breath hitch, and you lean in to kiss him again, your lips moving against his with a quiet urgency.
Your hands trail down his neck, over his shoulders to his chest. Your fingers trace the lean muscles, feeling them flex subtly under your touch, his breathing deepening with every movement. His skin is smooth and inviting, a contrast to the sharp ridges of his collarbone and the firmness of his torso. You let your hands roam, memorizing every dip and peak of his chest, 
Your hips start moving with deliberate intensity, every roll of your hips pressing your body tighter against his. You can feel the hard length of him beneath you, and the sensation sparks a shameless hunger in you. His hands grip your waist with a possessive force, his fingers digging into your skin as though he’s trying to steady himself. 
His head falls back, exposing the taut line of his neck, and then he lets out a low, guttural moan that sends heat pooling between your thighs. The sound is raw, primal, and utterly addictive, pushing you to move faster, grinding down with more purpose. Each shift of your hips makes his breath hitch, his muscles tightening under your touch, and the sight of him unravelling beneath you only drives you further, making your own arousal almost unbearable.
“Y/N,” he groans softly, his grip on your thighs tightening. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he looks at you again, his gaze dark and full of heat. “What are you doing to me?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you lean in, your lips brushing along the line of his jaw before trailing down his neck. You feel the faint scrape of stubble against your lips as you suck lightly at his pulse point, and the low, guttural sound he makes sends a shiver down your spine.
His hands slide down your back with a gentle firmness, pulling you even closer to him. His eyes soften as he looks up at you. There’s a warmth in his gaze, one that makes your stomach flip and your breath catch—a quiet intensity, as though you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. The way he’s holding you, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin, is grounding yet tender, a contrast to the heat coursing through you just moments before.
You tilt your head up so your eyes meet his. “I love you,” he says softly, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. His voice is tinged with emotion, steady but with an edge of vulnerability that makes your chest tighten. You remember the first time he said it—how it completely took your breath away, leaving you stunned, unsure of how to respond. That night, he’d promised to keep saying it, to keep reminding you, until you were ready to say it back. And true to his word, he’s never let a moment pass without making sure you know how he feels.
But every time he says it, it stirs something inside you, a mix of longing and fear. The way he looks at you—so full of conviction and certainty—makes you feel both cherished and cornered. You want to say it back, you want to be ready, but a part of you feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, afraid of the fall. The words lodge in your throat, heavy and unyielding, and you can’t quite understand why. Instead, you lean into the physical sensations: the heat of his hands on your skin, the way his thumb brushes against your cheek. 
Your rapid movements slow, the deliberate rhythm you’d set now faltering as the weight of his words settles over you. His hands remain on your hips, steady and warm, but your body seems to pause on instinct, absorbing the quiet vulnerability in his tone. Your heart races, your stomach flips, but there’s an ache deep inside you that won’t go away. It’s as though your body reacts in ways your mind refuses to let you.
Mark takes in your silence, his eyes scanning your face for a hint of a reaction. He doesn’t seem hurt—he knows you’re not ready, knows your hesitation isn’t because of him. But tonight, something about you feels different. Your lack of response isn’t just about being unready. There’s a tension in your shoulders, a fleeting look in your eyes, and he knows you’re not entirely here with him. His thumb lingers on your back, his gaze soft but steady. “Baby,” he says quietly, “come closer.”
You shift on his lap again, trying to distract yourself and him. You lean in, to press your hips down, grinding against him slowly. A soft groan escapes his lips, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give in. You move to take off your top, wanting more, needing the physicality to distract you from your swirling thoughts, but his hand catches yours mid-motion.
His thumbs trace slow, soothing circles against your hand. His gaze is steady, almost too steady that it makes you freeze. He studies you, his eyes flickering over your expression with an unreadable softness. “Y/N,” he murmurs, a calm firmness in his tone. “Get up for a second.”
You blink at him, startled. “What?” you pout, your voice laced with confusion and mild frustration. You weren’t expecting him to stop you—normally, he’s the one who initiates, who pulls you closer and makes your body forget everything else. “Why?” you ask, the sulk in your tone more pronounced now.
His lips twitch into a small smile, but his eyes remain steady, searching yours. “Just for a second,” he repeats. “Trust me.”
You hesitate, your body stiff and unmoving as you sit on top of him, still unhappy about this. Mark’s patience begins to wear thin, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as he watches your reluctance. Without another word or argument, his hands settle firmly on your waist, guiding you with a quiet authority that leaves no room for resistance. He maneuvers you effortlessly, shifting your body until you’re sitting between his legs, your back pressed snugly against his chest.
After a few seconds of feigned compliance, you shift abruptly, pulling away from his touch and moving to sit beside him on the bed. Crossing your arms and legs with a pout, you glare half-heartedly at the strings, refusing to meet his amused gaze. His smirk grows as he watches your little rebellion, his eyes flicking over you with a mix of amusement and challenge.
You scoff, turning your head sharply to avoid his gaze, your arms tightening across your chest. His smirk only deepens at your defiance. Without a word, Mark reaches over, his hands finding your waist again, firm but playful as he attempts to pull you back toward him.
“Come here, stubborn,” he says, his voice dipping into something softer, more coaxing. You resist at first, leaning further away as if to emphasize your stance, but his grip doesn’t falter. He’s stronger than you give him credit for, and the slight tug sends you stumbling closer, your shoulder bumping against his chest.
“Mark!” you protest, a reluctant laugh bubbling up despite yourself. His arms circle you fully this time, holding you against him in a loose, teasing embrace.
“See?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “This is where you belong—right here. Stop fighting it.” His tone is warm, almost smug, and the proximity of his body to yours is enough to make your pulse quicken.
Your lips curve into a smirk as your fingers trail lightly over his forearm. “Maybe I like fighting it,” you add, your voice lower now, deliberately taunting. You can feel his grip tighten just slightly, and you know you’re getting to him, but you don’t stop. “Maybe I just like seeing if you can handle me.”
Mark’s hands linger on your waist, his grip firm but playful as he tries to pull you back against him. “Stop being difficult, baby,” he mutters, his voice low and tinged with amusement, but there’s a flicker of something darker—something charged—beneath it.
You twist out of his hold again, your body brushing against his in deliberate defiance. His jaw clenches, his patience fraying, and you know exactly what you’re doing. “Make me,” you say, your tone dripping with challenge as you step just out of reach, a coy smile teasing at your lips.
You take a step off the bed, moving slowly, a teasing sway in your hips as you glance back at him over your shoulder. The intention is clear—you’re planning to take control, to slide onto his lap and finally drive him to the point where he can’t resist you. You know exactly what you’re doing and exactly how he reacts when you’re on top of him.
But before you can make your move, his sharp gaze locks onto you, narrowing with purpose. In an instant, Mark lunges forward, grabbing you with swift precision. His hands find your waist again, but this time, he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress as he hovers over you, his weight pressing you into the softness. The heat between your bodies is palpable, and the air around you feels electric.
“You’re such a brat,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, a teasing whisper that makes your breath hitch. You arch up into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and pull him closer. The kiss is hungry, his mouth moving against yours with a need that makes your head spin. His hips press against yours, and you can feel him, hard and unrelenting, through his sweats. You grind up, earning a deep groan from him that vibrates against your lips.
Breaking the kiss, you let your hand wander down his chest, trailing lower until your fingers press over the thick outline of his cock. He stiffens above you, his breath catching, and you smirk up at him, your thumb rubbing deliberately slow circles over him. “I could so beat you in a fight,” you tease, your voice breathy but laced with mischief.
Mark shakes his head, his eyes dark and hooded as he looks down at you. “Yeah?” he rasps, his lips curving into a crooked grin. “I’d let you get a few punches in.”
Your laugh is cut off by a sharp inhale as his hips roll into your hand, the friction sending a jolt of heat through your body. “Mmm, need you,” you moan, your lips parting as your back arches into him. The sound of your voice, needy and raw, makes him falter for a moment, his control slipping.
You take advantage of his hesitation, shifting to push him onto his back, your hands already sliding down his torso. But just as you start to lower yourself, your intentions clear, Mark’s hands shoot out to grab your arms, stopping you in your tracks. “Stop distracting me… fuck,” he groans, his voice rough and strained, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he struggles to compose himself. “I need to teach you how to play my guitar.”
You pout up at him, your lips swollen and your cheeks flushed, but his grip doesn’t loosen. He’s determined, but the heat in his gaze tells you it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to give in. The tension between you crackles, a tantalizing promise of what’s to come, but for now, he’s not letting you win.
“Mark…” you start, but the words die in your throat when he reaches for his guitar, his movements unhurried. His lips twitch into a small, knowing smile as he adjusts the strap over his shoulder, plucking a few strings to test the tune.
You groan dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm, filling the room. “You’re not in the right headspace, baby,” he says simply, his eyes flicking to yours with a gentle challenge. “And I don’t just mean for sex.”
You narrow your eyes at him, propping yourself up on your elbows. “So you’re punishing me by playing guitar instead?”
“Not a punishment,” he corrects, plucking out a soft, familiar melody that makes your heart skip a beat. “A distraction. For both of us.”
Your lips part to protest, but the sound of his fingers against the strings stops you. The notes are soft, almost tender, and the way he glances at you while playing—it’s impossible not to feel your walls start to falter, even if just a little.
Mark nods toward you. “Come on,” he says, his voice laced with that quiet confidence that always disarms you. “I’ll teach you something new.”
You huff but comply, sliding even closer until your back brushes against his. He leans forward, carefully placing the guitar in your lap, his arms brushing against yours as he adjusts your fingers on the strings. The closeness makes your breath hitch, and despite your frustration, you can’t deny the way his touch grounds you.
“Relax your body,” he murmurs, his voice low and patient as his fingers guide yours over the fretboard. “Let me lead, let me take care of you.”
The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on you, and you feel a pang of guilt twist in your chest. You glance to him, finding his gaze already on you, and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undoes you. He doesn’t press for answers, doesn’t push you to explain the storm in your head. He just stays there, steady and unyielding, giving you the space to find your footing.
As he walks you through the chords, his hands linger over yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. But you can’t shake the heaviness in your chest, the quiet battle waging in your mind. You force a smile, laugh at his jokes, but it all feels hollow—forced. And you can tell he notices.
“You’re distracted,” he says after a while, his voice soft but pointed. He sets the guitar aside, turning his full attention to you. 
Your gaze drops to your lap, your throat tightening under the weight of his question. “Nothing,” you mumble, but the crack in your voice betrays you.
Mark leans closer, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “Baby,” he says, his tone a careful blend of concern and patience. “Talk to me. Please.”
The sincerity in his voice breaks something in you, and for a moment, you consider telling him everything—about the conversation you overheard, the insecurities eating away at you. But the words don’t come. Instead, you shake your head, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.
“Just tired,” you lie, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips, hoping to distract him. “I’m okay.”
But the way his eyes linger on you, the unspoken understanding in his expression, makes it clear he knows better. He doesn’t push, though. He just nods, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.
Mark’s embrace is warm, grounding, but it does nothing to silence the storm raging in your head. The memory of his conversation with Jeno echoes like a cruel loop, the words twisting and turning until they’re almost unrecognizable. He didn’t deny anything—he just let Jeno’s accusations hang in the air like they were true. You try to tell yourself you misheard, that you’re overthinking, but the doubt won’t leave. And now, in his arms, you feel the weight of it all pressing down, threatening to crush you.
The comfort you once found in his presence is replaced by a hollow ache, your mind torn between the man who has been your constant and the voice in your head telling you he might not be who you thought. Mark notices your silence almost immediately. His fingers brush against your cheek, his voice soft but tinged with concern. “You okay, baby?”
You nod without looking at him, a forced smile on your lips. But the cracks in your facade are showing, and Mark isn’t someone you can fool. His thumb lingers on your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “You don’t need to hide anything from me, you know.” He says again gently.
Something snaps inside you. Maybe it’s his patience, his persistence, or the way he looks at you like he knows you’re falling apart. “Stop asking me if I’m okay,” you snap, harsher than you intend. His hand drops from your face, the warmth replaced by a sudden chill.
Mark’s brows furrow. “You don’t need to be so pushy and suffocating,” you blurt out, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. The second they’re out, you want to take them back, but the damage is done. His expression hardens, his confusion bleeding into frustration.
“What the hell is going on with you?” he demands, his voice edged with something you’ve never heard from him before. “One minute you’re fine and wanna fuck me, and the next you’re shutting me out, like you don’t want to be here with me.”
You cross your arms, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, like you’ve found any time for me this week.” 
Mark blinks, visibly taken aback. The hurt flashes across his face before he can mask it. “That’s not fair,” he says quietly, the tension in his shoulders betraying his calm tone. “I’ve been here, Y/N. I’ve been here for you through everything, even when you’ve been pushing me away.” He pauses, his voice softening but carrying an edge of frustration. “You’ve been on and off since I came over and you’ve been blunt with your calls and texts, shutting me out, but I’ve still tried. I’ve still been here, trying to make this work because I love you, even when you make it so hard to get through to you.”
His words hit you harder than you expect, cutting through the wall you’ve been trying so desperately to keep up. You feel the tears welling up, hot and insistent, threatening to spill over despite your effort to hold them back. Your chest tightens painfully, and your voice cracks as you mutter, “I don’t know what you want from me.” The words barely make it out, trembling under the weight of your guilt and confusion, and you hate how exposed they make you feel. Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your body tense as you try to suppress the emotions threatening to drown you, but it’s futile. The look on Mark’s face—disappointed, hurt, yet still achingly gentle��only makes it worse, the lump in your throat growing thicker with every second of silence that stretches between you.
“You’re my girlfriend,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “And you’ve been distant and cold these last few days. I can’t just leave you alone—not until you tell me what’s going on.”
His words hang heavy between you, but your mind races, fixating on something else entirely. “But it isn’t like you to rush into a relationship so fast,” you say, barely above a whisper, the memory of his best friend’s words hitting you like a dart. Your throat tightens as you speak, and you gulp, regretting it the second the words leave your mouth.
Mark’s laugh cuts through the silence, dry and sharp, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “Oh, so now you know the choices I make?” he says, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time, they don’t feel like a warm embrace—they feel like a mirror, reflecting every insecurity you’ve been burying.
You bite down on your bottom lip, desperate to hold back the tears threatening to spill, but it’s useless. Hot streaks trail down your cheeks, making you feel more exposed, more vulnerable. Mark exhales slowly, the weight of his frustration and sadness cutting deeper than his words ever could. His expression softens, but it doesn’t soothe you. If anything, it makes you feel worse, like you’ve disappointed him in a way you can’t take back.
Then his eyes flash with realization, and you see it—the way his brows knit together, the subtle clench of his jaw. He’s piecing something together, trying to make sense of your unraveling. “Did something happen?” he asks, his tone gentler now, but the concern laced within it only adds to the lump in your throat. When you don’t respond, his voice drops even lower, more insistent. “What did my best friend say to you after I left both of you in the music room?”
“Mark, I’m too tired for this,” you groan, falling back onto the bed, your movements sluggish and deliberate as you reach for the other pillow and toss it onto the floor, a habit ingrained in your time together. The two of you have never needed more than one pillow—always sharing it, always curling into the same space like it was the most natural thing in the world. 
It’s an invitation—a silent one. You shift the bed sheets to make room for him but he doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his body tense and his gaze unwavering. You swallow hard, already bracing yourself for his next move, for his words, for the inevitable. His body language—rigid shoulders, the clench of his fists at his sides—speaks volumes.
“I’m gonna go,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, though it carries the weight of a decision he doesn’t want to make. He steps back, and the space between you feels cavernous, even though the room is so small. “I think we’re both in over our heads,” he continues, his tone careful, almost measured. “We need to talk about this later, when you’re ready. Because right now, this isn’t going anywhere.”
He leans down, his face hovering close to yours where your head rests against the pillow. He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than they need to, and then he pulls the covers up over you—a gesture so soft it makes your heart ache. And then he’s gone. The sound of the door closing behind him echoes in your ears, louder than it has any right to be. 
You’ll replay this moment over and over, dissecting the tilt of his head, the way his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned away. The soft click of the door closing behind him will echo louder each time you think about it, drowning out every whispered promise he made, every lingering touch you thought you understood. You’ll remember the way the warmth of him seemed to vanish the second he stepped out, leaving the room colder, emptier. In this moment, though, you don’t know any of that. All you feel is the heaviness in your chest, the pull of exhaustion, and the quiet denial that this could mean anything more. But deep down, in the part of you you’ve been trying to ignore, you already know—this isn’t just a goodbye. This is a fracture, the kind that only widens with time, until all that’s left are the jagged edges of something you once held close.
You don’t know how long you’ve been lying here, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The minutes bleed into each other, your thoughts swirling so violently that time itself seems to dissolve. It could have been only a few minutes—or maybe hours. You’ve lost track. Your chest tightens as your eyes widen in the darkness, tears streaming silently down your face, hot and relentless. They burn with the weight of everything—the argument, Mark’s retreat, and the finality in his tone when he said, “This isn’t going anywhere.”
You try to even out your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, but your lungs feel like they’re working against you. The storm inside your chest refuses to settle, and the hollow ache of regret begins to gnaw at you. Your mind replays every detail of Mark’s conversation with Jeno, every word exchanged cutting deeper with each repetition. The sharpness in Mark’s laugh—so foreign, so sharp—rings in your ears, each echo twisting the knife further. “Why would I deny it?” The words loop endlessly, merging with Jeno’s accusations, each cycle adding to the unbearable weight pressing against your chest. It feels like you’re trapped, drowning in a sea of doubts and insecurities, unable to break free.
Then, there’s a knock at the door.
You gasp softly, the sound barely audible in the quiet. For a fleeting moment, hope flares in your chest. Could it be him? you wonder, the thought almost enough to propel you out of bed. But you don’t move. Deep down, you know it’s not him. Mark wouldn’t come back after that. He wouldn’t.
The knock comes again, followed by the creak of the door opening. Light spills into the room, harsh and unforgiving, making your eyes burn, but you barely react. You feel numb. A silhouette stands in the doorway, and then a soft, hesitant voice follows.
“Y/N?” Karina’s voice carries a tinge of worry, the kind that she rarely shows, and it cuts through the haze of your thoughts.
You hum faintly in response, not having the energy to form words.
She steps inside, the light framing her figure as she hesitates, scanning the room before approaching your bed. You feel the mattress dip as she sits beside you, her presence cautious but steady. Her hand reaches out to smooth the hair from your face, a gesture so familiar it almost breaks you. Without a word, she hands you a box of tissues, her movements gentle, measured.
Karina doesn’t say anything at first, and you don’t push her to. You don’t have it in you. Instead, you let her fuss over you—wiping your face, smoothing out your blanket. The tension between you from the past week lingers, but neither of you acknowledge it. For the first time in days, you don’t want her to leave. A part of you knows you need her, even if it stings to admit.
“What happened?” she finally asks, her voice soft and careful, like she knows you’ll shatter if she presses too hard.
“I—” Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, unable to finish. You feel her hand rest on your shoulder, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.
“I’ll be right back,” she murmurs before leaving the room. You don’t move, don’t bother to ask where she’s going. When she returns moments later, it’s with a small bag of your favourite cookies and more tissues, you’d need it. She places them on the bed beside you and sits down again, looking at you with a quiet patience that feels unfamiliar but comforting.
You sit up slowly, the covers falling from your shoulders as you reach for the cookies. A small, thankful smile breaks through your otherwise sullen expression, and Karina responds with the faintest of nods. For now, it seems, the distance between you is forgotten.
After a few hesitant bites, the words begin to tumble out—slow and fragmented at first, as if testing their weight, and then all at once, spilling over like a dam breaking. You tell her everything, laying bare the tangled mess of insecurities and doubts that have been suffocating you for days. You talk about Mark, about how perfect everything felt the night you made it official, how it seemed like nothing in the world could touch the happiness you shared. The way he held you, the way he made you feel safe, cherished. The best sex, the deepest connection, the overwhelming sense that this was it—the thing you’d been waiting for. But then, you say, it all started to unravel.
The bubble you’d been living in popped, and the world came rushing in. The whispers at cheer practice, the glances that felt too pointed, the comments that cut deeper than you’d like to admit. It was as if your happiness had become a target, something to be scrutinized and torn apart. And then Mark’s best friend—her words sink like stones in your memory, heavy and unrelenting: “It’s not like him to rush into something like this.” You can still hear her voice, the way it lingered like an unspoken warning, shaking the foundation of everything you’d started to believe in.
You tell Karina how those words stuck to you, embedding themselves in your mind like a thorn you couldn’t pull out. They made you question everything—Mark’s intentions, your own worth, the foundation of what you had together. You explain how you overheard Mark’s conversation with Jeno, every word feeling like a dagger and how Mark’s response wasn’t what you expected—it wasn’t defensive or angry, and it wasn’t the outright denial you’d been hoping for. “Why would I deny it?” Those words, you tell her, have been playing on a loop in your head ever since. You’ve tried to rationalise them, to tell yourself you misunderstood, but the doubt lingers, twisting every soft moment between you and Mark into something uncertain.
The weight of it all has been suffocating—pressing against your chest like a vice that refuses to let go. You’ve been trying so hard to put distance between yourself and Mark, using deadlines and exhaustion as your shield. You’d promised yourself not to reach for him, not to give in to the pull that made your chest ache and your head spin. Every time you told yourself, Don’t be so touchy, don’t let him in so easily, it felt like a small victory in protecting yourself from something you couldn’t name. But the second he touches you, the second that boyish smile crosses his lips, it all unravels. Every promise you’ve made to yourself falls apart, and you hate how easily it happens—how little control you seem to have over the way your body and heart react to him.
The pull to him is magnetic, overwhelming in a way that hurts. You feel it in the way your resolve crumbles when his fingers graze your skin, in the way your chest tightens when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You don’t know how to resist it—don’t even know if you want to. It’s a need so visceral, so consuming, that it terrifies you. And yet, you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it, from seeking him out when your mind tells you not to.
You tell her everything, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. You try to explain how it feels every time Mark gets too close, how the feeling in your chest becomes so intense it almost scares you—the way your heart swells and aches at the same time, like it’s too small to hold the depth of what he makes you feel. It’s foreign, this overwhelming warmth that’s equal parts terrifying and beautiful, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Instead of leaning into it, your instinct is to pull away, to create distance as if that will somehow protect both of you. You don’t say it outright, but you know it’s more about protecting him from you—your flaws, your insecurities, the parts of you you’re convinced he’ll eventually tire of.
“It’s like I’m trying to stop something that hasn’t even happened yet,” you whisper, your voice trembling, tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “Like if I push him far enough away now, it’ll hurt less when he finally lets go.” But even as you say it, you feel the contradiction tightening around you. Because how could someone like Mark let go? The way he looks at you, so full of trust and love, makes your chest ache even more. It should be enough to quiet the doubts, but it only intensifies the guilt. The looming thought that maybe you don’t deserve this happiness, that maybe it was never meant to last, lingers in your mind like a shadow you can’t escape. And the harder he tries to love you, the heavier that shadow becomes.
Karina listens intently, her face uncharacteristically solemn. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t rush to respond, just lets you speak until the words finally run out. Her hand squeezes yours, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed. When she finally speaks, her voice is steady but laced with a quiet anger—not at you, but at the situation. “Y/N, this isn’t on you,” she says firmly. “This whole mess… it’s bigger than you. Jeno, Mark’s best friend, everyone else—they’ve all brought their own shit into this. You’re just stuck in the middle of it, and that’s not fair.”
Her words catch you off guard, but they don’t stop there. “I get it,” she continues, her tone softening slightly. “I get why you’re questioning everything, why you’re scared. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Mark loves you. And whatever anyone else says or thinks doesn’t change that.” She pauses, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You need to stop carrying the weight of everyone else’s opinions, Y/N. It’s killing you, and it’s not yours to bear.”
Her words catch you like a gust of wind, unexpected yet grounding. They settle heavily in your chest, stirring up emotions you’ve been trying to suppress. You don’t respond right away, the weight of her sincerity holding you still. “I hear you,” you finally murmur, your voice shaky. “But it’s not that easy.”
Karina doesn’t let up, her hand still resting gently on your knee. “I know it’s not,” she says, her tone patient but firm. “But you’re making yourself miserable trying to live up to what everyone else thinks or expects. The only person who needs to believe in this relationship is you—and Mark. He’s chosen you, Y/N. Every single day, he chooses you. Doesn’t that mean something?”
Her words dig deep, unravelling the knot of doubt and fear tangled inside you. “What if I’m not enough?” you whisper, the confession slipping out before you can stop it. “What if I’m the one who ruins it?”
Karina listens quietly, her brows furrowed as she takes in every word, her hand resting lightly on your knee as if to ground you. When you finish, her voice is soft but steady. “You know,” she starts, “the way you’re reacting… it’s not unnatural. When something feels this real, this overwhelming, it’s instinct to want to push it away. You’re scared because it matters so much.” Her words hit you like a gentle nudge, a reminder that your feelings aren’t abnormal, but they still don’t make you feel any less guilty.
“But, Y/N,” she continues, leaning forward, “Mark makes you happy. I can see it. Everyone can see it. He’s good for you in a way no one else has been. He brings out something better in you—makes you lighter, freer, even when you don’t realise it. And I think you do the same for him. That’s rare, and you deserve that. You deserve someone who makes you feel this way, even if it’s scary.”
Her words make your chest tighten, a strange mix of comfort and discomfort. “But why does it feel like I’m ruining it?” you whisper, barely able to meet her gaze.
“Because it’s real,” she says simply. “And when things feel this real, it’s easier to sabotage it than to face it. But pushing him away isn’t going to protect either of you, Y/N. It’s just going to hurt more in the end.”
She hesitates for a moment before asking, “Have you talked to Mark about what you overheard with Jeno?” Her question catches you off guard, and your immediate reaction is to shake your head. Karina sighs, her disappointment subtle but clear. “Y/N,” she says firmly, “you should talk to him.”
The thought makes your stomach twist, and she seems to notice your hesitation. “Listen to me,” she says, her tone more insistent now. “It could all be a misunderstanding, something you’ve interpreted wrong. Mark’s not the kind of guy to leave you in the dark. But if you don’t talk to him, you’ll never know. You can’t keep carrying this weight by yourself. Communication fixes everything.”
Her words linger in the air, heavy and undeniable. “Promise me,” she presses gently, her eyes searching yours. “Promise me you’ll talk to him.”
You gulp, your throat dry as you force yourself to nod. “I’ll try to,” you say, the words shaky and uncertain. But the truth is, even as you say them, the thought of facing him terrifies you. The silence lingers for a moment, heavy with unspoken worries, before you force yourself to break it with a light-hearted laugh.
“Since when did you start sounding so mature?” you tease, the corner of your lips lifting into a faint smile, trying to shift the mood.
Karina shrugs, leaning back slightly. “I’ve always thought like this,” she replies simply, her voice calm but self-assured.
You nod, the smile on your face softening. “I know. You shouldn’t ever hide that, you know.” You pause, your tone a little more serious now. “Sometimes I think you get too caught up in this whole mean girl, cheerleader persona, and people don’t get to see how big your heart is—or how smart you are. Like, really smart. You have such a unique perspective.”
Karina looks at you for a moment, her gaze unreadable, before she sighs and changes the subject, you’re unsure if she’s even registered what you just said. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she says quietly. “About what I told Jeno at the party.”
You glance at her, surprised by her sudden vulnerability, and shake your head. “It’s okay. I’ve already forgiven you. And… I’m sorry too. For making you feel like I didn’t treasure you or our friendship. Everything you’ve done for us—it means a lot. I know it wasn’t easy keeping us a secret.”
She winces slightly but gives you a small smile. “Still, I was stupid. I shouldn’t have told Jeno. It’s all my fault this is happening,” she says, her voice tinged with regret.
“It was all gonna come out eventually,” you reply, your voice tinged with a bittersweet humor. “The universe never wants me to be happy anyway.” Your words draw a laugh from both of you, the tension in the room easing as you share a moment of levity.
You both fall into an easy rhythm after that, giggling and catching up on everything you’d missed during your weeks of distance. It feels natural, effortless, like slipping into a comfortable routine you didn’t realize you’d missed so much. Hours pass without you even noticing, and before long, the conversation grows softer, your voices laced with exhaustion. Eventually, you both drift off to sleep on your bed, the unspoken forgiveness settling between you like a quiet truce.
───────────────────────────────
The crisp autumn air bites at your cheeks as you walk across campus with Karina by your side. The two of you are laughing softly, your breath visible in the cold as it mingles with the faint hum of chatter and the rustling of leaves swirling across the pavement. You do your best to ignore the familiar scenery, focusing instead on Karina’s quip about your professor’s lecture. It’s easier to do with her next to you, her steady presence distracting you from the weight that’s been pressing on your chest for days.
Your laughter falters mid-sentence, the sound dying in your throat as your eyes land on him—Mark. He’s standing just ahead near the library steps, his broad shoulders and familiar stance instantly recognizable, even in the crowded campus. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since that night, since he walked out, a moment that’s been replaying in your mind ever since.
He’s facing your direction, his head tilted slightly, listening as Donghyuck speaks. The light breeze tousles his hair, and for a second, it feels like the entire world slows down. Your chest tightens, and an ache you’ve been trying to suppress rushes to the surface, sharp and unforgiving.
And then, as though some invisible string pulls his attention, his gaze shifts—and locks onto yours.
You freeze. The air feels heavier, your feet rooted to the ground. His eyes, warm and familiar, widen slightly as they meet yours, the surprise on his face quickly melting into something more unreadable. There’s no anger there, no bitterness. Just… Mark. Steady and calm, even in this moment. It’s almost enough to undo you.
Karina’s voice breaks through the haze, calling your name, but it feels distant, muffled. You don’t respond, your gaze fixed on Mark, your chest tightening with every passing second.
He doesn’t move—at first. His expression shifts subtly, his brows knitting together as though he’s debating whether to come over. You can feel it, the pull, the silent gravity that’s always existed between you two. It’s magnetic, undeniable, and so overwhelming that you snap.
Without thinking, you grab Karina’s hand and tug her sharply to the left, pulling her down a different pathway and out of sight. Your pace quickens as your heart pounds in your chest, and you don’t dare look back.
“Y/N,” Karina tuts, her voice low but scolding as she follows your hurried steps. “Do you know how embarrassed I am right now?” she hisses, her voice low but heated. “For you and for both of us?” She glares at you, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “He just saw you run away from him. Like, physically run away. Do you have any idea how bad that looked?”
You don’t respond immediately, the blood rushing in your ears making it hard to think. Only when you’re certain you’re out of Mark’s line of sight do you finally slow down, releasing Karina’s hand and letting out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to see him,” you mumble, brushing a hand through your hair in an attempt to steady yourself.
Karina crosses her arms, her sharp gaze pinning you in place. “You can’t keep doing this,” she says firmly, the disapproval clear in her tone. “Avoiding him doesn’t make this any better.”
You avert your eyes, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. “I’m not avoiding him,” you mutter, you can even hear the weakness in your voice.
Karina arches a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Right, because dragging me the other way the second you saw him is totally normal behaviour.”
You sigh heavily, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat. “It’s just easier this way,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say to him, okay? I don’t know how to… face him.”
Karina shakes her head, her expression softening slightly. “Easier for who, Y/N? Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem easier for you.” She pauses, her voice taking on a gentler edge. “He’s not the type to just give up on you, you know that, right? You owe it to him to talk, to stop running.”
You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. “I just… I need more time,” you manage, though even as you say it, you’re not sure if it’s true.
Karina doesn’t push further, but the look in her eyes tells you she’s not letting this go entirely. “You’re going to have to face him eventually,” she says simply, her voice softer now. “And the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”
What you don’t know is that Mark noticed you the moment you stepped onto campus. It wasimpossible not to. Your familiar frame is unmistakable even amidst the bustling crowd of students. He knows your walk, the way your shoulders hunch slightly when you’re distracted, the way you pull your coat tighter around yourself when the wind picks up. It’s second nature to notice you, to let his gaze linger, even if he’s told himself to stop.
You’re walking with Karina, laughing softly, though he can’t make out what you’re saying. From the outside, it would seem normal—like nothing’s wrong. But Mark knows better. He can see it in the way your movements are just a little too brisk, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. He’s been watching you for the past week, piecing together the growing distance you’ve carefully carved between the two of you.
It’s been a week since he last had the chance to really talk to you. Seven days of missed calls, curt texts, and excuses that don’t sit right with him. But today, seeing you here, something shifts in his chest—a mix of relief and frustration that’s hard to untangle. He debates walking up to you, cutting through the crowd, saying something—anything—to bridge the growing distance. But then, he notices what you do next.
You stop mid-step, your eyes locking onto him for the briefest second, wide with something that looks an awful lot like panic. He doesn’t move, waiting, hoping you’ll walk toward him. But instead, you grab Karina’s hand and pull her in the opposite direction, your pace quickening until you disappear down a side path. Mark’s jaw tightens, his chest deflating as the realization sinks in. You’re avoiding him—again.
He huffs, the sound low and sharp as he clenches his fists at his sides. Frustration rises in him, bubbling hot and fast, but it’s not just anger. It’s confusion, hurt, and something heavier that he doesn’t have the words for yet. Mark’s patience has always been one of his greatest strengths, but even he has limits. And you’re pushing them.
It started small, a subtle shift he could almost ignore. The first missed call he figured was just bad timing. The second he chalked up to your busy schedule—assignments, cheer practice, life. But then the replies came later and later, turning from thoughtful paragraphs to vague one-liners that made his chest tighten with unease.
At first, he tried to give you space. Everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes, and he didn’t want to make you feel suffocated. But as the days went on, the excuses piled up, and the sinking feeling in his chest grew harder to ignore. The moments you did answer felt distant, like you were speaking to him from behind a wall he couldn’t see over. And when he asked you about it—gently, trying not to push—you brushed him off with the same tired excuse. He knows he shouldn’t, but his hand moves on instinct, reaching for his phone.
He finds himself scrolling through your old messages, rereading the ones that made him smile, that reminded him of how easy things used to be between you. The sweet messages you’d send him late at night, how you’d open up, the jokes that would make him laugh even when he was exhausted. Every word felt like a relic of something slipping further away, and the contrast to the coldness of your recent replies made his chest ache.
mark — hey, haven’t heard from you lately. everything okay?
you — sorry, been busy. talk soon
That ‘sorry’ stung more than he expected. It felt hollow, like an afterthought, and the absence of anything more left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared at your response, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He typed out a reply, deleted it, then typed something else. Finally, he settled on something simple.
mark — miss you. just wanted you to know that
The ‘seen’ notification popped up almost immediately, but no response followed. Instead, Mark turned to Donghyuck, who had been standing beside him the entire time, watching silently.
“She’s ignoring me,” Mark said finally, his voice low and strained. His thumb lingered over his phone screen, like he was willing a reply to appear.
Donghyuck didn’t look up from his phone immediately, his fingers casually scrolling. “Then maybe give her some space. Let her come to you,” he said, his tone even, but it carried a subtle weight.
Mark frowned, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “What if she doesn’t?”
Donghyuck paused, finally looking at him, his usual teasing demeanor absent. “Then you go to her. You’re Mark Lee, dude. She’s not gonna ignore you forever.” His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, like he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own words.
Mark let out a quiet scoff, his gaze fixed on the ground as his foot tapped restlessly against the floor. “That’s exactly what she’s doing,” he muttered, more to himself than Donghyuck. “She’s scared, and now she’s shutting me out.”
There was no question in his tone, just a quiet certainty that settled heavy in his chest. It didn’t take him long to piece it together—that’s how well he knew you. Every missed call, every vague text, every carefully orchestrated avoidance—it all made sense now. Mark could see it clearly, as if he were watching a story unfold that he’d already read the ending to. This wasn’t just distance. It was you retreating into yourself, building walls he didn’t know how to break down. And the realization didn’t comfort him. If anything, it made his chest tighten further, because knowing why didn’t make it hurt any less.
Donghyuck tilted his head, his expression a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “But why is she scared?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied Mark. “I mean, wasn’t it just, what, a week ago? You guys were all over each other after the river court, right? When she asked you to be her boyfriend?” He paused, letting the implication sink in before adding with a smirk, “Trust me, Mark, the walls are thin. I heard everything. Like, everything, all night long.”
Normally, a comment like that would draw at least a half-hearted laugh or a moan from Mark at the memory, but this time, he didn’t even flinch. His shoulders sagged, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a frustrated sigh. “That’s the thing,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with exhaustion. “I don’t know why she’s scared. She’s not telling me. I don’t know if it’s something I did, or if someone’s said something to her.”
He paused, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “If she’d just talk to me, I could fix it. I could try. But I can’t do anything if she won’t let me in.” His thumb hovered over his phone again, as if it might somehow give him the answers he was searching for. “She’s slipping away, Hyuck. And I don’t know how to stop it.”
Donghyuck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Listen, man, I know it feels like shit right now. But people don’t just forget about someone who’s been good to them. You’ve been good to her, Mark. She’ll come around.”
Mark shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, Hyuck. She’s been so… distant. It’s like she’s already checked out, and I’m the only one holding on.”
Donghyuck hesitated, his usual quick wit replaced by something quieter. “Maybe she’s scared. Maybe she’s dealing with something she doesn’t know how to talk about yet. But if it’s meant to work, it will. You’ve just gotta… hold on a little longer.”
Mark’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Donghyuck’s words pressing against the unease in his chest. “And if it doesn’t work?” he asked quietly, the question hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread.
Donghyuck offered a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then you’ll know you tried. And that’s all you can do, man.”
Mark nodded slowly, though the knot in his chest didn’t ease. Donghyuck’s hope was palpable, but it felt misplaced—like trying to hold water in his hands. He wanted to believe it, wanted to cling to the idea that this space, this distance, was just temporary. But deep down, a small voice whispered that it wasn’t.
As Donghyuck turned back to his phone, Mark’s gaze lingered on the screen of his own, your name still at the top of his messages. He locked it with a sigh, shoving it into his pocket as he stared off into the distance. He had hope too, but it felt fragile, like it might shatter the next time you left him on read.
───────────────────────────────
The gym feels suffocating today, even with the high ceilings and the crisp autumn air wafting in through the cracked windows. The sound of sneakers screeching against the polished court echoes harshly, blending with the relentless thud of basketballs hitting the ground. Mark wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, forcing himself to focus on the drill in front of him, but it’s no use. His mind is miles away, stuck on you.
Patience has always been Mark’s virtue. It’s what makes him a leader on the court, the friend everyone can rely on, and the boyfriend who knows how to wait for you to come around during your phases. But this time, patience feels like punishment. The silence between you has been deafening. He keeps waiting for the moment when you’ll come around, when you’ll slip your hand into his, flash him that smile that makes his chest feel lighter, and come right back to him, where he knows you belong. But that moment never comes. And the longer he waits, the heavier the weight on his chest becomes.
Mark throws himself into basketball, his one constant. It’s where he’s always found solace, where his mind goes quiet, the only sound being the steady rhythm of basketballs bouncing and the occasional sharp whistles from the assistant coach. But even that feels hollow now. His movements are sharper, more aggressive—every pass, every shot laced with a frustration he can’t seem to shake. His teammates notice. Jeno, especially, throws him cautious glances every now and then, as if debating whether to say something. But Mark doesn’t stop. If he keeps moving, keeps playing, maybe he can outrun the ache in his chest.
Basketball has always been his escape but today, it feels different. Mark throws himself into every drill with relentless intensity, pushing harder and faster than anyone else on the court. The fluidity that usually defines his game is gone, replaced by sharp, almost aggressive movements. Every pass is thrown with more force than necessary, every drive to the hoop charged with an edge of frustration that lingers in his chest like a dull ache. His breathing quickens, his chest tightens, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. The weight pressing down on him—the unrelenting ache that seems to grow heavier with every passing day—leaves him with no choice but to keep moving, keep running, keep playing. Anything to dull the storm inside.
Mark catches the ball off a pass, his grip tightening around the leather until his knuckles turn white. His breath comes quicker than it should, his heart pounding against his ribs with a force that feels disproportionate to the effort he’s putting in. He shakes it off, driving to the basket with sharp precision, but the ball bounces off the rim.
“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, frustration bubbling to the surface.
“Mark, slow down!” Jaemin shouts, his voice cutting through the squeak of sneakers and the relentless pounding of the ball against the floor. Another failed pass ricochets off the wall, the sound sharp and jarring. “You’re gonna wear yourself out—or worse, kill us all trying to keep up!” His words are laced with frustration, but there’s something else there too, something cautious. His gaze lingers on Mark a moment too long, a flicker of concern flashing in his eyes, like he knows there’s more to Mark’s relentless pace than just a bad day.
Mark barely glances in Jaemin’s direction, his jaw tightening as he moves back into position. The others exchange wary glances, but no one pushes him further. They know better. They’ve seen Mark like this before—focused to the point of obsession, determined to outrun whatever’s gnawing at him. But this time, it’s different.
His chest tightens again, a subtle pull that he dismisses as fatigue. He grabs his knees, bending forward as he tries to catch his breath. It’s just practice, he tells himself. He’s pushed through worse. The weight in his chest feels heavier than usual, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
The piercing sound of Kun’s whistle sliced through the air, cutting through the rhythmic pounding of basketballs and the shuffling of feet on polished wood. Mark exhaled deeply, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he dragged a forearm across his damp brow. The other boys, equally drained, slowed their movements and began to shuffle reluctantly toward the center of the court, their groans and muttered complaints barely audible over the lingering echo of the whistle.
Kun stood there, clipboard in hand, his usual calm demeanor slightly strained. He waited for the team to gather, his sharp eyes scanning the circle as if measuring their endurance. “Alright, listen up,” Kun started, his voice firm but not unkind. “First of all, good work this morning. You’ve been pushing hard, and I can see the effort.”
The boys exchanged exhausted glances, but no one spoke. They were used to Kun’s praise, usually tempered with a challenge to do better.
“But,” Kun continued, adjusting his clipboard, “I know some of you are wondering where Coach Suh is.”
At that, murmurs rippled through the group. Chenle whispered something to Jaemin, who nodded, both of their faces etched with confusion.
“As you guys know,” Kun said, raising his voice slightly to regain their attention, “Coach Suh will be absent for the time being due to him recovering from surgery.”
A few gasps and surprised exclamations broke out. Jeno’s brows furrowed, and Jaemin’s mouth dropped open. Mark frowned, his jaw tightening at the unexpected news. None of them had heard anything about this.
“Rest assured, he’s okay,” Kun added quickly, his tone reassuring. “It’s nothing life-threatening, but he’ll need some time to recover.” Mark felt the tension ease slightly at Kun’s words, though the uncertainty of what came next still loomed over the group.
Kun glanced at his clipboard, hesitating for just a moment before speaking again. “That said, we’ve got the state championships coming up, and I’m not qualified to lead you guys solely through that.”
The boys exchanged worried looks. Jeno muttered, “This can’t be good,” under his breath.
Kun took a deep breath, bracing himself. “So, we’ve had to make the difficult decision of finding a temporary placement.”
Jeno tilted his head, his expression wary. “Temporary placement?”
Kun’s lips twitched into a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Guys… please don’t kill me.”
Before anyone could respond, the double doors at the far end of the gym creaked open. The sound echoed, and the boys instinctively turned to look. Taeyong strides in with the kind of energy that makes the entire room shift. He’s dressed sharply, his black track pants and a fitted zip-up jacket seeming more intimidating than practical. His clipboard is tucked firmly under one arm, and his eyes scan the court with a piercing sharpness, like he’s already sizing everyone up. His expression is cold, brows drawn into a subtle frown that gives nothing away except impatience. His strides are purposeful, almost militant, and the click of his shoes against the polished floor reverberates through the gym. The team immediately stiffens.
Taeyong doesn’t waste a second. “Alright, listen up,” he barks, his tone clipped and stern, cutting through the murmurs like a knife. His voice carries an authority that dares anyone to challenge him. “Coach Suh is out for the next few weeks. Surgery recovery. I’ll be stepping in as your coach until he’s back.”
The silence that follows is thick and palpable. No one expected this—not Taeyong, of all people. The boys exchange wide-eyed glances, their shock barely concealed. Even assistant coach Kun looks uneasy, shifting on his feet as he observes the team’s reactions, his whistle still dangling from his hand.
“Wait, what?” Chenle blurts out, his voice laced with disbelief. “Since when?”
Taeyong’s head snaps in Chenle’s direction, and his eyes narrow into a glare so sharp it could cut through steel. “Since now,” he replies curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Any other questions?”
Jaemin hesitantly raises a hand, his usual carefree demeanor visibly muted under Taeyong’s gaze. “Yeah, uh, why you?”
The slight lift of Taeyong’s eyebrow is more intimidating than any verbal response. He takes a deliberate step forward, his eyes locking on Jaemin like a hawk. “Because I was asked. Problem?”
Jaemin swallows hard and shakes his head quickly. “Nope. No problem.”
The team collectively exhales, but the tension remains suffocating. Kun clears his throat, clearly attempting to break the awkward silence. “Right, uh, let’s stay focused,” he says, but even his tone wavers slightly under Taeyong’s presence. He blows his whistle, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls, signaling for the team to gather around.
Taeyong flips open his clipboard, his movements methodical and precise. “State championships are around the corner, and as much as I’d love to sit here and hold your hands, we don’t have time for that.” His eyes scan the group, landing on each player as if daring them to even blink out of turn. “You’re not here to have fun. You’re here to win. If anyone has a problem with that, there’s the door.”
Jeno shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Mark, who stands stoically, his jaw tight. Jaemin fidgets, his hand running nervously through his hair, while Chenle mutters something under his breath that earns him a glare from Taeyong.
Kun’s lips press into a thin line, his arms crossed over his chest. “Taeyong,” he starts, his tone measured but cautious, “let’s not forget that this team is used to a different coaching style. Maybe ease into—”
“Easing into it is exactly why we haven’t taken the championship in years,” Taeyong interrupts, his voice slicing through Kun’s words without hesitation. He turns back to the team, his posture rigid, his expression unyielding. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to get results.”
Kun’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he steps back slightly, his disapproval evident in the way his brows knit together.
Taeyong doesn’t miss a beat. “Now, get into your positions. We’re running drills. And don’t even think about slacking—I’ll notice, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
The boys shuffle reluctantly into their places, the weight of Taeyong’s authority heavy on their shoulders. As the first drill starts, Taeyong’s voice booms across the court, barking orders with the precision of a drill sergeant. “Jaemin, move your feet! Jeno, is that your idea of defense? Pathetic! Mark, faster—you’re dragging the pace down.”
Mark grits his teeth, his chest heaving with exertion as he pushes himself harder. His frustration simmers just beneath the surface, but he channels it into his movements, every pass sharper, every shot more aggressive. Jaemin mutters something under his breath, earning him another sharp reprimand from Taeyong.
“Did you say something, Jaemin?” Taeyong snaps, his tone icy.
Jaemin shakes his head quickly. “No, sir.”
“Good. Then run it again. All of you.”
The team exchanges weary glances, and even Kun’s whistle sounds less enthusiastic when he calls them back to the court. The practice continues under Taeyong’s unrelenting scrutiny, the weight of his expectations pressing down on everyone like a vice.
Later, after what felt like hours of relentless drills, Taeyong called the team to center court. His expression was as stern as ever, his posture straight and commanding as he looked over the exhausted group.
“You’re here because you want to win,” he started, his tone firm but deliberate. “And winning doesn’t come from half-assed effort or lazy attitudes. You don’t walk onto that court expecting a trophy—you earn it.”
His eyes swept over the team, his gaze lingering on each of them for a moment. “I expect focus. Discipline. Every single one of you needs to give 110% every time you step on this court. If you don’t, you’re not just letting yourselves down—you’re letting the entire team down.”
The boys stood in silence, their exhaustion evident, but Taeyong wasn’t finished.
“Mark,” he said, locking eyes with him. “You’re fast, but speed means nothing if you’re not thinking three steps ahead. Start using your brain.”
“Jeno,” he continued, his tone sharp. “You’re the captain. That means leading by example, not coasting through just because you’ve got skills. I need you to push harder.”
“Jaemin,” Taeyong’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Stop waiting for someone else to make a play. Step up, or step aside.”
Kun’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interject, even as the tension in the room grew thicker. Taeyong’s words weren’t just critiques—they were challenges, demands for more than the boys had ever given before.
“If you want to walk into that championship as winners,” Taeyong said, his voice rising, “then you’d better start acting like it now. No excuses, no shortcuts, no mercy—for yourselves or your opponents. Understood?”
The boys nodded, some reluctantly, others with quiet determination. Taeyong’s words hung heavy in the air, a weight they couldn’t ignore.
“Good,” he said, his tone softening just slightly. “Now, hit the showers. Practice starts at 6 a.m. sharp tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
As the team dispersed, murmurs of exhaustion and disbelief filled the air. Kun watched them go, his expression unreadable, before turning to Taeyong.
“You know they’re not soldiers, right?” Kun said, his voice low.
Taeyong raised an eyebrow, his clipboard tucked under his arm. “They’ll thank me when they’re holding that trophy.”
Kun sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s hope they don’t collapse before then.”
As the players started practice again, it turned into absolute chaos—players running suicides at a punishing pace, the sound of dribbling basketballs echoing against the gym walls, and the strained grunts of exhaustion cutting through it all. Taeyong, barking orders like a drill sergeant, paced the sidelines with clipboard in hand, seemingly unfazed by the sweat-drenched and visibly struggling team. 
Kun’s eyes flicked over the players, his concern growing with each faltering step. Finally, he let out a sharp whistle, the sound cutting through the noise. “Alright, let’s take a breather,” he ordered, his tone firm but laced with compassion. “Five minutes. Get some water.” The players slumped in relief, dragging themselves toward the benches, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Taeyong looks at Kun like he’s just committed a cardinal sin. “Five minutes? They’ve barely broken a sweat.”
Kun meets Taeyong’s gaze evenly, his voice calm but resolute. “They need to recover if you want results. Let them breathe.”
Taeyong doesn’t respond immediately, but the tension between the two is palpable. Finally, he gives a curt nod, his jaw tight. “Five minutes,” he concedes, his tone making it clear he thinks it’s unnecessary.
The boys slump onto the benches or stretch out on the court, their exhaustion palpable. The gym is filled with the sound of labored breathing and the sharp sting of sweat-soaked air. Jeno leans toward Mark, sitting beside him, his elbow resting on his knee as he stares ahead, his jaw working like he’s searching for the right words.
Mark blinks, caught off guard by the proximity. Jeno hadn’t been this close to him, let alone spoken to him with any warmth, in what felt like ages. Ever since the night of the party, he’d been distant—cold, clipped, and virtually nonexistent. The divide between them had loomed large, an unspoken chasm filled with bitterness and resentment. For weeks, Mark had resigned himself to the silence, letting the gap grow wider with each passing day.
Jeno shifts closer, his presence lingering in Mark’s peripheral vision as he finally breaks the silence. “So, how’s it going with Y/N?” he asks nonchalantly, his tone too casual to be genuine, like he’s testing the waters.
Mark’s eyes narrow slightly as he turns to look at Jeno, his expression deadpan. Without a word, he scowls, his annoyance clear as he screws him off with a shake of his head. The silence between them stretches for a moment before Jeno finally leans back, undeterred, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
And then, as if sensing the shift in the air, Jeno glances toward Taeyong, who stands near the edge of the court, clipboard in hand, his posture rigid. “This guy’s gonna kill us,” Jeno says, his voice low but tinged with a rare, conspiratorial edge. His laugh is dry as he gestures subtly toward their father, who looks every bit the control freak he is, hunched over his notes with an intensity that borders on manic.
Mark’s eyebrows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He plays along, responding like nothing had ever gone wrong. “Yeah,” he mutters, wiping the sweat from his forehead and glancing toward Taeyong, who is hunched over his clipboard, scribbling with an intensity that feels borderline obsessive. “But we’re not gonna let him.”
Jeno turns to him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Mark mirrors the expression, his own smirk creeping up. “I may be thinking worse,” he replies, a quiet defiance in his voice. “You know how much I hate that man.”
The shared admission hangs in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken solidarity.
Jeno’s smirk widens. “Alright, let’s do this.”
And with that, they begin planning—a silent rebellion disguised as teamwork. Their father’s stern commands and rigid rules? Ignored. Every play Taeyong demands? Subverted. Instead, they rely on what Coach Suh had always taught them, his strategies embedded in their muscle memory. The more they work together, the more their movements align—fluid, synchronised, and completely at odds with everything Taeyong has demanded of them.
It feels good. Not just the act of defiance, but the ease of working alongside Jeno again. Mark glances at his brother and finds him already looking back, a rare glint of mischief in his eyes.
“You ready?” Jeno asks, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the court.
Mark nods, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Always.”
The plan unfolds with precision—perfectly timed passes, unexpected plays, and a seamless understanding of each other’s movements. It’s everything Taeyong doesn’t want, and it’s everything Coach Suh would’ve praised. By the time the whistle blows, Mark and Jeno are laughing, nudging each other like nothing had ever been wrong between them. It’s as if all the tension and resentment from before have dissolved into the sweat-soaked air.
Under the sharp glare of the gym lights, Taeyong’s expression darkened like a brewing storm. His clipboard was gripped tightly in one hand, the edge of the plastic digging into his palm, while the other rested firmly on his hip in a posture that radiated control and growing irritation. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly as his piercing eyes shifted between Mark and Jeno. The two of them, oblivious or simply uncaring, leaned into each other with quiet laughter, nudging shoulders like troublemakers who’d just pulled off a perfect prank.
For a brief moment, Taeyong said nothing, his silence more cutting than any outburst. It hung heavily in the air, dragging everyone’s attention toward him. Even those who hadn’t witnessed the duo’s subtle rebellion could feel the intensity rolling off him in waves. When his voice finally broke the stillness, it was sharp and cold, slicing through the quiet like a blade.
“You think this is funny?” he said, his tone low but deadly, each word deliberate and measured. His eyes narrowed, locking onto Mark and Jeno with the weight of unspoken authority, daring them to keep smiling. The warmth usually carried by Coach Suh’s presence was absent, replaced by something unyielding and unrelenting.
The rest of the team exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether to stay silent or step in, but the tension was too thick to cut through. Even Kun, who stood off to the side with a restrained sigh, seemed reluctant to intervene, his own disapproval clear in the subtle furrow of his brow.
When neither Mark nor Jeno offered a response, Taeyong clicked the pen on his clipboard with exaggerated finality and exhaled slowly through his nose. His displeasure wasn’t just palpable—it was suffocating. Seeing Jeno laugh alongside Mark, his estranged brother—after everything Taeyong had drilled into him, every lesson about keeping distance, about loyalty to the family line—was a direct challenge to his authority.
Jeno had always been the obedient one, the son who followed orders, who understood the boundaries Taeyong had set. But now? Now, he was openly defying the very foundation Taeyong had laid, and it stung his ego like a raw wound. It wasn’t just irritating—it was a blow to his pride. He had spent years ensuring that Jeno understood his place, ensuring that the divide between him and Mark remained intact. Yet here they were, laughing and nudging each other like brothers who had never been torn apart by family politics and carefully planted resentment.
It was infuriating.
“Jeno,” Taeyong’s voice cut through the gym like a whip, sharp and controlled. The laughter between Mark and Jeno faltered, the air shifting as they turned toward him, their expressions neutral but their postures guarded. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Jeno’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t falter. “Playing basketball,” he said sarcastically, his tone cool and unaffected.
The answer was like gasoline to a fire. Taeyong’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw ticking again as his gaze bore into Jeno. “Playing basketball,” he repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you call deliberately ignoring every instruction I’ve given you?”
Jeno shrugged, the motion slow and deliberate, as if he were daring Taeyong to push further. “It worked, didn’t it? We scored.”
The audacity in Jeno’s response made Taeyong’s chest tighten, his breath catching as his ego took another hit. He shifted his attention to Mark, his expression colder now. “And you,” he snapped. “You think this is some kind of joke? You’re not here to improvise or show off. You’re here to follow my system.”
Mark’s defiance didn’t waver. Instead, his lips curled into a sharp, humorless laugh that echoed through the gym. “What system?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think barking orders and running us into the ground is a system? That’s not a system. That’s just your ego talking.”
Taeyong’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening around the clipboard as if it was the only thing stopping him from snapping entirely. The room felt colder, the weight of his authority clashing against Mark’s outright rebellion. “You want to keep laughing?” Taeyong said, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re above this team? Above me?”
Mark didn’t flinch. If anything, he squared his shoulders, refusing to let Taeyong’s presence intimidate him. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck tensing as he held his ground. When he spoke, his voice was low but deliberate, every word a dagger. “It’s not difficult to be above you.”
The room seemed to still, as if even the air itself had recoiled from Mark’s words. A few teammates exchanged wide-eyed glances, some shifting uncomfortably on their feet. Even Jeno, who had been watching quietly, looked taken aback by the venom in Mark’s tone.
Taeyong stepped in close, shoving a hand against Mark’s chest, his palm colliding with a sharp, deliberate force. It wasn’t just a gesture—it was a challenge. Mark’s body tensed instantly, his instincts flaring as he shoved him back with both hands, his palms hitting Taeyong’s chest hard enough to send him stumbling a step. The sound of the contact echoed sharply through the gym, cutting through the silence like a slap. It was pure adrenaline—Mark wasn’t thinking, just reacting, his jaw clenched as he squared up. 
Taeyong steadied himself, his grip tightening on his clipboard, but Mark stood firm, his shoulders rigid, his chest heaving. It was a move meant to assert, to say without words that he wouldn’t be pushed around. 
“You don’t scare me,” Mark said, his voice dangerously steady. His hand dropped back to his side as he took a deliberate step forward, forcing Taeyong to retreat slightly. “Mark’s voice was low but sharp, each word laced with years of pent-up frustration. “You’ve been throwing your weight around since I was a kid, acting like everything you say is gospel, like you can control every part of my life without being in it. But guess what? I’m not that scared kid anymore.”
He took a step forward, his eyes locked on Taeyong’s with unflinching defiance. “This team isn’t about you and your bullshit need to prove something. It’s bigger than your ego, and it’s sure as hell bigger than you.” His chest heaved, his anger palpable, but his voice remained steady, cutting through the tension like a blade. “I’ve put up with this for long enough, and I’m done standing for it.”
Taeyong’s face flushed with anger, his clipboard now gripped so tightly it looked like it might snap in half. He looked ready to respond, his lips parting, but before he could speak, the gym doors creaked open, the loud sound slicing through the tension like a blade.
Everyone’s heads turned toward the door, the spell of confrontation broken. The interruption seemed to drain some of the heat from the moment, but Taeyong’s glare didn’t waver as he stared Mark down one last time. Mark finally took a step back, his expression unreadable as he glanced toward the entrance. But the way his shoulders remained squared, his chin lifted, made one thing clear: he wasn’t backing down, not now, not ever.
The gym doors swing open, and the cheerleaders spill in, their bright chatter slicing through the thick tension like a breath of fresh air. Mark barely notices them at first—until he sees you. His breath falters, his heart stumbling in his chest. You’re walking beside Karina, your heads close as you whisper and laugh about something he’ll never be privy to. It’s the sound of your laughter that pulls him in first, soft and melodic, but it’s the sight of you that leaves him rooted in place.
The gym’s fluorescent lights seem to bend to you, catching the subtle sheen of your legs, bare and endless beneath the short pleats of your cheer skirt. Each step you take is unhurried, confident, your hips swaying just enough to draw his gaze and hold it there. The fitted fabric of your top clings to your body, framing every curve in a way that makes it impossible for him to look away.
Your hair falls perfectly, brushing against your shoulders, catching the light as if it’s been kissed by it. The faint shimmer of your skin—whether from the coolness of the autumn air or the rush of the walk—has his chest tightening painfully. There’s something magnetic in the way you carry yourself, something so effortlessly sensual yet completely unintentional, and it drives him crazy.
And then there’s your face—soft and radiant, your lips curved in an easy smile, your eyes sparkling with something private and untouchable as Karina leans in to say something that makes you laugh again. The sound twists something deep in his gut, equal parts longing and frustration.
You look carefree, so light and untethered, like nothing in the world could weigh you down. And yet, for Mark, the sight of you feels heavy, like every inch of space between you is a cruel reminder of just how far away you are—how far you’ve pulled yourself.
Mark bites his bottom lip, his gaze glued to you as he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. He groans softly under his breath, the sound low enough that only Jeno catches it. Jeno smirks, following Mark’s gaze until it lands on you.
But you don’t look back at Mark—not even once. Despite how obvious it is that he’s checking you out, his gaze is steady and unrelenting, tracking you with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier. Every other cheerleader’s eyes flick toward him—some bold, others coy—but it’s only you he sees. His focus never wavers, not for a single moment, and yet, you don’t give him so much as a glance. Your indifference is sharp, deliberate, and it cuts deeper than he’d like to admit.
You walk past where he and Jeno sit on the bleachers, your chin held high, your stride deliberate. Your eyes are fixed ahead, your expression serene, your focus clearly somewhere else. It’s as if he’s not even there. Like he’s invisible to you.
The indifference cuts deeper than Mark wants to admit. He swallows hard, his chest tightening as you pass, your scent—a soft, familiar blend of vanilla laced with a faint hint of jasmine—lingering in the air. His fingers curl against his thighs, a faint frustration simmering beneath his skin. He wants to call out to you, to break through the wall you’ve built, but the way you carry yourself, so composed, so distant, makes him hesitate.
And when you’re gone, slipping into the crowd of cheerleaders like a dream he can’t quite reach, the weight of your dismissal lingers, heavy and undeniable.
Jeno shifts uncomfortably, his voice quieter and more hesitant than usual. “What was that about? I thought you two were…” He trails off, his tone not quite neutral—there’s an awkward edge to it, like he’s unsure if he should even be asking.
Mark exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we are,” he says, though the words feel more like an attempt to convince himself than Jeno. “She’s just… confusing. It’s fine, though. We’ll figure it out.” His voice falters slightly, the forced casualness betraying the tension he’s trying to hide.
Jeno doesn’t push further, and neither does Mark. Instead, they turn their focus back to the game, the tension between them dissipating like it was never there. The conversation shifts seamlessly, their banter flowing like it used to. They joke, they laugh, and for a moment, it feels like the rift between them never existed.
Mark mutters something under his breath, a sly grin on his lips, and Jeno shakes his head, laughing softly. “You’re so full of shit,” Jeno says, but there’s no bite in his tone—only familiarity. Mark grins wider, passing the ball back to him with an ease that feels effortless, natural.
And with that, Mark turns to Jeno and the two of them start talking as if everything was okay. Because maybe it was. Maybe a reconciliation didn’t have to be a massive thing, full of apologies and explanations. Maybe it was enough that they could stand shoulder to shoulder, passing a ball back and forth, falling into their usual rhythm without a second thought. They were brothers, after all. Arguing and falling apart came just as naturally as making up like nothing had happened.
Their jokes and laughter carried across the gym, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the air between them wasn’t heavy. It was light. Easy. And it was all the more meaningful because of who was watching.
Still, Mark couldn’t fully shake the other layer to all of this—the revelation that had simmered beneath his anger since the party. It wasn’t just about how Jeno had spoken to you, though that had been enough to make Mark snap. It was the unspoken truth that Jeno had been fucking his best friend behind his back. The secrecy of it all had gnawed at Mark, not just because of Jeno’s actions but because it was something deeply personal between Mark and her—a situation he hadn’t even begun to address yet.
He found the whole thing strange, almost surreal, but there was a part of him that knew he needed to let it go. For now, at least. The wounds between him and his best friend were still raw, her texts unanswered and her attempts to reach out met with silence. That was a bridge he wasn’t ready to cross yet. But Jeno? Mark could find it in himself to put that aside, even if the situation still felt unresolved. Because their bond, flawed and complicated as it was, mattered too much to hold onto grudges.
Taeyong stood off to the side, his knuckles whitening as he watched the two of them reconnect right in front of him. The disdain and anger in his eyes burned with an intensity he didn’t bother to mask. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Jeno, his prodigal son, had no business finding common ground with Mark.
But Mark and Jeno didn’t notice. Or maybe they just didn’t care. They were too absorbed in their own brotherly bond, the way they nudged each other and smirked like nothing else in the world mattered. For once, the weight of Taeyong’s presence wasn’t enough to fracture them. And as their laughter filled the gym, Taeyong’s bitterness only deepened, the cracks in his control spreading wider with every easy grin they exchanged.
What Mark doesn’t notice is the way your eyes find him, no matter how hard you try to keep them elsewhere. You tell yourself not to look, to focus on anything else—the cheer routine, Karina’s chatter, the gym’s polished floor—but the pull is magnetic, impossible to resist. It’s unfair, really, how effortlessly he draws your attention, even when you know you shouldn’t give it. Even now, as he laughs with Jeno, his shoulders shaking lightly, there’s a weight in his expression that you recognize all too well, one that feels like a reflection of your own.
Your gaze lingers longer than it should, tracing the curve of his smile, the way his hand casually shoves Jeno’s shoulder. They’re nudging each other like brothers again, their bond seemingly as strong as ever. Your chest tightens painfully at the sight, your throat constricting around the thought that won’t leave you alone: Of course they made up after you pulled away. The bitterness of it is sharp, cutting into the ache already rooted in your chest. Was you the thorn all along?
The confusion twists through you as much as the ache. What? The last time you saw them together, they weren’t like this. You remember the tension so vividly—the clenched fists, the sharp glares, the words spat between them. They’d barely been able to look at each other, let alone work together on the court. The memory of their fight—the way they came to blows—sits heavily in your chest. How had they gone from that to this? It’s not jealousy, you tell yourself, not exactly. But the suddenness of their reconciliation only adds to the feeling that you were the problem, the piece that didn’t fit in their puzzle. They don’t need you. They never did.
There’s a bittersweet comfort in seeing them like this. You’ve always known they deserved this closeness, this bond, free of the tension your presence seemed to create. But even as that relief blooms faintly, it’s crushed by the suffocating thought that you were the reason they drifted apart in the first place, that their happiness was stifled by your existence in the space between them.
And yet, somewhere in the depth of that ache, there’s a flicker of something else—hope, faint and fragile, like the embers of a fire you know you shouldn’t stoke. It’s selfish, you know that. To cling to the possibility of repair when you were the one who broke it in the first place. The hope feels undeserved, almost cruel, because you’re the reason the distance exists. You pulled away, you created the gap, and now here you are, daring to wish it wasn’t there.
You tell yourself it’s ridiculous, but it’s impossible to ignore the small moments that feed it. The way Mark’s eyes scan the room, like he’s searching for someone he doesn’t realize is already watching him. The fleeting pause in his laughter, the way his smile falters for just a second when his gaze brushes past you. It’s selfish to think it means anything. Selfish to believe that after all the pushing, all the walls you’ve built, he’s still holding on.
You stay frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to move toward him, but also unable to look away. The hope is a contradiction, a double-edged sword—it soothes and stings in equal measure. Because deep down, you know the truth: you brought this on yourself. You created the distance, and now, watching him laugh with Jeno, seeing the bond you convinced yourself you’d fractured somehow repair itself, you realise just how heavy that truth is. But even as guilt presses down on you, the flicker of hope remains, fragile but stubborn. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you haven’t ruined everything. But the thought only twists the knife further, because you’re not sure if you deserve the chance to find out.
Karina nudges you lightly, her voice pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. “You okay?” she asks softly, her tone unusually gentle.
You nod quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah,” you mutter, your voice barely audible over the noise of the gym.
But Karina doesn’t buy it. Her gaze follows yours, narrowing slightly when she sees where—or rather, who—you’re looking at. “You’re staring at him like he’s a ghost.”
Your chest tightens at her words, and you shake your head, trying to dismiss it. “I’m not,” you insist, though the crack in your voice betrays you. “It’s just… it makes me happy knowing he and Jeno have somehow made up. It just hurts that it had to happen when I removed myself from the equation.” You sigh, glancing down at your shoes as the words settle in. “I wish Jeno would let me talk to him.”
Karina doesn’t hesitate. “I’m sure Mark would’ve made up with Jeno if you hadn’t kept the distance too,” she says, her tone sharp but not unkind.
You glance back at Mark, unable to stop yourself. He’s leaning against the bleachers now, his head tilted back slightly as he laughs at something Jeno said. He looks so at ease, so untouched by the chaos that’s been consuming you. And for a moment, you wonder if you made the right choice. Maybe he really is better off without you, without the mess you bring into his life.
But then, as if sensing your gaze, Mark glances in your direction. The moment your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat. His laughter falters, his expression shifting into something softer, something unreadable. It’s like he’s waiting for you to say something, to do something—anything. But you can’t. You break eye contact almost immediately, turning away as if the connection never happened.
Mark’s stomach sinks as he watches you turn back to Karina, your body language closed off, your attention focused elsewhere. The pain in his chest is sharp, but he masks it with a sigh, running a hand through his damp hair.
“She looked at you,” Jeno says quietly, his tone more neutral than accusatory but still laced with curiosity. “Why didn’t you go talk to her?”
Mark shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “She doesn’t want to talk to me,” he mutters, frustration edging into his voice. “Every time I try, she pulls away.”
Jeno studies him for a moment, his brows furrowing in thought. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s hurting just as much as you are.”
Mark doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes flicker back to you, his chest tightening as he watches you laugh at something Karina said. The sound of your laughter should bring him relief, but all it does is remind him of how far away you feel. “Doesn’t matter,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s not letting me in.”
Jeno leans back against the bleachers, sighing. “She can be an idiot sometimes,” he says, his tone softening. “She’s just trying to push you away because it’s too real and she’s scared, you know that, right?”
Mark huffs a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” he mutters, his gaze still fixed on you. “I know.” Mark furrowed his eyebrows, his lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. “I guess you know best,” he said dryly, his tone laced with playful scepticism. “You were the guy who was with her during our teenage years up to now, after all.”
Jeno cringed visibly, scrunching his nose at the reminder. The relationship he once shared with you was a distant memory, one both of you had mutually chosen to forget. “Eugh, don’t remind me,” he muttered, shaking his head like he was trying to physically erase the thought.
“We were together for so long, but I still feel like I barely know her,” he admitted, his voice tinged with something between amusement and resignation. “I don’t know her as well as you do, that’s for sure. I don’t even know her favourite colour or her favourite food.”
“Black and sushi,” Mark answered without hesitation, his tone calm and confident, as if he couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t know.
Jeno raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk. “All I ever knew was how she liked to be fucked and her favorite position.”
Mark winced visibly, his jaw tightening, but before he could respond, Jeno continued, unable to resist pushing further. “Doggy,” he said confidently.
“Missionary,” Mark shot back at the exact same time, his voice firm.
The room went still for a beat, the words hanging awkwardly in the air before Jeno blinked in surprise. “Wait, seriously? Missionary?”
Mark crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a tight line. “Yeah,” he said, his tone clipped. “But she likes every way I fuck her.” His voice carried a hint of defiance, but the statement sent an unbidden wave of heat through him. Images flashed in his mind—your hands gripping his shoulders, the way you’d gasp his name, the softness of your skin under his touch. His throat tightened, and he had to shift in place to shake off the restless ache building in his chest.
He really fucking missed you. The thought was a punch to his gut, raw and unrelenting, making it harder to mask the tension that had settled into his entire frame. Mark clenched his jaw, refusing to let Jeno—or anyone—see just how much he was unravelling without you.
Jeno’s smirk faltered for a moment before he let out a low laugh, his tone light but deliberately provoking. “Touché,” he said, leaning back like he was letting Mark win that round. But the glint in his eyes gave him away—he wasn’t done.
Seeing the way Mark shifted uncomfortably, Jeno leaned forward with a teasing grin, his voice dripping with mock curiosity. “Bit weird though, isn’t it? Being so obsessed with my ex-girlfriend?” It was a jab meant to wind Mark up, not something Jeno actually believed anymore. His smirk widened as he watched Mark’s jaw tighten, clearly reveling in how much he could push his buttons. It wasn’t serious—Jeno didn’t care anymore, not really—but he couldn’t resist stirring the pot. Old habits died hard.
Mark didn’t flinch, his expression steady as his eyes met Jeno’s. “She’s my girlfriend now,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering, a quiet but unmistakable declaration of where he stood.
Jeno raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as his smirk widened. “Does she know that?” he asked, his tone laced with mock curiosity, clearly trying to provoke a reaction.
Mark’s lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile as he replied, “Touché.” But there was no humour in his voice, just a simmering frustration beneath the surface.
Jeno scoffed, leaning back against the bleachers with a faint chuckle, his words testing the waters more than anything. “I bet I already know the answer, but if I were to tell you I didn’t want you to get with her, what would you do?”
Mark’s response was immediate, his tone casual but firm. “I wouldn’t listen to you.”
Jeno tilted his head, his smirk faint but deliberate. “Yeah, figured as much. You’ve never cared what I think when it comes to her, have you?”
Mark didn’t rise to the bait, his lips pressing into a thin line as his gaze dropped for a moment. “No,” he admitted honestly. “I haven’t.”
Jeno laughed dryly, crossing his arms as he let out a small sigh. “That’s what I thought. Not that it matters or changes anything, but you have my full blessing to make her yours. Don’t feel guilty anymore. And I’ll talk to her too,” he added, his tone softening slightly. “I think she feels guilty. I don’t know why though. She’s very confusing and difficult to understand.”
Mark’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.” But they both knew, deep down, that Mark would have tried with or without Jeno’s so-called blessing. His voice dropped a little lower, his tone calm but confident. “She’s already mine though.”  
“But yeah,” Mark continued after a pause, his voice quieter but sure, “I think you have to talk to her. She’s the one who needs your blessing, not me.”
Jeno’s voice was quieter now, more introspective as he said, “Also, I’m sorry about all the stuff I’ve said before—about you wanting my life. I know that was never your intention. It just… stung. When it came out that you’d been sneaking around with her, it hurt my ego. I guess I kept accusing you of wanting my life because it made me feel like the victim. It made it easier to stay angry. Made it simpler to push the blame somewhere else.”
Mark’s nod was measured, his gaze steady on Jeno as he let the words settle between them. “It’s okay, man,” he said quietly, his voice calm but resolute. “I don’t want your life. I never have.” He paused, the weight of the moment pressing down on him as he chose his next words carefully. “And for what it’s worth, the only reason she wanted to keep things quiet was to give herself time to figure it all out. It wasn’t ever malicious or about wanting to hurt you.”
Jeno exhaled sharply, the sound falling somewhere between a laugh and a sigh as he shook his head. “Yeah, I get that now,” he admitted, his voice quieter, almost contemplative. He glanced at Mark, his expression softening. “But you know I still care about Y/N, right? I thought we were on good terms now—better than we’ve ever been, actually.”
Mark tilted his head slightly, listening as Jeno continued, his voice more vulnerable than before. “I see her as someone who’s seen me at my worst, someone I’ve made it a point to be honest with. That’s why it hurts. Not because she chose you or whatever, but because she wasn’t honest with me about it. That’s what stung the most. It felt… disrespectful.”
Mark’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady, deliberate. “It wasn’t about disrespecting you. She feels like everything is on her—keeping the peace, making sure no one gets hurt. She carries that weight constantly. She was scared of how you’d react, and honestly, I didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for.”
Jeno tilted his head slightly, frowning as he processed Mark’s words. “I get that,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful. “But for the record, my anger was never about jealousy. It wasn’t about thinking Y/N was ‘mine,’ because I know she’s not—and she never was. Not when we were together, and definitely not now. I just… I guess I felt blindsided, and I hated how it made me look.”
Mark’s expression didn’t falter. His response was calm, steady, but there was an unmistakable edge of possessiveness in his tone. “Yeah, well, she’s mine.” His words were simple, but they carried a weight that left no room for argument.
Jeno’s smirk faltered slightly, his expression shifting to something softer—more thoughtful. After a moment, he shook his head again, this time with a hint of resignation. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”
Mark’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Yeah. And I love her. That’s not changing.”
Jeno didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the court. “Well,” he said finally, his tone quieter but still tinged with teasing, “good luck fixing things, lover boy. You’ll need it.”
Mark nodded, his gaze drifting toward the gym doors where you had disappeared moments ago. “I know,” he said softly, more to himself than to Jeno.
“Why don’t you talk to her now?” Jeno asks, his gaze shifting across the gym to where you and Karina stand on the other side, your heads close as you talk.
Mark exhales heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. “I can’t,” he mutters, his tone laced with frustration. “Look, she’s already leaving. She notices I’m in the same place or room as her, and then she’ll just… go the other way, avoid me completely.”
Jeno doesn’t respond immediately, watching as Karina turns her head, trying to be subtle as she glances toward him and Mark. Her brows knit together in confusion before she leans toward you, whispering something. Whatever she says, it makes your expression tighten, your movements slightly more rushed as you gather your things to leave.
Karina’s voice is low but full of intrigue as she murmurs to you, “They’re actually getting along. Laughing and smiling. What the fuck happened?” Her tone makes it clear she can’t quite believe the sight of Mark and Jeno talking like old friends.
You hum softly, your lips pulling into a small, strained smile. “I’m glad they are,” you reply, though the tightness in your voice betrays your words.
Karina’s sharp eyes flick back to you, and a mischievous glint sparks to life. She leans closer, her voice dropping into a teasing, sultry mimic. “They’re talking about you,” she whispers dramatically, fluttering her lashes for effect. Her voice dips lower, full of exaggerated lust as she mimics what she believes Mark was saying. “Oh, I want to put my hands under Y/N’s skirt, I want her to bounce on my cock, God, I want to be inside her.”
“Shut up,” you hiss, your cheeks burning as you bite down on your bottom lip, trying and failing to suppress the laugh bubbling up. You give her a playful shove, your eyes darting to see if anyone heard. The way she grins at your flustered reaction only makes the heat crawl higher up your neck.
“You’re going to have to face him eventually, you know,” Karina says as she glances at you out of the corner of her eye, her voice matter-of-fact but not unkind.
“I know,” you murmur, the words barely audible over the thrum of your own heartbeat.
But knowing doesn’t make it easier. The gym doors swing shut behind you, and the crisp autumn air hits your face, biting at your skin and pulling you back into reality. The chill settles into your bones, but it’s nothing compared to the cold that’s rooted itself in your chest. As much as you try to ignore it, you can’t stop wondering if you’ve already lost him. If the space you’ve created between you and Mark isn’t something that can ever be bridged again.
The thought twists in your stomach, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Part of you wants to turn around, to go back into the gym and tell him everything. Every fear, every insecurity, every truth you’ve been too afraid to say aloud. But your feet keep moving forward, carrying you further and further away.
Away from him.
Away from the only person who’s ever made you feel truly whole.
──────────────────────────────
The energy in the gymnasium was electric, a sea of cheers and jubilant screams filling the space as the final whistle blew. The Seoul Ravens had won, securing their place in the state championship finals. The players were elated, their smiles wide and their bodies slack with relief as they exchanged high-fives and celebratory embraces. The cheerleaders mirrored the excitement, jumping and clapping in unison. Even the crowd buzzed with energy, their voices loud enough to rattle the rafters.
Despite the atmosphere of celebration, Taeyong stood on the sidelines, his expression hard and unsmiling. His clipboard was tucked tightly under his arm as he surveyed the scene with thinly veiled irritation. It was no surprise when his sharp whistle cut through the revelry, silencing the cheers like a guillotine. The players hesitated, their smiles faltering as he barked, “Everyone, circle up. Now.”
The team reluctantly shuffled into a huddle, their happiness evaporating under Taeyong’s stern glare. Even Assistant Coach Kun looked uneasy, his hand instinctively clutching the whistle around his neck as if debating whether to intervene. Taeyong wasted no time launching into a tirade, his voice sharp and unforgiving.
“That was not the game I wanted from you,” he snapped, pacing around the group like a predator circling its prey. “Sure, you won. But how many of you actually followed the plays I called? Huh? Jeno, what was that sloppy rebound in the second quarter? And Mark”—his eyes darted toward his son—“how many times do I have to tell you to stop improvising out there? You think you’re some kind of hero?”
Mark’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the floor, while Jeno’s lips pressed into a thin line. The rest of the team exchanged uncomfortable glances, their earlier joy now replaced with tension. Even the cheerleaders, still lingering near the court, watched with unease, their whispers hushed as Taeyong continued.
Before the mood could sour further, a voice from the crowd cut through the tension like a blade. “Alright, Taeyong, that’s enough.”
All eyes turned to see Doyoung making his way down from the bleachers, his expression calm but firm. His presence alone seemed to shift the energy in the room. “Let them celebrate. They earned this win.”
Taeyong’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Stay out of this, Doyoung,” he hissed. “You’re not the one coaching this team.”
“No, but I am the one who knows how to recognize a victory when I see one,” Doyoung shot back, his tone steady but unyielding. “You’re killing their morale, and for what? Because you didn’t get your way? Let them enjoy this.”
The tension between the brothers was palpable, a heavy weight that seemed to fill the space between them. From your place near the sidelines, you narrowed your eyes, watching the way they squared off like two sides of the same coin—one cold and rigid, the other warm but firm. Your gaze shifted, almost instinctively, to Mark and Jeno. The sight of them laughing quietly to themselves, seemingly unfazed by the drama, made your chest tighten.
Two generations of brothers, you thought, so different and yet so eerily similar. But unlike Taeyong and Doyoung, Mark and Jeno were trying. Whatever rift had existed between them seemed to be healing, their laughter a stark contrast to the animosity their father and uncle displayed.
Kun stepped out from the shadows, his face etched with exhaustion as he unclipped the lanyard from his neck. The whistle swung lightly at the end as he approached Doyoung, holding it out along with the clipboard. His movements were deliberate, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the decision he was making.
“You take my place and temporarily become the assistant coach,” Kun said, his voice a mix of pleading and quiet authority. He paused, glancing toward Taeyong, who stood rigid in the background, his presence casting a long shadow over the team. “I can’t be here without Coach Suh… Taeyong is too much.”
Doyoung chuckled softly, the sound light but tinged with understanding as he accepted the clipboard. “I don’t have any experience,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked down at the notes scrawled across the board.
Kun shook his head firmly, his expression softening but his tone resolute. “You’ll be great,” he said, his eyes filled with a quiet hope that Doyoung would agree.
Doyoung hesitated only a moment before nodding. His fingers tightened around the board, his gaze flickering briefly to Taeyong, whose stern eyes bore into him from across the court. But he didn’t flinch. You could tell he’d already made his decision—not because he wanted the role, but because he knew it was necessary.
He wasn’t here for glory or recognition. He was here because he was the only one who could stand up to his younger brother’s cruelty and unchecked authority. He could safeguard the team, make sure they weren’t trampled under Taeyong’s oppressive rule. Doyoung would be their protector, their buffer, ensuring they could win the state championships without sacrificing their spirits—or their well-being—in the process.
It didn’t take long for Doyoung to step into the role. “Alright, guys,” he called out, addressing the team with a tone that was both authoritative and encouraging. “Go celebrate. Party tonight. Have fun—but be safe. You deserve it after how hard you worked out there.”
The gym erupted in cheers, clapping, and laughter as everyone celebrated the hard-fought win. You stood on the sidelines, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, wondering when you’d finally get to go home. The energy in the room was contagious, but you felt like a spectator in your own life, caught between the celebration and your own swirling thoughts.
Chenle moved through the crowd of cheerleaders, hugging them one by one. When he reached you, his arms wrapped around you in a brief, polite gesture. But his eyes… they didn’t quite meet yours. They were disconnected, distant, as though he were going through the motions rather than acknowledging you. It earned a sad gulp from you, your throat tightening as the reality of it sank in. Of course. It made sense—Chenle was one of Mark’s closest friends. His loyalty wasn’t with you. Not anymore.
And then you saw Jeno.
Your body froze instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as he strode toward you, his grin wide and his energy infectious. For a moment, you thought he’d walk past you entirely, but instead, he stopped in front of you, his expression still bright from the win. Before you could react, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a tight, warm hug.
It was quick—too quick for you to even process it. Almost thoughtless, like he hadn’t even realized who he was hugging. Just a gesture born out of the adrenaline and joy of the moment. And just as suddenly as it started, it ended. Jeno moved on, his focus shifting as he hugged the rest of his teammates and cheerleaders with the same enthusiasm.
But you couldn’t move.
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you tried to remind yourself it meant nothing. He was happy, caught up in the win, and you were just another person in the room. But the ghost of his touch lingered, curling around you like a bittersweet reminder of what used to be. It gave you a false sense of hope you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how much you told yourself otherwise.
As the celebration continued, your gaze drifted back to Mark. He was standing near the centre of the court, his grin wide as he laughed at something one of his teammates said. He looked so at ease, so alive in a way that made your heart ache. Basketball had always been his sanctuary, the place where he found belonging and joy. Seeing him like this, so genuinely happy, reminded you why you’d fallen for him in the first place.
But as your eyes lingered, you noticed the exhaustion etched into his features. You’d seen it during the game—the way he pushed himself harder than anyone else, the way his breaths came too fast, too shallow. He was panting, struggling to keep up even as he gave everything he had. A pang of worry settled in your chest, the weight of it almost unbearable.
As if on cue, Taeyong appeared at your side, his hand gripping your wrist before you could step away. His smile was sharp, his eyes glinting with a mix of malice and triumph. “I’m sure you’re as worried about your boyfriend as I am about my son,” he said smoothly, his tone sending a shiver down your spine.
Your brow furrowed, unease prickling at the back of your neck. “What are you talking about?” you asked warily.
Taeyong’s smirk widened. “You noticed it, didn’t you? How out of breath he was, how he’s been struggling to keep up. That’s not just exhaustion. That’s something else entirely.”
“What?” The word slipped out before you could stop it, a mix of disbelief and fear lacing your tone. You didn’t trust him—he was manipulative, always twisting the truth to suit his narrative. But there was something in his voice, something almost too genuine, that made your stomach drop.
“My poor son,” Taeyong drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Didn’t inherit my good looks, my brains, or my fortune. No, he had to inherit my heart condition. What a shame that’s the only thing he got from me.”
Your mouth went dry, your pulse quickening as you stared at him. “You’re lying,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.
Taeyong chuckled darkly, his grip on your wrist tightening. “Oh, honey, trust me. I know the signs. I’ve lived with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy since I was a teenager. I know what it looks like, and I know how it feels. Mark’s reckless, overly ambitious, pushing himself too far. Sound familiar?”
HCM. Your mind raced, fragments of memories piecing together—his panting breaths during the game, the way he seemed to push himself to the brink without hesitation. A cold wave of fear washed over you as Taeyong leaned in closer.
“He’s not taking his medication,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He wouldn’t be allowed to play the full game if he was. But he doesn’t care, does he? He’s willing to risk his life just to stay on that court. What a waste.”
The words hit you like a blow to the chest, your knees threatening to give out as the weight of his revelation settled over you. You didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But the doubt had already taken root, and Taeyong’s smirk told you he knew it.
You tried to steady your breathing, but the panic was overwhelming. The thought of Mark—your Mark—pushing himself to the edge without a care for his own safety was too much to bear. Taeyong’s victory was evident in the way his eyes gleamed, his goal achieved: planting seeds of doubt and division where there was already a fragile foundation.
And as you stood there, shaking and guilt-ridden, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d already failed him.
You stood frozen, your eyes locked onto Mark’s across the gym. Your breath hitched, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to leave crescents in your skin. The overwhelming weight of anger and fear tangled together inside you, rendering you immobile. Was it justified? How angry yet terrified you felt? You weren’t so sure. 
Karina’s worried voice snapped you back into reality. “Hey! Hey!” She clapped her hands sharply in front of your face, her tone teasing, though her eyes searched yours with genuine concern. “What’s up with you? You look like you’re about to explode or something.”
You gritted your teeth, a shaky breath escaping as you muttered, “Give me one good reason not to go over to Mark right now, Karina. It has to be good, or I’m going to drag him out of here and—fuck.” You cut yourself off, realizing how ridiculous you sounded. You couldn’t explain the real reason, not to Karina. Mark clearly didn’t want anyone to know about his HCM.
Karina raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Um… I mean, look at all those girls surrounding him, batting their eyelashes and practically throwing themselves at him. Aisha, Mia, Yeji—honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if—”
“Shut up.” You grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the gym as fast as you could, your heart pounding. You didn’t dare look back. Her words rang true; the girls were all over him, their touches lingering, their voices sickly sweet. Mark didn’t seem fazed by the attention, but that almost made it worse.
The image of Aisha running her fingers through her hair while leaning into his space made your blood boil. Yeji’s loud laugh at something he’d said echoed in your mind, and Mia’s hand brushing his arm lingered in your periphery like a thorn. You hated how possessive you felt, hated how your emotions clawed at you. You couldn’t tell Karina the other reason for your spiralling thoughts—the worry about Mark’s health—but the jealousy alone was enough to leave you shaking.
“You’re being really weird,” Karina muttered as you dragged her to the car, her tone carrying a mix of amusement and exasperation. It felt like the tenth time she’d told you that this week, and her steps quickened to match your frantic pace.
You exhaled sharply, gripping your keys. “Distract me,” you muttered, trying to push the images of Mark surrounded by all those girls out of your head. “You need to distract me, Rina.”
Karina’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “You remember what’s tomorrow, right?” She wiggled her eyebrows as though her enthusiasm might be infectious.
You groaned. “No,” you muttered, dreading the answer. Knowing Karina, it was bound to be some exhausting social event. You were exhausted. 
“The Boy Toy Auction!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. Her excitement was palpable, and before you could even protest, she was already pulling up the location on her phone. “Come on, we need to hit the mall. The gala is soon too, we can’t show up looking basic—we need dresses. Expensive ones.” Her grin was practically ear-to-ear, clearly relishing the idea of dragging you along for the ride.
“What’s that again? The Boy Toy auction?” you asked, the name ringing a faint bell, though it sounded ridiculous.
Karina gasped, feigning offense. “You don’t remember? We’ve been to, like, ten of them! It’s the event where the boys on the basketball team get auctioned off to raise money. This year, it’s for Coach Suh’s surgery. Plus, there’s a bonus this time—whoever wins the bid gets to be their date for the gala.”
The car was barely parked when Karina unbuckled her seatbelt with the energy of someone on a mission. “Come on,” she urged, practically dragging you out. Her enthusiasm was relentless, and before you knew it, the two of you were stepping into the grand expanse of the mall.
Your groan deepened as the sleek glass doors slid open, revealing the bright, bustling interior. High ceilings adorned with chandeliers stretched above rows of luxurious boutiques, the scent of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café mingling with the faint hint of expensive perfume. The sheer extravagance of it all only made you more aware of how much Karina was about to make you spend.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, but Karina’s infectious excitement was already pulling you in as she looped her arm through yours, her eyes scanning the stores like a hawk ready to strike.
The shopping mall was a cathedral of excess. Glass-fronted boutiques stretched along gleaming marble floors, their displays adorned with mannequins draped in sequins, satin, and velvet. The hum of soft jazz music played overhead, mingling with the low chatter of shoppers and the faint click of heels on tile. Chandeliers hung from high ceilings, casting a golden glow over everything.
Karina wasted no time dragging you into the first boutique. “We need to find the perfect gown,” she declared, her eyes scanning racks of shimmering fabrics.
“Perfect for what?” you muttered, though you couldn’t deny the small thrill of anticipation that stirred in your chest.
“For making every guy at the gala regret not bidding on us,” Karina teased, shooting you a wink.
You rolled your eyes but followed her deeper into the store, your fingers brushing over silks and tulles. You tried on dress after dress, each one more extravagant than the last. A mermaid gown in deep red hugged your curves but felt too bold. A black off-the-shoulder number made you feel like a movie star but was too heavy for dancing.
“Try this one,” Karina said, holding up a floor-length gown in emerald green with a daring thigh-high slit. The fabric sparkled subtly under the lights, catching the gold of the chandelier above.
You stepped into the changing room, the soft carpet underfoot muffling your movements as you slipped into the gown. The cool fabric slid over your skin like water, and when you looked in the mirror, you barely recognized yourself.
Karina gasped when you stepped out. “That’s it,” she said, clasping her hands together. “You’re buying it.”
After what felt like hours, you both emerged from the final boutique, each of you clutching garment bags that contained your chosen gowns. Karina had settled on a deep midnight blue dress with a plunging neckline, while yours was the emerald green masterpiece.
“And these,” Karina said, holding up a pair of lacy lingerie sets she’d bought for both of you.
You raised an eyebrow, your lips quivering into a small smile. “I have no one to show this to.”
Karina shrugged, unfazed, her lips curling into a playful smirk. “Neither do I. But if we don’t end up moaning like bitches in heat at the end of gala night, I’ll invite you over, and we can show each other our lingerie. We deserve the attention anyway—look at us, we’re hot.”
You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “What makes you think I can wait until gala night to see you in it?”
Karina gasped, placing a hand dramatically over her chest. “Y/N, are you trying to seduce me?”
You laughed, shoving her lightly. “Maybe I am. Can you blame me?”
──────────────────────────────
The hall was alive with anticipation, the dim, golden lights wrapping the space in a warm, luxurious glow. Grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals shimmering like stars above the polished floors that gleamed with every step. Crimson curtains framed the stage at the front, their velvety folds brushing against the polished wood, and the faint outline of figures moving behind them only added to the buzz of excitement. Long tables draped in white cloth were scattered with bidding paddles and flutes of champagne, the delicate clinking sound adding an elegant backdrop to the chaos.
Bursts of laughter and animated voices filled the air, a symphony of energy that seemed to amplify the thrill in the room. Groups of students crowded together, some perched on chairs for a better view, others leaning casually against the walls. The cheerleaders occupied a prominent corner near the stage, their polished appearances catching the light as they whispered and giggled. The crowd’s collective focus shifted with every sound of the microphone, each small noise a prelude to the next act. The tension was palpable, a blend of excitement and competition that charged the air.
The faint hum of music played softly in the background, an almost teasing addition to the grandeur of the event. The room itself seemed alive, every detail—from the ornate golden trim along the walls to the opulent floral arrangements at the entrance—speaking to the prestige of the evening. It wasn’t just an auction; it was a celebration of excess and spectacle, and everyone there felt like they were part of something bigger than just the bidding wars ahead.
You stood near the back, you were supposed to be mingling with the other cheerleaders, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tolerate those fake bitches right now. Your arms were crossed tightly, a defensive posture as Karina chattered excitedly beside you, her energy a sharp contrast to your own reluctance. You didn’t want to be here—not for the auction, not for the glitzy events that would follow, and definitely not for the incessant hum of curiosity surrounding you. But Karina had insisted. As a cheerleader, attendance at these events was non-negotiable. Appearances were everything, after all, even when you felt like fading into the background entirely.
“This is gonna be a couple of draining weeks,” you muttered under your breath.
Karina laughed, nudging you playfully as if trying to lighten your mood. You were part of a college that thrived on being over the top, you thought bitterly. Boy Toy Auction, gala, state championships… What’s next? A surprise masquerade ball? A fireworks display in someone’s honour? The endless string of events felt particularly draining, each one tugging at your already dwindling energy and making you question why you bothered keeping up appearances at all.
You sighed, your gaze sweeping across the crowd. The Boy Toy Auction was infamous—a ridiculous tradition where the basketball team’s players were “auctioned” off to the highest bidders. Winning meant you could take the guy home for the night and that he had to be your date for the gala. It was ridiculous, borderline cringeworthy, but it raised a lot of money for the school and its causes. This year, the proceeds were going toward Coach Suh’s recovery fund after his surgery.
As if on cue, Coach Suh’s familiar voice boomed through the microphone. “Good evening, everyone!” he greeted, his energy cutting through the noise. The crowd erupted into cheers, some standing and clapping as he waved from the stage. “No, I’m not fully back yet,” he continued, grinning at the applause. “Still on the mend, but I couldn’t miss this night. You all know how much I love the Boy Toy Auction!”
The hall laughed, the mood lightening even further. Karina clapped beside you, her smile wide as Coach Suh went on.
“Now,” he said, glancing down at his clipboard, “you all know the drill. Each of these fine gentlemen will come up here, and you’ll have the chance to bid on them. Remember, the winner not only gets to take them home but also gets to take them to the gala. Let’s make this a night to remember, and let’s raise some serious money!”
The crowd erupted into cheers again as the first boy was called up.
Chenle was first, bounding onto the stage with his signature boyish charm. Dressed in a jersey and basketball shorts, he incorporated his love for basketball into his routine, dribbling expertly before tossing a perfect shot into the small hoop set up at the back of the stage. The crowd went wild, cheers and screams echoing as the bids began flying.
“Aisha! fifty!” Coach Suh announced, his eyes wide as he scanned the crowd. “Mia raises it to seventy-five! Heejin, ninety!”
The numbers climbed quickly, but it was Ningning who won with an impressive bid of one hundred and fifty. Chenle stepped off the stage, walking straight to Ningning and planting a kiss on her cheek. The room erupted into whistles and applause, and you couldn’t help but smile.
“Cute,” Karina whispered, grinning. “They’re definitely dating.”
Next was Donghyuck, and he brought the house down. Instead of the typical basketball-centric routine, he danced, his moves sharp and fluid, perfectly in sync with the music. The crowd roared their approval, the energy in the room shifting as girls screamed and shouted bids.
Even Coach Suh couldn’t help but comment. “Clearly, this auction isn’t limited to basketball players anymore. Everyone loves Donghyuck!”
Karina stayed by your side, the two of you giggling together as the auction progressed. Her sharp commentary only added to your amusement. “Look at them,” she whispered, pointing discreetly to a group of girls at the front. “Screaming like banshees and throwing their money around like it’s Monopoly cash. Desperate doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
You bit back a laugh, trying to focus on the stage as Donghyuck made his entrance. His performance was undeniably captivating—a smooth, well-choreographed dance routine that left the crowd roaring. Coach Suh couldn’t help but chime in, his voice cutting through the cheers. “Clearly, this isn’t just limited to the Seoul Ravens,” he announced, gesturing to Donghyuck with a wry smile. “The whole school loves him.”
The applause swelled, and Karina, who had just been mocking the other girls, suddenly shifted. Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward, clutching her paddle like a lifeline. “That’s my man,” she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with something that almost sounded serious. You gasped, turning to look at her in shock. Her tone hinted at something deeper, but you reminded yourself how she liked to be unserious. Surely, if something was actually going on, she’d tell you… right?
You watched, half-amused and half-horrified, as Karina repeatedly raised her paddle, her voice cutting through the noise with a desperation that mirrored the girls she had mocked earlier. “One hundred! One-fifty!” she screamed, practically jumping with excitement.
When she finally won, Donghyuck flashed her a dazzling grin as he stepped off the stage. Karina turned to you, her cheeks flushed and her grin triumphant. “Told you I’d get him,” she said smugly, her earlier mockery of the other girls conveniently forgotten.
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at her antics. “By screaming like a banshee, huh?” you teased, and her only response was a shameless shrug.
The auction continued in full swing. San was next to take the stage, and he wasted no time raising the stakes. With a sly grin, he peeled off his shirt and tossed it into the crowd, revealing his sculpted torso. The hall erupted into cheers, screams echoing off the walls as girls raised their paddles in a frenzy. Even some of the guys in the back were laughing and whistling. San soaked it all in, flexing playfully and winking at the audience. It wasn’t just confidence—it was chaos, and the bids reflected it.
Wooyoung followed, his entrance dramatic as ever. He strutted onto the stage with exaggerated flair, striking poses and pointing to random sections of the audience like he was some kind of rockstar. When the bids started rolling in, he played along, hyping up the crowd with over-the-top gestures. “Come on! I know I’m worth more than that!” he shouted, earning a wave of laughter and higher bids. Earlier, he even raised his own paddle to bid on San and he ended up winning, which sent the room into hysterics. Coach Suh shook his head, muttering something about how he’d “lost control of the team,” but his amused smirk said otherwise.
Then came Soobin, who shuffled onto the stage with a sheepish expression. “I don’t want to be bid on,” he muttered into the microphone, his voice low but clear enough to be heard. The crowd immediately pounced on his reluctance, turning it into a game. Paddles shot up faster than ever, girls screaming out numbers as Soobin stood there, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Somehow, his awkward charm only fueled the chaos, and by the end, he had the highest bid of the night—an astronomical number that left everyone stunned. Even Soobin’s eyes widened in disbelief as he was led off the stage by his victorious bidder, who looked like she’d just won the lottery.
The atmosphere was wild, the noise level almost unbearable, but the energy was infectious. It didn’t matter if you were cheering, bidding, or just watching from the sidelines—there was something magnetic about the entire event. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, though a part of you couldn’t shake the growing tension as the night crept closer to Mark and Jeno’s turns on the stage.
Coach Suh stepped up to the microphone, his voice cutting through the chaotic hum of the crowd like a sharp blade. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment many of you have been waiting for,” he announced, his tone laced with playful anticipation. The noise in the room dimmed slightly, replaced by murmurs and excited whispers. “Seoul Ravens’ very own, Mark Lee!”
The shift in the room was almost palpable. Gasps rippled through the crowd as Mark emerged from behind the curtains, the soft glow of the stage lights illuminating him like he belonged in the spotlight. He moved with an effortless confidence, his basketball jersey perfectly fitted, the bold number 23 across his chest catching every eye. The jersey hung just low enough to hint at his lean, toned physique, and his casual stance—hands stuffed into his pockets, head tilted slightly as he scanned the crowd—only added to his allure.
The whispers turned to hushed squeals, and then to outright cheers, as his trademark smirk spread across his face. He didn’t need to dance or strip like the others; his presence alone was enough to command the room. The weight of his gaze as it swept across the hall was electrifying, each girl seemingly holding her breath, hoping he’d stop and look at her.
But you? You couldn’t move. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat heavy and insistent, as if it were trying to escape. Your breath hitched, your lips parting unconsciously as Mark’s eyes lingered in your direction for the briefest second, and yet it felt like forever. There was something maddeningly intimate about his gaze, like he was daring you, calling you out, challenging you to do something—anything. The way the soft lights caught on the lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders stretched the fabric of his jersey just right, made your stomach clench with a desperate ache you couldn’t quite name.
Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, a subtle shift you prayed no one would notice. Mark hadn’t even done anything—just stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, his shamelessly flirtatious smile drawing the room into the palm of his hand. The jersey clung to him in a way that was both infuriatingly casual and deeply sensual, exposing just enough of his collarbone to make you wonder how soft his skin would feel under your fingertips. He exuded confidence, and it wasn’t fair how easily he had every person in the room hanging onto his every move—yourself included.
The chaos in the room swelled as the bidding started immediately, Coach Suh scrambling to keep up with the torrent of voices. “Okay! 50—no, 100! 150!” he shouted, trying to cut through the screams. “Mia! 175! Oh, Yeji with 200! Wait, who just said 250?”
Your stomach churned at the sound of Aisha’s high-pitched voice cutting through the air. “300!” she yelled, her paddle raised high as she stood on her tiptoes, practically bouncing with excitement.
“350!” Mia countered, her eyes sharp as she stared Aisha down, the tension between them palpable.
You stayed frozen, clutching your arms tightly to your chest as the numbers climbed higher and higher, the voices around you becoming desperate. Every girl in the room seemed determined to have him, their paddles flying up as if their lives depended on it.
“400!” Heejin shouted, her cheeks flushed, and the crowd roared even louder.
Coach Suh wiped his brow dramatically. “Ladies, please, one at a time! I’m going to need a calculator at this rate!” The laughter in his voice did little to hide the exhaustion in his eyes as he tried to keep up with the chaos.
A sharp pang of jealousy clawed at your chest, relentless and overwhelming. You could feel it in every breath, every beat of your heart. Each scream, each outrageous bid, was like another twist of the knife. The thought of any one of them winning him, taking him home, being the one on his arm at the gala—it was too much to bear. Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but every glance at him, at his easy smile and the way he stood unbothered by the madness, only made it worse.
Shrieks and cheers reverberated through the hall, a deafening wave of excitement that grew with each passing second. “Oh my God, Mark!” Xiaoting’s voice cut through the chaos, high-pitched and desperate as she clutched her paddle with trembling hands. Around her, a group of girls erupted into a chorus of shouts, their voices blending into a cacophony of unrestrained glee.
“500!”
“750!”
“1000!”
“Look at them,” Karina whispered beside you, her tone a mix of amusement and disbelief. “They’re losing their minds. You okay over there?” She nudged your side lightly, but you didn’t flinch.
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him long enough to even form a coherent thought. Around you, paddles shot up in rapid succession—Aisha, then Mia, then Yeji—all of them screaming his name like it was their only hope for salvation. Your grip tightened against the fabric of your skirt, nails digging in deep enough to leave crescents on your palms.
Karina leaned closer, her voice soft and teasing. “You look like you’re about to lose it. Should I raise my paddle for you?”
You almost did it. You almost gave in. The paddle in your hand felt heavier, your arm twitching with the effort of holding it down. A possessive urge bubbled dangerously close to the surface, threatening to break the fragile restraint you’d clung to all evening. You wanted to raise it, to scream louder than anyone else, to claim him as yours in front of everyone.
You were so close to bidding every last bit of your money, the paddle trembling in your grip, when a soft laugh broke through the haze clouding your thoughts.
“You’re not seriously going to let them take him, are you?” The familiar voice startled you, and you turned to see Mark’s best friend sliding up beside you. Her tone was light and teasing, but there was an unmistakable warmth in her expression. She looked completely at ease, like the past few weeks of tension between you had never happened. “Don’t worry,” she added with a small smirk. “If you won’t bid on Mark, I will. I need to talk to him anyway.”
You blinked, your focus shifting entirely to her. She didn’t look angry, didn’t have a trace of the resentment you feared might linger. Instead, she seemed relaxed, her smile genuine, as though everything had already been forgiven. Your mind flashed to yesterday, to seeing her with Mark after the match. They’d been laughing, talking like old times. It was clear now—they’d made up.
Before you could say a word, she raised her paddle confidently, her bid loud and firm above the noise. The room stilled for a moment, a collective gasp rippling through the crowd. Girls glared daggers at her, their competitive energy now tinged with frustration, but none of them dared to go higher. The competition was over, and she’d won.
“Sold!” Coach Suh boomed through the microphone, his voice full of finality. “To Mark’s best friend.”
Relief washed over you, so potent it nearly made your knees weak. He was going home with her. Someone safe. Someone who wouldn’t expect anything more from him than conversation and companionship. The ache in your chest loosened its grip, the possessive tension you’d been carrying finally beginning to ease. For the first time all evening, you felt like you could breathe again.
Karina smirked beside you, leaning in to whisper, “Look at Mia and Aisha sulking. They thought they had a chance.”
You couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at your lips. “Serves them right.”
The energy in the room shifted dramatically as the final name was called.
Jeno.
The girls who had been sulking after losing Mark’s bid perked up instantly, their disappointment morphing into fervent excitement. Jeno came onto the stage with all the confidence of someone who knew exactly what kind of chaos he could create. His shirt was already unbuttoned, exposing his toned chest, and the sharp smirk on his lips promised more than anyone could handle.
“Let’s give them a show,” Coach Suh muttered into the microphone with an amused chuckle, stepping back as Jeno took center stage.
Jeno made a slow turn, his gaze sweeping across the room, locking briefly on the girls already screaming his name. He let out a low laugh, the sound carrying through the microphone and sending the crowd into a frenzy. Then, with a teasing glance toward the audience, he peeled off his shirt and flung it into the air.
A cluster of girls shrieked as the fabric landed, clawing at each other in a desperate attempt to claim it. Jeno didn’t seem to care who caught it. He was already kicking off his sneakers with a casual, almost lazy flair, dragging out every movement like he had all the time in the world.
When he reached for the waistband of his pants, the room collectively held its breath. His fingers lingered there, teasingly slow, before he popped the button and slid the zipper down inch by torturous inch. The fabric pooled at his ankles, and he stepped out of them with an easy grace, standing tall and unapologetic in nothing but his snug black boxers.
The eruption of screams was deafening. Girls jumped to their feet, paddles shooting into the air as they shouted over each other, their bids flying fast and loud.
“500!”
“750!”
“1,200!”
“Jeno, take it all off!” one bold voice screamed, earning a wave of laughter and a raised eyebrow from Jeno, who tilted his head slightly as if considering the request.
“Keep dreaming,” he drawled into the mic, his tone dripping with amusement as he reached for his discarded pants and slung them over his shoulder. The devilish smirk returned, and he gave a playful wink toward the source of the shout. “But I’ll let you imagine.”
Another girl’s voice rang out. “Jeno, fuck me!”
Jeno let out a low, throaty laugh, adjusting his stance on stage. “Patience, sweetheart. Gotta win me first.”
You clamped a hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh as your cheeks burned with secondhand embarrassment. Beside you, Karina wasn’t nearly as subtle. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as a snort escaped her.
The bids soared higher, the girls growing more frantic with each passing second. He leaned into the chaos, running a hand through his hair, the sharp line of his jaw catching the dim lights. He didn’t say much after that, but he didn’t have to. Every glance, every shift of his body spoke volumes, and the crowd hung on every second of his unapologetic display.
Karina nudged you, fanning herself dramatically. “Oh my God. That man is too much.”
You hummed in agreement, your eyes flicking to Jeno as he posed on stage, clearly revelling in the attention. “Mmm,” you teased, fanning yourself as well. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
But before you could even process what was happening, Mark’s best friend suddenly looped her arm through yours, her expression shifting to something more serious. “You have to bid on him,” she said, her voice low and urgent.
You blinked, startled. “What? Why me?”
She sighed, her gaze darting toward the stage where Jeno was basking in the chaos he’d created. “Because if you don’t, one of these desperate whores is going to win, and I can’t let that happen. It’s… complicated between us,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But I don’t want anyone else to be his date.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you hesitated, unsure if you should get involved. But the raw honesty in her voice struck a chord. The thought of Jeno leaving with someone who only wanted him for his body and status—or worse, someone who would treat it like a joke—made your chest tighten painfully.
With a deep breath, you raised your paddle, your voice cutting through the noise as you called out a bid so high it left the room in stunned silence. The other girls shot you venomous glares, their frustration palpable, but no one dared to challenge you.
“Sold!” Coach Suh announced, his booming voice breaking the tension. “To Y/N!”
Jeno stepped off the stage, his eyes locking onto yours. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of amusement, annoyance, and something else you couldn’t quite place. As the crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and murmurs, the weight of the night pressed heavier on your shoulders.
The gala was going to be… complicated.
You’d tried to slip away quietly, eager to retreat home and bury yourself under a pile of blankets, but Karina had intercepted you, twirling your car keys with a sly grin. “Nope. You’re staying,” she said firmly, pressing the keys into her pocket. “It’ll be good for you to socialise.”
Now, you regretted not fighting harder for your escape. You stood near one of the ornate pillars in the lavishly decorated hall, trying to melt into the shadows. The weight of the evening pressed heavily on your chest, amplified by the sight of Mark and his best friend talking quietly in the distance. You hadn’t planned on eavesdropping, but where you stood, their voices carried too clearly to ignore.
They laughed softly, their tones warm and easy, as if they’d patched up all the tension that once lingered between them. Mark’s voice rang out, a soft but happy lilt to his words. “I missed this. It feels good to have you back.”
The laughter echoed, and something inside you twisted painfully. Tears pricked your eyes, but you stayed rooted in place. Leaving would mean admitting how much it hurt, while staying felt like punishment—a way to drown yourself in the ache you couldn’t shake. You were conflicted, trapped between wanting to run and wanting to absorb every bit of Mark you could, even if it tore you apart. The image of his flushed face on the court, breathless and pushing himself too hard, flashed in your mind, making the weight of the moment even harder to bear. His health lingered at the forefront of your thoughts, feeding the guilt that gnawed at you for pulling away.
You missed him. God, you missed him so much it physically hurt. Every laugh he shared with his best friend felt like another crack in your already fragile heart. The bond they had seemed effortless, and it reminded you of everything you’d lost.
The worst part was noticing how easily he seemed to mend things with everyone else when you weren’t in the picture. His best friend, Jeno—they’d all found their way back to him, their connections seemingly stronger than ever. It was like your absence had been the missing piece, the thing that allowed everything to fall perfectly into place. And maybe it was true. Maybe you really had been the wedge all along, the one thing keeping him from the harmony he deserved. The thought lodged itself deep in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. As much as you wanted to be happy for him, to see him surrounded by people who cared, it only reminded you of how removed you were from that equation. You weren’t part of his happiness anymore.
Mark turned his head, his gaze finding you through the crowd like it always did. For a moment, time froze. His expression softened, but it was unreadable—caught somewhere between longing and restraint. You wanted to hold his gaze, but the weight of your emotions made you falter, your eyes dropping to the ground.
Beside you, Jeno stood close, his posture slightly tense as he glanced around the room, trying to appear at ease. The only reason he was here, standing beside you, was because in true Boy Toy Auction fashion, you were obligated to spend the night together. He was also your date to the upcoming gala, though it hardly felt like anything significant. Obviously, nothing would happen between you and Jeno—nothing could come out of this anymore. Whatever history you’d shared was firmly in the past, buried under the weight of everything that had changed. This was nothing more than a favor done for Mark’s best friend, a gesture born out of necessity rather than desire.
Jeno's eyes flicked to you every so often, clearly noticing the way your gaze lingered on Mark. Your expression must have given away more than you intended—sadness etched into your features, your shoulders slightly hunched.
He sighed softly, the tension between you strange but not hostile. He shifted closer, his tone light and teasing as he finally spoke, breaking the heavy silence. “Hey, Y/N, remember the last Boy Toy Auction? You bid on me, and I spent the entire night balls deep inside of you—”
Before you could even react, Mark’s head turned sharply, his eyes narrowing into a deadpan glare. His jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck taut as his gaze bore into Jeno, warning him—no, daring him— to say another word.
Jeno just chuckled, shaking his head with a mischievous grin. “What?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “It’s true. I think it was twice, actually—maybe three times. We lost count after the—”
“Stop it,” you hissed, cutting him off, your cheeks heating as you shoved him lightly. “Seriously, Jeno. Enough.”
His laughter bubbled out as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just trying to lighten the mood.” But the glint in his eye said he was enjoying the way both you and Mark bristled far too much.
You shook your head, sighing heavily. “Guess I’m stuck with you tonight,” you muttered, avoiding Mark’s gaze as you turned back to Jeno. The thought of spending the evening with him wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t exactly your first choice either.
Mark’s best friend looped her arm around his as they turned to leave together, her laugh ringing out like a chime. Watching them walk away, you felt a small, bitter pang of relief. At least it wasn’t one of the other girls. At least it was her, someone you could trust not to cross any lines.
Still, as you glanced at Jeno and then back at the disappearing figure of Mark, the weight in your chest didn’t lift. If anything, it settled deeper.
──────────────────────────────
The sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the campus in warm hues of amber and crimson. Shadows stretched across the empty quad, long and languid, as the soft rustle of leaves filled the cool evening air. The building you were in was quiet, almost hauntingly so, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of old wood floors. It was the kind of stillness that usually gave you comfort, a reprieve from the chaos of your thoughts. But tonight, it felt heavier, as though the silence itself was listening.
Jeno lingered near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with his car keys in hand. He had been ready to leave—ready to take you home—but when you mentioned you’d be staying behind to work, he pocketed the keys without a word. Now he sat on a metal stool a few feet away, his arms folded loosely across his chest, watching you.
You turned your focus to the dim red glow of the darkroom, where you’d set up trays of chemicals and hung lines for drying prints. The faint smell of developer and fixer hung in the air as you carefully placed a piece of photographic paper into the first tray, watching the image begin to bloom like magic on the surface. You worked quietly, your hands steady, the process grounding you. Photography has always been your sanctuary—a way to escape and dissolve into your own world. It was the one place where you could control the narrative, capture the beauty of fleeting moments, and make sense of chaos.
If Jeno weren’t here, you’d have your headphones on by now, fully absorbed in the ritual. Music and the rhythmic motions of developing film would have drowned out everything else. But tonight, you were hyper-aware of his presence. There was something about the way he sat silently, his posture relaxed but his gaze unyielding, that filled the small darkroom with an almost palpable weight. It wasn’t intrusive, but it was inescapable. 
He was present in a way that demanded acknowledgment, his stillness commanding as if he were daring you to forget he was there. Every time you moved, you felt his eyes tracking your motions, not judging, but consuming the details of what you were doing. It was as though he occupied more space than his body physically took up, and that kind of focus—steady, deliberate—was both grounding and unnerving. It made you hyper-aware of yourself in a way that felt slightly unnerving, his intensity lingering in the air like a storm just before it breaks.
You glanced over your shoulder, catching him staring. “Jeno, you can go if you want to,” you said, laughing softly to ease the tension. “You don’t need to stick around.”
“Ouch,” he replied, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense.
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just… no one’s gonna keep tabs on us to make sure we spend the night together after the Boy Toy Auction. It’s not that deep.��
“But what if I wanna spend the night with you?” Jeno’s voice dipped lower, his tone carrying that unmistakable flirtatious edge. You rolled your eyes, stifling a smile. He could never resist moments like this—always finding a way to slip in a sly comment. It was, after all, quintessentially Jeno.
“Okay, what’s going on with you?” you asked, your tone sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Because the last time we spoke, you called me a ‘slut.’” You addressed the elephant in the room with finality, your gaze locking onto his.
“Not the first time that’s happened,” Jeno replied smoothly, his voice dipping lower as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. His words immediately brought a rush of memories from your shared past, ones you didn’t want to linger on right now.
“Okay, you really need to stop flirting,” you laughed, shaking your head at his shamelessness.
Jeno sobered slightly, his gaze softening. “Look, I’m sorry for what I called you. I know it wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean it, and I shouldn’t have said it.”
You studied him for a moment, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. The weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying lifted slightly. “So, you’re not angry anymore?”
He shook his head, his tone soft but firm. “No, I’m not angry anymore. I already told Mark this. My frustration wasn’t about thinking I had some kind of claim over you—I know I don’t, and I never have. It was more… I don’t know… the way it happened. It caught me off guard.” He paused, his brows knitting together as if piecing his thoughts together. “It hurt because I thought we were in a good place. You’re someone I’ve always been real with, and when you kept it from me, it felt like you didn’t trust me. Like I didn’t matter enough to know.”
You swallowed hard, his words settling over you like a heavy weight. Slowly, you reached out, placing your hand on top of his. His palm was warm, steady, and it grounded you in the moment. You laced your fingers over his gently, an earnest gesture of connection, before meeting his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly but full of sincerity. “I never wanted to hurt you, Jeno. And it wasn’t about not trusting you—I swear. It was… everything felt so complicated, so overwhelming. I thought keeping it quiet would make things easier, not just for me but for everyone.” You sighed, glancing down at where your hands met. “But looking back, I see how that might have felt to you. Like I was shutting you out.”
You met his eyes again, your grip tightening on his hand. “You’ve always been important to me, Jeno. I never wanted you to feel like you didn’t matter or that I didn’t care. I was just trying to figure everything out without making it worse, but I see now that I didn’t handle it right. I’m really, truly sorry.”
Jeno nodded, his expression softening. “I get that now. And I’m sorry for how I reacted. But I want you to know—you have my blessing to be with Mark. Not that you need it,” he added with a small smile. “But if you’ve been distant because of me, don’t. I want you both to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. “It’s more complicated than that,” you murmured, your gaze dropping to your hands.
“Then help me understand,” Jeno said gently. “What’s going on?”
For a moment, the words wouldn’t come. But then, slowly, you began to unravel the knot inside you, letting everything spill out in a quiet, trembling stream. You told him about the guilt that gnawed at you, how you felt like your presence in Mark’s life only complicated things—how you feared you were hurting him more than you were helping. You admitted how hard it was to see him push himself to the brink, ignoring the signs that something was wrong, and how that fear clung to you, heavy and unrelenting, in every quiet moment. The ache of watching him, knowing you couldn’t fix what was broken, kept you awake at night, the weight of it almost unbearable.
Jeno listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable but his presence steady, grounding. The way his gaze softened as you spoke, how his hand lingered close to yours on the table, made it easier to keep going. You admitted that you’d been pulling away from Mark—not because you didn’t care, but because of the nagging feeling that you weren’t enough for him. The way he looked at you—with all that patience, all that steadiness—only made it harder. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t deserve it, that you couldn’t match the unwavering way he held space for you in his life.
Mark deserved someone who could meet him halfway, someone who wouldn’t let fear or insecurity cloud every interaction. But you? You felt like all you ever did was run—run from the emotions that overwhelmed you, run from the problems you didn’t know how to solve, and, worst of all, run from him when things got too real. You weren’t pushing him away because you didn’t want him. You were pulling away because you wanted him more than anything. Because you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, his life would be simpler without you in it. That maybe, in trying to hold onto him, you were holding him back.
And when you finally stopped, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy, charged, but somehow comforting. It was as though, for the first time, someone truly saw the tangled mess you were trying to navigate, and you could breathe just a little easier because of it. Jeno reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re overthinking everything,” he said softly. “Mark’s a big boy. He knows what he wants, and trust me—what he wants is you. Let him prove that to you.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Jeno raised a hand, stopping you before you could get the words out. “I mean it. You’re sitting here tying yourself in knots about whether you’re enough for him, but did you ever stop to think that maybe he doesn’t need you to be anything more than you already are?” His gaze held yours, steady and unrelenting, daring you to argue. “Mark doesn’t look at you like someone who complicates his life. He looks at you like someone who is his life. And yeah, I get it. Loving someone that much can be scary as hell. But running from it? That’s not protecting him. That’s just shutting him out.”
Jeno leaned back slightly, his hand dropping from your shoulder, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “You’re not holding him back. You’re the one he’s choosing, over and over again, even when it’s hard. Let him make that choice. Stop deciding for him.” He softened his tone, a hint of teasing slipping through as he added, “And honestly? If anyone deserves to be scared here, it’s Mark. You’re way out of his league.”
The teasing brought the faintest smile to your lips, but his words sank deeper than he realized. For the first time, you considered what it might mean to stop running—to let Mark see you, flaws and all, and trust that he wouldn’t walk away. It was a terrifying thought, but maybe Jeno was right. Maybe it was time to stop deciding for him
“Since when did you speak with so much wisdom?” you asked, your faint smile doing little to hide the weight of your emotions.
Jeno’s lips quirked into a playful smirk, his tone casual. “I’m a man of many surprises.”
Your chest tightened, but for the first time in weeks, there was a glimmer of clarity. “Thanks, Jeno,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“Anytime,” he replied, his smirk widening. “But if you really want to thank me, let’s wrap this up. I’m starving.”
You laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, and for a brief moment, the heaviness didn’t feel so unbearable.
You return back to your work shortly after. You were putting the final touches on your pinboard, pinning a collection of photographs with meticulous care, lost in the rhythm of your own movements. The familiar process was soothing, the smell of chemicals and the tactile sensation of the glossy prints grounding you. You didn’t even notice Jeno had wandered over until he was suddenly standing beside you, his presence undeniable as he loomed just close enough to see everything.
Jeno shifted on his feet, crossing his arms as he leaned against the frame. “Are you almost done?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of impatience. “I’m starving.”
“You don’t have to stay,” you replied absently, not looking up as you adjusted the placement of a photo. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Jeno let out a dramatic sigh, stepping further into the room. “Yeah, no, that’s not happening. I’m not leaving you here to drown in whatever artsy rabbit hole you’re about to fall into. Plus, if I wait any longer, I’m gonna start eating the film chemicals.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “Five more minutes, Jeno. I promise.”
He muttered something under his breath about starving to death and moved closer, his curiosity getting the better of him as his eyes scanned the board. But then he froze, his gaze narrowing on a set of photos in the corner—ones that made his lips quirk into a knowing smirk. “Oh,” he said, drawing out the word. “These are… interesting.”
Without another word, he plucked the prints from the board.
“Jeno, give those back!” you snapped, turning to snatch them from his hands. But he was already holding them high above his head, his teasing grin firmly in place.
“I’m just curious,” he said innocently, though the glint in his eye betrayed him. “What’s with all these Mark photos, huh?”
The shots of Mark at the river court—the ones you’d spent hours perfecting—stood out against the collage of other images. Mark mid-laugh, the sunlight catching the sharp lines of his jaw. Mark looking contemplative as he dribbled a ball, sweat glistening on his skin. Mark, raw and unfiltered, through the lens of someone who saw him for everything he was.
Jeno’s brows furrowed slightly, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “Oh, these are interesting,” he teased, plucking the photos from the board before you could stop him.
“Jeno, stop that!” you snapped, scrambling after him as he held the prints out of your reach.
“No way,” he replied, holding them high above his head like a sibling tormenting their younger counterpart. “Not until I confirm something.”
You huffed, frustrated, and tried to grab them, but his teasing grin softened into something more serious as he glanced back at the pictures in his hand. “You love him, don’t you?”
The question hit you like a freight train. You froze, the air around you growing heavier as his words settled in your chest. Love. It was a simple word, yet it carried so much weight. Loving Mark wasn’t just an emotion—it was a possibility, a dream, and a fear all rolled into one. The thought of it warmed you from the inside, a quiet, steady heat that promised something safe, something real. But it also terrified you. Love wasn’t simple. It was messy and vulnerable, and it felt like opening yourself up to something that could shatter you completely.
“Just give me the photos, Jen,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just slightly.
“Not until you admit it,” he pressed, his eyes searching yours. But when he saw the raw emotion in your expression, his smirk faded. “You do love him.”
You didn’t respond, but the silence between you said everything.
“He loves you so much, you know,” Jeno added, his voice softer now, more sincere. “So you need to stop being an idiot.”
The bluntness of his words made you laugh faintly, but it was hollow. “I’m glad you both made up,” you said instead, deflecting.
Jeno rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your subject change, but he let it slide. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.
Before you could say anything else, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. It wasn’t planned, but the weight of everything you’d been holding in—the fear, the guilt, the overwhelming love you felt—finally spilled over. Your chest heaved as the first sob broke free, and before you knew it, you were crying into Jeno’s shoulder.
He didn’t say anything at first, just held you firmly, one hand gently stroking your back while the other rested protectively on your head. “Hey, hey,” he murmured softly. “I got you. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, but when your sobs finally subsided, Jeno pressed a light kiss to your forehead, the gesture so tender it made your chest ache. “I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt, okay?” he said quietly. “You’re not alone in this.”
You sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile. “You never used to comfort me this well when we were together.”
He laughed, his usual teasing tone slipping back into place. “Yeah, well, I had a lot to learn back then. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Jeno slung his arm around your shoulders as the two of you finally left the darkroom, his warmth grounding you against the chill of the hallway. His presence, steady and reassuring, felt like an anchor after the emotional storm you’d just weathered. Still, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder—was his sudden change, his emotional depth and patience, because of someone he’d been seeing?
You rolled your eyes at yourself, but the thought lingered, tugging at your curiosity. Finally, you broke the silence, glancing up at him with a faint smirk. “So,” you began, your tone light but laced with genuine interest, “what’s going on with you and Mark’s best friend?”
Jeno chuckled softly, his grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. “What, are you jealous?” he teased, though the faint flicker of something unreadable in his expression made you wonder if he’d answer seriously.
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The bedroom was a mix of soft lighting and laughter, the faint hum of music playing from Karina’s phone as she sat across from you, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her hands worked with precision, blending and dabbing with a level of effort that made you feel like you were her only priority. It was almost amusing how much effort she seemed to be putting into your look—more than she’d probably spent on her own.
Karina’s hands moved like an artist painting her masterpiece, each brushstroke precise, deliberate, and filled with care. Her brows furrowed in intense focus, the tip of her tongue peeking out slightly as she tilted your chin this way and that, ensuring every angle caught the light just right. It wasn’t just makeup—it was a quiet ritual, a transformation unfolding under her deft touch.
The soft glam she created was understated yet mesmerizing, like the way sunlight filters through a lace curtain—delicate, natural, but impossible to ignore. A soft shimmer adorned your eyelids, catching the light like the faintest sparkle of dew at dawn. The blush on your cheeks was barely there, just enough to mimic the warmth of laughter, while your lips gleamed with a subtle gloss, like a whisper of silk against your skin. Karina’s artistry didn’t mask you; it elevated you, amplifying what was already there. You looked at your reflection and felt something bloom—beauty, confidence, and the quiet awe of seeing yourself through her eyes.
When she stepped back to admire her work, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “You know, I think today is the perfect opportunity to make up with Mark. Tell him how sorry you are, how hot he looks, and how badly you want to suck his cock.”
“Karina!” you tut, swatting her arm as your cheeks heat. “Stop that.” You sighed, glancing at your reflection and biting your lip. “I won’t even see him today. Remember? I’m going with Jeno, and he’s going with his best friend.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, giving you a knowing look. You hesitated, trying to shove down the thought tugging at your mind: a tiny part of you did wish you were going with Mark. But it felt selfish, so you didn’t say it out loud. Instead, you let yourself wonder for just a moment how the night might have gone if you were by his side, before sighing again. It’s not meant to be.
“Now, change into your dress, sexy,” Karina said, snapping you out of your thoughts with a playful slap on your bum. You giggled, standing up as she ushered you toward the wardrobe.
“And don’t forget the lingerie,” she called after you.
You groaned but knew better than to argue. The black two-piece set was impossibly revealing, the lace pattern delicate but bold against your skin. The thong sat high on your hips, elongating your legs, while the matching bra was all thin straps and intricate lace, teasing just enough without being overbearing. You adjusted it in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath before pulling on the gown.
The dress was elegance with an edge, an emerald green design that skimmed your curves with perfect precision. The silk fabric shimmered faintly under the light, subtle and luxurious, catching the movement of your body as though it was alive. Its plunging neckline framed your collarbones and offered a delicate hint of skin, daring yet refined, never crossing the line into excess.
The backless design swept low, exposing the curve of your spine, with slender crisscross straps resting lightly on your shoulders. The thigh-high slit added just enough intrigue, revealing glimpses of your leg as you moved, while the gentle train behind you added a touch of timeless sophistication. It was a dress that balanced boldness and class effortlessly, designed to draw attention without demanding it.
As you stood before the mirror, adjusting the soft, flowing fabric over your hips, you couldn’t help but admire the way the gown seemed to transform you. The deep green brought out the warmth of your skin, while your choice of gold jewelry—delicate earrings, a thin chain that kissed your collarbones, and a simple bracelet—added a touch of understated elegance.
Underneath, the black lace lingerie you wore felt like a quiet secret, something just for you, a small reminder of confidence tucked away beneath the fabric. You smoothed the dress one last time, feeling beautiful, poised, and ready. It wasn’t just the dress—it was the way it made you feel, comfortable in your own skin, confident enough to face whatever the night had in store.
Karina stood beside you, crossing her arms as she gave you an approving once-over. “God, I’d do you,” she said, her tone half-joking but her gaze serious.
You wiggled your eyebrows, smirking as you turned toward her. “We could just ditch the ball and stay home, we could just make out instead. What do you think?”
She burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Tempting, but we can’t waste these looks. Let’s go turn some heads.”
You grabbed your matching clutches, sharing one last amused look with her before heading downstairs.
The messages from Jeno sat unanswered on your phone, a trail of confusion and mild irritation tugging at your mood.
You’d asked him when he’d pick you up—no response. Then if he was ready—again, no response. Your final attempt, a half-joking “Are you alive?” was also met with silence. You stared at the empty notifications, wondering what was up with him. 
A knock at the door jolted you from your thoughts, and you sighed in relief. Finally, he was probably here. Ready to open the door and scold him, you were halfway to turning the knob when your phone buzzed with a new message. Narrowing your eyes, you glanced down.
jeno — sorry
jeno — you’re gonna thank me one day!
Confusion prickled at your mind. If he was outside, why was he messaging you? Still frowning, you swung the door open, ready to ask what he meant.
And froze.
Standing in front of you wasn’t Jeno. It was Mark.
His soft brown eyes held yours with a quiet intensity, grounding you in place as your pulse quickened. He looked effortlessly captivating—his tailored black suit accentuating the strong lines of his broad shoulders and lean frame, the sharp cut softened by the warmth in his gaze. Loose strands of hair fell just perfectly, framing his face in a way that made him look both polished and impossibly familiar, as though he belonged right here, at your doorstep, waiting for you.
The bouquet in his hands was a vibrant array of peonies, their soft, layered petals in shades of blush pink and ivory catching the dim light. They were nestled among delicate sprigs of baby’s breath, their tiny white blooms adding a gentle contrast, and a few stems of eucalyptus, their pale green leaves curling elegantly around the arrangement. The scent was subtle yet intoxicating—a mix of fresh florals and earthy undertones that filled the air between you. The flowers were perfect, chosen with care, as though he had known exactly what would make your heart skip a beat.
Your breath hitched. “Mark.” His name slipped from your lips in a quiet whisper, soft and instinctive, as if it had always been there, waiting to be spoken.
The corners of his mouth curved into a gentle smile, warm and knowing. “Hi, beautiful.”
His greeting made your heart stutter, but you pushed the feeling aside. “You’re not supposed to be here,” you said, your voice colder than you intended.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Donghyuck standing awkwardly by the side, clearly uncomfortable but too amused to leave just yet. Karina’s wide eyes and poorly hidden smirk added to the chaos. For once, she stayed silent, taking in the unexpected scene with an air of approval.
Mark’s voice wrapped around you, soft yet commanding, every word feeling like it was meant only for you. “I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, holding yours as if nothing else in the world mattered. “Jeno and I agreed to swap—so I could be here, with you.”
“I need—” you stammered, your voice shaking as panic clawed at your chest. “I need some air. I need to get my phone from my room.” The words tumbled out, frantic and disjointed, as you tried to pull away, your pulse pounding in your ears.
But before you could take a step, his hand wrapped around your wrist, firm yet careful, his warmth searing into your skin. The contact sent a jolt through your entire body, leaving you frozen in place. Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t help but glance at where his fingers pressed against you, firm and unwavering. 
“You’re holding your phone,” he said, his voice calm but edged with a knowing smirk that made your stomach flip. His thumb brushed against your wrist absentmindedly, and the sensation sent your thoughts spiraling further into chaos.
Your voice cracked as you tried again. “I need my headphones.”
Mark didn’t budge. His grip stayed firm but never forceful, grounding you in a way that sent your heart racing. He didn’t break eye contact for a second, his gaze steady and unwavering, pinning you in place as though he could see every chaotic thought racing through your mind. “Karina,” he called over his shoulder, his tone calm yet laced with authority, making Karina’s eyes widen in surprise. “Get Y/N’s headphones.”
You narrowed your eyes as Karina veered the opposite way, heading toward the front door instead of your roomX She exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Donghyuck, then gave you a playful shrug, mouthing “Good luck!” as she stepped outside with him. The door clicked shut behind them, and the weight of the silence that followed was suffocating. You stood there, your pulse racing, Mark’s gaze never leaving you, the space between you shrinking with every shaky breath.
“Mark,” you murmured, your voice trembling despite the sulk you tried to force into it. His name fell from your lips as if it belonged there, as natural and instinctive as breathing. You felt your resolve crumbling under the weight of his gaze, the intensity in his eyes leaving you vulnerable in ways you weren’t prepared for.
He stepped closer, his presence filling every inch of space between you, and before you could stop yourself, your arms looped around his shoulders. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him, grounding you in his warmth. “I’m here because I want to be with you,” he said, his voice low, steady, but carrying an unmistakable depth. “I only wanted you to be my date at the gala. I wished you’d bid on me that night.”
“Why?” you whispered, your throat tight, your heart pounding like it was trying to break free.
His hesitation was brief, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you understood every word. “Because I love you,” he said, his tone soft yet firm, wrapping around you like a promise. “You’re mine, and you know that. No matter how much you try to push me away, it doesn’t change the truth. I’d fight for you, harder than anyone. You know that, don’t you?”
His words shattered something fragile inside you, unravelling emotions you’d worked so hard to contain. Your chest tightened, your throat ached, and you could barely keep the tears at bay. “Don’t make me cry with this makeup on,” you mumbled, biting your lip in a futile attempt to hold everything back.
Mark cupped your face gently, tilting your chin so you couldn’t look away. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his tone firm but impossibly tender. His thumbs brushed against your cheekbones, careful not to smudge the makeup you’d so painstakingly applied.
You wanted to be angry at how he was holding you, at how he was effortlessly pulling you into his world when you were supposed to be distancing yourself. But the way he looked at you—steady, warm, like you were the only thing that mattered—made it impossible. The conflict raged inside you. How could you act like everything was fine? How could you let yourself fall into his arms after all the ways you’d hurt him, after all the ways you knew you didn’t deserve this?
But Mark had always been the only thing that could ground you, and tonight was no exception. Against every logical thought, against every ounce of guilt that clawed at you, your body betrayed you. You stepped closer, your arms tightening around him, burying your face in his shoulder. Mark sighed, the sound deep and almost relieved, as if this moment meant as much to him as it did to you. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, pulling you closer, anchoring you.
The tension between you crackled like static, heavy and charged. Mark leaned in slowly, the movement deliberate, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath was warm, shallow, mingling with your own as the space between you grew smaller, impossibly close. Your eyes flickered to his lips—soft, slightly parted, achingly tempting. Everything about this moment felt like a gravitational pull, and it took all the strength you had to resist closing the distance.
His hand brushed lightly along your arm, sending shivers racing down your spine. You wanted to give in, to feel his lips against yours, to let the moment consume you entirely. But as the seconds stretched, you pulled back just enough to break the spell, your heart pounding violently in your chest.
Mark didn’t miss a beat. A soft smile curved his lips, as if he understood your hesitation but refused to let the moment fall away. “I missed you, baby,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as his hands found yours. In one smooth motion, he raised your hands above your head and spun you in a playful circle, his laughter low and intimate. When he stopped you to face him again, his eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail with a slow, deliberate sweep that made your cheeks flush. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a soft, boyish smile. “Look at my girl,” he whispered, his voice rich with affection and awe. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
His words were a quiet litany of praise, murmured softly into your ear as his fingers brushed along your arm, your waist, your back. Each compliment sank into you, warming your cheeks and making your pulse race. For the first time in what felt like forever, the smile that spread across your face wasn’t forced or fleeting. It was real. It was yours. And it was because of him.
You gulped, feeling the weight of everything between you—the unspoken words, the fragile tension, the undeniable pull that had always existed. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely steady. “We can be like… this. But just for tonight.”
Mark tilted his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees feel weak. His eyes darkened, not with frustration but with something deeper—tenderness, longing, and a quiet determination that seemed to anchor the air between you. “Just tonight?” he repeated softly, his voice low and deliberate, as if testing the words on his tongue. His tone made it clear he didn’t believe you, not for a second.
He stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek, the touch featherlight yet grounding. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his expression unreadable but warm. “You don’t mean that,” he murmured, his breath brushing your skin. “Because you know I don’t do halfway. Not with you.”
The way he said it, the certainty in his voice, made your chest tighten. It wasn’t a question or a plea—it was a promise, one you weren’t sure you deserved but couldn’t bring yourself to deny. His eyes searched yours as if he could see every fear, every hesitation, and was ready to hold them all for you.
“I’m scared,” you mumbled, your voice breaking as the vulnerability spilled out. Your gaze dropped to where his hand rested at his side, but before you could pull away, he closed the distance between you. 
Mark’s hand slid up your arm, tracing a slow path to your shoulder, then to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed across your cheek, a tender, grounding touch that made you feel like you might fall apart and hold steady all at once. “I know,” he whispered, his breath warm as it ghosted over your lips.
He brought your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing gently to your knuckles, the kiss lingering as if to reassure you in ways words couldn’t. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, the closeness making you feel drawn into him, in his steady, unwavering presence.
He leaned in, the warmth radiating from him enveloping you like a quiet promise, his tone softer this time—a reassurance wrapped in tenderness. “But I got you,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise that wrapped around you. His other hand found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your gown.
“You got me,” you hummed, the words spilling out instinctively as if they’d been waiting to be said. Your arms slide around his neck, pulling him closer. For the first time in a long while, the fear in your chest began to ebb, replaced by the steady, unshakable rhythm of his presence.
Mark pulls you closer, his hands steadying you as they hold your waist, thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of your back. He pulled back just enough to rest his lips against your temple, murmuring softly, “You’re safe with me. Always.”
And in that moment, with his arms holding you firmly yet gently, the world seemed to still. Every touch, every whispered word, anchored you, replacing your fear with the quiet comfort of his love.
──────────────────────────────
The grand double doors creaked open, revealing you at the top of the staircase, and in an instant, the entire room shifted. Conversations hushed, glasses paused mid-air, and all eyes turned toward you, drawn as if by an invisible force. The entrance was nothing short of cinematic, a moment that felt suspended in time.
The stairs stretched wide beneath your feet, their polished marble gleaming under the soft golden glow of the chandeliers. Each step was bordered by intricate railings adorned with garlands of greenery and delicate blossoms, a testament to the care and precision poured into every detail of the evening. The music swelled at just the right moment—a stringed harmony that seemed to follow your every move, adding an almost otherworldly quality to your entrance.
As you reached the first step of the grand staircase, you instinctively turned to look for him. But instead of being by your side, as you’d expected, Mark was a few steps behind, standing near the entrance to the hall. The realization hit you immediately. He was giving you your moment, stepping back so you could have the spotlight entirely to yourself. His expression held no trace of impatience, only quiet pride, as if he wanted the world to see you exactly as he did—radiant, breathtaking, and completely deserving of all the attention. His smile was devastatingly handsome, the kind that felt like it could melt away every ounce of your anxiety. 
His gaze never wavered, fixed on you with an intensity that made the rest of the room blur into nothing. He didn’t need to say a word; the look in his eyes told you everything. He was proud of you, enamored by you, and willing to fade into the background so you could have your moment in the spotlight. And in that instant, it didn’t matter that the hall was filled with whispers, envious stares, and admiring gasps—because all you could see was him.
As you reached the bottom of the staircase, Mark’s eyes softened the moment they met yours, and a warm smile spread across his face as he stepped closer. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed your forehead—a gentle, grounding touch that sent a wave of warmth through you.
“I have to do some crap with the basketball team since this is a sports gala,” he murmured, his voice low and meant only for you. His lips brushed against your temple as he pulled back slightly, his gaze lingering. “But I’ll find you later, yeah? I won’t be too long.”
You nodded, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll be here,” you replied softly, your voice steady even though your heart felt a twinge of disappointment at his brief departure.
Mark gave you one last look, his hand squeezing yours before he stepped away, his broad frame moving effortlessly through the crowd. You watched him for a moment, the way his presence commanded attention even when he wasn’t trying, before turning to make your way toward the far side of the hall where your friends were waiting.
As you approached, all eyes were on you—not just the envious stares from around the room, but the wide-eyed gazes of your cheer squad. Karina was the first to react, her expression breaking into one of delight as she practically rushed toward you, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
“Look at you!” Karina exclaimed, her hands clasping yours tightly as her eyes swept over your gown, her expression a mix of pride and awe. “Y/N, you look absolutely stunning—like, I knew you would, but this? You’re completely stealing the show!” Her voice was brimming with excitement, so enthusiastic and full of admiration that it was easy to forget she had been the one helping you get ready just hours ago. You couldn’t help but smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you took in how genuine she was, acting as though she were seeing you for the first time. That was what you loved most about her—how her energy made even the simplest moments feel special, as if this wasn’t just your night but hers to celebrate, too.
Winter wasn’t far behind, circling you with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god, is this custom?” she teased, her eyes narrowing as she inspected every detail of your gown. For a moment, you thought she was joking, but then her expression softened, her tone surprisingly genuine. “I mean it, Y/N. This dress? It’s stunning—you’re stunning. Honestly, if anyone doesn’t say it, they’re just jealous.” Her words caught you off guard, and you blinked at her, momentarily speechless. Winter rarely compliments anyone—least of all you—and the unexpected sincerity in her voice made the moment even more surreal. It was so unlike her that you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of gratitude and disbelief, her admiration settling over you like an unfamiliar but welcome warmth.
Even Aisha and Mia, who usually kept their compliments begrudging at best, exchanged a quick glance, their expressions shifting from mild disinterest to reluctant acknowledgment. They both nodded, a quiet, mutual agreement passing between them. For once, they couldn’t deny it—you had outshone everyone tonight, and even they weren’t stubborn enough to ignore it.
You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension you’d been carrying earlier melting away under their praise. “Thanks, guys,” you said, your voice light but full of gratitude.
The girls huddled closer, each of them gushing over the intricate details of your gown—the subtle shimmer, the perfect fit, the way the slit revealed just enough to make a statement without being overdone. It felt like a moment straight out of a movie, their chatter blending with the soft hum of the music and the occasional clink of glasses in the background.
The grandeur of the hall became more apparent the longer you stood there, its opulence creating the perfect backdrop for the evening. Soft, golden lighting spilled from grand chandeliers overhead, their crystals sparkling like tiny fireflies against the high ceilings. Rich drapes lined the walls, the fabric so luxurious it seemed to glow in the warm light. The polished floors reflected the grandeur above, their surface so pristine it looked almost like glass.
A live orchestra played in the corner, their music smooth and timeless, weaving a melody that felt like it belonged to another era. The sound wrapped around the room, adding a sense of intimacy to the elegance. Students moved gracefully across the space, their gowns and sharp suits adding splashes of color to the muted golds and whites of the venue. Laughter floated through the air, mingling with the soft clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of applause from a corner of the room.
This wasn’t just another event—it was the event. The end-of-year gala was a cornerstone of the campus social calendar, a tradition rooted in celebration and anticipation. It wasn’t just about dressing up and mingling; it was about honoring the basketball team’s journey and rallying the entire school behind them as they prepared for the upcoming state championships. The gala served as both a fundraiser and a morale booster, bringing together students, faculty, and sponsors to show their support. For the players, it was a night of recognition, a moment to celebrate their hard work before stepping into the high-stakes games ahead.
For Mark, tonight wasn’t about being in the spotlight but about supporting Jeno, the team’s captain. While the responsibilities of leading the team weren’t Mark’s to shoulder, he stood by Jeno, helping him navigate the attention and endless conversations with faculty, donors, and supporters. Mark had always been quietly dependable, offering his steady presence and easy charm to smooth over the tensions that came with such a high-profile night. But even with his focus on helping Jeno, it was clear where his attention truly lay. Because for all the glamour and importance of the gala, none of it really mattered to him.
What mattered was you.
When Mark finally found you again, it was as if the entire room faded away. His gaze locked onto yours instantly, and the magnetic pull of his eyes was undeniable. They burned with a quiet intensity, soft yet unwavering, as though they could see straight through to your soul. The connection between you was immediate, unshakable, and in that moment, it felt like the rest of the world simply didn’t exist.
As he made his way across the hall, his focus never wavered. His steps were confident, deliberate, and the closer he got, the more the butterflies in your stomach stirred. Around you, the chatter of your friends faded, their gazes darting between the two of you as they exchanged knowing glances.
Aisha and Mia’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and begrudging acknowledgment flashing across their faces. Karina, on the other hand, beamed like a proud mother, her smile practically glowing as she nudged Winter with her elbow. “Look at that,” she whispered, loud enough for you to hear but without drawing too much attention. “He only has eyes for her.”
And he did.
When he finally reached you, Mark’s smile widened, soft but undeniably real. He stopped just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his presence commanding and grounding all at once.
After a brief exchange of teasing from the girls, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and meant only for you. “Dance with me?”
You nodded, the words catching in your throat, and he took your hand. His touch was warm, grounding, as he led you to the center of the room. The grandeur of the hall, the shimmer of lights and muted conversations, all faded into the background the moment his hand slid into yours. The other rested lightly on your waist, his fingers pressing just enough to guide you.
The music swelled, soft and sweeping, as you moved together effortlessly, each step in perfect harmony. His touch was firm but delicate, and the gentle pressure of his thumb brushing against the bare skin of your back through the slit of your dress sent warmth blooming across your cheeks. You tilted your head slightly to look at him, the closeness between you making it impossible to focus on anything else.
The jealous stares from cheerleaders, the murmured whispers—none of it registered. You could notice it if you wanted to, the way their gazes lingered, the quiet judgment hidden behind their half-smiles. But for the first time, you realized you didn’t care. It didn’t affect you anymore, because this moment—being with him—was more important than any of their opinions. They didn’t know the history between you, the nights spent laughing until sunrise, the quiet moments when he held you together without needing to say a word. And here, now, in his arms, you felt the steady beat of his heart against yours. His gaze never left your face, as if memorizing every detail, and you felt your resolve to keep him at arm’s length unraveling, piece by piece. Nothing outside this moment mattered, not when his presence was enough to drown out the rest of the world.
He shifted his hand slightly, his fingers brushing a little higher along your back, drawing you closer as he guided you through another step. The rhythm of the music matched the quiet intensity between you, and the feel of his breath, warm against your temple, sent a shiver down your spine.
“I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice breaking through the haze of the moment.
“I missed you more,” you murmured back, the words trembling with honesty.
His grip on you tightened slightly, his hand brushing along your back, grounding you even further. “I love you,” he said, his voice earnest and steady, like a vow. “And I just want you to know—whatever happened, whoever hurt you, I’ll always be on your side. Okay? When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be here. Always.”
You nodded, the lump in your throat threatening to spill over. His words held a warmth that wrapped around you, but they also chipped away at the walls you’d spent weeks building. “Okay,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.
Mark’s lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to commit every inch of it to memory. “And if you want to push me away for good,” he added, his voice dipping lower, “you’re going to have to try harder.”
Something about the way he said it—his voice, his unwavering gaze, the way his touch lingered—undid you. His eyes burned into yours, brimming with love, longing, and something so steadfast it made you ache. It was as though he was silently pulling you closer, daring you to cross the invisible line you’d been holding yourself back from. He wasn’t just standing there; he was holding you in every possible way—grounding you with his presence, consuming you with his touch, and filling the air between you with the kind of tension that begged to be resolved. Tonight, he looked so effortlessly captivating, so familiar and yet more devastatingly handsome than ever. He wasn’t just the man you’d fallen for; he was everything.
You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to pull him closer and claim him as yours again. The need was undeniable, rushing through you like a flood you couldn’t stop. Instinctively, your eyes darted around the room, taking in the happiness blooming in every corner. Chenle was twirling Ningning around in an exaggerated dance, her laughter spilling out like music. Jeno was leaned over, cracking some joke with Mark’s best friend, their grins wide and unrestrained. Jaemin and Winter stood by the refreshment table, sharing whispered jokes and sly glances that made her cheeks flush. Even Karina and Donghyuck, who usually bickered over everything, were smiling and giggling together, their heads close as if sharing a secret. It felt like the entire room was alive with warmth and joy, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you wanted to let yourself have some of it.
You wanted to give yourself this—to let the happiness you saw around you settle in your chest, even if just for a moment. For so long, you had let other people’s opinions and expectations dictate your choices, weighing their judgment heavier than your own feelings. But as you stood there, surrounded by the unfiltered joy radiating from every corner of the room, you realized something monumental: it wasn’t your priority to make them happy.
Their whispers, their raised brows, their assumptions—they didn’t matter. They weren’t the ones living with your choices, carrying your heartbreak, or holding your love. You were tired of sacrificing your happiness for the approval of people who would never truly understand the depths of what you felt. This moment wasn’t about them; it was about you. And for once, you decided to let go of the need to please anyone but yourself.
You gulped, your heart racing as you felt your body betray every ounce of hesitation still clinging to you. Before you could stop the pull, before your second thoughts could win, you broke. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the fabric of his suit as you leaned in. Your forehead brushed against his, the soft touch making your breath hitch before you tilted your face upward.
And then, you kissed him.
It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was hard, desperate, and full of everything you’d been holding back. Your lips crashed into his like they’d been starving, and Mark didn’t hesitate. His arms moved instantly, encircling you tightly, holding you close as if he feared you might slip away. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm that somehow contradicted the sheer intensity of the moment. Every kiss felt like a confession, every brush of his lips a vow, as he poured all the words he hadn’t said into the kiss.
His fingers found the bare skin of your back through the slit of your dress, the warmth of his touch searing through the thin fabric and sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel him smile against your lips, that quiet, confident grin that had always undone you. You couldn’t help but smile back, the connection between you so real, so electric, that it almost hurt. But the ache in your chest wasn’t enough to stop you—it only drove you closer, needing to feel him, to know that this wasn’t a dream. His hands trailed up to your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if you were something fragile, something precious. Every touch was soft yet deliberate, and the way he held you made you feel seen, safe, and whole.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and overwhelmed, Mark’s gaze was waiting for you, warm and steady. He looked at you like you were his whole world, and it was almost too much to bear.
But then it hit you—all at once, like a tidal wave crashing over the calm you’d just found. The weight of everything between you came rushing back with brutal force. The guilt—sharp and unrelenting—overwhelmed the brief happiness that had blossomed in his arms. The fear—the kind that clung to your chest and made it hard to breathe—reminded you of everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t faced. And then there was the truth, raw and unforgiving: Mark’s heart condition, the secret he’d been carrying alone, something he had hidden from you not out of malice but to shield you from worry. It made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t put into words, the thought of his quiet suffering twisting the knife of guilt even deeper.
You felt the sting of realization claw at you, tearing through the moment you had just shared. How could you let yourself have this—this happiness, this closeness—when there were so many unresolved pieces between you? The thought of how much he had endured alone, of the strength he always seemed to carry for you and everyone else, only made the weight heavier. And beneath it all, the whisper of self-doubt grew louder: You’re not enough for him. Not yet. Not when you were still struggling to piece yourself back together. Not when you couldn’t protect him the way he always seemed to protect you.
The whiplash of emotions was dizzying—joy to guilt, hope to fear—all spinning so fast that you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath. The kiss had been everything you wanted, but reality came crashing in, reminding you why you’d held back in the first place. The walls you thought you’d let crumble began rebuilding themselves, your mind scrambling to retreat into safety. You couldn’t do this, not now. Not like this.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Instead, your body betrayed you. With a trembling gasp, you wrenched yourself out of his hold, stepping back as though the distance could somehow quiet the storm raging inside you. His hands fell to his sides, the loss of his touch like a jolt of cold air against your skin.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking with something between shock and desperation.
“I need to go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You didn’t dare look at him, didn’t dare face the hurt you knew would be etched into his features. Instead, you turned, your legs shaky as you bolted toward the exit, each step tearing at the fragile bond that tethered you to him.
You bolted through the grand hall, past the murmurs of onlookers and the faint strains of music, your chest heaving as the weight of everything crashed down on you. The guilt, the fear, and the raw vulnerability of Mark’s presence—it was too much. The cool night air hit your face like a slap when you pushed through the doors, your breath hitching as tears spilled over your lashes. You didn’t stop running, didn’t look back.
Behind you, you heard him call your name, the anguish in his voice almost making you stop. Almost. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because staying meant facing everything you weren’t ready to confront, and right now, running felt like the only thing keeping you from breaking completely.
Your heels clicked against the pavement as you darted across campus, weaving through familiar paths without a destination in mind. You just needed to get away, to put distance between you and the emotions that felt too big to handle.
“Y/N!” His voice rang out, closer this time, rough and full of urgency. You didn’t slow down, forcing your legs to carry you further even as they burned. You could hear his footsteps pounding behind you, relentless, closing in like he wouldn’t let you go.
Finally, your path led you to the back of the sports complex, where the basketball locker rooms loomed, dimly lit and eerily quiet in the late hour. You shoved the door open, stepping into the stark fluorescent light, the scent of sweat and disinfectant overwhelming you. It was a place you’d been before, but tonight it felt foreign, almost suffocating.
Mark caught up with you just as the door swung shut behind him. “What the hell, Y/N?” he demanded, his voice harsh and breathless. He was angry—angrier than you’d ever seen him. His broad shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
“Just tell me what’s going on.” Mark’s tone was low, firm, but it carried an edge you weren’t used to. When you didn’t stop, his footsteps quickened, closing the gap between you. “Y/N, stop,” he demanded, his hand grabbing your arm gently but insistently, turning you to face him. “I’m done waiting.”
You turned away from him, your hands gripping one of the metal lockers for support as you fought to calm the storm raging inside you. “Leave me alone!” you snapped, pulling your arm away. “Just… forget it, okay?” you said, your voice trembling, but it didn’t have the conviction you wanted.
Mark froze, his jaw tightening. The flicker of hurt in his eyes was replaced by something you hadn’t seen before—anger. Not frustration, not disappointment, but a raw, simmering fury that made your chest tighten. “You know what? I’m so fucking done with you,” he said, his voice louder, harsher.
You gasped, your heart skipping a beat at the sheer force of his tone. Mark had always been patient, gentle even when things got difficult. But this? This was a side of him you hadn’t seen before, a side that made you realize how much he’d been holding back. His anger was more intense than Jeno’s, which said everything about how deeply you’d pushed him.
“I’ve been so patient,” he continued, stepping closer, his eyes blazing. “So understanding. And what have you given back? Absolutely fucking nothing.”
“Mark,” you started, but he cut you off, his voice sharp and unwavering.
“You pushed me away. You shut me out. And then you made decisions for both of us without even giving me a choice. Do you even realise how unfair that is? You don’t get to decide what’s best for me and then run.”
“Why do you love me so much?” you screamed, the words bursting out of you before you could stop them. “Why can’t you just let me go?”
“Because I do!” he shouted back, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t get to tell me who I can love or not. That’s for me to decide. That’s mine. No one can tell me—not my friends, not my family, not even you. I love you because I do. I don’t need to fucking justify it.”
The tension between you was suffocating, his words breaking through every barrier you’d tried to put up. “You’re scared, I get it,” he continued, his tone softening but still intense. “But you bury it so deep that it ends up hurting us both.”
“Scared?” you shot back, your voice sharper now, almost defensive. “You keep throwing that word at me like it explains everything. But maybe you’re the one who’s scared. Scared to see that I’m not who you think I am. Scared to admit that this—us—might not be as perfect as you want it to be.”
“Stop deflecting,” he snapped, his voice cutting through your defenses like a blade. “You’re scared of being vulnerable. You’re scared of me seeing the worst of you. And instead of letting me in, you use me as an excuse to keep running. This isn’t about me—it’s about you.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t stop. “It’s like you’re waiting for me to give up on you, just so you can say you were right. Well, I won’t. I’m not giving up on us, but you have to stop running. You have to stop hiding.”
“I don’t know how!” you admitted, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”
“You think I need perfect?” he asked, his voice quieter now but still filled with intensity. “I don’t. I need you. All of you. The messy, broken, scared parts, too. But you won’t even let me fight for you. You think I wouldn’t give everything for us? That I wouldn’t fight through all the shit just to be with you?”
You couldn’t respond, the lump in your throat choking you as his words sank in.
“Do you know how fucking hard it is to feel like you’re the only one trying?” he continued, his voice trembling now, betraying the pain he’d been holding back. “To feel like I’m standing here, giving you everything, and you’re just… gone?”
Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you covered your face with your hands, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I just… I didn’t know how to deal with any of this.”
Your chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
But the sympathy you expected didn’t come. His jaw clenched, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Sorry?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’ve been shutting me out, pushing me away for weeks, and I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I don’t deserve this. This is absolute crap. What happened to us promising each other that we’d be open, that we’d communicate?”
The dam inside you finally broke. “You think I’m the only one who’s not fucking communicating and being open?” you yelled, your voice trembling with anger. “You have a heart condition, Mark! And you’ve been playing like nothing’s wrong! You’re a fucking idiot.”
His expression froze, his eyes widening in shock. “How do you know?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.
You swallowed hard, your voice quieter but no less biting. “Your dad told me,” you admitted, the weight of the secret you’d been holding finally slipping out.
Mark took a step back, his jaw tightening. “My dad told you?” he repeated, his voice rising again, anger lacing every word. “So you’ve been holding this over me, knowing, and you didn’t say anything? You just let it fester instead of coming to me?”
“You’re mad at me?” you shot back, your voice shaking with frustration. “You’ve been hiding this, playing with your life like it doesn’t matter, and I’m the one you’re angry with?”
“Yes, I’m mad!” he snapped. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. And instead of trusting me, you go and act like it’s some weapon to use when you’re ready to blow up.”
Your fists clenched, your nails digging into your palms. “I didn’t use it as a weapon! I didn’t even know how to process it. Do you know how it feels to see you out there, pushing yourself, knowing you could—” Your voice broke, the words catching in your throat. “Knowing you could collapse and it would be your fault for not telling anyone? For not doing anything about it?” 
He raked a hand through his hair, his own frustration spilling over. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I don’t know my limits?”
“Clearly, you don’t!” you fired back, your voice cracking. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be out there risking everything. You wouldn’t be hiding it.”
“And what would telling you have done?” he countered, his voice quieter but no less heated. “You’d have worried yourself sick, and then what? You’d have tried to fix something you can’t fix, like you always do.”
The words hit you hard, the truth in them stinging more than you wanted to admit. “That’s not fair,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Mark. You don’t get to decide that for me.”
His gaze softened for a fleeting second before his frustration returned. “And you don’t get to decide that hiding things, shutting me out, is somehow okay. We promised each other, didn’t we? Or does that only matter when it’s convenient for you?”
Your mind raced, the weight of everything between you pressing down like an unbearable force. You didn’t know what was going to happen next—whether the silence would shatter with another heated argument or if you’d both just turn away, leaving everything unresolved.
Your eyes betrayed you, roaming over him despite the chaos in your head. The way his broad shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin under the dim light. The way his chest heaved with every ragged breath. His shirt stuck to his body in places, damp with sweat from both the argument and his barely-contained anger.
Mark’s jaw clenches so tightly you could see the muscles flex beneath his skin. His hair was messy, strands falling across his forehead, and his lips were pressed into a hard line. You could feel the frustration radiating off him in waves, filling the room with an electric tension that sent shivers down your spine.
His frustration only made him look hotter, his expression stormy, his eyes sharp and burning into yours. It was infuriating—how someone could look so good when you were this furious. And yet, beneath your anger, something primal stirred.
You hated how much he affected you.
You shifted uncomfortably, your thighs pressing together as heat pooled low in your stomach, the ache demanding attention. You hated how much you wanted him, how the argument and his frustration only made you ache for him more. It wasn’t logical, it wasn’t fair, but it was undeniable. This wasn’t how you wanted to feel—not now, not after everything but the ache was undeniable. Memories flood your mind, how he fits, how he feels—how perfectly he fills you, how he takes control and leaves you gasping. 
And before you could second-guess yourself, you gasped and grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric and yanking him toward you roughly. Your lips collided with his in a kiss that wasn’t soft or forgiving—it was feral, raw, and dripping with need. You pushed at his chest, your nails digging into the hard planes of his body through the fabric as if desperate to tear it off. He didn’t hesitate for even a second. His hands found their way into your hair, tangling roughly as he yanked your head back, the sharp sting making you whimper against his lips. His kiss was brutal, his mouth claiming yours with a force that made your knees buckle.
Mark didn’t care about being gentle. He kissed you like he was trying to mark his territory, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip before he pulled it between his, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. His grip was firm, almost punishing, as if he didn’t care how much it might hurt, as if all he cares about is keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His other hand slides down to your waist, gripping you so hard you’d swear there’d be bruises. Each press of his lips was punishing, every movement unrelenting, leaving you breathless and trembling in his hold.
“You’re so fucking childish,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough and unforgiving. “You don’t know how to talk, so you do this instead?”
His words stung, but they only made you want him more. “I—” you gasped, trying to speak between frantic kisses, your hands fumbling with the buttons of his pants. “I—miss—this. I miss you. Please, Mark.”
He laughed darkly, low and mocking, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before pulling away just enough to look at you. “Missed me?” His hands gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You think I didn’t notice? You’re fucking pathetic. You can’t even admit you’re wrong, and now you’re begging for my cock?”
You whimpered, the heat in his voice sending shockwaves through your body. “Please, Mark,” you repeated, your voice trembling. “I need you. I need—”
Mark’s grip on your hair tightened as he tilted your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his. His jaw was clenched, his expression a mix of anger and barely restrained desire. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “You want me inside you?” he asked, his tone sharp and commanding. “Then get on your knees and suck my cock. Show me just how badly you need me.”
Your legs buckled beneath you, and you sank to the floor, your hands trembling as you reached for his belt. He didn’t need to tell you what to do; the fire in his eyes said it all. The leather slid free from the loops with a sharp snap, and you glanced up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity in his gaze. His fingers tapped against your cheek, demanding your attention. “Open,” he commanded.
You obeyed without hesitation, your gaze fixed on him as heat pulsed through your body. The sound of his zipper being dragged down felt deafening in the charged silence, every movement deliberate and commanding. When he freed himself, your breath hitched, and a moan escaped your lips before you could stop it. He was big, impossibly thick, his cock standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach, the tip flushed a deep, needy red and glistening with arousal.
The veins running along his length added to the raw, masculine appeal, and the weight of him as he stroked himself briefly made your mouth water. He was perfect, every inch of him overwhelming and enticing, the kind of sight that made your thighs clench involuntarily. You licked your lips instinctively, unable to tear your eyes away, leaning forward like you were drawn to him, your hands trembling as they reached out to touch him.
Mark smirked down at you, the sheer dominance in his stance making your stomach knot—broad shoulders squared, jaw rigid, and those dark, unforgiving eyes searing into you. He tapped the thick, swollen head of his cock against your lips, smearing the bead of precum across them with deliberate, mocking slowness. “Look at you,” he spat, his tone rough and dripping with contempt. “Fucking desperate, aren’t you? Can’t even think straight without this in your mouth. Go on,” he growled, gripping your chin harshly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Show me how much you’ve missed choking on it.”
Mark didn’t give you a second to think, let alone hesitate. His hand fisted harshly in your hair, tugging your head back as he shoved himself past your lips without mercy. The stretch was immediate and brutal, your throat tightening as you gagged around him, tears pricking at your eyes. Your hands scrambled for purchase on his thighs, nails digging into his skin as you tried to steady yourself against the overwhelming intrusion.
“Take it,” he growled, his voice rough and unforgiving, the sound vibrating through the air like a command. His hips snapped forward with deliberate, punishing force, pushing deeper until you choked. “That’s it. Gag on it. You can handle it, can’t you?” His groan was low and guttural, a primal noise that only spurred his movements as he fucked into your mouth with no hint of restraint.
You nodded frantically, the motion clumsy and desperate as tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. Drool spilled freely from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin in messy streaks. Mark’s rough thumb wiped at it, but instead of cleaning you up, he smeared it across your swollen lips, his smirk cruel. Without a word, he pushed back in, the thick length of him stretching your throat until you gagged again, your hands trembling against his thighs.
His grip on your hair tightened painfully, yanking your head into place as he buried himself to the hilt. “Pathetic,” he growled, holding you there, his cock pulsing against the back of your throat as you fought for breath. “You’re going to sit there and cry about it? I thought you said you missed me.” He pulled back just enough for you to gasp for air, only to thrust back in, harder this time, forcing another choked whimper from you.
“You can do better than that,” he snarled, his voice a dark, taunting drawl. “Come on, baby. Prove it. Show me how fucking desperate you are to please me.”
You moaned around him, the sound raw and desperate, sending vibrations along his cock that had him groaning deep in his chest. Your trembling hands gripped his hips tightly, nails biting into his skin as you fought to steady yourself against the relentless pace. The guttural noise he let out was pure need, his head tipping back as a string of curses fell from his lips. “Fuck, you’re filthy for this,” he muttered, his voice rough and laced with satisfaction. His grip on your hair loosened just enough to let you move, but his hips still rolled forward with a brutal rhythm. “So eager to be used, aren’t you? So desperate for my cock.”
His words sent a thrill shooting through your entire body, making you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, your tongue swirling around him with deliberate precision. He cursed again, his hand sliding from your hair to cradle your jaw, his thumb pressing against your cheek as he looked down at you. “Look at this fucking mess,” he said, his tone sharp but tinged with something darker, more possessive. “You’re perfect for me—just like this. On your knees, drooling, choking, fucking begging for it.”
Your teary eyes lifted to meet his, and the sheer adoration mixed with desperation in your gaze made him falter for a split second. His thumb brushed against the tear-streaked skin of your cheek, smearing the wetness as his expression softened just slightly, though the hunger in his eyes burned just as fiercely. “You love this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and taunting, his lips curling into a smirk. “You love being my pretty little toy. Just here to make me feel good, aren’t you?”
You nodded frantically, the movement shaky but certain, and he chuckled darkly, his hand tightening on your jaw. Your lips slid over him with renewed effort, taking him deeper, the stretch burning in the best way. When he hit the back of your throat, you gagged again, a muffled moan spilling from your lips. He groaned at the sound, his free hand tangling back in your hair as he forced you to take him even deeper.
“That’s it,” he growled, his tone rough and unforgiving. “Take every fucking inch. Show me how much you need this—how much you fucking missed this.”
“Fuck,” Mark hissed, his hand yanking your hair so hard it made your scalp sting, forcing your head to stay exactly where he wanted. His hips snapped forward, unrelenting as he drove into your throat with brutal, punishing thrusts. You gagged around him, tears streaming down your face, but he didn’t slow—not for a second. Each movement was rough, raw, and filled with his pent-up frustration.
“Gonna make me come like this,” he growled, his voice thick and ragged as his cock plunged deeper with every thrust. “You feel that? How fucking good you’re taking it?” His tone was mocking, but the desperation in his words betrayed how close he was, his breaths uneven and sharp.
The heat coursing through you only grew, spurred on by his harsh words and the way he fucked your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. You hollowed your cheeks as best as you could, the stretch overwhelming, your hands reaching up to cup his balls, adding to the intensity. His groan was guttural, his head tipping forward, sweat dripping from his hairline as he stared down at you with a feral hunger.
“You’re so fucking perfect for this,” he muttered, the words spilling from his lips in a cracked, breathless tone. His hips jerked harder, deeper, as he used your mouth without restraint. “Take it all, baby. Every inch. Don’t you dare stop—don’t you fucking stop.”
His breathing turned erratic, his grip on your hair tightening painfully, his body trembling as he teetered on the edge. “So good,” he growled, his voice raw, nearly breaking. “So fucking good to me. You’re gonna swallow every fucking drop, aren’t you? Show me what a good little slut you are.”
His hips slammed into your face without rhythm, each thrust rough and desperate, his breaths turning into sharp, ragged gasps. “Fuck—fuck, just like that,” he growled, his voice low and feral, vibrating with raw need. His head tipped back, a moan tearing from his throat that echoed through the room, louder than anything you’d ever heard from him before. His entire body tensed, muscles flexing as he buried himself in your mouth one last time before pulling out abruptly, his cock throbbing and slick with your spit.
“Look at you,” he groaned, fisting himself roughly as he angled his cock towards your face, the tip swollen and dripping. “Open wide, baby. You’re taking all of it.”
You barely had a second to react before he threw his head back, his hips jerking forward as thick ropes of his release painted your face in hot, sticky streaks. His cock pulsed in his hand as he pumped himself through it, each spurt landing on your lips, your cheeks, and down to your chin. His moans were unrestrained, loud and filthy, mingling with the sound of his hand working over himself.
Your tongue darted out instinctively, catching the remnants of his release on your lips as you leaned forward, desperate to take him back in. His cock twitched in your hand as you wrapped your swollen lips around the sensitive tip, sucking gently but firmly. The taste of him coated your tongue, salty and thick, and you moaned softly as you sucked in your cheeks, determined to take every last drop. Your hands gripped his thighs for balance as you worked your mouth over him, slurping up the mess that lingered along his shaft. Even as his body shuddered from the overstimulation, you didn’t stop, your tongue swirling and teasing every vein until you felt him twitch again against your tongue.
“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he rasped, his voice shaking from the force of his climax. His hand moved to smear the mess across your skin, his thumb pressing his cum into your lips. “Covered in me. This is where you belong—fucking dripping for me.”
You blinked up at him, your chest heaving, tears and cum mixing on your cheeks. He stared down at you, his eyes dark and still burning with satisfaction, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “Such a good little slut,” he muttered, his voice husky as he let his cock fall against his thigh, still half-hard. “Look at the fucking mess you made.”
His hand tugged at your hair again, tilting your head back so he could admire his work. “You’re not cleaning this up,” he said, his tone sharp, commanding. “You’re wearing it. I want you to remember who you fucking belong to.”
When he finally pulled back, you inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling as you fought to catch your breath. Your lips were swollen and slick, and his thumb pressed against them, smearing the mess further as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes burned with a mix of satisfaction and unrelenting hunger, his smirk wicked and deliberate. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with possessive heat. “You think I’m done? Not even close.”
He stepped back, his hand tugging you up by your arm with just enough force to make your legs stumble. “Get up,” he commanded, his tone sharp and leaving no room for hesitation. His eyes roamed over you slowly, possessively, as his smirk deepened. “I want to see every inch of you,” he growled, his voice heavy with the promise of everything he wasn’t finished with yet.
Mark’s grip on your hips was bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh as he slammed you against the lockers, the loud metallic clang echoing through the room. His mouth claimed yours immediately, the kiss harsh and all-consuming, teeth scraping against your lip as his tongue plunged inside with a dominance that left you breathless. The zipper of your dress gave way under his rough, impatient hands, the fabric slipping down your body as he tore it open.
With a grunt, he spun you around abruptly, pressing your front against the cold, unforgiving metal. His body crowded yours, his chest pressed flush against your back as his hands roamed over your exposed skin, rough and claiming. His lips didn’t leave yours for long, breaking only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck before returning to your mouth. 
“Is this what you’ve been running from?” he growled, his voice rough and dripping with raw lust as he thrust his hips into you, grinding against you through the thin fabric of your dress. His tone was mocking, cruel, his words punctuated by another sharp roll of his hips. “This? Me?”
You couldn’t answer, your breath catching in your throat as a loud, desperate moan escaped instead. Your fingers clawed at the lockers, your body arching back into him, seeking more, needing more. His dark chuckle against your ear sent a shiver down your spine as one of his hands slipped lower, his palm spreading over your stomach before sliding between your thighs.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” he muttered, his voice low and guttural. His teeth grazed your ear as his fingers pressed harder, his movements deliberate and teasing. “You can’t even deny it, can you? You’ve been craving this—craving me.”
Mark’s fingers fumbled with the zippers on your gown, his frustration mounting with every failed attempt. His brows knitted together, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he yanked at the fabric, his movements rough and impatient. “You look so fucking beautiful,” he spat through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained with desire, “but why the hell are you wearing a dress with a million zips? What are you trying to do, fucking torture me?” He tugged harder, the force jerking your body slightly as he finally managed to loosen the stubborn fabric, piece by piece.
When the dress finally hit the floor, Mark froze. His breath caught, and a loud, groan ripped from his throat, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your body. You stood there in a black lace set that barely covered you, every inch of the delicate material designed to tease him. The thong clung to your hips, the lace framing your ass and leaving your cheeks fully exposed, while the sheer bra did nothing to hide the hard peaks of your nipples pressing against the fabric.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice thick with raw hunger as his hands gripped your waist, his touch rough and claiming. His thumbs dug into your skin, his fingers spreading over your hips as if he couldn’t get enough of feeling you beneath him. “You’re driving me fucking insane,” he growled, his teeth grazing the curve of your neck before sinking into your skin. He bit down hard, his lips sucking and pulling until he left angry red marks behind, his growls vibrating against your throat.
Mark’s hands slid down to your ass, grabbing it roughly, his fingers kneading the soft flesh before delivering a sharp slap that made you yelp. “You’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven as his lips moved to your collarbone, trailing heated, open-mouthed kisses. “This body—fuck, it’s mine. These tits, this ass, this pussy—it’s all fucking mine. Made for me. You hear me?” His cock pressed hard against your stomach through his trousers, the friction making you gasp.
You whimpered, your hips instinctively grinding against him, your hands gripping his as your desperation mounted. “Mark, please,” you breathed, your voice shaky, your need for him unbearable.
He groaned at your words, his head dropping forward as his hands roamed your body feverishly. His movements were rough, erratic, his need for you written in the way he gripped, grabbed, and claimed every inch of your skin. “I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he growled, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts through the lace. His thumbs teased over your nipples before he leaned down, his tongue flicking over the hardened peaks through the sheer fabric. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, and then he bit down just enough to make you gasp, his chuckle dark and satisfied.
“Look at you,” he muttered, pulling back to take in the sight of your flushed face, your swollen lips parted as you panted for him. “So fucking needy. Do you even realize how desperate you are for me right now?” His voice was filled with awe and disbelief, as though your desire for him was something he couldn’t fully comprehend.
“Of course I’m desperate,” you shot back, your voice trembling but bold. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “I need you. Stop teasing, Mark.”
His laugh was low and wicked, vibrating against your ear like a growl as he slammed you harder against the lockers. His hips pinned you in place, the pressure bruising and unrelenting. “You think I’m teasing?” he snarled, his voice sharp and dripping with dominance, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Before you could respond, his hand shot up to your neck, his grip rough and possessive, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch. He yanked your head to the side, forcing your face toward his, his eyes dark and burning with lust as his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was raw, consuming, and impossibly rough. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip before biting down hard enough to sting, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth with a dominance that made your knees weak.
The kiss was a battle for control you knew you couldn’t win, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger that bordered on savage. His free hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you impossibly closer, while his lips moved over yours with bruising force. The heat of him overwhelmed you, his breath mingling with yours as the two of you kissed with feverish desperation, your touches frantic, your breaths ragged, as though trying to erase any distance that had ever existed between you.
You whimpered against his mouth, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself. But there was nothing, no surface to brace against, no escape, only him. His body was the only thing keeping you upright, the solid wall of his chest pressing into yours, pinning you against the lockers. His hips locked you in place, trapping you with a bruising force that left no room for movement, no room to even catch your breath.
Mark’s hand slid down your body with an unforgiving roughness, his fingers trailing heat as they gripped and claimed every inch of your skin. When he reached the delicate lace of your thong, he didn’t hesitate, yanking them to the side with a sharp tug that left the elastic biting into your hip. The cool air against your soaked heat made you gasp, a sharp inhale that turned into a shaky whimper when his fingers brushed against you. His touch was teasing at first, deliberate and maddening as he dragged his fingertips slowly through your slick folds, spreading your arousal. He hovered just where you needed him most, his thumb brushing lightly against your clit before pulling back, his dark chuckle vibrating against your ear.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, his tone a mix of pride and raw desperation. His fingers dipped lower, gathering your wetness before sliding one finger inside you, slow at first but with enough pressure to make you moan. He didn’t stop there, adding a second finger almost immediately, thrusting them deep and curling them against your walls with deliberate precision. Your breath hitched, your knees trembling as the stretch made your core clench around him. He pumped his fingers in and out at a punishing rhythm, his thumb pressing against your clit in tight, teasing circles that left you gasping. “Look at how you take me,” he growled, his voice dripping with possession. “So fucking tight, so ready for me. This is all for me, isn’t it? You’re fucking dripping, baby. God, I’ve missed this.”
Mark didn’t let up, his pace growing rougher as he thrust his fingers into you with relentless force. His free hand grabbed your hip, holding you in place as your legs began to shake under his touch. “Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he muttered, his tone dropping into a dark, almost feral growl. His fingers curled inside you again, hitting that spot that made your whole body jerk forward, your forehead pressing against the cold metal of the lockers as you let out a broken moan. “That’s it,” he rasped, his thumb flicking your clit in quick, brutal strokes. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back, baby. I want to hear every fucking sound you make.”
You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand as the pressure in your core built rapidly, your walls fluttering around his fingers. He groaned low in his throat, the sound raw and guttural as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You feel that?” he taunted, his voice thick with lust. “You’re fucking dripping all over my hand. This pussy was made for me. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else gets to hear you fall apart.”
His fingers drove into you faster now, the wet, obscene sound of your arousal filling the hallway as his thumb applied just the right amount of pressure to your clit. Your knees buckled, your hands clawing at the lockers for support as the intensity became too much, but Mark wasn’t done. He slowed for just a second, dragging his fingers out almost completely before slamming them back in, his knuckles brushing your folds as he fucked you with a brutal rhythm. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Say it. Say you’re mine, or I swear I’ll stop right now.”
You bit your lip hard, struggling to suppress the moan that threatened to spill out, the sound barely muffled as it echoed faintly in the empty hallway. “Mark… someone might hear—”
“Let them,” he cut you off, his voice dripping with authority, a low, feral growl that made your knees weak. Before you could respond, his fingers disappeared, leaving you clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness drawing a desperate whimper from your lips. He didn’t give you a moment to protest. With one hand gripping your hip and the other guiding himself to your entrance, he lined himself up, and then, with a single brutal thrust, buried himself inside you to the hilt.
The force of it sent you crashing forward, your chest slamming into the lockers with a metallic clang, the cold metal biting into your skin as your mouth opened in a silent scream. His cock stretched you completely, the overwhelming fullness stealing the air from your lungs. Mark groaned loudly, his head tipping back as his fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as your walls fluttered and clenched around him.
“You feel that?” Mark growled, his voice dark and feral, barely audible over the sharp, relentless rhythm of his thrusts. “You were fucking made for me. No one else could ever handle this—handle me. This tight little pussy is mine.” His words were brutal, his tone dripping with dominance, each syllable punctuated by the punishing snap of his hips.
His hand slid up your back with purpose, rough fingers tangling in your hair before yanking it back hard enough to make your scalp sting. The movement forced you to arch for him, your body bending to his will as he fucked into you even deeper, the angle pulling a loud, broken cry from your lips. “Tell me it’s mine,” he demanded, his voice sharp and unforgiving, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“It’s yours, Mark!” you sobbed, your voice trembling and breaking as your walls clenched around him, the force of his thrusts driving you to the edge. Your hands clawed at the lockers, desperate for something to ground you, your body trembling uncontrollably as he pushed you closer and closer to oblivion.
You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your cheek brushing against the cold metal as you locked eyes with him. His dark gaze was scorching, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. His lips crushed against yours for a moment, the kiss rough and messy, his teeth catching your lower lip before he pulled back.
“Open,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, dripping with raw authority that sent a shiver down your spine.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips without hesitation, your chest heaving as you panted for breath. His dark, piercing gaze locked onto yours, radiating dominance as he leaned closer. The deliberate, filthy motion of him spitting into your open mouth sent your core tightening with heat. “Swallow,” he ordered, his tone razor-sharp and leaving no room for refusal.
You gulped immediately, the heat in his eyes burning into you as you felt the liquid slide down your throat. The act was degrading, raw, and yet it ignited something primal within you. His groan was primal, the sound reverberating through the air as he watched you with unrestrained satisfaction. “Good fucking girl,” he rasped, his voice rough and dripping with lust. His hand slid from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips for a fleeting moment before his palm cracked sharply against your face.
You gasped, the sting of his slap sending a jolt of white-hot arousal straight through you. Your cheeks burned, both from the impact and the way it made your entire body thrum with need. Before you could fully process it, his other hand came down hard on your ass, the force making you yelp as your chest slammed against the lockers. He didn’t let up, his palm colliding with your skin again and again, alternating between spanking your cheek and ass with relentless intensity.
“You love this, don’t you?” he sneered, his voice dark and full of mockery, his hands gripping you tightly between each punishing slap. “You love being my little toy. Taking every fucking thing I give you, letting me use you however I want.”
“Yes,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as your hands scrambled against the lockers, your body trembling under his control.
“Yes, what?” he growled, his hand gripping your jaw roughly, tilting your head back to force your gaze to meet his. “Say it. Say you fucking love it.”
“I love it,” you gasped, the confession tumbling from your lips without hesitation, your entire body thrumming with the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure. “I love being yours.” 
“Good girl,” he spat, his hand releasing your hair only to slide down to your throat, gripping it tightly. “You take me so well, baby. So fucking good for me.” His words were rough, his tone dripping with possession as his hips snapped forward with brutal precision, each thrust pulling broken moans from your lips.
The relentless pace he set was unforgiving, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision, each thrust rougher than the last. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hallway, obscene and loud, as he drove into you mercilessly. “You take me so well,” he grunted, his voice low and guttural in your ear. “Every inch of me. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Your hands clawed helplessly at the lockers, desperate for anything to hold on to, but all you had was him. His cock filled you relentlessly, stretching you so perfectly it bordered on overwhelming, every brutal thrust slamming into that devastatingly deep spot that made your vision blur. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, your moans spilling freely into the air, mingling with the raw, guttural sounds he made with every movement. The sharp, filthy slap of skin on skin only heightened the unbearable tension building low in your stomach, threatening to snap at any second.
“Mark, I—fuck—I can’t—” you stammered, the words tumbling out in a broken cry, barely coherent under the force of him pounding into you.
“Yes, you can,” he snarled, his voice thick with command and feral hunger, his lips grazing your ear before his teeth sank into the sensitive skin of your neck, making you cry out. “You can take it. You’re going to take every fucking inch of me,” he growled, his tone dripping with possession. His pace quickened, hips snapping into yours with brutal force, each thrust driving you harder against the lockers, your body trembling uncontrollably under his control.
Then, without warning, his hands shifted, gripping your hips with bruising strength as he pulled you back. You gasped sharply, a scream ripping from your throat at the intensity as his body pinned yours away from the lockers, his cock never faltering inside you. His hands were everywhere—holding, gripping, controlling—and it was only him keeping you upright, his strength overwhelming as he drove into you with punishing precision.
“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. “Do you feel that? It’s just me—my hands, my body, my cock. You’re fucking helpless, baby. You’re mine. Completely fucking mine.”
Then one of his hands slid upward, wrapping firmly around your throat. The pressure was immediate, his fingers circling your neck and squeezing just enough to make you choke out a broken moan. The contrast of his cock slamming into you from behind and his hand controlling your breath sent a rush of arousal crashing through you, your nails clawing at his hand instinctively. You gripped his wrist tightly, not to pull him away, but to press him harder, needing more of the dizzying pressure as you panted and gasped for air.
“This pussy was made for me,” he snarled, his voice sharp and cutting, his words a brutal growl against your ear as he buried himself even deeper. The thick stretch made your breath hitch, your body trembling with each relentless thrust. “So tight, so fucking wet for me. Look at you, baby—falling apart on my cock.”
Your nails bit into the flesh of his wrist, your fingers gripping him desperately, both to balance yourself and to encourage him to tighten his hold. The feeling of his hand squeezing your neck, combined with the bruising rhythm of his hips, sent you spiraling. Your vision blurred, pleasure and pain blending together in a way that left you trembling.
“You fucking love this, don’t you?” he growled, his voice dripping with dominance as his hips snapped harder, each punishing thrust pulling cries from your lips. The combination of his cock stretching you perfectly, his hand controlling your breath, and the force of his body against yours left you utterly undone. “Say it,” he demanded, his tone harsh. “Say how much you love being mine, taking everything I give you.”
“Yes, Mark—fuck—I love it,” you cried, your voice trembling as the tension inside you coiled impossibly tight. Your body shook with every punishing thrust, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot as your pleasure built to a breaking point.
“That’s right,” he growled, his lips crashing against yours in a brutal, consuming kiss. His tongue claimed your mouth, his teeth biting at your swollen lips before pulling back just enough to watch your expression. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? I can feel it. You’re close—so fucking close. Come for me, baby. Show me who you belong to.”
Before you could even respond, he moved with a sudden, punishing force, slamming you back against the lockers with a metallic clang. His body pressed into yours tightly, his grip on your neck tightening briefly before both his hands seized your hips, holding you so firmly it felt like you might break under the pressure. His cock drove into you relentlessly, the sharp, filthy slap of skin against skin filling the hallway as he fucked you harder, his strength keeping you pinned. His chest crushed against your back, every thrust so deep and brutal that it pushed you higher, closer to the edge, his ragged grunts and growls in your ear spurring you on. “Come now,” he snarled, his voice vibrating through you. “Come while I’m fucking you, and don’t you dare hold back.”
His words pushed you over the edge, your orgasm slamming into you with a force that made your entire body tremble. You screamed his name, your walls clenching around him so tightly it dragged a guttural groan from his chest. His thrusts turned erratic, his grip tightening as he chased his own release, his hips snapping forward with bruising force.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, his voice ragged and guttural as he slammed into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you. His groan was primal, vibrating against your skin as he buried himself as deep as he could, his body tensing before finally relaxing. His hands lingered on your hips, rough fingers brushing over your skin, possessive even in the aftermath, as the sound of both your heavy breaths filled the space around you.
The contrast of the cold lockers against your chest and the heat of his body against your back only heightened the overwhelming sensation. “You’re fucking dripping for me,” he rasped, his hand sliding between your thighs to find your clit. His fingers circled it roughly, in time with the punishing thrusts of his hips, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. “You love this, don’t you? Being fucked like this, being mine.”
“Yes,” you gasped, the word tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Mark—fuck, yes. I’m yours.”
“Damn right, you are,” he growled, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his release. “Say it again. Louder.”
“I’m yours,” you cried, your voice breaking as the intensity reached its peak, your body trembling under his relentless assault.
“That’s my girl,” he muttered, his voice dark and full of satisfaction, his pace never faltering as he drove you closer to the edge. “Come for me. Come all over my cock.”
Your body shattered at his command, the coil of heat in your stomach snapping violently as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, gripping him so tightly it dragged a guttural groan from deep in his chest. The sound was raw and primal, his hips snapping harder as he chased his own release, his thrusts erratic and bruising.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Mark growled, his voice thick with desperation as his fingers dug into your hips so hard it bordered on pain. His pace grew frantic, his cock driving into you with unrelenting force. “You’re fucking perfect. So tight, so good—mine. All fucking mine.” His voice cracked on the last word, and with one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could, his entire body tensing as he came hard, his cock pulsing inside you. His moan was low and guttural, the sound vibrating against your skin as his release spilled into you, hot and overwhelming.
He stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, both of you panting heavily. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the air, your bodies still trembling from the intensity. His hands remained firm on your hips, holding you in place as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock still twitching inside you.
Slowly, Mark pulled out, the sensation making you gasp softly as the emptiness left a dull ache. His hands slid up your sides, rough and possessive, brushing over your sweat-damp skin as he leaned in close. His lips ghosted over the back of your neck before he spoke, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, the dominance still thick in his tone, even as his breath fanned across your skin.
He straightened, his fingers trailing down to your ass, giving it a sharp slap that made you jolt forward against the lockers. His chuckle was dark and teasing, his hands gripping you again as if he wasn’t done. “And don’t think for a second that we’re done yet,” he added, his tone carrying a dangerous promise. “I’m nowhere near finished with you.”
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Mark didn’t waste a second taking you to his apartment. You barely registered the ride there, too blissfully fucked out and hazy to argue or care. His arms stayed wrapped around you the entire time, carrying you through the door and into his bathroom as though you weighed nothing. The soreness in your limbs made you wince, but Mark noticed every little flinch, whispering soft apologies under his breath as he held you close.
“Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into him as his strong hands massaged the ache from your thighs and hips, the tenderness of his touch a stark contrast to the way he’d just handled you. He kissed the top of your head as he muttered another quiet “sorry,” lowering you gently into the warm bath he’d prepared, bubbles and the familiar scent of your favorite soap wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.
You sank into the water with a soft sigh, your body easing into his as he slid in behind you, his chest firm and warm against your back. He didn’t say much, his fingers working gently to massage your shoulders and arms as his stormy eyes stayed fixed on you, a mix of guilt, tenderness, and love swirling in his gaze.
When the bathwater cooled, he wrapped you in a towel, lifting you effortlessly and sitting you on the bathroom countertop. You sat there, completely bare, the steam from the bath still clinging to your skin as you waited for him to return. He came back moments later with one of his shirts, freshly laundered and soft, helping you slip it over your head. He brushed a hand through your damp hair as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.
The tension between you softened further as he carried you effortlessly to his bed, his strong arms cradling you like you were something fragile, something he couldn’t risk breaking. He laid you down gently, sliding under the covers with you, his warmth enveloping you before you could even think to protest. Instinctively, you moved closer to him, your body betraying every wall your mind tried to rebuild. He mirrored you, pulling you against him with a quiet desperation, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it felt as though he feared you might disappear.
Your legs tangled naturally with his, his strong thigh slotting between yours as you pressed yourself into the solid heat of his chest. You rested your head over his heart, the steady rhythm beneath your cheek grounding you, each beat a silent reminder that he was here, alive, and holding you. His hand moved slowly, soothingly, smoothing up and down your back in soft, deliberate strokes, his touch warm and tender. The simple act melted away the last of your resistance, leaving nothing but the raw, unspoken connection between you, a bond that neither of you could deny, no matter how hard you tried.
“I’m still fucking mad at you,” he whispered into the quiet, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
“And I’m fucking mad at you too,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion as you jabbed his chest. “I can’t believe how careless you are. You have a fucking heart condition, Mark, and you’re out here playing like everything is fine?”
“Y/N—”
“No,” you interrupted, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. “What if something happens? What if you collapse during a game, and—and—Mark, I can’t live without you. I can’t. You’re my entire life, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t—”
“Hey, hey,” he whispered gently, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled freely down your cheeks. His touch was so soft, so deliberate, as if he was trying to erase your pain with each tender stroke. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, his gaze steady and full of reassurance.
“It’s not as bad as you think,” he added, his tone quiet but firm, laced with a calmness meant to ground you. “It’s only dangerous because of the sports, and I know what I’m doing. I promise, it’s not as serious as it feels right now.” His words were meant to comfort, but it was the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, betraying the concern he tried to mask, that made you feel like he truly meant it. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as though to seal his promise there, anchoring you to him in that moment.
You rolled your eyes through your tears. “That makes me feel so much better,” you snapped, but your voice wavered with the depth of your fear.
“You don’t need to be worried for me,” he said, his gaze soft but serious. “I know my limits. I’m not dumb enough to risk my life—”
“But I am worried!” you cried, jabbing his chest again for emphasis. “And you are dumb enough. You’ve been playing with it like it’s nothing, Mark. I don’t want you to die. Actually, it doesn’t matter if you do, because I’m literally just going to kill you first before your heart condition does.”
He chuckled softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. “You’re cute when you’re such a worried girlfriend… borderline crazy though.”
“This isn’t funny,” you snapped, your tears spilling over again.
His expression softened, the weight of your fear reflected in his eyes as his hand moved to gently tilt your face upward, his fingers cradling your jaw with a tenderness that made your heart twist. “Look at me,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh, the kind of tone that demanded your attention without pushing you away. His gaze locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, as if he needed you to believe every word he was about to say.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?” he continued, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone, grounding you in his touch. “When have I ever broken a promise to you?” His voice softened, a flicker of vulnerability seeping through. “I’m not ever going to leave you. I love you too much for that to happen.” The sincerity in his words, the raw emotion in his tone, made your chest ache, and you couldn’t stop the tears that spilled again, overwhelmed by the depth of his reassurance and love.
His words hit you like a wave, the emotion crashing over you and tightening your chest until it was almost hard to breathe. Unable to hold back, you pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around him as your fingers tangled gently in his hair, grounding yourself in the familiar softness. Your voice trembled as you whispered, barely audible, “How long have you known?” You whispered, your voice soft and trembling.
“A few months,” he admitted, his tone quiet.
“So… before we got together?” you asked, and he nodded.
“Mark,” you huffed, your voice sharp with a mix of frustration and exasperation, “I seriously don’t understand how you can keep fucking me so hard when you know you have a heart problem! Do you have any idea how scared I am? I don’t want you keeling over mid-thrust and having a damn heart attack!”
Mark paused for a moment, his lips twitching into that infuriatingly boyish smirk, clearly amused despite the seriousness in your voice. “Baby,” he said, his tone low and teasing, “if I go out like that, at least I’ll die knowing I had the best pussy wrapped around me.”
You stared at him, utterly dumbfounded, your jaw dropping at his audacity. “Mark Lee, that is not funny!”
He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, and reached out to pull you closer, his hands settling on your hips. “I’m just saying,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper against your ear, “if it’s gonna happen, there’s no better way to go, is there?”
Without a word, you smacked his chest, narrowing your eyes as you shifted to straddle him, your movements slow and deliberate. His grin faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of something softer, more serious, as your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You need to promise me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and determination. “Promise me you’ll tell your coach, go to the doctors, and get your medication. I don’t care if you hate it. I don’t care if you’re scared. I don’t care if you hate that your dad has the same condition.” You paused, your voice breaking slightly as your fingers tightened against his skin. “None of that matters, Mark. The only thing that matters is you. I need you alive. I need you happy and healthy. You’re everything to me.”
His breath hitched at your words, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The cocky bravado melted away, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. He stared at you for a long moment, his dark eyes glassy as a single tear slipped down his cheek. “Okay,” he murmured finally, his voice cracking under the weight of your words.
“Okay?” you repeated, blinking at him, surprised by the lack of resistance.
A faint smile returned to his face as he extended his pinky to you, sealing the promise in the simplest, most intimate way. You hooked your pinky with his, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, your touch filled with the weight of the moment. His hands slid to your waist, holding you close as though you were his anchor, and for a while, the two of you just stayed like that, holding each other, letting the silence speak for everything you couldn’t put into words.
“I think now would be a good time to tell you everything that’s been going on,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness.
He shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m listening,” he murmured, his tone steady and patient, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back. He waited, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet understanding that made your chest ache.
You inhaled shakily, your fingers trembling as they curled into his shirt, clutching it like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I’m scared, Mark,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of your confession. “I’m scared all the time. It’s like this storm in my head that never stops.” Your chest tightened painfully, your breathing shallow as tears filled your eyes. “I’m terrified of losing you, of something going wrong between us and not being able to stop it, not being able to fix it.”
The words tumbled out of you in a rush, raw and uneven, as though they’d been clawing at your throat for too long. “It’s always there,” you continued, your voice trembling. “This weight crushing me, like no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake it. I can’t make it go away.” Your hands tightened their grip on his shirt as your tears began to fall, your fear spilling over, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.
Your voice broke as the tears finally fell, your throat tight as you forced yourself to continue. “And it’s not just the big things, Mark. It’s everything. Every argument, every time we feel even a little off, it’s like my brain jumps straight to the worst-case scenario. Like maybe… maybe it’s the beginning of the end, and I can’t stop it.” A sob slipped out, and you buried your face in his chest, unable to meet his eyes, too afraid of what you’d see there.
Mark’s arms wrapped around you tightly, his grip tight, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him completely. He kissed your temple softly, the warmth of his lips lingering as though he could will the fear out of you with his touch. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt and pain. His tone was so tender, so full of quiet understanding, that it only made you cry harder. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t know.” His hold on you tightened, his chest rising and falling unevenly as if your pain was his own.
You shook your head, wiping at your eyes. “It’s not your fault. It’s just my mind jumping to the worst-case scenarios, twisting everything until I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just in my head.”
He hummed again, nodding for you to continue, his patience unwavering as his thumb traced soothing circles on your skin.
“The last few weeks have been… a lot,” you said after a moment. “There were two things that finally broke me. The first was when you left me with your best friend to talk. She told me it’s unlike you to rush into a relationship so fast. That she doesn’t buy our connection and doesn’t believe you love me.”
Mark’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening instantly. “She said what?” he asked, his voice low and laced with anger.
“She said it out of anger,” you said quickly, placing a calming hand on his chest. “She was upset about everything going on with you and Jeno, and I was there, so she took it out on me. We made up, and she hasn’t apologised, but she’s been acting like my friend again. At the boy toy auction, she was supportive and kind. I just need you to promise me something.”
Mark’s brow furrowed deeply, his confusion mingling with frustration as he nodded. “What?” he asked, his voice sharp but low, laced with the beginnings of anger.
“Don’t let her know you know,” you said firmly, holding his gaze, willing him to understand. “She’s your best friend, Mark. I know how much she means to you, and I know how much you mean to her too. She said what she said out of anger, not because she really believes it. And as much as it hurt me in the moment, I know it wasn’t about me—it was about everything else that’s been happening, everything with you and Jeno, all the pressure she’s been feeling. She just… took it out on me because I was there.” You paused, your voice softening as your fingers brushed against his. “And I forgave her, because I get it. I’ve done the same thing before. I just… I’m tired, Mark. I don’t want to keep adding fuel to the fire. I just want things to be okay between all of us. I don’t want to come between you two.”
His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly as he exhaled slowly, his shoulders tense with barely-contained frustration. “Fine,” he muttered after a long pause, his voice heavy with reluctance. His eyes flickered with anger he couldn’t quite hide, but there was something softer there too—a resignation born of love. He didn’t like it but he’d bite his tongue for you, even when it was the hardest fucking thing to do. For you, he’d set aside his pride and anger, because keeping the peace mattered more to him than holding onto his frustration.
Your chest ached at the weight of his words, knowing how much he was holding back for your sake. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His arms came around you, holding you close, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. For a moment, the world felt a little quieter, a little softer, as he silently promised to carry the weight of this for you, no matter how much it hurt.
You hesitated before continuing, your breath hitching as you fought to find the right words. Your voice was quieter now, almost shaky. “The second thing… was when you and Jeno were still mad at each other. I overheard your conversation.” You paused, your throat tightening as anxiety clawed its way up your chest. “He said you only wanted me to get back at him, that it was part of some stupid bet from your first river court showdown. And… and you didn’t deny it, Mark. You just let him say it. It felt like you just… took it.”
Mark’s arms stiffened around you immediately, his body going rigid against yours as his confusion broke through his usual calm. He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he studied your face. “Y/N?” he said, his tone equal parts disbelief and concern.
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. His brows were furrowed, his jaw tight, but there was no anger in his expression—just a quiet intensity that made your chest ache.
“I don’t know what you heard,” he began carefully, his voice steady but edged with frustration. “But I remember that conversation. I told Jeno to shut the fuck up and nearly punched him.”
Your eyes widened at his words, your heart stumbling in your chest. “What?”
“At first, I ignored him,” Mark explained, his voice sharper now, more defensive. “I’d had enough of Jeno’s shit, so I just shook it off. Told him he could think whatever he wanted because I didn’t have the energy to argue. But when he kept pushing, saying that shit about you and us, I lost it. I wasn’t going to entertain his bullshit, but I wasn’t going to let him drag you into it either. I defended you. I defended us, Y/N. I wasn’t quiet about it.”
“Oh,” you said softly, the single word carrying the weight of your realization. Guilt hit you hard, crashing over you in waves as you replayed the moment in your mind.
Mark raised a brow, his lips twitching despite his frustration. “Oh?” he echoed, his voice laced with a faint chuckle, though the irritation still lingered beneath it.
You gulped, the shame settling in as your cheeks flushed. The truth of it was clear now—your anxiety had twisted the situation into something it wasn’t, feeding into your fears and doubts until they felt like reality. Maybe you hadn’t heard him defend you, or maybe you’d disassociated during the argument, too overwhelmed to register what was happening. Either way, you’d let your own fears convince you of something that wasn’t true.
“I believe you,” you said finally, your voice small and wavering but sincere. “I’m sorry, Mark. I didn’t… I didn’t know.”
Mark’s expression softened instantly, his tension easing as he pulled you closer. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “I get it. I know how your mind works sometimes, and it’s okay. But for the record,” he added, his tone firm but tender, “I’ll defend you and us every single time. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?”
You nodded, a lump forming in your throat as you buried your face in his chest. His warmth surrounded you, his embrace grounding you in a way that made it easier to breathe. The fears that had been gnawing at you began to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the quiet reassurance of his presence. For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that everything was going to be okay.
Mark sat close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but there was a gap between you—a physical manifestation of the emotional distance neither of you knew how to bridge. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, fingers twisting together nervously as your eyes darted between him and the floor. He didn’t look away, his gaze fixed on you, unwavering but heavy.
Finally, he broke the silence. His voice was steady, but there was a vulnerability in it that made your chest tighten. “Do you wanna give ‘us’ another try?” he asked, the words quiet but loaded with hope, as though he’d been holding them in for too long. His eyes softened as he searched yours, silently pleading for the answer he so desperately wanted.
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze. The question hung in the air, echoing in your mind as a whirlwind of emotions tore through you. A flicker of something stirred in your chest—hope, longing, affection—but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of your fears. Anxiety clawed at you, the what-ifs and worst-case scenarios screaming in your head. Your fingers tightened in your lap, your throat dry as you struggled to find the words.
You wanted to say yes. Every part of you yearned to take his hand, to close the distance between you and fall back into him completely. But deep down, you knew you weren’t ready. Not yet. The fear of letting him down, of rushing into something you weren’t emotionally prepared for, was too strong.
You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You forced yourself to continue, though each word felt like it was being ripped out of you. “To be your girlfriend, I mean. I think… I think I rushed into everything, thinking it would all be fine.”
You couldn’t look at him. Your eyes stayed fixed on your lap, too afraid to see the hurt you knew would be in his expression. “It’s not that I don’t want this,” you added, your voice barely audible now. “I do. But I’m scared. Scared of ruining it again. Scared I’m not enough. I just… I need time, Mark. I need to figure myself out before I can give you what you deserve.”
The silence that followed was deafening, stretching out like an unspoken void between you. It pressed down heavily, wrapping around your chest and making it hard to breathe. You could feel the weight of your words settling into the space, solid and immovable, creating a chasm where moments ago there had been fragile, tentative hope. Every second that passed seemed to magnify the distance, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions.
Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the faint noises of the world around you. It wasn’t just the quiet that unnerved you—it was the way Mark’s expression shifted, his features hardening ever so slightly as he processed what you’d said. His gaze dropped briefly, his shoulders stiffening, and the heaviness in the air grew almost unbearable. It felt like you had broken something fragile, something that couldn’t be put back together, and the realization sent a wave of guilt and anxiety crashing over you. You braced yourself, heart pounding, afraid he might lash out, might walk away.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he exhaled slowly, his head tilting back as he let out a deep, controlled breath. When he looked at you again, he gave you a tight-lipped smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I get it,” he said softly, though his voice carried a weight that betrayed him. “If this is what you need, I’ll try to understand.”
The forced calmness in his tone broke something inside you. You hated the sadness and disappointment he was trying so hard to hide. Desperate to ease the tension, to fill the unbearable void between you, the words slipped out before you could stop them. “Just friends?” you blurted, your voice hesitant, almost shaky. It felt wrong, hollow, even as you said it, but you hoped it might soften the heaviness in the air. You weren’t offering it because it’s what you wanted—you were offering it because you thought it might make things less painful for him, might somehow bridge the gap that felt wider with each passing second.
Mark froze for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. You saw the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the struggle to compose himself evident in the tension in his jaw. “Friends,” he repeated quietly, the word cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.
The silence stretched again, and your heart raced, terrified he might say no, that you’d lose him entirely. But then, he nodded. Slowly, reluctantly, but he nodded.
“Friends,” he said again, the word thick in his throat.
You could see it in his eyes—how much it hurt him to agree, how much more he wanted. But you could also see the love behind his restraint, the way he forced himself to accept it because he knew it’s what you needed.
“Slow steps though?” you whispered, lifting your pinky toward him. Your heart hammered in your chest as you waited, hoping, praying he wouldn’t turn away.
Mark’s eyes softened, even through the hurt. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, his hand trembling slightly as he hooked his pinky with yours. The gesture was small, but it felt monumental, like an unspoken promise hanging between you.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Slow steps.”
His words were forced, but there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes—a glimmer of hope he couldn’t completely hide. His hand lingered, his pinky curled tightly around yours as though letting go would mean losing everything.
“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. The guilt clawed at you, heavy and suffocating as you watched him struggle to keep himself together. You knew he wanted more—so much more—and it broke your heart to hold back, but you also knew this was the only way. “I just… I need to heal, Mark. I don’t want to mess this up again.”
He nodded, but his silence spoke louder than anything he could have said. His jaw tensed, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he worked to contain the wave of emotions threatening to break free.
You shifted closer, unable to ignore the ache in your chest. Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out and brushed your fingers against his, letting them linger. “You mean so much to me,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to think this changes that.”
Mark’s gaze finally met yours, and the sadness in his eyes was almost unbearable. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice strained but steady. “I get it. You need time. I just…” He paused, inhaling deeply as he tried to steady himself. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”
His words hit you hard, the sheer depth of his love and patience shining through even in the midst of his heartbreak. Tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly, not wanting to break down now.
“Friends, then,” you said again, trying to sound lighter, trying to ease the tension.
Mark gave you a small, pained smile, his fingers brushing yours in a gesture that felt both comforting and bittersweet. “Friends,” he repeated, though the word still sounded foreign coming from him.
But even as the word lingered between you, his actions betrayed him. His hand didn’t leave yours, and when you shifted just a little closer, his knee pressed against yours, grounding you both in the connection that still remained.
As the silence stretched, it didn’t feel as suffocating anymore. Instead, there was a quiet intimacy in the way you sat together, in the way his gaze softened when it met yours, in the way your pinky promise lingered a moment longer than necessary.
And though the heartbreak was palpable, so was the hope. Hope that this wasn’t the end, that this was just a pause, a moment to regroup and rebuild.
When you leaned your head against his shoulder, Mark’s breath hitched softly, but he didn’t pull away. His arm came up to rest lightly across your back, a subtle but reassuring touch. Neither of you said anything, but the unspoken promise hung in the air: slow steps, time to heal, and a chance to find your way back to each other.
Mark’s voice broke the quiet, barely above a whisper. “I’ll wait,” he said again, and this time, the words carried a quiet strength that steadied you.
And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that everything would be okay.
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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 — @bigjugz03 @hyuckkklee @hegdus @sungchannel @kidult0325 @hcluvie @second-floors @xjxnox @keelbeel @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @carelessshootanonymous @remgeolli @toroufriteh @sinsgaybutthatsokay @fancypeacepersona @cathamada @gomdoleemyson @ppeachyttae @strcwberi @yunjinsart @millyswife
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lomlhwa · 3 days ago
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scandal (l.c)
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pairing: idol!reader x idol!chan
preview: you got into a dating scandal with another idol and chan is not happy. it should've been him, he's your actual boyfriend after all.
tags/warnings: fem reader, mentions of beomgyu and other idols, possessive chan, kisses galore, pet names (pretty, baby, my love, angel), oral (fem.receiving), holding hands while fucking, so much praise, monster cock chan, marking, did i say possessive?, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie
trigger warnings: n/a
wc: 1.8k
song rec for this fic: obsession by exo
a/n: i tried making fake tweets + texts for this how did i do? also i just threw in random female idols to make a fake group lol
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you sigh, putting your phone down and rubbing your temples. dating as an idol is so tiring and sometimes you honestly forget why you even try. but you love your boyfriend so much. beomgyu is your good friend and sometimes you fail to remember to be sneaky when hanging out. even small things like going out to eat together makes fans assume you’re madly in love. this isn’t the first time you’ve been roped into media with beomgyu and you’re certain it won’t be the last. 
with your swift rise to fame, you’ve had many dating scandals in your time. what pisses chan off the most is the fact that it’s never been him that you’ve had a scandal with. you’ve gone out on many public dates before and no one has ever picked up on the fact that you’re together. he even kissed you in the view of a sasaeng one time and they didn’t notice. he wonders if it’s intentional on the media’s part or if they’re seriously just that oblivious. 
you run your hand through your hair, trying to fathom why the general public knowing about your relationship is so important to him. everyone within the industry knows so why does everyone else have to? relationships can ruin idol reputations and he doesn’t seem to care. maybe it’s because you’re both already so big that he’s not worried? or he’s hoping your fans are just accepting enough to be okay with it? 
your members come wandering into the living room and you’re quick to compose yourself. you don’t want them to know you’re having relationship problems again. “you okay, y/n?” minji asks you, concern spreading on her face. you nod and smile to the best of your abilities. “hmm, i don’t believe you but we have schedules so i’m not gonna push,” karina shakes her head before gesturing for you to follow the group out the door. you gather your things and do your best not to think about anything but the late night ahead of you. 
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after a late night at dance practice you finally get the time to check your phone. you know chan had a fansign today so you decide to check on some of his fan accounts. you smile as you’re met with cute photos of him posing with gifts from fans. you find lots of updates on things he said as well. his current favorite movies, foods, tv shows and… songs. of course he mentions you. it’s cute that he listens to your music and likes to promote you to fans. 
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you jump as you realize sana is perched over your shoulder, reading your text messages. “he’s gonna get in trouble when people realize he keeps talking about you,” she comments, clicking her tongue. you sigh dramatically, slouching your shoulders. “that’s what he wants.” suddenly all your members are gathered around you, confused as to what you’re talking about. “i got into another scandal with beomgyu and chan is jealous that it’s not him. so he’s putting in extra effort to try and get people to assume things.” your members share a weird look between them before turning back to you. “i think you should go on the most public date ever and make sure everyone knows you’re with lee chan of seventeen,” lily smiles brightly at you. this comment shocks you a little but you agree. 
“will you guys help me set up a giant celebration at the restaurant under our dorm?” you ask and they all agree excitedly. you all rush to get back to your dorm, eager to plan an extravagant dinner for you and your boyfriend. you talk to the owners of the restaurant and they agree to vacate the restaurant for you. they even promise to make food on the house. your girls help you pick the perfect outfit, hair and makeup for the event. they even “accidentally” tell a well known media outlet that you have plans for tomorrow and they should be there. 
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you sit in eager anticipation waiting for your boyfriend to show up. you can see a photographer out of the corner of your eye, waiting for something to happen. you hear the backdoor open and chan walks in, confidence filling his every step. your eyes fall on the suit he chose for tonight. he left his blazer undone, showing off that the buttons resting on his chest were begging to burst open. 
“hello, my love,” he says as he pecks your cheek before sitting down across from you. “what’s the occasion for such a fancy dinner?” his face changes to panic for a moment before he speaks again; “did i miss our anniversary? your birthday?” you shake your head and chuckle just as a waitress comes scurrying out of the kitchen with pre prepared food. you thank her and shoot her a quick wink before turning back to your lover. chan looks at you with an unreadable expression, but you hope it’s positive.
the two of you eat your food happily, the atmosphere feeling very comfortable. your share anecdotes from your lives as idols, laughing that the ridiculousness of your respective companies. before long, your meal is coming to an end. chan gives you a look you know all too well and you’re quick to scurry away, up the stairs and to your dorm. your boyfriend follows swiftly behind you after thanking all the staff. 
you thank your members mentally as you enter your normally occupied dorm. as soon as the door is closed, chan’s hands are on you. he drags you by your hips, crashing you against him. he kisses you with such aggression that you would think he was trying to eat you. your tongues tangle like snakes, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. “fuck, baby. you’re so sexy, you know that?” he connects his lips to your jawline, sucking on your skin gently. he sucks dark red marks on your collar bones, taking a moment to lean back and admire his work. 
“jump,” he mutters as he hooks his hands under your thighs. you hop and he catches you before quickly scurrying towards your room. he lays you down on your bed, pressing your legs wide open. he groans as he realizes you aren’t wearing any panties. you bite your lip as he admires you. “stop fucking me with your eyes and fuck me for real,” you demand. chan drops to his knees in front of you, desperation filling his eyes. you lift yourself onto your elbows so you can see him better. he kisses his way up your thighs before meeting his lips with your drenched core. 
his skilled tongue darts out to circle your clit, small whines escaping from your throat. he grips your thighs, holding you exactly where he wants you. he slurps and drinks you up as you twitch and squirm under him. he focuses his attention on your sensitive clit, rubbing his tongue back and forth over it. “channie, please please ple-ah,” he silences you with a harsh smack to your inner thigh. “let me enjoy your cunt. god, i love that you’re mine,” he presses kisses against your slit, licking a fat stripe up it to follow. “fucking mine.”
he grazes his teeth over your clit, drinking in the way you squeak and raise your hips towards his mouth. your hands fly to his hair and drag his mouth back to you. he chuckles before he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it before letting it go with a small ‘pop.’ you grind your core against his face, his nose brushing your clit as you get more and more desperate for release. “you have the most perfect pussy, baby. could eat you forever.”
a low moan slips from his lips as he watches you clench around nothing at his words. he places one final kiss to your core before rising off his knees. “you’re so tasty, angel. but i think i might explode if i don’t get inside you.” he reaches down to undo his pants and let them pool around his ankles. he aligns himself with your desperate hole before pressing in gently. “my pretty, pretty girl.” he grabs your hands and intertwines all ten of your fingers with his. a gesture like this always felt so romantic to you. 
he arms flex in reaction as you clench around him in an eager effort to get him to move. he draws his hips back slowly before returning himself to the hilt. your eyes cross and your back arches off the bed as he repeats this ritual over and over before he can’t take the slow pace anymore. he tightens his grip on your hands as he speeds up, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. he stares between the two of you, watching as he disappears and reappears between your legs.”fuck, baby. you’re all mine. i don’t care what the media says. i’m the one fucking you. not beomgyu, me.” you nod your head, panting like a dog in the summer heat. “say it. who does this pussy belong to?” he thrusts into you faster, as if to make it harder for you to answer. “y-you, chan. fuck, it’s all yours.”
he lets go of your hands and opts to wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his face into your chest. he ruts into you with such vigor you think you might snap in half. he lifts you partially off the bed so you’re kind of sitting in his lap. your grind down on him, desperate for more. “channie… god, need it so bad,” you plead, your orgasm threatening to rip its way out of you. he runs his tongue between the valley of your breasts before pulling back to look at your face.
“keep eye contact with me while you finish. let me see how fucking good i make you feel.” you nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as he connects the pad of his thumb to your clit. you let out a deep sigh and fight your hardest not to throw your head back. the way chan looks at you through his sweaty bangs has you seeing stars. “cumming. oh my god i’m cumming,” you cry out as your whole body spasms. “yeah, that’s it baby. squeeze my cock like that.” your arms give out and you fall back onto the bed, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turn white. 
your lover’s orgasm is quick to follow, ropes of cum painting your walls white. he moans and whines out your name like a hymn, gripping your waist so hard you might bruise. you twitch as he rides out the last of his high before stilling completely. he pulls out of you slowly before laying next to you. he pulls you tightly against him, panting slightly as he settles. “i promise i don’t care what the media says. i love you."
___________________________________________
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© lomlhwa 2024
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crossdressingdeath · 21 hours ago
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Actually, the Chantry just doesn't know how possession works.
That's a very simple way to put it. Let me elaborate. The big horrible monstrosity abominations aren't the automatic result of possession, that's just something that can happen. It doesn't happen to the Avaar because they're working with the spirit possessing them as a team; they're allies, not enemies, and neither party wants to become a horrible monster so they don't. Their magic doesn't protect them, they're just not that kind of abomination. And that whole monster thing can happen to mages just as easily as anyone else; think of Broken Circle, most if not all of the abominations we see there are mages. Demons tend to possess mages, but that's largely just because mages are significantly more likely to interact with them (and are more powerful), not because possessing a non-mage can never end well. We've also seen demons possessing trees, animals, even rocks (trees and rocks don't tend to go well, for example if memory serves most sylvans have kind of lost it, but they do alright as animals it seems). Mages seem to be their preference (fair), but it's not a requirement.
It's not entirely clear why abominations can become fucked up fleshy monsters, but Lucanis hasn't avoided that fate because of potential mage blood (looking back at Broken Circle and DA2's endgame we know that that very much would not save him); Spite just doesn't want him to become a fucked up fleshy monster. Lucanis also doesn't want to become a fucked up fleshy monster! So since neither of them want that and they're working together (...mostly), no monster. The Chantry just thinks that abomination = horrible monster because they don't actually understand how any of this stuff works and have created a situation where most if not all abominations among Circle mages and southern apostates are created against the mortal's will or at best out of sheer desperation, leading to bad things. Willing abominations like the Avaar mages (or a case like Lucanis's where it wasn't willing but the mortal and demon came to an understanding, although that's a lot less common since you can't usually force someone else to get possessed like that) are consistently shown to be a lot more stable. Lucanis might have some mage blood (he's certainly shown to be unusually sensitive to magic for a non-mage), but that has nothing to do with him not turning into a monstrosity on being possessed.
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FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT. Thank you Dorian for being the best once again and pointing out that hey maybe if the Chantry didn't treat their mages like shit and traumatize all of them they'd get possessed less often.
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dreamwritesimagines · 20 hours ago
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Sunshine [11] - Blast
AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️
I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader
Summary: Every break up has an aftermath.
Word Count: 4244
CW: Explicit language, angst, adult themes MDNI
Series Masterlist
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The month after your brutal breakup hadn’t been so easy.
When Theo was around, you made sure he didn’t notice anything. His happiness was the most important thing for you, it had been that way ever since he was born, so you weren’t going to ruin it. Every weekend, you pretended you were incredibly happy and that nothing was wrong at all, despite the heartbreak you were going through.
Your friends were the only people who knew just how sad you were, and they had formed a very united front to change that.
“We have found the one.”
You pulled your brows together as you filled Jamie’s cup while Nik gave you a proud smile and Julie sat up straighter, repressing a squeal.
“You two are dating, so you’ve already found ‘the one’” you used air quotes, making Nik roll his eyes.
“Not for us!”
“And Julie would’ve told me if she found the one.”
“I’d also be shouting it from the rooftops, but this isn’t about me.”
You threw your head back. “I’m not gonna go on a blind date.”
“Hear me out,” Jamie said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “This guy has been approved in the group chat.”
“What group chat?”
“Our group chat.”
Your jaw dropped. “You guys have a group chat without me?”
“Yes because it’s being used purely to find you your Mr. Right.”
“And we know it’s been only a month since you and Logan broke up but fuck Logan,” Julie added. “I’ve been carrying a magnet in my purse ever since you told me about your break up, just in case I run into him.”
Nik turned to look at her better. “You’re joking.”
Julie grabbed her purse and took out a small horseshoe magnet, making your eyes widen.
“I don’t play about my threats,” she told Nik. “That motherfucker broke my best friend’s heart, so I’ll point this magnet at his—”
“Where did you even get a magnet like that?” you cut her off and she shrugged.
“I googled it.”
“I’ve only seen these in cartoons,” Nik mused, reaching out to get the magnet from Julie before Jamie cleared his throat.
“Our point is,” he said. “You’re better off without Logan, and I think you’d really like this guy.”
You heaved a sigh, resting your elbows on the counter.
“Guys I really appreciate all the effort,” you said and stole a look at Julie. “And the magnet but—seriously, you know how much I hate blind dates.”
“Well does it count as a blind date if we show you his picture?” Nik asked, getting the phone from Jamie before turning the screen so that you could see the picture.
Even you had to admit, he looked cute. It was as if Jamie had decided to find you someone the complete opposite of Logan; he seemed younger than him -around Jamie’s age if you weren’t mistaken-, he had dirty blonde hair, and just from the picture alone, you could tell he was the type of person who liked to smile, a lot. Judging by his white coat, he worked in the same hospital Jamie worked in, and you stole a look at him.
“Your coworker?”
“He works in ER,” Jamie said. “Saved a kid’s life the other day.”
“And I’ve met him,” Nik said. “He’s like a cute puppy but also a badass.”
“And he is very handsome, you like handsome,” Julie sang tauntingly and you ran a hand over your face.
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not over Logan yet.”
“The best way to get over someone is good sex,” Julie pointed out. “We’re not telling you to move in with the guy. We’re just telling you to just…go on a date and see where things go.”
“And it could help,” Nik said softly. “You know, distracting yourself from your ex.”
You bit inside your cheek, then clicked your tongue.
“Ugh, fine,” you muttered, making them grin. “But if I don’t like him, I’ll leave and you guys will delete that group chat. Alright?”
“Deal.”
                                                 *
 One of the things you hated about blind dates was that you always got incredibly nervous right before. The urge to text them and stay in instead would always get the best of you—now to think of it, the only person you didn’t get that urge with was Logan.
Well.
Logan was out of the picture, and you had to deal with that.
But if anything, at least Jamie knew this guy and was friends with him, so the odds of him being an ass was pretty low.
You pulled over in front of the restaurant before checking your phone to see whether it was in fact the right place, then slipped a little in the seat. This was by no means your first rodeo but…
You really wanted to just go home and get under covers and listen to Julie’s break up playlist.
“Worst case scenario, you’ll just have one drink and go back home,” you muttered to yourself. “Come on soldier.”
You checked your makeup in the rear mirror, then got out of the car and locked it before you smoothed out your dress and made your way to the restaurant. The hostess greeted you and after you gave her your name, you followed her into the restaurant.
Oh, he was already there.
If Logan wasn’t at the back of your mind, you were sure that you would’ve been excited. He really was a good looking guy, the smile that appeared on his face upon seeing you looked very genuine, and the fact that he jumped on his feet to greet you was a great sign.
However—
Okay no, you were not going to think about Logan tonight, not at all.
“Hi!” he said and you smiled back.
“Hi,” you said and you extended your hand but he went for a hug before he paused and made a move to shake your hand but this time you were the one who went for a hug, so you gave him a curt hug before pulling back.
“Jesus—sorry, that was awkward,” he said and you tried to control your giggle at the look of slight regret on his face.
“No worries,” you assured him and he gave you a tentative smile.
“I’m Hayes.”
You introduced yourself as well before the waiter pulled your chair for you and you thanked him, then sat down. Hayes followed you suit, then motioned at his wine glass and the appetizers.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“No no, not at all,” you said and looked up at the waiter who put the menu in front of you. “Can I get the same as well? Thank you.”
Waiter nodded and walked away from your table, and you turned to Hayes.
“Uh, hi again.”
“Hey,” he said with a chuckle. “So uh…blind but not so blind date?”
“Sounds about right,” you said. “I mean I saw your picture.”
“So have I.”
“Jamie showed it to you?”
“Technically no.”
You blinked a couple of times. “How’s that?”
“Jamie has a picture of you and your whole friend group on his desk,” he admitted as the waiter brought your wine and you thanked him. “I saw your pic there and I asked about you in a way that was very subtle in my opinion but Jamie disagrees.”
You raised your brows, smiling slightly. “You’re not serious.”
“It was kind of like Jamie was an app and I was fervently trying to swipe.”
A small laugh escaped from your lips and you covered your mouth. “Oh my God…”
“Am I giving off serial killer vibes?” he asked to no one in particular. “Because I swear I save people for a living, that’s not—it’s just that you are very pretty and I’m very rusty when it comes to all this.”
You lowered your hands to give him a bright smile.
“You’re very sweet,” you said. “I didn’t think you were rusty.”
“No?” he asked and let out a breath. “Thank God.”
“It’s been a while?” you asked him after a moment of hesitation and he hummed.
“Listen, rusty or not I know talking about previous relationships is a red flag.”
“I don’t mind,” you said. “Let me guess, you had a long relationship and…?”
“And walked in on her and my best friend.”
“Ouch.”
“Former best friend.”
“Still ouch,” you said with a grimace. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I mean—I changed cities but it has to be for a good cause. At least that’s what I’m choosing to believe.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“How about you? I find it hard to believe you go on blind dates if I’m honest.”
“Oh I’ve gone on blind dates,” you assured him. “And uh—my friends have made it their life mission to matchmake me, they apparently have a group chat where they approve people.”
Hayes pulled his brows together. “Holy shit, I’ve been approved in the group chat?”
“Yes you have,” you said. “Congratulations.”
“I feel very validated,” he mused, making you giggle. “No seriously, knowing Jamie, this is the same as passing a very difficult exam with a jury.”
“Yeah he’s very protective, especially after—” you stopped yourself and Hayes shot you a lighthearted look.
“Hey, I talked about my ex.”
“Well, I got dumped,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “And Jamie never approved of him, so now he’s like extra careful.”
Hayes hummed and lifted his wine glass slightly.
“Well, on behalf of all men in this city, we’re all very glad that your ex is an idiot.”
You scoffed a laugh and lifted your glass as well.
“Yeah well,” you trailed off, trying your hardest to not let your thoughts drift to Logan. “So you’re an E.R. doctor?”
“I am,” he said. “And you?”
“Oh I…I’m just a waitress,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, that feeling of inadequacy hitting you out of nowhere once again. “Nothing too exciting.”
“Do you like where you work?”
“Yeah, I’m friends with everyone there except my boss,” you said. “It’s pretty nice. And you? I heard you saved a kid’s life the other day.”
A bright smile appeared on his face. “Yeah, that’s why I like working in the E.R. I can actually make a difference in just seconds, you know? It makes me feel alive, like I’m doing something right with my life.”
You nodded your head. “I can imagine. Sounds wonderful, really.”
He sipped his wine.
“So tell me more about you,” he said. “Jamie says you have a son?”
“Yeah!” you said, your eyes lighting up at the mention of Theo. “Yeah I do. Theo. He’s the cutest kid in the world, and I’m very objective about it.”
That made him laugh. “At first I thought Jamie was a father, with all the drawings in his office…”
“Oh he still keeps those?”
“With all due respect, it’s like a shrine in his office.”
“You should see his and Nik’s fridge, they have like one picture there and the rest is Theo’s artwork.”
“Really?”
“He had his artist phase, now he’s—” you started but were cut off when your phone started buzzing. You gave him an apologetic look.
“Excuse me,” you said as you grabbed it out of your purse, but as soon as you saw the name flashing on the screen, your heart dropped.
Logan.
A part of you -the petulant part of you- wanted to reject the call but you took a deep breath, then licked your lips and then answered.
“Hello?”
There was a second of hesitation on the other line before he cleared his throat.
“Theo is fine,” he said. “But he needs you here.”
Your head shot up. “What? What happened?”
“There was a small accident—”
“What accident?” you asked, your heart leaping to your throat as fear crashed down on you. “What—is he—”
“Like I said, he’s completely fine, I promise,” he said, his deep voice soothing your fear as always. “He had a nightmare, his powers took over and he blew up the wall in his room accidentally but he’s fine and so is everyone else. He locked himself in the basement though, and refuses to come out.”
You could feel your throat tightening but you took a shaky breath, then nodded as if he could see you.
“I’m on my way,” you said and hung up before turning to Hayes.
“I’m so sorry,” you said, pushing your phone into your purse. “Theo is…he’s in a boarding school in the city but he—he had a nightmare and he locked himself in the basement.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” Hayes said, frowning. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah,” you said despite the anxiety churning your stomach, then stood up. “But I need to go, he must be terrified.”
“Of course,” Hayes stood up with you. “Would you like me to drive you there?”
“No no, I can drive,” you said. “I really appreciate it though, thank you.”
“Oh it’s nothing, really,” he said. “I hope he’s feels better.”
“Sorry, again.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “Is it okay if I get your number from Jamie?”
“Sure!” you said. “I’ll—I’ll see you around I guess?”
“Have a nice night,” he said and you gave him a curt smile, then made your way out of the restaurant, your heart beating in your ears.
                                                 *
If it were any other time, you would’ve been nervous to see Logan after a month, for the first time after your break up but you were so worried about Theo that it didn’t even cross your mind that Logan would be the one to greet you.
Which, of course he was the one to greet you by the door. He probably took your scent the moment you drove through the gates.
He looked almost frozen the moment you stepped out of your car but he recovered very fast.
“Hey—”
“Where is he?” you asked without so much as glance in his direction as you walked past him into the mansion and Logan easily caught up with you.
“In the basement,” he said. “Follow me.”
When you two got to the basement, Storm and Jean were already there.
“Hey, he’s totally fine,” Jean assured you the moment she saw you and Storm nodded her head.
 “We could’ve opened the door but we didn’t want to scare him any more than he already is,” she assured you. “He only said he wants you, and now he’s not talking to us.”
“But he’s not hurt in any way,” Logan added. “I don’t smell any blood or pain, and Jean already checked his mind.”
You raised your brows, then took a deep breath.
“Thanks,” you said and smiled at Storm and Jean. “Really, thank you so much. I can take it from here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” you said and swallowed thickly. “It’s not the first time this happens.”
Storm and Jean exchanged glances before Storm turned to you.
“I’ll just go and check the other students then.”
“And I’ll fill Charles in,” Jean said, squeezing your arm in a reassuring manner before they both walked away and you ran a hand over your face, then walked to the door of the basement and knocked softly.
“Bean?”
The only answer you got was a sniffle, breaking your heart to smithereens. You could feel your own eyes burning but you frowned, forcing yourself to focus.
“Bean, are you there?”
“…Yes,” his small voice reached you and you took a deep breath.
“You think you can open the door?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“I know,” you said, nodding fervently. “Everyone has bad dreams, it’s completely normal. And what do we do when we have bad dreams?”
“We have hot chocolate because that makes them go away.”
“Exactly,” you said. “So can you open the door please?”
“People will be angry at me.”
“What? No!” you said. “No one will be angry at you, I promise.”
“Mommy, it was an accident,” he said, a hiccup escaping him and you rested your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes before swallowing the lump in your throat.
“I know,” you said. “And so does everyone. No one is angry at you—Logan, is anyone angry at Theo?”
Logan came closer to the door so that Theo could hear him better.
“Not at all,” he said. “If anything I’m a little jealous. Blasting walls is so badass, I’d love to be able to do that.”
“You hear that, bean?”
“Really?” Theo’s hopeful voice reached you and Logan smiled slightly.
“Sure bub. And hey, turns out we’ll have to decide on your superhero costume sooner than you think.”
“There you go,” you said. “Superhero costume sounds fun—”
A meow cut you off, making you tilt your head.
“Bean, is there a cat in there with you?”
“…No.”
Another meow reached you and you raised your brows.
“Theo.”
“I found him here and we’re friends now.”
“Okay,” you muttered more to yourself. “Theo—”
“His name is Sir Bartholomeow,” Theo added as if it was imperative that you knew that information and you heaved a sigh.
“Very creative bean, but can you please open the door? So that we can drink hot cocoa and I can meet your friend?”
There was a momentary hesitation and another sniffle before you heard the lock turning and you took a step back so that you could see him better. Theo was still in his pajamas, his glasses slightly crooked over his face as if he had put them on in a hurry, his wide teary eyes looking up at you. In his arms, he was holding probably the grumpiest looking cat you had ever seen in your entire life so tight that it was a wonder why the cat wasn’t trying to escape. A breath of relief left you and you crouched down to get to his level.
“Hi bean,” you said gently. “How about we give your friend to Logan so that they can be friends and I can make sure you’re okay?”
Logan stepped closer. “Yeah bub, I can take the cat—”
“Sir Bartholomeow,” you and Theo said at the same time and Logan cleared his throat.
“Yeah, him.”
Theo sniffled again before tentatively handing Sir Bartholomeow to Logan, and you checked whether he was hurt anywhere before pulling him into a bone crushing hug. Theo was still shaking like a leaf and he mumbled ‘mommy’ before burying his face to your chest while you stood up with him in your arms.
“I’m here,” you said softly, still holding him tight. “I’m here, it’s fine. I swear everything is gonna be fine.”
                                                  *
Theo never liked being away from you and that turned into a whole different level whenever he had a nightmare. You would be lying if you said you weren’t relieved to have him in your sight so after he drank his hot chocolate, you had carried him to bed and stayed with him until he fell asleep, humming the lullaby he used to love when he was a baby.
There it was again.
Times like these, you always remembered just how utterly alone and clueless you were in this whole thing.
You could feel the tears pricking your eyes as you looked down at him, then leaned in to kiss his head and pulled the covers over him, and walked out of the room as quiet as a mouse.
 The mansion was mostly quiet, and even though you could still hear the voices coming from the kitchen, you desperately needed to be alone in case you burst into tears, so you walked through the hallway to step outside, the cold wind hitting your face. Heaving a sigh, you made your way to the stairs to sit down, and wiped at your eyes furiously before wrapping your arms around your knees, fixing your gaze on the stars glimmering in the sky.
You heard the front door open before the familiar footsteps came closer and you felt him drop his jacket over your shoulders before he sat down as well.
“Hi Logan,” you rasped out, sniffling and he offered you a hesitant smile.
“Hey,” he said, putting the bottle of whiskey between you two before he made a face. “Shit, I forgot to bring glasses.”
You scoffed a laugh. “We’ve done worse things than drinking from the same bottle.”
“Right,” he said after a beat and you grabbed the bottle to take a swig, grimacing at the burn before putting it down again.
“How’s your arm?” he asked and you took a shaky breath, then shrugged your shoulders.
“Healed,” you said and turned to look at him better. “I don’t even think about it anymore.”
He was too smart to miss the double meaning of your remark and his lips twitched for a moment.
“I’d bet,” he muttered. “Fun date then?”
You pulled your brows together in confusion and he nodded at you.
“I haven’t seen you in that dress before and you smell like someone else.”
You smelt like—
Oh. Hayes had hugged you.
“I don’t have the capacity to get into that bullshit right now,” you stated and Logan swallowed thickly, then nodded again.
“Right,” he said. “Of course.”
For a minute, the only thing you could hear were the crickets and the sound of the faint wind in the air before Logan take a deep breath.
“He’s fine, princess.”
You bit at your nail, blinking back the tears before you shook your head.
“No he’s not,” you said. “You and I both know that he’s not fine. Not really.”
“He’s too powerful,” Logan said. “Accidents like these will happen, you can’t really avoid them. What matters is that he hasn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”
You took another sip of the whiskey.
“Having you here helped a lot too,” he said. “He calms down when he sees you, that’ll be good for him.”
You clicked your tongue.
“Yeah, for now,” you muttered and Logan frowned.
“For now?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Until he grows up and hates me for everything I’m doing wrong as we speak.”
“That’s not true.”
“No no it is, I’m fucking up big time,” you said with a dry laugh. “Jesus, my mom said I had no idea what I was doing and I was too busy arguing with her that I didn’t even see it but it’s true. I have no clue.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong.”
“I’ve been doing everything wrong,” you told him, blinking back the tears. “He’s too little to see it now, but sooner or later he’ll see that everything that happened to him is my fault, even the fact that his powers showed up—”
You had to stop talking when your voice cracked and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, sniffling again. He reached out for a second as if he wanted to wipe at the tears falling down your cheeks but then paused, pulling his hand back, his jaw clenching like he was in pain. You wiped at your eyes furiously, letting out a shaky breath.
“I’m terrible at this,” you said, nodding to yourself while Logan kept his burning gaze on you.
“I promise you, you’re not,” he said. “Theo adores you, and I think you’re the best parent I’ve ever seen in my life which in case it has escaped your notice, that’s a lot of years.”
You raised your brows, wiping at your nose before you cleared your throat and took off the jacket to place it into his lap, then stood up with Logan following you suit.
“I can drive you home,” he said and you threw your shoulders back, trying to pull yourself together.
“I had like three sips of whiskey, I can drive.”
“I can still drive you, it’s been a long night.”
“I’m fine.”
“No I want to,” he insisted and you tilted your head, giving him a questioning look. His eyes met yours before he took a deep breath.
“I just…” he trailed off. “I want to—I want to make myself useful.”
You frowned, staring at him. “Why?”
“No reason,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ask for anything, just…like I said. I want to make myself useful. I need to make myself useful.”
Your stomach did a flip as a painful smile curled your lips.
Oh.
This. You were familiar with this.
You had been through the same. You were in fact going through the same right now, frantically looking for something to ease the pain. Your solution was to follow your friends’ advice and try to date around, ignoring the way it just felt wrong when you were still in love with him, and Logan—
Logan was dealing with it in such a Logan way that it was almost ironic how you didn’t see it coming.
“It’s not going to help,” you said, your voice a mere whisper and he gulped, his jaw clenching.
“It could,” he managed to say through his teeth and you sniffled, shaking your head.
“It won’t,” you rasped out. “I’m sorry, it won’t.”
The agony that flashed over his handsome features twisted at your heart but you managed to smile at him.
“Good night Logan,” you murmured and walked away from him, painfully aware of his eyes following you.
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hoshifighting · 3 days ago
Note
Hi. I love your writings. After I discovered Tumblr and your account... I don't know if I've had any day without coming back here... I had a request.
Bathroom sex with Minghao. It has been going on in my mind all day... Either bathtub or shower.
Even though he's not so masculine like others... I feel like he has an incredible core strength. So maybe putting the reader against the wall? Also if you're comfortable, could you add the reader as someone who's overweight and gets insecure from time to time.
It's like Minghao is comforting them through showing how beautiful they are through intimacy? Feels like something he would do.
Love your writing. Take care
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bath sex with minghao
WARNINGS: bath sex, insecurities, praising, nipple sucking, penetrative sex, a tear dropping here or there...
a/n: thank you my love for making me part of your routine 😭🙏 I luv seeing you here, you are soooo sweet!! sorry for making u wait for so long 🥺 love you too, take care of yourself, and drink lots of water plsss
you’d been spiraling about it all damn day. the way minghao’s hands just felt—long fingers brushing your skin in passing, his touch so casual but also so intentional. it stuck to you like a tattoo, made your brain fuzzy. you didn’t even realize it, but the itch of your insecurities had been gnawing at you. maybe it was that girl in line earlier with the perfect ass and the confidence to match, or maybe it was just the mirror, the way it always reflected every single thing you couldn’t fix.
but minghao sees you, actually sees you, and it ruins you every time.
“you’ve been quiet all day,” he says from the bathroom doorway, his head tilted like he’s already piecing you apart, trying to read the shit you don’t say. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
you don’t answer right away—can’t, really—because he’s standing there in just his sweatpants, waistband hanging low, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. fucking unreal. and you hate it, the way you almost flinch at the word “pretty,” because yeah, he means it, but your brain won’t let you believe it.
“nothing,” you lie, but your voice cracks. his eyes narrow.
“bullshit.”
you huff, looking anywhere but him. “it’s not a big deal. just—ugh, i don’t know, okay? can we not do this tonight?”
but of course, minghao doesn’t take that. doesn’t let you slip into your head and drown in it. instead, he steps in, closing the door softly behind him, like he’s locking the world out. “you know you can’t bullshit me, baby. talk to me.”
and then he’s right in front of you, hands sliding over your arms, thumbs skimming your skin like he’s earthing you.
you mumble, “i just—i don’t feel good today, okay? like… about myself.”
his brows pull together, and you hate that he looks hurt on your behalf. “y/n,” he says, his voice softer now, “what the hell are you talking about?”
“you wouldn’t get it,” you mutter, but the words catch when he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“try me.”
and fuck, he’s patient, doesn’t rush you, just waits while his thumbs start rubbing little circles on your hips. finally, you crack. “i just… sometimes it’s hard, okay? i see all these girls who look perfect, and then there’s me. i don’t even know why you—”
“don’t,” he cuts you off, firmly. “don’t finsh it, don’t do that. don’t talk about yourself like that. do you know how fucking beautiful you are? like, actually?”
you laugh, but it’s bitter, because it’s not something you believe. “hao—”
he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in to kiss you, like he’s trying to rewrite whatever nonsense’s looping in your head. his lips move with yours, one hand sliding up your back, the other curling around your waist, and it’s so easy to melt into him, to forget everything else.
“i’m serious,” he murmurs against your mouth. “you’re the most gorgeous person i’ve ever seen. i love every. fucking. inch. of you.”
you want to argue, but then his hands are tugging at your shirt, and the air shifts. he pulls back just enough to look at you. “can i?”
your nod is shaky, he peels your shirt off like it’s a ritual, and when he sees the hesitance in your eyes, he leans in to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, every patch of skin he uncovers.
he’s backing you up against the shower wall, his breath hot against your neck as he trails kisses down your jaw.
“hao,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out before he’s hooking your legs around his waist, his strength catching you like it’s nothing. “wait, i’m—”
“you’re fucking stunning,” he says, cutting you off, his lips crashing into yours again. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”
the sound of the water hitting the tile was loud, drowning out every thought in your head except him. minghao was everywhere—hands firm on your thighs, lips pressed to your chest, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming. the spray soaked through what little clothing you both had left, making the fabric cling before he shoved his pants and boxers down with one hand, the wet heap hitting the floor with an exaggerated plop.
“didn’t know your pants were that heavy,” you giggled. he smirked before leaning in to kiss you again.
“focus,” he murmured. his hips pressed forward, and you gasped when his cock brushed against your pussy—hard and ready, like it always was when it came to you. it was one of those things that made you feel… better, somehow. like maybe he really did mean all the things he said about how he wanted you, how he needed you. not that you’d ever admit it—god, no, he’d never let you live it down.
you squirmed against him, suddenly hyperaware of how high he had you hoisted. “hao, i—”
“relax,” he interrupted. “i’ve got you.”
“but what if—what if i fall?”
his jaw tensed, his hands tightened on you. “you won’t fall, y/n. do you trust me?”
you nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. his eyes narrowed. “say it.”
your voice cracked. “i trust you.”
“good,” he said, but there was a shimmer of guilt in his expression when he saw the tears welling in your eyes. his voice softened immediately. “hey, baby—fuck, i’m sorry. didn’t mean to sound so harsh. you’re safe, okay? i promise.”
his lips brushed your cheek, catching the tear that spilled over, and you sniffled, clinging to him tighter. his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “you’re safe with me. i swear.”
and then he rolled his hips, sliding into you, and whatever insecurity you’d been holding onto was gone—just gone. all you could feel was him, thick and deep, stretching you until your head spun. he groaned, his breath hitching as he bottomed out. “you feel so fucking good, baby. perfect. perfect.”
your fingers dug into his shoulders, a whimper slipping past your lips as he pulled back and thrust again, deep. the angle made you gasp, made your whole body shake in his arms. “hao,” you choked out, overwhelmed, and he just smiled against your neck.
“that’s it babe,” he murmured, picking up his pace, his hips slapping against yours. “see? i told you, baby. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ve got you. always.”
his words melted into the steam around you, and soon you weren’t sure if it was water or sweat trailing down your body. he fucked you, his grip on you steady and unrelenting, making it impossible to think about anything but the way he filled you, the way he made you feel like you were his.
“shit—fuck, hao, i’m gonna—”
“i know,” he cut in, his voice thick and breathless, but that smug grin never wavered. “let go for me, baby. you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. let me see you.”
and when you did—when your body clenched around him and your moan echoed in the steam-filled space—he followed right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. his head fell to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he held you close, neither of you caring about the water still raining down around you.
“see?” he said after a moment, pulling back enough to look at you. his smile was soft now, tender. “told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”
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mywritersmind · 1 day ago
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ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - LN4
↳ pt.4
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summary : A week of not so secret flirting, drunken parties, and being surrounded by your best friends; it ends with a promise and a kiss.
og summary : Its the vacation of your dreams! With your best friends, rich men, live music, and flowing drinks, nothing can ruin it. Even if a certain Formula 1 driver (who seems to have an affinity for annoying you) is there every step of the sandy way.
listen up : suggestive comments!! kissing! language!! all done <33 thanks for all the love recently i truly love you all. final part pt.1 pt.2 pt.3
word count : 3324 + tiny bit of smau
⋆。‧˚⋆
My feet are freezing but my torso is warm. My head hurts and when I move to sit up in bed, I'm yanked back down by a weight over my waist.
What? I eye the arm over me and trail it all the way to the man next to me. No.
I practically throw his arm off me but he doesn’t wake up, just stirs a bit and tugs on the blanket. It moves down his bare chest to reveal his tanned abs.
I’m in my pajamas. My hair is knotted. My head is pounding. I hit Lando with a pillow.
“Norris!”
He groans, turning away from me and mumbling. Once he realizes the person yelling at him is in his bed, he blinks at me. “What could be so important that you’re waking me up by pillow?” His morning voice is deep and scratchy.
“What the fuck am I doing here!?” I remember going out. I don’t remember making my way into Lando’s bed!
He rolls his eyes then closes them. I hit him again, “Hey!”
“Lando!” I yell again, then my hand goes to my mouth and my eyes widen, “We didn’t…”
He looks genuinely offended, “Give me some credit, Pretty. You’d know.” His arms go to the back of his head, a slight smirk on his face.
I screw my face up, “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” I hit him again, “Okay! Okay! You came here to get your purse but you were shit drunk and wouldn’t leave.”
Shit. “Oh.” I do not recall this at all. I cross my arms. “You couldn’t have slept on the couch?”
“You crashed my bed!” I remember him calling me beautiful.
I groan and stand up, pulling my hair up and finally spotting my purse. The floor is freezing and I can feel Lando’s eyes on me as I cross his room.
“You really don’t remember anything from last night?” I turn back so see him leant over the bed, the comforter dangerously low on his waist.
I turn back and pretend to look in my bag, “I don’t remember anything after my third shot and you dancing with that girl.” I know it’s the wrong thing to say right as it leaves my mouth.
“Oh… So you got drunk because you were jealous.” I don’t need to turn around to know he’s smirking.
“Goodbye Lando.” I make my way to the door.
“You’re not denying it!” He yells after me.
I shake my head and grab the door handle, “Truce, Norris. Don’t forget it!”
⋆༺
My friends and I meet for breakfast, gossiping about the locals and everything that happened last night. “You didn’t answer when I knocked this morning.” Rebecca looks at me while stirring her coffee.
“Hot night?” Alex teases as I make eye contact with Lily who’s smirking.
“I must have just been asleep…” My tone is less than convincing and me being late to breakfast didn’t help either. “You can’t freak out.”
I tell them about waking up next to Lando, their jaws dropped and their hands paused on utensils. Lily is the least shocked but definitely the most disappointed when I share that I didn’t have sex with him.
“Ok i’m officially freaking out!” Kika drops her fork, shaking her head as I prepare for the million questions they have for me.
⋆༺
LANDO
“Last day!” Pierre claps his hands together as we walk down the streets of turkey. The girls’ absence is very noticeable because my friends are fully attentive this morning.
“I’m sad.” Carlos sighs, “I don’t want to go back to real life.”
“I’m excited to go back!” Alex shrugs, looking around the white buildings, “I miss my cat.”
“I don’t know.” I say, “I've enjoyed this trip a lot. But I do need a break from you muppets.”
Charles hits my arm, “You only enjoyed it so much because you finally stopped toying around with Y/n.”
“Truth!” Pierre laughs, “I think you two are a great addition to the group. I mean you’re already in it but now everyone has a couple.
I eye him. “We’re not a couple. She barely likes me as it is.”
Carlos shakes his head, “Mate… She definitely likes you more than ‘barely’. Y/n may be strong willed but I've never seen her blush so much.”
I roll my eyes and pretend like that doesn’t make me like her more. “We’re friends. I think.”
“You think?” Charles raises a brow.
“I guess.” I say.
“Lando!” Carlos practically screams and slaps his hands down on my shoulders, “You need to ask her out.”
“I’m not asking her out! She’s scary as fuck.”
“Pussy.” Pierre and Alex cough at the same time as I side eye them.
“You’re just scared she’s gonna reject you.” Carlos says in my ear as I elbow him in the stomach, “Ow!”
“Fuck off and let’s go.”
⋆༺
YOU
I know he’s staring at me. I know he’s not trying to cover it up. I know he wants me to look back.
And I know I look good as hell.
“Norris!” Carlos calls from the water, “Come on!”
Lando doesn’t respond so I assume he shook his head because I don’t hear him getting up. I open my eyes and tilt my sunglasses down just as a smile breaks out on Lando’s face.
I suddenly understand the extent of why women fall at his feet. He’s got glasses on but his smile makes me want him to break my heart.
“Wanna go swim?”
I’m laying on my stomach so I rest my head against my warm arm and respond, “Go swim with Carlos.”
He rolls his eyes, “I don’t want to swim with Carlos.”
“Too bad. So sad.” I close my eyes again as I hear him mumble something under his breath.
“Wanna talk about your little jealously streak then?”
I sit up and face the water, “You’re one to talk.” He gives me a look to which I pull my sunglasses back on my head to fully look at him, “You gave that waiter a death glare!”
“He was being weird.”
I shake my head and laugh, “He was asking if I wanted parmesan!”
Lando does not look amused, playing around with his camera, “Parmesan is just where it starts…”
“So what? It’s cheese then asking to fuck me?”
He crosses his arms on the tanning chair, “Exactly.”
I breathe out, looking out at our friends in the water and the clear skies. “You shouldn’t care about that, Lando.”
“I can’t help it.” He shuffles around, snapping a few pictures as he nonchalantly says, “You looked good in my bed.”
I turn to him again, trying to actually see if he’s being serious but his face doesn’t crack into a smile. I’m speechless. And it’s embarrassing. “I- No.” I place my feet onto the sand and quickly stand, pulling off my sarong as I walk down the beach.
He follows me, of course he does.
“Don’t hide, Pretty. You blushing because of me is a lovely sight.” His fucking smile, god!
I’m frustrated that I can’t act cool around him all of the sudden, “Why don’t you look at the very beautiful ocean right in front of us!?”
He doesn’t even glance at the view, “I prefer you.”
My lips pull together in a thin line, “I can’t stand you.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion…” he steps forward and whispers, “that you can.”
I swallow and accidentally make eye contact with Lily who is smirking at us. I know they can’t hear what he’s saying but it still makes me nervous. “I’m sorry for last night.” It’s all I can think to say.
“I think we already established that it was no problem.” Right because he liked me in his bed! Kill me now. “Don't worry. We’ll have a redo soon enough.”
He starts walking away from me as I gasp, “A redo!? Lando what do you mean!?”
He starts walking backward, slowly. “One on both our terms? One with two sober attractive people?” He raises a brow.
I cross my arms but honestly want to laugh. I walk closer, “Keep dreaming, Norris.”
“It’s called manifesting, actually!” Is all he says before picking me up and slinging me over his shoulder. It takes me so off guard that I can’t help my scream.
“Lando!”
I can hear the smirk in his voice, his hands gripping my legs, “Scream my name, Pretty.”
⋆༺
LANDO
I’m looking at her again.
A little less admiring this time because i’m holding back a laugh as she tries to take Pierre down in a game of chicken.
She’s on Carlos’ shoulders while Charles has Pierre sat on his. Everyone is laughing around us as they watch the four.
I don’t even realize the man next to me until he clears her throat, “Hey man.” He’s american.
“Hi.” I think he’s going to ask for picture or something but then he looks up at Y/n and I get a sick sort of feeling that this is my karma for teasing her.
He looks back at me and gives me a cheesy grin, “I’m Nate.”
I nod slowly, “Hi Nate.”
“Mine telling me your friend's name?” Ok rude. He didn’t even ask for mine. I hate him.
“Carlos?” I blink, pointing to the man.
Nate laughs a bit awkwardly, “Nah man… The hot girl on his shoulders.”
“Oh.” I eye him, my disdain obvious, “That’s Y/n.”
“Y/n, huh? She single?” I give him a look to which he looks frightened at, His hand goes to my shoulder and I fight the urge to step back, “Shit! She’s not your girl, is she?”
“Um…” Everything in me wants to say yes. “No. No she’s not.”
He hums, “Right… I know that look. I’ll back off, I get it.” He’s grinning like he knows all my secrets, “Sorry to bother you.” I think he’s going to leave but he stops, “Man also- in my experience, it’s not a good sign, guys asking you about her.”
He leaves.
What the fuck? I finally get the girl to tolerate me and now everyone thinks I'm supposed to fall at her feet and beg her?
Yeah I'll do it.
⋆༺
YOU
The day has flown by, with the sun burning us one last time and our lunch at the best local place where the chef adores us. I’m sad to go. Even If we still have this last night.
Dinner is slow and quiet, we’re all pretty tired but comment on little things around us.
I’m in a long dark blue dress, my favorite for our last night. Lando’s next to me and by the end of our dinner, he rests his head on my shoulder. I say nothing because I like his closeness.
Kika clears her throat, “This was an amazing trip and I'm very glad I got to enjoy it with you lot. I’m very very thankful for everyone here, and how our little group operates.”
Pierre rubs her back, “I’m thankful for hotel beds. And mojitos and sunscreen.” I laugh as Alex starts.
“I’m grateful for fish and sunglasses.”
Lily shakes her head, “I’m thankful for my lovely friends and for all the amazing food we ate! Plus me beating Lando in golf.”
Lando groans next to me, “I’ll get you one day, Lil.”
I smile, “I’m grateful for the ocean! And boat rides and night swims.”
“I’m grateful for spas and books!” Alexandra joins in.
Charles smiles at her lovingly, “I’m thankful for friends and cooking classes.” God that seems like forever ago.
“I’m thankful for golf as well!” Carlos grins, “And wine.”
Rebecca laughs and squeezes his hand, “I’m grateful for morning yoga and sunsets.”
Lando doesn’t sit up when it’s his turn, just stays resting on my shoulder, “I’m thankful for my camera and all the pretty views I've captured.” His foot nudges mine.
I blink, looking down at him as he just stares forward. Kika grins and holds up her glass, “To us!” I join as we all hold up our respective drinks.
“To us!” We repeat and cheers, Lando’s head leaving my shoulder as he holds up his water.
“You know…” Pierre looks around at us, “I’m not very tired.”
Carlos grins and taps his finger against the table, “It’s our last night…”
Lily laughs and stands, “Beach bar!”
⋆༺
The thought of drinking makes me feel sick so I stick to water. Lando is nursing a drink but it’s the same one I've seen him with all night.
I catch his eye while he’s talking to the bartender, he smiles softly and makes his way over to me immediately.
“Hi.” Hi? I don’t think Lando’s ever said Hi to me.
“Hello…?”
He leans against the bar as the music gets louder, “Fun night?”
I nod, sipping my water as someone bumps into us. He drunkenly apologizes before Lando looks at me again, “Want to go for a walk?”
I find walking down the beach at night with Lando far too often… Not that i’m complaining.
His drink is gone and his shoes are in his hand as mine are in mine, “Accomplish everything you wanted to?”
“Accomplish?” I laugh, “Do you go to every vacation with a to-do list?”
He shrugs shyly, “Maybe a mental one. Like I knew I needed to jet ski. I didn’t know it would end up with an attempted drowning…”
I scoff and hit his arm, “I wish your dramatic ass did drown.”
He just grins, “You’re remarkably bad at lying.”
I shake my head, looking back at him, “It’s something about you… You call me out on everything.”
“Because it’s so easy to catch. Even if you’re joking… you bite your lip a bit. No matter the lie.”
I frown, “You notice things like that?”
He looks past me at the water, then back to me. His face is shaded but the moonlight helps see his features, “I notice a lot of things about you.”
“If you told me that a week ago… I would have laughed in your face.”
“It didn’t just start this week. You just avoided me at every chance you got before this trip, but you’re hard to miss.”
I’m walking backwards now, looking at his loose button down and his hand in his pocket, “Are you saying you watched me, Norris?”
“I don’t think you understand that you’re very interesting to watch.” I go to speak but he cuts me off, “And don’t you dare call me creep. I know you do it too.”
I smile, “I’m grateful for you, Lando.”
His brows raise, “Am I being pranked…?” He comes to a stop as I push his shoulder back.
“I am. You bug the good out of me.”
He sets down his shoes, the music and lights from the beach bar far away but still seen and heard softly. “I’m glad you think so.”
It surprises me when his hand goes to my waist, “What are you doing?” I say quickly.
“Humor me.” Is all he says as his other hand meets my waist for the second time. I move my arms to his shoulders, my hand behind his head.
“Do you dance with all your friends by moonlight?” We sway a bit together.
He smiles again, his eyes so bright even in the dark, “I can tell you in confidence that this is a Y/n special. But you hurt me a bit.”
I raise a brow, “What?”
“Friendzoned while thinking about kissing you isn’t a fun thing.” My heart rate starts up.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Go out with me. When we get back.” I watch him talk so close to me, “No hostess forcing us together or shitty small talk. Come on, Pretty. For real.” He’s so beautiful and so nice and so funny.
“We don’t live close. Lando, you travel-”
“Fuck that. I’m asking you on a date in Monaco because I like you, a lot. If nothing else was in the way, what would you say?” He seems almost nervous and it makes me smile because he never shows this side of him.
“I would say yes.” I can’t help it. “But those things are very real and…”
“And?” He raises a brow, a smile replacing his nervous face.
I can’t help but smile, “And I like you. Maybe too much…” this makes his grin widen. “But still!”
“I can fly. I don’t know if you know this…” he leans in closer to whisper in my ear, “But I have some extra money.”
I pretend to push away but he holds me tight, “One date.”
He nods, repeating my words, “One date.”
“Our friends will freak out.”
“They’ll love it.”
“I know they will.” I shake my head, “I swear this was just a ploy to get us together.”
He laughs, “It worked, didn’t it?”
I laugh with him because he’s correct. I started this week with a bad attitude and a need for sun. I’m leaving it with a pretty boy and tanned skin.
“You still don’t know a lot about me.” We sway.
Lando shrugs, our faces extra close now, “I know you can talk for hours. I’ll listen.”
And I know he’s not lying.
“I’m annoying a lot of the time.”
He nods far too theatrically, “Trust me, I know!” I step on his foot but he just uses it as a way to bring me closer. I can hear his breathing and when I meet his eyes again, they’re soft and kind, “One more thing.”
“Go for it, Norris.” I’m whispering but I don’t know why.
There’s no one around, just the faint sound of music and waves crashing. “Can I kiss you?” It’s something so simple that I want to cry.
I smile, “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Norris.” He gives me a look, “Yes, Lando. You can kiss me anytime.”
And so he does.
⋆༺
LANDO
She smells like coconuts and tastes like mint. Her lips are soft against mine.
Our first kiss was on this beach, but it was different. It was hungry and intrigued. I was drunk and she was ethereal.
Now, she’s still beautiful but I'm not drunk. She’s soft. Does that make sense? It makes sense to me. She’s soft against me, his hands brush my neck and cheek, I can feel her smile against me.
Her kiss is something writers dream about and something I’ve imagined in a million different scenarios.
The start of this trip, my main goal was to tease and bug her until she broke. My goal now has been fulfilled with her promise of a real date and her kissing me like I actually mean something to her.
I like that I mean something to her.
She pulls back, her hands on my neck and in my hair, “You’re really beautiful too, you know.” Her lipgloss is smudged and her dress is getting wrinkled under my touch.
I take her in, every inch of her. I want to burn this moment in my brain forever. I haven’t stopped smiling for hours and it’s all because of her. “You’re amazing.”
She laughs, “You don’t have to one up my compliment.” I really didn’t mean to even try.
“I’m serious.” Her face tells me she understands suddenly, “Thank you, Y/n. You really are my favorite surprise this trip.”
She smiles, her hand on my chest, “I never believed our friends. They used to say how great we’d be together.”
“They’re geniuses and I owe them my life.” I shrug as she laughs my favorite laugh in the world: the one where I make her head drop and her teeth show.
“I’m sorry I ever was mean to you.”
“That’s alright…” I push back a strand of her hair, “Everyone needs a bit of foreplay.”
LANDONORRIS
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landonorris DUMP FROM MARMARIS!! I miss it and I hate the rain.
username262 : TAN LANDO IS BACK
↳ username32 : he’s literally always tan i’m jealous
yourusername : 😊☀️
↳ landonorris :😋🫵
↳ username123 : what…?
username01 : who is the girl lando??
↳ username44 : his friend!! him and some drivers + girlfriends were on the trip
↳ username56 : interesting that they were the only single ones there…
pierregasly : let’s go back
charlesleclerc : alexandra is already planning another one (this time as a true couples trip)
↳ landonorris : WOAHHH SHHH
landofan4 : she’s sooo pretty istg how do these men pull these women!?
↳ username628 : they’re not even confirmed??
↳ username25 : trust me they will be in a month.
carlossainz : maybe you won’t suck at golf next time
↳ lilymunihe : not likely.
kikagomez : treat her poorly and i’ll punch you
↳ yourusername : punch him!
↳ landonorris : i haven’t even done anything?? and i wont!!!
maxfewtrell : thanks for the invite
alexalbon : I love the part of this dump where the only solo pics are of you and Y/n……..🤨🤨🤨🤨
↳ yourusername : funny alex my favorite part is the same thing😁😁😁
268 notes · View notes
l-starsz · 20 hours ago
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i walked into billies house. she’d recently moved and i’d been to the new house a few times, but not a lot. as soon as i walked in though, i spotted that window. it was massive, and the perfect place for her to fuck me. although we were only supposed to be friends, i couldn’t help my feelings. i needed her as more than a friend. so bad.
maybe one day it’d happen. i hoped so. i often thought about the things i wished would happen between us. i didn’t think she felt the same though. i was the only one out of us feeling this. so i had to push my feelings away and make sure she didn’t know, or didn’t find out. if she found out it’d ruin everything. she’d leave me. i’d end up with no one.
so although it hurt to hide these feelings when we were in each others arms almost everyday, whether we were watching movies, or going to sleep, we were clinging onto eachother, i couldn’t lose her. when we were out we’d often hold hands and would rarely go anywhere by ourselves. we were very touched with eachother, so it did make it more difficult, but i couldn’t lose her.
we were in her living room, cuddled up together on her sofa and watching a movie. i’d completely lost focus on the movie a while ago though. i was focused on billies hands. one of them was placed on my waist, while the other rested on my upper thigh. we were sprawled out, me in between her legs and my back resting against her. i needed her so bad.
after a little while, she shifted so that both of her hands were on my waist for a bit before she snaked her arms around me, holding me close to her. i leaned my head back a little so it was on her shoulder and i was looking up at her. she immediately looked down and smirked, seeing my pink cheeks.
what i didn’t know then, was that she actually felt the same as i did. and she knew how i felt. i thought id been good at hiding it but to billie it was obvious. she knew everything about me, she knew how to read me like a book, so of course i couldn’t hide this without her finding out. she noticed that i was always a little more shy around her and i was super clingy. and obviously she noticed when i was blushing all the time, even though whenever she’d ask id brush it off as me being warm. that may have been the case sometimes, but a lot of the time it wasn’t for that reason.
the eye contact was almost unbearable, i just wanted to press my lips against hers and finally confess how bad i wanted her. needed her. it was as if she read my mind because one minute she was smirking down at me and the next minute her lips were pressed against mine in a hungry and desperate kiss. this told her how bad i needed her. after a minute, she abruptly pulled away, looking at me with wide eyes.
“i shouldn’t of- i’m sorry-“
before she could finish talking, i turned on her lap and kissed her again, and again, and again.
“it’s okay bil.” i whispered.
she quickly pushed me down on the sofa so she was hovering above me, this led to more kisses, which resulted in us making out. her hands were roaming all over my body whilst mine we’re cupping either side of her face. her fingers soon enough made their way under my pyjama bottoms and into my underwear.
she looked at me for permission. when i nodded i felt them run through my folds, gathering my wetness and spreading it over my clit, rubbing a little before two fingers pushed inside me, slightly stretching me out. she quickly found a steady pace which made me arch my back and press against her.
her fingers were curling in the perfect spot, causing me to whine and moan for her.
“please billie-“
“that’s it angel, use your words. doing so good for me.”
i moaned louder at her words, hands gripping her shirt, pulling her a little closer to me. my legs opened wider as i was getting closer to release.
“billie!” i gasped.
“i can tell how close you are baby. i can feel you clenching around my fingers. you’re so wet for me huh. and so perfect.”
and that’s all it took for me to cum all over her fingers. loud moans echoed through her house as her fingers slowed and she whispered sweet praises into my ear.
“there you go. good girl. so beautiful for me.”
i slightly whimpered and pulled her onto me as soon as she pulled her fingers out of me.
“can you go again for me love? i wanna see you cum again.”
i nodded and let her stand up off the sofa, helping me up with her so that she could take my shirt and bottoms off. she admired how wet my underwear was before pulling them off too. i was pushed back onto the sofa and watched as she stripped in front of me. her body looked so perfect, id never seen someone as beautiful as her. so i told her.
“you look so beautiful fuck. i need you.”
she smirked at me and lifted me up a little, moving me so that i was sat forward a bit. that’s when i noticed something in the boxers she was wearing. they were all she’d left on and i didn’t know how i didn’t see or feel the bulge sooner. when she pulled them down, her strap sprung out and my eyes widened.
“billie i don’t know about that.. it looks too big i’ve never had anything that big in me before.” i quietly spoke.
“you’re wet enough for it. i think you’ll be able to take it. if you really don’t want to though then we don’t have to and we can either try something else or stop and i’ll get you cleaned up baby.”
“i want to try it bil. please.” i was so needy at that point.
that was all she needed to hear for her to carefully push the tip inside me, letting me get used to it before slowly pushing it in bit by bit. she soon enough had the whole length inside me and just stayed like that until i told her she could move. once she began moving, the loudest moans toppled out of my mouth no matter how silent i tried to stay.
as she was thrusting deep into me, her hands were running up my stomach, all the way up until they were resting on my tits. she gave them a small squeeze and then moved back to hold onto my waist.
“you look so gorgeous like this. such a mess for me yet you’re still taking me so well.” she whispered, that small smirk still showing.
my walls tightened around her, hands gripping her arms. she could feel how tight i was as it was a slight bit more difficult to push inside me.
“can i cum billie?” i whined loud, trying to hold onto the feeling.
“cum for me angel.”
i definitely moaned way too loud when i heard those words and came everywhere. i was practically screaming for her as she slowed her thrusts and ran her hands up and down my stomach to calm me down. she stayed inside of me whilst i settled down, she waited until i was ready.
when she eventually pulled out, i felt her placing gentle kisses on my lips and whispering in between them.
“one more for me baby. can you go once more for me? then if you want we can have a nice warm bath and i’ll get you all cleaned up.”
i nodded and kissed her again. i needed her all over me. she dragged me to stand up off the sofa and moved me over to the window. that window i wanted her to push me against.
“i know you wanted this. seen the way you stare at it when you come in and then you get lost in your own world daydreaming about me huh?”
i nodded and felt her gently push me forward so that my tits we’re pressed against the glass and my back was slightly arched. within a few seconds, she was kneeled on the floor, eating me out as if she’d never get to do this again.
my breath fogged the glass while i whined and bucked my hips against her mouth. i really didn’t last long. within a few minutes, i came all over her face and slid down the window a little until she moved away and i collapsed on the floor. soon enough, she crouched down and turned me around in her arms.
“there you go love, you did really well for me. you’ve made me really proud.” she smiled, lifting me into her arms and carrying me up to her room and laying me on the bed whilst she ran a bath for me and got some fresh clothes out.
i was almost asleep when she moved my hair from my face then took me to the bathroom, carefully placing me in the bath and kissing the top of my head.
“can you get in with me please?” i mumbled, half asleep.
“of course.” she slowly got in behind me and began to wash my hair for me and helped me wash the rest of my body before we just rested there for a bit. i ended up falling asleep against her at one point. what felt like a few seconds later, i was being gently lifted out of the bath and was placed back on the bed with a fluffy towel wrapped around me.
i groaned and opened my eyes, causing her to look over at me as she finished putting some clothes on.
“hey angel. let’s get some clothes on you and then we can sleep, okay?”
i just nodded and got myself dressed before we clambered into her bed and were soon enough asleep next to eachother.
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miaoua3 · 2 days ago
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Hello! Can you write an sfw/nsfw headcannon version for soonyoung pls? Love your writing!🫰
hii! ofc i can, it would be my pleasure, i hope you enjoy this!
Husband! Hoshi Headcanons
•(sfw! hcs):
we all already know that he’s a cuddle bug, but the extent that his need to be touching you goes to is beyond what any of us could imagine. he’s constantly up in your space, touching you in any way possible. if you are doing chores around the house, instead of helping you by doing something, he will just hang onto your shirt and follow you around, talking animatedly. if you are sitting down, you better expect for his head to be resting on your shoulder
whenever he needs something, he just calls for you (aka screams “baaaabee!”through the house until you hear him and come to him lmao), doesn’t matter that most of the times the thing that he’s looking for is right in front of him, he’s a bit blind sometimes (or so he tells, in reality he does it because he finds your annoyed little pout so adorable)
instead of kissing, he loves to often rub your noses together as a sign of affection, something about just feels so silly and cute and domestic to him he can rarely resist the urge to do it, plus you always smile so brightly whenever he does it so its a win-win situation
he loves that with you he can be as childish and silly as he wants, that you will always join him in his silly missions to make everyone laugh, that you will always laugh along with him no matter how ridiculous and stupid his jokes are. he loves that you are his youth quite literally, and that with you along his side, he can climb on top of the world
three words: matching tiger pyjamas. you didn’t have much of a choice, really, he just bought them for you two one day, and as you tried to let him down gently, his big brown puppy eyes looked at you pleadingly, ready to say “please?” as you were about to refuse him, and suddenly you just sighed in defeat. so guess which pyjamas you two wear the majority of the month, except for the few says it takes to wash and dry them?
compliments you all the time-both when he intends to and when he isn’t even aware that what he said is considered a compliment. for example, if you are getting ready, doing your makeup or taking it off, he will just come behind you, hug you and while smiling say “you are so very pretty, the prettiest in this whole wide world. i must’ve saved korea as a nation in my past life to get the honour of having you in this life.”, or for the times when he is unaware of it-you were just looking at some flowers as you were walking through a botanic garden when he said “i don’t know much about flowers, but whenever i see this flower (points to a, say, hibiscus), it reminds me of you, because you both are so pretty and look so gentle.” bro isn’t even trying yet he got you crying
loves loves LOVES surprising you with at-home picnics, just as you walk through the door of your house, he’s running towards you, taking your hand so he can lead you to the living room where the stuff is all set up-the white bedsheet handing from two chairs, under the sheet fairy lights wrapped around the chairs, a blanket on the floor with lots and lots of food spread on it. he loves how it always makes you smile and how easy it is to make you happy
•(nsfw! hcs):
has stamina of a BEAST, like it isn’t enough that he seemingly gets boners all the time, the sight of your collarbones is enough to make him hug your from behind, slowly grinding his hips against your ass while he mumbles “please babe, lemme make you feel good hm? it’s been so long since i’ve fucked you, let me make you cum on my dick” (btw it hasn’t even been that long, you two had sex two days prior but ok lmao). the moment he sees you close your eyes, he knows he’s won. cue at least 3 hours of him pounding into you, his skin slapping against yours, both your skins burning from the force they meet. at some point you feel so exhausted that you just lay there, face in the pillow, while he holds your hips in the air as he fucks you from behind
is so enthusiastic about eating you out that he overstimulates you, not only are his fingers fast inside of your pussy, but he’s sucking on your clit so hard, it makes tears fall from your eyes very easily. he just wants you to feel so good (but also to squirt all over his face) that he can spend hours just lapping at your juices, mumbling “c’mom pretty girl, just one more, make a mess on my face, that’s what it’s for, it’s for you to sit on it and make yourself cum on it” bsjqbsjqkq
speaking of-dirty talk with him goes CRAAAZY, not even because he wants it to, he just says whatever it’s on his mind, his thoughts a mess thrown up the moment they appear in his mind. he’s a moaning mess, sucking hickeys into your skin, kissing you sloppily, all while he’s repeating “pussy so good, fuck, want to stay here forever. want to cum inside of you all the time, to make you full with my cum-shit, ahh, so tight, im gonna-“ cue more moaning and whining as he nears his end
on the same note- breeding kink. we all know that one clip where he said he wants a whole football team (thank you scoups for the metaphor lmao). and even now, he often talks about getting married and having kids, so i think the moment he put that ring on you, he got down to BUSINESS. i’m talking he soaks your pussy AND your sheets with hair cum, if he could, he would make you wear a plug so none of it spills out and that it’s 100% sure that you end up pregnant from it. the thoughts of your heavy, full and lactating breasts, your round belly, and a little girl that has a smile just like yours, haunt his dreams on the daily
he is unintentionally so rough, like not only does he manhandle you into positions that he needs you in, if you are too far gone to be listening to him, he will just grab you by your neck to get your attention, or pull on your hair so you can watch him fuck you in the mirror, eyes trained on your gaping mouth and bouncing tits. the thing is- he doesn’t do it out of the need to be dominant, it’s just that it’s a part of his fantasy, of exactly what he imagined for that night to be, so if you aren’t following it, he will take the matter into his own hands (quite literally).
he isn’t really sure why, but he loves it when you end up crying from the overstimulation and pleasure, and when you mascara runs down your cheeks. you just look so ruined, and it makes him feel so good and smug that he’s the only one that has the honour of seeing you sobbing for him to both stop and to cum inside of you, the only one who gets to squish your mascara stained cheeks together and make you focus on him, the only one that makes your legs tremble and shake every day. the only one that gets to fuck a baby into you. the only one you crave.
(act surprised for this one) he is low-key into collars. he isn’t all that sure about leashes, but a pretty little collar wrapped around your pretty neck? and if it has a heart shaped buckle? he is a goner. he won’t ever recover from the amount of fantasy material the sight gives him, how primal it makes him feel. plus the look you make whenever he puts two fingers through that heart shaped buckle and pulls you towards him by it? it will literally make him kneel in front of a god and thank him for that sight (not really something he should discuss with a god, yknow, given that it’s about your sex life and all that but eh, whatever lol)
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captainsophiestark · 2 days ago
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Worth The Risk
Jason Todd x Reader
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Masterlist - Join My Taglist!
Written for Fictober 2024!
Fandom: DC
Day Twenty-Eight Prompt: "Just say what you want"
Summary: Jason's teammate has been trying to ask him out for a long time now, but he's always ducked the question before it's officially been asked. Now, it seems he's finally ready to talk about why.
Word Count: 1,955
Category: Fluff, little bit of Angst?
Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.
"I'm telling you, Art, I'm starting to go a little crazy! He'll flirt with me all day long, but the minute I try to turn it into a date or a kiss or even a fucking conversation, he pulls back like he's been shocked!"
I could hear Artemis, one of my best friends, trying to stifle a laugh on the other end of the line. I narrowed my eyes, but didn't call her out on it. I had bigger problems right now, as far as I was concerned.
"Okay, when you say you've tried to turn it into a conversation...?"
"I mean I've gotten as far as 'so, Jason, I've been thinking' before he suddenly has a call coming in from Bruce or an urgent cramp in his leg or a super interesting bird outside the window that he has to go look at right now!"
This time, Artemis didn't bother trying to hold back her laugh. I scowled even though she couldn't see it.
Jason Todd and I had been friends for a while now, working together as vigilantes. We'd hit it off from the first time we met, and our relationship had always been a little flirty. More recently, though, it had felt on the verge of something more. And I wanted that. I liked Jason, a lot, and I wanted to see where we might be able to go, if he was interested too.
Most of the time, it did seem like he was interested. But for whatever reason, he kept pulling a 180 on me and defaulting to more platonic behavior than we'd ever had with each other any time I tried to bring it up. I'd decided to talk to Artemis about it, to see if she could give me any advice or anything, but so far she'd been absolutely no help.
"Alright, Art, I'm glad I've been able to entertain you tonight, but can you please-"
I stopped short at the sound of a knock on my door. I frowned. I hadn't ordered anything, and I wasn't expecting anyone. So who the hell was at my apartment?
"Hey, you still there? You alright?"
I hummed, standing from my seat in the kitchen and heading for the door.
"I'm fine. Somebody just knocked on my door, hold on."
I leaned forward to peer through the peep hole, and to my immense shock, I saw Jason Todd standing on my doormat. After a few moments of stunned silence, I finally managed a few words into the phone.
"Yeah, Art? I think I'm gonna have to call you back."
I hung up without waiting for her reply. I'd owe her an explanation later, but I knew she'd understand. Whatever this was about, it seemed pretty serious. Jason had never once shown up at my civilian residence, despite both knowing each other's identities.
I cleared my throat and stuck my phone in my pocket, trying to get a handle on the nerves that had suddenly exploded in my chest. After a moment, I couldn't stall anymore. I took a deep breath and opened the door to find Jason fidgeting almost as much as I was.
"Hey," I said, giving him a weak smile. "What's... what's up? Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine," Jason said, glancing down and rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just... wanted to talk to you. About something. Didn't want to wait till the next time I saw you on the rooftops, hunting somebody down. I hope that's okay."
"Yeah! Of course, yeah. Come on in."
I took a quick step back from the door, holding it open for Jason and trying not to let him see my nerves. He walked through, but stopped in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, looking a little lost. All I could do was stare at him for a moment as I shut the door. It was strange to see Jason in the middle of my civilian apartment like this, but it was also the kind of strange I could get used to.
"Here, take a seat," I said, heading to the kitchen and motioning towards one of the stools at the counter. "Can I get you a water or something?"
Jason cleared his throat, moving with me after a moment's delay.
"A water would be great, actually. Thanks."
"Sure thing."
I used the time it took me to get some water from the fridge, with my back turned to Jason, to take a few deep breaths. I was a vigilante, for god's sake, I knew how to keep myself from panicking in stressful situations. I wasn't going to let this impromtu visit unravel me.
I returned to Jason with a water for each of us, then sat down at the stool next to his. I was still a little nervous, but my heart had at least stopped pounding quite so quickly, and my hands weren't shaking when I set down the waters.
"So... you wanna tell me what's up?"
Jason cleared his throat, shifting in his seat before meeting my eyes. I gave him a little smile, and it seemed to help him relax, at least slightly. He smiled back.
"Listen... I really like spending time with you. And working with you and talking to you and... and everything. And Roy has been telling me he's sick of listening to me talk about you, so I'm taking his advice and coming to talk to you."
My heart did a backflip in my chest, but I refused to get too far ahead of myself. Jason still looked grim and stressed out of his mind, like he did when I tried to ask him out, which didn't exactly match the positive topic I was hoping this conversation might have.
"So... what are you saying?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light. "Because it sounds like you're building up to one thing, but your tone and your body language is pointing to something very different. Are you trying to ask me on a date, or trying to tell me you're not interested."
"I'm not not interested," Jason responded quickly. I raised an eyebrow, but he looked more stressed than before.
"Okay... so then, what is it? Just say what you want, Jay."
Jason took a long, deep breath in, closing his eyes for a minute and apparently trying to get in the right headspace. When he finally opened his eyes again and met my gaze, he at least looked marginally calmer.
"I want to ask you out."
"...I feel like there's a but coming."
"...But... I don't know, I just feel like you should be fully informed. I'm not necesserily the most... stable potential partner. I'm still working through a lot of shit from before and after the Lazurus Pit, and I'm a regular letdown to my family. That whole experience... I think it broke something in me. And I've been trying to fix what it broke, but I'm not sure I can. I don't want you agreeing to a date or anything else without knowing exactly what you're getting into."
I frowned, which Jason seemed to take as an expected bad sign. His shoulders slumped a little, and he looked resigned. I shook my head.
"Jason... what the hell are you talking about?" Jason opened his mouth like he intended to speak, but I held up a hand to cut him off. "That was mostly a rhetorical question. Believe it or not, I've gotten to know you pretty well in the time we've spent together, working side by side in life and death situations and passing days upon days with each other. And frankly? I like you. A lot. If you hadn't sent up the signals for a hard no everytime I tried, I would've asked you out a long time ago."
Jason sighed. "I still feel like you don't know what you're getting into. I don't want to go down this road and have you end up regretting it and hating me."
"Okay," I said, letting out a sigh of my own. "First of all, let's clear something up. Not once have you disappointed me or let me down, not in all the time we've known each other and worked together, even though you've had plenty of opportunities. And Jay, I didn't know you as Robin. I don't know the old you that you're so intent on comparing yourself to. But the guy sitting in front of me right now? He refuses to see it, but he's a wonderful person and friend, and anyone would be lucky to date him."
Jason flushed and looked down at his lap, but I didn't stop.
"Second, if I ever hear Batman or another one of your family members calling you a disappointment, it's game over for them. I'm punching them in the mouth like they deserve, and that's the end of that."
Jason snorted, briefly picking his head up to give me a look. I grinned back at him.
"And third..." I let the smile fall from my face, adopting a serious expression instead as I gently reached out to take one of Jason's hands. To my delight, he let me. "Third, nobody knows how things're gonna go when they go on a date with somebody. There's no real predicting that, there's no garuntees that we'll be perfectly matched and instantly work out and never have trouble forever and ever. But I know you're a good person, and I love spending time with you, and I trust you with my life, and my heart likes to do a gymnastics routine whenever you're in the same room as me. So if you feel similarly about me, and you want to give it a shot...?"
Jason sighed, chewing on his lip for a moment as he stared at me. Finally, he nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah, I really do."
"Good. Then that's that, Jay. There's no garuntees of anything, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. The only way to really lose is to let fear keep us from taking a shot at happiness, right?"
Jason shook his head, but he was smiling all the same as he took my other hand in his, too.
"I guess you do make a pretty convincing argument. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this? It... feels like it could lead to a lot of complications."
"Jason, I'm sure." I laughed. "Honestly, I have been for a long time now. Are you sure?"
I saw Jason take another bracing breath. Then he straightened, shoulders back, and gave me a genuine smile.
"Yeah. I'm sure."
"Great! Then what do you say we turn tonight into our first official date? I was just about to make dinner, and I've got some good movies we can pick from."
Jason's smile grew, taking on a little bit of an edge.
"That sounds perfect to me. As long as you promise to let me take you out for our second date. Somewhere nice."
"Believe it or not, that's not going to take too much convincing."
The two of us shared a smile again, and I gave Jason's hands a squeeze before standing and heading for the kitchen. He joined me, and when I stood at the counter to lay things out, Jason only hesitated for a second before coming up behind me to wrap his hands around my waist. He leaned in to place a soft kiss on my temple, and I leaned back, a smile on my face.
This time, my heart didn't do a backflip. Instead it radiated warmth through my chest and into the rest of my body. I knew we were at the beginning of our road, and there were no garuntees about what might be at the end of it. Still. I couldn't help having a good feeling.
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Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @samreich @misshale21
DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182
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milkbean69 · 1 day ago
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My thoughts on the Yandere Arcane Au
Tw: sorry y'all not good at writing yandere, yandere content
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Okay before we get started we need to talk about what this universe of the undersity looks like pre- time skip. Honestly I think that this univers had a lot more progression in term of revolution and a lot less shimmer. Also considering the fact that Vander and Silco were able make up after Vi's death makes me think there was a lot less bloodshed between the two over the years. I mean of course silco when and found the note vander left but the fact that the crew is all laughing and partying together means there has to be new layers of loyalty amongst the crew caused by Vi's death.
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Yandere's Vander and Silco:
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OH GOD!!!! These two I swear, I honestly feel like in terms of protectiveness Vander would actually be worse. I mean he watched Vi die in the attack so you have that. He would not want to lose another.
If Vander was a platonic yandere, yeah no, your never leaving the Last Drop without him ever again. The trama he has from Vi is crazy. But if it was a romantic situation, he would be a little more lenient.
Now for platonic yandere Silco. I feel like a lot of protectiveness would come from a place of guilt and attonment. I mean his actions killed Vi during the pre-timeskip in this universe and he is probably still feel's guilty for that despite the fact that he has been forgiven.
So I feel like bring a young obsession or kid into the mix, would make him feel like he needs to make amends for what he did. Not only to prove to himself but for the others aswell that no other will die under his care.
Now them as a pair, would go crazy platonic or not. We need to remember something the two are brothers and the the pillars of the undercity. So the levels of communication and partnership are already there. There abilities to unite people would probably be where a lot of the Yanderness of the crew starts to fester. Always having someone with you, eyes and ears all over Zaun, and generally not being fucked with or else you'll have two of the powerhouse's of Zaun on you doorstep.
If this was romantic, they would share, God damn it. I don't know what it is but they would share, I just know it. You would be the king/queen of the Zaun in Silco's eyes, Vander hates it because he feels like if bring to much attention to you. Your always with on or the other. Silco defininatly spoils you, I mean you know he would.
Here me out, I feel like they both also have some fears from what happened to Felicia, so that definitly are supper on edge all the time because of that. One of both of them had to have liked her romantically, I was felling the vibes during the flashback.
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Okay but I feel like they would be worse than the adults, in terms of platonic yandere's. Like we saw Vi's death really fucked them up. You would 100% be the Vi replacement. Expecally if you were older than them.
With Powder , it would be the worst. She wouldn't be violent, but more manipulative in certain ways., 100% a guilt tripper. Then would rope the other into it as well. Saying things to you about how you remind them so much of Vi, and there protection is just so you don't end up like her, so you should never leave them.
You probably wouldn't go on jobs, mostly saying in the last drop with Vander and Benzo. Maybe they let you go into Piltover, but you are always with someone. But never in the more dangerous parts of Zaun that have yet to be changed, and you still got to worry about the grey. the wouldn't want ther baby breathing in all that polluted air.
With a younger obsession, your never leaving there sights again. Even if you were a year younger than them, your getting little siblinged so hard. They have so much more experience now and realize all of the thing they did as kids was dumb and dangerous. They probably teach you how to fight just in case they are not there. But that is unlikely considering how mother hen they all are. If you ever when parkouring like they used to in piltover you would get an earful.
Powder and Ekko would make you little trinkets and gadgets. They'd make things to lure you in and bribe you. Or to love bomb you when you complain they are being to overprotective.
They would be so affectionate. Powder and Claggor the most, we all saw that scene with Claggor and Milo during the dance. Honestly I feel like Milo would be affectionate in the annoying older brother way, like ruffeling you hair and picking you. Ekko would be affectionate when you inationating it.
In tems of duos we would have Claggor with Milo and Powder with Ekko. Milo is the one to tease you alot, but he means well. He probably thinks he's the funnies guy on the planet, when in reality it's probably Claggor. Milo seems like the more aggressive on in terms of yandere's. He is the jokester character but see seems more scared that something might happen to you. That make him more aggressive and paranoid. While Claggor is more level headed and perceptive, but don't be mistaken, he has build and is the stronger of the two
Between Powder and Ekko, Powder is the one you need to worry about. She lost her older sister, Powder was the youngest of the group, so in her mind she is kind of filling Vi's role as older siblng, and must protect you like Vi did her. Should someone try to hurt there darling, Powder is the impulsive one but Ekko is the deadlier one between the two. Ekko is calm and more laid back, but he seems like he has the patience to go in for the kill on the first strike. Silent but deadly.
Now with romance, there all into you, sorry not sorry. I actually don't think they would have the company to share a darling. Powder and Ekko, maybe? But Claggor and Milo, definitly not. Milo would be that last to realize that everyone is pinning after the same darling, there all pretty perceptive so it wouldn't take them long to figure it out amongst eachother.
You would never have any partners, they would scare them all away. Powder would be the dustrusstful one spreading seed of dought anytime someone would flirt with you, saying there not good enought for you. Ekko and Claggor would be the intimidating ones, Ekko has the deadly glare while Claggor has the build to scare off any potital suitors. Milo is one of two, he is the one who likes to claim you already taken, usually with him saying he's you boyfriend, or the physical aggression type. He will get kind of pissy wanting your attention kind of annoying the person flirting with you. Then maybe ruffing the person's up after they leave your earshot so you don't see.
They would all try to one up each other in there own ways Claggor is the more laid-back type and lenient of yandere, so he would milk you needing to escape from the other craziness. Powder is clingy type and needs to be near you always. Ekko seems like the silent type, always lurking in the shadows, the man always has his eyes on you and knows where you are. Milo seems like the possessive and aggressive. Not aggressive in the, I'm going to hurt you type of way but someone else for looking at you the wrong type of way.
No matter who you end up with its going to be messy, I'm sure of it.
102 notes · View notes
robjn93 · 2 days ago
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˗ˏˋ stephanie brown accessible entry point
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this is a list of comics to understand the basics of her character! ive seen a lot of people who didnt know where to start to read so ive compiled this list to make it as easy as possible for new readers to get into stephanie brown
who is stephanie brown?
daughter of the criminal and abusive father cluemaster (arthur brown), she became the spoiler to ‘spoil’ her father’s robbery and overall to protect herself and her mother from him. eventually she digs the vigilante life. she becomes robin briefly and is currently one of the batgirls!
as SPOILER:
⟢ secret origins: 80-page giant
this comic /technically/ is set in the future and is steph ‘telling the story of her childhood’ but honestly i find it pretty suitable even with no context and a must read in my eyes to understand her motives and character
⟢ detective comics 647 - 649
her first appearance… with the iconic brick in the face 😭 this comic is not set in a precise timeline, just post-robin 1991 and pre-knightfall so you can read it with no context as well!
⟢ showcase ‘95 #5 (second story)
PLEASE READ THIS i never see it in reading lists and its sooo important to me. it shows steph’s strained relationship with her mother when her dad is not in the picture and briefly some of her school life!
i’d say read robin (1993) afterwards because it consistently features steph, as much as it is ‘tim’s solo run’, but here THE most important stories (they were very hard to pick)
⟢ robin (1993) #3 - 5
her first appearance in the monthly! and lordd the timsteph here makes me sick. tim being saved by steph 🫶 also more on her and her mom as crystal is starting recovery from drug addiction
⟢ robin (1993) issue 15 - 16
not gonna lie, a huge part of me wants me to suggest it because you get to see arthur get his ass kicked by steph (sweet revenge) but theres also steph being saved by tim for a change and more on steph’s relationship with her dad
⟢ robin (1993) #35
this story for me conveys properly the impact that steph’s upbringing had on her sense of justice and morality being fundamentally different from batman and robin’s, something tim and bruce just can’t understand
⟢ robin (1993) #40 - 41
warning / implied SA (ariana ☹️) the story is a two-parter, steph’s side in issue 40 uses diary entries to explain how she feels about the whole vigilante ordeal. issue 41 is more timsteph oriented but it shows tim finally acknowledging his feelings for steph
⟢ huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma
this story happens during cataclysm but its not necessary to read the whole thing + dean’s first appearance 😒 he is the scumbag bastard ‘father of steph’s child’ + helena and steph linkup!!
⟢ robin (1993) #54 and 56-57
BAD CASE OF THE STEPHS MENTIONED + steph and crystal bonding and tim and steph getting together!!! + robin 57 as guilty pleasure :3 their first official date
⟢ robin (1993) #58-65
warning: dixon tackling teen pregnancy. we all know how that goes. remember dean? well steph got pregnant! and that guy bailed on her. dean when i get you. this arc breaks me everytime, steph you deserve the world ☹️
⟢ lewis era robin (1993) aka robin #100 - 120 HEAVY ON ROBIN 111
warning for SA / glimpses on steph’s childhood + dealing with the fact that her father is dead etc etc that will just make you think we should all just kill ourselves yk!!!!
as ROBIN:
⟢ robin (1993) #126 - 128
warning: debatable writing. robin steph! but take everything with like 5 pinches of different salts 😭 its bad y’all but it is essential. dan didio when i get your ass. dan didio when i get youuu
⟢ steph is dead! arc aka batman 634, detective comics 800 and 809, batgirl 62
i fucking hate war games so im not putting y'all through that. here instead: tim being so overcome by grief he can barely react to steph's passing, bruce remembering steph and cass hallucinating her as she is about to die
after that please just imagine that steph came back cause about every issue after her death was the worst ooc writing ever so, again, not putting you guys through that (its tough for stephanie brown fans)
as BATGIRL:
⟢ batgirl (2009)
i wanna say im conflicted about its writing but its about the best thing steph had post-revival. they constantly insult her spoiler legacy so not a fan of that!! but it is essential and i mostly like the rest so whatever :3 steph’s uni arc!
after that honestly nothing happened for her character, so heres on hoping she gets more stuff
124 notes · View notes
punksyeet · 3 days ago
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ᰔᩚ Starstruck ᰔᩚ
Plot: Gianna Nicole (OC) is the main character in a huge blockbuster film. When Josh, who has the biggest crush that you could possibly have on a celebrity, finds out about a way to meet the cast, he jumps at the opportunity. And let’s just say that, by the end of the night, his dream girl isn’t such a dream anymore.
Warning: Hefty flirting & lots of smut!
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** Josh's POV **
"Morning lovebirds," I sing while hopping in the back seat of my brother and his wife’s SUV.
Trin giggles before matching my energy. "Good morning brotherrrr!"
"Morning uce," Jon replies, reaching back and doing our handshake. “You ready for today?"
Around a year ago, a romance/action movie named "Life in the Fast Lane" came out and it quickly became one of our favorites to watch together as a group.
Today, Netflix is hosting a preview of the sequel that's coming out in about two weeks.
It includes a watch party, food, drinks, and we even get to meet the cast from the movie on our way out.
"Hell yeah," I reply, buckling my seatbelt.
"He's ready to see his womannnn!" Trin teases, looking back and wiggling her eyebrows.
Jon snickers and I nod, not even denying it.
One of the main actresses from the movie, Gianna Nicole, will be at the event.
Since the movie came out, I've had the fattest crush on her.
"Damn right!" I reply, dancing in my seat.
We all share a laugh along with some jam sessions and small talk on the rest of the way to the theatre.
—————————————————————————————————
The movie just ended and it's time to meet the cast.
"There she is," Trin says just above a whisper, as we watch Gianna interact with a fan from afar.
I turn to them, running a hand through my freshly cut mullet. "How do I look?"
Jon bursts into laughter and Trin playfully whacks him.
"You look good Josh," she reassures me, brushing off my collar. "You've got this."
I nod and walk on over to the back of the line in front of Gianna’s table.
As it gets shorter, I feel my heart race faster and faster.
Soon enough, the person that was once in front of me shares a hug with her and walks away, allowing security to let me through.
Once we make eye contact, she stops in her tracks and tilts her head.
As if she’s putting the thought aside, she shakes her head quickly.
"Heyy!" she coos sweetly, holding out her hand.
"Hi," I reply, taking and shaking it. "I'm Josh."
"It's so nice to meet you," she exclaims, smiling. "Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for having me," I reply, smiling back.
Fuck. She's even more gorgeous in person.
"Aw thank you," she says shyly, blushing and looking down.
Josh you fucking idiot!
"Oh god I-I'm sorry," I say, mentally face palming myself. "I must've been thinking out loud."
She chuckles. "It's alright. I appreciate the compliment anyway."
I laugh awkwardly, looking back at Jon and Trin.
They're interacting with another actor and, as if the twin connection is stronger than ever, Jon looks over at me and gives me a thumbs up.
I nod quickly and look back at Gianna, who's signing a movie ticket - one of the collectibles they're giving away.
I thank her once she hands it to me.
"Anytime Jey," she replies, smiling and capping her Sharpie.
I stop in my tracks. "You know who I am?"
She chuckles lightly. "Of course! I'm a huge fan of WWE. It took me a second to realize it was really you though."
"Always nice to meet a fan," I reply with a wink.
She playfully rolls her eyes and flashes a gorgeous smile. "For both of us I'd say."
We share a laugh and take a picture.
"Thanks so much for this," I coo, as we share one final hug.
"Of course," she exclaims, pulling away. "It was awesome to meet you."
"You too," I reply.
We exchange smiles and I walk outside, where my brother and sister in law are waiting.
"Sooo," Jon begins, walking over with Trin once the door to the building closes and we're out of earshot. "How'd it go?"
I smile, shrugging. "Pretty well. She's a fan of WWE and recognized me."
"Shut up!" Trin squeals in shock.
I chuckle and look back, watching Gianna through the clear glass window. "I was surprised too. I just hope she comes to one of the shows or something."
She looks back and, once we make eye contact, smiles and waves.
I do the same and she goes back to her conversation with the final fan in line.
"Trin and I are gonna go get the car," Jon exclaims, taking his keys out of his pocket. "You wanna stay here or?"
He nods toward inside when saying that last part.
I nod as well, sliding my hands into my jean pockets. "Sure, you guys go. I'll be here."
He nods, claps me on the back, grabs Trin's hand, and they walk off towards the parking garage.
I lean against the building and scroll on my phone until, moments later, I hear the door open.
I look over and see the woman of my dreams once again.
"Oh," she begins. "Hey again!"
I flash her a smile. "Hey. Your meet n greet over?"
"Yeah just about," she replies, putting her hands in her jacket pockets. "Technically there's still five minutes left, but that was my last fan and I figured I should head home early while I have the chance, you know?"
I nod. "I get you."
Awkward silence, with just the faint sound of Atlanta traffic up the street, takes over before she speaks up again.
She smiles and nods as well, before taking a deep breath. "Well, it was nice seeing you again."
"Yeah you too," I reply as she starts to walk off.
Come on Josh. You've got this bro.
"Hey! Wait up!" I call, making her turn around.
"Yeah?" she asks, slowly strolling back.
I take another deep breath.
"W-would uh," I stutter.
She smiles softly, tilting her head.
Get it together uce!
"I was just wondering if you'd....like to go out sometime?"
She raises an eyebrow and smiles wider. "You? Wanna go out with me?"
I blink a few times before responding. "Y-yeah. Unless you don't want to. Then that's fine. I just wanted to ask b-"
"I'd love to," she responds, cutting me off before chuckling.
Thank god.
I let out a sigh of relief and smile. "Good. Great. Uh how about tonight? I know some nice spots here in Atlanta if you need some showing around."
She nods. "Sure. That sounds nice."
We hand each other our phones and exchange numbers, as well as her hotel address.
"Awesome," I exclaim, as we share another hug. "I'll see you tonight."
"See you then!" she calls as she's walking away.
I catch a nice glimpse of her ass before being rudely interrupted by my brother, who's calling me from the curb.
"Shut up! I'm coming!"
—————————————————————————————————
** Gianna's POV **
I picked out a casual but still chic outfit for tonight: a black corset, some ripped jeans with a Gucci belt, panda dunks to match Josh, some cute jewelry, and a black purse.
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I touch up my hair in my hotel bathroom mirror and spray some of my favorite perfume: Into the Night by Bath and Body Works.
I'm actually really excited about this "date" that Josh is taking me on.
I've been a fan of him and his twin for a while now.
The only thing is, I don't have the best history with guys.
They've all just kinda used me for my looks and lost interest once they found out that I'm not some rich Hollywood snob.
So I definitely plan on treading lightly tonight.
Anyway, I genuinely hope that Josh is different.
I really like him.
And he gets bonus points for being fine as hell. Duh!
My text tone shakes me out of my thoughts and I smile when I see who it is.
Josh 🫦: Hey love. I'm outside.
Gianna 😮‍💨: Heyy I'll be right there! 🫶🏽
Josh liked "Heyy I'll be right there! 🫶🏽"
I do some final touches to my appearance, grab my bag, and head out.
"Hey girl," Josh coos, scanning my body up and down. "You look amazing."
I smile and blush lightly. "Thank you. You do too."
He smiles and wraps me into a hug, to which I respond with my arms around his waist and my head on his chest.
God he smells incredible.
Once we pull away, he opens the passenger door for me and takes my hand, helping me in.
"Such a gentleman," I tease, flicking my hair back.
He smirks goofily and kisses my hand, causing us both to share a laugh.
Soon enough, he hops in as well and we're off.
The car ride is so much fun, filled with small talk and our favorite songs playing.
—————————————————————————————————
Josh took me to, what he called, all of the top spots in Atlanta.
From Atlanta Botanical Garden, to World of Coca Cola, and even Piedmonts Park, everything was such a blast.
We're ending our night out with his personal favorite place: Waffle House.
He orders us his go-to: two waffles with chocolate chips, six scrambled eggs with cheese, & triple scattered and covered hash browns.
"And for your drinks?" the waiter asks, after jotting down our order on his notepad.
I look over at Josh, signaling him to hook me up with that as well.
He chuckles and looks back at the man. "We'll do four lemonades please."
"You got it," the younger man replies, taking our menus.
Once he walks away, I raise an eyebrow out of curiosity.
"Yup four," Josh says, as if he could read my mind. "All that food makes you extra thirsty, you know what I mean?"
"Ah," I reply, nodding my head slowly.
He smiles and looks back up once the waiter returns with our lemonades.
"Thanks uce," Josh says, sliding two over to me.
"No problem," the man says, patting him on the shoulder. "Your food will be out shortly."
"They love you here," I exclaim, twisting off the cap.
He chuckles and nods. "Yeah I'm here all the time. My entire family loves it here. Even my kids."
I raise my eyebrows and take a sip of my drink. "Kids?"
He nods. "Yeah I got two of 'em. Two boys. Jeyce and Jaciyah. They're my world."
I smile, tilting my head. "That's so sweet."
He smiles back.
I take a deep breath before speaking up again. "And their mom?"
He sighs. "We were together since high school and mutually divorced about a year ago. The distance with my work wasn't really working out."
I nod understandably.
"I think it's hard on them sometimes," he continues. "The whole split parents thing. But they're great."
I give him a soft smile. "Yeah I get it. My parents split up when I was young too. It's not easy."
He nods and gently bites his lower lip.
"But they have a great dad to keep them grounded," I continue, taking his hand from across the table.
He looks into my eyes and flashes me a gorgeous smile. "Thank you, Gi."
I smile back, nodding. "Sure."
He looks back down at our hands and strokes mine with his thumb.
The faint sound of other patrons' silverware hitting their plates takes over before he speaks up again.
"What about you?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence. "Any kids or anything?"
I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek. "Nah nothing like that. Though I think it'd be nice someday."
He nods his head, still stroking my hand.
"I guess I just never met the right person," I say just above a whisper.
We lock eyes, resulting in me blushing like a maniac.
He chuckles. "Well sometimes, the right person can be found in the places you least expect them."
I nod and tilt my head. "Like at a Waffle House?"
He chuckles, nodding. "Like at a Waffle House."
I join in and, as if on cue, the waiter comes back with our food.
We dig in and let me just say: I get the hype!
—————————————————————————————————
Josh and I just pulled up back to my hotel.
Once again, he opens the passenger door for me and leads me into the building and to my room.
"You wanna stay for a little while?" I ask, fishing my room key out of my purse.
He shakes his head. "Nah, I really shouldn't. Uce and I got a flight early tomorrow morning and his wife would kill me if we're late."
I chuckle, nodding. "Understandable."
He takes a deep breath before breaking the silence. "You plan on coming to any shows soon?"
I shrug while inserting the key and opening my door. "I haven't thought about it, to be honest."
Another gorgeous smile grows on his face. "Say the words and I'll book you the next flight out. I'd kill to see you again, baby."
I lean against the doorway and fold my arms across my chest, raising an eyebrow. "Baby, huh? Are you flirting with me, Joshua Fatu?"
"Maybe I am," he replies, cupping my face and stroking my cheek with his thumb.
I shake my head and wrap my arms around his neck, playing with his curls. "You really are something else."
"And you love it," he replies sexily, trailing his hands down my sides.
I roll my eyes playfully and giggle as he pulls me closer and places his lips on mine.
I automatically kiss back, standing on my tippy toes as his hands roam down to my lower back, dangerously close to my ass.
With every stroke, I fall deeper and deeper in love.
He's most definitely the one.
He has to be.
It’s a real nice kiss and, not gonna lie, I was pretty bummed when it ended.
"Mmm," Josh moans against my lips, slowly pulling away from me. "On second thought, I could always drive back home in the morning."
I giggle, still playing with his hair. "Are you sure? I don't want your sister in law to hate me before we even get the chance to meet."
He chuckles and pecks my lips, stroking my sides. "I'm sure, baby. Let's go inside. I'm tryna have a good ole night witchu."
I smirk and take his hand, leading us into my hotel room, and he shuts and locks the door behind us.
"Make yourself at home," I exclaim, tossing my purse aside. "I'm gonna change out of these clothes."
He nods, sitting on the sofa. "Aight, love. I'll be here. Take your time."
I shoot him a soft smile and head into the bedroom.
After about a minute or two of looking through my luggage, I find a cute and comfy pajama set.
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I change and head into the connected bathroom to do my nighttime routine - including taking off my makeup and throwing my hair into a bun.
I walk back out to the living room space and Josh looks up from his phone when he sees me, immediately scanning my body while licking his lips.
"I know you ain't lookin that good in some damn pajamas," he compliments, tossing his phone aside.
I playfully roll my eyes and take a seat on the couch next to him. "Thank you."
"Nah girl," he says, patting his lap. "This right here is the spot."
I giggle and give in, throwing my leg across him and straddling him.
"Happy?" I ask sarcastically, leaning into him and wrapping my arms around his neck.
He hums in approval, nodding and immediately grabbing handfuls of my ass. "I got the baddest chick in the world on my lap.
I smirk and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I don't know about in the world, but I'll take it."
"Girl bring yo ass-" he places his lips on mine, resuming our steamy kiss from earlier.
I giggle against his lips, immediately tangling my fingers in his curls and adding tongue.
He lets out a deep and sexy moan, as our tongues fight for dominance.
Of course, his wins.
Soon enough, without breaking the kiss, he gets up, bringing me with him.
Knowing what's coming next, I wrap my legs around his waist and deepen the kiss, holding either side of his face.
When we get into the bedroom, he sits down on my bed and breaks us apart, both of us breathing heavily and panting.
"Baby," he begins, stroking my thighs. "I know what you was saying earlier at dinner. You mentioned wanting to take things slow?"
I sigh deeply, playing with his chain. "I wanted to. But after today, I trust you Josh."
He smiles as if he's relieved. "You sure?"
I nod, biting my lip and giving him a soft smile. "You took such good care of me today. I loved every second of my time with you. And none of that is anything I'm used to."
He nods understandably, cupping and stroking my face.
"I know we just met," I continue. "But I wanna go all the way with you. You're different, Joshua. And I love that."
He smirks and kisses my cheek. "I promise to take care of you, baby. If you'll let me."
I nod, sliding my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders. "I trust you, daddy."
He raises an eyebrow. "Daddy, huh?"
I blush and lean in, pressing our lips together once more.
He automatically kisses back, picks us up again, and lays me down on the bed.
** smut warning! **
Breaking the kiss once again, he stands up, discards everything except his boxers, and tosses everything across the room.
Fuck he's gorgeous.
I prop myself up on my elbows and bite my lip, admiring his cultural tattoos.
"I think I'm a little overdressed," I say, just above a whisper. "Help me?"
He licks his lips and reaches down to peel off my top and bottoms, leaving me in only my pink lace panties.
"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. "Look atchu, baby."
I stare deep into his eyes, which scan my entire body and land on the pool between my legs.
"Soaked for me already, hm?"
I let out a breathless moan as he kneels down and strokes my folds back and forth with his thumb.
"Your moans are so gorgeous," he compliments, and kisses each of my thighs.
I can't help but slide my own hand into my underwear and pleasure myself.
He chuckles deviously. "Greedy little girl, aren't you?"
"D-daddy I need you," I manage to say, rubbing tiny circles onto my clit.
"You got me baby," he replies and slowly pulls down my panties, finally leaving me fully nude.
He practically drools at the sight he's brought with.
"Pretty ass pussy," he practically moans, stroking my thighs. "Spread that shit for me, princess."
I do so with my index and middle fingers, spreading open my lips.
He feathers light kisses onto my pearl, before darting out his tongue and giving my clit a singular lick.
"Daddyyyy!" I whine, wrapping my fingers in his dreamy curls. "Stop teasing meee!"
Just then, he catches me off guard and shoves his face between my legs.
Moans uncontrollably leave my mouth and my back immediately arches as his tongue flicks and lips suck desperately.
Just minutes later, I feel a pit in my stomach, signaling that I'm slowly but surely hitting my climax.
"J-Josh," I manage to get out between moans. "B-baby I'm gonna-"
And before I can finish my sentence, I've released not only in his mouth, but all over his beard.
"Cum," I mutter, finishing my sentence.
He chuckles and licks me clean before heading back up to me.
"You taste incredible baby," he coos, and presses his lips to mine.
I automatically kiss back and moan at the sweet taste of my essence, wrapping my arms around his neck.
I tug on his bottom lip gently before pulling away.
"Lay back handsome," I demand, crawling down to his waist.
"Mmm," he moans, slapping my ass. "Go get yo dick, baby."
I rub his hard on through his boxers as he watches on, stroking my hair.
I pull them down slowly, allowing his massive dick to spring free.
My jaw practically drops at his size.
At least 8 inches, so veiny, and the most perfect bright pink tip.
Not wasting a second, I grab it by the base and trail kisses up and down his length.
"Fuuuuck," I hear him whisper, throwing his head back.
I smirk and start adding tongue, swirling my tongue around the tip and eventually sucking him off.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and takes control, bobbing my head up and down.
I immediately gag once he reaches the back of my throat, letting the utmost amount of saliva drip down to his balls.
"Fuck," I mutter, jacking him off once my mouth is empty again. "Daddy you're huge."
He smiles at the compliment and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're doing so good, ma."
I bite my lip and immediately go back to pleasuring him, this time sucking his balls.
His hips jerk at the feeling, deep and sexy moans uncontrollably pouring out of him.
"That's it baby," he whispers. "Getcho nut."
Just then, an idea comes to me.
I scoot up and wrap his dick in between my breasts, and start bouncing up and down.
"Shit," he mutters.
"Wanna feel them daddy?" I offer, before sticking my tongue out and letting saliva drip down my chest.
He smirks and sits up.
"Fuck baby," he moans, massaging them and toying with my now rock hard nipples. "They're so soft."
I blush at the compliment and start bouncing again, making direct eye contact with him.
About another minute goes by before, without warning, he releases all over my chest and breasts, his dick twitching from the after effects.
I scoop some up with my finger and suck on it repeatedly, cleaning myself up.
"You're wild girl," he coos, sitting up and pulling me in by my hips, making me stand between his legs.
"Mmm and you love that," I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He puckers his lips and I gladly accept, leaning down and placing my lips on his.
We only share a quick peck, before he takes one of my nipples into his mouth.
I moan, throwing my head back and running my fingers through his mullet.
"P-please," I whine, as he reaches down and starts stroking my clit some more.
He hums, pulling his face away after placing a kiss on my left areola. "Please what baby?"
I can't manage to get a singular word out, as I'm practically riding his fingers.
"Talk to daddy," he demands, stopping them.
"I-I nee-need you inside me s-so badly Josh," I say in between moans, still grinding my hips.
"Good girl," he coos, and pulls my hips down, making me hover over him.
I reach down, line his dick up with my pussy, and carefully sit down on it.
"Oh fuck," he whispers, grabbing and caressing my ass. "Mama you're so tight."
"And you're so big," I say breathlessly, holding onto his shoulders for support.
We lean in and share a quick kiss before he starts moving.
"Feels good baby?" he reassures.
"Uh huh," I moan in reply, massaging my tits with my head thrown back.
He smirks and kisses my cheek.
"F-faster please da-addy," I stutter. "F-fuck me faster."
"You got it sexy girl," he replies, and starts thrusting harder and faster, bouncing me up and down by my ass.
"Oh yes!" I practically scream, burying my face into his neck.
"Fuck," he mutters, as the strokes become more sloppy and louder.
"Sit up baby," he demands. "I gotta cum."
I shake my head, bouncing some more. "Cum in me, daddy. Please."
His mouth drops open. "A-are you sure?"
I nod quickly in response. "I'm on b-birth control, baby. Fill m-me up please."
"Alright," he gives in. "But you gotta cum with me, baby. Deal?"
"U-uh huh," I reply, reaching down and rubbing fast circles on my clit.
Soon enough, we both explode all over each other.
** smut over! **
I climb off of him and fall onto the bed.
He smiles softly, rubbing deep circles into my back dimples. "You feel good, baby?"
I nod, my mouth still hanging open.
He chuckles and squeezes my cheeks gently.
He brings my face up to his and allows our lips to meet once more.
"Mmm," I moan into his mouth breathlessly before pulling away. "You're amazing, you know that?"
"Me?" he asks, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. "Girl you're incredible.”
I blush lightly as he continues to compliment me in between kisses.
"How does a bath sound?" he asks, stroking my face with his knuckle.
"Like heaven," I reply, dreamily staring into his eyes and stroking his hair.
He smiles and places a kiss on my lower lip before getting up.
I watch on as his fat and firm ass walks away and disappears into the bathroom.
We spend the rest of the night stealing more kisses from each other, making more small talk, and just overall enjoying each other.
I truly don't think I've ever felt this way for anyone - not recently anyway.
"Get some rest mama," Josh coos before kissing my hair.
I smile, stroking his chest, which my head is laid on as well. "Goodnight, love."
Soon enough, we both doze off to sleep to the sound of each other's breathing.
Is it possible to be in love with someone you only met 12 hours ago?
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skzdust · 14 hours ago
Text
Ateez Snapshots: Calling them Daddy
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All suggestive. Minors DNI.
Anon request here! Daddy is usually not my fav but these were actually a lot of fun. My fav is Wooyoung's :) Enjoy!
Summary: Reader, who is friends with each member, calls them "daddy" out of the blue... they respond in a variety of ways.
Pairing: Ateez x reader
Includes: coffee dates, amusement park dates, study dates, video games, bar dates, dinner with a friend, writing a song, and touching yourself during a movie
Word count: 1.8k
Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,
@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst
Network:@mirohs-aurora-society
Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!
Masterlist
-----
Hongjoong:
You and Hongjoong are having coffee, and your mind starts to wander.
Hongjoong is sipping his usual iced butterscotch latte with almond milk, caramel cold foam, and cinnamon sprinkled on top, and you have your usual order. You’re staring into your drink.
Hongjoong is your best friend, but you can’t stop thinking of him naked, pushing into you with a groan.
“Hongjoong… Daddy…” You’d whisper at the feeling, at him bottoming out inside you.
“Huh?” You look up, and Hongjoong’s flushed red.
“What?” You’re confused.
“Did you just… um… call me….”
Your eyes go wide as you realize. “Did I say that aloud?”
“Um… yes, you did.” Hongjoong is looking at you, waiting for you to respond. He’s all red, his fingers tapping against his cup, slightly biting his lip.
You want him so bad.
“Hongjoong…” You murmur. “I was just…” You sigh, unsure of what to say.
“Do you want to call me that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then… ah, do you want to…” Hongjoong looks so nervous you laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing cause you look adorable…” You lean in. “Daddy.”
Hongjoong groans. “Don’t say that in public. It’s gonna make me… ugh.”
“Kim Hongjoong, does ‘daddy’ turn you on?” You raise your eyebrows.
“Maybe.” He smiles.
“Then maybe we should go back to my place.”
Hongjoong’s eyes light up. “Yes, we should.”
-----
Seonghwa:
You and Seonghwa are at the amusement park, and your mind starts to wander.
You’re on the biggest roller coaster in the park, climbing up the first hill. Seonghwa’s hand is warm around yours, holding it tightly. You should be nervous about the drop ahead, but you can’t stop thinking about those hands, about what they could do to you.
Seonghwa squeezes, and you smile at him. “Thanks for holding my hand, daddy.”
“Daddy?” Seonghwa looks shocked, but before you can say anything, the car is toppling over the slope of the roller coaster, and you’re screaming, squeezing his hand even tighter.
Your stomach is in knots from more than just the coaster as it slows to a stop at the end of the track, and as you pull into the unloading area, Seonghwa doesn’t let go of your hand.
“Did you call me daddy?”
“I… um, yeah…”
Seonghwa smiles, a glint of mischief in his eye. “You know, if you want to call me daddy and scream, we could do something other than another roller coaster.”
You smile. “Are you serious?”
Seonghwa’s eyes dart over you. “Yeah, I’m serious.”
-----
Yunho:
You and Yunho are studying together, and your mind starts to wander.
Both of you are in a chemistry class together, and you just can’t get the calculations quite down. As Yunho’s showing you one for the third time, you can’t stop thinking about him fucking you on that table. You’re in one of the most private study rooms in the library, so it’s unlikely anyone would find you…
“And then you carry the one… got it?”
“Got it… daddy.” You whisper the last word.
“Daddy?” Yunho repeats.
“Yeah.”
He tilts your chin up so you meet his eyes, and your stomach jumps. “Did you mean that?”
“I did.”
“Fuck.” He says softly, his eyes roaming over your face. “You’re so beautiful, I’ve always thought that, but I didn’t think you… wanted…”
“Wanted you to dominate me?” You say boldly.
“Yeah.” Yunho smiles. “But now that I know… we’re gonna have fun, aren’t we?”
-----
Yeosang:
You and Yeosang are playing video games, and your mind starts to wander.
Well, Yeosang is playing League, and you’re laying on his bed and watching him. Your best friend isn’t very good, but it’s fun to heckle him as he plays.
He finishes his game and tosses his controller on the table. “I swear, that was not reflective of my skills.”
“Sure.” You laugh. “Whatever you say.”
“Oh, come on.” He spins around in his chair to face you.
“What did you want me to say? Yes, daddy, lose that game harder!” You say, joking, but Yeosang goes deep red, quickly looking away.
“Don’t say that.” He mumbles.
“Kang Yeosang, do you have a daddy kink?” Your eyes widen, and you grin.
“No!” He protests.
“You totally do, daddy.”
He puts his face in his hands. “Shut up.” His words don’t have any bite.
“Fuck me, daddy!” You whine. “Harder.”
“Seriously, shut up.” He looks at you. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll start to think you’re serious.”
“Well, maybe I am.” You say, your stomach jumping. Would that make things weird?
He blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yes… daddy.” You smile, shy.
“Fuck.” He whispers. “I love it when you say that, y/n.”
-----
San:
You and San are at a bar, and your mind starts to wander.
He takes another drink of his beer. “You look distracted, what’s up? Weird day at work or something?”
You shake yourself out of it. “Yeah, exactly that.”
“What happened?”
I was thinking about you fucking me all day and I couldn’t focus on my project, but I did have some fun fantasies about calling you daddy, so that was good. You think. “I was just really spacey today, I don’t know. Couldn’t focus on anything.”
“Really?”
“Yes, daddy.” You say without thinking.
San laughs. “Daddy? Where’d that come from?”
Your face goes hot. “I— um—”
“Be honest, baby.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Where’d that come from?”
San calling you “baby” lights a fire in your stomach. “I’ve been thinking about it a little bit.”
“Thinking about… calling me daddy?”
“Yes.” You look down.
“Hey. Look at me.” San says gently.
You look at him. His expression is full of compassion and maybe something a bit darker. “You can call me daddy if you want. And if you want me to fuck you, just say so.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper.
“Okay, then let me finish this beer and we’ll go back to my place.” San takes another long swig from the bottle, nodding at your glass. “Finish your drink, and we’ll go, baby.”
You smile. You drink your wine as quickly as you can.
-----
Mingi:
You and Mingi are having dinner, and your mind starts to wander.
It’s just hamburgers from your favorite local place. You’ve gotten takeout and you’re sitting at the dining table in Mingi’s apartment.
But it feels like more than that.
“Did anything exciting happen today?” He asks, taking a bite.
“Um… not really.” You say, smiling, images of Mingi’s hand around your throat filling your head. “Nothing too interesting.”
“Whatever you say, sunflower.” You blush at the nickname. It’s your favorite flower, and it’s his special nickname for you. “But your little grin says otherwise.”
“What do you mean?”
“What really happened today?” Mingi raises his eyebrows.
“I was just… thinking.”
“About a guy?” He pokes.
You take a breath. You’ve been in love with Mingi for so long now, you may as well go for it. “About you.”
“Me?” He looks surprised. “I don’t get it.”
“I tink about you all the time, Mingi.” It comes spilling out. “You bending me over my desk, you pinning me against the wall, kissing me… all that kind of thing… daddy.” You whisper the last word.
“Daddy?” He whispers back.
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yeah…”
“Call me that again, sunflower.”
You open your eyes. He’s looking at you intensely, his eyes burning with a fire you’ve never seen. “Call me daddy.”
“Daddy… will you fuck me?” You whimper, putting it all on the line.
“Shit.” Mingi says softly. “I’ve been wanting you to ask for so long. Yeah, daddy’ll take care of you.”
-----
Wooyoung:
You and Wooyoung are working on a song, and your mind starts to wander.
You usually don’t write sexy music, but the melody Wooyoung has built with the guitar combined with the riff you’ve composed on your bass has an undeniable seductiveness to it. Heavy, like a heartbeat, but somewhat risky, too. Wooyoung’s got an effects pedal plugged into his guitar that’s making it even hotter.
And you’re thinking about his fingers deep inside you as you play the bass line you’ve got down practically by heart at this point.
“That sounds really good, y/n!” Wooyoung says loudly over your playing.
“Thanks, daddy!” You say back, and then stop playing as you realize what you’ve just said, staring at him for any reaction.
“Daddy?” Wooyoung laughs. “Damn, you’re really getting into the… mood of the song, aren’t you?”
“I am.” You laugh nervously, hoping he’ll dismiss it at that.
But he takes a step closer. “Didn’t know you had a thing for ‘daddy’. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” He taps the tip of your nose, winks, and turns around to pick up his guitar again.
You feel hot all over. “What do you mean keep that in mind?”
“I just mean it’s good to know what you’re into. You know, in case you want to fuck.” He slings the guitar strap over his head, facing away from you, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
“In case— what?” You sputter.
“Oh, c’mon, I’ve noticed.” He smirks. “You stare at my fingers a lot when I’m playing. You want them inside you.”
“I— I mean, maybe.” You exhale.
“I’m up for it if you are.” He starts playing the chorus to the song, looking down at his guitar, and you notice the blush on his cheeks.
You smile. Wooyoung’s just as down bad as you are.
-----
Jongho:
You and Jongho are watching a movie, and your mind starts to wander.
Jongho kissing you, pushing you down into the couch, making you his.
You sneak a glance at him. He’s watching the fight scene contentedly, sticking a piece of popcorn in his mouth. He doesn’t even notice you looking.
You carefully slip one hand under the blanket on your lap.
And then you slide it under your sweatpants.
You close your eyes for a second. It feels so good to touch yourself after how worked up you’ve made yourself thinking about him. You know it’s wrong to touch yourself thinking about your best friend, much less when said best friend is sitting next to you, but you can’t stop yourself now.
“Fuck, Jongho, daddy.” You whisper, the words bubbling up on your tongue before you can stop them.
“Did you just…” The movie pauses, and you open your eyes to see Jongho looking at you, blinking.
“Oh, I was just— um—” You search for words, but you can’t find any.
He grabs the blanket and pulls it off, revealing your hand down your pants. You snatch it out and he takes it, licking your fingers and making hard eye contact with you.
You shiver. You hadn’t been expecting that.
“Beautiful girl.” He whispers. “Were you touching yourself thinking about me?”
“Maybe.” You whisper back. “I… maybe.”
“You should’ve just asked me to do it for you.” He licks again. “I would’ve said yes.”
“Can you do it for me?” You breathe.
His eyes glint. “Sure thing, baby.”
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bloatedandalone04 · 3 days ago
Text
Bets & Bargains - Part 14
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Series Masterlist
➪in which you and bradley go on your seventh date, this one at a fair, and both end up winning more than once.
PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.
WC; 5k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡
Bradley felt like he was on cloud nine. 
It took him another hour to get out of bed when you let him fuck you bare yesterday morning. He still couldn’t believe he had managed to save his relationship with you, and now it seemed like it was stronger than ever. 
Thank fuck for that, because as of right now, you were the only good thing he had in his life, and he didn’t know what he would’ve done if he had lost you for good. 
Since going on impulsive dates was kinda yours and his thing, Bradley remembered this pop up fair that always came to town this time of year, and it only runs for two weeks. This weekend would be the last chance to go, and he knew for a fact that you’d have fun there, so he decided to ask you if you wanted to go with him. 
His arm was draped around your shoulders as he walked you to your second class of the day. “I wanna do something this weekend,” he started off casually, not wanting to sound like he had been thinking of this idea since last night when you fell asleep in his arms. 
You looked up at him with your pretty smile and a raise of your brow. “Another date? What is this, like, our sixth one?”
“Seventh,” he corrected and smirked at the quiet laugh he pulled from you. “And going on random dates is our thing, so don’t act so surprised.”
You laughed again and shook your head, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek as you walked with him. “I love going on dates with you,” you murmured, kissing him again before pulling away. “So what are you thinking about for this weekend?”
“How about something new?” he suggested, giving you a side glance as he guided you along the campus. Bradley knew your schedule pretty fucking well now, so he knew where your classes were, when they started and when they ended, which was a good thing, since he liked walking you to them. “There’s a fair that’s happening in town. I’ve heard that it’s pretty fun and the tickets aren’t super fucking expensive either.”
Your eyes lit up and you stopped walking, making him stop as well. “A fair?” you echoed, jumping slightly when he nodded. “I love fairs! Oh, they’re so fun, I’ve never been to one that wasn’t fun.”
Bradley lifted a brow, his lips curving upwards as he looked down at your excited expression. “Yeah? You’ve been to a lot?”
You shrugged, giving him a teasing smile. “A few here and there,” you answered, “This is so fun. When are we going?”
“So you want to go then? It’s not even a question anymore?” he teased, laughing at your eye roll. 
“Of course it’s not a question,” you replied, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. “Fairs are so romantic, Bradley. Especially when you’re with the right person.”
Bradley lifted a brow again, following after you as you started to pull him along the sidewalk. “You better be talking about me, babes,”
The look over your shoulder you gave him told him all he needed to know, but your words helped too. “Of course I’m talking about you, flyboy,” you laughed, turning to face him once you were outside the doors of the creative arts building. “Everything feels right with you.”
For some reason, that had Bradley blushing like a fucking teenager. That was probably one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to him, and it just made him adore you even more. So he didn’t respond with words, instead he just leaned down and kissed you, his hand coming up to hold your jaw. “Have a good class,” he murmured in between soft kisses before he finally stepped away from you. “Think of me.”
The smile you gave him brought that blush back to his face. “I always am,”
-
Bradley wanted to take you to the fair, and you weren’t sure he was even aware of just how perfect of a date that sounded to you.
And while you were a bit lost on just how many dates you’ve gone on with him up until this point, Bradley knew the exact number, and you were definitely sure he wasn’t aware of how attractive that is. 
Then there was the whole no condom thing, and that had your smile growing. Sure, it was kind of an irresponsible decision, but you really needed to be as close as humanly possible with Bradley yesterday, especially since you had discovered that the whole Briana thing was just a massive misunderstanding. You were so relieved that you had been wrong about him being like every other guy, and he had proved it to you so sweetly, you needed to feel him all over you. 
And it felt fucking amazing, and you’re on the pill, so was it really a bad decision? It sure didn’t feel like one. 
You were all giddy when you went into your class, your happy smile definitely not directed at Clarke personally, but he gave you one back as if it was, which was just fine by you. After having such a terrible start to the week, you would gladly smile at everyone you saw since things had only gotten a lot better since Monday morning.
You sat down in your usual seat, smiling at the girl already sitting in the one beside yours. She was pretty, had long blonde hair and hazel eyes, and for some reason, you had never shared more than a few conversations with her. She seemed nice enough, and you were seriously lacking in the friend department at the moment, so maybe you’d try to talk to her more often. 
Really, anyone was better than Sam at this point. 
So when she smiled at you and held up the bag of plain chips she was snacking on before the class started, you grinned back and took one. 
When the class was over, you packed up your things and got Delia’s, your table partner, number saved as a contact on your phone. You ended up talking to her quite a bit during class, and you were right, she is really nice and seems like a great friend to have. And you were in no position to turn down what could be a pretty awesome friendship. 
She offered to hang out for a bit after class, and you agreed, so you followed after her when she began walking towards the door. You had a few hours to kill before you had to go to your yoga class, and usually you would be spending it with Bradley, but hanging out with Delia would give you more time to get to know her better, and you could already tell that you and her have a lot in common. 
Before you could leave, Clarke called out to you, making you pause. “Can you stay for a second?” he asked, and you furrowed your brows, giving Delia an apologetic look and a gesture that told her that you’d meet her out in the hall in a minute. 
“Sure,” you answer, walking back into the room. You weren’t sure why he wanted to talk to you; you hadn’t handed in any assignments this week since he hadn’t given out any, and you made sure to always pay attention (or at least pretend to if your mind was elsewhere - like on your boyfriend) in class, so you knew you weren’t in trouble or anything. 
Clarke smiled at you, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. “How are you doing?” he asked, his brows coming together in what looked like mock concern, but then again, you didn’t know him well enough to assume that. 
“I’m…fine,” you replied, giving him a confused smile back as you shifted on your feet. That was it? That’s all he wanted? To know how you were doing?
“You sure?” he pressed, crossing his arms as he looked down at the papers that were scattered on the surface of his desk. “In Tuesday’s class you seemed off. Quieter…less talkative. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”
Oh. Well that was kinda fucking embarrassing. Monday and Tuesday were really bad days for you since you weren’t sure where you stood with Bradley at the time, but you had thought you hid it pretty well. Clearly not. And now your teacher was asking about you as if you were back in high school. “Oh,” you laughed, either out of nerves of pure embarrassment, or both. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. I was just…I had a really bad start to the week. I’m totally fine now.”
You thought he’d laugh it off too and leave it at that, but then he leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure?” he asked again, his thighs spread a bit and making his slacks look two sizes too small. 
Okay, this was getting weird now, and you were definitely beginning to feel uncomfortable. While you appreciated his concern, you had already told him three times now that you were fine, but he was still pushing it. And you didn’t think you had bonded with him enough for him to feel the need to be this persistent. You wanted to just nod at him and quickly turn and leave, the need to just get out of this classroom the only thing on your mind right now.
But he continued before you could make your escape. “Because I’m here for you if you’re not,” he said, giving you another smile that was more of a sly smirk compared to the other ones. “You can always come to me if something’s bothering you or anything like that.”
Not that he was very high up on the list of the people you’d go to if something was bothering you, but now he wasn’t even in the vicinity of said list. You were so on edge and it happened so quickly, you physically couldn’t relax your tense shoulders as you nodded slowly and gripped the strap of your bag. “Right,” you mumbled, forcing out a tight smile and a nod as you stepped away from his desk. “That’s…nice, Clarke…I appreciate that.”
You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t exactly go off on your teacher because he hadn’t done anything wrong except express his concern about you. But still, why you felt so fucking awkward and…gross was beyond you. 
“No problem,” he said, and the look he gave you had you holding back a cringe as you turned and headed for the door without saying goodbye.
In the hall, Delia was waiting for you with a kind yet confused smile. “What did he want?” 
You debated on whether or not to tell her, but didn’t know if you were making a big deal out of nothing at all. Really, all Clarke did was voice his concern, there was nothing wrong with that, and you were already feeling better now that you were out of that classroom. 
So you decided to brush it off for now, and you also decided to not tell Bradley since you were sure he’d make a big deal out of it too, and the last thing you needed right now was more drama. 
-
Bradley hadn’t seen you since he walked you to class yesterday.
You texted him and said that you were going to hang out with a girl from your class before you had to go to yoga, so he didn’t get the chance to see you for the rest of the day. 
It was Friday evening now, and he was waiting in the Jeep as you got ready for your fair date. Bradley still couldn’t believe how much you had changed him and his life in so little time. He had never considered himself to be one of those boyfriends who wanted to go out on dates all the time, let alone be the one to suggest most of them (and keep track of them), but here he is; about to go on his seventh date with you in three weeks. 
His seventh. 
Who the fuck was he?
When he turned his head and saw you walk out of your building, his jaw dropped just a bit as he took in your, for lack of better words, fucking hot outfit. You were wearing black jeans, a white crop top and ankle boots, and his blue flannel was draped over your shoulders, your hands barely visible as the shirt was way bigger on you than it was on him, and he felt his mouth go dry.
You looked absolutely stunning, like you always did, and Bradley was quickly coming to the realization after seeing you in his jersey, then his sweats and shirt earlier this week, and now his flannel, that he fucking loved it when you wore his clothes.
And you were going to wear his shirt on your date? Fuck, he wanted to pick you up and carry you right back to your bedroom.
He had meant to be a gentleman and open the door for you, but by the time he picked his jaw up off the floor, you were already sliding onto the seat next to him with a pretty smile on your lips, and a floral scent filled his senses. “Hi,” you greeted as you shut the door and leaned back, grinning as you looked at the seat warmer button that was switched on.
At least he remembered to turn that on before he was completely floored by how hot his girlfriend is. 
“Hey,” he said back, looking you up and down. You looked even better up close, and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip before he let out a low whistle. “Damn. You look fucking hot.”
You laughed, a mix of surprise and appreciation as you put on your seatbelt. “Thanks. You do too,” you blushed, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. When he made no move to start driving, you gave him a confused look as your gaze flickering between his eyes and the windshield. “What’s wrong?”
“You missed,” he answered as if you had asked him the easiest question he’d ever heard. When your brows furrowed even more, Bradley pointed to his mouth, and you rolled your eyes before leaning in and kissing him on the lips. 
His hand cradled the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, making you smile against his lips before you pulled away. “There. Better?” 
“Much,” he nodded before shifting the Jeep into drive and pulling away from your building. 
It was still light out when Bradley managed to find a spot to park in the very back of the parking lot, which was really just a massive field of gravel and dirt he couldn’t wait to pick out of his tires later.
The fair was also really big, so compared to all the cars you and he passed on the way to the front gate, the fair ground itself didn’t seem too packed since there were countless places and attractions around that ensured there wasn’t just a big crowd. 
Bradley’s fingers were loosely laced with yours as he gave you free rein of deciding where the two of you were going or what you were going to do. He honestly didn’t care what you did, his attention mainly on how gorgeous you looked in his flannel - which was so obviously his, he could see a few jealous stares from guys who seemed to think they had any chance with you as you pulled him along. 
When you suddenly turned and started tugging him with you towards the arcade, he laughed, because you were probably the only person he’d ever met that would start with the indoor arcade instead of the ferris wheel or the dart game.
A few minutes later, his forearm was braced on the top of some coin machine, his other hand holding a rather heavy bag of arcade coins that you were currently inserting into the machine over and over again. For every coin you knocked off the pile, you got five prize tickets, and you seemed to be having a blast doing just that while Bradley watched you. 
He was content doing anything you wanted to, and if you wanted to blow the entire bag on just this ‘game’, he wouldn’t stop you, especially since you looked absolutely adorable every time the machine printed out a stack of tickets for you. 
“So, flyboy,” you said, bringing his focus away from your pretty face as he gave you his full attention. “Have you decided on what your call sign is going to be once you become a pilot?” 
Bradley grinned, because you were the first person who had brought this topic back up since he told you about it. Eli and Wes and even Briana just listened with fake interest when he told them what he wanted to do for a career in the future, and then they never asked about it again. 
This was just another thing that made you a hundred times better than all three of them combined. You actually listened, and you actually wanted to hear about his plans for the future. “I thought we both decided on that together,” he answered, smirking at the way you quickly looked over at him with wide eyes. 
“Rooster?” you asked for clarification, and he was immediately brought back to his fourth date with you, when you and he had gotten each other off fully clothed in the front seat of his Jeep in the back of a parking garage after being way too distracted to get even halfway through the movie. “Seriously? Your call sign is going to be Rooster?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, taking it upon himself to insert another coin into the machine since you were completely focused on him now. “One, because it has the double O like my dad’s did, and two, because you came up with it.” 
Once the coin had fallen into the machine, Bradley turned to face you but was immediately gifted the sweet feeling of your mouth on his as you kissed him hard, right there in the middle of the arcade. “That is one of the sweetest, most sexiest fucking things anyone has ever said to me,” you mumbled, looking so serious as you caressed his jaw in both hands. “And I’m not even joking.”
Bradley smirked again, because he knew he had another thing to hold above your piece of shit ex. Even though he’d never met Luke, he still was going to call him that, because he was a piece of shit. And he let you go. What a fucking idiot.
Before Bradley could reply, the machine lit up from beside him, flashing yellow a few times before a bucket load of tickets began pouring out. He was so distracted by your surprise kiss, he didn’t realize that the coin he had put in ended up knocking over the pile and rewarding him with what looked like a never ending string of tickets. 
“Woah, baby, I think you won,” you laughed, stepping away from the machine as it continued to spurt out tickets onto the carpeted floor of the arcade. “I didn’t even know you could win this game.”
Bradley shrugged, leaning down to pick up the copious amount of tickets in one hand. “Guess I’m just that good,” he teased, trying to give them to you as he added, “Or maybe it’s because you’re my good luck charm.”
You blushed then shook your head when he tried to hand them to you again. “No, they’re yours. You won those,” you protested, and Bradley laughed. 
“Babes, I put one coin in this thing,” he pointed out, “You put in, like, thirty. They’re yours.”
Your smile was poorly hidden as you finally took them from him before leaning in and giving him another chaste kiss. “Well, thank you,” you mumbled, taking his hand in your free one. “Now we can move on from this game.”
-
Bradley was so fucking sweet, you wanted to kiss him every second of every hour. 
How could you not have realized that this is what a normal, healthy relationship feels like? Why had you put so much of your life into your relationship with your ex when he really didn’t treat you right?
Whatever the reason, you were more than happy to have found Bradley, because he was replacing all your bad experiences with amazing ones, and he had quickly become your favorite person. 
After you had used up all of the arcade coins and won a fuckton of tickets, you kept two and traded the rest of them in for a bunch of random prizes, like a t-shirt with the fair’s name on it, one of those tall cups that come with a weird straw that made it take forever to actually sip anything out of, and a few other small things Bradley had picked out that neither of you would ever need.
He offered to run everything back to the Jeep, so you stayed by the game booths and browsed them until he got back, and once he did, you pulled him over to the target game after a certain prize caught your eye. “Are you any good?” You ask, nodding towards the plastic gun set on the counter of the booth. 
“At this?” Bradley asked, looking at the various targets along the back wall. “I guess now is the time to admit that I’m kind of a bad shot.” 
His words surprised you, since he wanted to be an aviator and fly missions in a fighter jet, and that definitely required him to be a good shot, especially in the air. And you could tell that he was also embarrassed as his neck turned a bit red at his revelation. “Really? I mean, I might be wrong, but don’t you want to join the military? Or are you just a really good liar and only said that to impress me?”
Your words were playful and teasing as you took it upon yourself to pick up the gun. Bradley rolled his eyes as he nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it, I just-” he was promptly cut off when you aimed and fired one shot at the center of each target without batting an eye. 
When you turned to face him again, you nearly cackled at the look of complete shock on your boyfriend’s face. “You just what?” You asked, casually setting the gun down as he gaped at you. 
“How did you…” he trailed off, his eyes flickering between your own and the targets. “You just…I’m sorry, but at the risk of sounding like a complete jackass, how the fuck did you do that?”
You laughed, leaning up to press a kiss to his scarred cheek as he stared at you with a mix of surprise and something else, something stronger, and you weren’t sure if it was what you thought it was. “That? That was easy, flyboy,” you grinned, taking the stuffed goose from the teenaged boy that was running the game booth (who also looked equally as surprised as Bradley did). “Here, I won this for you.”
His gaze flickered down to the stuffed animal, and that same look was in his eyes when he looked back up at you and took it. “You’re perfect,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed you, subtly guiding you away from the booth so the next person could shoot their shot. Bradley kissed you over and over again, the stuffed goose you won him pressed against your back as he held you close to him, his other hand cradling the back of your neck. “You’re absolutely perfect, and I think I’m gonna marry you one day.”
You laughed against his mouth, pulling away as you blushed, his words doing a real number on you. “You think?” You teased, lacing your fingers with his as you snuggled into his side. Before he could say anything, your eyes caught sight of the cotton candy cart, and you were tugging him along with you as he clutched the goose like it was porcelain. 
A few minutes later, you were standing in line for the ferris wheel, a pink cotton candy cone in your hand as you fed handfuls of it to Bradley, who had what seemed to be a permanent love-struck expression on his face. “You’re pretty,” he mumbled suddenly and you snorted.
“What has gotten into you? I won a stuffed animal for you and now you’re all clingy and smiley,” you observe, tossing the cardboard cone into the trashcan as you moved further up the line. “It’s sexy, don’t get me wrong, but what did I do to deserve it?”
Bradley raised his brow at you as he answered, “You won me a goose,”
It didn’t make much sense to you - the only reason you wanted to play that game was to win him the goose because of his dad, but if it made him happy, then you would stop questioning it. 
When you got to the front of the line, the guy operating the ferris wheel had to confiscate Bradley’s goose in case he dropped it or something, and you had never seen him glare so hard at a total stranger before. 
You were holding back a laugh as you got strapped in, and had to bury your face against his arm. “That guy’s just trying to do his job and keep us safe and you’re glaring at him,” 
Bradley turned to look at you with an unimpressed expression on his face, and you laughed harder at the way his lips curved downwards. “He took my goose,”
“He had to,” you pointed out once the wheel started moving. “And you’ll get it back. Jesus, I didn’t think you’d like it this much.” 
“Are you kidding?” he asked, draping his arm around you as the ferris wheel moved even more. “Babes, you make me so fucking happy with everything you do. You listen, you actually care about me, and you remember things that most wouldn’t think twice about. I’m crazy about you.”
Well, now you wish you weren’t sixty feet in the air, because all you wanted to do was crawl on his lap and kiss him senseless. He was so fucking sweet. 
You couldn’t exactly crawl onto his lip right now, but you could definitely kiss him, so that’s what you did. 
Leaning over, you pressed your lips to his in a searing kiss, taking him by surprise this time as you gripped his jaw with your fingers. You weren’t sure how many kisses you’ve shared with him since he picked you up, and you didn’t care. Kissing him felt so good, so right, and you never wanted to stop doing it.
And from the way Bradley kissed you right back, you could tell that he didn’t want to stop doing it either. 
Once you were back on the ground, and after Bradley promptly grabbed his goose back from the ferris wheel operator, he guided you over to the ring toss game, then shoved the stuffed animal into your hand. “You got to show off earlier,” he said, twirling the rings around his finger before smirking over at you. “It’s my turn.”
You raised your brow, holding back a laugh as you turned and watched him toss the rings onto the bottles with very little effort. And he won. “Okay,” you started, turning to face him again with squinted eyes. “You tell me you have bad aim, but you managed to win this? How does that make any sense?” 
Bradley shrugged, keeping his eyes on you as he was handed his prize. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I have no idea how I just did that. And I still want to know why you’re such a good shot.” 
You laughed, then looked at what he was holding, and laughed again. “Wow, you won a fish,” 
He looked down at the bag in his hand, a dumb grin on his face when he handed it to you and took back his goose. “You won a fish, actually,” he corrected, “I won a goose.”
You narrowed your eyes as you shook your head. “That’s not at all what actually happened, but you’re hot so I’ll let it slide,” you mumbled, then looked at the bag with a small little red fish inside of it. “Poor thing. It’s cute though.”
Bradley raised a brow as he looked at the fish as well. “I mean, I guess so,”
You gave him an unimpressed look. “That’s not very nice, especially since we’re it’s parents now,” you say, and both his brows shot up as he let out a surprised laugh. 
“Oh, are we?” he grunted, draping his arm around your shoulders as he started leading you to the exit. You were joking, and were also kind of serious, but also didn’t want to weird him out. But before you could say anything else, he continued, “Well, if that’s the case, it needs a name then.”
Your smile grew a few sizes at that, because not only had he not been weirded out, but he played along. “Well,” you trailed off, looking at the fish as he walked you through the dark parking lot. When your eyes caught sight of the ‘F’ written in sharpie on the side of the bag, you grinned. “Her name will be…BB.”
“BB?” Bradley laughed, his free hand fumbling around in his pocket for his keys. 
“Yep,” you nodded, “BB Bradshaw.”
“Alright,” Bradley mumbled once you were right next to the red Jeep. “What does that stand for?” 
You leaned against the passenger side door, a teasing smirk on your face. “Bad Bitch Bradshaw,” you answered, trying to ignore the jolt of heat that shot through your body when he braced his forearm against the window above your head. He was so hot, and he didn’t even know it. “Obviously.” 
Bradley hummed, “Obviously,” before leaning down and giving you what felt like your hundredth kiss of the night. “Come on, babes. I’m taking you home.” He mumbled, then his lips found yours in another deep kiss, this one much longer.
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mvrkieboo · 3 days ago
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Lord, just saw that ask on what if YN is bitter. And ykw? WHAT IF THEN THERES A LOT OF REGRETS LIKE COME ONNNNNN 😫 I really wanna good ending but damnnnnnnnn that scenario on YN being bitter? UGH LURVE THE ANGSTY 🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️
pt. 2 of this ask right here
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You've been missing your classes. For 6 days, exactly.
For the first three days, Prof. Suh nagged Xiaojun endlessly for an explanation for your absence, but at one point, all of your lecturers stopped bothering him about it. Xiaojun began to wonder if the lecturers could finally tell that he was simply not your friend anymore—until Prof. Suh suddenly held him back again today. As always, Yangyang and Aeri tagged along.
The lecturer pulled out a fruit basket, patting on it as he gave the three college students—for some reason—a sympathetic look, it even came across as apologetic too. Was the fruit basket an apology for something?
"Listen, I wanted to visit Y/N today, but some bullshit last minute meeting got scheduled—so can you guys pass this on to her for me? Tell her I'm sorry for the messages I sent too—I didn't know at the time. Thanks, guys."
The three looked among themselves, weirded out. Why would Prof. Suh buy you a fruit basket? When Aeri opened her mouth to ask for further explanation, that's when the professor's phone rang—and he took the call immediately.
When he saw that three students were still hanging around his desk stupidly, he pointed at the fruit basket then to the lecture hall's doors—telling them to get out.
Yangyang took the fruit basket and walked out the hall, wondering why the fuck would Prof. Suh bring a fruit basket for you?
There was a folded card stuck to the basket, and they were too curious to leave it alone. Flipping the note to read the contents, it was Prof. Suh's writing, but they realised that this fruit basket was on the behalf of all of the lecturers of the faculty.
May we see you again on brighter days, Y/N.
– On behalf of all the staff of NCU's Business & Management Faculty
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Ever since celebrating Jaehyun signing on to SM Entertainment as a singer together, Mark's friend group and your—well, your old friend group hung out a lot at the place where they held the party, which was at Soyeon's café in Sinchon. Geonwoo's mom liked having them come over too, so they often had a fun time together at the café.
"What's with the fancy fruit basket?" Mark got to beat Haechan to it, since everybody was curious about the fruit basket Yangyang was carrying.
"Well, we're actually hoping that you would know, Mark—has Jaehyun mentioned anything about Y/N recently? Did something happen to her?" Xiaojun smiled hesitantly at Mark, and Yangyang places
Mark leaned away from the table, confused as to why Xiaojun would ask that, especially since your name would sometimes be a taboo topic to approach. Yangyang pointed at the card and Mark opened it to read it, now eyebrows all furrowed.
"May we see you again on brighter days? That sounds pretty serious." Haechan read the writing out loud from over Mark's shoulder.
"Listen, this fruit basket is gonna go bad if we don't immediately send it to her, and the staff's money would go to waste that way. How about this—you pass on Y/N's new address to me, I'll drop it off, and then this whole thing can be settled instantly." Yangyang spoke with a jaded tone, leaning back into his seat.
"I don't know her exact address, but I do know what apartment she moved into." Mark offered, and Yangyang nodded gladly.
"Oh, Mark, that would in fact be better. I could just drop it off at the front desk and tell the person to pass it on to her."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
In the end, Mark offered to accompany Yangyang for the drop off, mainly because everyone could see Yangyang was ticked off that he had to do this, and if he ran into you, Mark being there was to mediate the situation.
One look at the apartment complex and they realised how much of a downgrade it is from your old place. Granted, anything else could be considered a downgrade compared to the luxury condo you used to live in, but your current apartment looked almost run down and shady.
Mark couldn't help but still feel a little bit bitter and envious that you were willing to move into this kind of place if it meant you could live with Junyoung. Did you really love him this much to endure living in a place like this? Mark was a broke college student too, but even he wouldn't settle to live in an apartment like this.
But, in your defense, it only looked run down because the apartment was old, dated, and looked like maintenance is done once a year only. It still had a lobby with a front desk at least, manned by a relatively old dude who looked well into his 60's.
"Excuse me, but could you please pass this on to one of your tenants? We don't know her exact unit, but it might be under the name Jeong Y/N or Lee Junyoung." Mark talked amicably, not wanting to piss off anyone in this apartment.
The older man behind the desk moved to take out a thick binded file on the shelves behind him. It was a long 3 minutes until the man finally got to the page he needed. He raised his eyebrows, looked at Mark and Yangyang, then looked at the page again.
"Kid, the unit you mentioned was a crime scene. The cleaners just arrived to wash away the blood and the mess. The tenant—Lee Junyoung—is already dead. A week ago, he stabbed his girlfriend before killing himself—but I heard the girl survived and is currently recuperating at Taeho Memorial Hospital. It's better if you brought this basket there instead."
Mark and Yangyang went blank and dead silent at the information, felt like the whole world froze for a moment, both of their bodies frozen still—then they took off without thanking the old man, bringing along the fruit basket with them into Yangyang's McLaren. On the way to the apartment's parking lot to reach Yangyang's car, Mark was already dialing Jaehyun's number.
Jaehyun was in the studio, nodding along to a beat he was really liking when his phone rang, flashing Mark's picture on his screen. Mark knew he'd be busy, and Mark always liked to text instead of calling anyway. Suddenly feeling dread and a weird sense of urgency take over him, he quickly excused himself out of the studio to take the call.
"Jae, did you know?" Mark sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him, and Jaehyun frowned at the sudden question.
"Know what?"
"Stop fucking around! If you knew, why wouldn't tell me about it? I mean—you know I still care for her and that I'm still not over her yet, so why the fu—"
"Mark! Bro, calm down. What are you talking about? You're speaking in riddles, man—I don't understand what you're trying to say." Jaehyun walked to the windows, looking down on the city as he heard Mark take deep breaths before speaking again.
That was when Mark realised Jaehyun didn't know. He messed with his hair as Yangyang began to drive the car a lot faster than what he was comfortable with. Did the dude even know the directions to Taeho Memorial Hospital?
"It's Y/N, Jae. Junyoung's dead, he killed himself—but before that, he attacked Y/N and—and she got stabbed. She's currently recovering at Taeho Memorial Hospital. Fuck, this is why her lecturer wanted us to give her a goddamn fruit basket."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
You wheeled yourself out of Dr. Kim Sejeong's office. She was a wonderful therapist, and you could tell there was progress in your mental health after you agreed to take up therapy to heal yourself—but it didn't change the fact you had felt pushed to do this the first time you entered her office.
You came to a halt when you saw two men rose from the waiting seats outside Dr. Kim's office. You felt your face going stiff, when you realized Kyungsoo and Taeyong had been waiting for you.
These were the two sneaky assholes who roped Junmyeon into their plan in convincing you to get therapy. You still remembered how hard you cried on Junmyeon's shoulder five days ago.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"So you found his body." You spoke out, sounding soulless.
Junmyeon nodded beside his old partner, Kyungsoo. Taeyong was busy getting coffee at West Wing's café. A kid ran past in front of your wheelchair, giggling as it chased a butterfly with her mother just right behind her. The hospital's garden was spacious, but there were still some tricky pebbles she should look out for.
"Yep. Yoonsu hadn't been lying—Junyoung was found at the abandoned plant nursery. They were just about to renovate it when we came with a search warrant—ah, the school's director was so annoying, kept bitching about how he didn't want it to leak to the media. People like them are the reason why I decided to become a cop." Junmyeon sighed deeply, loosening his necktie at the memory.
Kyungsoo smirked at the older man, making a snide comment on how the commissioner shouldn't be so crass in front of a civilian. Junmyeon slapped him at the back of the head—it wasn't like he wanted the position, but it was thrusted upon him. Turning it down would anger a lot of people, and that included his own grandfather who had given a lot of gifts to the old commissioner for Junmyeon to be selected as his successor.
You stayed stone faced as the two bickered, and when they realised you were staying quiet, Jumyeon looked at you then shared a look with Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo had told him over the phone you might possibly be suffering from a...kind of depression of some sorts after everything Yoonsu made you go through.
You needed someone to push you into the path of proper recovery.
Both men saw Taeyong walking out of the West Wing with a bag in hand, so Junmyeon nodded at Kyungsoo as he fished the inner pockets of his blazer, and Kyungsoo not so discreetly walked away, signalling Taeyong to turn on his heel too.
Junmyeon reached for your hand, forcing your closed fist to open and placed something on your palm. When you pulled your hand away, you saw it was Junyoung's nametag pin. You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked at it, buried memories unearthing themselves inside your mind.
"...you know, I couldn't stand Junyoung the first time I met him. He was more crass than me, arrogant, prideful—and most of all, he was so goddamn selfish. I hated that guy, if I have to be honest with you, Y/N." Junmyeon hunched over, placing his elbows on his knees.
He stared right ahead, watching an older brother carrying his younger brother on his back, probably boasting about how strong he was to be able to carry his little brother. Junmyeon let out a pained smile at the sight.
"But after he met you, that selfishness started to chip away. He was still arrogant and foul-mouthed—and if he was alive, I've no doubt he would still be that way—but he couldn't afford to be so selfish anymore when it came to you."
You felt your eyes water as you closed your fingers around the nametag, then you felt Junmyeon's hands cover yours, as if he was also trying to keep that nametag safe from the world like you were.
"Kyungsoo told me. About all the things you said Yoonsu said to you before he killed himself, how your own friend dismissed you when you asked to speak with your brother one last time—Y/N, you have to know that all those things he said to you will never be true, you're not selfish. You deserve to live a life beyond Yoonsu, Y/N. You deserve to live a life beyond Junyoung too. He didn't die because of you, he died because of Yoonsu's selfishness—not yours." Junmyeon spoke softly, watching you cry without making a sound.
"I know you resent your friends for leaving you, and I know you also feel like blaming yourself for it because you were the one that pushed them away first, but you can't keep wallowing in your pain all by yourself, Y/N. If they had hurt you so badly, they should apologise to you—but how could they realise what they did wrong and apologize if you're not letting them know?" Junmyeon started to wipe away your tears, even as you started to shake your head.
"But I can't seem to let it go. I don't know if I could forgive them even if they apologize to me. I don't think I'm strong enough to do it." You sobbed out, feeling so ashamed of yourself.
Junmyeon tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear before he placed a hand on the back of your head. This was the same head that his late step cousin loved so much, the same head that Junyoung sacrificed his selfishness for.
"Then get help. Get therapy, receive some counseling. Me and Kyungsoo are scared that if you continue to be like this, you might..." He trailed off, and he didn't have to finish it for you to understand what he was trying to say.
"Please? For Junyoung, at least? He loved you so much, kid. He deserves to see you live a life beyond all this pain, all this suffering...and you owe it to yourself too. Living in misery would just let Yoonsu win in the end. Don't let that asshole win, Y/N."
He saw how your shoulders slumped. You relented, and you started to nod. His hand on the back of your head stretched around your shoulders, letting you cry on his. Finally, Junmyeon felt like his debt with Junyoung was now paid tenfold. At last he got to find where Junyoung was after all these years, and the girl Junyoung loved so much was finally saved from Yoonsu's hold on her.
At last.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Detectives, if my memory serves me well, you belong to Gangnam's Police Force, not Seoul's." You grumbled, not having the strength to fight off Taeyong who was pushing your wheelchair for you.
"And that makes it illegal for us to visit you?" Kyungsoo scoffed from beside you, making you roll his eyes.
You began to tap your foot on the footpad. Kyungsoo caught it, and smirked when he realised he was annoying you. Great, he thought, it's payback for all the times you greatly annoyed him three years ago. It's even more fun when you can't find it in you to whip out snarky comebacks to use against him
"How was therapy? Can me and Taeyong finally go inform your family now? Or are you gonna stall our work for another week?" Kyungsoo side eyed you, and you whipped your head to look at him.
Taeyong cracked a smile, finding it both humorous and heartwarming to see you both bickering. You had been so despondent during the first days, it had him and Kyungsoo relieved to see you having a personality again, even if you were constantly grumpy every time they came and visited you.
"I told you already, Detective Do, I'll tell you when I'm ready. Stop trying to push me to—"
"Y/N?" The familiar voice had you silent in a heartbeat.
Kyungsoo and Taeyong stopped in their tracks, and you included since you were getting wheeled by Taeyong. All three of you stayed frozen at the doorway, seeing so many people in your private room that weren't your doctor and her usual entourage of medical students and nurses (Junmyeon pulled some strings to get you a private room once you were transferred out of the ICU ward. Sometimes you forget Junmyeon also came from a rich family like Yangyang and Chenle).
Inside your room were your remaining family members (Yuno, your father), your foster family (Geonwoo, Woojin, Soyeon), Mark, and your classmates (Xiao, Yangs, Aeri). They felt their breaths stop when they saw you sitting limply on your wheelchair, deep purple bruises all over your face.
You dug your nails into your lap and began to stand up from your wheelchair, alarming Kyungsoo and Taeyong who knew that you were supposed to change your stitches today. Everyone else in the room began to go after you too, seeing how the two men with you were panicking to see you walking by yourself.
You felt like Kyungsoo and Taeyong had betrayed you. You had immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was the detectives that called them over, even when they knew you weren't ready to face them again.
"Kid—" Kyungsoo yelled out, placing a hand on your shoulder when you were already out in the hallway, but you pulled your shoulder away from him so violently it had him going pale, worried that you might tear open your stitches.
And when Taeyong glanced down to the spot where you had been stabbed, he staggered when he saw blood seeping through the shirt the hospital had given you to wear.
"Y/N, stop!" Kyungsoo yelled out again, rushing over to stand in front of you.
The commotion caused everyone in the hallway to stop and witness the scene. Some nurses began to crowd you however, as some of them were already familiar with you and your injury, not wanting you to run and escape when your stitches were obviously ripping. Taeyong held your shoulders from behind while Kyungsoo closed in, forcing you into a bear hug to limit your movements.
You raised your arms and started to pound on his chest, tears streaming down your face at the pain of your stitches ripping open and at the betrayal you felt. The bear hug forced you to your knees, with Kyungsoo whispering something into your ears to calm you down.
"It wasn't us, kid. We didn't inform them. We don't know how they got here, okay? We wouldn't betray you like that. We didn't call them over, Y/N." He spoke softly, and quickly swept you up to carry you in his arms and into your room to lie you down on your bed.
As soon as he lied you down, your doctor came in with her team, immediately pushing everyone out of the room and closing the door in front of them.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Who are you people? How do you know my sister?" Yuno asked stiffly, obviously still frazzled from the commotion you caused earlier.
Taeyong and Kyungsoo stared at the people before them. Just right as Kyungsoo was about to tell them who they were, a voice down the hallway rang through, gathering everyone's attention.
"Detectives!" Dr. Kim, your therapist, appeared.
She staggered back a little when she saw national darling and viral sensation Jeong Jaehyun in front of her. Sejeong tilted her head at him then looked at the detectives for a proper explanation. She just heard that you made a commotion earlier and tore open your stitches.
"I'm sorry, but who are these people?" Sejeong asked sincerely, seeing that all of them were waiting in front of your door.
"Dr. Kim, meet Jeong Y/N's friends and family." Taeyong spoke tiredly, pinching at his temple.
Sejeong balked.
"No! Y/N wasn't ready to see them again, detectives, so how could you! Didn't you promise that you'd only reach them out and inform them once they're ready?" She nearly shrieked, now upset on your behalf.
Kyungsoo and Taeyong looked at your friends and family—well, former friends and family. Both detectives understood that they shouldn't let personal bias cloud their judgement on people (it's literally their job to be that way), but they couldn't help it when all they could see at the moment was Y/N's sole source of pain, now that Yoonsu's dead.
"That's the problem—we didn't inform them. We were wheeling Y/N back to her room so we could spend some time with her and see how she's doing, but when we got to her room, they were already there inside it. It's why she freaked out and tore open her stitches." Taeyong explained thoroughly, looking straight into Yuno's eyes.
"You didn't answer our question earlier, asshole—who the fuck are you, and how do you know Y/N?" Yangyang spoke out this time, stepping out of the group and coming face to face with both of the detectives.
"Okay, time out! Detectives, please take these people to the canteen downstairs to give them the rundown of it. You can't keep crowding the hallway like this, and it's also within Y/N's best interest that you don't overwhelm her once the doctor's done with fixing up her stitches." Sejeong did a karate chop in the air between your friends and family and the detectives.
"Why should we follow your orders?" Mark asked genuinely, and Sejeong sighed at him as she showed them her badges.
"I'm a psychologist working for this hospital, and I also happen to be Y/N's therapist. Please, I beg of you for the sake of my patient, go to the canteen with the detectives. I can't breach patient confidentiality, but these detectives are obligated by the law to explain to Y/N's family on what happened to her."
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A/N : might post a pt. 3, but i also might not 🫨
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