#he did this at another show too and threatened to eat it

[thesassypadawan]

Stuffed (Clay x WifeReader)

Summary:  Thanksgiving, a time to gather together with loved ones and friends.  To, well, give thanks and show how much you appreciate one another…by stuffing yourself full of all the delicious eats.  Which your loving husband is more than happy to do…until you gobble and wobble.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  Fun from behind (giddy up), inappropriate table manners, manipulative/possessive Clay, and…  his thick, long dick.

Notes: Happy Thanksgiving all you, lovelies! 🧡❤️

- Hand glides over your pillowy thigh, palm resting a touch too high.  Fingers play with the hem of your nearly inappropriate dress; the one he chose, insisted told you wear.  “What’s the matter, mama…”  Pushing, sliding the material higher and higher.  Exposing more of your supple flesh to the warm kitchen air.  “You’re so quite…”

- Tips press against your flimsy panties, the skimpy pair he laid out this morning.  Rubbing, massaging them into your soaked folds.  “Barely touched your meal…”  The brush of the lacey fabric, accompanied with his wedding ring grazing your pudgy mound.  Forcing you to swallow down each tiny gasp and coo, keep your lips sealed tightly.  “Did I cut the pieces too big for you…”

- Nudging them aside, he slips two long digits into your drooling cunny.  Curling teasingly, dragging them agonizingly slow.  “Peanut giving you grief…”  All the while carelessly carrying on, pretending like you’re not struggling to keep up with the conversation.  Ignoring the fact that you’re sitting in front of your whole extended family, a mess of sticky arousal pooling between your thick legs.  “Tummy upset…”

- Adding a third, pumping slightly faster.  Mind grows increasingly more hazy, hardly able to comprehend the words he’s saying.  “Do you need to lay down for a bit…”  You begin to tremble, shake in your seat.  As Clay nonchalantly sets his wine glass down, leans in close.  Hand settling on top of your bountiful bump, thumb running along its gentle swell.  “Is my little turkey already that stuffed…”

- Somehow you manage to nod in agreement.  Suppressing the whimper that threatens to fly loose when he abruptly removes, mumbling weakly.  “Y-yes…  Can yo-you help me to t-the guestroom, hub-hubby…”

- Tugging, pulling your dress and panties back in place.  He casually wipes off your slick on the patchwork tablecloth, before draping a comforting arm over your shoulders.  “Of course, but let’s make a small stop at the bathroom first,” he mutters, voice caring and yet commanding.  “All right…sweetheart.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- The soft clanking of plates, sound of muffled laughter filters through the paper-thin walls.  Mixing with the loud clinking of his belt buckle hitting your thighs, the almost deafening slap of his hips against yours.

- Bent over the sink, skirt bunched up high on your waist.  “Sssh, need to be quiet…”  Big hand covers, long fingers shoved into your mouth; attempting to stifle the small squeals that escape.  “Need you to be my good girl…”  When the bottom of your bare stomach kisses the cool porcelain with each rough drive.  “Unless…”

- Saliva coated digits trail and descend, wind around your throat.  Squeezing it tenderly, hold firm.  “Unless you want them all to hear…”  Clay forces you to stare at your disheveled reflection; to gaze into his darkened, blue eyes.  Tongue dragging slowly, tantalizingly over the shell of your ear.  “Hear all those lovely noises you make for me…”

- Pace increases, becomes wilder.  Your hands scramble, slip on the smooth surface in a desperate attempt to brace yourself better against his unrestrained thrusts.  To center yourself against the onslaught of raw pleasures that ravage your hormonal, bloated body.  “How well I take care of their precious daughter…”

- Palm kneads, gropes your ample love handle.  Harshly, bruisingly before moving lower.  Gliding across your round tummy, cradling it possessively.  “How you ended up and will stay like this…”

- Grip on your delicate column tightens.  Ring digs, leaves an impression on the sensitive flesh.  “That’s what you want, don’t you…”  Addled brain begins to spiral, pussy clenches and flutters franticly.  Stars burst, vison begins to fade to white.  “For them all to hear how completely I ruin you, to know how utterly you’re mine…”

- Slamming into you one final time, fat tip punches your poor cervix.  Knocking the remaining air from your lungs, causing a mess of strangled mewls and whines spill from your lips.  “Yes…yes…”  As you gush all over his thick length, while he packs your abused pussy to the brim with his hot seed.  “All…all…yours, Clay…”

- Slumping forward, pressing his broad chest to your back.  He loosens his hold, showers your neck and shoulders with sweet kisses.  “That’s my pretty wifey…”  Caressing and rubbing your bump lovingly, droplets of your combined releases trickle down your legs.  “Now, let’s clean you up…  Get you some dessert…  Fill you with the other kind of cream…  Until you’re absolutely stuffed…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @anakinstwinklebunny, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @beresfordsgirl, @kenmaiica, @sythethecarrot, @xx-ttamaraa, @everydaydreamer, @rafeswifeyy2, @laoif, @xhunnybeeex, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @reaperr-of-souls, @r0ttenz0mb1e, @anisdolly, @milliesrealgf, @ala2ilas-s

[touchd0wn-boy]

Mark unearthing 30 year old candy from his first amp case

[bamjio]

❛ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆 ❜— ✿ .. deadpool headcanonns!

BEING WADE WILSONS' ONE AND ONLY ❛ WIFE. ❜ !

⋆˚✿˖° — CLINGY! it's honestly feels suffocating. Does he know personal space? of course. does he oblige to that rule? he'd rather dig logans burial.

— it doesn't matter, wade believes that if you love someone you won't let them go, literally.

— you'd always wake up to him tightly hugging you down, his arms and legs hovering your figure. don't think of letting go, cause he'll just grip more.

— expect him to go over your workplace and hang out there till the end of your shift, he won't budge even if the manager threatened to call the cops.

— goodness, he's just so obsessed with your scent, skin, hair, face, lips, arms, ❛boobies❜, and everything. he'd rather cut his head off than avoid you for a solid 3 days.

⋆˚✿˖° — CHILDISH! is wade a grown man that kills people or a child that wants your attention 24/7? Well, he's a child that kills and wants your attention.

— him being your husband feels like your with a child that won't grow up, he loves making a huge mess, doing anything to impress you, even fighting Logan for fun to show off who's stronger.

— wherever you both go, he'd always wander off somewhere; bothering someone or touching things that aren't supposed to be touched. and you're always panicking looking for wade, usually takes a few hours until he magically finds you, or you find him.

— loves likes seeing you angry, he claims that it's ❛super hot❜ and ❛cute, looks like a cat❜, so he'd bother you every unexpected time, whenever you'd read a book he likes to steal it and read it out loud, whenever you're on the verge of slumber; he'd either yell or picture your sleepy state.

— you're like a mother always scolding wade, and thankfully he obeys you, like a guilty child. yet his manners still come back like his life, you will never get tired of him though, and he knows it.

⋆˚✿˖° — OVERPROTECTIVE! your friends call it lovesick, but him and his 'audience' call it protecting! yeah, maybe he did kill your co worker because he called you crybaby, but thats besides the point.

— special forces, mutant, anti-hero, killer; yadayada, he's everything not a simple man could protect, call him delusional but unexpected things happen, you could get assassinated while eating breakfast, or worse. It's not being too weird, it's being considerate.

— definitely forced Logan to look after you once, not that he minds; Logan admires you. and that turned out to you finding out and scolding wade, being a big baby he is— he definitely didn't talk to you.

— ❛whos that in my bosses office??❜ suprise! it's wade holding a gun to your superiors head while waving at you, well because your boss threatened to fire you.

— in realities and seriousness, he doesn't wanna loose you. loosing someone pains him so much, yet being annoying is the only way he can cope. he lost so much people and he can't afford to loose you too. and him being wanted and a so called 'villain' in every story, he knows one day theyll figure you out.

⋆˚✿˖° — LOYAL! before the day you guys talked, he vowed that if he finds himself attach to another woman romantically, he'd hang himself. he loves you and even if you didn't, no one could ever replace you.

— despite lotta girls getting attracted to him, his eyes will be locked at you. his ears and eyes will forever be yours to catch.

— won't hesitate to slam a girls face into a metal table if they'd ever flirt with you, even with him showing you off. What's only stopping him is you not wanting him to harm anyone, and he's definitely obedient when it comes to you.

— define bare minimum, cause he definitely isn't just the minimum. his profiles in every social contains either your face, or you and him. not only profile, also his header and posts, tagging you whenever he interacts with his 'fans' putting "with — y/n wilson" "my wife — y/n Wilson" "fbm —y/n wilson" and anything that contains you.

— would you really doubt your crazy husband and his whatever audience? Looks can deceive and he's the frame for it, honesty and loyalty is his integrity, he vowed to you and shown his loyalty, and he would never break it.

⋆˚✿˖° ❛iris — tggd❜ , ❛she will be loved — M5❜.

[synthetickitsune]

svt ot13 + when you're sick

Seungcheol ❧ This is why he drives an expensive car. The engine can barely be heard, and so at least Seungcheol doesn’t worry (so much) about the noise disturbing you. He steals a glance at your picture on his phone screen. You look miserable, tired, even as you’re sleeping. He can faintly make out the steady rise and fall of your chest. He takes a turn when the navigation tells him to, and he hopes the info online was correct and the pharmacy is still open. If you weren’t so sick he’d scold you about not being more careful about running out of medicine, but for now he will settle on restocking them for you. He takes another look at you, catching the exact moment you open your eyes and call his name. He reassures you he’s still there, just parking the car. Seungcheol takes the phone with him to the store that’s thankfully indeed open. He ignores your weak cries of embarrassed protest when he asks the person behind the counter how high does a temperature need to be to warrant a visit to the ER.

Jeonghan ❧ Your eyes water behind your closed eyelids and you want it to be just because of the headache, you will say it is because of it. Jeonghan will believe you anyway, even though you doubt he’d laugh right now even if he knew it might actually be because of the tender way he’s stroking your hair, your head held safely to his chest, and his soft voice quietly cooing praises and reassurances to you. You were pushing him away until you couldn’t anymore. He insists he’s always sick anyway, so it doesn’t matter. His arm is starting to get sore, but he won’t stop for as long as the action brings you comfort. In his head he keeps a checklist with no deadline in particular. He needs to make sure you eat, he needs to get some water in you too, he should get you to tell him everything that’s wrong. But that can wait until the painkillers kick in. Jeonghan knows you tried to be strong, and he’s proud - as he told you many times - but he’s prouder that you let him help. He kisses the top of your head and checks in with you. The silence is enough to tell him to keep going. So he does with a small smile.

Joshua ❧ No matter how many times you tell him that your condition isn’t so bad you’d need constant supervision, Joshua has none of it. He will make short trips outside your bedroom if necessary but otherwise he’s staying. You need him, he insists. You’re vulnerable and need his protection. He playfully punches the air that made you sick. Then he protectively squeezes you to his chest when your body is wrecked with chills. And he will take your approval of that as a sign he should continue with the silliness. He pretends to sneeze at you - to scare your germs away, he says. He reminds you that he’s at your beck and call. Ready to make you something to eat, ready to give you the medicine, always willing to provide cuddles and kisses. He will even softly sing to you if you need help falling asleep. Although for now it seems you’re happy enough to sleepily watch him and listen to his soothing voice. It makes Joshua's chest tight, the way you trust him, how lovingly you watch him, how you seem to thrive just because he’s near. Compared to when he spoke to you on the phone… Yeah, he’s not leaving the bedroom until you’re well.

Jun ❧ Jun is stubborn. You can insist, you can threaten him, you can plead with him to leave before he gets sick too but he won’t. He’s going to nurse you back to health just like you’d do for him. He wants to show off how well he can care for you - like cook you delicious meals. Only the nausea makes it hard to enjoy them. Again, though, he is stubborn and he will figure it out. There are other ways he can prove himself to be the best boyfriend. He can tell you’re as disappointed as he is that his cooking isn’t helping, but cheering you up is his other specialty. Never in his life did he expect he’d wake up his partner for food and pills by meowing in their face, but here he is. And if it gets you to move, to smile, to kiss his cheek, he’ll keep doing it. He doesn’t act cute too often for you, which makes these moments rare. It makes him shy, but it brings life back into your eyes. If you’re so tired and incoherent that you can only have full conversation in the cat language with Jun, so be it. His heart might be a little closer to bursting with every soft meow from your lips, but he’s stubborn. He’ll make it until you’re healthy.

Soonyoung ❧ You smile through the pain, fondly. Soonyoung is trying to be quiet but you’re too sensitive right now. He lists off all your symptoms to his mother on the phone and asks what could help. He asks for recipes, tips. You might be hyperaware of every sound, but you do end up falling asleep, his voice a distant lullaby. When you wake up, there’s a bowl of fruit cut into small pieces and small piles of various pills - medicine and vitamins, your boyfriend explains, hugging you tightly. He asks if you feel like eating, and then encourages you to try the fruit anyway. He starts telling you a story, but only continues for every little piece you eat. His joy at his idea working as he imagined makes you smile too. He goes through all of his mother’s suggestions at once. There’s a bag of frozen veggies on your forehead and more, making you look ridiculous. Some of it is working, some of it not. Soonyoung is trying to cook though, so that’s far more concerning. Love only does so much for a meal. When he asks if you think delivery will work as well as a home-cooked meal, you reassure him any healing you do will be thanks to the fruit he cut for you. 

Wonwoo ❧ He closes the blinds and pulls the curtains closed as well. Despite the midday sun’s best attempts, the room is dark. Wonwoo returns your smile, but still checks if there’s anything more he can do. He pushes the hair away from your face and pulls the blanket all the way to your chin. A pointless action, really, when you just sneak your hand out to hold his. He must admit you’re quite cute when the sickness makes you this needy. He expects you to ask him to stay when everything is prepared and he has yet to decide if he’ll agree straight away or tease you first. His own necessities are ready - his phone, book, console, anything he might need to entertain himself while he keeps you company and serves as your personal heater. He puts the medicine, already separated into individual doses, and water on the bedside table. He’ll order food later, having already learned the hard way you feel better with him close instead of trying to burn down the kitchen. You’re already half asleep when Wonwoo brings some snacks, so it makes the choice easy when you reach for him - silently he stays.

Jihoon ❧ It’s not the first time he’s grateful to be used to sleep deprivation, but it might be the first time he doesn’t feel any bitterness towards the fact. This once, Jihoon only feels bitter towards the AC in your office and the frailty of the human body. He can’t make out your face in the complete darkness, but the dark bags under your reddish eyes and the lethargy so unlike you haunt him still. His hand moves with your every raspy breath, following the movement of your chest. His legs have gone numb a long time ago, but he refuses to get up from the floor. If you turn away, then he’ll consider getting on the bed, but for the time being, he needs to stay here. If you wake up and want to hold his hand, he needs to be ready. If you’re too weak and too in pain to wait until the morning for the medicine, he needs to be ready. You stir in your sleep and he isn’t ready for the pained noise you make, your sleep disturbed by discomfort. So Jihoon starts humming a slow, comforting melody. It must be an instinct that your body relaxes immediately.

Minghao ❧ It’s nothing short of a herculean task to keep you in bed, especially when you’re sticky with sweat and feel like you’re boiling alive. The only thing that helps, Minghao discovered, is his voice. So he reads to you. He needs to keep at it at least until the latest dose of pills starts working. You squirm and whimper much less, reassured by his soothing presence. His voice is calm; his whole demeanor is. It’s not like he needs to freak out for you to know he’s worried. First he helps you feel more comfortable by gently cleaning your face with a cold wet towel. Then you gladly snuggle into his side. He holds the book open with one hand and the other he uses to gently massage your sore shoulder. You groan softly whenever he applies more pressure. You insist it helps though, and seeing as you like to lay on your side, he’s glad to help to make it bearable. He’ll continue until the fever subsides and the pain eases with it. He knows you’ll ask him to continue reading to you even then, and maybe he will if you’re good.

Mingyu ❧ His lips are better and more reliable than any thermometer. Mingyu can tell by a forehead kiss alone that you’re a bit feverish, and pouts when you don’t trust him. Like a machine would know your body better than him. When you wake up, it’s morning already. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you’re drenched with cold sweat and near delirious with fever. Your boyfriend diligently helps you sit up and take the medicine he has prepared already - after forcing you to eat a few crackers so the medicine doesn’t upset your stomach. He calls your boss for you after making sure you’re asleep again, having already turned off your alarm. He opens the window and cuddles you under the blanket to make up for the cold air. He knows you won’t like it, so he tries to make up for the necessary evil. He will clean up later when your sleep is deeper - he doesn’t want you to feel like you’re behind on chores. Every bitterness he makes up for with sweetness, anything you crave. His arms are opened for you, his lips always available. Mingyu isn’t afraid of getting sick himself if it means being there for you.

Seokmin ❧ He’s at a loss for words, so he just smiles and nods. You don’t seem to mind, babbling on, sulkily, about why urchins would be cute pets, about the little hats you’d put on them. Seokmin knows better than to argue with you when you’re sick. The last thing he wants to do is to make you upset. He suggests a miniature of his whale hat and he finally gets to see you smile. You squirm in excitement at finally being heard, so he has to remind you to stay still. Your nose is all red and cracked, rubbed raw by the dozens of tissues. He helps you apply lotion on it now that it seems like your nose stopped running. You finally settle when he promises he’ll figure out a way to get all the small hats you came up with, even though you’ll forget about your great plans for your army of urchins once you take a nap. He’ll write it down later, however, to laugh about it with you when you’re feeling well again. The list is ever growing. Naming your future pets misspelled names of his friends. Deep frying ice cream… Maybe he’ll try that one with you as a celebration when you beat the sickness.

Seungkwan ❧ He tsks again and immediately follows up with an apology in a much softer tone when you wince in pain. Seungkwan might have underestimated how sick you were and now he blames himself for it, but then again you sounded fine on the phone. You’re anything but fine, actually, and he drops the spoon back into the bowl in defeat. The silver lining is that all the three meals you can hold down are simple enough for him to prepare. What’s worse is that you’re eating nowhere near enough to get your strength back. He pleads with you for just five more spoons, just that. You look like he’s forcing the food down your throat. Four and the vitamins, then. It’s a tough bargain, but he wins eventually. For every spoon he makes sure to kiss and praise you, slipping the vitamin pills one by one on the top of each bite to be efficient. You seem like you’ll fall right asleep once he lets you lie down. He still isn’t satisfied with you not finishing your meal, but he knows you’re trying. Seungkwan remains sitting on the bed, watching over you until you wake up.

Vernon ❧ Nothing really makes sense but Vernon’s voice. The world must be spinning at a breakneck speed, but you’re well anchored with your head on his lap. He knew it was bad when you asked if he could stay somewhere else, and so he’s glad he came. Just like anything else, getting better is a process made easy if you follow instructions, and he will make sure you do. He keeps track of it for you, because he isn’t even sure if you realize it’s been hours since he came and it’s already dark outside. And you’re not complaining that you don’t understand what he’s saying at all - which he does on purpose to test you. So he asks you a trick question, you’d pick the bear over me right?, and laughs when you happily hum a yes. Maybe he should take some videos of you to laugh at later. You’d appreciate it you too, he thinks. But he really can’t when you look so pathetic, curled to stay as close to him as you can. Vernon is really fine with it even if it’s inconvenient. Even if you don’t really listen to him. It helps him sort out the mess in his head to just keep rambling. If you overhear and remember, that’s also fine. Everything is okay if it’s you.

Chan ❧ It’s not funny when you tell him that the flowers look half-dead just like you. Not funny at all, and he reminds you that you’re just suffering from a bad cold - you’re not dying. You muster your remaining strength to smile and reassure him that indeed, you’ll be fine. He puts the flowers next to your bed. They no longer carry scent so they don’t overwhelm your senses and you know that’s what Chan was going for. Despite your joke, they’re still very beautiful. You thank him for them when he comes back with soup, feeding you spoon after spoon while doing his best to pretend like you’re on a first date, getting to know each other. The fever makes it easier to fall for the illusion, but you know the love is real. Acting like he’s pulling out a box of chocolates, Chan pops the medicine into your hand. He treats tucking you in after you take them like you’re parting in front of your door, settling for a chaste kiss to your forehead. He stays until you fall asleep, as if waiting for you to disappear into the safety of your home.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

break up with your boyfriend

Yandere trans!fem cheerleader x fem reader

It was so shittily made but I need to pump out more fics or else my blog will die. Thank you all for 1k followers though! I'll rewrite this in the future maybe

Tw: mentions of blackmailing, nsfw, slight breeding kink, batshit crazy girlfriend,not proofread, another oc mentioned!?🌺

💄Eva saccharine has been your girlfriend since she first started transitioning. You helped her style her hair, do her nails, pick her clothes, find good makeup, anything she needed to feel like the real her. So when freshman year rolled in, it came as no surprise to you she fit right in with the clique.

💐Ofcourse you had your fears she'd choose them over you but that wasn't the case, because she'd make you eat lunch with them and sit on her lap, not so subtly humping your ass while talking all about cheer practice

🛍️boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her. She just wanted you, to just be the two baddest bitches on the block. It didn't matter if you were just like her or the complete opposite, she gushed over you. Praising you for being her good girl, her sweet little princess, her obedient pocket pussy-

💄but at this current moment? She was busy bullying your insides, forcing her fat cock into your slippery hole as she held you steady by your waist. Biting and groaning everytime she'd feel you squeeze that certain spot on her dick

"fu-uuckkk.. baby cakes, 'yer squeezin' me so goood.. ah.. hah.. you wouldn't mind if I pumped a few babes into your tight cunny right? Wanna be my baby mama?"

💐that made you squeeze tighter, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life. She had you face down, ass up and damn near breaking your back with how hard she was going. Hearing the normally composed and playful eva turn into a drooling pussy-drunk mess had you feeling butterflies, just going plap play plap-

🛍️let's just say, by the end of it, you couldn't walk for days afterwards. But no amount of hickies and perfume would be able to scare away a rather persistent guy. He was on the football team, star quarterback, rich asshole. sam white. Eva hated his guts, he thinks he can just waltz in and steal her bitch? Not on her watch.

💄this little feud had been going on for a while, and more times than you could count you've been caught in the crossfire. Though it was kinda funny, seeing them screeching insults at eachother and bickering. Eva would sassily flick her blonde hair and grab you by the collar of your neck, Dragging you away while Sam hooted and hollered at your retreating form

💐you never questioned her morbid fascination with anything horror or paranormal related. She was just obsessed with regular girl things. wanting you to help her summon a demon once, but you aren't that stupid, making blood pacts with them could result in very unsavory ending's and you quite cherished your soul and body

🛍️Eva has more than one account on different social medias, pretending to be multiple different people and Stalking your posts. She'd slide into your dms and flirt, seeing if you'd really cheat on her. She's so happy when you instantly block the account, guess you'll survive not being sent to her basement for another week

💄she has the audacity to grab a frilly pink pen and make you wear clothes that purposely shows off what she wrote. In bright bold lettering, Eva's little cum dump ♡ . Maybe she'll let you bring a jacket, only if you beg her really hard with those big doe eyes she loves. She put a collar and leash on you too

💐don't try breaking up with her, she takes 'they go low, I go lower" to another level. Threatening to post pictures of you in rather compromising positions. When did she record all of this? Who knows. She won't refrain from spreading nasty rumors of you that just force you to come sobbing into her arms, if you try and get comfort from somebody else she won't hesitate to eliminate them. Don't you see? She's the final girl, and you're her love Interest

"I told you not to run pretty baby.. now look what you've done. I gotta fix your mess up~.."

moral of the story: be a loyal loving girlfriend and she'll spoil you rotten with her daddy's black card ♥️

[xo-codbby]

when the two hour journey back from a failed mission had all five of you on edge, especially with you as the driver 🤭

price usually was the one to drive but he'd been caught in a bomb that had been too close, catching the shrapnel in his thigh and arm preventing him from using it too much. luckily he'd been fine, gaz and ghost safely removed the debris and bandaged him up. but now it meant that you were the next designated driver, not trusting gaz/soap especially simon to make it to the barracks safely. and poor price was all too stressed, brows furrowed as he rubbed the back his neck slightly in dire need of his bed and a drink

so it left him in the back seat with soap and gaz

soap who's absolutely restless and fuming and gaz who's brooding, eyes ticking when soap keeps squirming, "jesus just stay fuckin still for one fuckin sECOND!" "what tha FUCK did you just say??"

so now you have a brawl taking place and your hands are clenched so tightly around the wheel you're contemplating dumping them all on the side of the road and driving off

"enough! can you both just stop" you snap back lugging the empty gum container at them, it hitting the back of soap's head and bouncing off of gaz's forehead. cue another few grumbles as they finally separate, muttering curses and scowls

price decides to sit in the middle of them, to ease their tension and play mediator,"no more fighting lads. you're grown men. act like it" "i am! he's started it" "fuckin' boot licker"

unfortunately price's beautiful broad frame blocks the mirror and you need to see behind the car. so it leaves you back with the decision you hated

"gaz d'you mind sitting back in the middle?" "i do mind" "but-" "i. do. mind."

ego has absolutely crumbled 6 feet under from your comment, already on top of a failed mission it doesn't seem to be kyle's day at all. price sighs heavily, one minor inconvenience away from calling laswell and transferring to a new team as he grabs the back of gaz's top and pulls him back in the middle. soap is busy snickering away in his seat, thumping the back of his comrade's shoulder

"aye that's not so bad. plenty o'birds go fer tha small men" "yeah, you'd know from experience"

another fight breaks out and this time price steps in, snapping at them both. watching both seargents fall into their respectful seats after getting an earful from the captain with a matching glare

and ghost? oh, he's sitting all cute in the passenger seat like the little princess he is <3<3<3

that is, until he's suddenly become an expert driving instructor. telling you not to go too fast/watching out for the cars, "hey hey, watch out for the stop sign-" "coming from the same guy who almost crashed us in the heli several times??" "still got your arse from point a to b so what's the issue?"

and then soap has the bright idea to start pissing off the lieutenant, leaning forwards behind his seat as he starts sticking his fingers into ghost's ears

learns his lesson very promptly when said finger is grabbed and bent at an awkward angle threatening to break

it's silent for a moment as you drive, taking out a soft breath finally. it's then very quickly broken before ghost complains, moving in his seat annoyed

"you got any snacks? m'starvin" doesn't wait for an answer, already rifling through the glove compartment. pulls out a snickers bar brown eyes glinting, turning behind his seat to eat it and show off to the three in the back "oi you share some with me", "greedy bastard, give some over", "where did you get that??"

you have to stop at the convenience store to appease the rest of them

but at least the driver has full control of the aux and you play your own songs, a beautiful symphony of groans and complaints around you. but hey, it's nothing the music can't drown out

and finally it's quiet after an hour and half, turning around in your seat when you're in traffic. price is asleep, arms crossed over his chest, head leaning slightly with his bucket hat falling half off. kyle's head is on price's good thigh breathing softly as he remains relatively still eyes closed peacefully. soap is pressed into his back snoring softly, a very active sleeper you've learnt throughout your time being with the 141. and simon's head rests delicately on centre console, breathing gently as his balaclava is pushed up around his nose fast asleep.

with all four men finally knocked out you thank the universe, as you continue to drive a little gentle this time all the way back to base

not before taking a sneaky pic for memories, of course ♡

[beautifulsenpai]

YOU REALLY GOT MY SOUL

muzan kibutsuji x male reader

summary. 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋. 𝗆𝗎𝗓𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗅𝗎𝗑𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑

senpai’s note. 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼, 𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇? 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗉, 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒!

𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌/𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌

valentines day is an annual festival when lovers express their affection with greetings and gifts. muzan did not hold back this year, he gave (name) the best valentines day experience ever.

taking (name) to a classy restaurant, buying him luxury gifts, etc. who would’ve thought that the demon lord could be a romantic lover, especially to a human male? (name) has no clue that muzan is the most feared demon lord that killed multiple thousands, and he likes it to stay that way.

he’ll eventually tell him at the right time, but not at this moment, the moment to show deep affection to one another. muzan loved the human boy very much, and he didn’t know how to express it even more. so..

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

"mmhn..hnngh..mu-muzan!!~", (name) whimpered onto the pillow he buried his face in. he couldn’t let muzan see how flushed he was, and tears threatening to spill from his eyes, it was too embarrassing. (name) was stripped away from his clothes while muzan only had his undergarments.

(name) ass was up in the air as muzan was eating his ass like it was going to be the last time he was going to see it. muzan had (name’s) ass separated to see his main target and was licking his pink puckered hole, and evading his insides with his painfully long tongue.

muzan was doing it so well that it left (name) whimpering sweetly, and left (name’s) pink hole and muzan’s chin coated with spit. muzan’s tongue entered (name’s) hole once again, making (name’s) eyes squinting with a few tears about to spill.

muzan’s tongue was hitting the right places inside of (name). it even sometimes reached where his prostate was located, making (name) release adorable moans. (name) felt his orgasm slowly approaching, his cock spurting pre-cum onto the bed sheets.

he tried to warn muzan by trying to separate his ass away from muzan’s tongue, but muzan didn’t let that happen. his hands snaked from (name’s) rear to his wide hips and then clutched onto (name’s) hips, forcing him to stay in place.

(name’s) eyes widened as he lifted his face off the pillow, mouth agape as he released sweet cries of overwhelming bliss. (name’s) legs squirmed, desperately trying to release himself from muzan’s grasp, but muzan wouldn't budge. instead, he got rougher, licking his insides more furiously.

"muzan!~ h-honey, pl- o-oh!~..please! n-no more!~ mmhhh! g-gonna..", (name) didn’t even finish what he was going to say before whining loudly as he reached his breaking point. (name’s) squirming halted as his cock released ropes of cum onto the bed sheets.

as one last drop of cum spurted out of (name’s) cock, his face fell onto the pillow, his breathing was shaky and weak, sniffing away his tears as he shut his eyes. muzan finally pulled away, proud of the work he did. as he stood on his knees, he smirked in delight as he stared down at (name), rubbing the spit away from his chin with his arm.

the view of (name) was to die for. his whole body flushed, his head was turned to the side to see half of his face, eyes teary, brows scrunched and lips were pulled back and body shook from the organism. the beautiful view of (name) made a noticeable bulge from his undergarments.

muzan leaned down onto (name’s) body, his hands roaming (name’s) chest, twisting and rubbing his nipples, and kissing his back tenderly. (name’s) gripped onto the bedsheets, whimpering softly as he got hard again. "you’re so fucking hot my dear, you’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful." muzan murmured against (name’s) back between kisses.

(name) replied with a whimper. muzan pulled down his undergarment, enough for his big throbbing cock to be out. muzan kissed, and licked (name’s) earlobe as he rubbed his cock against (name’s) slicked rim, pre-cum spilling onto (name’s) back. "mu-muzan, put it in me already!~ i can’t w-wait anymore!".

say less. muzan guided the tip of his cock to (name’s) tight rim, and then plunge his cock inside of (name’s) in a fast manner. (name’s) eyes widened as they both moaned. (name’s) walls snuggled tightly against muzan’s pulsating cock, making muzan let out a curse.

muzan’s teeth gritted as he stood straight on his knees. he placed one hand on (name’s) rear, and the other was placed on (name’s) shoulder. muzan didn’t wait for (name’s) approval to start moving so he started thrusting into (name’s) hole fast. (name) moan open wide as he let out a high-pitched moan after another.

(name’s) ass rippled into waved from muzan’s hips meeting his rear, balls hitting against (name’s) ass cheeks. drool escaped from (name’s) mouth from the pleasure of muzan’s big demon cock hitting his prostate. "f-fuck! o-oh!~ feels.. s-so good! your cock feels so- ah!~ so good inside me!".

(name) screamed as his head tilted back, and eyes closed as muzan kept assaulting (name’s) insides. muzan’s eyes shut tightly from (name’s) walls snuggling warmly onto his cock. muzan’s breath hitched as he felt his organism approaching, he was pent up just from eating out (name) and hearing his delightful moans.

muzan slapped (name’s) ass cheek, making (name) jolt up, his tongue lolled out as tears finally spilled from his eyes. muzan grunted as he caressed the reddened ass cheek as his thrusting became a bit sloppy, signaling that he was so close to his release.

his thrusting quickened as his hands gripped harshly onto (name’s) shoulder blade and his rear, being careful to not release his sharp demon-like nails. (name) smiled lustfully as sweat dripped from his face.

"god, you feel amazing (name). i-i..love you so much. love you so damn much that i’ll murder anyone for you!~ g-going to cum, take it all like a good boy that you are.~"

[darlingdekarios]

no place like home.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,578 content: The Homelander x f!reader, dead dove do not eat, dark themes [kidnapping, dubious consent], Homelander is very much so Homelander, controlling behavior, smut [masturbation - public for Homelander, fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [breeding, semi-public]

Homelander doesn't just want to be loved by everyone, he needs to be loved by everyone...but most of all, he needs to be loved by you.

“Homelander saves the day once again.”

“Homelander is our hometown hero after another heroic weekend.” 

“Welcome home, Homelander!”

One of his favorite things to do when he returned home was to flip through the news channels, swimming in the sea of compliments all for him…for whatever they’d scripted for him to do this time. He often found himself wishing he could drown in this sea - if he weren’t so fucking good at everything, maybe he could. This was always his favorite way to pass the time. The high he felt from the various phrases of approval for him would give him enough gratification until the next time he was let loose to do exactly what he was created to do. Your voice flooded his ears on a particularly cold mid-October afternoon, yet the sweet sound only provided poisoned words. 

“Homelander - Hometown Hero or Homegrown Hoax? On this episode we’re-”

A hoax? Despite the chill of the day, Homelander found his body immediately surged with heat at your selfish words of disapproval. Not that these petty chores were any real risk to him, but there was no law that he had to help people. In fact, he could choose to never help a single person ever again with his gifts, and there was nothing anyone else could do about it. Who was strong enough to stop the Homelander from doing exactly what he wanted? And yet, here you were, with a voice entirely too sweet to be saying such ugly things about him – about the one true god of this sorry planet. 

Failing to drain out your words, he found himself turning his attention away from the news channels on his tv praising him, and instead focusing on the laptop in front of him – on pulling up the video for your silly little podcast. He had to see what the woman who dared speak of him this way looked like – to see who such a sweet voice could belong to. And he was quite possibly the furthest thing he’d ever been from disappointed when his eyes finally saw you for the first time. 

You were so beautiful, so tempting and delicious, and yet you were tarnishing all of the perfect things you presented about yourself by speaking so poorly of him. Who were you, with your insignificant podcast, to sit here and pass judgments about anything he’d done? Who were you to threaten to expose the things he deserved to do – the things that were his right to do? You were nothing, and yet right now, you were everything that consumed him as he wrapped his mind around your words, as he tried to process the hatred you felt you could so freely spout for him. 

The half an hour show felt like an eternity as your words washed over him like fire. He was red hot by the time the show wrapped up and he found himself breathing heavily through clenched teeth. Pausing with his eyes glued to the frozen image of you the ending video had left on his screen, he found himself rising to pace the room, eyes never leaving the screen. He’d saved an entire bus load of stupid kids tonight, and this is what he came home to? To this entitled little bitch talking about the things you thought he did wrong? Right or wrong – it didn’t matter, because it was what he wanted to do. 

He found himself unable to rest. For the entirety of the day, it seemed, he worked his way through the archive of your work – from the beginning, desperate for any mention of his name falling from your negative lips. Episode after episode took up hour after hour of his night as he set out on his treasure hunt, becoming desperate as years worth of cookie-cutter journalism flooded his ears. But there was nothing. No comments about The 7, no comments about Vought, no comments about him…he almost found himself wishing to hear his name slip from your lips dripping with hatred rather than he wished for you to ignore him completely. 

His efforts were not rewarded until he reached a podcast dated November 07 of one year prior - the last episode uploaded until about a month ago. It almost made him giddy to hear his name on your lips again, and the feeling didn’t falter as the story of the short-than-usual episode took place – you were sorry you hadn’t updated the channel in a while, and let your loyal followers know that you would be taking a break from journalism to work through some personal trauma. The trauma was that in October of last year, Homelander had been told “no” a few too many times and decided to throw a tantrum to get his point across – laser beaming into a building full of innocent people without regard for their safety…without regard for their lives. Amongst the dead that day was a young man, the one with whom you’d planned to spend your life with. 

This wasn’t the story Vought told, of course – they could never tarnish the shining reputation of their golden boy who simply needed to learn how to accept disappointment sometimes. The story that capitalistic cunt-filled company twisted into the media for themselves was that Homelander had tracked an extremely dangerous group of gun-wielding terrorists to the building and taken the route with the least amount of damage by using his laser eyes to take out the terrorists (and half of the building with them in a tragic loss). He’d rehearsed the speech the company had written for him enough times to where his apology sounded sincere, though you seemed to see right through that little façade, according to your podcast. 

He could feel the hollowness in your voice as he watched you speak about how the last couple of weeks had been for you - about how you’d been feeling since you lost Adam. Homelander found that every time the name Adam fell from your lips, every time you mentioned how good of a man Adam had been , his eyes gave an involuntary roll. I mean, honestly, he worked in some totally unspectacular building on an unspectacular street - how special could he honestly be? This nobody was good enough for you to speak so highly of on your podcast, yet Homelander wasn’t worth an ounce of that attention? Who the fuck cares about Adam when Homelander exists?

The first episode you’d uploaded since then was from a month ago, and Homelander had to admit that the anger forming in your features as you spoke about him made you look so deliciously pretty. To his absolute pleasure, you hardly seemed to even mention Adam by name all this time later, but Homelander fell from your lips like a symphony…no matter how angry it was. He could listen to you say his name laced with every emotion for hours, and he desperately wanted to hear how you’d sound saying his name with praise. 

But you had no words of praise for him, not a single one. Every good thing Homelander did was scripted, and you pointed that out frequently. The real Homelander was the one who threw tantrums and killed innocent people. A hoax. You’d called him a hoax a lot over the last month across several episodes, and that word was not particularly pretty when you were saying it about him. You hated him. He was “everything wrong with being a superhero”, and a “mockery of the word hero”...blah, blah, blah. The feeling surged through him like fire and he swiped the laptop from his desk, sending it crashing into the nearest wall and snapping. No one talked about him like this. No one dared speak his name alongside such negativity, alongside such open anger. He was outside and landing on the roof at Vought in almost no time at all, making his way down to crime analytics - to Anika. He knew she could never refuse what he demanded. Dropping an image of you he’d printed on her keyboard he placed his hands firmly behind his back. “I need an address for her,” he snapped, tone serious enough to let Anika know the man wasn’t in the mood to wait today. “If an address isn’t possible, I need somewhere to find her. Today .”

All Anika could do was swallow and nod as she immediately began her work, searching for a trace of this poor woman who, for some reason, had Homelander’s attention. He never gave a backup option without her suggesting one, and the fact that he suggested anything other than an address meant he was desperate. Anika – and everyone else in the room – could feel the tension dripping from the dangerous Supe as he waited. Anika almost regretted handing over the information he asked for, but dared not to deny him what he asked. 

It was a genuine joy when he found himself outside of your meek apartment, gazing into the privacy of your home. It was getting late, well after 8pm now, and yet you still weren’t home. Just as the possibilities began swimming in his head about what could be keeping your attention this late at night you walked through the front door, dropping your keys in a bowl on the counter and immediately walking to the bedroom. He gulped down as you pulled your shirt over your head, reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra. You lived high enough up in the building to where you felt safe enough to do this – to undress in front of an open window, free from the prying eyes of the streets. But you weren’t free of him now. You’d probably never be free of his obsession again. 

You wiggled your hips as you worked your jeans down the curve of your hips, your thighs, dropping to the floor and giving Homelander a glance of what you had to offer him – though with your back to him, he still couldn’t see what he wanted the most. Still, the view was enough to make him begin to tent his pants despite the cool evening air on the rooftop. You let your hair down from the messy updo it had been in all day and run your fingers through your hair as you walked to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine in your underwear. Taking in a big drink you turned to walk back to your bedroom, and Homelander couldn’t help but push his pants down, face cold and emotionless as he watched you parade around your apartment looking delicious for him.

You walked to a record player and began an old jazz album before walking to the bathroom to run some water for a bath, right as Homelander grasped his cock in his fist, hissing at the feeling into the dark night. You swallowed another large drink of your wine and walked back into your bedroom, grabbing a vibrator from the nightstand and laying back on your bed. You would be sick to your stomach if you knew you were on complete display for him like this and the thought made his cock twitch in his hand as Homelander began working an orgasm from himself right as you ran the toy along your folds. He had never been more thankful for his sense of hearing than the moment he heard a moan fall from your lips. 

Groaning at the combined visual of the vibrator slipping into you and the beautiful sounds you made (which he felt was a much better use of your pretty mouth than your little podcast), he began to pump himself faster and harder, eyes briefly rolling back into his head before he pulled himself together again. His eyes needed to stay glued to you right now – needed to watch you pleasure yourself. Clearly your life wasn’t so fucking miserable, after all.

Homelander didn’t last long before he came into the air, not giving a single thought as to where it would land as it fell from the building’s roof, nearly yelling out a groan as you moaned once more. Allowing yourself a moment to come down from your high you then slipped the toy from your sopping core before throwing back the rest of the wine and walking your way into the bathroom to finish unwinding from your day. When you disappeared into the bathroom where Homelander could no longer see you he took this as his opportunity to return to his own home. 

It was infuriating for him…wanting you to adore him as everyone else should, knowing you despised him, and witnessing how fucking hot you could be. It was obvious your life couldn’t be so bad considering you appeared to have a job, an apartment, and enough drive to pleasure yourself the moment you got home. For a moment Homelander wondered if you had been with a man who couldn’t please you tonight, so you finished the job yourself when you returned home – but he pushed the thought from his mind when he felt the anger boil within himself again. 

It just wasn’t fair. He should be allowed to have whatever he wanted – he was a god, and god didn’t have to ask for things. They shouldn’t have to convince anyone to love them. Fear and respect for those superior should come naturally to everyone, and yet here this weaker non-super powered human was having the audacity to say such horrible things about him…having the audacity to ruin his homecoming this way. All he’d been able to focus on since he got home was you and your hatred for him when he should’ve been masturbating on his couch to all of the beautiful things people had to say about him. A journalist in his city as beautiful as you who only had negative things to say about him? That wouldn’t do, and he would get you in line no matter what he had to do. He would do anything to hear your praises, including putting in a phone call to an old acquaintance for a favor involving kidnapping his pesky journalist to get a point across – and he didn’t even have to ask nicely. 

And so as you slept that night a nightmare came true as a stranger crawled through your window to do Homelander’s bidding.

There wasn’t much to decipher about your current situation, and as day after day passed you began to lose that fighting spirit you usually displayed with pride and the pit  in your stomach seemed to grow. You were fairly certain you’d been on this concrete floor in a windowless room for at least 3 nights now, and you were beginning to come to terms with the horrible facts about your situation – you probably weren’t going to like whatever came next, whether it was trafficking, or worse. You hadn’t heard another human voice in the time here, despite the fact someone – a man – stuck his arm in through the door to hand you food and water. It wasn’t exactly comforting to know that he was trying to keep you alive. 

The time passed slowly in isolation and only seemed to pass slower as new aches and pains sprang forth everyday from the harsh concrete beneath you. It felt like every couple of hours you were crying again, desperate to be home and in your bed, desperate to feel the sunshine on your face, desperate to hear someone, anyone talk to you. But reality was often cruel to you and now was no exception. Fortunately for your breaking spirit, the third sleep would be your last. There was no way to discern what time it was when crashing sounds could be heard above you, startling you and immediately sending you into a panic attack. Whatever it was upstairs sounded horrible – like the tossing of furniture, yelling, loud thuds – and you were certain this could only mean bad things for you. 

As the door to the small prison you found yourself in was ripped off its hinges you felt the tears flow down your cheeks faster than they ever had, a sob leaving your lips as you buried your face in your knees, fearing for the worst. The sound of boots came closer and it felt like your heart was going to stop before that voice filled your ears – a voice you knew well, and often wished you didn’t, but right now it was the best sound you’d ever heard. 

“Uncover your eyes, ma’am,” his overly-confident voice slipped into your ears, his tone even and soothing in all of the uncertainty you’d been feeling. “You’re safe now.”

You uncovered your eyes from the curtains of your shaky hands and they found their way to his outstretched hand before settling on the two sapphires that embedded themselves as eyes in his skull. You reached out one of the hands to his, which he used to firmly, yet surprisingly gently, lift you to your feet, pulling you against him to steady you as your legs began to give out. You hadn’t gotten to do much moving the last couple of days, and the concrete had done your muscles and bones no favors. 

Supporting your full weight against his solid frame with an arm around your waist the strongest man in the world helped you outside, failing to push the thoughts of how your body felt against his from his mind to try to be the best hero he could for you right now. When the cool, fresh air sucked into your lungs for the first time in days the tears came harder. Your mind continued to go into hyperdrive as the sirens surrounding you flooded your ears and the cameras of far away yet too close news vans. Your chest began to rise and fall faster as a sob fell from your lips, your lungs desperately attempting to find stability. 

He turned to you as your breaths became more desperate, your eyes darting around at all of the different people, all of the noises, everything happening , frantically trying to make sense of things you didn’t understand – that no one should have to understand. His hands reached to cup your cheeks in his hands and he turned his head down to look at you fully, eyes burning like ice into yours. His thumbs brushed themselves over your cheekbones lightly as his voice dropped so only you could hear him. 

“Hey now, miss,” his voice was gentler, less arrogant yet still confident as he tried to bring you back to Earth. For the first time you understood how so many people could find comfort in this Adonis of a man – this close to him the world didn’t matter because there was nothing that could ever hurt you, because there was nothing that could come close to him. “I need you to breathe with me. Deep breaths, right with me. I know you can do that.”

He was so reassuring, and hearing this man that could truly do anything instill confidence in you being able to do something with him gave your brain a moment of clarity. You nodded your head in his surprisingly soft hands and found yourself incapable of looking away from his eyes as he began to coach you through deep breaths, your body relaxing as the oxygen settled within you and thanking this man by relaxing into the safety of his grasp. When your breathing steadied enough you clenched your eyes closed, tears spilling onto his hands. At another time, in another place, he’d have licked the salty liquid off to sample what you had to offer, but here, in front of these cameras, he was intent on being your perfect hero. 

“Thank you, Homelander,” you managed out with a shaky, unused voice that caused his eyes to close, his fingertips to sink into your skin at your cheeks just a little deeper before he remembered himself and stepped away, swallowing a whine at the loss of warmth beneath his hands. His eyes opened again to meet yours and he gave you his best smile, one that you couldn’t deny made your heart skip a beat, despite where you were and what you’d lived through the days prior. 

“I need you to go to Vought to file a report…to have photos taken of your condition…before we can get you home. The best doctors in the city will take care of you if anything is wrong,” he spoke dutifully, like he had done this a million times because he had , but this time it was more important to him than ever to ensure his words carried weight. To ensure that you felt the safety of him. He dropped his voice lower to continue, “I will be there to take care of you every step of the way.”

All you could do was nod and relinquish yourself to this man – this man who you knew was so dangerous. The reasonable voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to remember your hatred for him but the horrible, terrified part of your soul that longed to be cared for latched itself onto him, anchoring into the act he was putting on display for you. He steadied you against his frame just as he had before to escort you to a black suv, helping you into the backseat before leaning against the roof to speak into the car to you. 

“These drivers will take good care of you,” his voice was soft, reassuring, coaxing you into relaxation you craved as you felt the first soft surface against your body in days. He noticed how your features relaxed and a light smile played out on his lips briefly. “I will meet you at the Vought medical center when you arrive. I’ll arrive before you.”

“N-no,” your voice was louder than it had been before, desperate to silence the plan he had in mind. Your hand reached out to grab anything you could on his suit, and when the fabric wouldn’t give your hand found its way to his shoulder, grasping like he may disappear at your fingertips at any moment. “Please.”

You were tired and it was all you could manage, but he didn’t need to hear more than those two words from you to understand what you wanted of him – what you needed of him. Your eyes were once again widened with worry, and he found himself slipping into the backseat of the car next to you, shooting a look to the cameras as he went. He didn’t know why he did it – perhaps it would make him look good to be with a victim every step of the way, gain him more points with women. Deep down, however, the supe knew that the real reason he found himself riding in a fucking car to Vought for the first time in so long was because you had choked out the most broken, desperate ‘please’, and he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse you what you wanted. 

It wasn’t long into the drive that Homelander was rewarded for his desperate ploy for your attention when you succumbed to the comfort of the vehicle, falling asleep with light breaths cascading from your lips as your head rolled from the headrest to his shoulder. He’d never felt more justified in his actions than in this moment. He started dreading moving you away from him prematurely, and instructed the drivers to take a longer route. He deserved this moment to last as long as he wanted it to. 

When he was content with the length of the drive, content with the way you seemed to melt into his side as your sleep deepened, he allowed the drivers to return to Vought, where he gently reached a hand up to touch your cheek, voice gentle as he spoke your name to bring you back to consciousness. Forgetting your safety momentarily you jolted awake, hand shooting out to grab his where you clutched it against your face, eyes finding his and realizing yourself again. His hand melted against your cheek and he didn’t mind your grasp around it in the slightest – it’s not like you could ever hurt him or stop him if you really wanted to, and your hands were soft. 

Giving you a moment to center yourself and taking obvious, deep breaths beside you, in this proximity he enjoyed the flecks of color in your eyes and the freckles that formed constellations across your nose and cheeks. He hadn’t noticed these smaller details about you before, and he wondered how many more small details he could find decorating your body, but he once again pushed the thought down before he became too eager. His performance of the day was far from over. 

He released your face from his gentle hold and exited the vehicle first, shooting a look over to the crowds of people holding cameras and phones to see their favorite hero do what he did best. As the door opened you heard the noise from the building again and your breath seemed to catch in your throat again. The bewildered, frantic look returned to your eyes that reminded Homelander of an animal stuck in the path of a predator, and he exhaled deeply, turning back to face the crowd and analyze the best way to address this situation. He’d never turn cameras away from capturing his glory, but you needed to be taken care of by him. 

He offered his hand to you again to direct you to exit the car. You hesitated, unwilling to feel crushed by the weight of the world around you outside of the vehicle, but ultimately slipped your hand into his and allowed him to assist you off of the comfort of the soft seat. His eyes flickered down into yours as he kept you between the car and himself, blocking you from the cameras that awaited your arrival. What a world you lived in where you couldn’t be rescued from being kidnapped without your image being everywhere.

“We’re going to have to walk past them,” he spoke low and direct, leaving no room for a counterargument to his plan. All you could do was stare up into his eyes, surrendering to the fact that you would ultimately listen to whatever he asked of you, not that he really asked. “If you trust me, I can make it more comfortable for you.”

Your head bobbed in a nod before you really thought about what you were agreeing to, unsure still due to the lack of details until he pulled you under his arm, keeping a firm hand around your shoulders as he used his other hand to reach down and wrap his cape up to cover you, shielding you from the harsh world. He smiled his most dashing smile for any cameras he could, all the while speaking soft praises about how well you were doing as the two of you walked toward the building. Several times he declined to stop for a selfie with those who asked, stating that he had a more important job to focus on right now. 

This was definitely why millions of people loved him. This is why people had spent the past year relentlessly attacking you online, saying you had no idea what you were talking about when it came to your criticisms of him. You had said so many horrible things about him and yet today he ripped a door from its hinges from you, and now he was ensuring you made it into the privacy of the building without slipping into another state of panic. He was a hero. Right now he was your hero. 

Once inside he released you from under his cape and spun you back around to face him, his hand resting on your shoulder as his eyes met your face again, scanning for any sign of discomfort. The two of you were immediately joined by a team of people, primarily medical professionals and the Vought equivalent of detectives who started to maneuver you into an elevator. You desperately reached for his forearm, not ready to let him go and relinquish the safety net that he had enveloped you in. He was happy to oblige your need for him and he stepped next to you, mentally noting how your fingernails sank into his skin. He could get used to that.

He stayed next to you for the majority of the day after that. While you were being examined he’d gone to get you water – a whole 32 ounces of electrolyte balanced water and he’d asked you so nicely to drink it. After the medical examination and clearance (you had some bruises he definitely wasn’t privy to or happy about, but that could be addressed later), he’d gone to fetch you some wet wipes and a change of clean clothes, wishing for once that he had a real shirt to provide you with. Of course, he’d stashed your underwear in his suit instead of turning it in with the evidence…surely someone would ask, but it could be covered up. It could always be covered up for him. 

You’d been offered many places to stay tonight other than your own apartment – Maeve’s spare bedroom, Starlight even jumped in to offer her bed (she’d take the couch), Vought offered to pay for a hotel room after being urged to by Homelander. You’d passed on every offer, insisting that you wanted to sleep in your own bed, that you needed to use your shower. You did have one, simple request, however. 

“I…would feel better if you came with me, Homelander,” you’d barely spoken above a whisper, your voice still coarse undoubtedly from the screaming you’d certainly done throughout your ordeal. He couldn’t stop the light smirk that fell across his features at your request, his ego feeling the boost of your desire for him. “If you could check my doors…and windows.”

And so he had escorted you home, once again joining you in the back of an SUV and once again enjoying the heat passing between the closeness of your bodies. Walking into the confines of your apartment punched him in the face with the overwhelming scene of you everywhere, all around him, and he had to close his eyes in the doorway to pull himself together before he set off on his final job of the night – making you feel safe in his absence. 

The door was checked twice, and he pointed out that he would have the locks changed the next day. Each and every window was inspected top to bottom, locked and pulled on, and checked for any cracks before he returned to where you sat on the couch, curled into the corner with a glass of wine in your hand, staring at nothing, your mind actually miles away. He moved to the side of the couch and crouched down, reaching out to touch your arm gently to coax you from your trance. With another jump your eyes found his and a relieved breath passed through your lips. 

“Everything is locked tight…no one is getting in here. I put my phone number on your nightstand…just in case,” he was choosing to act so nonchalant but in actuality his insides were marveling at the way you seemed to be holding on to his every word. Your eyes found his again and he could see the conflict in them, and briefly considered asking you to stay with him, to allow him to protect you…but he knew you’d say no. Staying with him would be too much on top of the last four days. “Try to sleep tonight, your body needs it.”

You nodded and finished the glass in one swift drink, setting the glass on the coffee table before turning your head to look back up at him again, contemplating the questions in your mind that you weren’t entirely ready to face. As you attempted to stand your knees gave out, muscles caving to the pain from sleeping on the concrete floor and from walking the most you had in days for hours. Luckily your hero was there and he had the best reflexes on the planet, and he only had to reach out one arm across your waist to stabilize you, pulling you close to his chest in the process to ensure you didn’t actually fall. As he looked down at you his eyebrows furrowed so quickly a camera would miss it in a genuine show of concern for you. 

“If I leave here tonight, are you going to start falling all over the place?”

You couldn’t help the light laugh that left you with a huff of breath through your nose, and you shook your head, rolling your eyes at his light humor. Laughing at him and enjoying his attention felt wrong, but the part of you that craved his protection shoved the guilt down. “Maybe you can just help me to bed? I probably won’t move once I’m there.”

With a nod he faced you forward and took his place by your side, wrapping an arm across your lower back to steady you as he took you to bed, head swimming with the many different ways he’d rather be carrying out this task – but to truly win you over, he needed to be kind. A gentleman. A true American hero – and he had practice. Once you were comfortably laying against the familiarity of your own bed you released the most delicious, pleasured breath from your lips and Homelander’s heart wrenched at the sound, filled with the desire to work those sounds from you himself. He kneeled next to the bed, face close to yours, eyes serious as he wished you a goodnight in the best way he could while playing this role. 

“I will catch the man that did this to you,” he assured, and noted how your eyes seemed to melt at his declaration of intent to seek justice for you. “And I will make sure he can never hurt you again.”

It had been four days since Homelander had left you alone that night. You opted to stay home, only leaving the walls of your apartment to meet delivery drivers for food. Going to the grocery was not something you were quite ready to tackle. To your surprise, Homelander had not returned (to your knowledge, at least – in actuality he had returned every day, sometimes twice a day, just to peek through that wide open window and hope to see a glance of you) since he’d brought you home that night. While you repeatedly reminded yourself that he was likely trying to capture whomever had done this to you. 

Even still, you found your mind frequently wandering to him – wondering when you’d see him again, swallowing the disgust you felt toward yourself for wanting to see him again, thinking about how safe it felt to be held against him. This fourth night was particularly difficult – you were lonely, yet weren’t ready to face the questions of your usual friends or leave your apartment, for that matter. As you settled yourself onto the couch for yet another old black-and-white film, a knock at the door caused your heart to jump and your stomach to sink. Standing and walking toward the door cautiously, you decided to use your voice before unlocking the new locks that had been installed three days before. Just because Homelander hadn’t been around didn’t mean he wasn’t upholding promises. 

“Who is it?” You tried to sound intimidating, you really did, but the fear was rising in your torso and settling in your chest and you suddenly felt like you weren’t breathing enough at all. You tried to suck in a steady breath, remembering the way Homelander had taught you to do so just days before, as the voice you most wanted to hear sounded through the door.

“I wanted to let you know I found the man,” he stated simply, ignoring the question you’d asked altogether. You didn’t need him to answer it, anyway – the moment you recognized the familiar ring of his voice you were unlocking the doors, and were soon face to face with him. You gulped as you realized this must have been recent, as he was covered in dirt, and a mixture of blood and sweat painted his face and caused pieces of his hair to cling to places it normally didn’t. He continued as you opened the door and his eyes met yours, “he fired a gun at me, so I had to eliminate the threat. He won’t be bothering you again.”

You released that breath you’d been trying to focus on and leaned against the door frame, closing your eyes to take in the news for a moment. Maybe you could go outside again. Maybe you didn’t have to be so afraid. Maybe you’d never meet another man like that again – one willing to create this fear in you. Maybe Homelander would always be around to protect you now. 

And he would. Mentally he knew that now. He couldn’t stay away despite any effort he put into the task. Yesterday he’d told himself he would only stop by your apartment once to check-in on you, needing to put some distance there, needing to get over this infatuation he had. Instead, he’d shown up at your apartment four times that day, finding himself rubbing his cock fiercely and coming over a photo he’d printed of you and him – it had printed in the newspaper and was of the day he rescued you, with his hands cupping your face as he reminded you how to breathe. He was trying to stay away from you, from this human who had created such a response in him, but he couldn’t help himself any longer. He needed your attention, he needed your gratification, he needed to hear you praise him…he needed you to need him. 

And so he’d done what thousands of other men have done in history: he murdered a man to impress and win a woman. He reached out a gloved hand to you to lightly tap your chin, asking you without words to look at him. He needed you to look him in the eyes – he needed to see how you flushed under his attention. You granted his wish and he noticed the tears in your eyes, tears that appeared not to be from sadness, but from gratification. Of relief. Of sheer joy. And it was all because of him. 

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say other than…thank you,” you were bashful under this intense gaze from him and tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he gave you a smile somewhat different from his normal – somewhat genuine. Somewhat natural. He couldn’t stop himself from catching the tear that fell from one of your eyes on his gloved finger, and he fawned at the way your lips fell open at that simple gesture. His mind could only wonder what your reactions to more serious actions from him would be. Ignoring the thick tension between you he leaned slightly closer, his arm resting above yours on the door frame, towering over you. 

His eyes met yours as he spoke, the smell of him entering your senses – the sweat, the dirt, the blood, but something else there…something alluring. You had to swallow the thought down as his suddenly unscripted, unpracticed, uncalculated words slipped an invitation to hell with him into your ears. “To thank me…you could come to a Vought fundraiser. Tomorrow night. It’s short notice, but I want you there.”

Your lips parted in that way that made them look so kissable again, and he had to resist the urge to dip his head down and sink his teeth into that tempting bottom lip. You seemed to accept that you were in no position to deny him, in no position to question anything he could ask when he’d proven to be your hero, proven to keep his word to you…you would never be able to say another bad thing about him again, and you knew that. He had ensured that the world knew he was your savior, and truthfully, you didn’t mind. He was your hero. He had righted the wrong that was done against you. 

You nodded and tucked another falling piece of hair behind your ear, breathing in the scent of him again and beginning to feel slightly warmer than normal under this intensity of his gaze. “If you have someone send me details, I’ll make sure I’m there. Since…you asked so nicely,” he smiled again as you spoke and you couldn’t help but swoon at these genuine smiles he was giving you so freely right now, wondering how many other people got to see them. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow to…make sure I know what to do?”

You’d call him. The words repeated themselves in his head as he nodded. They repeated themselves for the hours that passed before he spoke to you in the morning. A dress would be at your apartment that afternoon. A car would pick you up for the event at 5:45. The event started at 6:30. And so the hours passed as both of you prepared for the event, both of your minds occupied with the possibilities an evening like this could hold – both of you unsure what these thoughts you were having meant. 

Homelander had followed through and sent you everything you needed – including a dress that felt far too expensive for you, shoes, and a necklace that had the most beautiful, unique white gemstone cut into its center. It was all far too expensive – far too nice – for you, and you elected to opt out of wearing the necklace, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the extravagant gifts. It was easier to collect yourself, to remember the stance you’d had on him for over a year now, when you weren’t frozen in his gaze. If you knew the truth of the desecration that went into Homelander’s chosen attire for you – that he’d rubbed the dress all over his body to cover you in his scent and that the unique gemstone was actually his cum encased and designed to look like a gem – the grand gestures would seem so wholesome and kind. In his mind, however, this was affection…or at least a form of affection he could provide. 

He, of course, arrived at the event far before you did, far before most people did, but immediately began his waiting game for you, itching to see how you looked in the dress he’d chosen for you. When he caught a glimpse of someone’s watch, his jaw briefly clenched, despite the mask he was trying to present to the world right now. 

Where were you? He couldn’t pay attention to whatever this dumb whore was talking about because his mind was burning with questions – were you just running it dangerously close to being late, or were you not truly coming at all? Just as the rage started to bubble in his stomach a new heartbeat entered the room and his head immediately turned to find its owner. When he saw you, he couldn’t have taken his eyes off of you if he wanted to. He gently moved shoved the woman who had been trying to work for his attention out of the way so nothing was in the way of your view of him as you made your way further – closer to him. 

It wasn’t that he was particularly stylish, but he understood what made people look good, and that fact was proven once again by the way that the dress he’d chosen for you made you look tonight. The thin, metallic gold fabric clung and flowed around your body in a way that mimicked liquid. The v-cut line gave enough away to inspire Homelander to drag his tongue across his lips and stand a little taller, but kept enough up to the imagination that he didn’t feel the need to rip the heads off of every man who looked at you. 

But you got closer and more of his senses kicked in, and he soon realized his earlier actions had been rewarded and you smelled so deliciously like him , mixed with the sweet scent of you. As the scent consumed him his cock twitched in his pants and he had to force a smile to cover the real things he was feeling, though anyone would be a fool to think he, or anyone else for that matter, would feel differently looking at you right now. You moved so gracefully, so lavishly as you made your way to him, a small smile dancing on your lips despite your best efforts. It wasn’t often you held the attention of the most famous man in the world.

There were too many eyes on you that weren’t his own and though there was comfort in the delicious mingling of your scents, he needed the room to know you looked this way for him tonight. You wore this dress for him, you’d clearly had your hair done for him, you were wearing the perfect shade of red on your lips for him…it was all for him. You were all for him. Maintaining what slight composure he could hold over himself when you looked like this, he covered the distance between the two of you and looked down at you over his nose, his blue eyes sparkling with something sinister as you looked up at him. 

“I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show,” his confession caused you to still, your mind still not quite able to process these niceties from him, unable to comprehend that you may have been wrong about him. Giving you his best smile he enticed you to fall deeper into his trap, like a bee clumsily finding her way into a venus fly trap. He offered his arm to you and despite the parts of your brain screaming no you took it, wrapping your hands to clasp together around his bicep. His gloved hand found its way to your lower back, where the dress dipped to right above the curve of your ass, and he made a mental note to himself to take his gloves off at some point in the evening. “You didn’t like the necklace I sent you?”

Your cheeks burned red as you started walking with him, highly aware of all the eyes on the two of you as you made your way to the front of the room where a small stage awaited, surely, him. You shook your head and glanced up at him, voice still soft and timid since your ordeal. It only made him make another mental note – to find a way to make you be louder later. “Oh, it was lovely, I just…”

“Didn’t appreciate it?” 

It was, in some ways, the same arrogant tone that he always used and yet different – insecure, questioning, maybe even a little frightened, and certainly much quieter than usual, much more intentionally for you alone. Your eyes glanced up to his face to find him facing forward, jaw set in a harsh way you hadn’t seen on him in person yet. He always looked so happy, so pleasant, so perfect around you…but now, he looked like a man fighting his own battles like everyone else. 

“I loved it. It was so lovely. Everything is so…lovely,” fell from your lips in a desperate plea for his face to soften, for him to lighten the tension passing between the two of you. His features faltered slightly and his eyes glanced down at you briefly before r eturning to his hardened position. You lowered your voice to ensure only he could hear you. “Everything smelled so…good…when I opened the box from you earlier. That was a nice…touch.”

His lips parted slightly as his head turned down to look at you, shock written clearly across his face from your words of praise for him, in front of all of these people. When he remembered the surrounding guests he closed his mouth but immediately smiled, turning his eyes forward again to lead you abruptly to the right, away from the crowd. Sucking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Homelander chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly. 

“You have no idea what you just did to me,” his voice was low, rumbling, and yet dripping with desperation as he led you away from the event. Finally reaching an elevator he dragged you inside, pressing the button for the floor he needed. Waiting for the elevator to rise for a moment he connected his fist with the emergency stop before turning to face you, placing your body between the wall and him. His eyes dragged down you so slowly as he leaned forward to inhale deeply, allowing a quiet groan to slip through his lips as he exhaled. “You should smell this way all of the time.”

Your body seemed to reach a boiling point immediately at his words, at how close he was, and how he felt like he was staring straight into you, examining exactly what made you tick – it was the only explanation for how he seemed to know exactly what the worst parts of you were crying for deep within. Pulling a glove from one hand he reached out to drag his fingers along your clavicle before flattening his hand at the base of your throat, sliding it up to grasp your jaw and tilt your head back to look at him fully. As he slipped his hand around your head and into your hair he dropped his voice again, “who do you look so gorgeous for tonight? Who made you show up looking so delicious?”

“You,” the affirmation came out as the saddest, most desperate moan that had ever passed through your lips and he smiled, his fingers gripping your hair at the back of your head and bringing you closer to his face. His eyes darted across your face, paying particular attention to your lips, as his free hand reached behind to start the elevator again. “Where…are you taking me?”

“Wherever I want,” was the reply that came from his mouth, quickly dismissing any idea of argument you had in your mind. He leaned his face closer to yours and breathed in deeply, groaning when the elevator door opened. Stepping away from you he gestured for you to exit ahead of him. “Through the door down the hall.”

For a moment part of your brain that was probably correct told you to refuse, to stay on the elevator and take it back down to the event you were here for, to avoid whatever Homelander was shepherding you toward. Your feet, and the embarrassing heat growing in your stomach from how he’d touched you and groaned for you betrayed your brain and delivered you exactly where he’d desired – The Seven meeting room. 

Ignoring the door entirely and closing the distance between you when the realization hit he grabbed you by the back of your head again, voice quiet as he spoke, “why can’t you say nice things about me all of the time, hmm?”

His hand that wasn’t tangling fingers into your hair snaked its way down to your side, pulling you flush against him to which you both released a strangled, breathy moan. The room was on fire and you felt like your skin was melting as he walked you backward toward the table, forcing you to sit on the surface when you got exactly where he wanted you. Leaning over you fully he gave you no time to protest as his lips sought yours in desperation, releasing another groan at the feeling. Everything about him was pulling you in, anchoring you into him further and further and you couldn’t stop yourself from returning his kiss – from giving him what he wanted. 

He didn’t ask to slip his silver tongue into your mouth but you didn’t deny him it either as his hand slid from your hip up to your left breast, squeezing firmly and moaning into your mouth once again. You pulled back, desperate for air right as his fingers pinched your nipple through the fabric of the dress he’d given you, and the most earnest of moans slipped from your mouth as your eyes rolled back, desperately grasping the edge of the table with your fingers. His voice was hurried, flustered, needy and yet so commanding, so precise as he leaned forward to speak in your ear, “you need to take this fucking dress off right now before I tear it to shreds. And I will.”

Your heart skipped and you felt how he huffed out a laugh against your neck briefly before pressing his lips against your neck, eliciting another moan from you. This was all it took from him to make you come undone? He chuckled again as he dragged his lips lower, to that tender spot where your neck and shoulder met where he dragged his teeth lightly, breathing in deeply. Your voice could hardly reach you when you managed out a hurried, “I…I’m not sure if…if this is okay, if we should…be doing this.”

The sound that left him was nothing more than a growl as he stood back over you, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. His eyes had become the ocean on a stormy night and he looked so dangerous, so much like a predator as he looked down at you, releasing his hold on the back of your head and sliding both hands to your hips. His voice was low, matter-of-fact and offered no hint of compromise as he repeated himself, “you need to take this fucking dress off. Right now. Before I tear it…to little…tiny…shreds. And I will.”

Your hands had already found the zipper at your side before he finished speaking and you lowered it, trying to shimmy the tight fabric down your body as you sat, unwilling to tell him you needed help. He was more observant than that and saw your struggle, lifting you to your feet and effortlessly lifting you up, smirking as the dress fell down your body. Sitting you back on the table he took a step back, drinking in the sight of you on his fucking team’s table. He crossed his arms, raising a hand to rest his chin on it as he looked at you in adoration before continuing with a lighter tone. “That’s better. We just have one thing to talk about.”

As your mind instantly went into a state of mild panic at what he could possibly want to talk to you about he moved to run his hands to your thighs, giving them a squeeze. You couldn’t help but moan quietly and found yourself unable to voice your protests as he used his knee to bump your legs apart, running the hand that remained gloved to your core, slipping it into your panties. As the gloved finger found your clit he pressed firmly, earning another desperate cry from your lips as your eyes widened up at him. He smiled his false innocent smile and rubbed that same finger in a circle, pausing when exactly one circle had been completed. 

“You have said so many mean, ugly things about me on that little podcast of yours,” his voice was laced with disappointment, with genuine anger and a whininess you weren’t aware he could speak with. He rubbed another circle and finally took direction from the gasp that fell from your lips to slip his gloved middle finger down and straight into your pussy. You momentarily clenched at the intrusion but when the sweetest whimper fell from your lips he smirked, and removed the finger all too quickly. “I think I have been the perfect gentleman to you, and I would appreciate it if that depressing podcast could be erased. All of it.”

He reached to switch hands and slid his ungloved hand into your panties, immediately slipping his index finger into you as his gloved hand reached your mouth and he stuck the finger that had been inside you moments ago into your own mouth, groaning at the dumbstruck look that formed on your features as you tasted yourself. Keeping his finger in your mouth he forced your head to nod by placing his thumb under your chin and he looked so proud of himself as he added a second finger and began pumping them in and out of you, cherishing the flustered sounds of mild protest that came from your lips. 

“That’s right, just agree. There’s no use telling me no,” his voice was teasing, low and laced with a sinister tone as he began pistoning his fingers in and out of you, looking down to watch how the digits disappeared within your tight, slick cunt. When he curled his fingers to rub the spongy patch deep within you the moan that left your mouth around his fingers was your loudest yet and he smirked, the blue pools eyes flickering back up to yours. “You sound so fucking pretty for me. Tell me how it feels.“

He removed his finger from your mouth so you could have free reign of your responses now, and he slid that now free hand back to your chest. He cupped a breast in his hand as his head followed the pursuit, leaning to slowly flick his tongue across your nipple, earning a gasp from both of you. You knew if you didn’t respond to his orders he was just going to get angry. “God, Homelander…your fingers feel so good. You’re so good at that.”

Your words of praise went through him like a knife and with a wanton groan his mouth attached itself to your breast, suckling your nipple and flicking his tongue across the sensitive nub as his fingers continued their assault. His fingers pumping in and out of your cunt were causing the most downright pornographic noises from your body as you continued to grow impossibly wetter, your body preparing for the sweet high of release. When his thumb connected with your clit and began rubbing rushed circles he removed his mouth from your breast to look deep into your eyes. 

“I want you to come for me before you take my cock,” was his simple statement as his fingers inside you curled again, hellbent on discovering what made you come undone for him. He could feel your clenching walls around his fingers and the moans falling from your lips told him he’d have you under his spell. “I want you to tell me you’ll delete the podcast, and I’ll let you come, and then I’ll reward you with my cock.”

You couldn’t stop his name leaving your mouth as a moan which only pushed him further — only made him want you even more. With a low growl the speed his fingers were moving picked up as he connected his lips to your neck again, sucking softly at the skin over your pulse. If they didn’t know already, everyone downstairs would certainly know who you belonged to when you returned with his purple masterpieces covering your neck, chest, and shoulders. As the building feeling deep within you reached the point of no return your walls clenched around him and you whined as his fingers left you fully, his eyes glancing up expectantly at you. He wasn’t going to continue without you giving him what he wanted. 

“P-please don’t stop,” were the desperate words that left your mouth as you planted a half kiss against his lips, your breath still leaving you in gentle pants. The heat inside your core was too much and being on the edge wasn’t enough — you needed him to push you. “I’ll delete it. You can delete it, we can delete it just please let me come for you.”

You weren’t coming for yourself, you were coming for him, and your confession earned his fingers entering into you again as he groaned, leading you toward your orgasm as he reached to work his cock free from his pants. With a cracking moan your walls clenched impossibly tighter around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you, panting breaths falling from your lips as the world seemed to melt around you. There was no time to waste (he did have a speech to make, after all) and the moment your orgasm finished you found his fingers exiting to make way for the head of his cock slipping into you. You’d hear the grunt that fell from his lips into your ear for the rest of your life. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he praised, his eyes never leaving the sight of inch by inch of his cock disappearing into you as you moaned again, your hands grasping his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself. If there was any point in arguing you’d tell the man he had to wear a condom, but you knew giving him orders would be futile. His thumb still attached to your clit rubbed a circle again, his lips meeting yours in a gentler kiss as he bottomed out within you, groaning as the head of his cock pushed at your cervix. Surprisingly, he did still to allow your body to adjust to his impaling. “Tell me how it feels.”

His words were desperate, pleading against your lips as one of his hands gripped your waist impossibly hard, surely leaving more purple in their path. The feeling of him stretching yours wall combined with this being the first you’d felt an unprotected cock inside of you had your chest tight, your heartbeat fluttering as you searched for the words he deserved. The words left your mouth in a pleasured sigh. “You feel perfect inside of me, Homelander . Please, please move.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. No longer needing to see how your face reacted to him claiming you, he forced you to flip on the table, your stomach against the cold material as he began to thrust in and out of you, his hips finding the pace that worked for you both almost immediately. His groans were damning and your moans only matched his sin as you pushed back into him, coaxing him to use your cervix as a punching bag. 

One of his hands maintained its position at your waist as the other slid to connect with your neck, moving it to loosely wrap around your throat. The gasp that fell from your lips at the slight pressure of his hand told him to move faster and he did, plummeting into you like this was the only time he’d get to claim you. Without words the two of you knew that would never be the case. You were his now. 

“That’s a good girl,” he purred out as he leaned down to connect his lips to your shoulder blade, sucking a mark in the spot for good measure. You took his praise as scripture and pushed back into him again, earning a deeper angle that resulted in a groan to erupt from his chest again. “That’s my good girl. My golden girl. Are you going to come for me again?”

You could only moan as his hand that had been on your hip slid south to reconnect a thumb to your swollen clit, beginning to rub relentlessly against the nub as his cock continued to be milked by your cunt. It was a good thing you had an implant, because convincing this man to spill his cum anywhere other than deep within you would have been pointless. To him, the best reward he could give you when you were being so good for him was his hot load deep within you. You should be so lucky to have his seed inside you. 

“Yes,” you managed to breath out, your words hinting at your desperation for another release. His grasp on your neck tightened and despite that you fought to coax him toward his own finish alongside you. “You feel so good. You fuck me just right. P-please give me your cum, Homelander.”

The sound that erupted from him was probably best described as a roar as he picked up his pace, trying to remind himself not to break you but unable to stop the ferocity at which he began pounding into you. As the world shrunk to only this room and the two of you in it the euphoric state began to wash over you once again and you felt your walls clench around him, his name leaving your mouth as a scream. Hoping that everyone downstairs could hear you, hear what he was doing to you, he gave another harsh thrust before painting your walls with his cum, his movements becoming sloppy as he worked every last drop out of himself. 

When he was certain he’d finished he removed himself from you, tucking his cock within his pants and grabbing your panties from around your ankles and raising them to their rightful place again just as his seed began to leak from you. His hand found its way to your cheek and his thumb brushed a gentle line across your cheekbone, his lips lowering to yours in a kiss. His words showed no sign of tiredness from his time with you.

“You’re going to keep those panties on and my cum is going to stay in them all night,” he placed another kiss to the corner of your mouth before continuing. “We’re going to go downstairs, we’re going to be the perfect couple for these fucking ingrates, and then you’re going to take me to your apartment so we can delete that podcast.”

As you re-entered the elevator with him your eyes connected with the smashed emergency stop button before drifting back up to him, soaking in the proud look that covered his face as he leaned against the elevator wall. A realization washer over you as your eyes cling to him like a sculpture in a museum — you were completely fucked.

Fucked, as it turned out, was a slight understatement. The moment the elevator doors had opened and the two of you stepped out he had wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding you against him as he made his way back to the center of the room where a round stage was awaiting him. The event had gone on in your absence and the room was full to the brim with Supes and people kissing their asses. 

There was no rush to his step as he proudly displayed you to everyone who could see, stopping to say hello and make pleasant, drawn out introductions to seemingly anyone who asked. His arm maintained its hold around your waist the entire time, his fingers occasionally pressing harder into you. The purple hickeys decorating your neck and shoulders went unnoticed by none.

By the time you made it to the center of the room it was time for him to give his speech, and he made sure to give your side a brief squeeze before leaving you next to The Deep…one of the only idiots he still felt he truly had control of. His eyes connected perfectly with camera after camera as he monologued for several minutes about the honor it was to protect New York City. When it was clear he was wrapping things up he stepped to the edge of the stage in front of you, his eyes meeting yours once more as he tapped your nose.

“Mostly, I have to say the best part about the job is getting to save the beautiful people of this city,” he practically cooed, his gloved hand cupping your face in a gesture that caused the cameras around you to flash and several voices to "aw."

There were immediately noticeable perks to being this close to Homelander, and even you couldn’t ignore him. People were more respectful to you, and consistently prepared to shower you with compliments at his prompt – “Doesn’t she look so lovely tonight?”. Men kept their eyes anywhere away from anywhere that wasn’t your face, afraid what offering true appreciation toward you would bring unto them. You were constantly brought snacks on trays to choose from and had three glasses of champagne before he decided to cut you off.

“I don’t need my golden girl sloppy for me tonight,” he tutted quietly, leaning from behind you so his mouth nearly connected with your ear. You could hear the smile in his voice that formed when your heart rate picked up and goosebumps decorated your skin. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that I’m not done with you.”

It was only a mere two hours before he decided it was time for the two of you to leave. It took a considerable amount of back and forth between the two of you before he conceded to allow you to take a car back to your place. As he helped you into the back of the SUV with a hand on the small of your back he pressed a firm kiss to the side of your head, leaning in to buckle you into the seat. His voice was once again lower, free of the light lilt he used to be camera ready.

“You know,” just those two words dripped with sarcasm and you knew whatever was to follow would match. “You’d be safer flying with me than driving around in these big metal death boxes. Some junkie could hit you with a truck…and what, you really think I’m going to drop you?”

A soft laugh fell from his lips before he pressed a final kiss to your forehead, withdrawing from the car before taking off into the sky. Finally alone you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, laying your head back and closing your eyes as you soaked in these moments alone, processing the evening. The more familiar your surroundings became the more your worries grew, remembering what he had promised to do. Your heart was pounding by the time you stepped out of the car, the cool air sending a chill down your spine.

From the sidewalk you could see the silhouette of Homelander standing on your rooftop, awaiting your arrival with his arms crossed firmly behind his back. You were certain he could hear you as you made your way inside, leaning against the wall of the elevator and preparing yourself for what awaited you – not that anything could really prepare you for what awaited you. When you exited the elevator and rounded the corner toward your apartment you nearly froze at the sight of your door wide open, his star-spangled back waiting for you in the doorway already. 

When you approached the doorway yourself he finally turned, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth set in a hard line. The annoyance in his voice was evident, and now that you were truly alone his voice was free of any mask. As you closed the door his right hand raised, the necklace he had sent to you dangling from his fingertips, his gloves having been placed on one of your counters.

“I wished this was on you all night,” his voice rumbled in your ears as he stepped closer to you, circling around you much like a predator. As he stepped around behind you he brushed your hair away from your neck, placing himself right up against your backside. “Hold up your hair so I can see how perfect you could have looked.”

Your cheeks burned hot as you reached behind yourself to lift your hair into your hand, your fingers shaking lightly with the nervousness of the situation. The metal of the necklace was cool against your skin as he placed the delicate chain around your neck, fastening it with little fuss. His hands slid across your shoulders and down your arms before turning you to face him, his eyes eagerly dragging downward toward your chest.

His hands reached to grasp your hips, pulling you forward toward him with a hum of approval as he soaked in the experience that was you wearing exactly what he wanted and already covered by purple hickeys from him. Lowering his head he crashed his lips into yours, grasping you tighter as if he feared you may try to stop him – not that you could. Your lips were still tender and lightly bruised from your earlier kisses and yet you pushed yourself to return his kiss, unwilling to leave him feeling rejected. 

As his tongue worked your lips open one of his hands slid to work the zipper to your dress, eager to see you on full display for him again. As he tasted the remnants of champagne and chocolate on your tongue the dress fell to the floor, making up for you removing your heels by lifting you to his height with ease. As he pulled away from the kiss he released another hum of approval at the warmth of your body even through his suit – but it wasn’t enough. 

Taking a few steps further into your apartment he placed you on the kitchen island, spreading your thighs when you instinctively closed them. His voice was firm, commanding, and somehow laced with desperation as he took a few steps away from you, beginning to remove his suit. “That bra and those panties better be off by the time I make my way back over there…” he huffed out, his eyes now cloudy with lust as he watched your fingers immediately set in on the task. 

When you released your breasts from their restraints and tossed the fabric to the side you noticed how his hands faltered, his breath catching at the full sight of your breasts accompanied by the necklace hanging just above them. Running his eyes down you again he removed his own boots, lifting the torso of his suit up and off with slight hesitation. 

He hadn’t been barred to you this way before and he caught the way your breath caught in your throat and your heart rate skipped momentarily at the sight of him. The way your body responded to him was a sweet compliment, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the need he had to hear everything you were thinking. It was impossible to mask the desperation in his voice as he barked out another order to you, his voice slightly breathless. 

“Tell me what you think,” he begged, his blue eyes meeting yours as he worked his boots off, kneeling as he did so. It ended up being the perfect height for him to receive the beautiful view that was presented by you removing your panties and tossing them across the apartment. “About how I look without the suit.”

Feeling self conscious about how exposed you were to him as he stood up and dragged his eyes across your body you moved to play with your hair, aware covering yourself would make him angry. His hands moved to work his pants free from his body as you bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as he truly started to just look like a normal guy, albeit an incredibly attractive one. His eyebrows beginning to pull together again was your cue that you were taking too long to respond.

“You’re…a very attractive man, Homelander,” you breathed out, an unfamiliar tone of submission filling your voice. His pants dropped to the floor at your words and his cock sprang free, giving a slight twitch at your compliment. Your eyes met his and with that simple look you knew what you’d given wasn’t enough. At the same time, you found yourself unable to give more, unsure what words would be enough for him and still figuring out how to navigate around him. 

Resorting to a more universal language you beckoned him forward, your hands seeking out the firm muscles on his biceps to pull him closer to you as you placed a soft, experimental kiss to his chest. Tilting your head barely backward, your eyes sought his to find his filled with hunger, his hands finding your shoulders to hold you closer. Leaning downward he placed a firm kiss to your forehead which instantly buried your worries that you weren’t doing enough, only to have them reignited as he pulled you from the counter, carrying you across your apartment. You assumed he was headed toward your bed, but as he approached your desk and sat your ass against the cool glass top you were quickly reminded of his real reason for being here.

The podcast.

Sinking into the chair you’d spent so many hours of your life in he clicked your computer to life as his eyes scanned every inch of your torso that he was granted access to earlier in the evening. Keeping his right hand on the computer mouse he reached his other hand lazily to your chest, cupping one of your breasts and rubbing his thumb over the nipple as he pulled up various websites – your website, your YouTube channel, Twitter, and the DropBox you kept everything stored in. Once satisfied he had everything on the screen he needed he pulled you closer to the edge of the desk, sliding the chair to the side to sit in front of you. 

He hadn’t gotten the proper opportunity to showcase to you exactly how much he appreciated your breasts, and decided the podcast could wait just a few minutes longer while he took this moment to do so. His hands – almost lovingly – slid up your stomach to eventually cup both of your breasts, an appreciative hum rumbling in his chest at the feeling of the soft tissue beneath his fingertips. Satisfied that he couldn’t fit them in his hands fully he began to knead into them lightly eyes seeking yours again. 

His mouth pressed hot and wet kisses down the space between your breasts before he turned, eagerly taking your already hardened nipple into his mouth and circling the nub with his tongue. With a moan he began suckling, rolling your other nipple between his fingers in his other hand. He continued his attention on your breasts for a few moments before pulling his mouth away, dragging your nipple between his teeth as he did so. His voice was desperate, unhinged, and a tone you had only heard him use for you – in a way, it was special, and you recognized it as such.

“Come here, you remarkable little -” he tried to purr before he cut himself off, forgetting his intended term as he chose to suck a purple mark into the side of your breast, easing the brief pain with a light brush of his tongue across the skin.

Grasping his cock in his hand he motioned for you to come to him, which you found yourself almost eager to oblige. Climbing into his lap to straddle him you found the head of his cock slipped into you almost with ease as you were already embarrassingly wet from the attention he had been providing you with. A sinful groan slipped past his lips as your walls welcomed him in again, both hands grasping your hips to steady you. 

“So fucking tight,” he practically whined, lowering his face into your neck to make an attempt at covering such a pathetic noise. As you accepted inch by inch of him again another whine left his chest and his teeth brushed against the hollow of your neck before you’d taken all of him, his well-trimmed curls brushing against your clit. When he was completely inside you he reached behind you to press play on one of the podcast episodes, using his other hand to hold you still. He chuckled at your feeble attempt to move your hips against his, forgetting for a moment who was holding you. “I wish I could fuck you, sweetheart, but…we have to take care of this podcast first, don’t we? I wish we didn’t, but we do.”

You whined and stilled your attempt at movements as your eyes met his, a small nod giving him enough of a response at the current moment. Bringing your hands up to his shoulders you clutched to him, prepared to raise yourself off of him at his instruction. Another chuckle left his lips as he shook his head, his hand holding you down to him. His voice, while still low and desperate, was now full of affection and adoration as he spoke to you. 

“Oh no, baby…you’re staying right here, with me inside of you…feels too good,” he breathed out deep, leaning forward so your foreheads connected in a moment of what at any other time would be considered intimacy. Now, however, your own voice was filling your ears from the speakers of your computer, an episode of the podcast you’d made months ago playing in the background. “But you’re going to apologize for all of these mean things you’ve said about me.”

Almost on cue your voice from the past said words you remembered saying well – “Homelander is everything wrong with superheroes.” His eyes were pained as he heard the words once again, his head shaking. To his surprise, he didn’t even have to prompt the words from you. 

“I’m sorry, Homelander,” you breathed out quietly, closing your eyes tightly and anticipating an explosion from him as he withdrew his forehead from yours. With firm and swift movements he pushed your head against his shoulder, his fingers lacing into your hair to hold you against him as he focused his attention on deleting content.

It went on like that for over an hour, with him inside you, holding you closely and playing clips of your own words while you apologized to him with words, gentle kisses, and soft caresses. Eventually, there was only one episode left – and you recognized the episode from the title alone when he read it aloud. 

“This is what confuses me, darling,” he stated plainly, pulling your hair slightly to tilt your head back to fix your gaze on his. His other hand pressed play as his icy eyes met yours once again, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “In parts of your podcast you say some really intelligent, hard-hitting stuff.”

“If there’s anyone on this planet who is a bigger fraud than Homelander it is Stan Edgar himself, who should absolutely be looked at for a litany of legal and ethical issues – yet somehow manages to live above everyone.”

“I was so proud of you the first time I heard you say that,” his words were genuine, the look in his eyes matching the tone as he brought one hand up to cup your cheek. He paused the podcast for a moment to brush his thumb across your cheek, his movements slow and intentional. “How could you possibly say something so intelligent, so brave for someone with no powers…only to follow it up with something as cruel as this.”

He didn’t need to press play for you to know the words you were about to hear from yourself.

“I do have to say that some days I just feel bad…because Homelander is definitely the result of someone who wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

As soon as that phrase was done he pressed delete, removing the last of the official evidence of your podcast from the internet. His eyes stayed on yours and you noticed how his features twitched involuntarily, a trait that seemed to happen when he was attempting to cover an annoyance. Was there an apology that could suffice for that one?

“Homelander, I -”

“Shut up,” it was firm, unquestionable and even slightly threatening as he stood from the chair, keeping his hold on you steady so his cock remained buried in you as he made his way to your bed. To your surprise he laid on his back, allowing you to straddle his waist and lean over him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts, his tongue darting out to slicken his lips. “Do you want to apologize to me?”

“Yes,” your response was pathetically fast and little more than a whine, eager to do anything to take the edge off of his voice again. You would have never guessed his next words, nor would you have expected the dripping desperation in his tone. 

“Use my cock to come,” he whined, his hands now eagerly grabbing for your breasts to pull you closer, his mouth seeking the soft flesh of your breasts again. His face was mostly hidden by the flesh of your breasts as he ran his tongue over one of your nipples, his voice barely audible as he begged in a way he had done for so few in his life. “Please, take what you want just…tell me how good I am.”

Finally free to move as you pleased you immediately ground your waist down into his, moaning at the feeling of him finally moving inside you slightly. With a moan of his own he took the nipple he’d yet to pay attention to into his mouth, suckling eagerly and stealing a glance up into your face. As the two of you reached orgasms together, his eyes rolling back as his hands grasped your hips in an impossibly hard grasp, his hot seed painting your inner walls like his own personal art display. Finally releasing his mouth from your breast he whined quietly as his head leaned against your chest, soaking in a true moment of comfort. He had only experienced a few moments like these in his life, but this one was the most authentic, the most unscripted, and Homelander resigned himself to having at least a thousand more moments like these.

You had a new routine to get used to over the following weeks, and by the time December came around there was no leaving your apartment without the flash of cameras or strangers pretending they knew you. It was often too much, the attention and niceties you were paid everyday by people who weeks ago would never have paid any mind to you overwhelming you and making you wish for a moment to yourself. If you were lucky, Homelander would show up in these moments and instruct those around you to “stop their fussing”, adding another entry onto the perks of being with Homelander list.

In these beginning weeks he was being kind enough to allow you your own space still, and you had continued to sleep at your apartment, though it was seldom alone. Which is why when he told you that you’d be alone for two weeks while he accompanied a politician to Europe, it was almost panic-inducing to think about 14 days without him, and what that would mean for you. It wasn’t surprising when he instructed you that you’d spend the time in his apartment, which you had only briefly stopped into once thus far. He promised Ashley or The Deep would check-in on you daily and that you’d have everything you needed (except for him). 

The night before he left he had displayed a moment of fear and weakness for you again, this time choosing to act out the frustration by fucking you so hard on his couch you’d be forced to stay in Vought Tower for at least a couple of days. For the first three days he was rewarded for his efforts during your nightly calls to hear that you’d really stayed in his apartment thus far, lounging on the couch and whining that he’d bruised you with his “super dick” – you could hear the smile and pride in his voice at your words, though you hardly meant them as a compliment. On the fourth day you were in better spirits, and had apparently invited The Deep to stay around for dinner – it was the first time Homelander had been forced to feel jealous over you.

“Well, I guess you don’t need me to come home, then,” he tried to cover the pain in his voice with indifference, though at this point he couldn’t get away with that with you. Still, his pride insisted he try. “I guess you prefer The Deep’s company, hmm? You replaced me quickly.”

“There is no replacement for you, Homelander,” you’d cooed, instantly soothing over the insecurity he felt and reassuring him that he had truly won you. There was no fighting the smile that spread on his face as you giggled, continuing with your kindness toward him. “As if The Deep could ever compare to you – as if anyone could come close to you.”

That particular phone call had stretched out to over an hour of you giving into his need for reassurance, filling the passing time with compliments and wishes that he would come home – filling the passing time with whatever he needed. Thus far, you had mostly managed to avoid driving him too far to anger, and he did reward you lavishly by ensuring you continued to want for nothing. The phone call ended with you confirming you were still sore from your last morning together, which had made his cock twitch in his pants.

After a week of you still feeling sore he was beginning to worry that he may have taken it a bit too far, and had even nearly expressed such when you whined on the phone to him once again, but insisted that you would be fine. For one of the first times in his life Homelander was genuinely worried about someone, and opted to call you on the ninth day much earlier than he had thus far. He expected you to sound surprised, yes, but he didn’t expect you to not be in his apartment – and he especially didn’t expect you to not be alone. 

The voice he heard in the background of the phone call was clearly a man, and he was telling you he hoped you’d feel much better now. Despite the fact that Homelander desperately wanted to hear your voice he had hung up the phone immediately, leaving the boring, old ass building he was stationed in for the remainder of his trip to launch himself into the sky, his only focus returning to you – Vought and the entire U.S. government be damned. Seeing as you couldn’t get Homelander to answer your return call, you figured he must have gotten busy and had returned back to his apartment once your afternoon of errands was complete, intent on finally relaxing.

When he landed on the main balcony attached to his own apartment the sun had set, and yet none of the anger boiling within him had subsided. He stilled for a moment, focusing his ears on the sounds he could hear from inside. On the surface there was enough going on for him to know you were inside – a record from the 50s he recognized from you playing it before, the sounds of water filling a tub…you were inside relaxing in his apartment after having the audacity to betray him. Focusing deeper, he finally heard your heartbeat – alone – and the soothing rhythmic beat he’d grown to recognize and adore over the last few weeks nearly calmed him. Nearly.

Forcing the door open he stepped inside, his anger nearly faltered once more at the lingering smell of you overwhelmed him. Hearing the broken door had caused you to rise from the filling bath, turning the water off and clutching a towel around yourself as you walked with wet feet into the dark hallway, calling out a soft ‘hello’ into the night. You weren’t greeted with words – instead, from the darkness emerged two glowing red lights, and as they approached closer you backed yourself against a wall. 

The red glow against his features, all of which were hard set in clear annoyance and anger, made you remember the horrible things he was capable of, none of which you were equipped to handle. When you realized there was nowhere left for you to step, you closed your eyes, holding a deep breath as you prepared for whatever was to come. When you felt him in front of you you were certain your heart would burst, until you felt his hand on your cheek, and heard the pain behind his voice. 

“Who is the man you were with today? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me,” his fingertips dug into your skin lightly, your eyes still closed tight for fear you’d be met with glowing red. “I’ll know if you’re lying to me. Look at me.”

With an elevating heart rate you slowly forced your eyes open, and despite expecting your own pain, instead you were faced with his. His blue eyes were wide, contrasting to the harsh line of his mouth, and tears were threatening to spill down his cheeks. Where you had expected to find anger and harshness you were faced with the broken pieces of him, which only raised a further question – which was worse between his red-hot anger or his jagged, broken edges?

You began to raise your hands to his shoulders tentatively, your fingers shaking as your brain screamed at you to just stay still and answer him. Honesty, however, was not the only thing Homelander needed – he needed love, and the look behind his eyes proved it to you. This was him – the real him. The realization that you were wearing his necklace had helped level his head somewhat – but the sternness in his features let you know you needed to answer, quickly.

“The man you heard in the background was the pharmacist,” your voice was soft, hands settling on the sides of his neck lightly in the hopes that skin-to-skin contact would settle him further. “I went to the gynecologist this morning because I was still…sore. From the morning you left.”

His features noticeably softened, a new look of curiosity forming on his features that pulled his eyebrows together slightly. So far, he was content that you were being honest – but you weren’t giving him enough information, either, and the annoyance that lingered was evident in his voice. “Did the doctor have an answer for you?” 

Nodding, you hesitantly reached up to lace your fingers in his hair with one hand, your eyes cautiously watching his every reaction. Still, you held strong and continued your commitment to answering his questions – despite the fact this was information you had initially planned to keep from him.

“I…we…you,” you breathed out carefully, choosing the words for your explanation carefully. “You…broke my birth control implant…probably that morning based on when the pain started. It had to be removed and so…they prescribed pain medication for a few days.”

It was impossible to miss the hunger that flashed in his eyes, or the low rumble to his voice. “And did they replace it? The implant?”

“No.”

His hand left your cheek and he took a step back from you to drag his eyes down your body. Aware that meant he was likely being invasive and using x-ray vision to see for himself you suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed, and your cheeks burned red to emphasize the fact. When his eyes met yours again he was pulling the gloves away from his hands, tossing them to a nearby surface so he could step close to you again and cradle your face with his bare hands. 

For a moment his eyes expressed only conflict as they burned into yours, his fingertips digging a little too deeply into your skin as he analyzed the conversation – as he thought about his feelings. Moments of silence passed before his emotions seemed to land on entirely new territory – new territory for you, at least. His thumbs tenderly brushed along your cheek bones, his grasp lightening as an almost sinister smile spread across his face. 

“So exactly what is going to stop me,” he started, leaning forward to brush the tip of his nose against yours lightly. You were keenly aware that he was being entirely too nice. “From getting you pregnant?”

A shaky breath slid past your lips as he placed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth, sliding one of his hands down to take hold of the towel that was wrapped around you. Your voice was embarrassingly small. “I guess...you’ll have to…to use a condom or pull out?”

A deep laugh burst through his chest that rumbled against your own torso now that he was flush against you, his lips kissing a small trail to your ear where he pulled the lobe between his teeth for a moment before growling out a quiet, “No.”

One swift movement from his hand and the towel was on the floor, goosebumps immediately forming across your skin at the cool air. With a hum of approval at your lack of covering now he turned his head, connecting his lips to yours in a starved kiss. It was nature now for your lips to part for him and allow his tongue entry, and the two of you shared a heated kiss until you were breathless as he carried you to a room you’d yet to see, as you had spent your time in his apartment in a guest room – his bedroom. 

“You were supposed to be gone for five more days,” you breathed against his lips, working some of the few buttons on his suit that you’d grown to understand. Pushing you onto an oversized bed with satin sheets, he began to work at his own suit, a cocky smirk covering his face.

“If you think I’m going to stay away when I hear another man in the background on my girl’s phone…you must not know me very well,” he shook his head as his boots were kicked to the side, his movements a little more desperate and uncalculated than they’d previously been with you. When his pants were pushed to the floor he continued. “You’ve got another thing coming, doll.”

His torso took too long to free and by the time he was climbing onto the bed with you he was starved, desperate to devour any part of you his mouth could connect to. His lips pressed firm and intentional kisses along the insides of your thighs as he made his way to your sweet core. Running a stripe through your folds with his tongue his eyes searched for yours as his hands reached to caress your breasts, a quiet hum vibrating your skin as a moan left your lips. 

It was truly as if he hadn’t eaten for days, his tongue thoroughly swiping along every inch you had to offer, savoring every drop of arousal that came across his tongue, alternating to suck your clit softly. He hadn’t been this hungry for you until now, and it took him no time to cause a rising heat to build in your core. Your fingers found their way into his hair and you threw your head back as he began to fuck into you with his tongue, moaning in appreciation at the noises you made for him. 

His way of thanking you for not needing the instruction to come against his tongue was to slip a finger into you, curling it right against your tender spot deep within as you threw your head back for him. “ Oh, god… ”

Sucking your clit into his mouth once more with a sinful noise his eyes found yours once more as he leaned back, grasping his cock in his hand. “No, not god,” he breathed, beginning to stroke himself in preparation for you. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips, his eyes closing as he rubbed the head of his cock against your opening. His voice was hardly above a whisper against your lips as he began to slip inside of you. “Not god, not Homelander…John.”

You moaned out his name for the first time, and he clutched to your sides as he forced himself to behave tenderly and slowly with you, aware that you must still be sore. Burying his face in your neck to place soft kisses he eased in inch by inch until he was fully within you, finding the comfort that only you could bring him. For a moment he stilled, enjoying the feeling of simply being encompassed by your warm walls, before he slowly, lazily began dragging his hips back and forth. 

He hadn’t been rhythmic like this with you before, his movements always thought out well in advance for the maximum impact. Now, however, his movements only aimed to bask in this moment with you, this moment where he could truly claim you for the first time in his mind. Lifting your hips and wrapping your legs around his waist to beckon him deeper you found yourself unable to do little more than moan his name and claw at his back. 

Trying impossibly to push into you deeper he held you against him, leaning down to suckle one of your nipples into his mouth as his movements picked up some speed. As he flicked his tongue over your nipple his blue eyes gazed adoringly up into your own, grinding against you to hit that perfect spot deep within you. You rewarded him for his effort by moaning out his name again and clenching your walls ever-so-slightly tighter, but he was greedy for everything you had – and he needed more. 

“Please,” was all he could beg you for, his hands grasping at your hips as he tried to do anything he could to pull you closer. His lips reached for yours in a wet, heated kiss which he cut shorter than he truly wanted to await your response. 

“I missed you inside of me so much,” you whined, meeting a couple of his thrusts by raising your hips at the same time, moving one hand to the back of his head. Pulling your head back slightly you were able to take in the sight of his sweat-slicked, messy hair and the way his lips were parted slightly. Seeing him this way, in a way you knew could only truly be for you, added a new depth to the dynamic between the two of you – and though for you that could go unspoken, for him, hearing it was everything. “Want…want you like this every day.”

His fluid movements were coaxing another orgasm from you and your words could hardly leave as more than strangled whines, but you had given him everything he needed and in a sign of appreciation he picked up his speed. Normally, he only restrained himself enough to not completely break you, but tonight he was truly making an effort to reign in his strength and make sure his thrusts were enjoyable for the both of you, and you could tell. 

His grunts confirmed that this worked for him, too, and it wasn’t terribly long before your legs were shaking around him, a second orgasm rushing through your body. When he felt your walls tighten around him as you rode out your high by thrusting sloppily up into him he could barely restrain himself, knowing that his own release was chasing yours. 

“Tell me…tell me that you want my cum,” he moaned, burying his face in your neck in preparation of being unable to hold back anymore. All you could manage in your fucked-out buzz was was a quiet ‘yes’ and a kiss to the top of his head as his orgasm rushed through him, painting your inner walls white with hot ropes of cum. 

When he was certain both of you had finished your orgasms he slowly removed himself from you, laying on his side next to you to keep his gaze transfixed on your bliss-filled face as you returned to earth. With your eyes closed, you had no visual warning when his fingers slipped back to your core, his middle finger pushing the cum that was leaking from you back inside. When your eyes flew open in question he leaned over to place a soft kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours in a moment of intimacy. 

When he was satisfied with the amount of times he’d repeated this motion he left only long enough to get a towel for you, tenderly wiping your legs and discarding the towel before crawling back into the bed next to you. Laying his head on your chest he closed his eyes as you began running your fingers through his hair, enjoying a rare true moment of peace. Eventually, he pulled you to roll you to your side, his hand finding its way to your cheek again.

“I would like…” he started, clearly having been deciding on his words for several of the quiet moments that had passed between the two of you. Sliding the hand that was on your cheek back into your hair and running his fingers through the strands gently he continued on, his normal confidence wavering slightly. “I would like for you to call this home.”

masterlist.

[catsteeth]

She's My Collar

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane x Baratheon Princess

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!" CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death.  A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it

Word Count: 5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister. 

Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good. 

The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old. 

The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for. 

The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night.  He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it. 

He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort. 

The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.  

He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him. 

Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor. 

Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before. 

As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes. 

He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly. 

The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to. 

“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before. 

Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him. 

Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.

“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?

“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.

The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.

She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-” 

“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-”  And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.

“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords. 

Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.

Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.

The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added. 

Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.

In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired. 

With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess. 

“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.

“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously. 

“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.

“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.

Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.

Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?” 

“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted, 

“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer. 

She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her. 

She nodded and took her leave as her father requested. 

As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.

Sandor nodded, “Aye.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all. 

Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief. 

Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.” 

The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“

The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.” 

Fuck.

He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told. 

Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch. 

“No.” He rasped quickly. 

The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.

“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.

She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.

He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-” 

“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor. 

She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.

The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around. 

Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this. 

He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly. 

“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.

“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.

The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.

“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.” 

The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.” 

“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up. 

The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.

“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?” 

The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.

“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.

“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”

The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.” 

The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”

Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself. 

He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment. 

This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his. 

How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence. 

He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.

She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands. 

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king. 

Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.” 

Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers. 

Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. 

He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you. 

But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with. 

And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.

Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval. 

Beside Sandor at another table were four men, 

“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing. 

“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.

Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,

The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.” 

The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”

“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.

“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.

Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-” 

Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers. 

Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl. 

She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.

“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.” 

“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair. 

“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future. 

Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.” 

“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,

“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”

The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”

Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged. 

This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine. 

Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow. 

Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.

So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.

As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.

Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water. 

But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to. 

He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were. 

He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.

He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.

He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now. 

Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth. 

He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.

His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin. 

Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality. 

He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever. 

He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him. 

Naught could be done for her. 

So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world. 

The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.

The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.

It’s the world that’s awful.

Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!

Requester: @rhinestonecowboysworld

[hottestvirgin]

17 + anton pls :)

𐙚 prompt #17 | “i’ve never been with someone so big before.”

𐙚 nerd!anton x reader

anton lifts his hand to push his glasses up, pressing them against his face with a shaky breath to make sure that his sight was clear enough to watch you sink down onto his fat cock. his hands rests on your waist as he’s too nervous to grip them. he’s avoiding your intense glare until he’s fully inside of you.

taking in a long deep breath, you seductively meet his gaze. “you’re so big,” you mewl, slowly rocking your hips and earning a desperate whine from him, “i’ve never been with someone so big before.”

pride slaps anton hard across his face and he tightens his fingers on your waist, gasping at the pleasure. “hah, feels good.” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. the wet squelching noises makes anton’s stomach churn in arousal.

“feel how wet i am for you?” a teasing smirk plasters on your face when you grab his hands and make them touch your tits. he squeezes them warily, thumbs grazing over your nipples. “yes..” he answers.

another whine leaves his mouth when you clench hard around him, bouncing desperately on his big cock with soft moans. he was stretching you so deliciously— each drag had you whining in pain. “are you okay?” anton questions, noticing the way you struggled to ride him. nodding your head, “i love your cock so much..” you confess.

now, he was embarrassingly getting closer and closer and couldn’t keep his needy hands off of you nor hold back the orgasm that threatened to release any minute.

anton takes a deep breath before speaking, “i think i’m gonna cum..” he feels himself already at the edge, and doesn’t think he can hold on any longer. he can feel your warm walls pulsing around his cock and it absolutely drives him crazy, “i don’t wanna finish before you.”

biting back your lip with a sly smile, “it’s okay. just fill me up..” you tell him. his breath hitches at your words and he groans, squeezing your hips and painting your walls with his load while his body twitches beneath you.

“there you go. you did so good.” you praise. raising off of his lap, you sit back and spread your legs to show him his huge load gushing out of you. “now come eat your cum out of me.”

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — five

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

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.

──────────────────────────────

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.”

──────────────────────────────

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.

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

[violetarks]

hello hello!! congrats on 3k. i love your work so much so you deserve it!! ^_^

if it’s okay could i request luka from alien stage with miscommunication & high school au? ( ´ ▽ ` ) and if it’s okay could the reader be amab? thank you!!

congrats again!!��(；▽；)ノ✨✨💖💖

“but we can’t take back all the words that we said!”

show: alien stage

character: luka

summary: you overhear luka tell his friends that he missed being in ‘the single league’.

warnings: g/n! reader, no pronouns used (i didn’t end up put any gender indications at all, i hope that’s okay!!), miscommunication, high school! au, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, reader is very self-conscious, established relationship, popstar! luka, he’s nicer in this au LMAO

"are you kidding me?" luka laughs out from inside the classroom.

you recognised that sound from anywhere. it was lunch time and you had told your boyfriend that, as class president, you had to prepare some things for the upcoming school festival during lunch, so you wouldn't be able to eat with him. he was a bit whiney and teasing, but soon let you go. you thought he'd be with some of his friends from his choir class, but no; he was in the classroom with a few of his peers.

you stop before you enter to talk to him for a bit. you were wondering what he was doing here.

"i mean, it's a bit hard, isn't it?" someone says.

"i wouldn't say it's hard," luka sighs out, "it's just a bit of a hassle trying to work around other people."

you're even more curious now. you hold your clipboard to your chest and wait to hear more.

"do you ever miss it? being on your own?" another person asks.

you stop, even halting your breathing in case he would stop talking because you were there.

dating someone as popular as luka was hard, but it was worth it. he was such a handsome guy and had an even sweeter voice. it was hard not to fall for him. you felt lucky enough that he loved you too. he was always on tv or always in the studio, and he brought you along too. you wondered the same thing sometimes; did he miss not being in a relationship?

you weren't a jealous person, but you didn't enjoy luka having a partner in music videos or anything. you had told him such, and he told you that he could fix that. maybe he didn't like the hassle.

"oh, of course," he replies far more quicker than you'd like, "i'd much rather be a single idol. i could do whatever i want, but now… i always gotta’ think of others. such a pain…"

the others around him begin to ask questions about why, but you only stand still. hearing it for yourself only confirms it; luka didn't really want to be with you. it only made his life harder. you somehow always knew that.

he probably didn't want to be rude in fear that you might spread something around to everyone that he was a bad boyfriend and ruin his reputation. or maybe he was just bored.

after all, you weren’t a popstar like him. you were just another student.

“y/n, hey,” mizi and sua turn the corner to see you. the pink-haired girl holds out a pamphlet to you with a smile. “here, this is what we came up with for the concert. is it okay?”

you take it from her and try to ignore the tears threatening to spill. you don't care to stay and listen to more. instead, you turn around and walk away with the girls at your side. you couldn't let him know that you knew, not until you were ready.

after school, luka is waiting at your locker. he is leaning against the wall and scrolling on his phone with his bag on his shoulder. once you're close enough, he tucks his phone away and smiles.

"hey, pretty thing," he greets you as you put your books away, "how was your little presidential duty?"

"it was fine," you retort shortly as you pack up your things, "don't you have a recording today?"

"oh, uh, yeah," he says as he watches your face, "it's later though, i can walk you home."

"it's okay, luka, i need to do some things before i go home anyway," you state as you shut your locker. you look back to him and his pretty face that tilts at you. it takes everything in you to not show that you’re upset. “i’ll see you on monday.”

“hey, wait,” he grasps your wrist as you try to walk passed him. he’s a music sensation, he knows when people are upset and when people are angry with him. you have both of those looks on you. “what about…?”

you two are supposed to go out together on sunday. you had organised something this time — a nice picnic by the lake. the both of you were so excited for it. until now, that is.

“oh, right,” you sigh out. he freezes as you lean closer to him and press a kiss to his cheek. “have fun.”

with that, you slip out of his grasp and leave. luka doesn’t call out. maybe you were just not in the mood, or it slipped your mind and you would come to your senses later.

he texts you when he gets home, when he leaves two hours later for his recording session, and when he gets home. he even sends you photos of his dinner with him and his new band. you only heart the photo and reply dryly. you’ve never acted like this.

you just want to make it easier for him to break up with you. maybe if he realised how little you added to his amazing life then he’d finally agree to let you go.

saturday comes and goes, and finally sunday does too.

sweetheart

sorry, can’t come today, i have some things to organise before the school fest next week

luka stares down at the text with his other hand holding the picnic blanket. he stands outside his door in dismay. at this point, he’s had enough.

love

seriously? whatever.

there, you think, he’s finally done with you.

he's gotten annoyed with this change of pace. you weren't acting like yourself, and he hasn't had any good time to ask you about it properly. you just shrug it off and then leave.

he tries to think about what he did, if he did anything, and nothing comes to mind. maybe he forgot to pick something up for you? or maybe he made you miss an important meeting? he couldn't think of anything.

monday comes around and you’ve prepared yourself. you two haven’t spoken since sunday morning and you’ve found it a bit hard to do so.

luka is upset with you, and you feel unable to be enough for him. so you put your things away, attend homeroom and explain the plans for the festival that runs from wednesday to friday, and head off to help your peers.

“y/n,” a voice calls from the doorway. you glance up from painting something. luka stands there with crossed arms. “can i talk to you for a sec?”

you stand up and and follow him out to the school yard. everyone else is planning their things for the festival, so nobody would be out yet.

“okay, out with it,” he grumbles with furrowed brows, “what’s going on with us? you’ve been totally gone and i have no idea why. did something happen?”

you don’t say anything, despite what you want to say. and that makes luka a bit more upset.

“y/n, seriously. can you just talk to me? i really wanted to see you yesterday and…” he holds his breath as you continue to stare at the floor, “why are you being so distant? you act like you want nothing to do with me! and instead of talking to me, you just—”

“you’re the one who wants nothing to do with me,” you grumble out with a hot face. luka stops. “you and… you just want to be by yourself, you don’t want to be with me anymore, luka.”

“what are you talking about?” he questions, now even more confused.

“i heard you!” you say as you jab a finger into his chest, “you told your friends that you missed being single and—and you didn’t like having me around. so i… i just thought that if i stopped being around you so much, that you would break up with me. at least then it would make sense.”

you have tears pricking your eyes. luka is almost the same, simply by looking at you. he knows what you’re talking about.

“i know it’s impossible, but i sometimes wish you and i were the same,” you mumble out, “it’s hard for the both of us, i guess. i’m sorry.”

he lets out a small sigh to himself before a smile dawns on his lips. he pushes his hair back and tugs you closer, gently.

“c’mere,” he mutters out. you’re reluctant, but seeing him with a sorry smile makes you step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. he holds you around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head. “oh, you poor thing. that must’ve been holding you down all weekend.”

“luka…” you say against his shoulder as tears stain his blazer.

“i know, baby, i’m sorry,” he shushes you, “i didn’t know you were nearby when i said that, i confused you. i wasn’t talking about you, sweetheart. i was talking about how much i missed being a solo idol.”

you blink and slowly lift your head from him. with slightly puffy eyes and an embarrassed look on your face, you stare at him.

“solo idol?” you repeat.

he chuckles and reaches a hand up to brush away the tears from your cheek.

“yes, i was talking about music,” he states, “not you, my love. i’m sorry that i said it that way, i didn’t intend on making you feel that way. i would’ve never said something like that if i knew it would make you feel like this.”

you can’t even look at him anymore. you cover your face with your hands.

“ah, i’m so sorry, luka,” you mumble into your hands, “i made a big deal out of nothing.”

“it’s okay, i understand, sweet thing,” he replies to you, “you can make it up to me with that picnic date if you feel so inclined.”

you nod your head at him before luka begins pressing chaste kisses to your tear-stained cheeks.

“aw, look at you, my poor baby,” he says to you, “don’t ever think i’d say such a thing. you’re my favourite person in the world, okay? don’t want you thinking otherwise.”

you wipe away your tears and nod your head again with a smile. luka grins as well at your return of personality. he leans forward and finally presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

“now c’mon,” he says after he pulls away from you, “let’s skip the planning stuff and go get something to eat.”

“no, luka," you chuckle out as he tries to drag you away. he forgets that you take your job as class president seriously. "i need to talk to class c's representative about their event."

"ivan's such a bore," he groans, "hang out with me instead."

you have to pull him by his blazer back to his classroom as he sulks behind you. you were glad that things were back to normal, at least.

[acid-ixx]

I truly LOVE THIS SERIES!!! I also read the reader as female too. I really like how you delve into damiens mind on this one. He is the one I was curious about the direction you will take him in with dealing with reader. I especially can't wait for Jason's too. Will any of the batfam be romantic toward reader in future chapters?

directory !

a/n: tysm for liking it so far !! for me i prefer it if the reader is gn/male (since im also a trans guy and it's hard to find content of my preference. it's funny how a lot of ppl in my inbox call me a girl bec i am not 😭). also none of them are going to turn romantic later on. i prefer strictly writing them as platonic in the series since it's often stated that they see you purely as their sibling who differs entirely from them. although i might make another series where it is romantic yandere, but for the a&a series, they're all platonic.

yeah, damian so far is a really complicated case. both him and the reader share a trait for contradicting feelings and that really ties with them being the only ones having blood ties in the family. which drives damian's obsession even further because in my opinion he's the most perceptive (and one of the least delusional alongside jason) of your emotions, knowing the right words to tick you off or make your vulnerable.

damian is also pretty touch-starved for a sense of normalcy that he couldn't achieve with his siblings who are raised to be crimefighters (so the way he sees his relationship towards his siblings would be more of a vigilante partner than family), but once he's matured enough, he'll soon realize just how much he craves for affection. having someone like you, who's the one trying to just live, and sharing blood with him (because despite trying to distance himself away from his assassin past, he'll always have this toxic mindset of "blood is thicker than water" and you're proof of that), damian pretty much demands attentions left and right.

when i mean he demands your attention, that means he also needs affection, both physical and emotional. that means he wants you to coddle him the same way dick coddles you. he wants to bond with you through quality time so that means you'll always find your schedule packed with activities you'll spend with damian, to both make up for lost time and as a quiet apology towards you that, no, he's not gonna threaten you with a sword anymore— he even makes a show of keeping his weapons somewhere far away from you, that your baby brother is vulnerable towards you and he means no harm.

his methods of gaining your spotlight are really inconvenient, but don't point it out because all he'll do is pout towards you whilst he'd grab your hand, preferably to take you somewhere away from all your other siblings who are trying their damn best also trying to take your attention.

meanwhile jason is more protective and would rather not let you go through the same path as he did; being impulsive and letting yourself get in danger. unfortunately, the reader in the series is already pretty much in their worst state and that makes jason's need to protect you from harm's way (just like bruce), especially right after meeting him in the series would make him realize that you weren't a replacement to him and that you both pretty much share the same trauma when it comes to seeing your mother being taken away from you.

just like dick, he pretty much sees you as a kid. but unlike dick, the more you show your impulsive actions and display breakdowns, the more he acknowledges that yes, you do have flaws and you need space so he won't shove his affection down your throat but he will make sure his angel is properly taking care of themself right after, he'll make drink water right after a crying session, make you eat something if you haven't, and if you're scared of criminals trying to target you in the streets, then don't worry because the red hood will guarantee to associate you with fear.

fear that if they even dare to lay their eyes on you, their eyeballs would be ripped out of their sockets. only god knows what would happen if jason were to find one of them having filthy intentions towards his angel.

unfortunately for you, if you don't like it when an intimidating, brooding man who considers himself your brother is standing by your door, then you're out of luck because he won't even budge unless you invite him over. his obsession with you is very subtle but unlike bruce with a no-kill code, jason won't hesitate putting a buller through someone's head once his angel is in danger.

though if you don't want to see jason snap, then it'd be better if you wouldn't put yourself in danger on purpose because he will get violent towards anyone who even tries to lay their hands on you and although his grip on your body is soft, as if making sure that he wouldn't be harming you; you would further increase the chances of being locked up in your own safe haven if you try to purposely get yourself killed because that gives him all the signs that you're incapable of taking care of yourself and he wouldn't want a repeat of what happened to him with you when it comes to any other criminals.

[clockwayswrites]

I didn't write Danny meeting more Bats.

wc: 813, Masterpost

“No,” Jason growled.

Tim threw his hands up in the air. “You don’t even know why we’re here!”

“Whatever it is can’t be good.” Jason stalked forward until he was toe to toe with Tim. The red helmet was angled down in a way that made it look like it was glaring. Cass loved how expressive Jason could be with it. “I didn’t invite you into my territory. Go home.”

Arms crossed, Tim jutted his chin up defiantly. “We’re not vampires, we don’t need an invite.”

“Boys, boys! You’re both pretty!” Steph said as she tried push herself between them before a fight started.

Tim sputtered and rocked back slightly from Steph’s efforts to separate them. “Pretty?”

“What? You’re a hundred p pretty and Red Hood’s got them thighs,” Steph defended herself. “Shut up, I’m only human, I’m allowed to look!”

Cass laughed silently as Jason’s shoulders slumped in weary defeat. Steph’s shoulder was really digging into him now as she tried unsuccessfully to get either of the boys to move.

“What the fuck do you three want?”

“Danny,” Cass chirped.

“What?”

“Danny,” Cass repeated.

“Okay, yeah,” Jason scoffed, “so repeating what I said at the start of all this, no.”

Cass would have pouted if she wasn’t wearing her mask; pouting usually worked on Jason. She would have to try using her words instead. “You like Red more than me?”

“Him?” Jason asked, incredulously, as he motioned around Steph to Tim.

“Hey!” Tim snapped and finally took a step back. He could pout.

“What? Fuck,” Jason cussed. “No, I mean. It’s her, I don’t like any sibling more than her. Don’t look at me like that, she’s your favorite too!”

Tim sighed, though he was still pouting a little. “Of course she is. She’s everyone’s favorite. Except maybe the brat, I mean, but does he really count?”

“No,” Cass said serenely. Besides, she would win Damian over yet. He just didn’t understand it was alright to care that way for people and show it yet.

“See all good here. So I’m going to—”

“Red met Danny. If I am your favorite I should too.”

Jason just stared at her. His eyes may have been unreadable, but she could tell the moment she had won by how his body shifted. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” she said confidently.

“So much hate,” Jason grumbled before turning his back to them and leaping over to the next building.

The rest of them followed loyally along as Jason lead them through Crime Alley and to a dinner.”

“Jenny,” he rasped as they entered.

“Hood,” she said back and nodded with her head. “You boy is in the back. You might want to see if you can get him to lay off on the coffee.”

Jason gave a sigh at that, Jenny didn’t react at all to the way the helmet made the noise threatening or the rest of them following after Red Hood to the back booth where a mop of black hair was bowed down over the table covered in books, paper, and a battered laptop that glowed faintly grew under the keys.

“Danny,” Jason said, motioning to the guy in the booth.

He didn’t look much like Tim had described him, dressed in a light, long sleeve shirt over a tank top.

“Hum?”

“Guests,” Jason said and settled into the booth. He ran his hand through Danny’s hair and the other just leaned into the motion with a pleased nice.

“Guests?” Danny asked, finally looking up. “Oh, Bats! Hi.”

Cass waved back.

“Red you’ve met. Spoiler, don’t trust her, and Black Bat,” Jason said. “They wanted to meet you.”

Danny gave them a smile from over the lip of his coffee cup. “Little ‘ol me?”

Jason snorted and reached to take the coffee away. “Don’t act innocent.”

“My coffee…”

“Jenny tattled on you. I’ll get you a milk shake instead. When did you eat?”

‘See?’ Tim mouthed at Steph and Cass.

“I ate! I ate lunch when I got here.”

“Danny, it’s dark out,” Jason said, sounded so worn down.

“I’ve been studying?” Danny said, innocently, and made another grab for his coffee.

Jason just scoffed and handed Tim the coffee as he got back out of the booth. “Drink this before he can and sit down. I’m getting menus.”

“Sweet, I’m going to get waffles!” Steph said as she slid into the booth. Cass nudged Tim to slide in after her.

Danny eyed the coffee cup. “If I promise to drink it before he can see will you give me that back?”

“Oh my god, there are two of you,” Steph grumbled. She grabbed the cup out of Tim’s hand and chugged it. “There, solved.”

“Hood is right, I shouldn’t trust you,” Danny said with a pout.

It was a very good pout. Cass bet it got Danny his way a lot.

---

AN: This could/should have been longer but I wanted to get you all something this week and it is A) hell week and B) I am not doing Great™️(almost fell down last time I got up, which wasn't great as I was above the basement stairs but hey, we're ooooookay). Anyways, enjoy some Cass POV and more Bats meeting Danny!

I no longer tag, you can subscribe to the masterpost!

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

My Honey ♡ My Bee (fic)

Link to Art (credits go to @munchr00m (elaine !) on Twitter!): Sethos/Scaramouche

—

Summary: Wanderer and Sethos hang out, but Scara’s thoughts and uncertainty about their dynamic in the future end up eating at him. Sethos reassures him through convincing means.

A/N: SethoScara!! These two have me in a chokehold and the art and fanfics for these two are amazing. And here is my contribution :) Inspiration for this fic comes from this post. I did my best to retain Scara’s bratty attitude, but I also wanted to show a softer and vulnerable side to him. So, I’m sorry if Scaramouche seems OOC to you all. With that being said, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

P.S. There is a small scene that might be slightly NSFW to some, you’ll see it when you get to it, so you can skip the section until you don’t see any of the stuff you don’t want to see. Can’t reveal too much for spoilers. If anyone’s interested in me writing a smut fic (would be my first!) for these two, let me know! I’ll leave a poll :)

Word Count: 1965 Also on AO3!

—

The sky was a mix of red and orange hues as the sun set over the horizon. At the base of a tree outside of Sumeru City sat Wanderer and Sethos. The two of them have grown to like each other’s presence and made the tree their special spot to be with one another.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sethos spoke.

“You have poor taste in beauty,” Scaramouche answered, making Sethos chuckle. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

“Hehe, I know. I never get tired of your responses.”

“Hmph, weirdo.”

A comforting silence settled afterward before Scaramouche spoke again.

“Why…Why do you keep putting up with me?”

The seriousness in his tone made Sethos look at him with concern.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a nobody. Someone who tried to become a god. A puppet that was thrown away because they were useless. One that makes mean and snarky comments. Why? Why do you want to be with someone like me?”

A surprised look crossed Sethos’s face.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s because I like being with you.”

Scara’s eyes widened as Sethos continued.

“I was curious about your mysterious past and kept pestering you until you told me. When you did, I didn’t turn away disgusted or begin to hate you. All it did was make me want to be with you even more.”

Conflicting emotions and uncertainty ran through Wanderer's eyes before they were stopped by a hand on his cheek.

“You dare-” Scara started, making a move to swat Sethos’s hand away before Sethos started stroking his cheek with his thumb. He went quiet as he made eye contact with Sethos who had an endearing expression on his face.

“I'll take care of you.”

I'll take care of you.

A flicker of light is shown behind Wanderer’s eyes upon hearing those words. But as quick as it came, his eyes darkened with uncertainty.

“It's rotten work.”

“Not to me.”

Surprised, stormy eyes met determined, loving ones.

“Not if it's you.”

Those words were an arrow to his heart as tears from decades of sadness, anger, and hurt threatened to fall. The world seemed to blur around him as his senses were solely focused on the man in front of him.

“The things you mentioned are in the past. It's time for you to move on and not let them plague your mind.”

Sethos leaned closer, accidentally making Scara’s hat fall off his head. The latter could hardly care as he felt Sethos comb his fingers through his hair and his breath on his face. Not to mention the soft lips that were barely a millimeter from his own.

“You aren't useless, Scara.”

Sethos’s warm breath hit him in the face as he spoke.

“You aren't a nobody either. Since our first interaction with one another, I was obsessed with you. Your hat. Your past. Your attitude. But most importantly, what hid behind those stormy eyes of yours. And the more I got to learn about you, I began falling for you. I wanted you. I liked you. I love being with you. Your sassy attitude, you calling me a busy bee, I cherished those moments. In my eyes, you are the perfect being and you have a place in my heart. I will go to the ends of the world to fight with you. To be with you. To…love you.”

Sethos pushed forward, softly planting his lips on Wanderer’s. He melted into the kiss, kissing back with fervor as Sethos took the lead.

“Sethohh- mmm~”

Sethos smiled into Scara’s mouth, taking pride in making him fall apart. Taking it a step further, he licked his lips asking for entrance. When he met no resistance and instead Wanderer parted his lips, he dove right in.

“Se- mmph! Mmhmm~”

“Mmm~”

Sethos sucked his tongue, making him roll his eyes in ecstasy as he tangled his fingers in Sethos's hair. Sethos deepened the kiss, gently pushing his back to the ground.

“S- ahh! Mmm~ Aah! Mmphahh~”

“Mmochi~ Hah! Scaraah~ Mmm~ You have hah~ too many ngh~ na- aah~ names~”

They continued their make-out session, drowning in each other's embrace and letting out their feelings for one another.

They broke for breath after some time. Sethos towering over Wanderer with his arms on both sides of his head and the latter laying his head back on the grass looking up at Sethos. His face was flushed, complimenting the pink and orange hues of the sky and Scara couldn't help but reach out a hand towards his cheek, caressing him.

“Beautiful,” he breathed out.

A red tint started to spread to Sethos's ears and a shy smile started to form.

“M-Me?”

“snort. Yes, you.”

He wrapped his arms around Sethos, bringing him down to his chest.

“I hate how you make me feel so mushy inside."

There's no bite behind those words. Instead, love and affection.

“It's my job now, honey~”

“Argh, Sethos.”

“What? You call me a bee, I call you honey. Plus, you are so sweet-”

“I am not sweet.”

“Yes, you are. Especially your taste. Sweet like honey. No wonder I am a bee that is so attracted to you~”

Scara just groaned, his face flushed red. “Where did you even learn to kiss like that?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, that. Heh,” Sethos rubbed the back of his head, rolling off him and laying beside him.

“You know how they say the quiet ones are the interesting ones? I'm far from being quiet, but since being in the Temple of Silence, I tend to be alone in my thoughts a lot and my imagination runs wild. And when I first laid my eyes on you, I never stopped thinking what it would be like to kiss those lips of yours.”

Wanderer’s heart fluttered in his chest, knowing that Sethos was thinking of him from the first time they met.

“And how did it feel?” he asked, turning to him.

“We both know the answer to that.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Sethos chuckled, facing him. “Alright, if you really want to hear it. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. The moment just felt right. When our lips touched, a pleasant tingling sensation traveled down my spine. Having your lips locked on mine, it just felt like we were meant to be together. Oh! Your moans. Don’t get me started on your moans. They were sweet as hon-”

“Okay, you are just teasing and trying to make me flustered.”

“Maybe~ Is it working?”

“Not even.”

“You sure about that? What's that reddening on your ears?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, you are asking for it, annoying bee.”

“I'll like to see you- ack! Ahahaha! T-Tihihickling is cheheating!”

Scaramouche smirked, hearing his giggles as he tased his sides with ease. “Aw. Sucks to be you then~”

“Wahahait! Nohohoho fahahair!”

Scara draped himself over Sethos, lazily tracing random patterns from his shoulder blades to his neck to his chest and back again.

“Doesn't take much for me to make you giggle, little bee.”

“Hahahaha! Mohohochihi! Gehehet off mehehehe!” Sethos tried to roll around to no avail.

“Hmm, let me think about it,” Scara put on a fake thinking face for a few moments before he began to knead Sethos’s hips making him choke on a surprised laugh. “Nah.” A smug look crossed his face. “I want to do this all day~”

“GAhahaha! Nohohoho! You ahahare- NAHAHAHA! Nohot thahat SPOHOHOT!”

Sethos shrieked as his lover dug his fingers into his armpits causing him to clamp them down.

“You are losing, my love~” Wanderer teased, rubbing deep circles into his lover's armpits causing him to howl with laughter.

“AHAHAHA! HOHOHONEY! IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES SOHOHO BAHAHAD!”

“Oh really? Here, let me help. Tickle tickle tickle~”

“THAHAHAT’S NOHOHOT HEHELPING! YOU’RE MAHAHAKING IHIHIT WOHORSE!”

“How about this? Coochie coochie coo~”

“STAHAHAP TEHEHEASING MEHEHEHE! AHAHAHA!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Scara said, playing dumb.

“YOHUHU LIAHAHAR! YOU- GAHAHAHA! NOHOHO!”

Sethos squealed as Scara used his thumb to massage his upper ribs.

“PLEheaSE ScahahARA!”

“Oh, my ticklish, little bee. Begging already? We are barely getting started~”

He decided to have a little mercy on Sethos, slowing down, so he could take a breather.

“Thahank youhuhu,” he giggled out.

“I’ll tell you what,” Scara started. “If you don’t laugh for 5 minutes straight, you win the challenge and get to tickle me to your heart’s content. If you lose, get ready to be tickled without mercy.”

“Pfft, 5 minutes. I can handle that. Challenge accepted!”

Wanderer inwardly grinned, his scheme working as he kissed Sethos with passion. Being caught off guard, Sethos quickly recovered, returning the kiss, unaware of the one hand that was inching closer and closer to his side until-

“MMPHAHAHA!”

Perfect.

“Noho! Youhuhu caught mehe off guahard!”

“I win~” Scara cheekily said. “Seems like that was your best… what a pity.”

“You planned that from the start!” Sethos pouted.

He stuck his tongue out towards Sethos. “Bleh, I win and that is all that matters. Come here and give me my prize.”

He lunged toward Sethos, leaving him no time to escape before he crawled his fingers under his clothes and attacked his tummy.

“I’ll geHEt yOUhu bahACK! AhAHAhAha!”

“Keep on dreaming little bee~”

After what felt like an eternity to Sethos of Wanderer skittering his fingers along his sensitive spots and teasing him to oblivion, his lover let up, lying right beside him.

“Mouchehe, you’re a ruhuthlehess tihickler.”

“Heh, that means that I’m still good at it or you are just too ticklish for your own good, or maybe both.”

“Scaraaa.”

They both fell into a peaceful silence as they stared up at the now starry sky, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Sethos?” Wanderer’s voice was soft when he spoke his name.

“Hmm?”

“Your words from before, I wanted to hear someone say those words to me for so long.”

“Which ones? You being sweet?” Sethos teased.

“Sethos,” Scara groaned. “I’m trying to be vulnerable here.”

“Hehe. Sorry sorry,” he chuckled, turning towards him and hugging him.

“I’m talking about when you told me you’d take care of me,” Scaramouche continued, snuggling into his embrace. “How it’s not rotten work to you and how you love me.”

He took a breath before continuing.

“It's all I ever wanted. Someone to say those words to me.”

A shooting star raced through the sky, lighting up his eyes. Sethos saw hope and a new spark of life in those mesmerizing eyes of his.

“I know I’m a bratty character and that’ll probably never go away, but I love you. I truly love you, even if I don’t show it at times. And…and I’ll go to the ends of the world for you too.”

Sethos could see the tips of his ears reddening and he inwardly grinned at how cute he was before going in for a quick peck on the cheek.

“Mochi, I love you so much. You are so freakin cute right now. But in all seriousness, I’m happy that you are in my life and I can’t wait to spend all of it with you. My sweet, honey love.”

“Archons, you are going to be the death of me you mushy bee.”

Sethos brought their lips together for a slow and soft kiss. Knocking their foreheads softly together, both of them stared into each other’s eyes, enjoying the moment before pulling away. Sethos was the first to stand up, grinning from ear to ear. Wanderer shook his head in amusement, picking up his hat and setting it atop his head before reaching out towards his lover’s outstretched hand. They started their way back into the city, hand in hand with fingers entwined.

My Honey.

My Bee.

—

More questions are in the Google Form if you want to provide more feedback. Plus, the question for a potential smut fic. Thank you again for reading and your time :)

Link to Google Form

[nyxronomicon]

no, cause you're absolutely right with your tags. i too put that thought in the bag of dark thoughts that i should never open but i thought of you and said there is always someone who will be able to understand me lskdk and your tags,,, nodding fervently at your tags because i don't see him as a stepbro cause i love the age difference too lol but

i love love love love the idea of him coming into your room at night and waking you up with his fingers inside you and the bulge in his pajama pants pressing from behind. I also imagine him sitting on the couch when it's just you two, he invites you to join him to watch the game or something and it ends in him cockwarming you while playing with your nipples, you can't do anything but take it and feel it throb inside you until he finally cums inside you, but you have to do it fast before your mom/brother (choso maybe megumi) gets home from work <3 so the idea of being caught is very attractive to me

Sigh... *opens dark fantasies filing cabinet and pulls out stepdad Toji folder*

omg you did this on purpose... cockwarming while he plays with your tits??? my WEAKNESS and you added the risk of getting caught RIP RIP RIP i'm DEAD .... i'm sorry... i'm sorry for the sins... my pussy wrote this i swear...

cw: !! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT !!, stepdad!Toji x f!reader, reader is university age, age difference, dub-con (coercion & implied somno), reader has major daddy issues, reader is touch/attention-starved, corruption, pussyjob, cockwarming, praise, titplay, risk of getting caught, slight edging, size (emphasis on Toji's big dick) pet names: princess, angel, good girl, reader is referred to as "step-daughter" but not as a pet name lol 2.2k sinful, sinful words

Your mother didn't even tell you she remarried. You got home from college for the summer to find a stranger and his son living at her place. You were resistant to the whole idea, but she made you promise to give them a chance and spend time with them. They were family now, after all.

Megumi was just a year older than you. He had one more year of university before graduation, so he was in a similar situation as you. You thought maybe you could bond about it, but he wasn't very talkative and showed more interest in his video games than you.

Your new stepdad... Toji Fushiguro. You didn't even know where to start with your thoughts on him. He was sleazy, shameless, and a little more friendly than you'd like. You couldn't really figure out what he did for work, and to be honest, you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't do anything. Your mom was a chronic workaholic, constantly gone on work trips and spending late hours at the office. She could easily support the three of you on her own.

There was another thought about him that clawed at the back of your mind. The one you immediately compartmentalized, the forbidden knowledge that once fully synthesized in your mind, you wouldn't be able to erase. It remained in a little bottle, threatening to shatter every time your stepfather got home from the gym. Or took you out to dinner. Or watched a movie with you.

You tried to include Megumi as much as possible at first, if only you have a buffer. Hanging out alone with Toji felt weird. It felt wrong, though you couldn't quite pin why. But Megumi was entirely disinterested in spending time with his dad, and only marginally more interested in getting to know his new stepsister.

After a couple of months of getting used to Toji, you were starting to notice things you liked about him. He was actually there for you, for one. Your mother was never around and in the past, and she never kept a man around long enough for you to have any kind of father figure. It was just you and her, but more often than not, it was really just you. You didn't realize how lonely you were at home but with him here, at least you had someone to talk to.

You let his sleazy comments slide. The few times you'd gone out with friends, he made sure to tell you how sexy you looked. And when you got home, he grilled you on if there were any guys you had an eye on. It always flustered you, reminding you of the forbidden thought trapped in that bottle. But as long as you didn't think about it too hard, it would stay bottled up, where it should be.

You hated to admit that your mother was right. That you liked your new stepdad after giving him a chance. You liked the banter, and he was always complimenting you. He made you feel good about yourself. So in turn, you let him get away with more. When you'd watch TV with him at home, you started cuddling with him. He was warm, comforting. Maybe you were a little old to be cuddling with your stepdad, but he smelled so nice and you always wondered what it would be like.

Your mom was at a conference. Megumi was gaming in the other room. It was like any other night, and you and Toji would be left alone as usual. You were half asleep, cuddled up to his chest, when you felt a hand on your breast. It took a second to process, your gaze suddenly shooting up to your stepdad, who froze in place.

"Oh," he smiled sheepishly. "Still awake, huh?" He whispered.

Your mind instantly replayed the number of times you'd innocently fallen asleep like this, only to wake up horny and wet. He was always sleeping himself, but surely he wasn't so brazen that he made a habit of groping you, his step-daughter, while you slept.

"What are you doing?" You whispered back, glancing at Megumi's door, which was open just a crack. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his hand remained on your tit.

Toji pouted a little, gazing down at you. He knew it was wrong but he always had a weakness for naive college girls. "Sorry, your mother has been gone so much lately, I'm a little... pent up." His finger lightly brushed over your nipple, sending pleasure up your spine.

"Toji, we can't..." You whispered, though you made no motions to stop him. It felt good. He smelled divine. The living room was dark, only lit by the glow of the TV screen. Megumi could emerge from his room any minute and that only made this hotter.

"I know, I know." He agreed with you, but his fingers kept kneading your breast. "I just really like spending time with you. I wanted to take it a little further. Make you feel good." Heat flooded your body. You were sure if he could see your expression, he'd know about the dark thought threatening to take over.

You and your mother had the same taste in men. Admittedly you'd always been fixated on older men, maybe trying to fill the void the lack of a father had. But he filled that void perfectly. The reason it felt weird to spend time with him was because you wanted this. You wanted him to touch you and praise you. And you wanted more.

"I'll stop if you want me to." He added. It was too late, the desire in your body burning a hole in your innocence. The buried feelings you had for him shattered that tiny bottle. You wanted to fuck your stepdad.

Your face felt hot. You looked at the TV, playing sports highlights that you couldn't care less about. The sound was loud enough that you couldn't hear the clacking on Megumi's keyboard. And the sinful thought that entered your mind was that Megumi couldn't hear anything happening in here, either.

"No..." your voice was nearly silent. "Don't stop."

His eyes widened for a moment, movements paused. "Oh?" The empathetic smile on his face was replaced with one of a predator. The man could have torn himself away from you a moment ago but now? Even if you changed your mind he'd be playing those words in his head over and over until he could coerce them from your lips again. "You sure?" He added, in an attempt to appear more respectful than he intended to be.

The glow of the TV highlighted your features as you looked back at him. Your eyes were big and soft, like you were on the verge of taking back the permission you just gave him. Before you could say a word, his free hand tilted your chin, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. All the while, he massaged your breast again, your body melted against his.

"It's ok, princess. Just say the word and I'll stop." His voice was sensual, a soft murmur in your ear before his lips pressed to your neck. Shivers ran up your spine and you arched your back, giving him easier access to your collarbone.

It felt so good. His undivided attention, his touch, it was like a drug that you couldn't get enough of.

You knew you should tell him to stop as he tugged you onto his lap. You straddled his thick thighs, feeling his bulge against your clothed cunt. You knew how wrong it was for you to let him lift your top. The feeling of the forbidden pleasure coursed through you as he peppered kisses on your breasts. He was married to your mother. Thoughts of her long erased by his lips wrapping around your nipple. His tongue flicked the bud as your breathing became unsteady. He had a kid your age. But Toji Fushiguro doted on you, his son in the other room nearly forgotten as his thick fingers felt your pussy through the thin pajama shorts you wore.

Finally, finally you were the favorite. His fingers pushed your shorts and panties aside, sliding his cock into the space between the fabric and your wet cunt. It didn't matter that your mother ignored you in favor of the revolving door of your her lovers anymore. His thick girth was nestled perfectly between your pussy lips. You didn't need to grasp at straws trying to relate to your uninterested stepbrother. Toji's tip danced at your entrance, making you tingle with anticipation as you let yourself drown in his affection.

"So fuckin' sexy..." He mumbled against your breast. The praise nearly made you whimper, glancing at Megumi's cracked door as you bit your lip. "Wanna do me a favor?"

Words still escaped you, meeting his gaze with a shy nod of your head. It was almost cute, as if you were trying to play up the innocent act. Toji wanted nothing more than to flip you on your back and fuck you mercilessly on the couch until you were screaming his name. Get you to admit you'd been flirting and leading him on this whole time. After all, what kind of a slut shows this much interest in her stepdad? But with Megumi in the other room, he needed you quiet. And he knew just the perfect way to tease you.

"Just want you wrapped around me for a minute." He pushed his hips up so you could feel his cock sliding in your folds.

"Toji, we..." you trailed off a moment, considering how desperately you wanted to say yes. Your eyes were on Megumi's door again, dreading the idea that he could get up at any moment and find the two of you like this. "We shouldn't." You whispered.

"It's not sex." His hands were on your ass, encouraging you to grind against his dick. Your body moved with a mind of its own, the friction adding to the heat bubbling in your core. "Just a little cockwarming. It's no big deal."

"I don't know..." You knew there were reasons to say no but none of them came to mind anymore. You were so needy and horny and you felt yourself melting into every touch.

"It'll feel good. Don't you want to feel good?" He pressed his lips to your ear, whispering softly. His finger found your clit, toying with the sensitive bud as you rolled your hips against him.

You didn't answer, freezing up while pleasure coursed through you. Your cunt ached, desperate to be filled with him. You buried your face in his neck, panting as you whined silently in response.

"C'mon, princess." He fingered you faster, a sadistic grin spreading on his face. You were close. He could tell you were close from how fucking wet you were. Even his balls were soaked. "You want me to stop?" He slowed his ministrations, watching your reaction carefully.

"Don't stop." You immediately murmured. Your core frustratingly teetered on edge, frowning at your stepfather for toying with you like this. "Fuck," you moaned softly, careful to remain as silent as possible. You'd had sex before but college boys were nothing compared to him. You'd never ever wanted someone so bad. "I wanna cockwarm you..."

"Good girl." Toji grinned, and the praise went straight to your cunt. He lined himself up, your natural slick more than enough lubrication despite his size. It was a tight fit, he slowly eased your hips down until he bottomed out with a groan. "So good for me... my perfect angel..." admiration dripped from his lips.

The praise alone was enough for your pussy to flutter around him. Your back arched, a lewd expression on your face as your gaze met his. He smirked, now knowing how easy it would be to make you cum. "Stay still for me, princess. No matter what." You eagerly nodded your head, hoping for more praise. But he said nothing, instead groping your tits before latching on again.

He paid close attention to your irregular breathing. As his tongue and teeth tugged at your nipple, one of his hands toyed with your other breast. His free hand slid down your torso and into your panties, swirling around your clit. Your breath hitched, your cunt tightening around him. Feeling how full his big dick made you. You were getting close again as desire bubbled in your core.

You sighed with ecstasy, obediently doing your best not to move around. Slick now drooled onto the base of his cock, your sweet pussy clenching around him as your pleasure heightened, a familiar heat swirling within you. You felt so sensitive, fighting the instincts that were desperate for friction. You bit your knuckle holding back the moan that threatened to burst as Toji's movements sped up.

Your whole body tensed up, your orgasm suddenly and violently washing through you. Your cunt squeezed him as he helped you ride through the pleasure, his hands now gripping your hips to hold you in place. He continued to suck your tit, although his movement slowed to allow you to breathe. Still, he refused to pull out until he felt an aftershock or two strangle his cock.

"Such a good girl." Toji murmured in the shell of your ear, tugging you against his chest and leaning back onto the sofa.

@sourpeachsayshi