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usedpidemo · 21 hours ago

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Getting closer (Kang Hyewon)

“All I’m saying is—” Hyewon looks away, drink in hand, taking a little sip, calm and alluring as ever, “if you only want to see me naked, then you could have just said so.”

You widely stare back, silent, indifferent—or at least pretend to be. It’s gotten you a fair amount of awards, after all. It’s not the slightest bit of convincing whatsoever.

She laughs, softly, as if this was the expected outcome. “So I’m taking that as an admission.”

Setting down the near-empty wine glass on the bathroom sink, Hyewon attempts to walk away, only to be stopped by a sudden pull. Your hand appears tightly wrapped around her dainty wrist, unwilling to let go. Your eyes aimlessly wander up and down the empty void that is her black dress. There are hardly any thoughts behind that predictably empty head of yours, only the simplest of desires.

You catch the subtlest grin forming on her saccharine lips. You fucking hate how she makes you feel. How she makes your heart race with every exchange.

Despite all the time you’ve spent together, you wish you got to know her better.

—————

The last year and a half of your career has mostly centered around one thing, or in this case, one person: Kang Hyewon. There’s also this drama starring your pairing as co-leads, and you’ve been promoting together, but your names make up more of the headlines than the very show. Your names are synonymously tied together akin to an actual couple.

Unsurprisingly, Hyewon is damn gorgeous. It’s how she’s getting the calls to begin with. Another one of those former singers turned actors looking to be taken seriously within the larger entertainment industry. Most never make it past their first project and fall back on their old careers, with some completely flaming out of the spotlight altogether. She’s an exception. A minor part here, a supporting cameo there—until she’s more than pleasant eye candy. A starlet who knows how to pick what roles would showcase her talents the most.

She’s the perfect blend of beauty goddess and hotshot young star that the internet can get behind.

So it comes as a surprise when she’s casted as second fiddle to you, the first billing—and everyone comes away talking about her more. The scene stealer.

(This plucky rival agent, investigating a case your character has been trailing for years, barely scraping by with the thinnest of clues, only for her to uncover the mystery only days after starting the investigation. The writing screams Mary Sue, but she acts convincing and vulnerable enough to escape the scathing think pieces that’s commonly associated with such characters. Not to mention: you both look damn good together on screen and during your public appearances.

It’s a team that sailed a thousand ships—both for your characters and in the real world.)

The consummate professional you are, you don’t think much of it. Your filming experience can only be described as businesslike. Except for the scenes where you’re together on screen, you’ve been separated at arms’ length, only exchanging words between takes to keep any further relationship from developing. It’s only during the press tour where you’ve finally gotten somewhat close.

Perhaps a little too close for comfort. Enough to make video compilations by overzealous fans who think you and Hyewon are really an item. The evidence is everywhere—in interviews, behind the scenes content, and on both your Instagram pages. At least, that’s what they want to believe. Everyone else brushes it off as two hot people being hot together, and not much else.

Here’s the thing: you love Hyewon—that much is true. The question now is: does she love you back?

Thankfully, your duo doesn’t get in the way of the show being lauded, despite making up a majority of its fandom. Positive reviews from both critics and viewers, especially in regards to your chemistry. The connection between you two is one in a million, something that can’t be built over years and years of working together. It also helps your performances sell the dynamic incredibly well—well enough to create those delusional shippers that form the bedrock of your partnership.

Your names were positioned to go far during awards season. Not the consensus top pick, but as dark horse contenders to steal one every now and then. And while you both won your fair share of accolades, neither of you ended up walking away with the top prize. The conversation during the final ceremony of the year consisted primarily of the media and viewers talking about how your appearances together these last few months—and how you’re a match made in heaven.

Everyone’s gonna miss this pairing—and so will you.

Now you’re back at square one. Having snuck away from the afterparty currently celebrating the dozen or so awards your show won earlier tonight, you’ve brought Hyewon back to your hotel room. Neither of you cared once you both lost your respective categories. The pundits thought you each only had the slimmest of odds to win, so why bother. Hell, you were both itching to leave as soon as the red carpet concluded.

It’s all behind you now. You’re finally free from the glitz, glamor, and chaos of these vanity ceremonies and can really focus on what really matters—the pretty girl that you most likely won’t be seeing starring tomorrow. Your careers and interests couldn’t be any further apart: your main focus is movies, while hers are dramas. Both of you remain booked and busy for the next few years with different projects, with not a single one reuniting you two for the foreseeable future.

Back to Hyewon. She’s looking down at her wrist, tightly held by your hand. She allows it. You can feel her pulse. You sense that your hearts are racing in unison, tense and anxious.

“Are you gonna do something?” she questions, daring you to pull the trigger. She knows something you don’t—or maybe you do. You’re blinded by fear to realize it. “The night is fleeting. If not now, then when?”

Her words ring through your head.

If not now, then when?

The same five words, ordered in the exact same way—etched in tiny letters on her skin.

You still remember everything—frame by frame, down to the last details. On screen, it’s implied. In your mind, it canonically happened. She took her shirt off, exposing herself and the scars of battle, and you were gonna go there. In your characters’ supposed words, ‘Clean’’ in your own unique way.

It was ultimately never shot. Bare minimum of fanservice and completely unnecessary, the director said.

The tattoo sticks out, not only because of how it's deeply embedded on her otherwise pristine, lithe figure, but also because it represents the last 18 months of your career.

During this period, there are a lot of things that you’ve regret—and will regret. The fact you’ve kept contact with her during filming at a minimum, keeping your interactions strictly between takes and creating a negative air around you in her eyes. The fact it took you so long to exchange numbers, only getting it done during the press tour. The fact that you never return her messages when she constantly reaches out to you, whether through text or on your Instagram. The fact you haven’t thanked her enough times during your acceptance speeches, even when you mention her name in almost every other sentence. If there’s anything you want to admit, it’s that Hyewon is everything.

Most importantly, the fact that you fucking love her, to the point where you’d yearn moments when you’re not beside her—and you still lack the will to confess to her. Even right now. When she’s right at your fingertips.

Perhaps she knows this. The signs were there all along. How she often posts your red carpet photos together and tags you in them. How she also mentions you as much during her acceptance speeches and credits you as a reason for her improvements in acting, even referencing specific advice you’ve given her. The biggest hint, however, are the dresses she’s been wearing to these galas, most evident being tonight. Simple all black, tailor made for her frame, showing off her assets for flaunting to the cameras.

Earlier, she led you to an empty part of the theater to say something in private. “I wore this just for you,” she said—and from that point, you had to get her alone, whatever it takes.

Really, Hyewon has no intention to leave tonight. She’s just waiting for those magic words. There’s no other logical reason for her to be here, other than for you.

She might as well be holding up a huge signpost with all her requests written in capital letters.

“If you’re not gonna do anything,” she says, tone casual, slipping one strap of her dress down her shoulder, the one half of the fabric dropping a fair amount. “Then I might as well do it myself. I was hoping you’d take this off me—”

“Stop.”

You grab her other hand, close to touching the other strap, the dress more than ready to fall down. She raises her eyebrows in amusement. Afterward, she puts the seized hand down, convincing you to release the grip.

Another win for Hyewon. You’ve lost count as to how many times she’s been messing with you throughout awards season. Probably in the hundreds. Thousands if you count the interviews and little jabs during her speeches. Every mention of your name is an immediate sign of trouble. You can sense she’s enjoying every single moment, relishing the remaining time you have left. Meanwhile, it’s clear on your face that you’re stressed.

But for what?

“If it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull, then I have no choice but to explain it.” Hyewon climbs atop the bathroom sink, strong enough to lift herself off the ground. She pours the glass with new wine; it’s not meant for you. Her attitude flips instantaneously like a switch, composed and readying herself as if it were another photoshoot.

Taking a sip of the drink, she pours the rest all over her dress. It serves no purpose anymore. it’s undeniable that she knows what she’s doing. That elegant yet cocky smile is permanently seared into your brain. Someone this haughty shouldn’t be this beautiful and seductive. “You can stand there and waste the night away, or you can do something about it. All up to you.”

You can only sigh. Whether out of wistfulness or annoyance is up for interpretation. You can add taking her back to your hotel room and taking this role in your ever growing list of regrets. When it’s all said and done, it’ll definitely be as long as the career documentary they’ll make about you in 50 years.

What more do you have to lose?

This will all be behind you soon enough.

You finally stop giving her the cold shoulder. “God, I really wish you weren’t such a tease,” you remark, pulling on the dress strap she previously slid down. “Because otherwise, it would have been so much easier.”

Hyewon seems to have taken your words seriously, because she suddenly kisses you—as in, relentlessly smothers you. Her arms wrap around your neck, slowly pulling you close into an embrace. She smells of alcohol and perfume. An unusual concoction that you can drown yourself in.

“Only if you say the magic word,” she says, gently laughing between kisses. The lower half of your face is full of pale lipstick marks. It was foolish to think she had turned a new leaf, knowing how intentional Hyewon can be with everything.

You’ve really got no other choice.

“I love you,” you confess, but in the smallest audible voice imaginable—hiding that reluctance behind your tone.

Hyewon pulls herself back, smiling toothily at you, borderline snorting. Her expressions convey the idea that you told her a joke, which it may as well be.

“That’s it? Doesn’t sound like someone who loves me,” she remarks, tone evidently disparaging.

“Fuck me.” The groan comes out instinctively, as if this wasn’t your first time getting burned like this. Your head is raised to the ceiling, asking the gods for an out.

“That’s my line,” she spouts, her response almost as instantaneous. Wit comes naturally to Hyewon. The countless viewers and interviewers who’ve laughed can speak on her behalf.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” you ask, knowing you’ve willingly fallen for the easiest bait in the entire world.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” she repeats, mockingly imitating your voice, much to your utter chagrin. This isn’t part of some romcom or a sketch. This is real. Everything comes back around to Hyewon. She laughs—basks in your suffering.

It’s the kind of trait that would leave you second guessing whether you really love her or not. As it turns out, the public loves celebrities with a playful sense of humor. Not even you are innocent—you’ve been caught red-handed on camera a few times. Hyewon doesn’t need to reaffirm herself.

But she would love to hear it straight from the source.

“Say it. Say it.” Hyewon is urging you—demanding you—as if it were a matter of life or death. Her hands are everywhere, gripping you by the cheek and the throat like her prized possessions, threatening to choke the life out of you.

Truthfully, this was coming the moment she stepped through those doors for the first table read. Hyewon’s gravity is inescapable.

“Love you—Hyem, please—”

Struggling to push back against her hold, you can tell that she’s taking pleasure in every moment she has you like this: wrapped around her finger, so whipped over her that it’s alarming. There’s little use in trying to be coy or subtle. If she wanted you to go down to the afterparty in nothing but your boxers, you’d fold in a heartbeat. She’s the kind of girl you’d happily end up in a scandal with, someone you’d throw your career away in exchange for one timeless night, against the advice of everyone who knows better.

She knows this too. Look at the coy grin spreading on her face. A smile perfect for the front cover of any magazine or commercial. It’s the perfect facade for the attitude hiding beneath.

“I love you Hyem,” you repeat, showing a bit more desperation and sincerity this time. You’re breathing against her neck, the idea of pressing your lips against her skin a dire need. It’s unfortunate you can’t make it look like an accident—as is the idea of your bodies sinking down on the bathroom countertop. “For the longest time, I wanted you, but—”

Only now do you come to the simplest realization: there are no accidents.

Normally, you should feel some shame for being this oblivious. How a girl like Hyewon is giving out all these hints, to the point where she might as well be spreading her legs wide and pointing down at her cunt with a colorful sign. Hell, a thigh is peeking through her dress, pressing on your leg right now. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about working with other actors, it’s that chemistry comes naturally—it can’t be taught.

And your bodies are doing exactly that. The friction between you can’t be any more tense.

“Then show me.” She sighs against your ear, pulling on the topmost button of your suit, pushing down the matching coat. Her leg extends around your limb, goading you to pull away, even though leaving the pretty sight right in front of you is the last thing on your mind.

You can only breathe. Slow. Hesitant. There's not a lot of hours left, and you’re wasting more by taking your sweet time—resting your gaze on her pale shoulder, admiring all the little details. In essence, you’re doing the complete opposite of what Hyewon wants. She’s showing a little frustration, proving how much better of an actress she is than you. Imagine being in her shoes, beckoning to someone astronomically unaware for months. So much energy and effort could have been saved if she chose to leave you out to dry. If you weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts of her, the many ways this little scene can go, you’d be wondering why she’s this persistent.

Maybe you’re just as important of a character in her story too, or you’re both stubborn in your own ways. Perhaps both.

None of that is your concern right now. You’re cupping Hyewon’s face, kissing her, nibbling down on her creamy skin, reaching up to her lips by the way of her neck, pulling on the strap of her dress little by little. In response, she’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear, removing your dress shirt one button at a time. It feels like you’re going through the motions, acting under the words of an intimacy coordinator and a director. Slowly but surely, it’s all coming together, until—

“Stop.”

You pull back, noticing your shirt is nearly undone as you look past her and at the mirror. Both dress straps are halfway down her arms, the fabric a mess, waiting to be swept away.

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “What’s up?”

Hyewon tilts her head at an angle, unsatisfied. She’s staring at you intently, taking a moment to analyze you like you’re a problem to solve—which you are—before coming to a rather alarming conclusion. “You don’t seem like you want me that bad.”

The remark doesn’t register in your brain. “What do you mean—”

She yanks you forward for a deep kiss, cutting you off. Reciprocating her passion comes naturally—and so does everything else. The movement of your hands, taking lease of her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress, coming back to her cheeks, until you stop feeling cloth and register more flesh. Feeling her skin becomes your new addiction, something you can’t get enough of.

Watching her other movies—for research purposes—you knew she was well endowed, even when they were not on full display. Some of her previous gala dresses truly put a spotlight on her cleavage. Part of you thought it was editing trickery, a perfectly taken photo at the right time, or a bra doing the heavy lifting. All three even. But holding them now, with nothing in between, you simply couldn’t believe how well they’ve been hidden from you.

Her tits fold, go flush, and her nipples stiffen at your touch. They feel so right—as if they were handmade for you.

“God, Hyem—” you breathe out, savoring the sensation of her mounds in your clasp, unwilling to let go. Her taut nipples jerk with every run of your palms. If only you could rest your head between them, but your current position won’t allow you.

“They feel so good right?” Hyewon moans in response, shedding your unbuttoned shirt off your body and tossing it to the floor, taking lease of your muscles and back. Her dress bunches up around her waist, practically collapsing when she decides to get up from the sink. Although an expected outcome, you’re both surprised that you’ve managed to get each other’s clothes off.

And you’re only getting started.

Pushing you away, Hyewon meets you at your level. Gravity does the rest. She stands before you in nothing but heels. What a mental image to remember her after tonight. She leaves you frozen and trembling, jaw agape, your eyes in a daze, unable to find a place to settle your fleeting gaze on—until she rests her hands around your shoulders. You’re caught up in your own disbelief to meet her lovely gaze and that rather sweet smile, quite the difference from her bare state.

She lifts up a leg, pushing herself onto you for another passionate kiss. Taking advantage, her legs eventually wrap around your waist, bearing all her weight on your grasp. Despite her surprise attack, she’s feathery enough to carry around. It certainly helps that she’s not the heaviest girl you’ve lifted before; you have some experience—mostly unpleasant and usually backbreaking. Still, you’ll treat her like some delicate object that crumbles at the slightest touch. Something—or someone—you can’t ruin, or else you’d be ruined too.

You both end up in the living room, deeply engrossed in a fiery passion that’s too hot for cameras. Lifting her high, your lips find their way to her chest, pressing them in the place where they rightfully belong. Hyewon is stubborn, pushing your head further up to meet your lips in a direct, frantic kiss. Back and forth, you take turns between her tits and her lips, unintentionally slamming her against a wall, eliciting a few yelps out of her.

It doesn’t bother you both in the slightest. You hold her there, kissing down her abdomen and ribs, coming to the tiny inked part of her figure. The same tattoo that’s been ingrained in your head since you first saw them.

You mutter the very words against her skin.

“If not now, then when.”

They’ve never been so relevant till right now. You softly kiss the ink, silently thanking her for saving you from a lifetime’s worth of regret.

Hyewon winces, throws her head back, moans up to the ceiling. Her nails brush through your hair, then claw at your nape as you remain fixated on her tattooed rib. She deserves to be adored and worshiped.

“Look at me babe,” she murmurs, gently tilting you up, faint at your touch. Against your desires, you follow. “Put me down. You know why I’m here.”

You oblige without a second thought—and you’re both on a level playing field again.

Still, you can’t help but kiss her right after. She reciprocates the favor. You’re a perfect match. Even as you’re making out, you’re thinking of ways to get messy and get the jump on her while she’s preoccupied.

It ends up being your biggest mistake.

Both of you wrestle for control over the other, a scuffle that ends up knocking down a few appliances and tableware. The sound of glass shattering rips through the hotel room floor louder than your collective moans ever will. For someone with a lithe figure, Hyewon proves to be much stronger than you were led to believe. It shows when you try to push her onto another table; you both end up crashing to the floor seconds later.

From there, it’s whoever is the first to get up, and you knew it was all over from there.

Hyewon leads you into the sole bedroom, shoving you onto the mattress. Unrelenting, she slams onto you right after, pinning you down with her bare hands. Surprising her with your own strength, you reach for her raven locks through her ironclad grip of your wrists. Your lips continue to crash like waves against rocks, neither of you willing to back down. There’s a clear disparity between you: she wants you more.

To further prove her point, she presses her palms down on your chest, sitting over you upright, straddled on your lap. She’s never looked better.

Making quick work of your trousers, your cock is freed from its confines, only to be immediately caught up in Hyewon’s hand. Her grip spreads through your groin, turning breathing into an absolute nightmare. The one fear that’s been haunting your mind these last few months, finally realized.

And it’s staring you down with an innocent yet wicked smile.

“You have no idea how long I wanted this,” she remarks, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine. Arching down, she presses her tongue forward on your throbbing tip. Combined with the pressure she’s building with her hand, holes puncture through your lungs. And right on command, you’re leaking. She’s lapping your cock in circles, slow and agonizing, taking every little drop of precum seeping. You can only tremble beneath her, utterly defenseless. “Remembering when I was tapping your foot with my heel earlier tonight?”

She leaves you in such a dizzying spiral that you can’t even look directly at her, let alone formulate a reply. Meanwhile, her eyes remain fixed on you, doe-eyed with innocence, yet her actions are cruel. Breathing proves to be a struggle, let alone returning with a response. “What about it?”

“I wanted you to follow me to the bathroom. And I wanted you to fuck me in there.”

Honest to God, that was not the first thought on your mind. If anything, the presence of many proved to be the ideal shield in keeping yourself away from Hyewon. Losing best actor was the greatest blessing in disguise, as it meant you didn’t have to look straight into her magnetic eyes during your theoretical speech and make an embarrassment of yourself in front of hundreds in attendance, and millions watching on television.

Now that you’re in bed with no way to escape, you can only accept your fate.

“I’m not the best at reading the room,” you comment, sheepishly shaking your head.

“Not surprising, honestly,” she says, rewarding your candor with a kiss—on your tip. Then another. More heartwarming than arousing, if anything. “Anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dork?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard it from a girl,” you say, in an attempt to show some wit, only to be met with a stiff grip on your cock. “Ah—fuck—”

A bit more force and Hyewon could break you in half with her mere hand alone. She’s cold, calculating, and cruel. Her expression seems apathetic, yet deep down, you can tell she’s having so much fun toying and teasing you, stealing what little semblance of willpower you have. And to think she’s this demure, sometimes funny celebrity with a certain image that’s universally admired by many.

Behind that gaze, she’s thinking of more ways to further ruin you.

“I don’t think a dork like you has been with other girls,” she remarks, leaning forward to tease a kiss, only to leave you dry. “But looking at this cock—”

She stops to admire your shaft once more. Ultimately, she can’t help herself. She has to give your tip another ceremonious flick with her parched tongue in appreciation. Two, actually. If she doesn’t stop, you’ll soon be deep in her throat, and you know she’s not letting you go. Thankfully, she finally regains sight of what she wants in the first place.

Lifting herself ever so slightly, Hyewon takes a deep breath—then slowly melts into you.

It’s a car crash you can’t look away from. It’s inevitable, but you’re completely powerless to stop her. You can only groan in agony as your bodies intertwine, creating a union that only she can break. Inch by inch, you helplessly watch as Hyewon slowly takes you into her suffocating heat. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before: vicious, intense, and painful.

It doesn’t help that she’s taking her sweet time, keeping you on edge for what may as well be an eternity, bracing for the certain explosion she’s going to leave in her wake.

“Oh—fuck—it’s so perfect,” Hyewon throws her head back, her jaw dropping slow, every word delivered in a near-inaudible sigh. Eventually, she buries herself in you deep to the hilt—and she keens. “That—that’s it—that’s the fucking spot—”

Your hands cling to her waist, your maw similarly agape, breathing tensely as the pleasure slowly courses through your muscles. “God—you’re fucking tight—”

She hums in return, satisfied by your response, before losing herself in the sensation of your cock impaling her—and she begins to move.

As you fight the urge to cum right then and there, Hyewon slowly lifts herself off your lap, your cock reappearing with a fresh coat of her drenched pussy, before sinking back down. She rips the breath right from your lungs, while you’re forced to shut your eyes. Anything to keep your brain firing as the pleasure rushing throughout your body sends you into overdrive.

You’re an outlet of ecstasy, a conduit for her to loosen all her pent-up frustration and lust. Her palms grip to your thighs, keeping you in place—as if you’re in any condition to move anywhere except for her whim. She’s crashing into you at a punishing pace as a result of keeping yourself away for so long. And she’s being open about it too: “Why did it take us so long—ugh—”

You can only moan back. Truthfully, you’re wondering the same thing too.

As your eyes alternate between wide open and completely shut, you catch glimpses of Hyewon using every inch of you to fill her wanton pussy with cock. When she’s not cursing or screaming your name, her moans fill your ears with sweet, sultry music. It’s a sound not of her high class image. She’s riding you like it’s life or death, like her heart will stop beating if her cunt isn’t being stretched out.

With every bounce, so do her breasts. Up and down, settling into a rhythm, forming a hypnotic motion that your eyes get lost in. Your obsession reaches a point to where the movement of her tits stirs you on, reigniting your tired muscles. You can’t lie there and be a helpless viewer any longer.

And so, you meet Hyewon halfway, matching the grind of her hips with your thrust at the apex, setting her alight. This particular stroke. The hot sensation. It utterly shatters her. Her voice cracks. She trembles violently, giving you breathing room to sit upward and lean close to her chest.

So while she staggers back, overwhelmed by your cock spearing her cunt, you go down on her succulent breasts, squishing your face between them. Despite having Hyewon’s body all to yourself, the friction between your bodies creates this wracking storm that drives you insane. It isn’t enough that you’re feasting on her tits, that her boobs are bouncing so hard it’s downright pornographic, and that she’s screaming her heart out in response to each stroke. This will be headline news tomorrow. Yet, none of that is your concern. You have to pour everything into her. It’s now or never.

“Fuck yes—oh fuck—fucking take me—fuck—” Hyewon’s riding your cock, forcing all the air out your lungs, rendering you speechless. Doesn’t matter, you’re drowning in her slick and her tits, pounding away with twice the effort. She’s swearing through her tongue like she’s a cop in a crime picture, biting down on her lip in a flimsy attempt to restrain herself, but anyone with a good ear nearby could have easily identified her voice through the four walls of this hotel room. Knowing her, it’s intentional. She’s determined to put you through a world of trouble, leaving you with no other choice but to shut her up.

And you’re going to do just that.

You end up yanking her by the waist as your bodies repeatedly collide with each other. Each impact the equivalent of a cosmic explosion, the aftermath echoing through the room. The sound of skin slapping skin fills your ears louder than what it seems in the movies. Sex with Hyewon is much, much better than in your fantasies. Here’s another thing that can’t be found on camera: her soft pleas begging you to keep going, interlaced between harsh whines and airy moans that can’t be faked.

“God, I’m gonna fucking cum, Hyewon.” There you go, your silly side showing at such a serious moment. Everyone knows you don’t proclaim your impending climax. Rookie mistake. You’re not shooting a porno, but you might as well be with how hard you’re fucking her. She can’t help but cackle even as you relentlessly pound into her cunt. What should be a moment of weakness immediately gets brushed aside as you hold her when she slams down, and you finally fall apart.

Impaling your cock hilt deep inside Hyewon, you’re digging your palms deep into her soft flesh, unwilling to let go. She rests her head beside yours as you blast her with thick, warm cum. Her prolonged, saccharine-sounding moan is nothing compared to the loaded groan that ripples through the room. The supplication she makes, demanding you to fill her with every little drop goes through deaf ears. Your dick seems to have heard it loud and clear, though. The amount you’re filling her is enough to rip through her body violently too. She follows with her own peak afterwards, hitting a previously unheard octave higher, your bodies finally melting into one.

Just like that, she’s clinging to you like you’re her personal life support, completely drained of all her strength.

The ecstasy lasts for a brief moment. The fall off happens too soon for your liking. Like her, you’re sapped of energy and you fall down to earth with Hyewon in your arms. The end comes—not with grandiose drama or spectacle, but by a calm, uneventful stir.

You should be done at this point. It’s been a long day. You’ve been up as early as sunrise, spent hours behind makeup and measuring tape for a suit you won’t wear more than once. Smiling comes natural, if not downright fake; in front of the cameras, on the red carpet, on screen, and even during the afterparties. Every time you step out in public, there’s an image, a reputation to uphold. You’ve done this a dozen times in the past few months alone, bearing a lifetime’s worth of and it never gets more comfortable or easier. It’s a miracle you haven’t cracked or had a public breakdown, even though your mind is calling for it.

And yet, all that labor and agony is worth it for what you have now. The awards, the recognition, the adoration—but most especially the girl. What are you now, taken out of a story. One that feels all too familiar and done to death, but it never grows old or tired.

By all accounts, it should be a happy ending.

Except you’re not done. You’re not satisfied, and so is Hyewon. Even though she’s settling down in your embrace, resting her head against your heartbeats, mumbling these sweet nothings about how much you’ve ruined her and fucked her to shreds, she’s quietly begging for more. It isn’t about keeping a sanctimonious image anymore; it’s about how far you’ll push her and use her. Your throbbing cock buried inside her cunt says it too.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about acting, it’s that one take isn’t enough.

Like a damsel in distress, you scoop Hyewon into your arms. Through what you might consider a second wind, you carry her into the bathroom again on wobbly legs, stepping into the shower, showing that you’re ready to take your relationship a step further. You’ll hash out the details in the morning—if she hasn’t left by then.

The sound of running water serves as background for the airy, lewd noises that quickly fill the shower.

Hyewon feels incredibly soft to touch. Pliable in your grasp, like a doll to bend, twist, and use at your whim. You’re squeezing her flesh, fondling her mounds tightly till you’re seeing red everywhere. Her tits, her shapely ass, and everything in between. Kissing down her body, giving every little part its much needed attention. You’ve fucked her to pieces, yes, but she’s still housing a divine figure that deserves the same level of praise.

With two fingers stroking at her cunt, she’s keening, her head tilted up to meet the relentless downpour rushing down over your bodies. Her voice is in tatters after an hour of tireless screaming, in addition to all the mindless chatter from earlier tonight. Part of you wishes to have taken up her offer. Something this good shouldn’t be kept secret, but you’re more than selfish enough to keep Hyewon all to yourself.

Your raging impulse gets the better of you, and you slap her tits from behind. She yelps a cry of pain and pleasure. The recoil and sound activates something in your brain like a sleeper agent. You do it a second time, then a third. You stop counting after, indulging yourself in the satisfying noise of her mounds smacked over and over, every squeal, every strike equally as gratifying as your cock slamming into her pussy. She’s clinging to the walls as a respite, her body shuddering vigorously, but you don’t give her a moment to breathe. It’s what she would have wanted: to be used and taken like a ragdoll.

Hyewon screams again when you swing her around, lifting one leg around your waist, and slam your cock inside her. No pleasantries, no talking through the process—only a desire to fuck. Burying your face against her neck, growling into her skin like a ravenous beast, you hammer away without care for neither your comfort nor hers. You’re counting the hours, minutes, seconds before she disappears from your life, and you’re gonna make sure that years from now, she remembers this night in particular.

You’re too engrossed to see her expressions twist in impossible ways that average humans can make. But that’s the point: Hyewon is no ordinary person. She’s one actress, something that can be found in others who are more talented and have more resounding qualities, but more than that, to you, she’s everything. The clench of her cunt on your cock continues to invigorate you and push you further. With every thrust, she jumps and sends aftershocks coursing through your veins. God, you love how incredibly well she fucking takes it, and the slightest tilt of her lips struggling to form a grin reinforce this. You’ve got nothing else to say, really; you easily lose yourself in your own lust, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It doesn’t take too long before you feel it again. The end. It’s approaching faster than you can react. You knew it wasn’t going to be a drawn out affair, but you’re so desperate to reach that high, no matter how brief it may be. It was too good to pass up, and you’re beyond waiting a second more.

You’d give everything up for even a single minute longer, but the period of bargaining has long passed you by.

“Gonna cum again—fuck—” is all you can muster, your first words after a long while. Her pussy feels so good to form coherent words. Lust has utterly consumed your brain more than anything. The entire time, Hyewon’s mewling, keening in every direction, trying to find purchase on the walls or the shower door, only to fall a few inches short. She ends up coming back to you, hanging on for dear life. You’ve never let up, terrified that she’ll magically disappear into nothing at any second.

Acting fast, as if you’ve got a ticking bomb in hand, you draw your cock out, coated in a thick sheen of your own cum and hers, pumping yourself with a few strokes of your hand until you finally explode. The shower washes down the milky white blot you’re unloading on her skin, never leaving a permanent mark. It does, however, bring you back to the place that began your undoing.

The tattoo on her rib.

Water wipes the cum blocking the view. Despite those same five words occupying your mind for the last few hours, it still hits like a fresh revelation. You hear her voice repeating them inside your head as you come to your senses, your lust being satiated—for now. Even when Hyewon is completely broken before you, reduced to a quiet pile of flesh. One hand on the surrounding wall, the other in limbo, her leg still coiled around your waist, forcing oxygen into her tired lungs wherever she can.

With the ‘quick’ shower done, and after hardly any cleaning was made, you carry her back to the bedroom.

You don’t even make it past the living room before your legs finally give up. You end up crashing onto the floor together before you both finally call it a night.

—————

“This is your fault you know,” says Hyewon, drawing circles on your chest, over your calm heartbeats. “I’m supposed to be in London tomorrow for my table read. And yet I’m still here. My flight was five hours ago by the way.”

It’s already high noon when you finally regain consciousness, your head still spinning despite not taking more than one alcoholic drink the night before. Hyewon’s doing marginally better, having woken up 30 minutes earlier. No wonder it feels so hot; her body is snuggled up on you, your limbs tangled. Despite the urgency she’s speaking about, she doesn’t seem to be interested in moving any time soon.

At least you’re awake and sensible enough to fire back. “Who’s fault is that? I wasn’t the one inviting you to come over and have you fucked senseless.”

She chuckles into your skin, little ripples forming where her lips are gently pressed. “And I wasn’t the one who spent the last 18 months saying we’re just friends.”

You’re already lying flat on the floor, but the rebuttal only makes you want to get up only to fall back down. So you settle with an expressive sigh.

Hyewon laughs. It’s what won over millions, including you. You’re taken back to that fateful day you first met. Right then and there, you knew there’d be no one else like her. If given an opportunity to go back and change a few things here and there or, you’d do it over again, mistakes included. Last night was worth all the waiting and teasing.

“So—about that show,” you lean up, pushing her closer to your face, “What was it again? Something about you being a nymphomaniac? Delete what?”

“You mean Delete This? Let’s not.”

Mention of the premise alone is enough to set her gummy cheeks on fire. For someone whose career has been built up on mostly more general audience friendly programming, leading a sexual soap opera is quite the jump.

She buries her head on your neck, embarrassed, feeling guilty. “Yeah. I mean, last night was—different, you know? I’ve shown my tits and body already, but I’ve never had sex—on screen before.”

You should have known. She needed a reason to get in your pants without your working relationship only centering around your bodies. And those were clearly stand-ins based on how her face is never shown during her older scenes.

“Jesus, Hyem. If you wanted to have sex, you could have asked anytime. You have no idea how annoyed I was when they scrapped our scene last minute. It was only you taking off your shirt too.”

“On the bright side, we didn’t have an intimacy director getting in the way, right?”

She does have a point. Still, your personal cold war didn’t need to last 18 months before either of you would make the first move.

But with all that tension a thing of the past, the chains are unfettered. Now both of you have the ability to take this little secret in any direction you desire. You could simply be a workplace couple; it’s been the story of your year so far. Or you could take things a step further. The possibilities are truly endless.

Hyewon’s cheeky grin slowly reforms, her hand snaking up to cup your cheek. “Shame we only had one night. I could spend the rest of the day here, but—” she huffs, “I’m running late. Too bad I won’t get to have this cock for a long, long time.”

You lift an amused eyebrow, barely able to keep your new cockiness from showing. “Will you, though?”

She’s taken completely by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Check your phone.”

After rising to her feet, Hyewon walks over to the console table where her purse is set. Fishing her phone from the handbag, she scrolls through the apps, her attention di–vided between the screen and you on the floor, finally getting up as well.

Her stare then lingers on the phone, as if whatever headline of the day has caught her attention.

Next thing you know, she’s grabbing you by the chest, dragging you back to the bedroom before shoving you back onto the mattress—right where you belong. Pinning you down and dead to rights, Hyewon mounts herself on your lap, your cock pressed against her aching core, ready to receive a fresh beating.

Some jokes can go a little too far.

“You fucking asshole. You mean that—”

“Yep.”

“And it’s not—”

“It’s not.”

You can feel her hips slowly grinding against yours. You’re gonna love—and hate—the next 18 months with Hyewon.

“I’m going to kill you. And I mean: kill you.”

“No better way to go out.”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! That Hyewon dress is so ripe for material, and I had to incorporate her tattoos into it somehow. She doesn't show them quite often—heck, she hasn't publicly addressed them even once, I believe. That little nod at the end is for everyone still waiting for Delete this to return. At this point, a reimagining or remake must happen first before the next actual episode because good God my writing back then versus now is night & day. Even comparing the last update from 2022(?) to today is also radically different in style. I'm still interested in reviving it; it's just a matter of when, not if. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #izone smut #hyewon smut #izone #hyewon

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bitchlessdino · 2 days ago

Text

scream : the death of a nympho (m)

Pairing: ghostface!seungcheol x ghostface!wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: horror, scream au, smut

Word count: 6.8k

rating: rated R for ROUGH FUCKING SEX (probably the meanest i've ever written anyone)

tags: THIS IS COMICAL BUT VERY DARK FIC, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. CONTENT MAY NOT SUIT MOST READERS. Morally black woncheol with no redemption arc, VIOLENCE IMAGERY (stabbing, physical fights), mentions of knives, Mentions of blood, Mentions of alcohol, humiliation, degradation kink, name calling sexually and none sexually (bitch, slut, cum bottle, ECT), manhandling, slapping kink, deep throating, face fucking, double bjs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex

Summary: This worn-out little town has seen its fair share of bloodshed, but now there are two new Ghostfaces in town—and their eyes are set on you. Someone who craves intimacy just as much as they enjoy sinking their daggers into something.

author note: thank you @highvern for being a great betaread, they got some giggles in so i hope you guys get to as well! This idea was initially requested and offered by @smileysuh and I hope you enjoy the journey babes!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

The town has witnessed its fair share of bloodshed, with pages upon pages of stories about murders staining its history since its settlement. Transplants from the past couple of decades knew of the Ghostface murders, had experienced their horrors, and were relieved to finally learn the identities of what they believed to be the only culprits, known by the nicknames BL and SM. What they didn’t seem to grasp was that there was a lineage—a deep-rooted legacy that would take the eradication of many Ghostfaces to completely sever.

One that has yet to happen. But now there was another problem.

With nothing left but their dread, the townies embraced twisted ways of coping. They chased oblivion in reckless sex and drugs, feeding a festering culture of heightening promiscuity and sexual deviants to businesses catering to their darkest urges. But this decay only primed the ground for blood, making it easier to spill.

The Ghostfaces, known privately among themselves as the Spirituals, saw it as their duty to cleanse the town. In their eyes, there was no room for the filth that seemed to taint their almost perfect town, and so they took matters into their own hands, delivering judgment on their own terms.

Seungcheol took after his father, who was currently detained after being caught serving judgment to the town’s notorious transplant mayor, infamous for his monthly group-sex gatherings. Now, as the head of the Spirituals, Seungcheol was determined to continue following his father’s creed, not once forgetting the scripture carved into him as a child.

Whereas Wonwoo took after his mother, a caretaker of many children within their society's education system who had fallen in sacrifice for the greater good. Now the right-hand man to the leader of the Spirituals, once a soldier and now captain to many of its followers, he knew nothing but how to uphold and worship the Spirituals' beliefs.

They were a duo not to be reckoned with—the youngest in history to hold the highest possible ranks, and the most effective at slaying the vermin of the town. Unmatched to even their predecessors. If they wanted something to happen, they knew just how to do it.

Their targets had a history of overlooking them, their spry bodies and youthful faces seeming harmless to anyone they encountered—until their daggers found the light under a bright moon. They killed victim after victim, and were careful to not have a single clue that could be traced back to them or the society. It was the perfect ruse, ideal for victims like you.

Fresh-faced and eager to start your next chapter, you arrived in town for college and had stayed ever since. You’d dated here and there, with more than the occasional fling—so the thought of the murders never really intimidated you. As an aspiring journalist, you found the town’s dark history more fascinating than frightening. To you, it was just material for dark bedtime stories. Yet, while many who had survived the horrors saw them as more than history or folklore, those who had evaded them were a lot like you—they saw nothing to panic over, just a few rotten apples already put behind bars.

But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been tempted to test some of the theories. Almost eager, you found yourself wanting to investigate the current-day Ghostface rumors, wondering if they might be linked to the recent disappearances.

You pondered even now, nursing your third glass of red wine, the deep red hue swirling in the glass, mesmerizing under the effects of a light buzz that calmed your body. You and the bartenders of the high end Diamond Club, Hansol and Chan, had gotten acquainted in your time here—perhaps more than necessary—so they had a good idea of your usuals, whether it was your drink of choice or preferred form of entertainment.

“Red wine tonight, I see,” Chan flirtatiously engaged, wiping down whiskey glasses.

“Tonight called for something sweet, a little treat for working so damn hard,” You replied, finishing the last bit in your glass. “Where’d Hansol go? He had just serviced me.”

“Just getting something from the back, probably more of your wine.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the wine glass down politely in front of him. “You both do know me so well. I don’t suppose there’s room for me to check back there too.”

“No can do today, beautiful,” Hansol said, emerging from the backroom as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning, so we need to be on our A-game.” He threw an arm around Chan, signaling caution to his coworker, then regretfully scanned your attire.

Hansol’s gaze traced over the perfect lines and curves of your dress as he tightened his grip on Chan’s shoulder, both of them watching as you patted your lips against your napkin, leaving a kiss stain in mauve-red lipstick. He knew soon enough he’d regret his responsible decision-making. “But we’ll be sure we’ll leave a slot available for you after.”

Hansol turned toward Chan, looking for reassurance as the other man held the middle seam of his pants. “Right, Chan?”

“R-right,” the other bartender responded with a tinge of disappointment.

You softly pouted. “Okay. Another time. I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

The prospects tonight were slim, but not impossible. There were group gatherings and couples, but no one alone like you—that made it more challenging, and you loved a good challenge. You turned away from the bar on your stool, twirling your freshly topped-off glass from a new bottle, and scanned the room for another late-night treat.

In the corner, you spotted a diamond in the rough—a pair of men who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off you, each idly toying with the dark liquor in their glasses. You flashed them a sly grin before turning away just enough to keep them in your peripheral vision, watching as they drank you in. They smiled back, one darkly handsome man to the next, their gazes unmistakably intrigued.

“Isn’t that a beaut,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, hiding it under his glass drenched in bourbon.

“They are,” Wonwoo agreed. “Their reputation precedes them. We complete our duty tonight.”

Before Wonwoo could stand to approach you, Seungcheol tugged him back down, something more than authority in his gaze. “Hold on, brother. What’s the rush? It’s not every day we come across a sacrifice as…delectable as this one. I say we take our time.”

“But, sir… Seungcheol,” Wonwoo corrected himself, remembering they were in a public setting. “We shouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“And we’ll make sure of that.” Seungcheol grinned at his capable, steadfast captain. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at them. Don’t pretend you didn’t, soldier.”

Wonwoo had looked at you—perhaps longer than he should have. Sinful deviant or not, he could understand why others found it impossible to resist you. You were a vision to behold, a captivating stain on the town he might have allowed to linger under different circumstances. But there were no exceptions in the scripture. You would meet the same fate as everyone else they’d killed.

“Nonetheless, we have demands to meet… Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s tone was even, but his eyes held a flicker of impatience.

The elder man sighed, swirling his drink with a slow, deliberate motion. “Sure taking advantage of my given name, aren’t you…Wonwoo?” He raised a brow, an amused glint in his gaze, though his words held an edge.

“We must stay focused, even if the distraction is so… distracting,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady but his gaze briefly drifting to you before snapping back.

Seungcheol smiled cunningly, leaning back in his chair as he let his eyes settle on you. “All I’m saying is, why not reward ourselves with a taste of their mercy? Give them a final moment of sin before they see the flames of the inferno where they belong.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “And would we not be sinning too, brother?”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, and he leaned forward his captain in arms, voice low and commanding. “You dare question my judgment?”

A silence hung heavy between them before Wonwoo let out a resigned sigh. “We need our affairs in order,” he murmured, his tone weary yet resolute.

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded.

They adjusted their jackets, sharing a brief, knowing glance before rising from their seats and approaching you with a leisurely stride, intrigue glinting beneath their composed expressions. Seungcheol met your eyes first, flashing that boyish dimple—the one that had gotten them out of more than a few tight spots.

“Mind if we join you?” he asked, his tone smooth, and inviting, but with an edge that hinted at something far less innocent.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as you gave a slight nod. “Both of you?”

“If that doesn’t intimidate you,” Wonwoo replied with a polite smile, the bar light catching his glasses and casting a faint glare that concealed the depths of his true intentions.

“Not at all. Sit.”

And they did, boxing either side of you, each exuding an intoxicating mix of decadence, spice, and something darkly earthy. The scent was almost hypnotic, stiffening the hairs on your neck.

Every glance, every subtle movement, spoke of a carefully restrained danger, like a coiled snake waiting to wrap around its unknowing prey. Their intensity crackled in the air around you, unsettling yet somehow magnetic. Something about this pair was dangerous on belief and your gut was screaming it loud, but instead of listening, you were anchoring yourself in place, wanting to find out just what it is you should be afraid of.

“I’m Seungcheol, and my colleague here is Wonwoo. And you are?” The dimpled man asked.

As you introduced yourself, both men let your name roll off their tongues, savoring each syllable as if committing it to memory. Wonwoo angled his body toward you, his gaze intent. “That’s quite nice to say,” he murmured, repeating your name slowly, watching closely to see how you reacted to the sound of it on his lips.

“What brings you both here?” you asked, subtly crossing your legs with a teasing smile. “Date night?”

Both men chuckled, clearly amused by how effortlessly they’d caught your attention. “Something like that,” Seungcheol replied, leaning in just slightly. “We’re just looking for a nightcap before calling it a night. Came straight from the office.”

You raised a brow, laughing softly. “It’s 10 p.m. You both work this late? And turn in this early?”

“Well,” Wonwoo countered, a strategic smile on his face, “we never said how long we’d be here… or how brief our nightcap might be.”

You hummed, sipping your wine as you eyed them over the rim of your glass. “You two really do everything together.”

“Yes,” they answered in perfect unison.

“Everything together?” you pressed, a playful edge in your voice.

“Yes,” they replied again, this time with a hint of menace that made the word linger in the air just a moment too long.

The longer you stayed in their presence, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their composed demeanor didn’t sit right. Call it survivor’s intuition, but something was off. Still—“I suppose neither of you has time for anything else tonight?” you asked a slight challenge in your tone. “A way to truly acquaint ourselves before the night ends.”

“That does sound interesting,” Wonwoo mused, pretending to consider, his gaze never leaving you.

“And what better way to end the night than with a new…friend?” Seungcheol added, his smile sharp as he leaned in.

It was almost too easy. One moment, you were at the club, indulging in a reckless amount of wine courtesy of these fine gentlemen, the night unfolding in a haze of alcohol and sultry gazes. The next, you found yourself in their penthouse, entangled in a kiss with Seungcheol as Wonwoo was tearing off your clothes, the world outside suddenly distant and irrelevant.

You could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against the back of your neck. His spectacles brushed lightly against your skin as he leaned in, the metal sending a subtle shiver down your spine as you counted the beats of his pants. He explored your body with reckless abandon, uttering your name under every tender kiss.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was evidently impatient, his lips quickly latching onto yours in a frenzy. He wasted no time tracing the surface area of your mouth, as if time were ticking and he knew that sooner or later, it would run out. “By gods, you are something else.”

He pressed up against your body, only the thin layer of your lingerie to protect you as you began to undress him, the concaves and curves of his body scorching under your fingertips. Your moans muffled under Seungcheol’s lips as Wonwoo's moans muffled under your skin, the tautness of their body sandwiching you into a sweltering trap.

“You both have no idea how much I needed this,” you panted, hands roaming in Seungcheol’s hair as his lips latched around your tits.

Wonwoo softly scoffed, loud enough to hear but soft enough to be dismissed. “On the contrary, you don’t know how badly we needed you.”

You mewled under the sounds of his false pretenses and squealed when they brought you naked over the sofa. Seungcheol took a moment to admire your vulnerability, caressing along your sides, spreading your legs so he may position himself between them, and just behind you stood Wonwoo. Impatient for something else entirely, procured a knife from under the couch, just where he had left it.

Seconds before the spectacle man lifted it up, deciding to plunge it through your shoulder, chest, or even throat, Seungcheol stood up. “Just a moment, darling,” his eyes flickered over to the armed captain in caution, frozen with the hunter’s knife inches above you, “Me and my buddy got to do one last thing before we proceed. Wait for us patiently?”

“All right…don’t keep me waiting too long,” you purred, a slow smile curling on your lips, your heavy-lidded gaze smoldering with anticipation.

Seungcheol steered Wonwoo into a separate room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. He fixed his subordinate with a piercing glare, the urge to drive him to his knees simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me, soldier—what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not ‘soldier’ anymore, sir,” Wonwoo muttered, his voice tense. “I’m doing what we’re supposed to. We can’t indulge in this…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “…depravity. It only complicates the operation.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his figure casting a shadow over Wonwoo as he instinctively leaned back, nearly cowering under the weight of his leader’s stare. “So you doubt our abilities, is that it?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “It’s been a minute since I took on my bitchbreaker on for a ride and you of all people are deciding to be a nuisance. If you’re so certain we can’t balance pleasure and duty, perhaps you should step aside—so I, your capable and trusted leader, can finish the job without you repeatedly defying me.”

He turned to leave, his movements sharp with frustration, but before he could take a full step, Wonwoo’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep tightly. The hold was firm, almost defiant, and Seungcheol could feel the strength behind it—a mix of resolve and the fear of regret that held Wonwoo back. Their eyes met, and in Wonwoo’s gaze was a fierce determination, teetering on the edge between loyalty and a barely restrained desire.

“I’ll follow orders,” Wonwoo said, his tone unwavering. “Your orders. I won’t question you again, sir.”

Seungcheol gave a smug smile, brushing off his right-hand man’s grip before leading him out of the room.

When they returned, they found you still lounging on the couch, but now holding something you hadn’t had before—something stark white and blinding, something that didn’t belong to you and should’ve gone unnoticed.

“Boo!” you laughed, lifting the Ghostface mask to your face with a playful grin as the rest of you was still nude, offering an enragingly tantalizing image.

Wonwoo’s voice nearly boomed as he tried to keep his rage in check, suppressing another sensation that fought him to break out. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flashed a sign of panic, quickly narrowing at you. Had they been caught? Exposed? You were already a risky target, and now you were making things a lot more complicated.

You pulled the mask off with a casual smile, unfazed by the shift in Wonwoo’s demeanor, which was colder than it was moments before. “Sorry for snooping; I couldn’t resist.”

Seungcheol’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Where’d you find that?”

You held the mask in your hands, inspecting it from front to back, not fearing the consequences. “Under the coffee table,” you said, turning it over, admiring the attention to detail. “It looks really real.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence looming as his eyes flickered over from the mask to you, its captor, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. “It is real. We believe it belonged to one of the original Ghostfaces...As historians, we collect these kinds of things.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh,” you grinned, your lips curling in slight admiration.

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his arms crossed in calculated intrigue. “You’re not scared?” His voice dropped slightly in defense. “Why?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know… I just find it more interesting than scary. And maybe kind of sexy… I don’t know.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hide his disbelief. His voice came out sharp, almost incredulous. “Sexy… you find centuries of bloodshed and thousands of lost lives sexy?”

You paused, your fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Okay, well not that—the mask! I know it’s tied to awful, disgusting, horrific events, but…” You brought it up to your face, tilting it as you peered through the narrow slits, your voice trailing off in their signature tone of voice that the articles quote were ‘shrill and cunning.’. “There’s something about it that’s...captivating. Like, what kinds of things did they do, and why this mask? What makes it so...iconic?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of something realization passing through them, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched you with a calm amusement, his lips curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the silence, laced with disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he processed what you had just said, a quiet judgment simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You really think that is sexy?” His words hung in the air, thick with the implication that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could glorify such an image.

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Yeah, I’m the one doing the killing, he thought, but they were sacrifices—an entirely different kind of thing. They were meant for the greater cause, something you could never understand. He had been the one to offer the death, to carry out the act, and yet you—you—were somehow making it seem like some kind of twisted, romanticized thrill.

He glanced at Seungcheol, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips curved into that unsettlingly knowing smile, the kind that signaled anything but anger.

Seungcheol retrieved the mask from your fingertips, put it towards him, and shielded his facial features. “So if I wear it like this,” He stuck out a hand to grab you, tugging you by the waist and gliding his hand over your sides, “and touch you like this…”

His palms cupped the underside of your ass, digits digging into your flesh roughly, releasing a sharp breath from you. His body, gloriously exposed, was firm and warm, so inviting you couldn’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders to press against his waist. You stared into the eyes of the mask, stomach-churning at the increase of stimuli and you almost heard yourself growl under your breath. “I don’t think I could resist you.”

Seungcheol removed the mask, holding it in one hand and tightening his grip on you with the other. “You’re a weird little thing, are you,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, voice rich and dark.

“I’ve always wanted deep throat the cock of someone wearing one,” you blatantly confessed, your bottom lip caught in your teeth.

Seungcheol quirked a brow, interest piquing before tossing the mask in Wonwoo’s direction, who caught it flawlessly, looking back at it in concerned confusion. “Wear it,” said the fellow conspirer, “Make our little guest dreams come true while I enjoy the show.”

Wonwoo didn’t argue, and against his better judgment followed his leader’s orders, securing the mask on his face as he bared his nether region, regrettably taut and aroused. As soon as Seungcheol released you, you fell to your knees, gazing up at the Ghostface mask before drawing your gaze down to Wonwoo’s cock that stood on its own, full of life.

Beneath that mask, Wonwoo held on to his uncertainty, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to the image of your lips wrapped around him. It was about all he could think about since being aware of you, other than killing you that is. Even as you beckoned him closer, with your knees on the ground of where the blood he’s shed–the bodies he’s slaughtered–he couldn’t help but think about how to dispose of you. How to get rid of your stain next. But the moment your lips reach the tip of his cock, his worries and schemes seemed to fade away, vanishing even faster as your pace quickened so eagerly.

Your hands palmed over his waist, and the lust in your eyes was insatiable, making a man—even Wonwoo—wonder how that pretty little mouth could take so much cock. He groaned, grabbing you by the crown of your head, and pushing you closer as he started to thrust, gradually adjusting to the tight, warm press of your mouth. “Oh fuck,” his voice gave out, muffled by the mask.

He winced as he felt himself hit your throat, swallowing as he heard you gag on his cock—trying to fit all of him and he broke out in a hidden smile, and if he was being honest, he hasn't held a smile like it in a long time.

Why, Wonwoo hadn’t realized how long he’s had a good fucking like this. Ever since he took on as captain, sex was a thing of the past, something not even in the back of his mind, but you. Oh, you. You awoke something that should’ve stayed dormant. Years of training and discipline are suddenly out the window. And now he’s had a taste, he was going to ruin you until you didn’t even have the energy to breathe.

His hand locked between your tendrils, shoving your head impatiently. “Little toy that knows how to play. That’s rare.”

One hand found the underside of your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon his, and watched as the mask on his face tilted in curiosity. Vice gripping that head of yours, he used your throat, letting his length slide down inside you. “Aren’t you a little slut? Just fucking wet having my cock down your throat, are you? Don’t try to deny it. I don't have to see or feel it. I can smell it.”

You confirmed with a strugged nod, salvia dribbling down your chin as tears began to burn your eyes.

Wonwoo let out a staggered breath, hitching another in his throat with a groan as felt your face touch the base of his cock, holding you in place and hearing you breathe with immense difficulty l. He pulled himself out of you, dragging you by your head, watching you cough on the ground, strings of your salvia ruining the floor and stretching from your cheeks. “You’re such a try-hard, taking my cock when I hear you practically gasping for air.”

He bent down to level with you, the mask staring back at you menacingly, so realistically. “What? You’re not gonna beg for more?”

“I will, I will,” you assured, a blubbering mess, gasping while the tightness in your throat failed to bother you like it should’ve.

“Is that right?” Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing your cheeks in a rough grip. “You gonna beg for me to fuck your face? Huh?” He inhaled your gasps, body convulsing. His voice was gravelly and stinging with repulsion. “Cockbreath.”

You whined, pleading: “Please, I want to feel it deep, deep inside me, Mr. Ghostface. Give me your cock.”

“Then let me hear how much you want it.”

Your mouth parted, fumbling for the right words, struggling to release them from your strained throat, the sound coming out rough and raspy. “I want your cock shoved in my throat. I want to feel it from one end and out the other. I live for you cock. I’d die on your cock. Please just stick in my throat and don’t stop please.”

Wonwoo looked down at you, surprised with the spew coming out of your mouth but went with it, shoving himself swiftly back in you, the sensation of your throat welcoming him like it never left. “I better see you swallow every inch,” he warned, his voice thick with malice. “If you so much as breathe, I’ll give you more than enough reason not to,” a smile laced with dark amusement edging his tone.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watched as he promised, laying aloof back on the sofa with cock in hand and reveling in the sheer desperation from your voice as he stroked his cock to the pace of Wonwoo’s thrusts.

As the reigning leader of the Spirituals, he was accustomed to having others do his bidding, just as his father had planned. But through his experience in leadership, he discovered he preferred being directly involved. Very involved. And it was moments like this that confirmed it.

“Good little cocksleeve, ain’t they?” Seungcheol commented, licking his lips.

“They certainly know how to make use of themselves,” Wonwoo drawled, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your efforts, taking him with as much excitement as you initially came with.

Seungcheol started getting up, standing beside his partner in crime with a growing cock firmly in his grasp. He cast his gaze down at you, his presence domineering and intimidating, yet all the more mesmerizing. Seungcheol scoffed as soon as your eyes flickered in his direction, and his hands found themself in your hair. “I wonder how they’d take two cocks. How does that sound?”

Seungcheol helped release you from Wonwoo’s clutches and invited you into his as he met your eye level. “Can two cocks,” He produced another Ghostface mask, lifting it to his face, “fuck that pretty mouth full? There’s only one right answer.”

“Yes,” you managed to answer, your voice trembling, tears streaking down your face as you exhale, your flushed cheeks betraying the weight of your words. “Always.”

“Exactly what I was looking for.”

Kneeling between them, you held them both in either hand and traveled down both their lengths. Each Ghostface was more wicked than the other as you shoved a cock down your throat, Seungcheol’s groan following in response. Your tongue dragged along its underside, mouth stretching to adjust its size and familiarizing with your throat just as Wonwoo’s had, and the familiar sting of your tears had caused another stream of heat down your cheeks.

“You dirty little slut, so this is the kind of treatment my partner here has been getting,” Seungcheol took you by the hair, and slammed you against the base before pulling you back to only reach the head, another fit of coughing to ensue. “You better work five times as hard if you want to please me too.”

You nodded, each stroke to either of their cocks deliberate and purposeful, the masked individuals looming in front of you anticipating your next move. Taking Seungcheol back in your mouth, you sucked all around his circumstances, memorizing the veins of his shaft to then do the same with Wonwoo, batting your eyes back at him, your mouth parted wide letting both exit and enter on your own accord.

It was then either tip breached one another, both of your hands rubbing against each other at once that you heard something so delicious in their voices, so real and so pure. And before you could truly savor it, both of them pried your mouth part, either cock rubbing against either inside of your mouth, stretching your cheeks, as they unevenly thrust into your mouth.

It looked like it hurt, and either man was glad for it because, in its own sick way, it was another form of punishment, catering to them would only guarantee your ultimate demise and proving to them once and for all how necessary their roles really were.

Still, they enjoyed it—hell, they were euphoric seeing you put so much effort into such an ordeal, but not more impressed than about how it felt. Each twist of your wrist aimed to pump ego in their lengths, the dampness of your slobber stretching from your chin to their shafts creating a path of viscous filth, and the tension building in their manhoods that never seemed to fade as they attempted to bury themselves inside of your face.

It was momentous, and Wonwoo, who was initially concerned, was elated to reap more of the benefits just as much as his leader.

They shoved you off as soon as one of them was close, landing you on the sofa, flushed with a thin layer of sweat. Wonwoo, lifting the mask slightly above his face, let his lips run down your body, the hard, cold of plastic the mask chill on your body, while his teeth were nipping your torso and soft growls hummed against your skin. Startled, you yelped as he tugged your legs toward him, his cock position almost perfect at your warm entrance before he inserted himself, not wasting time by giving you a warning.

You mewled at the sensation, his rock-hard length plunging against your moist, plush walls. You instinctively gripped his arms for support, his ruts definable sharp, guttural, and primal. He loomed over you, mask still in place, but the shadow cast over his face in combination with just the barest hint of his mouth exposed showed a twisted smile of lunacy, dangerous beyond recognition.

Wonwoo was rough, hurting you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, but it made it all the more pleasure and Wonwoo knew it more than you thought. Seungcheol joined your side, squeezing himself between you and the couch as he propped his cock towards your mouth, slapping it against your cheek. “Open the fuck wide,” he said in a gnarly rasp through his mask.

As you opened, he seized you by your chin, slapping the cushion of your cheek where it already stung, before slapping the shaft of his cock on your tongue. You looked up at him, panting in excited gasps before he filled your mouth, then emptied it, and then filled your mouth again. His free hand claimed your breasts, ruthlessly squeezing them, pinching at your peaks, before ultimately slapping them, every action you could only swallow at. At almost every end, you were filled to the brim, hung in the balance of their mercy, and not once could you open your eyes without seeing stars.

“Can’t fucking stand it, what’s a fucking slut like you think you deserves our cocks for,” Wonwoo slapped the underside of your thigh, the sting of it ringing in your ears.

Seungcheol chuckled, fingers threading through your hair, pulling your head back to see the glisten in your eyes, how they beg without saying so, or how they water in delight. “One would be lucky to be so fortunate. You’ll thank us later and it won’t just be with gratitude, it’ll be a plea for more.”

Wonwoo, almost as blinded with lust as either you or Seungcheol, gave a deep heart laugh as he folded your legs back towards you, feeling him bottoming inside you and hitting a spot that shot you up in space. At this point you were immobile of making conscious decisions that didn’t have to do with sex, deducing you to only something they could use—something they could fuck until they were sick of you.

You’d muffle something around Seungcheol’s cock, whether it be their names, or calling them Ghostface, it didn’t matter. It was as if the world outside this room didn’t exist and none of them cared for it to exist. Just them and you, and the sound of raw, unbridled sex. Succumbing to their primal urge to unleash pent-up tension and energy—and how effortlessly they did so.

Wonwoo felt his stomach seize, his abdomen tightening as the involuntary contractions slowed his pace, the warmth starting to overcome him, and his low groans took power over his voice as he doubled over. His cum up and out of him in thick ribbons up your path, the twitching of your orgasm quickening in response to his warmth. Simultaneously, Seungcheol filled your mouth, expanding your cheeks, and he gently stroked your throat, “Swallow every fucking bit of it, you fucking cumbottle.”

Your eyes fluttered, pushing the cum down your pipes as he still stood in your mouth, feeling it slide down with a heavy swallow, and you opened your mouth wide to show just how thorough you are.

Seungcheol finally peeled the mask from his face, revealing flushed pink on his cheeks and damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, making him an undeniably captivating sight—nothing short of a perfect reward.

Wonwoo followed, his presence marked by a familiar mirage, his smile shifting into a Duchenne grin—a smile that sparkled in a way most didn’t, reaching his eyes and revealing just how genuine it truly was. Underestimating the relief that consumed him. “Finally,” he gasped out.

He stood up, towering over your frame, his shadow falling over you. “Nothing short of our expectations,” he complimented before pressing a kiss to your lips, explosive and electric, foreshadowing how it’d be the last.

He started to retrieve the additional knife from under the couch, its steely presence finally making a comeback, and you managed to catch the glint of it peering at you at a lower glance. Jumping into action, your feet aimed for his gut, throwing Wonwoo off base as the knife scattered on the ground and crashing him hard into the glass coffee table behind him.

“Fuck!” Wonwoo shouted, pain pricking him at all sides of his body, blood gushing from the holes from which the glass had penetrated. “You bitch!”

“Like I was going to let that happen,” you spat, recovering from your fatigue.

Seungcheol pinned his arms behind you, an evil smile visible in your peripheral. “And you think I’d let you damage my property like that?” He hissed.

Before Seungcheol could avenge his comrade, you head-butted him from the back of your skull, momentarily blinding him as he clutched his face in agony. “Fuck! Holy fuck! My fucking face! You broke my fucking face!” He growled from the depths of his gut as you backed off of him. “I’m gonna enjoy fucking killing you.”

“God fuck, you knew! Didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” Wonwoo started inching closer to you, the knife a good distance away from him. “You knew who we were and came up here anyway. To what? Get one good fuck? Are you that stupid?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking know! But I had a gut feeling,” you panted.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol taunted, eye swollen, cheeks and forehead red as he procured a knife from between the couch cushions. “Where that gut feeling take you? Besides getting them rearranged, that is?”

Wonwoo scoffed, finally finding the strength to get up. “Dumb slut like them didn’t get that far. Just good for a fuck.” He spat on the ground blood, gritting his teeth.

Your gaze flickered from one to the other, bare fisted, preparing for the worst. “Why don’t you test that theory then, boys?”

“Fucking gladly,” Seungcheol agreed, voice falling several octaves.

They bolted towards you in blind fury, grasping at you like straw and swinging a knife in your direction, barely nicking you. When Wonwoo ran at you from one end, Seungcheol came at you from the other, attempting to corner you. Determination oozing in their gazes, piercing through your very being, the mirage of the devil’s on both of their unsettlingly handsome faces.

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch.” Wonwoo screeched venomously.

Seungcheol twirled the knife between his fingers, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is where you start crying. Or begging for mercy? It doesn’t matter like it won’t matter where or what we stab you with next.”

You slid underneath their swinging arms, the knife briefly slicing, forearm and you gasped in response, stumbling backward. Feeling cornered. You slowly backed away, searching for an escape, but by luck, you find something in your purse instead, abandoned on the ground just out of your assailants’ sight. “You fuckers aren’t gonna get away with shit by the way. You should be careful where you leave your things around here.”

They both laugh at you condescendingly, not an ounce of doubt in their eyes. “No one is believing your bluffs, darling. Just come over nice and slowly. We’ll only stab you 20 times each,” Seungcheol feignedly reassured.

Thinking you were defenseless, they charged at you at full speed—until you lifted what you’d hidden behind your cowering figure. A burst of pepper spray erupted from the canister into their eyes, and the sound of grown men screaming from the tops of their lungs, like terrified final girls, seared itself into every wrinkle of your brain.

”You stupid slut! Pepper spray? Seriously?”

”First you swell up my face, then fucking blind me? You’re in for a real one, cum guzzling little shit.”

Seizing your chance, you delivered a final kick, shoving Wonwoo in Seungcheol’s direction, sending them into an unexpected embrace. In the haze of pain, Wonwoo's eyes shot open, the piercing ache in his chest telling him everything he needed to know about what had just happened. “S-Seungcheol…what the fuck…”

As he stared into his comrade's eyes, Seungcheol’s eyes grew wide in realization, and looked down at the knife he held in his hand, now plunged into their chest. The leader followed him as he collapsed, taking the longest moment to register the events leading up to this as Wonwoo’s eyes began to drift close. Gripping his brethren’s shoulders with the anger of a million suns, Seungcheol bared his teeth, voice singing in regret. “You…I’M GOING TO CHOP AND FEED THEM TO MY PET SHARKS, YOU TRAMP.”

He turned to face you swiftly—too swiftly—because as soon as he did, his neck met the blade, slicing from one side to the other until you plunged it deeper, twisting it down his throat before pulling it out. Fury lingered in his eyes, barely alive, as he began to spit up blood, several drops landing on your face and body. Moments later, he collapsed beside his partner, his eyes dulling as the life slowly drained from his face and body.

You collapsed to your side, shakily reaching for the phone in your bag and dialing the authorities. “H-hello…I just killed two men that attempted to kill me…I think I know the address.”

Once you hung up, you summoned the courage to flip your phone to camera mode to capture the evidence, gasping for breath, ensuring yourself of the life left in you. As soon as you did, a gravelly voice cut through the silence. Its owner raised the knife that had once been lodged in his chest, charging at you with bloodshot, deranged eyes. “DIE, FREAK, DIE!”

You managed a quick, well-aimed strike where the sun doesn’t shine, slowing him down just enough. As he stumbled, you seized the knife you’d stolen from Seungcheol’s throat and plunged it into his head, again, and again, and again, screaming at the top of your lungs until he finally collapsed to the floor.

With trembling hands, you struggled to hold the phone steady to capture the scene. Blood streaked down your forearms, and your sniffles provided the only soundtrack to the aftermath.

You’d done it—you’d finally done it. It only took a hundred tries and countless hours of risk, but it happened. You had become the one–if not the only–true survivor of the town’s Ghostface murders. If this didn’t launch your career, you weren’t sure what would.

You just had hoped they wouldn’t come with backup.

601 notes · View notes

norrisainz33 · 1 day ago

Text

friend of a friend || MV33

☆ summary: max meets his dream girl through his friends good friend, pato o’ward

☆ pairing: max verstappen x mexican!reader

☆ fc & warnings: gala montes & poorly translated spanish and slightly suggestive! you are responsible for the content you consume

☆ requested: yes!! thank you for requesting and apologies for the delay 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

maxverstappen1 has made a post

liked by ynuser, redbullracing, schecoperez, charlesleclerc and 547,936 others

maxverstappen1: enjoying some much needed sun and relaxation before we head to vegas 😴

view all 999 comments

user1: max i’ll meow if you need another cat

user2: i’m sorry who in the heck is in the last slide

user4: is he soft launching rn??? at a time like this???

user6: so this is why he still looks happy despite rbr woes

user7: is that his girlfriend?!

user8: max please give us the tea

user9: f1gossip im begging you to figure out who this is

redbullracing: happy you’re getting some r&r max 🤍

ynuser: mi novio es tan bonito [my boyfriend is so pretty]

[liked by maxverstappen1]

user9: now hold up ….. who is this and why did max like

f1gossip: taking note of this interaction

user12: ugh she’s private so we can’t even snoop but she’s followed by pato and elba oward, carlos, rebecca, rbr and checo

user13: this is pato and elba’s childhood friend!!! she’s good friends with them

user12: everyone say thank you user13

user3: the shirtless photos?? the soft launch??? how am i supposed to be normal

charlesleclerc: 👀

user4: i’m gonna miss ur fine ass when i scroll

user5: sometimes you just gotta say damn and move on

ynuser has added to their story 🔒

[staying here forever]

view all story replies

yourbff: in monaco???? no gracias. you can’t leave me like that 😭

ynuser: yes monaco!! it is so beautiful 🥹

yourbff: you’re not just saying that because of a certain man?

ynuser: oh no i am saying that bc of a certain man 😮‍💨 he is a dream come true bestie

yourbff: ugh do elba and pato have any other hot millionaire friends they could set me up with???

ynuser: i’ll ask them im sure they do

yourbff: preferably one who’s name rhymes with pranko dolapinto

ynuser: HAHAHA mi amiga

carlossainz55: te gusta monaco? [you like monaco?]

ynuser: yes!! i love it. you, me, rebecca and max should grab dinner one night while im here!!

carlossainz55: i’d love that

maxverstappen1: you can always move 🤷🏻‍♂️

ynuser: maybe one day ��

elbaoward: my work here is done 🥹

ynuser: you are a magician. how’d you know we were perfect for each other?

elbaoward: bc i know my best friend 🤍

ynuser: te amo elba 🫶🏻

redbullracing: can’t wait to see you in vegas!

patriciooward has made a post

liked by ynuser, elbaoward, yourbff, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 321,345 others

patriciooward: gentle mornings with my hermanas

view all 223 comments

user12: oh max is in the likes 👀

ynuser: why do you insist on picking the worst photos

patriciooward: it’s my brand

elbaoward: 💁🏻‍♀️

maxverstappen1: send me the last pic

patriciooward: done!

ynuser: PATO wtf

user12: user13 you were right

user1: oh to have gentle mornings with pato 😭

user3: i love that he calls y/n his sister too

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff, carlossainz55, iamrebeccad, patriciooward, and 313 others

ynuser: la vida últimamente [life lately]

view all 22 comments

yourbff: ugh the red hair suits you

ynuser: i agree 🥹

maxverstappen1: prettiest girl in the whole world

ynuser: mi amor 🥹 i love you 🤍

maxverstappen1: te amo

elbaoward: the spanish 😭🥹🩷

maxverstappen1: i’m working on it!

iamrebeccad: dinner last night was so fun. let’s do it again 🤍

ynuser: i’d love that!! see you in vegas darling

patriciooward: oh so you’ll post but not answer my texts

ynuser: yes exactly

friend1: hermosa chica [beautiful girl]

maxverstappen1 has posted to his story

view all story replies

user2: max emilian the man that you are

user4: screaming crying throwing up. i can’t believe he’s off the market

ynuser: my man my man my man 😍

maxverstappen1: that’s me baby

ynuser: thanks for inviting me to vegas with you

maxverstappen1: schjate you’re invited everywhere with me. i never want to be without you

ynuser: omg you big softie

charlesleclerc: oh she’s got you dressing up now too?

maxverstappen1: i want to look nice for my girl what can i say

charlesleclerc: oh he’s in love

maxverstappen1: 🤭 maybe

user5: i ! can’t believe you’re not wearing skinny jeans. the power she must have

schecoperez: i like this girl 😉

maxverstappen1: me too

user6: the emoji???????? max i’m speechless who are you

ynuser has added multiple stories 🔒

view all story replies

yourbff: god you’re gorgeous. have so much fun at the race baby

ynuser: thank you bebe. vegas is amazing - i am having the best time

yourbff: living vicariously through you 🥹

maxverstappen1: you have no business looking this good especially when there’s nothing i can do about it 😫

ynuser: win me the race and you can have me as a prize later 😉

maxverstappen1: you got it baby

elbaoward: are you in red bull hospitality??? come to mclaren i want to see youuuuu

ynuser: yes i’m in red bull but will cross enemy lines for you gorgeous

patriciooward: hermana donde estas? [sister where are you?]

ynuser: omw patito

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, yourbff, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7 and 7,234 others

f1gossip: in an interview earlier today max confirmed his relationship with, y/n y/l/n. y/n is childhood friends with elba and pato o’ward and it turns out that the siblings introduced max and y/n in miami earlier this season. the pair hit it off immediately according to max and “it was the closest thing to love at first sight he’d ever experienced.” she’s in attendance today at the grand prix! let us know if you get the chance to meet her and if there’s any further intel you get

view all 271 comments

user1: ohhhhh max 🥹

user2: this interview melted my heart. he looked so genuinely happy to be talking about her

user7: i love seeing him happy

user3: i’m obsessed with them already. perhaps my new favorite wag

user4: love at first sight???? i’m not crying! you are!!

user6: the way max also talked about trying to learn spanish for her because she’s mexican and how he’s also trying to teach her some of his language too 🥹😭

user8: this is the sweetest thing. that is true love idc what any of yall say

user5: i hope a love like this finds me one day

maxverstappen1 has made a post

liked by ynuser, yourbff, schecoperez, alex_albon, patriciooward, and 645,123 others

maxverstappen1: vegas you were a fun one - thanks for having me and y/n/n!

view all 546 comments

user2: y/n/n 😭

user4: crying my eyes out

user6: yayyy maxie!!! glad to see you on the podium again

ynuser: te amo mucho vegas 🤍

maxverstappen1: and you te amo mucho me too right?

ynuser: omg yes maxie. i love you endlessly

user14: SIMP

user15: max asking for validation has done something to me.

charlesleclerc: great drive max!

patriciooward: take care of my girl ok?

maxverstappen1: you got it pato! no need to worry

redbullracing: our champion 💪🏻

user8: jealousy isn’t cute on me but here we are

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thank you for reading!! reblogs, feedback and likes are very appreciated 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

879 notes · View notes

bunnys-kisses · 2 days ago

Text

team principal!max verstappen - he really did take a shining to his new driver. verstappen racing needed all the driving power it could get and max had to take a few risks. when he saw you cross the track, not even twenty-five yet. he saw the championship in your eyes.

"want to make a deal?" "a deal, sir. i'm a driver not a prostitute." "no, no. you're far too talented to do those kinds of tricks." max's finger dragged down your wrist, "how do you feel about becoming a formula one driver?" only an idiot would've said no.

you became his star, his champion. more trophies than stars in the monaco night sky. as he clinked glasses with you over a stellar season. you mirrored your mentor. you raced the way we did, was sarcastic the way he was. there were even side-by-side photos of how you stood. you broke his records and did it with a bright smile.

but even at the top. you craved more. and while you carried max's advice in your back pocket. you wanted more than pats on the shoulder and sound guidance. in a way it meant tugging on the man's jealousy. encourage thoughts of you that were lewd. what started as sly touches and lingering stares eventually turned into max kissing you in the middle of the garage after another successful weekend. and when he held you face and looked into your eyes. you knew that you had him.

but, you didn't realize that max wasn't letting you go anytime soon. your shadow in the paddock, the voice in your ear as you drove. he left you little time to form any romantic connections. "you wanted to be the best." he held you by the chin to make you look at him, "winners don't take short cuts." and you nodded at him. max wondered as he held you chin, how red he could make you lips once he finished biting at them. he couldn't leave your neck covered in hickies, but he could leave your lips red and swollen. even in the off season you were close to him. often at his apartment in monaco, there he could be a little more forthcoming with his affection. blinds drawn to keep out the afternoon light as his eagerly ate you out. his hands on your thighs, applying enough pressure to keep you in his grasp.

there were more than enough rumors circulating around you and max. you tried to distance yourself as a result, fearing what others thought of you. but max only brought you in closer. "who cares what they think." he purred, "they're just jealous. you have the skills, the team, the team principal. they're envious that they'll never accomplish as much as you." then pulled you in a little closer to kiss the top of your head. a promise that you'd never squirm out of his grasp, there was a reason why in your contract there wasn't a way to get out of it for at least five years. after that time max had bigger plans for you.

you knew you should be worried. but you were blinded by the glory. the victories, the trophies, the money. the pouring of champagne and the world knowing your name. you owed everything to max. the one who plucked you out of obscurity and into the dazzling lights of formula one. but when you were in his apartment, dressed in just his t-shirt and panties as he made you dinner after a tumble in the sheets. you could feel the bites on your thighs and stomach, the ache in your knees and back from when you rode him. when you were alone with him outside the track, the worry set in.

max's words hung in your mind, "there's no need to worry, my prize.", it was simply an accident that there was a hole in your team shirt. max happily gave you his! don't look too closely at the shape of the hole and don't start wondering if it was a pair of scissors that did it. it was simply a mix up in the computer that your last name on your paddock pass was 'verstappen', the intern who put in all the information must've clicked the wrong thing! (even though you knew it was max who sent over all your details at the beginning of the season). and definitely don't worry about what happened to that mechanic from ferrari who had a habit of coming over to talk with you. as your team principal, max will ensure that you're taken care of. right now you need to think about the qualifiers and the races!

"thank you so much, mrs. verstappen." a pa chirped before one of the races and you felt a cold shiver run through you.

it was only warmed when max placed his hand on your lower back. he chuckled, "does sound nice, doesn't it? mrs. verstappen." he smiled at you and you swallowed.

you feared that maybe, just maybe, you got in over your head.

392 notes · View notes

sincerelyneo · 2 days ago

Text

heaven | z.cl

“beyond infatuation, how i obsessively adore you”

💿now playing: heaven by niall horan

❯ summary: Chenle has never been in love—but then he meets you—and he slowly realises he’s become obsessed. He just needs to tell you…and there’s no better time to say it than when he’s fucking you senseless.

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, tooth rottingly sweet smut, swearing, brief mention of marking, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), creampie, no plot lmao, fluffy sex, excessive use of pet names, nipple play, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), chenle being obsessed with reader, love confessions, literally just chenle being a cute boyfriend because i want him, i’m so serious this is just smut lol

(chenle lovers rise, you’re just like me 🤭)

He loves you.

Chenle’s never been in love before—didn’t really know what it felt like until you walked into his life. He’s never said it outright, hasn’t even realised how deep he’s fallen until you pull his lower lip gently between your teeth, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. The cool metal of your ring—the one he bought for you—presses against the warmth of his skin, and his heart pounds like it’s trying to break through his chest to reach you; wants to tell you he’s yours, and has been for a while.

Chenle’s fingers dig into your sides a little harder, and you gasp softly into his mouth. And God—suddenly it feels like there’s too much fabric between you. That’s how he knows he’s in love: because he loves that dress on you, adores it actually, and still, he wants nothing more than to see it on his bedroom floor.

His hands tug at the fabric, pulling it up just enough to bunch above your hips, and you shift to free it from where it’s pinned between your thighs and his.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, jeans growing tighter as his hands slide beneath your skirt, settling on your hips and landing on your ass.

He presses a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth, then another along your cheek, trailing a line down to your jaw. His tongue and teeth make themselves known as he works his way toward your pulse point, and he has to bite back a grin when your head tips back, a soft hitch catching in your breath.

“Lele,” you mutter, fingers tugging on his shirt. “Please...too many clothes.”

He hums, the sound of his sweet little angel begging for him, needing him, has every ounce of blood rushing to his cock.

He wants to savour this, tease you for it, as he bites softly into the skin at your neck, leaving the faintest mark. But then you shift above him, pressing down, and any control he thought he had slips. He nips at you a little harder, breath catching, because your touch is just as intoxicating as it is maddening—truthfully, heaven couldn’t compare.

He brings one hand up to your hair, fingers exploding until he reaches the back of your head and gives it a gentle tug. Your hiss in response and a shiver runs through him. His tongue soothes over the mark he’s left on your neck before he trails up toward your ear, lips lingering there, breath warm.

“So do something about it,” he says, and his voice deepens with want, low and gruff, and he feels the way your thighs tense at the sound.

Your palms glide along his stomach towards his chest and you hastily try to free him from his shirt. And there it is again, the cold press of metal into his feverish skin. It’s like your touch is made of something—something that pulls the air from his lungs and with it, a muttered string of moans muffled by more kisses.

He lifts his arms, letting you remove his shirt, but wastes no time sliding one hand back under your dress, the other rising to cup your cheek, pulling you closer. With you on his lap, Chenle has to tilt his head slightly to meet your gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter closed, the soft sigh escaping your lips drives him insane.

Fuck, he loves you so much.

You look like an angel—his angel—as the light filtering through the curtains surrounds you, casting a soft glow that makes you seem otherworldly. Chenle can’t quite believe his luck, can’t fathom how he’s managed to strike gold, to reach Heaven, and have you here with him. He gets to touch you, no one else.

He must have been a saint in a past life.

He can’t help himself, his body urging him to lean up and press his lips to yours again. The kiss is soft, slow, and sweet, and you melt against him, body relaxing completely in his arms. Chenle could die like this—solely in your kiss. He’d die the happiest man on record, simply because he knows what it’s like to kiss you.

You smile against his lips—his favourite thing ever—and he nearly pouts when you pull back, ending the kiss. Your eyes meet his, pupils blown wide, eyelashes casting soft shadows against your flushed cheeks. Chenle’s mind takes a photograph.

Your palm flattens against his chest, pushing him to lie flat on the bed. His eyes fall closed as you repay his earlier touch by pressing your lips to his jaw, your hand squeezing his bicep, and your hips moving above his again. His jeans feel unbearably tight now, and he can practically hear the smirk on your lips as your nimble fingers slip down his stomach, making quick work of his buckle.

He sighs your name, hands roaming the smooth expanse of your thighs before squeezing your ass when you decide to grind down on him. Your moans are quiet, gradually syncing with his, your fingers teasing at the waistband of his boxers, making his pulse race.

“So fucking perfect,” he mewels in between kisses.

You practically melt into him, and Chenle takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist to roll on top of you—just how he likes it.

“Chenle.”

You breathe heavily, hands clutching the hem of your dress, tugging at it desperately. The way you’re practically whining his name, those pretty full eyes begging him to take it off, makes him feel dizzy. He just needs you out of that dress.

So he does. When he finally pulls the dress off, he settles onto his knees between your slightly ajar legs, hands sliding up your sides, feeling every curve of your body. He leans down, pressing a deliberate kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, taking his time, savouring the way you hum beneath him.

Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips shifting as you silently beg him for more, and Chenle gets the hint—of course he does—but making you a wreck is one of his favourite hobbies. So, he only lets his breath ghost over the place you want him most, teasing you with soft kisses along the band of your underwear, knowing exactly how to torment you.

Just because he’s realised he loves you doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be a menace. In fact, it only makes him more determined to make you feel everything—each kiss, each touch, each teasing move a reminder that he’s completely and utterly consumed by you.

“Chenle, I…” Your words trail off into a gasp as his fingers trace the curve of your breast.

“What, angel?” he asks, voice low again.

He places a kiss into your hip bone, sucking a mark into the skin, and your fist tightens in his hair, the sensation making you pant.

“Mmh, I just—fuck, Lele—”

He cuts you off, his mouth moving down between your legs again, his tongue moving along the soft skin of your inner thigh, nose brushing against the edge of your panties, but never quite hitting where you want—need him to be. He nips, bites, and kisses his way along your skin, drawing soft moans from you until you can’t hold back anymore. You let your legs fall further apart, and he feels the subtle, rhythmic motion of your hips seeking friction.

So fucking cute, he thinks.

And when he hears his name fall from your lips as a wanton whine, he groans, unable to hold back. His hand slips to your chest, thumb and forefinger teasing at your nipple.

“Shit, Chenle, please,” you plead, and the desperation in your voice sends a jolt of heat straight to his cock.

He loves this—loves you—needy and desperate. The sound of your voice, the way you crave him, it has him straining in his jeans, and he no longer wants to tease. Not anymore.

One of his hands trails up the inside of your leg, from knee to inner thigh, slipping beneath your waistband. He can feel the heat radiating from you, even through the lacy layer still separating you.

“I want you,” you murmur lazily, and who is he to deny you anything? He’s never been good at it anyway.

Chenle’s fingers move quickly to pull your panties to the side, and he swipes one of his fingers through your folds—so wet—relishing in the way your breath catches and your chest heats the same way as your cheeks.

He pulls away, allowing himself a moment to really look at you. You’re looking back at him with half-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling shakily, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. He’s hit gold—fucking gold.

He brushes a finger over your clit, drawing out a sharp noise from you that makes his cock twitch in his boxers. His lips drop to your skin, his teeth grazing your peaked nipple as he sucks it into his mouth.

A soft cry escapes as you arch up, and Chenle takes the opportunity to press a finger at your entrance, barely dipping in before pulling back. The tease leaves you tense, a whine slipping out when he returns to circling just outside.

His free hand grips your other nipple, pinching, pulling, and rubbing his thumb over it until you’re grinding against him, your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him down like the bossy girl he knows—and loves.

“Chenle, I need you,” you whimper, pushing him with a little more urgency.

He slides a finger inside you, twisting and curling it until a breathy curse slips from your lips in response, and to him, it feels like a reward.

“Need me?” he teases, curling his finger again. “You already have me angel.”

“Fuck, I—oh, do that again,” you beg.

He chuckles against your stomach, but still, he gives you exactly what you want. His thumb finding your clit, making your hand shoot up to your mouth to stifle the needy sounds you're making—that won't do.

Chenle releases your nipple, using his now free hand to tug your hand away from your lips, which are swollen from his earlier kisses. He waits until he hears you moaning again for him, loving the sound, before properly removing the last bit of fabric. You whimper at the sudden loss of his touch, but you eagerly lift your hips, legs slowly falling apart as he drags your panties off, until, finally—finally—you’re laid bare before him.

The sight of you laid out like this only reminds him of how much he loves having his head between your thighs, his mouth on your cunt. It’s funny, really—Chenle’s always been a selfish lover, but when it comes to you, he can’t get enough of giving.

So he slides his ring and middle finger deep inside your pussy. Pressing up against that spot which always makes you grip his hair. And to top it all off, he wraps his lips around your clit; you scream. It's the kind of scream that Chenle loves to hear when he's worshipping you with his fingers and tongue—so he can't help but moan into you.

You clench around his fingers from the vibration of his moan, thighs trembling as they move to close around his head. But he’s quick, wrapping an arm around you, his hand gripping your thigh firmly to keep you open for him. Your taste fills his mouth, sweet and addictive, and he thinks he’d spend every moment of every day tasting you like this if you’d let him.

Because he loves making you cum. It’s a skill he’s mastered, one he’d probably show off if he wasn’t so possessive.

He knows that if he moves his fingers just right, he’ll draw a gasp and a sharp tug on his hair; if he circles his tongue slowly over your clit, you’ll press harder into his mouth. And if he pulls your clit between his lips, sucking with just the right amount of pressure whilst his tongue moves in tight circles and his fingers work against your g-spot, you’ll fall apart beneath him in seconds.

And you don’t disappoint.

Your breath catches, your stomach tightens, and your hands scramble for anything to hold—his shoulders, the sheets, his hair. Your legs try to close, but his hand keeps one pinned down, relentless as he keeps going. A broken sound slips from your lips, your back arching, head thrown back. You tremble beneath him, and he feels the warm gush of wetness against his fingers as the hand tangled in his hair tries to push him away.

You’re panting, choking out a string of his name and curses, and it’s easily Chenle’s favourite sound.

He pulls his mouth from you with an obscene pop, but keeps his fingers still and full inside you, leaving you gasping as you prop yourself up on your elbows, trying to catch your breath. Chenle presses a kiss to your lower stomach, looking up at you. You give him that sleepy, post-orgasm smile he loves so much.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he murmurs, sucking another mark into your skin.

He wants to see you fall apart again, to watch you sweat and tremble, be incoherent and glowing—but his dick is throbbing against the mattress, and he thinks he might actually combust if he doesn’t feel your warmth around him in the next few seconds.

You whine when he finally pulls his fingers from you slowly, and because it’s Chenle, he makes sure to brush his thumb over your clit one last time. Then, he quickly sheds his boxers and is back on top of you, his hips pressing against yours as his mouth eagerly finds your lips.

Your hand reaches down, wrapping around his length, and soft fingers start to move up and down. Your thumb rubs over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of precum that’s gathered there, and his forehead falls against your shoulder, a low groan leaving his mouth.

You make him weak, his breath catching at the way your skin feels like fire against his, the way you fit against him like you were made for him—it’s more than just lust.

“I love you.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said it to a girlfriend, said it to you, and it makes him drop his head, kissing your bruised neck, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. The words echo in your own ears, and you smile—not just at how cute he’s being, but because you know he means it. Your free hand taps his chin, tipping his head up to meet your gaze.

“I love you,” you say back, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, hand still working him.

With the other, you drag a thumb against his cheek, over his lips, tugging at the bottom one down gently; he takes it in his mouth, eyes full of love as he swirls his tongue around it, and your hand tightens around him.

Chenle grabs one of your legs, his hand gliding up the curve of your calf and thigh until he can bend it toward your chest, resting it on his shoulder. You guide him to your entrance, and without resistance, he’s sliding in—as he said—you were made for him.

He pushes until your hips are flush with his, groaning at the way you moan, pulling his chest down to yours. And when he finally decides to move, he takes his time and great pleasure in, teasing you with just his tip before pushing back in.

From there, he finds a steady rhythm—in and out, in and out. Reckless and rough. He uses the leg on his shoulder for leverage, hitting all the spots he knows make your breath hitch, eyes flutter, and name fall from your lips. Chenle’s hand drifts to your chest, his thumb brushing over one of your nipples, and you nod frantically up at him.

“Yes, please—oh fuck,” you whine as he pinches the sensitive skin, tugging gently.

He drops his head, watching himself disappear into you, and you clench around him. Your nails dig into his back as he keeps teasing your soft peaks, knowing exactly how to make you close again.

His hand moves to seek out your clit, his fingers drawing small circles across your sensitive bud. You let out a drawn-out, high-pitched cry and his thumb moves quicker, more desperate. With one more final, particularly hard, deep thrust, he feels you fluttering around him, and you’re pulling his head down to crash your lips to his.

He works you through your orgasm, mumbling a muddled mix of your name and I love you and a string of curses into your mouth as you shudder under him. Starting from now, Chenle will pride himself on his restraint, because he has to force himself not to follow after you straight away. He wants to see you cum again—needs to hear, feel, and witness you unravel for him. He wants you like putty beneath him, several orgasms deep, blissed out and so fucking sensitive that every brush of his body against yours has you gasping out his name.

He presses his lips to yours one more time before slowly pulling out, the whimper you make beneath him making his heart race and his dick twitch. Your hands reach for him, but he grabs your hips, rolling you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. You look back at him over your shoulder—so fucking beautiful.

He really does love you.

He presses a kiss to the base of your spine, his hands gripping your hips. Inch by inch, he mouths his way up your back, squeezing your flesh with just enough pressure to leave red marks of his fingertips, but not enough to hurt.

He ruts against you, teasing your cunt as he refuses to thrust into you. You drop your head between your arms onto the pillow, mumbling something incoherent. He leans down, close enough to nip at your earlobe.

“I can’t hear you when your face is in the pillow, angel,” he coos, still only letting his hips grind.

You push back against him, needing more, and he digs his fingers into your hips a little harder. He reaches down, takes himself in his hand, and lines his cock up with your pussy, making you hum.

"I still can't hear you," he slides his tip over your clit, making your hips jerk. "Can you try repeating it for me, angel? Properly this time?"

He does it again, twice more, before you lift your head and plead with him.

"Shit, Lele, please. Oh my god, I—," Your words dissolve into a cry when he pushes into you, and you drop your head back down. "Fuck."

You move your hips back in a broken rhythm, trying to meet his thrusts. Your skin is slick with sweat, and you turn your head to look at him, breath coming out in desperate pants every time he fills you.

“Oh, oh, don’t—fuck—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“God, angel,” he grunts. “So fucking perfect for me.”

He gathers your hair, giving it a sharp tug that tilts your head back. Your hips move needily and quickly, and Chenle pulls you up by the waist, pressing your back flush against his chest. His fingers still hold your hair, and he tugs it, making you rest your head on his shoulder. Your lips find his, and you're babbling broken noises into his mouth.

Fuck, he’s so close, you feel so good wrapped around him. You know it too, tensing and trembling, and then collapsing against him, with your nerves on fire. Chenle holds you close and tight with him until he meets your orgasm with his own. Thrusting deep and roughly until he’s releasing spurts of cum inside you with a strangled groan of your name.

Chenle holds you intimately even after you've both come down, his hands rubbing gently up and down your sides. You’re breathing heavily, your body still quivering every so often. You struggle to keep your eyes open as he drops a small, sweet kiss to your lips. Your thumb brushes his cheek, and he kisses you again, then once more, just because he can.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers.

You smile up at him. “I love you, Chenle.”

But he doesn’t just love you. The word doesn’t feel strong enough. He’s obsessed. Tormented by thoughts of you that go far beyond infatuation. He obsessively adores you—and you think, no, you know, you obsessively adore him too.

#chenle smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #chenle x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct hard hours #nct one shot #kpop smut #kpop x reader

364 notes · View notes

zyafics-recs · 2 days ago

Text

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing.

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on.

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you.

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those.

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing.

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.”

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you.

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart.

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

“I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply.

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more.

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch.

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.”

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair.

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

"Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge.

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm.

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

"God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out.

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it.

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of."

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

"Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high.

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

"You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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peachysunrize · 20 hours ago

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Empty Promises ⥃ Dark!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: the closeness between you and your twin brother doesn’t go unnoticed by your uncle, but your bond will shatter when he is betrothed to your cousin, lightening a new path for Aemond to get his revenge.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! Dark!Aemond, manipulation, DUB CON KIND OF? main pairing: Aemond x Strong!reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter/Jace’s twin), side pairing: Jace x twin!reader (They’ll end pretty quickly lol), JACE AND READER ARE 18!! targcest, incest, mentions of pregnancy, p in v sex, breeding, rough sex, degradation, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 4.6k+

A/n: so heheh I received this ask and rambled about it to beloved @anjelicawrites and she helped me with this one shot!!! Tell me what you think about this one shot, lovies, and don’t forget to reblog and comment!!!

“Mm, maybe we should keep our distance during our stay here,” Jace mumbles against your lips, his arms wrapped around your waist as he corners you to a wall, “We might get caught,”

“But why? Mother said it herself that we are to be betrothed soon! It would not raise any suspicions.” You try to lean down for another kiss, but he pulls back a little, his warm hand resting on your cheek, “Besides, we have already done more than just kissing, yet I am still a maiden!”

“That you are, beloved sister,” he presses a quick kiss to your cheek, backing away from you as soon as he hears a rush of footsteps in your direction, “Do not pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” you scoff, looking away from him as you cross your arms over your chest. “But I am displeased with you! You promised we would be wed soon and that we ought to wait until we are husband and wife to explore… different sides of our companionship.”

“Because tainting your purity is the last thing I want, my love,” he reaches to loop your arm through his, kissing the side of your head before he looks at Luke who jogs toward you, “What is it you want, Luke? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Busy doing what? Annoying our sister?” Luke looks between the two of you, raising his eyebrows as he sees your flushed face and Jace’s swollen lips, “Or perhaps being inappropriate with our sister—“

“Mind your tongue, Luke,” you say, tightening your arm around Jace’s, looking at him pleadingly, knowing your younger brother’s big mouth that always gets you and your twin in trouble, “Do not make me mad, it will not end well for you.”

“I wish mother would betroth you two already, it is awfully obvious how… involved you are with each other,” Luke shrugs, walking ahead of you, forcing you and your brother to join him, “You must be careful, this place has eyes and ears and they are already looking at us with disgust.”

“Lucerys,” you sigh, resting your head on Jace’s shoulder, smiling softly when he kisses your forehead, his lips lingering on your forehead too long for the court’s liking, “Don’t let them win, little brother. Do not give them a chance to belittle us, we are Princess Rhaenyra’s children. Silver-haired or not, we have royal blood surging in our hearts.”

“She is correct,” Jace cups your cheek in his hand, his warm eyes looking into yours — identical to his — before he leans down to whisper against your lips, “We might not have the hair, but we own the name, and the costumes.”

“That is right,” you press a quick kiss to his lips grinning when he does not look away from you, groaning when Luke makes a gagging sound. You look at your younger brother, raising your eyebrows at his visibly disgusted expression, “One day, you will hold such affection for a lady, and we shall get to tease you for it endlessly!”

“I doubt we would need to wait for long, dear sister,” Jace smiles, his hand coming to rest on your waist, gently squeezing you before he resumes talking, “Have you noticed how flushed he gets when Rhaena talks to him—“

“Nephews.”

There they are.

The infamous Dragon princes, walk with their heads held high and chin tilted up as they both stare down at the three of you over their noses.

Aegon is just as you remember from years ago; he has unruly hair and a lazy smirk as he stares at the three of you.

Your younger uncle though, is much more put together; his hair is tied out of his face, neatly brushed and shining while he scans the entire hallway from one corner to the other, his gaze lingering on you and Jace’s linked arms.

“Niece,” Aemond says, his good eye solely focusing on you, ignoring the terrified faces of your brothers who try to play it cool without staring daggers at Aegon who tries to intimidate them by only smirking. The younger Targaryen brother, though, does not show how he feels up front, just cocking his head to the side as he starts talking, “How you have grown to a lady, dark hair and all.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” you reply, face as stoic as possible but soon the mask slips and you look at your twin brother and smile radiantly, enjoying how safe his arm feels around yours, “But it seems with all the years passing, your eye hasn’t grown back.”

“My, she’s got a mouth on her,” Aegon chuckles, running a hand through his tangled hair as he snickers at Aemond.

“Indeed she has,” Aemond says, stepping forward, closing the distance between you, and glancing at Jace who pulls you closer to him, his brown eyes meeting Aemond’s bright blue orb, “No wonder she has her dog running around her, sniffing and barking when threatened.”

“Easy, easy,” Aegon laughs, putting a hand on Jace’s chest when the dark-haired prince strides closer. Aegon holds him back, glancing at Luke who tries to appear brave while he trembles and looks between his siblings and uncles, “My brother is… too honest for his own good, nephew.”

“He is rude,” you whisper, chest heaving as Aemond leans even closer, towering over you as he raises a hand to your exposed neck, caressing the skin with the back of his fingers, until he reaches the neckline of your dress, slowly tracing the outline of the blue mark that is lightly visible.

“Hmmm,” Aemond’s eye drops to the mark before he drags his gaze up to your face, taking in your flustered expression, before he looks at Jacaerys, “It appears you are trying hard to get accustomed to Targaryen costumes, my Lord and Lady Strong. Such… proximity is seen as inappropriate in this castle. Mayhaps you have forgotten the rules of the king’s court.”

“Jace, don’t listen to him,” you sigh shakily, looking away from Aemond before tugging on Jace’s hand, stepping away from your uncles before you pull your twin brother away from them as well, cocking your head for Luke to follow your lead and back away from the blonde men, “Let us join our sisters for lunchen.”

“Yes, best to leave and make yourselves ready for tomorrow,” Aegon waves at the three of you as you walk to the opposite of the hallway, ignoring the older prince’s snickers, but Aemond’s gaze is too strong to turn a blind eye to it, especially with how hot the place he touched feels like.

“I am nervous,” you mumble against Jacaerys’ neck, tightening your arms around his middle as he hugs you back just as tightly, “Luke is distressed, he is frantic and I doubt he would be able to appear strong in front of the court and the Hand.”

“Mother has it under control, beautiful,” he whispers, sighing against the crown of your head as you both rest on the chaise in his chambers, empty plates on the desk in front of you, “Daemon will help her in the court today, do not worry.”

“Jacaerys,” you mumble, sitting straight to look into his eyes. “You promised we would wed after we strengthened Mother’s claim, and she agreed, but we are yet to be betrothed. Why? Why are we delaying such a happy union, brother?”

“We are not, my sweet,” he cups your face, closing his eyes to try and hide the annoyance that you can clearly hear in his tone, “We need to think of our family first, our lives and Mother’s inheritance are already a threat to our happiness. Do not forget about your duty to our family and the realm, you are a Princess.”

“That is irrelevant, Jacaerys,” you put some distance between the two of you before standing up to put on your gown, making sure the bruises and marks on your chest are fully covered beneath the fabric, “I know what I must do as a Velaryon Princess, but will it not make you happy to have me as your future queen?”

“I promised you since we were ten and one that, you are to be my wife when we grow older,” he replies, covering his face with his hands, “I intend to keep that promise one way or another. Now, put on your clothes and join us in the Throne room.”

You watch him leave after he fixes his coat, giving you space to finish lacing your gown as best as you can, brushing your hair so your Mother does not notice your disheveled appearance, and using a hair clip to pull the front of your hair back as the final touch.

With a sigh, you leave your twin’s room, walking gracefully downstairs to reach the throne room, passing ladies and lords who bow their heads and greet you, making your nervousness only grow worse by their stares.

The doors are open and you take your time while walking toward your family, greeting your now stepsister Baela with a radiant smile, conversing with her easily before you notice your grandmother and greet her as well.

The feeling of someone watching you makes the hair on the back of your head itch, and the heat of their gaze burns your skin and as soon as you turn around, the feeling is long gone, because your eyes lock with his good one almost immediately.

Just as the day before, you feel breathless beneath his eye, desperately hoping for him to look away and let you have a moment of peace before the Hand comes and once again questions your legitimacy.

Aemond does not look away, his stare is locked on yours or more specifically, looking at your gown where it is covering the bruise he touched before, a ghost of a smirk finding its way on his thin lips when he can not see the blue mark.

You turn around and join your brothers and family on the opposite side of the room, watching the Hand making his way to the Iron Throne, sitting on it, and observing the crowd.

You know how everything is going to happen; Vaemond Velaryon will question your brother’s legitimacy and by extension you and your twin brother as well. You are more than glad to feel Jace’s closeness throughout the exhausting trial, his hand on your waist as he tries to keep his anger at bay.

The room grows oddly silent when the doors are pushed open and your grandsire, The King, limps toward his throne slowly, the rotten side of his face covered by a golden mask. He sits in his rightful place, panting before he starts talking, demanding to know what is all the mess his family created.

Your grandmother is asked to give her own petition on behalf of your grandsire, and what she says makes your eyes grow wide, lips falling apart as you let out a shocked gasp before pulling your hand away from your brother’s grasp.

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena, a proposal which I heartedly agreed…”

Your lips tremble, and the world around you fades away as your teary eyes find Jace’s trembling lips, shushing you gently as you put more distance between, hiding behind Luke and Daemon.

You see your Mother’s bright smile as she turns to look at Jacaerys, but she catches a glimpse of you and sighs, lowering her gaze to the floor before she looks back at Rhaenys and nods at her.

You catch Aemond’s eye, realizing your interaction did not go unnoticed, but the ache and betrayal outweigh the utter humiliation you feel at the moment.

You do not pay attention for a second, lost between your own thoughts and the news of your brother’s betrothal to someone other than you until you see Daemon pulling his sword out and the next thing you knew is Lord Vaemond’s head on the floor.

You gasp eyes wide in terror as the tears finally fall down, but across the room, you see Aemond’s flushed cheeks as he drags his eye from the headless man on the floor to you, his bright iris shining with what could only assume lust and intrigue.

His gaze awakens something in you, something only Jacaerys used to do, but seeing your uncle flushed and breathless while his eye is solely focusing on your face has your heart pulsating more than before.

Without so much of a glance at your family, you bolt outside of the throne room, pushing people out of your way forcefully to move past the guards and leave the hall.

With your gown in your fists, you rush upstairs, tears running down your face as you hear your name being called by your twin brother, following you upstairs with haste, skipping a step or two to reach you before you run away once more.

“Please, sister, listen—“

“Listen to what?” You yell, turning around abruptly, digging your nails into your palms, “Listen to what, Jace? You were fooling me all this time, keeping at an arm’s length! Did you know about this?”

And the defeated face he makes is enough to answer your question.

“You did, did you not?” You chuckle in disbelief, resting your hand on your chest as you blink the tears away. Even the sight of him makes your heart clench in pain, “Waiting for marriage…what utter nonsense! Did you even love me or were you lying to my face this whole time just to secure a match for yourself?”

“Of course I love you! You are my sister!” He screams back, his hands falling limply next to his body, “I could not live with myself if I tainted your purity! Our lives are hanging on a thread because of our—“

“Because we are fucking bastards, I know that Jacaerys! But Mother promised us to each other, she told me, in fact—“ you laugh halfheartedly to cover up the sob that nearly made its way up your throat, “You said it yourself! We would marry one way or another, now you are telling me you did this for Mother. You told me you loved me.”

“I do! Just not enough to fight with our future queen over it!”

Your lips quiver, watching as the man you used to love turns into a stranger; you nearly gave yourself to him in one of the many nights that the desire got too strong, and he pushed you away just as he has done a hundred times.

“If I am to be king one day, I need a strong queen who will bring me power, not to make me appear weak,” Jace whispers, and that is your undoing. With a violent shake of your head, you grab your skirt in your hands and run upstairs, trying to hide your tears from the passing servants until you are safe in the confines of your own chambers.

You should not be ignoring everyone, not when with Daemon’s help, your mother managed to keep Luke’s inheritance in her grasp, but even the thought of your sweet sister Baela being betrothed to Jacaerys makes you nauseous.

Instead, you are crying on an abandoned balcony with no guards or people in sight, tightening the shawl around your shoulders as the cold breeze hits your heated cheeks.

There are many emotions running through your head now, and the more you spend time thinking about them the more you feel like throwing up. Did your brother really put on a mask to hide your mother’s intentions by whispering reassurances to you?

“You were dearly missed at the supper.”

You hear his voice, the deep soothing voice of his that cuts through the silence. You clean your nose with your napkin, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping at him.

“What do you want, Aemond?” You manage to say without your voice breaking, gazing off to the distance while your tears dry and new ones burn your eyes.

“Jurnegon rȳ nyke,” look at me, he says, patiently waiting for you to turn around, and when you do not, he sighs, one hand reaching to move your hair to your left shoulder, caressing your neck with his knuckles, “Don’t make me repeat myself, niece.”

“Leave me alone, Uncle!” you cry out, hair whipping into his face as soon as you turn around, pushing on his chest as you scream at him, “I am sick of you taunting me! I know how humiliating it was and how much you must have enjoyed watching me and my brother fall apart! Surely you have already jabbed him with your words, calling us bastards and our mother a whore!”

“Mind your tone—“ he grabs your wrists in his large palms, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed against his, and he takes his time observing your face — tears coating your cheeks, lips trembling with anger, the agony of betrayal evident on your face.

You try to wiggle out of his hold, digging your nails into the side of his wrists but he tightens his grip to keep you close while he lets go of one of your wrists to cup your chin with his palm, his thumb caressing your jaw.

The heat of his gaze is enough to blossom a new warmth in your chest; it is not unkind, not what you are used to. It is… welcoming, careful, as if he is afraid you would break in his hold.

“Shh,” he shushes you, cupping your cheek completely before he wipes a tear that threatens to fall from your lashes, “Nothing is worth your tears, certainly not your idiot brother.”

“Do not call him an idiot, I love him!”

“Does he love you just as much?” He shakes his head, catching another tear with the back of his fingers, wiping your cheek gently, “He hurt you, sweet girl.”

“He-he promised me—“ a sob breaks out, your throat burning as you try to explain. You know you should not, especially not to someone who openly despises you, but you can not stop yourself, not when his hands moves to round your waist, his face leaning closer as he looks deeply into your eyes, “We were to be betrothed, but he betrayed me, so did Mother!”

“What did they do?” He asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “You can trust me, Tala,” Niece, he says and keeps you close, merging you into his arms, and you melt right there, looking up at him with watercolor eyes.

“She betrothed him to Baela,” you whisper, fisting the front of his doublet, holding on to the fabric tightly as you sob, but he does not let you hide your face from him, no, he stares deeply into your eyes, watching each tear fall on your wet cheeks. There is a dangerous glint in his only blue orb, as if he is stripping you naked of the mask you always put around him and his family — and to your surprise, you realize he has done that successfully and you have allowed him, “He lied to me that…”

“Go on, sweet girl, tell me what that bastard did to you.”

“We were involved with each other more than it’s deemed appropriate… but he never tainted my purity, always pushed me away and made me… he made me feel as if I did not rouse something in him anymore when he would tell me we ought to wait for marriage.”

“Idiot,” you frown at him, but gasp when he gently pushes your head to the side by cupping your jaw, making room for his face as he ghosts the tip of his nose over your neck and down to your shoulders, “How could he hold himself back while he could have you like this all day?”

“I-I don’t…” you trail off as soon as he presses his pink thin lips to the junction of your shoulder, nipping at the sensitive skin, “Aemond.”

“Oh, sweet girl, he did not love you,” he groans against your neck before he detaches himself from you, “He is a fucking fool, I would have never let you leave my bed if I had you.”

“What-what do you mean he didn’t love me?” You stutter, mind hazy and limbs shaking; only Jace used to have you like this, but the intense desire was not this strong even then.

“He loves the idea of controlling you, taking his pleasure then tossing you aside as soon as duty comes forward,” he straightens his back, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “He does not deserve you. The Seven knows I would have worshipped you in every corner of this Keep, nothing would have stopped me from showing you how loveable you are.”

He nods and leaves with his hands clasped on his back, leaving you alone once again with your thoughts and a furiously beating heart.

You do not know what possesses you as you take a path you have never thought you would: walking downstairs to one of the ground floors, taking the hallway on your left until you see the flicker of several candles. With the final step you take, you see him sitting on one of the chairs, his legs crossed as he reads a book.

Aemond’s hair is down, and he is only in his breeches and a white undershirt, but the smirk on his lips when his eye falls on you breaks his character.

“Niece,” he says, uncrossing his legs as he spreads them, his arms dangling from the sides of the chair, his eye running over your night attire being finally visible to his gaze, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “I don’t… I don’t know why I am here…” you whisper, crossing the room until you are standing next to his chair, “I thought about what you said… did you mean it?”

“Every word,” he closes his book and drops it on the table in front of him before he reaches to grab your wrist and guide you between his legs, “I meant every word I said. Would you like me to prove them?”

“Yes,” you nod, reaching to pull your nightgown off but he stops you, pulling you down on his lap after turning you around, and spreading your legs over his. His hand goes under your shift, slowly yet firmly pressing his fingers against the dampened spot on your underwear, “Aemond.” “Shhh, sweet girl, voices echo in this chamber,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your underwear to the side before he runs the pad of his fingers against your pearl, enjoying how suddenly your legs clamp around his wrist, “You would not like if someone hears us, now, would you?”

You shake your head side to side, resting your head on his broad shoulder, tucking your face in his neck as he plays with your heat, rubbing the right places before he pushes a finger inside. You gasp, hiding your face more but he turns his head to look at you, his stare too intense to look away from which seems to please him beyond words.

“Did your idiot brother ever touch you like this?” he asks and shoves another finger inside, scissoring you open by curling and thrusting his digits deep inside your core, a deep frown forming on his face when you nod and arch your back.

Aemond fastens his pace, fucking you with a new rush of anger, his fingers curled and hitting the sweet spots inside you that have your legs shaking in a matter of a second.

“No one can give you the pleasure I give you,” he spits the words out, brushing his nose against yours aggressively, his pace matching his fury, “Kiss me, now.” You do not need any more convincing before you pull him down and crash your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of your pleasure. For a second you break the kiss, gasping for air but he doesn’t let you do so completely.

“I didn’t say you could stop, niece,” he kisses you after this, his lips devouring yours as you fall over the edge, your legs shaking and quivering as you gush over his fingers, coating them in your juices,

He finally breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on yours before he whispers, “Get on the bed, all fours.” You stand up with shaky legs, but he does not let you go too far before he reaches and pulls your nightgown over your head, stunning you with how quickly his attitude changes.

You, in all of your naity, have learned a thing or two from your twin brother, and you comply with your uncle’s commands and try to climb the bed, but Aemond’s mind has changed already.

He stands behind you, pushing you down on the edge of the bed with your legs dangling and him pressing his hips into your backside as he pulls your underwear down, revealing your glistening cunt to his hungry eye.

With one hand on your shoulder blades, he presses you down on the mattress, cock already out of his breeches and standing proudly against his covered abdomen.

“Fucking gods,” he groans deeply, the sound coming from the depth of his chest as he presses his cock into you, breaching your maidenhead inch by inch, “See, sweetling? Your brother is a moron because no man can keep away from a tight cunt like this.”

You whine, the wetness is enough to let him glide inside you with ease, filling you up and stretching your poor untouched walls out. He is much bigger than you could ever imagine, he is certainly bigger than your brother even though you have never felt him inside you.

Aemond’s starting pace is bruising, brutal even. He is fucking his frustration away, making you cry out with each delicious stroke, pulling his cock out until the red weeping tip is engulfed by your walls before he snaps his hips into the globes of your ass.

“Jace did not want you, niece,” he bends down over your back, his chest pressed into yours as he drives his cock in and out of you quickly, hammering himself in your sweet cunt, “I want you, you are mine. Your brother took my eye, now I take his sister. An eye for an eye.”

You can not argue back, not when his cock is nudging every pleasure points deep inside your core, making your head turn into a puddle. You should be embarrassed, your Mother would be furious if she found out, but he is giving you something Jace had denied you for so long, and the sheer euphoric feeling you are getting is enough to make you empty your head of any thoughts — all you can think about is him, your uncle, your devious handsome uncle you have been warned to keep away.

“Do you know what that means?” he asks, biting your earlobe as he somehow picks up his pace, thrusting himself inside you before he keeps himself pressed against you, circling his hips to drive himself deeper, “I will give you my seed from this day on until I am sure you are with child; a precious Targaryen heir. Then I will make him the king after me, and you, my beloved niece, will kill your family and rule the realm with me and our child.”

You moan loudly, walls clenching tightly around his girth as you reach your peak and that is enough to send him to his high as well; he comes inside you, dumping his warm dragonseed deep inside your womb.

“We shall rule together, niece, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #rue writes✍️#aemond x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #jace velaryon x reader #hotd smut #aemond fanfiction

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venmondiese · 2 days ago

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WEIRD HOBBIES

-ˋˏ| summary: you meet a guy in a bar and decide to go back to his place, as weird as he might seem.

✧ | Pairing: Martin (in the modern world) x reader

✧ | word count: 2.3k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f/m receiving), 69 position, Martin is weird as hell but a pussy eating champ! Not beta proof<3

“So… what’s your name again?” You ask curiously, walking behind the man that holds your hand, guiding you through his home, and to his bedroom. You don’t complain, though, since you were out just for that; to get home with a handsome man.

There was this band that you never heard of playing near your house, and it took little for your brain to convince you to go. If something good came from it, you would get fucked. If something bad came from it, well… you hoped for the first one.

That’s how you ended up here, following a dude, which looks from head to toe like a metal head. His hair goes to his shoulders, coal black, which you assume he dyed it, and some graphic shirt with the words ‘Knotfest’ and all, wearing some metal stuff that you didn’t really know much about.

And you looked like a rock groupie, with a leather top that practically squeezed your tits and a dark jeans miniskirt with some boots. Yet, this mysterious man was still taller than you, and that was quite exciting, and a bit arousing.

“Eh, Martin” he says nonchalantly, as he grabs your hand, his bracelets really end up the detail of his fit, and you feel really horny now to lay with this dude. “Yours?”

You tell Martin your name, following him as he opens his bedroom door. To be fair, it is tidier than you imagined.

“Sorry the mess” he murmurs, moving the drone and an electric guitar out of his bed. You hum, looking around curiously, to the badly positioned posters, some rock-metal bands that you didn’t know about.

“Is that a snake?” You ask, watching the little head of the reptile in the middle of the dim light coming from outside.

“Uh- no, it’s a lizard”

A guy with a lizard as a pet. Okay.

“What is its name?”

“Lizard. I don’t like naming them-”

Great.

You look at him with a fake smile. The dick better be good you think, taking out your jacket and leaving it on a chair next to the desk.

“Be careful, spider likes to crawl near there”

You took your jacket off there, and you really hoped that he had a dog called spider because otherwise it would be strange as hell.

“Riiiiight” you say, leaving your jacket in a hanger of his opened closet. Whatever. “So… Apart from having a lizard and a spider… do you maybe also have… a cockroach?”

He lets out a huff, his lips turning upwards as he takes his shirt off. “No” Martin says. “I do have another thing, though, it’s very big”

You try to smile at his corny, cringy words. It’s for the dick. You repeat to yourself: The dick better be good. He better not finish in two minutes. He better knows how to eat pussy.

“Ha. Funny” you say as you start to take off those boots.

“How did ya meet the band?”

“Ehmm… A friend dated the brother of an ex of the bassist. I think” you say watching as he frowns his eyebrows slightly trying to make any sense as he lights up a cigarette.

“ah, nice” he says as he lays on bed as he smokes the cigarette, taking off his shirt as he remains only in those Adidas jeans of his. “Heard the songs before?”

“Once or twice” you say looking at the CD albums stacked on top of each other messily, and you move to grab a solitude piece of paper, as you can practically feel Martin’s eyes on your ass. “I liked the vocalist, quite handsome, don’t you think?” you unwrap softly the paper, away from Martin’s eyes.

It was an address. It piqued your curiosity.

“Aye, come here” his voice is soft as he extends his hand to turn off the cigarette on the glass ashtray, which has the shape of a dragon.

You turn around and walk toward his bed, and watch how he seems eager to have you. It’s hot to have a man drooling for you like Martin is now. And his erection is the living proof of it; it was obvious against his trousers that he was rock hard. You wondered if he was leaking as well.

You straddle his lap, a smirk forming on your lips as his hands move immediately to your thighs, cold hands moving slowly up to find their way to your ass.

“Sit on my face” Martin murmurs, words slightly stuck between his pants

“Hm? What was that?” You ask petulantly, pretending not to have heard.

“Come on, beautiful, sit on my face” he says, pushing your hips closer to his chest, trying to push your miniskirt up.

“Gotta take my panties off” you say softly to him, watching his lips as he licks them, savouring the ghosting taste of you.

“No, like this” he murmurs, eager to taste you. “I’ll eat you from behind even.” Martin proposes, more desperate than the last time “Please”

You might forgive cheesy comments for his eagerness. You sigh with a wide smirk, turning around as Martin places his big hands around your thighs, dragging your centre closer to his face.

Eager was the wrong word for it; he was desperate.

His hand moved your panties to the side, and his face almost nuzzled your cunt, before starting to press his tongue on your centre. You could hear his groan of pure delight, his hands caressing the skin of your thighs and ass as he delighted himself.

“Fuck” you said, but it was as if all the air from your lungs when out in that moan.

Martin’s hands were keeping you still, not allowing you to move your hips to grind his face as you wanted. You could hear his moans, the way he slurped and nuzzled his face on your cunt.

He was a pro, eating pussy as if he did it every day (maybe he did, god knows), and he didn’t seem to care for his lack of air in the matter. He was on it, devoted to eating your dripping cunt as if it was his last meal on earth.

Your hands are pressed on his stomach, and he has to forcefully let you go to breathe, and you sigh as you feel his breaths.

“Where did you learn to do that?” You breathe softly, as you can hear how he pants, catching his breath.

“A good pussy can make a man go feral, love” he says, moving your panties out of the way as his index and middle finger move to rub against your slit.

He was cheesy, and it was a bit weird. Yet it couldn’t bother you less, you had been with worse men, and Martin was good in other areas…, well, at least in sex and eating out a pussy. And it was more than average, so you were up to it.

Before he decides to keep on eating you, still caressing your clit as he catches his breath, you lean a bit on his torso, to try to pull down the leather pants, opening the zipper.

It takes you a bit, yet after accomplishing your mission, your hand grabs his dick to guide it into your warm, eager mouth.

He was well doted, and hard as a rock. He was leaking, and his tip was a bit pink compared with the rest of his cock.

God damn you if it didn’t make your mouth drool. Between him eating you out, and his leaking cock, you think you will go insane. He could have cheeky, cringe comments but you could live with it. You couldn’t live without him eating you out or his cock.

You are as enthusiastic with his cock as he is. Though, you start slower. You take the head on your mouth, sucking on it as you feel him groan against your pussy. It was fucking hot, and it had you moaning on his cock. You didn’t remember the last time your legs were trembling like this, and how much you wanted to feel a dick in your throat. It was a need, a primal need.

Martin was kind and nice, had his things, but god, you need to fuck him. You might even need to have his babies by now. You wouldn’t complain if he came all inside you, filling you with his cum, and making you pregnant. Fuck, it even turned you more on. What was this man doing to you?

You took more of his dick in your mouth, trying to take all of it, not minding if you choke on it. He was hot. More than hot, in truth.

Martin was relentless with his tongue, lapping at your cunt again and again, moaning loudly against it as he could feel how deep you were taking his cock in your mouth. Your hand moved to cup his balls, as your tongue tried to swirl around his tip. It drove him insane.

It was not long before you started to cum, moaning loudly, his dick slipping from your mouth as your thighs pressed against his face, riding his face and nose as he was making you cum. His tongue was as greedy as him, and he worked with his nose along your slit. And it made you cum hard, rolling your eyes back. “Fuck, Martin, just like that…” You say, hips grinding against his mouth in a desperate need to stretch the feeling a bit more.

And once you finish, your mouth goes back to his cock, to keep on sucking him off. “Fuck, you feel incredible” he rasped, as you moved forward, closer to his cock and have full access, as Martin’s hips pumped upwards to fuck your mouth.

You lay on his chest, his face back on the pillow, moaning loudly as you seem to try to drain him completely, deepthroating him as if it was nothing at all.

“Fuck, you are going to make me cum” He says, teeth gripped as his hand moves to grab a fist of your hair, to move your head down to allow him fuck your mouth deep as he wanted. His own head titles back in pure bliss and pleasure, moaning loudly as he uses your mouth as a desperate animal in need to cum. Not that you complain, it costs a bit more to breathe, and you were almost choking, but hearing Martin be so local, groaning, moaning and grunting was worth it.

His cum soon fills your mouth, and he keeps you still, the signal clear for you to swallow all of it, as his throbbing cock unleashed his hot cum.

“Swallow it… fuck, swallow it all, take what I give you…” he mutters in pure bliss.

As the last drops of cum are licked off his cock, he leans back and you move to his side.

“That was great” You mutter, looking at the ceiling. How could he be so great at it?

“Yeah. Cig break and round two?”

“Hell yeah”

You are with your friend when you search the location in the paper that you found in Martin’s room. You were supposed to go to the club, you were wearing your miniskirt and a top, really to party, but that man had eaten your pussy and fucked you like no one before, so you felt entitled to find what that was for.

“It’s cold” Your friend, Tamara, says. She was chewing gum as she followed you begrudgingly.

“It’s a fucking parking lot?” You ask looking around the empty street, the night made it lonely yet not totally isolated.

“Your darling buries the bodies here” Your friend says, obviously judging it all. “Can we go?”

“Look, there is a car” you point out, as the car seems to be jumping around due to the movements inside. “Gods, you think they are having sex?”

“Ew, you think he has a brothel in his car?” Tamara asks you, looking at the car as you both get closer. “Eww and you fucked without a condom… You could get an IST, and die”

“It is called an STD, and… I think he is not fucking anyone” you frown slightly, getting closer.

“Careful! What if his pimp is here…?”

“He is fighting someone!” You say looking inside the car, as you find Martin pressing the head of the other guy against the window.

Surely, Martin was a weird dude. He was corny as hell, and he had pets called like the species they were. Sure. He almost burned his hair as he smoked after sex, yes; and he also ate pussy like a champ and was hung as a horse.

“I am going there” You tell your friends. “The dick is worth it”

“Yikes”

As you walk closer, you feel your friend either staying behind or walking away, not that you care.

Martin had blood trailing down his forehead, and was lying in the passenger’s seat as his thighs choked the other guy he was with, holding his head still with his hands. Okay, whatever, a guy can have hobbies.

When he sees you, he starts rolling down the window of the car, as you lean closer to his height.

“Hey, darling- how did ya–”

“A girl has her secrets” you say, smiling as you see him. God, he was sexy as hell. “I want my pussy eaten”

Martin smirks, and he leans back to sigh at your request, as if the idea delights him. He still applies pressure to the other dude, who seems to pass out. Martin leans forward closer to your lips and whispers “Will ya’ wait ten minutes as I finish with this round?”

“Three” You bargain.

“Seven.”

“Three”

“Five and I’ll make you cum twice.” His final offer, and the time you had in mind. Offering lower than one wants always seems work to get your official deal, even with an extra.

“Deal” you accept with a smirk.

And what if he was fighting inside a car? You fancied Martin, and sure as hell he fancied you. Even if he has weird hobbies.

#martin (in the modern world) x reader #martin in the modern world #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell #martin (in the modern world) fanfic #martin (in the modern world) fanfiction #ewan mitchell verse #ewanverse #fontaines d.c.#aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen

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back2bluesidex · 3 days ago

Text

Poison - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Jungkook X Fem!reader

Theme: SMUT, Angst, unrequited love

Wordcount: 1.1k+

Summary: In this world where being loved by the person you love is rare - being touched by them is a luxury. You will allow yourself this luxury tonight.

Warnings: drinking, drunk jungkook, drunk reader, fingering, tits stuff, no penetration in here tho, Jungkook is crying, btw. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Just a little piece of angst.

Masterlist | Patreon

The world swirls all around you as you make your way through the deserted and almost dark corridor of the pub. Even though your shoes are rubbing against the floor, you feel as if you are floating in the air.

There are more than a thousand thoughts that are swirling inside your head just like the world around you.

What is happening?

When did you drink so much?

Is it the cocktails or the shots? Must be the shots. Has to be the shots.

But you take pride in the fact that you are still the most sober one in the group - everyone else is a complete mess by now.

And you know you will feel even better if you puke a little.

But first, you gotta find Jungkook.

It has been almost thirty minutes since he has been in the washroom. Given the fact that he is the biggest mess tonight, you are concerned.

As you reach the men’s washroom, you straighten up. The thought of seeing your friend alone for the first time tonight sobers you up a little.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you call his name out loud enough to be heard from inside. You call him once again … then once again but to no avail.

Worry cuts through the delicious buzz making you a little more sober. Suddenly, you don’t feel like floating in the air anymore.

You push the door a little, ready to apologize to anyone who glares at you for entering a washroom that’s certainly not meant for your gender. But thankfully there’s no inside.

You step in.

Now that you are in here, you hear muffled sniffs from somewhere inside the stalls.

“Jungkook?” calling him again, you push the door of one.

“Jungkook?” then another one.

And when you push the third door, you find him couching down on the floor with his head between his knees.

Your heart stops at the scene.

Jungkook is crying as if his entire world has been snatched from him. This is not an exaggeration because Sun Yeong has certainly been the center of his universe … just like once he had been the center of yours.

When he found out she had been cheating on him, things went radio-silent for an entire week. None of you and your friends could reach him no matter how many calls or texts or visits you have showered him with.

Then just two days ago, he popped up at the group chat, asking for a meeting at your regular pub. He said he was fine and wanted to get wasted but with one condition - no one gets to ask what had gone wrong between him and his ex.

You had felt like a lowly, selfish creature of dirt then. You had been happy with the news. That one unresolved crush back from your high school could have a chance of being reciprocated.

You could give it a shot after all these years of convincing and confirming yourself that you have moved on. You could ask him to look at you not only as a high school friend but as a woman who could be a love interest of his.

But while drinking Jungkook declared he will start blind dating with the women his mother chose as his potential future partner.

And his mother - for some reason - has never liked you much.

The light of hope that once flickered inside of you - went out without getting the chance of turning into a raging flame.

You were always glad for not turning yourself into a pathetic little girl in love with your high school friend, you always knew your limits, you always kept him a hand apart - a safe distance.

But right now as you see him all broken - pathetic - vulnerable - you don’t know how longer you can control yourself.

“Jungkook.. Hey. Look at me.” you couch down in front of him not giving a damn about hygiene.

He looks up at you with blood shot eyes, “Y/N..” this is the softest he has ever called your name.

“Y/N.. It hurts so much. It hurts.” Jungkook sobs again.

Even at his worst, he still looks so beautiful that your heart lurches inside your ribcage. His soft, black hair framing his face, his large doe eyes glossy with tears, his soft mouth trembling.

You wish you could kiss him for once.

“I know, Jungkook. But you know, everything happens for a reason. Maybe you will find someone better? Someone who will love you more?” placing a hand on his shoulder, you try to calm him down.

“But I- I Lo-loved her so much. I can’t I just can’t-” he chokes out another sob.

“I know it’s hard. But the sooner you accept that she is not yours anymore, the better it will be for you. I am here. We all are.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he stares at you with those eyes.

You suck in a deep breath - somewhat knowing where will this head.

“Y/N” Jungkook breathes on your lips. He is impossibly close to you now.

And then he is kissing you. You kiss him back.

At first the kiss is soft and slow but as time builds - builds the tension.

Jungkook’s kisses turn harsher, angrier, rougher. You know he is trying to take out his frustration through this - on you.

And you are completely okay with that.

Jungkook stands up, pulls you up with him, without breaking the kiss. He pushes you on the wooden partition of the stall.

His mouth travels down the path of your jaw, then throat. His hands start unbuttoning your shirt. Pulling your bra cups down, he gropes one of your tits and twists your nipple.

You moan his name.

His mouth travels further down and reaches your breasts. He takes a nipple inside his mouth, sucking on it deliciously. Your fingers card through his soft shiny hair.

You know this is a one-time thing. You know Jungkook probably won’t even remember any of it tomorrow and that’s better.

If he does remember - you can always blame it on the alcohol.

Even when his hands move to your pants, then inside your panties, then inside you in swift lewd in-and-out motions - you give him access willingly.

You don’t think twice. You don’t think at all.

Because in this world where being loved by the person you love is rare - being touched by them is a luxury.

You will allow yourself this luxury tonight.

In the back of your mind that one song plays in full volume, “I pick my poison and it’s you.”

Yes, just for this one night, you will drink this poison called Jeon Jungkook until you die.

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @purple-realms @ryryvna

Permanent Taglist:

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #jungkook x you #bts oneshot #bts jungkook #Spotify

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leejenowrld · 3 days ago

Text

‘love me back?’ — part 3

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 33.3k words

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

synopsis — you and mark deepen your secret relationship, becoming exclusive while navigating tensions with jeno and his father. however, the secrecy of your romance is threatened by intense basketball games, dramatic party revelations, and escalating conflicts among your friends, risking the exposure of your intimate world with mark.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit themes, so much smut this chapter! reader cockwarms mark as he tries to concentrate on his work, plenty of riding and bouncing on his cock throughout the chapter. nipple sucking, photography sex, mark takes nude photos of her for one of her ‘projects,’ lots of body praise and affection from him, they both switch around with being dominant/submissive, super rough sex, dirty talk, name-calling such as ‘daddy’ and ‘good girl,’ and big cock mark like always, size worship, elements of jealousy and possessiveness, pussy, cheek and ass slapping, spitting, sucking on fingers, manhandling, power play. car sex, semi-public setting with rain pouring outside, reader riding mark’s cock, desperate bouncing and grinding in tight, confined space, dirty talk, “i’m all yours,” “you’re all mine,” possessiveness and dominance from mark, rough hands guiding hips, controlling pace, intense eye contact during intimate moments, jeno and reader sweet moments, mark and yn aren’t good at keeping secrets, karina and yn bestie moments, mark and jeno get a lot closer, they start considering themselves as actual brothers, tense basketball matches like always, karina is stressed about the cheer team, donghyuck is a cheer maste, boys got moves, jeno and mark brother moments, massive fights break out after the game, yeonjun is a dick, you will meet mark’s mom and his uncle!!! they’re the best, cute family scenes, yn feels apart of the family, mark and yn actually communicate healthily, have personal and deep chats, mark opens up about his upbringing, about his family, mark gets emotional :(, he takes her to the river court!! they have even more personal convos, open their hearts up, but shit will go down at a party!! that’s all i’m gonna tell you hehe enjoy

[fic ml]

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

───────────────────────────────

It’s been a few weeks since you and Mark started seeing each other, and things between you two have escalated quickly. Every day, almost without fail, you find yourselves tangled in sheets, having a lot of sex—so much, it’s nearly every day. But it isn’t just about lust; you’ve formed a deep, gratifying connection that’s bloomed remarkably quickly. You can’t remember another time in your life filled with so much laughter, or when you’ve felt this intensely satisfied both sexually and emotionally.

With Mark, it’s not only the sex that’s addictive; it’s also the depth of your conversations and the quality time spent together that deepens your connection. His presence is compelling—drawing you in irresistibly. It’s not just his body that you crave but also his mind and the genuine intimacy that you share.

Being around him means constantly craving his touch and his attention. He makes you feel desired, seen, and cherished. The rapid progression of your relationship feels completely natural, as if everything in your life had been leading up to this connection. Every kiss, every orgasm, every whispered secret not only intensifies your physical connection but binds your emotions closer, turning what could have been just a fling into something profound and all-consuming.

You’ve been spending a lot of time in Mark’s room lately, and it feels more like home every day. The walls are adorned with soft, muted tones that reflect his calm demeanor, a stark contrast to the vibrant life he leads. Around the room, carefully chosen photographs hang in a curated display—snapshots of him with friends at the river court, heartwarming pictures with his mother and uncle who have shaped much of who he is today. Each image tells a story of love and support, echoing the warmth of his personality.

The room also houses eclectic art pieces that speak to his varied interests, from abstract paintings to a sleek, modern sculpture that catches the light from the window. In one corner rests his guitar, a constant in his life, its wood gleaming softly under the room’s ambient lighting.

Nearby, his desk is a testament to his multifaceted life: cluttered yet organized, with stacks of music sheets and textbooks balanced precariously next to a high-powered laptop and mixing equipment. The desktop is littered with little personal touches—guitar picks, a worn notebook open on a half-written song, and a coffee mug from a concert he never stops talking about.

As you glance over at Mark, working intently on a music composition, you can’t help but admire how effortlessly handsome he looks in his natural habitat. His ash brown hair falls just slightly over his forehead, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he pores over his work. The soft lighting of the room highlights the swell of his cheekbones and the focus etched into his features. His lips, plump and slightly reddened from your earlier kisses—and from going down on you—are parted as he hums a melody under his breath. He wears his headphones like a crown, lost in the world he creates with every note.

Currently, you’re nestled against him, straddling his lap—more precisely, cockwarming him while he works. The sensation of his cock, thick and warm inside you, sends faint pulses of arousal through you. The heat radiating from his body blends with your own, making every inch of your skin hypersensitive, intensifying the connection that makes the rest of the room fade into insignificance.

“Stop moving,” Mark’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. The tone alone sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the distraction in his eyes, glued to his laptop, that fuels your defiance. You shift slightly, testing his limits, and feel the subtle press of his cock, the angle changing just enough to make you clench around him involuntarily.

“I’m so still, it’s you,” you respond, teasing him with a playful lie. Truthfully, you were both moving, his hips subtly meeting yours in small, almost imperceptible thrusts.

He hisses, the faintest sound of his restraint breaking. “Behave,” he warns, his voice low, gravelly with irritation and something deeper. But you can’t help it—he’s buried so deeply, stretching you so perfectly that the need to move, to do anything but sit still, is consuming.

“I am behaving,” you murmur with a coy smile, rolling your hips slightly, just enough to make him twitch inside you. “If anything, you’re the one moving.”

Mark’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking to yours, dark and heated despite the glare of his laptop screen. “You’re testing me,” he mutters, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before he quickly hides it. The challenge in his voice stokes your defiance, and you shift again, this time slower, more deliberate. The reaction is immediate—his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he growls, but the flicker of fire in his tone betrays his resolve. The sharp edge of his voice sends a thrill through you, making you bite your lip to keep from moaning outright.

When you attempt to slide off him in mock frustration, his hands snap to your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm, laced with an unmistakable possessiveness. The way he pulls you down again, seating you fully on his cock, makes you gasp, your walls clenching involuntarily around him.

He leaves no room for doubt—he wants you exactly where you are, seated on him, his warmth enveloping you. He finally turns to face you, a defeated yet tender look in his eyes that softens when you giggle. Smiling back, he leans in for a kiss, a gentle sigh escaping him as he closes his laptop and sets his headphones aside, surrendering to the moment.

The kiss deepens, his lips soft against yours, tasting faintly sweet. His hands roam from your hips to your thighs, the touch both soothing and stimulating, urging you to move. You begin to bounce, initially slow but picking up pace, the motion seamless and increasingly desperate. Moans spill into his mouth, muffled by the kiss, as the room fills with the sound of your escalating breaths and the subtle squelch of intimacy.

“Keep going, just like that,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and husky. Each word is a vibration that drives you wilder. Your movements become less restrained, more fervent. The pace is relentless now; you’re riding him hard, each bounce drawing a deeper groan from his throat.

The sounds of your bodies moving together fill the room—your shallow breaths, the soft slap of skin meeting skin, and the faint creak of the chair beneath you. Mark’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, threading into your hair to tug your head back so he can trail kisses down your neck. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way his hips start to meet your movements, thrusting up to meet you halfway.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your movements grow frantic. The chair is too small, the space too tight, but none of it matters. All you can focus on is his cock filling you completely, how every thrust sends a ripple of pleasure through your body.

“Look at me,” he commands, and you lift your gaze to meet his—intense, filled with raw desire. It’s too much and yet exactly what you need. He grips your thighs tighter, urging you on, faster, harder. The sound of your bodies coming together punctuates the air, a lewd, satisfying slap that echoes off the walls.

Leaning away from his fervent kisses, you murmur breathlessly, “Bed.” Despite the heat between you, fatigue begins to seep into your muscles, exacerbated by the confined space. His hands on your back offer support, his words encouraging, yet the allure of a larger, more accommodating space is undeniable. Your voice is a quiet whisper and it breaks slowly. “Please, I need you in me properly.”

Without missing a beat, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you across the room to the sprawling comfort of his bed. As he lowers you onto the soft mattress, the change in setting reinvigorates you. You resume your rhythm, now with more vigor, bouncing passionately on him. Each movement causes your breasts to sway enticingly, capturing his attention immediately. He leans in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking with a fervor that sends ripples of pleasure through your body. The needy sound of your combined moans fills the room, the sexual energy palpable.

“I can’t get any work done for my uni project that’s literally due tomorrow,” you gasp out between bounces, “you keep distracting me with sex.” Each word is punctuated by the rhythm of your bodies meeting.

“And what about you?” he retorts with a groan, his hands gripping your hips to meet your every move. “I ask you to sit still while I work, not bounce on it.” His playful complaint is laced with arousal, emphasizing how much you distract him as well.

He shakes his head and chuckles, changing the subject, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing his face. “What’s your project about? Maybe I can help, though you really should have gotten it done earlier,” he teases, his voice light yet hinting at a genuine offer of assistance.

You slow your movements, catching your breath as you explain, “Professor Jeong asked us to capture things that we find beautiful and physically stunning,” you say, the topic steering your mind momentarily from the carnal to the cerebral. “It’s about the correlation between visual beauty and emotional well-being—how art impacts our happiness and mood.” You’re tasked with compiling this into an A3 page, presenting it effectively and thoughtfully.

Suddenly, inspired by your words and perhaps the visual before him, Mark reaches for the camera positioned on his nightstand. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he starts snapping photos of you in your most uninhibited state. The camera clicks rhythmically, capturing every flush of your skin, every bead of sweat, and the raw, unfiltered desire in your eyes. His gaze, intense and focused, drinks in every detail as he shoots, clearly turned on by the sight of you—powerful, beautiful, and utterly entrancing.

“Mark?” you murmur, your voice catching slightly as you hear the soft click of the camera. You feel exposed, suddenly shy, and instinctively, your hands fly up to shield your eyes.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm, carrying a quiet authority that makes you immediately drop your hands. There’s something irresistibly commanding about the way he says your name. You can’t help but comply, and it thrills you. His dominant demeanor, the way he takes control in these moments, is incredibly arousing. You’ve given him the reins in the bedroom, and every session leaves you deeply satisfied, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

The room is charged with an electric tension as you approach the climax. His eyes never leave you, capturing every flush and gasp as you ride him, the camera documenting every moment. You feel him close to the edge, his movements becoming more urgent under you.

Then, the release comes. It’s intense, leaving both of you breathless and spent. You collapse beside him, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heart pounding in his chest as he flips through the digital images he captured.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs almost reverently as he reviews the photos. The breath catches in your throat when he hands you the prints, the images stark and raw in their honesty. One captures you in full motion, riding him, your eyes fierce with determination and pleasure, hands pressed flat against his chest, lips parted in a silent moan. Another shows you when fatigue began to edge in, your expression one of blissful exhaustion, a sheen of sweat highlighting your features. The third is a close-up of your breasts, buoyant and full, the image erotic and powerful.

“I can’t believe I look like this when I’m fucking you,” you say, your voice a mix of awe and embarrassment as you survey the photos.

He responds with a soft kiss on your lips. “You can see how beautiful you look, hm?”

Your cheeks flush with warmth, and you quickly shift the topic, though his intense gaze makes your heart race. “Mark, I don’t know how I’m gonna use my nudity for a university project. What if Professor Jeong sees.”

He chuckles, his eyes still glued to the photos. “I mean, Professor Jeong is sexy,” you add playfully.

“I’m sexier,” he counters smoothly, his smirk evident in his voice as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Plus, it’s not for him or anyone else, it’s for me. All mine,” he whispers huskily, his words sending shivers down your spine. The possessive intensity in his gaze as he scans your body and face makes your heart thump louder. The idea that these images are his, that this moment is just for him, ignites something wild within you.

“Do you actually like those? Are you gonna keep them?” you ask, curiosity in your tone.

He nods enthusiastically. “If you’ll let me,” he asks sweetly, his eyes widening with a plea, and he grins triumphantly when you nod in agreement. He draws even closer, resting his forehead against yours, his lips meeting yours in a soft, earnest kiss before he murmurs, “And of course, I like them. You’re absolutely breathtaking,” he continues, his voice deep and stirring. The intensity of his stare and the richness of his tone fill you with a fluttering nervousness, making it hard for you to maintain eye contact.

“I’m not really the photogenic type,” you joke half-heartedly, trying to brush off the compliment.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” he scoffs, his look of reassurance mixed with a gentle challenge, pushing back against your self-doubt.

You sigh and respond with another kiss, this one quickly flaring into a heated exchange. His hands roam over your body, each touch sparking electricity across your skin. His lips press urgently against yours, his movements poised and ready. He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock teasing you, testing the waters. It takes several tries as you adjust to his size, each attempt leaving you feeling more exposed and vulnerable yet increasingly desperate for the fullness he promises.

Finally, after a few deep breaths and some coaxing, you manage to relax enough for him to slide in, stretching you deliciously. “Good girl,” he growls approvingly, as you start to synchronize your movements. His thrusts are deep, powerful, unrelenting. Each plunge sends a ripple through your body, his pace rough and determined. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, alongside your intertwined moans and gasps for air. “Just like that,” he pants, his voice husky with desire. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you to meet each of his punishing thrusts, ensuring you feel every inch as he drives deeper, stretching you to accommodate him fully.

“Capture something you find beautiful,” he murmurs almost to himself, the camera back in his hands, snapping photos of you in your blissful abandon. He focuses on capturing the intensity of your expressions—the soft flutters of your eyelashes, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy, the way your lips part on a sigh, then morph into a moan. The room is filled with the continuous soft shutter sounds of the camera, documenting every moment of your ecstasy.

As the session grows more intense, his hands roam across every inch of your body, each touch a silent testament to his sheer obsession with you. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers fiercely, his mouth traveling across your skin, planting kisses that are both tender and demanding. “You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he declares between breaths, his voice thick with lust as he continues to thrust into you, each movement designed to provoke another cry of pleasure from you. His relentless pace, combined with the deep, deliberate thrusts, draws out moans that fill the room, blending seamlessly with the rhythmic sound of the camera’s shutter.

The room fills with the symphony of your breathy moans and soft whimpers, the air thick with the melody of your pleasure. Each affirmation from him is punctuated by his rhythmic, firm thrusting, his movements deliberate and paced to stoke the fire that builds with each of his profound, measured strokes. Your body responds instinctively, arching towards him, craving more of the exquisite friction he masterfully creates.

Every touch he delivers is precisely calculated to heighten the cascade of sensations that engulfs you. His murmurs, husky and intimate, resonate along the curves of your body. “Every inch of you is perfect,” he whispers with intensity, his voice rough as his hands navigate your skin. His fingertips trace your collarbone, glide between your breasts, and sweep over your stomach, pausing to circle your navel before venturing lower with slow, deliberate intent. His lips follow the paths his fingers set, each kiss and lick sending shivers through you, your skin tingling with each featherlight touch.

As his lips and tongue lavish attention on every part of your body. The room fills with the sounds of your breathy moans and the soft clicks of the camera, creating a symphony of sensuality. He treasures each response—every shudder and whimper that escapes your lips—using them as cues to elevate the intensity of your shared experience, driving both of you toward a crescendo of intense satisfaction.

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All day, you’ve been on a mission to find Jeno, but he’s proven elusive. Jeno wasn’t the easiest person to track down—unless he was at the gym or playing basketball, his whereabouts were anyone’s guess. Rumors often placed him in the company of various girls, but today, none of the usual spots had panned out. This search wasn’t fueled by curiosity alone; it was tinged with anxiety. It had been a few weeks since his dad had caught you and Mark in a compromising situation, and Jeno hadn’t said a word about it. You were left to wonder if his dad had kept the incident to himself.

Your intent wasn’t to confront Jeno about his father; that could make things worse if he was oblivious. Instead, you hoped to gauge his demeanor, to see if he would hint at any suspicions or knowledge of the situation.

As you walked across the campus, the environment buzzed with the typical mid-semester activity. Students lounged on the grassy quads, some absorbed in their books, others laughing and chatting in small clusters. The paths were busy with the comings and goings of students between classes, a vibrant backdrop to your own restless thoughts.

Finally, you spotted him. Jeno was unmistakable even from a distance, dressed in a hoodie that obscured his hair, and headphones likely shielding him from the world. “Jeno! Jeno!!” you called out, but he didn’t turn—his music evidently drowning your voice. Quickening your pace, you followed him toward the tutor center, puzzled. Jeno had never struck you as someone who needed academic help; his grades were more than decent.

Just as you were about to follow him inside to catch his attention, you froze. Inside, Jeno wasn’t alone; he was with Mark’s best friend. Your eyes narrowed as you watched their interaction through the glass—low whispers, soft smiles, gentle eye contact. The scene before you didn’t add up; they were an unlikely pair, never known to interact, let alone in such a close, personal manner.

Curiosity piqued and hidden by the doorway, you strained to catch any piece of their conversation, but their voices were too low. Then, it happened—the moment that stilled the breath in your chest. Jeno leaned down with a tender smile and kissed her. It wasn’t just any kiss. It was soft, intimate, beautiful, and sweet—so starkly genuine that it felt like it belonged in a more private world than this public space.

Stunned and suddenly feeling like an intruder, you stepped back from the door, your mind racing with questions. Were they keeping it a secret? Why? The weight of the moment pressed down on you, a mirror to your own hidden truths with Mark.

Choosing to respect their privacy, you walked away, your steps heavy with the complexity of your thoughts. If they were indeed keeping whatever was blossoming between them under wraps, who were you to expose them? You understood the need for secrecy all too well. As you left the tutor center behind, your mind was a whirl of unanswered questions and newfound secrets, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the paths that felt somehow more twisted than before.

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Lee Jeno, with his sharp features, has an unmistakable resemblance to his father. He often catches the eye for the same reasons his father does. From the strong jawline to the sharpness of his cheekbones, Jeno is almost a carbon copy of Taeyong. Even their expressions, when thoughtful or focused, mirror each other. Jeno’s eyes, a deep, reflective brown, carry the same intensity as his father’s, yet there’s a softness in Jeno that suggests a gentle spirit.

It turns out that you didn’t have to find Jeno after all; he has come to find you. You watch him approach with a smile, trying to shake off the memory of the intimate kiss you witnessed earlier. It’s hard not to think about it, but you remind yourself it wasn’t any of your business.

As you settle into the cozy corner of the campus café, Jeno approaches with his usual easy grace. He boops you on the head playfully with a finger before taking a seat opposite you. Reaching for the popcorn you offered, he takes a few bites, his smile spreading warmly as he makes himself comfortable. The silence between you is comfortable, filled only with shared smiles and an easy familiarity that speaks volumes of your current relationship.

After everything you’ve been through—the breakup that surprisingly mended more than it broke—your bond with Jeno has evolved. It’s surprisingly the best it’s ever been. There’s a newfound respect and calm between you two, a stark contrast to the past’s turbulence. You’ve both acknowledged the toxicity that once clouded your relationship, realizing that being apart has made each interaction healthier, more supportive.

Jeno is incredibly important in your life; he’s more than just a past love, he’s a steadfast friend. Since you were young, he’s been a significant figure in your life, one of the first people you truly got close to. Despite the messiness of your past relationship—moments that now make you cringe when you remember them—your friendship has endured. To you, Jeno isn’t just an ex; he’s like a brother, a best friend whose presence is both comforting and irreplaceable.

As you watch him, you notice a certain hesitancy in his eyes, a telltale sign that there’s something on his mind. Your history together has attuned you to these subtleties in his demeanor. You’re about to inquire, to delve into whatever is weighing on him, when a thought crosses your mind about his father. Why hasn’t his dad said anything yet about you and Mark? Is there hope that he didn’t want to interfere in the lives of the young people in his son’s life? This unspoken question hangs in the air, adding a layer of complexity to the comfortable silence between you.

Jeno finally speaks up after battling with his thoughts for the last few minutes. Gathering his courage, he says, “Hey, so my dad was trying to convince me of something crazy.”

You gulp, trying to calm your breathing and maintain a composed expression, secretly relieved that Jeno hasn’t noticed your anxiety yet. “What did your dad say now?” you attempt to joke, playing into the well-known fact that Jeno’s dad often spreads lies and toxicity.

“He told me that you and Mark are seeing each other, that you guys are fucking, and he even saw you make out,” Jeno states, his eyes searching yours for any sign of truth.

Your eyes widen, and your mouth feels dry, the sudden anxiety palpable. “That’s crazy, right?” Jeno asks, almost laughing, trying to convince himself that his dad is just trying to stir up drama again. His face betrays a mix of disbelief and a trace of underlying betrayal, disturbed by the thought that you could be seeing Mark behind his back.

You force a laugh, deflecting the accusation. “That is the craziest, most unbelievable lie your dad has ever told. Do you remember when he accused me of trying to seduce your uncle? I was 16 at the time,” you say, putting on your most convincing demeanor, playing into Taeyong’s notorious character to bolster your denial.

Jeno nods, visibly relieved as the tension drains from him. “That’s what I said. I told him he was crazy and to stop trying to interfere in our lives and create a mess out of nowhere.”

Given his strained relationship with his dad, Jeno opts to dismiss it as another of Taeyong’s manipulations, choosing to believe your lie over his dad’s truth, showing how deeply he trusts you.

“But if you actually were seeing Mark behind my back, that would be absolutely insane and unbelievable. I mean, what would you even see in him?” he scoffs, trying to make light of the situation but clearly uncomfortable with even the notion.

Shaking your head, you carefully respond, “He’s not that bad.” You bite your tongue, holding back from defending Mark too vigorously to avoid suspicion.

Jeno scoffs again. “Apparently, Mark fucks around a lot, so I just told my dad he probably saw him kissing another girl.”

Puzzled, you ask, “Really? He fucks a lot?”

Jeno nods. “Yeah, his body count is literally higher than mine.”

You choke on your coffee, truly shocked. Knowing how high Jeno’s count was, especially since you two had numerous breaks in your relationship when he’d see other people, the revelation that Mark might be even more experienced brings a mix of intrigue and unease.

Jeno changes the subject, standing up and moving to sit beside you on the couch. He drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close with a gentle firmness that feels reassuring yet suffocating given the conversation. His eyes are soft and earnest as he looks into yours, searching for something unspoken.

“We’re in a good place, right?” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “So, if anything like that were to happen, I trust you’d tell me. I believe you trust me enough to communicate and not hide anything from me. I’m glad we’re in a healthier, stronger place now, that we realised how toxic we were together and that we’re better off as friends. I wasn’t going to let my dad’s lies ruin that or sabotage my life any further.”

You feel a tightness in your throat as he speaks, a mix of anxiety and guilt constricting your chest. The physical discomfort is palpable, manifesting as a slight tremble in your hands that you hope he doesn’t notice. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm, pounding against your ribcage as if trying to escape the duplicity of your reassurances. You gulp, struggling to manage a nod, your mouth dry.

“Yeah, we are in a good place. And of course, I’ll always tell you anything. I have so much trust in you, and I’m glad you trust me too. You’re still so important to me, Jen,” you manage to say, your voice slightly strained as you force the words out, hoping they sound more convincing to him than they do to you.

He gives you a smile, one that’s meant to be reassuring, but it only deepens the knot of guilt in your stomach. With a casual affection, he scruffles your hair and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek before standing to leave. You watch him walk away, each step echoing like a verdict in the quiet room.

Left alone with your thoughts, the guilt washes over you in waves. His trust feels like a weight, heavy with the burden of your secrecy. The warmth of his kiss lingers on your cheek, a reminder of the bond you cherish yet betray with each passing moment of deception. The silence around you feels oppressive, filled with the ghosts of words unsaid, and you sit there, grappling with the reality of your actions and the fear of losing one of the most stable connections in your life.

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It’s been a few days and you still haven’t mentioned to Mark what Jeno told you. It’s been weighing on your mind, knowing it could stir up tension. You’re torn on how to bring it up—discussing such sensitive topics has always been a challenge for you. The thought of addressing it tightens your chest with anxiety, making you hesitate each time you think about revealing it.

The room is dim and cozy as you both sink into the sofa, the television casting a soft glow around you. You lean against Mark, feeling the reassuring strength of his shoulder against your cheek. Your hand finds his, fingers interlacing as you absently trace patterns on his skin. His steady breathing and the rise and fall of his chest bring a comforting rhythm to the moment, while his laughter vibrates warmly against you, pulling you away from the thoughts that weigh on your mind.

Despite the movie flickering in front of you, your eyes wander, unfocused, as anxiety subtly stirs within you. The comfort of Mark’s grip is grounding, yet it can’t quite still the restless thoughts that distract you from the plot unfolding on the screen. The room, with its soft shadows and gentle light, feels both safe and confining as you struggle to anchor yourself in the tranquility of the moment.

Mark senses the shift in your mood; his perceptiveness is one of the things you cherish about him. He turns to you, his voice a soft whisper against your hair. “What’s up with you?” His lips brush your scalp gently as his hand cups your face, coaxing you to look at him. You resist his gaze, too intense in the moment, and sigh heavily.

“I’m okay, just stressed about college,” you mumble, a half-truth that hangs awkwardly in the air between you.

“I don’t believe you,” he replies with gentle firmness. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”

In response, you pull away from his embrace and lean forward to grab something from the desk in front of you. You’re not ready to delve into your worries, not when they feel so heavy and complex. Instead, you retrieve your art portfolio, a safer subject to share.

“I want to show you something,” you whisper, opening the portfolio to divert the conversation. Mark nods, understanding your need to share on your terms.

As you flip through the pages, Mark’s attention is fully on the art before him. “This is so good, Y/N,” he breathes out in awe. Each page reveals a different facet of your talent: a striking portrait of Jeno donned in stylish sunglasses, his features sharp against a blurred background; a vibrant landscape that captures the serene beauty of nature, the colors vivid and alive; a whimsical depiction of Karina in a flowing dress, set against the backdrop of a sunlit picnic scene; and an abstract piece, swirling colors and shapes that evoke a sense of deep emotion and creativity.

Mark studies not only the artwork but the meticulous notes beside each piece, written in your neat, flowing handwriting. He takes in every detail, from the annotations on technique to the thoughtful descriptions that accompany each image.

Leaning forward, he kisses you softly, admiration tinting his words. “I can’t believe how talented you are.”

A shy smile plays on your lips as you confide in him. “Professor Jeong talked to me after class. He said I should be applying for graduate schemes and postgraduate opportunities, but I’m too nervous about being rejected. I’m scared I’m not good enough.”

In response, Mark gently pulls you onto his lap, facing him. His eyes are earnest as he looks up at you, his hands resting reassuringly on your hips. “I want you to promise me that you’ll apply for these schemes. You’re incredibly talented, and I know you’ll be accepted. You need to see how good you are,” he says, his voice imbued with a conviction that makes you want to believe him.

The hesitation in your eyes is met with the calm certainty in his. The soft glow of the room highlights the sincerity etched across his face, making him look almost angelic, grounded yet hopeful.

“Will you promise me?” he asks. The weight of his gaze compels you to nod, his belief in you nudging you out of your comfort zone.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice a soft echo in the dimly lit room, drawing you nearer. His lips capture yours in a kiss that quickly sheds any pretense of gentleness. It deepens voraciously, fuelled by the mingling of mutual desire. Each press of his lips against yours sends a thrill through you, while the low, contented giggle that escapes you adds a playful undertone to the fervent exchange. His hands roam across your back, pulling you impossibly closer with each breath you release—a sigh, a moan, a whisper of his name.

The room resonates with the sounds of your combined breaths, an intimate symphony punctuated by the occasional brush of your fingers along his shoulders, tracing the contours of his muscles that flex under your touch. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss to explore new depths. You react instinctively, your hands venturing lower to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if trying to merge further into him. The kiss escalates, driven by a shared urgency that pulses in the air around you, your bodies moving in a fluid dance of give and take.

As you pull away momentarily to catch your breath, the air between you thickens with desire. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intensity, reflecting a hunger that mirrors your own. “Keep going,” he murmurs, voice thick and husky, compelling you back to his lips with an irresistible force. Your response is immediate and desperate, your lips crashing against his with renewed passion. Hands roam more boldly now, mapping the landscape of each other’s bodies with a familiarity that only heightens the intensity of each touch, each kiss. The space around you feels charged, every sigh and touch a spark in the quiet darkness, fueling the fire that you both stoke with every moment that passes.

Lost in the rush of the moment, you and Mark are oblivious to the sound of the front door swinging open. While you’re completely absorbed, Mark, who is usually more attuned to his surroundings, hears the noise but dismisses it, assuming it’s Karina. Since she’s the only one who knows about the two of you and has kept your secret, you’ve grown comfortable being openly affectionate around her—kissing, touching, and more, without the need for concealment.

“I told you they were seeing each other,” a voice cuts through the air, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, breaking away from Mark’s lips as the unfamiliar tone slices through your bubble of intimacy. Scrambling off his lap, you turn to see Winter standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with amusement and curiosity. Beside her, Karina wears an expression that’s a complex tapestry of apology and sadness, her eyes avoiding yours as if carrying a burden of guilt.

“Karina!” Your voice cracks, laced with disbelief and anger. “Why is she here? I thought we agreed I’d have the apartment tonight,” you protest, pointing accusatorially at Winter, trying desperately to regain some control over the situation.

You fight the urge to panic, aware of how much Winter relishes drama and her close ties with Jeno. The thought of her running to him with this information sends waves of anxiety crashing through you. Karina, arms crossed, meets your gaze with a defiant shake of her head. “Y/N, I messaged you that Winter was coming. It’s your fault for not checking your phone.”

“That’s not the point,” you retort sharply, the tension palpable.

“I just came here to get something,” Karina says flatly, her voice tinged with irritation as she storms off towards her room, her back to you, cutting off any chance for you to explain or mitigate what she saw.

Now, it’s just you, Mark, Winter and an awkward silence. Mark, still visibly horny and frustrated, looks desperately out of place. You know he’s just dying to drag you back onto his lap and fuck you until you forget this mess ever happened.

Winter’s voice cuts through the stillness, sultry and probing, as she leans towards Mark, her intention clear in the curl of her lip. “Mark…” she purrs, her gaze locked on his with a mischievous twinkle. “Do you remember?”

Unmoved and steady, Mark’s expression gives nothing away. “No,” he states, his voice a flat denial that leaves no room for doubt or continuation.

Undeterred, Winter presses on, her voice dropping to a whisper that only you and Mark can hear. “You don’t remember, like, two weeks ago, your cock—” She pauses, watching him for any sign of acknowledgment.

Mark turns towards you, his look serious, the lines of his face hardened by the need to clarify things before they spiral further. “It was a month ago, way before we started seeing each other,” he explains, his voice low and earnest. “It was just sex, it didn't mean anything more.”

Your arms fold over your chest as a knot of confusion and jealousy tightens within you, a reaction you can’t fully suppress. “How many girls have you fucked?” The question escapes you almost without thought, a reflex to the swirling doubts.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies with a calm that feels both comforting and final. His eyes hold yours, gentle yet firm, as he tries to redirect the focus from his past to the present, to what matters the most to him right now — you.

At that moment, Karina reenters the room, her annoyance palpable. “You know, ever since you both started seeing each other, you’ve just been fucking all over his apartment, every room, every corner. It’s really careless and annoying.”

Karina turns to Mark, her tone laced with biting humor as she tries to mask her true annoyance. “And you,” she says, her voice dripping with feigned surprise, making Mark visibly tense. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a virgin, that you were innocent. After hearing and seeing how you two go at it… I’m honestly surprised Y/N’s pussy is still intact.”

Mark scoffs, clearly offended. “You—you what? You thought I was a virgin?” he asks, disbelief coloring his tone.

Karina nods and crosses her arms, maintaining her assertive stance.

Mark laughs heartily. “Why?” he inquires, genuinely puzzled by her previous misconception.

Winter interjects, her voice clear and matter-of-fact. “Before Mark started seeing Y/N, he was pretty active. He’d sleep with several different girls every few weeks. His body count is way higher than Jeno’s.”

Mark looks shocked at her blunt disclosure. “How do you know so much?” he quickly asks. The fact that he doesn’t deny it confirms the truth of her words, making you squirm uncomfortably.

“I didn’t need to know that!” you exclaim, covering your ears. You can’t help but feel unsettled by the idea of Mark’s sexual history with other girls before you.

“Guys, none of this matters. What matters is how selfish Y/N is being by fucking in every corner of this house,” Karina retorts, her frustration now plainly directed at your recent actions.

“Don’t call me selfish or try to make me feel guilty,” you fire back, irritation rising. “We agreed that I’d get the apartment today. You knew I was having Mark over tonight.” Your voice is sharp, your patience clearly wearing thin with the ongoing accusations.

Karina’s frustration seems to boil over. “It’s just—it’s everywhere, Y/N. Can’t you keep it to one room, at least?”

“Are you serious? What the fuck is your problem? Sorry I’m getting some and you aren’t. What do you want me to do about it?” Your voice matches hers in sharpness, the edge in your tone reflecting the tension that’s been building.

Mark and Winter exchange a wide-eyed, awkward glance, opting to remain silent amid the escalating confrontation. Mark’s arm tightens around you, his fingers drawing comforting patterns on your skin, grounding you with his touch, which is intimate and reassuring amidst the brewing storm.

Mark coughs awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood as you lean into him, visibly frustrated. “Hey guys, do you wanna see Y/N’s art portfolio? It’s really good; she’s amazing,” he offers, pointing to the portfolio on the table.

Intrigued despite the tension, Winter nods. “Show me.” Winter’s interest in seeing your art isn’t just casual curiosity; it’s rooted in her appreciation for creativity, shared through the same course you both study.

As Mark reaches for the portfolio, you quickly intervene. “Don’t,” you whisper firmly, taking it in your hands. You retreat to your room, shutting the door behind you, needing a moment alone.

“Did Y/N let you see her art portfolio?” Karina’s shock is evident, her voice laced with disbelief.

Mark nods, preparing to follow you to offer comfort but pauses as Karina continues. “You know Y/N doesn’t let anyone touch her art portfolio. She doesn’t even let me touch it, and we’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

A soft smile spreads across Mark’s face as he processes her words, pride swelling in his chest. He feels a flutter of happiness, realising the trust and special place he’s starting to hold in your life. With a renewed sense of closeness and privilege, he makes his way toward your room, his steps light, eager to reassure you and perhaps, share in the intimate parts of your life that you guard so closely.

Karina’s demeanor speaks volumes as she stands there, her expression betraying a complex blend of emotions that extends beyond mere annoyance. It’s evident, even to a casual observer, that her discomfort stems from a place deeper than superficial jealousy. She doesn’t harbor romantic feelings for Mark—rather, her reaction is rooted in an acute sense of infatuation and perhaps, a touch of envy towards the closeness you share with him. Mark, with his undeniable charm and increasing popularity, has become a focal point of attention, making him the object of many admiring glances, including Karina’s.

As she watches the effortless intimacy and laughter you and Mark share, a pang of loneliness strikes her. It’s not just the affection but the ease of your interaction that seems to highlight her own isolation. In your shared apartment, where she once felt at home, she now feels like an outsider looking in on a world where she no longer belongs. This sense of displacement is sharpened by the realization that her connection with anyone has never mirrored the depth and vibrancy of what you and Mark have, which intensifies her feelings of solitude.

The jealousy, therefore, isn’t about wanting Mark for herself but about missing that profound emotional connection. Seeing you two so synced and happy together magnifies her own insecurities about being alone, about not having someone who looks at her the way Mark looks at you—with undisguised adoration and admiration. This internal turmoil manifests as tension and a somewhat sharp edge in her interactions, not because she despises what you have, but because it serves as a mirror to what she lacks in her own life.

Her frustrations are further compounded by the fact that she can’t openly express these feelings without seeming petty or envious. So, she remains silent, wrestling with her feelings privately, which only adds to the weight of her isolation. Every laugh and whisper she overhears, every moment she witnesses of your shared happiness, is a reminder of the void within her own emotional landscape, making her feel even more detached and alone.

Thus, her reactions and expressions are not just about the disruption in the household or the inconveniences caused by your romantic escapades. They are about a deeper, more personal ache—an ache for connection, for being seen, for being part of something as effortlessly beautiful as your relationship with Mark. In her quiet moments, she grapples with these feelings, unsure how to bridge the gap between her loneliness and the contentment she observes in you.

───────────────────────────────

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice is gentle as he taps lightly on your bedroom door, his presence just outside a comfort in itself.

“It’s open,” you call out, your voice muffled by the pillow. He enters, quietly shutting and locking the door behind him before his eyes find you. Wrapped in your sheets, tear streaks marking your cheeks, you look up as he approaches.

“Hey, baby,” he coos, his tone soft and caring as he sits at the edge of your bed. His hand reaches out, tenderly brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face. You don’t resist when he gently pulls you into his arms, arranging you so your head rests against his chest—a silent fortress against the storm brewing inside you. His fingers stroke your back in soothing patterns, each touch a silent promise of his support. The soft kisses he plants on your temple are like whispers of reassurance, telling you he’s there, waiting for you to share when you’re ready.

After a few moments cradled in his embrace, you find the strength to speak, your voice quivering slightly. “I need to tell you something,” you start, feeling his chest hum in response, a non-verbal cue that he’s listening.

You take a deep breath, your story pouring out in a nervous rush. “Jeno came up to me earlier, and it turns out his dad did tell him what he saw. He said that Taeyong tried to convince him that we were having a relationship behind his back.” The words tremble as they leave your lips, tears welling up again.

Mark’s hold tightens, his voice concerned. “Oh,” he murmurs, clearly taken aback. “But I had practice with Jeno today. He was… normal. We joked around, practiced together. If he knew, wouldn’t he be mad at me? Try to confront me?”

“That’s the thing,” you sniffle, wiping away a tear. “Jeno told me he chose not to believe his dad because he knows Taeyong is a liar and manipulative. Me and Jeno have gotten a lot closer as friends, and he’s choosing to trust me—to believe that I’m not going behind his back.”

Mark’s expression softens, his eyes filled with empathy yet tinged with concern. “Is that why you were so quiet earlier?” he inquires, referring to the strained silence that had hovered between you during the movie.

You nod, the weight of keeping your relationship with Mark a secret pressing down on you. “Mark, please, we need to keep ‘us’ a secret. No one can know, not Jeno, not anyone. It’s already bad enough that Karina and now Winter know, but I’ll make sure they keep it quiet. We just… it’s too risky otherwise. I don’t want any drama or tension. I’m just so tired of it all.”

Mark nods solemnly, his voice firm yet filled with an aching tenderness. “If that’s what you want. I’d love to touch and kiss you in public without caring who’s watching, but I’ll always put your needs first. Whatever makes you feel safe, I’m in.”

Relief floods through you at his words, and you exhale a shaky breath. “Thank you, Mark, truly,” you murmur, feeling the sincerity of his promise wrap around you like another blanket.

He exhales a deep, contemplative sigh. “It’s probably for the best,” he admits, his tone mixing resignation with newfound understanding. “I’m actually starting to get along with Jeno. It’s surprising, I know, but he’s proving me wrong. Beneath that tough exterior, he’s not that insufferable. I still think he’s a jerk but as I get to know him better, I see why. He’s just putting up a front, but he’s really not so bad once you break through that.”

Mark’s eyes meet yours, filled with a sincere resolve. “He’s my brother, and family is something I don’t have much of. I’m starting to realise what little I have. I don’t want to jeopardise what’s building between Jeno and me. Not now. So, I agree—we keep our relationship under wraps for a bit longer. I don’t want to lose the chance to really become brothers, not over a misunderstanding or impatience on my part.” His voice is steady, the words flowing more from a place of understanding and less from frustration, showing his maturity in handling the delicate balance of family ties and personal relationships.

You hum, relieved yet thoughtful. Despite the shroud of secrets surrounding your relationship, you feel a profound sense of rightness about how things are unfolding with Jeno through Mark. “What’s the deal with your family?” you ask softly, realising you’ve only ever known the outlines of his familial ties. You know that Mark and Jeno share a father, one who abandoned Mark’s mother while she was pregnant, leaving Mark without a father figure.

You’ve never met his mother, but from what Mark’s shared, you imagine her as a formidable woman who raised a son with a resilient mix of kindness and strength. Mark embodies so many qualities that speak to a loving, though challenging upbringing—he is confident yet unassuming, talented yet humble, and possesses a sharp wit paired with a deep-seated kindness. These traits endear him not just to you but to everyone around him. His laughter, easy and infectious, has a way of lightening even your darkest days, and his support has been unwavering, a testament to his character and the values instilled in him.

Mark’s empathy, perhaps his most striking quality, seems to come naturally. He listens intently, making those around him feel understood and appreciated—a likely gift from his mother, who needed to be both parents at once. He supports you quietly but wholeheartedly, celebrating your successes and standing by you through challenges as if they were his own. These qualities, deeply woven into his character, paint a vivid picture of the woman who shaped him, a person of strength and unconditional love.

He’s silent for a moment, the weight of his history reflected in the depth of his gaze. You can see the struggle, a mixture of resignation and resolve, as he contemplates his past. Finally, he offers you a small, somewhat weary smile. “It’s a long story, another time?” His voice is soft, tinged with vulnerability and an emotion so palpable it makes your heart tighten in your chest.

You nod, your understanding clear in the softness of your eyes. Reaching out, you take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Okay, whenever you’re ready,” you whisper gently, showing him that there’s no rush, that you’re here for him whenever he wants to share more. To further comfort him, you lean in and press a tender kiss to his forehead, then gently push back a lock of his hair from his face.

His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, lingering and intense. Each touch is a promise, a silent communication of his deep feelings for you. He breaks the kiss only to continue his tender exploration, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, his movements gentle and reverent. The adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, a profound affection that speaks louder than words. His smile, boyish and breathtaking, lights up his features, making your heart flutter with the sheer beauty of the moment.

You feel the warmth of his affection enveloping you, each kiss a testament to his deep feelings. His eyes, alight with warmth and a hint of desire, hold yours in a gaze so intense it sends shivers down your spine. The air around you thickens with intimacy, each breath you take mingled with his. It’s a connection that goes beyond the physical, charged with an emotional depth that makes every touch, every kiss, feel like the first and only.

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The morning light sneaks in softly as Mark stirs beside you. His early morning departure starts with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing yours as he murmurs about having to head to practice. His voice was low and still thick with sleep, he promises to see you later, his words a soft echo as he leaves. Despite the warmth of his farewell, the quiet that settles after his departure does little to calm the storm of thoughts whirling through your mind, all echoing the tensions from last night.

Reluctantly, you slip out of the comforting tangle of sheets, still dressed in Mark’s shirt and your own shorts, you shuffle towards the kitchen. The sight of Karina munching on cereal and Winter’s unexpected presence doesn’t startle you, it only compounds the morning’s heavy air. They both pause, eyes following you in silence as you approach the coffee machine, their gazes laden with unspoken words.

Karina cuts through the quiet first, nodding towards the counter. “I already made your coffee,” she mutters, a subtle peace offering in her tone. Gratefully, you wrap your fingers around the familiar mug, the warmth seeping into your palms.

“Thanks,” you manage, the rich aroma soothing some of the rough edges of your wakefulness.

Karina hesitates before speaking again, her voice softer, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Her apology hangs between you, earnest and hopeful.

You meet her eyes, finding sincere regret there, and it nudges your own words forward. “Me too, I didn’t mean for things to get so heated.”

As you both step tentatively around the remnants of last night’s fallout, discussing the sharp words and misunderstandings, the air begins to clear. “Just, please, make sure you don’t tell anyone about me and Mark,” you add, needing to hear it again.

Karina nods firmly, her assurance steady. “You can trust me. You know I’ve got your back.”

Winter, who had been quietly observing, chimes in, her agreement soft but certain. “You have my word too, Y/N.” Relief floods through you, easing some of the tightness in your chest. Their honesty, their readiness to support you—it fortifies the trust you place in them, reminding you of the solid friendships you’ve built.

Winter catches your eye, her question probing gently but deeply enough to unsettle the surface of your calm. “Mark makes you really happy, doesn’t he?” she asks, a soft curiosity in her voice.

You deflect, shaking your head and looking away. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, unwilling to peel back layers of emotions you aren’t ready to acknowledge yet.

Unable to resist your own curiosity, you shift the conversation towards a less vulnerable topic, one that needles at your insecurities though you hate to admit it. “So, you’ve had sex with Mark?” The words taste bitter, revealing more about your feelings than you’d like.

Winter nods, and without any reservation, begins detailing her brief encounters with Mark. “Yeah, it was only a couple of times. He’s really good, you know? His cock is huge, and he knows exactly how to use it. And his dirty talk? Absolutely mind-blowing.” She pauses, a hint of reminiscence flickering across her features. “But it was just sex. He made sure I knew that. We both knew what it was.”

Hearing Winter’s casual recount helps; it echoes Mark’s assurances to you that whatever happened before you was meaningless. Yet, a part of you tightens at the thought, a mixture of relief and residual jealousy tangling inside you.

Karina watches you closely, her gaze piercing as she catches the subtle relaxation of your shoulders at Winter’s words. She leans in, her voice barely above a whisper, “You’re really falling for him.”

Your reaction is immediate and visceral. You choke on your coffee, coughing and sputtering as you vehemently shake your head. “No, I’m not. We’re just fucking,” you assert, a desperate denial coloring your tone.

Deep down, you’re terrified to admit these burgeoning feelings, to acknowledge that what’s between you might be more than physical. You’re scared to open your heart fully, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with real attachment. Your laughter and denials are just shields, protecting you from the possibility of heartache, even as you unwittingly fall deeper each day.

But Karina knows better; she sees through the facade. Your actions betray your words—constantly smiling when he’s mentioned, always eager to be near him, your face lighting up in a way that only someone falling hard could relate to. Despite your protests, it’s clear in the way you seek his presence, the way your mood lifts perceptibly around him, and how you relish every intimate moment—even as you tell yourself it’s nothing serious.

Karina’s confusion deepens when she considers the lack of formal commitment between you and Mark. Despite the clear signs of deep affection and mutual respect, the two of you haven’t yet defined your relationship with any official labels, nor have you discussed the potential of becoming exclusive. This hesitancy puzzles her, given the unmistakable chemistry and closeness that anyone can observe. To her, it seems apparent that you are falling for Mark in a way she hasn’t seen before. Having been so close to you for many years, she knows you well enough to recognize the signs of genuine emotional investment. Mark isn’t just another fling; he’s becoming a significant part of your life, a constant thought, a person whose absence you feel deeply even in brief separations.

Her own experiences with fleeting connections make her all the more sensitive to the nuances of yours with Mark. She sees the way your eyes linger on him, the way your laughter seems fuller when shared with him, and the softness in your voice when you speak to him, all indicators of a burgeoning affection that even you might not fully acknowledge yet. It’s this burgeoning reality, contrasted starkly against the backdrop of her own solitary existence, that stirs a blend of hope and melancholy within her. She wonders why, with all the evidence laid bare, you haven’t moved to cement what clearly seems inevitable. Is it fear of commitment, the remnants of past hurts, or perhaps a reluctance to change the dynamic that currently brings so much joy and fulfillment? Whatever the reason, it underscores a cautious dance around a conversation that could either solidify what you have with Mark or expose vulnerabilities that are easier left unexplored.

In these reflections, Karina grapples with her mixed emotions—envy at what you have, yet concern for what might happen if these unspoken truths remain buried. Her understanding of love, tainted by her own loneliness, makes her both a silent cheerleader for your happiness and a reluctant witness to the complexities of modern relationships, where labels are sometimes the barriers rather than the bonds.

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The gym was buzzing with frantic energy, underscored by Karina’s sharp commands that cut through the air. “Y/N! I thought I told you to switch off your phone,” she shouted, her voice a mix of irritation and stress. With a quick flick, you silenced your phone, muttering an apology as you caught her distressed gaze. Karina was on edge, her role as cheer captain weighing heavily on her today.

“Guys… we’re so screwed,” Karina groaned, collapsing to the floor with a dramatic flair, her pom-poms tumbling beside her. She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled but thick with despair. “We’re a member down, Ningning is still out of sync, and Yeji keeps missing the double back handspring…” Her list of grievances spilled out, each member’s flaw punctuated by her sharp, directive tone, correcting stances and motions with a precision born of desperation.

You crouched beside her, your hand rubbing her arm in a soothing rhythm. “It’s okay, Rina. Listen, we have time to turn this around. I’m sure we can find someone to fill in for Giselle and then we can touch up on our routine.” Optimism was your lifeline, even if it felt a bit misplaced in the chaos of the moment.

She shook her head, frustration etching deeper lines across her forehead. “How are we going to find someone to fill in for Giselle? Who could possibly learn our routine that quickly?”

As if on cue, the door swung open, and in walked Mark’s best friend accompanied by Donghyuck, his presence like a burst of fresh air. You hadn’t known Donghyuck long, but his upbeat personality had already made an impression. He was one of Mark’s closest friends and a roommate, someone whose charm was effortless and infectious.

“Okay, so we managed to do our spying,” Donghyuck announced, his voice a beacon of hope. He was known for his optimism, a trait that seemed particularly invaluable today.

You turn to Winter with a puzzled expression. “Since when did Karina start talking to Donghyuck?” you whisper, confusion evident in your tone. It felt like different worlds were colliding—your circle with Mark and his friends now overlapping unexpectedly with your cheer squad. The lines were blurring, and it was both intriguing and unsettling to see these separate parts of your life merging right before your eyes.

Donghyuck continued, oblivious to your confusion. “The Hawks are looking strong this year—synchronised lifts, tight formations, and their music is spot-on,” he explained, his tone both informative and slightly ominous.

Karina’s response was immediate; a strangled yell escaped her as she threaded her fingers through her hair. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” The pressure was palpable; the big match was just two hours away, and the cheer squad was visibly unravelling.

Donghyuck, ever the optimist, clapped his hands, his eyes bright. “We still have time to turn it around. I can teach you guys some fresh moves. Your current routine isn’t bad; it just needs some tweaking.”

He stepped forward, launching into a demonstration. “Instead of this move,” he said, smoothly executing a complex sequence of a cartwheel followed by a high kick that transitioned into a split. “Try this one,” he suggested, shifting into a full twist layout, his movements crisp and clean. Each step was executed with such unexpected grace that it earned shocked and admirable gazes from the team.

Karina, fueled by Donghyuck’s enthusiasm, stood, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. Yet it faltered as she remembered another crucial gap. “We’re still a member down,” she muttered.

Without missing a beat, Donghyuck pointed at Mark’s best friend. “She can join!” His suggestion came with a burst of excitement. “She’ll fit in perfectly. She’s a quick learner.”

Karina eyed Mark’s best friend with a mix of skepticism and faint amusement. The corner of her mouth twitch into a wry smile. Her arms were crossed, and her stance exuded a challenging aura. “Let’s see what you’ve got then. Go on, impress me,” she said, her voice laced with a dare, half expecting to be entertained rather than impressed.

Mark’s friend stepped into the center of the room, her movements hesitant at first. She tried to mimic some of the team’s signature moves, but her execution was more comical than competent, her limbs not quite syncing up with the beat or each other. Each awkward shuffle and misplaced step made her look less like a dancer and more like someone tangled in an invisible web.

From the sidelines, Donghyuck’s initial enthusiasm waned, replaced by a cringe as he watched her fumble. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth, each misstep making him visibly wince. “It’s like watching a puppy try to walk on ice,” he muttered under his breath, but then, squaring his shoulders, he jumped in to help. “Okay, okay, let’s break it down,” Donghyuck interjected, his tone bright and coaching. “Imagine you’re more… graceful. Yeah, try to channel a swan, not a duck.”

Karina’s smirk grew as she watched Donghyuck lead Mark’s best friend through the basics, his patience comical in its contrast to her lack of rhythm. Each instruction he gave, paired with her faltering attempts, turned the session into something unexpectedly amusing. Unable to suppress a chuckle, Karina leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Well, if enthusiasm alone won championships, we’d be unstoppable,” she remarked, the dryness of her tone belied by the grin tugging at her lips. She watched them for a few more moments, her smirk broadening with every misstep that somehow managed to look even clumsier than the last.

Karina sighed, then her gaze softened, and she reached into a nearby bag, pulling out a spare uniform. She tossed it to the new recruit, who caught it awkwardly. “We don’t have any other choice,” Karina said, a half-smile appearing as she accepted their fate. “Come on, then. You’ve got a whole routine to learn, and just under two hours to get it down.”

Laughter and chatter filled the room as Mark’s best friend quickly changed and joined the group. Donghyuck took the lead, demonstrating the choreography with a precision that belied his non-cheer background. His instructions were clear, his demeanor light yet focused, making the practice session feel less like a crisis and more like a spontaneous dance party. Everyone was surprisingly in sync, their spirits lifted by Donghyuck’s charisma and clear guidance. The routine gradually took shape, laughter mingling with the music as they practiced, the earlier tension dissolving into a collective effort to nail the performance.

“Donghyuck, you sure you haven’t done this before?” Mark’s best friend joked, trying to mimic his flawless execution of a particularly complex cheer move.

Donghyuck flashed a grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Maybe in another life!” he quipped, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, team, from the top, and this time, let’s make sure those lifts are as sharp as my dance moves!”

As the girls lined up, Donghyuck moved through the formation, correcting postures and demonstrating the sequences with an infectious enthusiasm. He detailed each step, his instructions interspersed with humorous comments that kept the mood light. “Remember, it’s not just about the height; it’s about style. Imagine you’re trying to impress your crush from across the field!”

Karina, usually the stern one, couldn’t help but laugh, her earlier stress momentarily forgotten. The group followed Donghyuck’s lead, their movements becoming more fluid with each run-through. The camaraderie in the room grew as they started feeling more confident in their routine.

“Alright, when Winter is up in the air, let’s not look like we’re struggling with a maths problem,” Donghyuck teased, his eyes twinkling as he demonstrated a smoother transition for the lift. The team erupted into laughter again, with energy at an all time high.

As the laughter begins to fade, a palpable tension fills the air when the rival team— the Highland Hawks—struts into the gym, their cheer squad in tow. The Hawk’s cheerleaders, with Yeeun leading them, give Karina and your team a condescending once-over. They mock the frantic pace of your last-minute practice, predicting a lacklustre performance from your group.

“You’re still trying to polish that tired routine?” Yeeun taunts, her voice dripping with faux sweetness as she exchanges a glance with her friends, Ryujin and Arin, who snicker beside her. “It’s adorable how you think you stand a chance.”

Karina, usually unflappable, clenches her jaw, her fists balling at her sides. “We’ll see who’s adorable at the end of the match, Yeeun,” she retorts sharply, her tone icy. The fake niceties hang heavy between them, laced with years of rivalry and mutual disdain.

However, you find yourself distracted from the brewing showdown. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mark walking alongside Jeno, a sight that still surprises you—both of them engaged in what appears to be a friendly conversation, far from their usual confrontational antics.

You attempt to look away as Mark passes, fearing your expression might betray the turmoil and longing he stirs within you. Despite your efforts, your gaze meets his; the connection is instantaneous, his eyes reflecting a mix of desperation and affection. It’s clear he’s yearning for a moment alone with you, his glance heavy with unsaid promises of how intensely he wants to fuck you, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

Mouthing a quiet “sorry” with a helpless shrug, you see him smirk in response, his expression softening as he whispers, “It’s okay,” before turning to continue his walk.

Winter, who’s been observing the exchange, leans in and murmurs with a teasing edge, “Stop eye fucking each other, you’re making it really obvious.” You give no reply, too caught up in the rush of emotions Mark’s brief interaction has left you with, the words echoing in your mind, leaving you flustered and even more aware of the palpable sexual tension that you both seem unable to conceal.

The moment lingers, suspended in the charged air of the gym, until it’s abruptly shattered. Your breath catches when you spot someone familiar among the opposing team— a casual hookup from a past you almost forgot. You remember him mostly for the string of intense, sexually-filled encounters during one of your many breaks with Jeno. The surprise of spotting him here sends a twist through your gut, unsettling you deeply.

His recognition is immediate, his smirk widening as he steps closer, his gaze sliding over you with unwelcome familiarity. The discomfort of his stare pricks at your skin, his eyes tracing contours that only serve to remind you of a past best forgotten. He approaches with a cocky tilt of his head, his words dripping with insinuation. “Miss me? We had some good times, didn’t we? Come on, let’s recreate some old memories,” he suggests, the arrogance in his tone grating against your nerves.

Before you can react, his audacity crosses a line—his hand reaches out, grasping your ass with a brazenness that snaps your restraint. You shove him back, hard, the impact echoing your surge of anger. Around you, the other cheerleaders rally, their voices raised in a cacophony of protests, demanding he back off.

The commotion catches the attention of the nearby players, including Mark and Jeno, who glance over, instantly alert. Mark’s eyes, sharp and protective, find yours first, reading the distress etched across your face. His jaw tightens, and without a second thought, he strides over, his presence like a shield. Jeno, recognizing the man and the threat he poses, follows close behind, his own anger flaring up.

The guy laughs, mistaking their approach for a casual challenge, but the cold fury in Mark’s eyes belies the seriousness of his intent. “You think you can just touch her like that?” Mark’s voice is low, dangerous, a clear warning. Jeno stands shoulder to shoulder with him, adding, “She said back off. That means you’re done here.”

Their stance is confrontational but calculated, designed to intimidate without revealing the depth of their personal stakes. Mark’s protective nature is on full display, yet he’s careful to frame his intervention as if he’s merely backing up Jeno, keeping the true nature of his and your relationship under wraps.

As the guy backs down, muttering under his breath, the tension doesn’t fully dissipate but shifts, leaving behind a charged silence. You’re shaken but grateful. This incident reminds you of the complex layers of past and present entanglements. Yet, in this moment, the support shown by Mark and Jeno, despite their complicated history, highlights a growing respect and understanding that moves beyond old grudges.

───────────────────────────────

The team didn’t win at the cheer competition, finishing behind the Hawks again, but the loss didn’t hit as hard this time. Karina, usually the most disheartened by defeat, seemed surprisingly upbeat. The atmosphere had shifted from intense competitiveness to a focus on fun and team bonding, thanks in large part to Donghyuck’s efforts to keep everyone laughing and relaxed during practices.

Mark’s best friend, who joined the team temporarily, also made a noticeable impact. She received quite a bit of attention for her spirited presence and the way she fit into the cheer outfit, which complemented her well during the performances. Her addition to the team brought a fresh energy that was well received by everyone, including the spectators. You didn’t miss the way Jeno kept glancing over to her, the way he was checking her out. His interest was subtle yet unmistakable.

The gym buzzes with anticipation as the Seoul Hill Ravens prepare for a pivotal game. The stands are a sea of excited faces, the air charged with the collective energy of hopeful fans. As the team warms up, the sound of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking against the polished floor adds to the building tension. Above this din, Donghyuck’s voice cuts through, clear and enthusiastic: “The crowd is electric tonight! With one more win, the Seoul Hill Ravens will make the state finals for the first time in 18 years. Tonight, all eyes are on Lee Jeno.”

Just then, Jeno spots two unsettling figures, Sunwoo and Eric, lurking in the audience. He nudges Mark, nodding toward the duo. “Hey, what are those guys doing here?” he whispers.

Mark frowns, tension lining his face. “How should I know?” Jeno snaps, clearly irritated.

“Well, I saw you talking to them on the river court earlier today,” Mark pushes, trying to make sense of their presence.

“Mind your own business, Mark,” Jeno retorts sharply, turning away to focus on the game ahead.

The whistle blows, and the game kicks off with intense energy. The Ravens start strong, but the Highland Hawks are close on their tails. Donghyuck continues his narration, his voice filled with excitement, “The Ravens are leading but not by much. Every move, every play could tip the scales!”

Mark dominates the basketball court with a commanding presence, each movement a blend of power and grace. His jersey, damp with exertion, clings to his muscular frame, emphasising his athletic build as he leaps for layups and darts past defenders. There’s a raw magnetism in his play, a compelling allure that captures your undivided attention.

However, despite Mark’s standout performance, the team’s usual synergy seems off. Jeno, normally a key player, is visibly distracted, often glancing towards the audience where Sunwoo and Eric sit watching. The pressure isn’t coming from his father tonight, it’s something else—something that has Jeno playing far below his usual standard.

Donghyuck’s voice fills the gym again, laced with concern, “Oh, and Jeno misses another shot that normally would be a sure thing for him. Something’s off today. He’s not himself.”

The frustration builds on the court; Chenle shouts from the sidelines, visibly annoyed, “Hold onto the ball, Jeno! Oh my god, kick it out, man. What’s wrong with you?”

Jeno’s responses are subdued, his usual fiery spirit dampened, “Sorry,” he mutters, his eyes not meeting his teammates’.

As the game progresses, the lead narrows even further. Mark, catching a bad pass from Jeno, can’t hide his frustration. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you want us to lose?” he yells across the court.

“Chill out, man, we’re still leading,” Jeno shoots back, though his tone lacks conviction.

“Yeah, by FOUR,” Mark retorts, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

The game is a rollercoaster of emotions, with every Raven feeling the strain of an unexpectedly tough match. As the final quarter approaches, the outcome hangs precariously in the balance, and everyone senses that the usual harmony of the team has been unsettled by whatever is weighing on Jeno.

At halftime, the locker room is echoing with Coach Suh’s booming voice, his frustration palpable and resonating off the walls. “What is going on out there? Can somebody explain to me why we’re only four points up when we should be blowing them out of the water? It’s like you guys are trying to give away points! Get out there and shoot around!” His tone is both incredulous and demanding, pressing the team for answers and better performance.

The mood among the crowd mirrors the tension in the locker room—spirits are notably dampened, the usual vibrant cheers replaced with anxious murmurs and restless shifts in the bleachers. Everyone senses the unusual underperformance, the atmosphere charged with concern rather than the typical energetic support.

Back in the locker room, Mark confronts Jeno amidst the turmoil, their conversation low but intense. “Hey, Jen… what’s going on?” Mark probes, his voice laced with worry rather than accusation, sensing there’s more beneath the surface of Jeno’s distracted plays.

Jeno’s response is defensive, a clear indication he’s not ready to divulge any truths. “With what?” he counters, dodging the question with a feigned ignorance that doesn’t fool Mark.

Mark doesn’t let up, his observation sharp. “Well, the way you’re playing tonight. It’s not nerves, I can tell.”

“You can’t tell anything, you don’t know me,” Jeno snaps back, his voice a mix of defiance and weariness.

Despite Jeno’s resistance, Mark pushes for clarity. “I know you’ve somehow gotten into trouble with those two guys, and suddenly they’re here in the audience and you’re playing like crap. What do they want you to do, Jen? What… lose the game? Betray your teammates and your coach for some money?” His accusation, though harsh, is driven by concern not only for the game but for Jeno himself.

Jeno’s reply is tinged with desperation. “All right, listen to me. Take the self-righteous attitude and shove it. You can’t begin to understand what’s happening and the shit I’m in, so leave me the fuck alone and mind your own business.”

Mark’s patience thins, his frustration palpable. “Well, you better help me understand, or I’m going to Suh,” he states firmly, his tone indicating that he’s not willing to let this slide.

Jeno’s face tightens, a mixture of defiance and resignation washing over him. “Listen, I’d never throw a game, okay? We’re still gonna win… just by less than 10 points.”

Mark huffs, disbelief etching his features as he rolls his eyes. “Oh… Jeno,” he mutters under his breath, his voice laden with disappointment. He can’t fathom Jeno’s rationale, his brother’s words sounding more like excuses than justifications.

Jeno’s expression hardens, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Don’t, okay? The only reason we’ve gone this far is because of me. And besides, all anybody cares about is winning. Nobody cares if I gave it my all or not.” His words spill out, laced with a mix of defiance and resignation, reflecting the pressure he feels from all sides.

Mark’s frustration is evident as he retorts to Jeno, “Do you really believe that? You’re the star player, you’re supposed to be, you’re the captain.” His voice carries a mix of incredulity and concern, highlighting the gravity of the situation unfolding between them.

As their intense discussion continues, you leave the gym and decide to approach the locker room, hoping to catch a moment with Mark. Most of the players are already heading back to the court, the game’s urgency pulling them from the confines of strategy talks and hurried pep talks. You suspect Mark is alone and you wish to offer a quick kiss and some words of comfort, knowing he’s stressed about the slim lead.

However, as you reach the door, you overhear the tail end of a heated conversation. Your steps falter, a frown forming as you recognise Jeno’s fiery voice. The possibility of a private moment vanishes, replaced by concern as you catch fragments of their exchange.

“Yeah, okay? I have to believe that. I got no other way out. Unless you got 15 grand lying around,” Jeno’s voice is thick with desperation and resignation. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications heavy and dark.

At that moment, Coach Suh enters, his presence like a sudden gust of wind that slices through the thick atmosphere. “Is there a problem here?” His voice is stern, demanding truth in the stifled air.

“No,” Jeno responds curtly, his tone dismissing the underlying tension. He exits swiftly, his annoyance palpable, with Suh following closely behind, leaving the room charged with unsaid words. You retreat into the shadows, hiding briefly to avoid detection. Once the coast is clear and the echoes of their departure fade, you slip into the locker room.

Inside, you find Mark, his expression stormy, the weight of the team’s performance and his brother’s troubles etched deeply across his brow. His shoulders are tense, bearing not just the physical demands of the game but the emotional turmoil that the day has brought.

“Hey,” you whisper, breaking the silence gently. He looks up, a mixture of relief and sadness in his eyes. His smile, though soft, doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and needing. You walk over and pull him into an embrace, feeling his body tense under your touch. As you hold him, the room’s residual stress seems to dissolve slightly, confined to the background as you focus on the man in front of you.

You lean back just slightly, tilting your face up to meet his lips with a gentle, tender kiss. “What was that about? Jeno seems really stressed,” you murmur, pulling back to look into his eyes, seeking answers in their depths.

“No clue,” Mark replies, his voice laced with frustration. He glances at you, a flicker of concern crossing his face as he raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t overhear us talking, did you?” he asks. You shake your head, and you notice a subtle sigh of relief escape him, though he tries to mask it.

He kisses you again, his yearning clear. “You look so beautiful today. Can’t be bothered to finish this game, just wanna be in you,” he confesses, his voice low with need, a smirk playing on his laps as he catches you gasping at his tone. His hands find your waist, fingers splaying wide over the fabric of your cheer skirt, edging daringly beneath to grip your ass with a boldness that sends a thrill through you.

You offer him a warm smile, your eyes softening as you feel a rush of affection. “There’s not much time left in the game. Go out there, win it, and then I’m all yours for the evening,” you say, your voice low and encouraging, aiming to boost his spirits. You reach up, tracing the line of his jaw tenderly with your fingertips, adding a playful yet sincere, “Make me proud.”

Mark’s response is immediate and intense; a low growl vibrates from his throat as he pulls you closer. His hands roam over your back, tracing the contours of your body with a possessive touch that sends shivers through you. “I’ll win it for you,” he promises, his voice thick with anticipation, his eyes burning with a mix of determination and desire as he looks down at you.

Mark’s affection is tender and constant as he dots kisses across your face, each touch soft and deliberate. He starts at your forehead, then gently presses his lips to your cheek, your nose, and the delicate skin of your eyelids. A soft kiss lands on your chin, and then he’s back to your lips, lingering there longer. Between these gentle caresses, he murmurs, “I wish that idiot from the other team could see how I’m kissing you, wish he could see that you’re mine.”

You can’t help but giggle, the warmth of his words spreading through you, making your cheeks flush with a mix of delight and a hint of shyness. As he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes with a softness that makes your heart race, he asks, “Who was he anyway?” His tone is curious, tinged with a protective edge.

“Just someone I used to see,” you reply quietly, avoiding his gaze as you recall the uncomfortable encounter. “I think he’s mad that I ghosted him.”

Mark’s protectiveness flares instantly. “If he makes you feel uncomfortable again, you’ll tell me, hm?” he asks, his gaze intense and serious.

You nod, feeling a surge of affection for his concern. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer. “I know you’ll always protect me,” you affirm softly.

He responds by leaning down to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. The kiss is gentle, yet filled with all the emotion he’s holding back, a quiet statement of his care and connection to you. The world around you fades, leaving only the feeling of his lips on yours, tender and full of unspoken promises.

───────────────────────────────

Donghyuck’s voice fills the gymnasium, keeping pace with the game’s intensity. “The game is still on. Time is winding down in the fourth quarter, and the Ravens have a 7-point lead… now 9 points. And the Hawks are gonna call time-out.”

The whistle blows, signaling a pause in the action. Coach Suh takes the opportunity to strategize, calling his team over. “Jeno, take a seat.”

Jeno looks perplexed and protests, “What? Why?”

Coach Suh’s voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “Because we’re up by 9, and I’m not gonna expose my best player to injuries.”

“But Coach, we only got a couple seconds left,” Jeno tries to argue.

“It only takes one to blow out a knee. Now sit down,” Suh commands. Jeno, though reluctant, obeys and takes his place on the bench. Suh then turns his attention to Mark. “Mark, come here. Look, they’re gonna be looking to foul. You’re our best free-throw shooter. Now, I want you to go in there and ice this thing.”

The Ravens team gathers for a quick huddle, hands together in unison, their voices echoing in the gym, “One, two, three — Ravens!”

In the stands, the atmosphere is tense. Sunwoo and Eric, cynical and watchful, observe the proceedings with keen interest. Sunwoo mutters to his accomplice, “If the Ravens score one more point, Jeno Lee doesn’t leave this gym in one piece.”

The game resumes with the clock ticking down. Donghyuck continues his commentary, “The Ravens are up by 9. Just five seconds stand between them and a trip to the state championship… three seconds now.”

As the crowd holds its breath, Na Jaemin executes a quick steal for the Ravens, clinching their lead. Donghyuck exclaims, “Na Jaemin picks up a quick steal! And that’s gonna ice it. With two seconds left on the clock, the Ravens are headed to the state championship. All that remains is for Mark Lee to seal it.”

From the sidelines, you catch Mark’s eye, sending him a small, encouraging smile. He holds your gaze, his expression softening as a confident, almost playful smile curls at the corner of his lips—a silent promise that he’s got this. You can feel the quiet intensity in his look, as if he’s drawing strength from your presence, fueling him with that last bit of resolve for the final seconds of the game.

Donghyuck inquires to his co-commentator, Yeri, “What’s his free-throw percentage, Yeri?”

“Well, he’s 92% from the line… and 100% hot,” Yeri replies, a hint of attraction in her voice.

Mark prepares for the shot. You know him well enough to sense that something is off—it isn’t nerves; Mark doesn’t get nervous. He’s always confident in his abilities. It must be something else. As lines up at the free-throw line, bouncing the basketball methodically, a ritual of focus before each shot. His posture is the epitome of readiness, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the rim, yet there’s a subtle tension in his frame that you’ve come to recognize. This isn’t the usual concentration or the typical pre-shot jitters that some players exhibit. There’s a deliberateness to his movements, a measured nature that seems out of place.

He takes a deep breath, and you can see the slight furrow in his brow, an indication of the internal conflict perhaps stirring within him. Mark is not one to falter under pressure, nor is he one to let the crowd’s energy sway his composure. His confidence on the court has always stemmed from a deep-seated belief in his skills and a clear mental focus that rarely wavers.

Yet, today, as he stands ready to take what should be a routine free throw, his glance briefly drifts to Jeno, who’s seated on the bench, his own expression a mixture of tension and unreadable thoughts. This fleeting look, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying close attention, suggests a connection to the younger player’s troubles—a shared burden or a silent acknowledgment of a situation only they understand.

As Mark adjusts his grip on the ball, his usual smooth rhythm seems slightly forced, his movements minutely hesitant. It’s clear to you, having watched him play countless times, that whatever is weighing on him is affecting his usual seamless play. This shot, normally a mere formality for someone of his skill, now carries an unspoken weight, hinting at stakes much higher than just the points on the scoreboard.

Donghyuck builds the anticipation, “If Mark can make this free-throw, the lead will be 10 points, and that would be the Ravens’ ninth double-digit victory of the season.”

Mark steps up to the line, his usually steady hands briefly faltering as he takes a deep breath. His gaze shifts, not just to the basket but to the bench where Jeno sits, a silent tension passing between them. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even a glint of reluctance—as he dribbles the ball once, twice, then steadies himself. The gym is a quiet hum of anticipation, the crowd holding its collective breath.

Finally, Mark raises his arms, releases the ball with precision, and… it’s just slightly off. The shot hits the rim, bounces wide, and the opposing team rebounds just as the buzzer blares through the gym. “The shot is up… and it’s no good!” Donghyuck announces as the buzzer sounds. “The Hawks rebound, the buzzer sounds, and this one’s over! We won! The crowd goes on the floor, and this place is going crazy. The Ravens have won by 9! They’re headed to the state championship, baby! Yeah!”

The Ravens have won, the crowd exploding into cheers as fans rush the court in a frenzy of celebration. Mark’s teammates are ecstatic, embracing each other, but you can’t shake the feeling that Mark’s miss wasn’t an accident. You watch him, his expression unreadable amid the jubilation, silent questions linger in your mind. What are the brothers hiding? What the hell is going on?

You’re pulled from your thoughts by an all-too-familiar voice. Yeonjun—finally placing a name to the face of the guy who’s been giving you trouble—saunters over with that arrogant smirk plastered across his face. He’s the guy you had a casual fling with ages ago, nothing serious, and certainly nothing you thought you’d have to deal with again. The irritation flares up instantly as he nears you, unbothered by the glare you give him.

“I’ll call Jeno over,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice low but firm. “He’ll beat you up like he did before. We both know he can’t stand you, so get the hell away from me—”

“But he’s not your boyfriend anymore, is he?” Yeonjun cuts you off, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “You should’ve told me you were single. Would’ve saved me some trouble.” He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, clearly delighted by the reaction he’s getting.

Your pulse quickens, a mix of anger and discomfort rising in you as you realize that your relationship status only fuels his audacity. Knowing him, it wouldn’t have mattered whether you were single or taken; guys like him ignore boundaries regardless. He inches closer, continuing with his unwanted comments, his eyes trailing over you in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“Come on, babe. We both know you missed me,” he sneers, voice dripping with condescension as he leans in, hand reaching out to grab you.

You push him back firmly, raising your voice in defiance. “Get your hands off me!”

The force of your voice draws attention from the crowd, heads turning toward the commotion. Mark, who had just finished high-fiving his teammates, catches sight of what’s happening. Any remaining patience vanishes from his face as he watches Yeonjun’s approach, eyes narrowing with fury. The restrained frustration he’d been holding back—after everything with Jeno, not being able to touch and kiss you in public, and the weight of the game—is now focused entirely on Yeonjun.

Mark steps forward, his eyes dark and unyielding as he stares Yeonjun down. His posture is tense and unyielding, he reaches Yeonjun in seconds, shoving him with enough force that he stumbles back and away from you. “You need to back off. Now.” His voice is calm, but the underlying threat is unmistakable.

Yeonjun scoffs, tossing a condescending look at Mark. “What’s your problem, man? She’s not yours to protect.”

Mark stands firm, his expression unyielding. “Yeah? Well, she sure as hell doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

With a smirk, Yeonjun leans in, his tone venomous. “Oh, I get it, you want her too, huh? She has such a tight pussy… I’ll tell you, it’s something else.” His words are calculated, aimed to incite a reaction.

Mark’s jaw clenches, a vein throbbing at his temple, signaling the fraying edge of his composure. He steps forward, closing the gap between him and Yeonjun in a heartbeat. With a swift movement borne of frustration, he shoves Yeonjun hard. The force catches Yeonjun off guard, causing him to stagger backwards, his feet scrambling to regain his balance. The smug smirk that had been plastered on Yeonjun’s face falters, morphing into a scowl as he realizes he’s not dealing with someone who’s going to back down.

As Yeonjun steadies himself, his eyes narrow, and without warning, he launches a punch aimed directly at Mark’s face. But Mark, anticipating the move, dodges to the side, his own anger simmering just below the surface. The miss doesn’t deter Yeonjun; instead, it fuels his rage, and he lunges again, more recklessly this time.

Mark’s response is swift and decisive. As Yeonjun swings, Mark catches his wrist, using his momentum against him. With a quick twist and a firm push, Mark pins Yeonjun against the wall. His grip is tight, controlled—marking the restraint of someone well-practised in keeping his cool.“ Think very carefully about your next move,” Mark hisses into his ear, his voice low and menacing. The immediate area around them grows tense, players pausing as the altercation unfolds, ready to jump in at any sign of escalation.

Jeno had been silently observing everything since Mark went over to defend you against Yeonjun. He was puzzled—what was all that about? As far as he knew, you and Mark weren’t particularly close; there was no obvious reason for Mark to get so worked up unless he had some personal issue with Yeonjun. His confusion only deepened with the ongoing situation.

His father, Taeyong, watching the exchange from a distance, chuckled cynically and nudged Jeno with a knowing smirk. “Still don’t believe me? It’s obvious they’re fucking, son.”

Jeno shot his dad a withering look, choosing to ignore the crude comment. Despite the seed of doubt his father tried to plant, Jeno’s trust in you remained unshaken. He wasn’t going to let his father’s baseless accusations color his perception of you or Mark. Turning his attention away, Jeno scanned the gym’s bleachers for Eric and Sunwoo. A small sigh of relief escaped him when he saw they had already left, sparing them from any more of the drama.

Jeno, with a look of renewed determination, wastes no time in joining Mark’s side. His approach is swift and determined, his loyalty to Mark unmistakable as he positions himself as a barrier between Mark and any further threats. Spotting a player from the opposing team trying to intervene, Jeno grabs him by the arm and firmly pushes him back, effectively blocking him from escalating the fight.

The atmosphere in the gym quickly becomes charged as the altercation draws more attention. Teammates and opponents alike dive into the mix, with some trying to break up the fight and others fueling it. Fists fly and shouts fill the air, creating a disorder and chaos. The floor becomes a maelstrom of moving bodies—players dodging, weaving, and colliding as the skirmish grows. In the midst of the fight, Mark swiftly gains the advantage over Yeonjun. The crowd’s attention is locked on the action, their cheers growing louder as Mark dominates the confrontation.

Amidst the frenzied chaos, tensions between Karina and Yeeun, the opposing cheer captain, reached a boiling point. The air was thick with rivalry as they squared off, their frustrations from the entire season spilling over.

“Still think you’re better than us?” Karina taunted, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, the muscle in her jaw twitching with anger.

Yeeun stepped closer, her sneer sharp and cutting. “Better at everything. Especially not losing my head over stupid boys,” she shot back, her voice dripping with disdain.

That was the last straw for Karina. In a flash of fury, she lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Yeeun’s hair and yanking her head back with a fierce tug. Yeeun retaliated instantly, her nails digging painfully into Karina’s arm as she tried to free herself.

The scuffle escalated quickly into a wild flurry of kicks and screams, each girl trying to overpower the other. Winter and Ryujin rushed to intervene, desperately pulling and pushing to separate them, but their efforts only intensified the struggle. Arin joined the fray, shoving Winter aside with a harsh push that sent her staggering back.

Amid the chaos, Karina found an opening. She pulled her arm back and landed a solid punch on Yeeun’s cheek. “And that’s for trying to steal my man that one time,” she hissed, her breath hot with anger. Not giving Yeeun a moment to recover, Karina swung again, connecting another punch. “And that’s for stealing my move at the last Nationals—the Twisted Halo jump!”

The gym is a storm of chaos, with shouts, punches, and unrestrained aggression filling every corner. Coaches, teachers, and spectators scramble to intervene, but the tension has reached an uncontrollable peak.

Time seems to slow as the chaos finally fades away, leaving a heavy stillness in its wake. Mark bears the visible signs of the recent confrontation—a few fresh marks bruising his hands and a harsh line across his face. It’s painful for you not to rush to his side, especially now when all you want to do is envelop him in your arms, thank him, and tend to his wounds. But the reality of your secret relationship keeps you at a painful distance in the crowd.

The two of you had tried to sneak away to the locker rooms for some privacy, only to be halted by the loud echoes of Coach Suh’s furious voice berating the players involved in the fight. With a mutual sigh of resignation, you both came to the conclusion that there would be no moments alone tonight.

However, you can’t help but to find yourself constantly searching for Mark in the crowd. Your heart swells as you watch him embrace a woman. Even from a distance, her youthful vigor is apparent, but the maternal pride in her eyes is unmistakable—this is his mother. You can’t hear their words, but her gestures, filled with boundless praise and affection, speak volumes. She reassures him with a fervour that despite his missed shot, her pride in him is unwavering, her love absolute.

The light in Mark’s eyes and the broadness of his smile as he embraces his mother capture you completely. He seems to radiate happiness, the kind that fills the space around him and draws people in. His cheeks, surely aching from smiling so much, only add to the warmth that his expression carries. Watching him in such a pure moment, you can’t help but feel a surge of joy that tightens your chest in a familiar, yet always surprising, way. It stirs something deep within you—a mix of admiration and a sharp pang of longing. What was this tightening in your chest that seemed to draw tighter with each of his smiles?

Seeing him like this makes you ache to be by his side. You want to be the one he shares these moments with, someone who can give him the same comfort and support that he gets from his family. The happiness on his face brings a soft smile to yours, even as you feel a small pang of longing, wishing you could step closer, congratulate him, and tell him how proud you are. But, for now, you stay where you are, letting the warmth of his happiness reach you from afar.

“That’s how he looks when he’s with you,” Karina murmurs, startling you. She’s right beside you, and her presence snaps you back to reality. You quickly ask about her condition, recalling the fight she’d been involved in. She waves off the concern, showing only a few scratches. “We handled it,” she assures with a wry smile.

Your attention drifts back to Mark, who now converses with a man standing close to his mother. The man’s presence is comforting, almost fatherly as Mark looks at him with evident respect and fondness. Curiosity about his identity flickers through your mind, but the warmth of seeing Mark surrounded by love overshadows it.

You stifle a giggle as his mother scolds him for his involvement in the fight, her hands gesturing animatedly. Yet, in the next moment, she’s gently tending to a cut on his face, her touch tender. Relief washes over you, grateful that he’s being cared for.

Mark had assured you earlier, his voice earnest as you felt guilt over how he defended you. “Don’t worry about me. I’d do anything for you.” And somehow, you knew he meant it with every word, that this barely scratched the surface of what he’d be willing to do for you. As they prepare to leave, you watch them go, a silent goodbye lingering on your lips, mingled with regret that you couldn’t openly share this moment with him.

Moments later, you stand alone in the nearly empty gymnasium, the echoes of the night’s chaos still lingering around you. As you wait for Karina to gather her things, your phone buzzes with a message. It’s Mark. A small smile forms as you read his words, and soon, you’re lost in a back-and-forth exchange, your fingers typing quickly as he fills the silence around you. Each message from him brings a warmth that eases the tension left from the night’s events, grounding you in the comfort of your shared connection.

You’re giggling, smiling down at your phone as you text back and forth with Mark, so absorbed in your conversation that you don’t notice someone walking up to you.

“Texting Mark?” a voice asks, amusement clear.

You look up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise to see Mark’s best friend standing there, an amused smile on her face. Quickly, you try to cover, stammering, “No—uh, I mean… no, I’m just texting… someone else.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So, you’re just randomly blushing and giggling at your phone for ‘someone else,’ huh?”

You bite your lip, fumbling to keep up the charade. “Yeah, we’re not… I mean, it’s not… Mark and I aren’t close like that. We just… hang out sometimes.”

She crosses her arms, clearly enjoying this. “Listen, you don’t need to lie to me. I know you’re seeing Mark.”

Your jaw drops in shock. Why would he tell her? After he promised to keep it between you two. The panic must show on your face because she quickly adds, “Hey, don’t get mad at him. He told me before you asked him to keep it quiet. He’d never have told me otherwise. He really likes you and respects your wishes. He wouldn’t want to lose your trust.”

“Oh… okay,” you mumble, feeling the tension slip away. You glance back at your phone, your heart easing a bit.

She nods, leaning in a bit. “Considering Mark and I share everything, it means a lot that he’d respect your privacy. I know he’d have kept it a secret if you’d asked him sooner. But since I already knew…” She pauses, looking at you seriously. “I’m really close with him. He’s my best friend, and he’s one of the best people in my life. I care a lot about his happiness, so please… don’t hurt him, okay? I’ve never seen him this into anyone before. It’s always been you.”

“I… I don’t plan to hurt him. You don’t need to worry,” you whisper, taken by the sincerity in her tone.

She watches you carefully, then tilts her head. “Is it serious between you two? Or is it just… you know, sex?”

You gulp, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. You search for the words. “It’s… I’m not sure. We’re not at that stage yet. I mean, we haven’t had those conversations… it’s complicated.” You try to explain, feeling a mix of uncertainty and honesty.

She studies you, then sighs, her tone firm but gentle. “You can try to brush it off all you want, but I see how he looks at you—and I see how you look at him. You’re not fooling anyone. If you keep denying it, you’re just going to end up hurting both yourself and, most importantly, him. Just… don’t hurt him, okay? I swear to god.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected, her serious expression making it clear how much this means to her. You hadn’t expected this level of protectiveness, this strength behind her words, and it leaves you momentarily speechless.

Finally, you manage to nod. “I won’t. And… don’t hurt Jeno either,” you add as the words spill out, you’re unable to find any other words. You watch her reaction carefully.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and then she laughs softly, clearly not expecting you to have figured it out. “You… know about that?”

You smile, shrugging. “Yeah. Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me, I just know. I saw you guys making out near the tutor centre. I won’t say anything, your secret is safe with me.”

“So… Mark doesn’t even know?” you add, watching her closely.

She shakes her head, exhaling softly. “No, he doesn’t,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of anxiety and determination.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile forming. “Figures. I feel like he’d be pretty angry if he found out, right?”

She nods, visibly tense at the thought. “Yeah, he would be. That’s why it’s really important that you don’t tell him. I need to handle this on my own terms. I’ll figure it out… I’ll find a way.”

You nod, feeling the weight of her trust. “You’ve got my word. It’s safe with me,” you reassure her, squeezing her hand gently.

She lets out a small breath of relief, her grip on your hand tightening. “Thank you. Really. I mean it.”

You both share a quiet, understanding laugh, and then, in a light-hearted moment, you pinky promise to keep each other’s secrets safe. She beams, gushing a bit as she talks about Jeno, her words spilling out in excited whispers about how much she likes him, how they’re still figuring things out.

You listen, genuinely happy for her, the warmth between you both growing as you share these moments. It feels good, this small, unexpected connection, knowing that you both care deeply for people who mean so much to you.

You glance away from his best friend, your attention shifting as footsteps approach. Your heart jumps when you see Mark walking towards you, his gaze locked on yours. You remember he said he was heading home earlier, but by the look in his eyes, that’s clearly not his plan anymore. A smile tugs at your lips, the warmth spreading through you as you realize he’s here for you—probably wanting to surprise you, hoping to spend the night together. He’s always like that, slipping in small surprises just for you.

The way he’s looking at you sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze dark and intense, holding so much unspoken need. He’s barely able to keep his hands to himself, his eyes tracing over you, lingering in a way that makes your skin heat up. There’s something raw, almost desperate, about his expression, and it’s clear he’s fighting hard to keep his composure with his best friend standing right there.

When he’s close enough, you lean toward him slightly and whisper, “I know you told her.” Mark’s tense posture softens as he sighs, relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters before he finally lets go. He doesn’t waste a second, closing the distance between you in one fluid motion, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that takes your breath away. The intensity of it makes you forget the space around you, his lips moving urgently against yours, stealing every thought from your mind. His hands tangle into your hair, anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss, his movements strong, unyielding. You find yourself pressed back as he leans closer, his hands gripping you as if he never wants to let go.

Every sensation overwhelms you—the warmth of his mouth, the way he’s pouring himself into the kiss, the firmness of his hands guiding you. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting gently against yours before he drops a soft kiss onto your forehead, a stark contrast to the intensity just moments before. “Let’s go, yeah?” he murmurs, holding out his hand, his expression tender yet filled with anticipation, waiting for you to take it.

Mark’s best friend tosses a playful remark, her tone teasing. “Guess this is it, huh? Figured once you got her, you’d forget about me.”

Mark smiles, briefly letting go of your hand to give his friend a quick, but heartfelt hug. It’s short and warm—a stark contrast to the lingering, intense hugs he reserves for you, where his hands roam freely. You watch, a small smile playing on your lips as she enthusiastically praises him for the win. “Nicely done, Mark!”

He returns the gesture with a grateful smile, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before reaching back for your hand. “Thanks,” he replies, warmth evident in his voice.

You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer with a soft smile. “I thought you were leaving with your mom and that man. Who is he, by the way?”

“He’s my uncle,” Mark replies, his voice warm with affection.

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just told them to head off without me. They’re going on a date,” he continues.

Your eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “Your mom and your uncle going on a date… wait, that’s not your mom’s brother?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, you dummy. Why would my mom go on a date with her brother? He’s my dad’s older brother.”

You laugh, feeling a mix of relief and amusement at the misunderstanding, and before you can speak again, Mark leans in. His kiss is gentle, a soft press of lips that eases the tension from the earlier confusion. The kiss deepens slowly, rich with tenderness and unhurried desire. Your hands find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, while his hands settle on your waist, holding you firmly yet softly.

The kiss lingers, a quiet statement of affection that resonates with the comfort of knowing each other well. As you part, a smile lingers on your lips, mirroring the affectionate glow in his eyes. The moment is intimate, cushioned within the soft hum of surrounding conversations.

Breaking the soft silence, Mark teases, “Did you and Jeno ever talk? Or just have sex? Surely he would’ve mentioned that his dad had an older brother?” His tone is light, playful.

You jab him lightly in the chest, your face animated with mock annoyance. “Well, you and I won’t be having sex tonight,” you declare, pointing between the two of you with a humorously stern expression.

Turning to his best friend, you continue with exaggerated seriousness, “Mark keeps on making fun of the relationship I had with Jeno, this is his tenth jab at us this week! I said that when it reached that number then I wouldn’t let him fuck me.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Mark replies with a grin, his laughter mingling with yours.

You shake your head and pout, the playful banter drawing a more pronounced smile from him. “It doesn’t matter,” you sigh playfully.

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s just so easy,” he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection, lightening the atmosphere further.

His voice drops to a low whisper, the words barely a breath between you. “So you won’t let me touch you or fuck you, really?” He smirks, a hint of challenge in his tone as he watches your slow nod, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and desire.

───────────────────────────────

“Fuck, Mark.” Your moan escapes, desperate and raw, as the pressure in your core surges toward a shattering climax. Your thighs burn with the relentless effort, your entire body ignited by the overwhelming sensation of him thrusting deep, stretching you perfectly, filling every inch. Yet it’s still not enough—you’re greedy for more, clenching tightly around him to pull him even deeper. Clenching around him, you grind down hard, then lift yourself only to slam back onto his cock, chasing the relentless wave of pleasure with fervent intensity.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper breathlessly, your fingers digging into his chest as you lean in close, your breaths mingling. “You’re meant to be on a sex ban.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His smirk brushes against your lips, his voice a mix of defiance and amusement. You had only been half serious about imposing a sex ban, playfully wanting to test his limits and see how desperate and needy he could become for you.

Yet, it turns out you were the one who ended up begging for his cock. When you arrived at his apartment, the visible bruises from his recent fight marked his skin. You took your time to carefully examine each one, your touch soft yet charged with underlying desire, expressing concern while silently thanking him for enduring so much for you.

He then requested you sit on his cock to “mend” him. At first, you shook your head and crossed your arms, determined to stand firm. But it only took one pleading look from his soft, desperate eyes to make your resolve crumble.

“I didn’t ask you to bounce on me like this, fuck baby. I thought you were just gonna sit on it.” His voice was a mix of surprise and raw desire when you began to move, not just sitting but actively riding him.

But you couldn’t help it. After initially settling on his lap, his cock nestled deep inside you, the intensity built too quickly. What started as a tender moment—your lips brushing his, your hands roaming his body as you whispered soothing words—soon spiraled into desperation. Soon, you found yourself begging him to let you ride him fully, craving the feel of him deep inside you, surrendering to the desire instead of maintaining the control you know he usually likes to exert. All you wanted was to make him feel good tonight, to alleviate the burdens of his day—he deserved that intense pleasure after everything he had endured.

“Fuck… just like that,” Mark groans, his gaze intense as he watches you take control. His hands are firm on your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh, yet he lets you dictate the rhythm entirely. He’s fully immersed in the moment, savoring every second of your boldness. “You gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby? Huh? You gonna ride me until you come?”

“Yes, baby,” you moan out, the words tumbling between heavy breaths. The pace is brutal—each time you slam down onto his cock, it’s like you can’t get enough. You bounce harder, faster, your whole body moving with reckless abandon as you chase your release. “I’m gonna fuck myself dumb on your cock, Mark… fuck, I’m so close.”

His grip tightens, but he lets you ride him, lets you take what you need. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Take it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me.” His encouragement spurs you on, his hands now guiding your hips to meet each of your desperate, plunging descents, amplifying the pleasure that spirals out of control within you.

Your thighs shake uncontrollably, muscles burning with the exertion, yet you don’t relent. Driven by raw need, you’re consumed by the sensation of his cock stretching you, filling you completely, relentlessly hitting all the right places. The pleasure is overwhelming, your movements frantic and almost desperate as you lose yourself to it.

“Mark… fuck… Mark!” Your scream is loud, hands pushing against his chest for more leverage as you ride him with fierce intensity. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes around the room, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna break me,” Mark gasps, his voice strained under the intensity. He’s struggling to keep pace, but his eyes remain fixed on you—captivated by the sight of your breasts bouncing with each violent thrust, your body surrendered to uninhibited lust. His hands roam upwards, grasping your breasts roughly, squeezing in rhythm to your wild movements.

“Can I go faster?” you murmur, even as he slides a finger between your lips. You choke slightly, a reflex that quickly turns into eager sucking, your tongue swirling around him with desperate intensity. Even though you’re the one on top, driving the rhythm, there’s a thrilling sense of submission in asking for his permission. His nod, firm and eager, grants you the consent you crave, emboldening you to increase your pace. Fueled by his approval, you ride him with renewed vigor, each movement more intense. “Daddy!!!” you scream, overwhelmed by the escalating pleasure.

“Yeah?” His voice is lower now, husky with desire as his hands tighten on your hips. His thrusts slow but intensify, each one deliberate, plunging deeper, stretching you completely. “You feel how deep I am?” His tone is raw, his gaze intense and locked with yours, challenging you to respond.

“You feel me here?” Mark growls, his hand pressing down on the slight bulge at your lower belly, marking where he fills you to the hilt. The sensation of his fullness, combined with the pressure of his hand, elicits a whimper from you. He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours, fully aware of the control he wields over your senses. “Daddy’s cock stretching you out so well, isn’t it?” He mutters, lust thick in his voice. “

You nod frantically, overcome, but he demands more. “Use your words, baby,” he insists, his grip firm on your waist. His cock throbs inside you, his gaze dominating, claiming every part of you, igniting a surge of arousal through your body.

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you gasp, your voice breaking, breaths ragged. “I can feel you so deep… so fucking deep.”

“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice a mix of wonder and desire as he watches you ride him hard. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like it’s what you were made for.”

His words stoke the flames inside you, driving you to move even more fiercely. You bounce on him with such force that the bed creaks under the strain. The sound of your bodies colliding, the slickness between your legs amplifying the raw, primal nature of your coupling. You’re beyond thought, the pleasure consuming you entirely.

As you move above him, your breasts bounce enticingly with each rhythmic thrust. Mark watches, captivated by the sight, his arousal heightening at the vision of your body in motion. “Fuck, your tits are perfect,” he moans against your skin, his lips closing around your nipple with a fierce pull. “I could suck on them all fucking day, baby.”

With a mischievous grin, he reaches up, his thumbs teasing your nipples into taut peaks before he grasps them gently, rolling them between his fingers, heightening your sensitivity to a fever pitch. Driven wild by the dual sensations of his cock and his fingers, your vision blurs with ecstasy. “Fuck, yes, suck my tits, Daddy,” you cry out, your voice quivering with intensity.

Unable to resist the inviting bounce, he leans forward, capturing one nipple with his lips and pulling it into his mouth. The sensation of his hot tongue swirling around the stiffened bud, coupled with the intense suction, sends waves of pleasure cascading through your body. The sounds of his enjoyment, the wet, sucking noises mingling with your gasps and moans, fill the air, creating a symphony of desire that drives both of you closer to the edge.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he strains, his voice thick as he struggles to maintain his composure. “Keep going, baby. Use me. Take what you need. I want to see you come all over me. I want to feel how fucking tight you get when you climax.”

He switches to the other nipple, his actions relentless, his tongue flicking rapidly, drawing sharp, pleasure-laden whimpers from you. “That’s it… ride me, baby. Ride my cock. Don’t stop.”

“God, Mark…” you gasp, your voice barely audible through the thick haze of pleasure enveloping you, but he hears every whisper.

Mark’s response is a deep growl against your flesh, his mouth fiercely attaches to your other nipple, sucking with a voracious intensity while his other hand aggressively massages your other breast. “You’re fucking perfect,” he grunts, his voice muffled against your skin as he savors you. His tongue lashes over your sensitive skin, his lips pulling at your nipple, drawing deep, uncontrollable moans from you. “These tits… fuck, they’re so perfect. Bouncing just for me, baby. You like when I suck them?”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you whimper, your movements growing more frantic as pleasure mounts explosively. The sensation of him sucking your nipples while you ride him is overwhelming. “Fuck, I’m so close… I’m so close…”

Your entire body trembles, thighs screaming with the exertion, but the pleasure is so intense, you can’t think of stopping. “Please, Mark,” you beg, your voice laden with desperation and need. “Please, I don’t want to stop.”

“You’re not fucking stopping until you come all over my cock,” Mark commands, his eyes blazing with lust. His hands clamp down on your waist, dictating your rhythm as he thrusts up into you with even greater force. “You feel that?” His voice is coarse, breath scorching your skin as he leans in close. “You’re gonna come for me, baby. I want to feel you fucking soaking for me.”

His rough words ignite a surge within you, and you’re on the edge, barely holding on. His cock penetrates you so deeply, each thrust ruthlessly targeting that perfect spot inside, making your mind spin out of control. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” you whisper, a breathless plea.

That’s all it takes. With one final, desperate grind, you shatter, catapulting into the most intense orgasm you’ve ever known. Your entire body seizes, clenching tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Your breath catches, your vision momentarily whites out as the full force of your orgasm crashes over you. Your hips lose their rhythm, jerking spasmodically as your body trembles violently, clinging to him in desperate need. The slickness from your release pools between your legs, coating him, making each of his thrusts slide even deeper, intensifying the raw, primal sensation. Sweat sheens your skin, your chest heaves, completely unraveled by the overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction, his eyes devouring the spectacle of you coming undone. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it.” Lost in the ecstasy, you feel every pulse, every slick slide of him inside you, your release drenching him as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. His hands grip you firmly, guiding each shudder of your climax, his voice low, rich with pride. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he murmurs, his lips trailing hot, urgent kisses along your neck, punctuated by his deep, guttural moans. “So fucking tight for Daddy.”

The wetness between your legs soaks both of you, but as you climax, it feels as though your entire body explodes. Your muscles clench around him in pulsing, relentless spasms. Heat floods through your belly, radiating down your thighs as you shake uncontrollably. The slick sounds of your bodies mingling fill the room as you drench him, your release and his relentless thrusts merging into a crescendo of ecstasy.

As the intensity of your climax washes over you, you’re just about to collapse into his arms and share a tender kiss, but with a swift movement that leaves you dizzy, he flips you over. The sudden change is so unexpected that you burst into giggles, and his chuckle resonates against you, his chest vibrating against yours as he positions himself to enter you again.

The pace he sets is fast and urgent, leaving no time for you to adjust, though it seems you no longer need it. His gaze is intense, focused entirely on you, pleased with how well you’re handling the swift, deep thrusts. Laughter still lingers between you, the sound mixing with the rhythmic noise of your bodies moving together, suggesting the session might remain light and playful. But then, his expression shifts, and the mood changes drastically.

Without warning, his hand comes down sharply on your cheek, the slap crisp and startling. You gasp, the sting mingling with a rush of unexpected arousal. He does it again, harder this time, and you can see the dark intensity flood his eyes. “Fuck,” you moan, your body reacting to the mix of pain and pleasure.

“I can’t believe you fucked Yeonjun,” he growls, his voice thick with a sudden, raw jealousy. Now his rough movements make sense; his thrusts become even more aggressive, each one a claim, a reassertion of his presence.

He tightens his grip, pulling you closer, and in a bold move that sends a thrill through you, he lets a drop of spit fall deliberately into your open mouth. The act is daring and intensely intimate, highlighting his control in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His hot breath fans against your ear as he thrusts deeply, his voice a rough whisper that curls into you, “Can he fuck you like this? Make you feel as good as I can?” Each word vibrates through you, amplified by the relentless, commanding rhythm of his body against yours, underscoring his dominance with every movement.

You shake your head, overwhelmed by the force of his movements, the room tilting as your senses are consumed by him. “No, no he can’t,” you gasp out, each word a breathy echo of his impact on you. “Mark, please…” The rest of your plea dissolves into a moan as you reach for him, your hands grasping, pulling him closer, needing more. Each motion towards him is a silent acknowledgment of his effect on you, drawing him deeper, compelling him to claim every part of you.

As he continues, he demands you vocalize your loyalty, to affirm that he’s the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Each command he issues is more assertive than the last, each thrust deeper, claiming you entirely. The room is filled with the explicit sounds of your union, the slick, rhythmic noise that underscores his total control over your senses.

As Mark’s movements grow more forceful, the atmosphere becomes charged with a potent, almost tangible intensity. His hands explore assertively—gripping, pushing, and pulling you into each powerful thrust. He completely overpowers you, his strength undeniable as he drives into you with relentless depth. Suddenly, you feel a sharp slap on your ass, the sound crisp in the air, each strike a clear declaration of his control.

The stinging sensation melds into the heat building inside you, spurring a mix of pleasure and a raw, primal response that courses through your body.

“Did he even make you cum, baby?” Mark’s voice is low and taunting, resonating with a rough edge that sends shivers racing through your body. “Or are you just letting losers fuck you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, his eyes locked onto yours, reading the undeniable truth in the way your body clenches and arches toward him, utterly consumed by his intensity.

Words escape you, swallowed by the overwhelming tide of sensation he stirs within you; your voice fractures into moans and broken pleas, “More, Mark, please,” each plea spilling out in a desperate cadence. He dominates the rhythm, pulling out completely, the absence of him almost as intense as his presence, only to surge back in with a force that robs you of breath. Each deliberate thrust pushes you closer to the brink, his pace a calculated assault designed to shatter your composure.

Mark’s grip tightens around your thighs, manhandling you into the perfect angle for him to dive deep with every thrust. The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, a lewd soundtrack to the overwhelming intensity of his movements. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and heavy. “You can’t even form words, can you? Just moaning and begging,” he growls, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches your frazzled expression.

He increases his pace, each thrust plunging deeper and with more force, overwhelming your senses. The room seems to tilt and spin as the intensity escalates. You hover at the precipice of total loss of control, each deep connection blurring the line between overwhelming pleasure and sheer sensory overload.

“You’re mine, understand?” Mark’s voice cuts through the haze, commanding and absolute. “Say it,” he insists, his tone brooking no argument, pausing his forceful rhythm just enough to focus fully on your response.

With each labored breath, you muster the clarity to respond, the words tumbling out breathlessly, “I’m yours, only yours.” Your voice is weak, tremulous with the force of your nearing climax under his unyielding command.

Pleased with your capitulation, Mark drives forward once more, resuming his punishing pace. Each thrust pushes you further into the depths of ecstasy. Your combined cries—the sounds of his dominance and your surrender—fill the room, creating a raw symphony of unchecked passion. The intensity of your interaction charges the atmosphere, leaving an indelible mark of your shared fervor.

He pulls out only to slam back into you with ferocious intensity, each penetration deep and precise. This torturous pattern he orchestrates—withdrawal to the brink of absence, then a forceful return—sends a surge of conflicting emotions and sensations through you. Each pullback leaves you gasping, the absence keenly felt, while each forceful re-entry fills you completely, stretching and overwhelming you with raw pleasure.

His movements are unrelentingly rough, each thrust deliberate, meant to disorient and dominate. The sound of his skin slapping against yours punctuates the air, rhythmic and harsh. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with desire, burning with the need to see every flicker of response across your face. He watches you unravel under him, a mix of satisfaction and lust in his gaze as he pushes you over the edge again and again.

With every deep thrust, you find yourself unable to hold back the moans and cries that spill from your lips, each one louder and more desperate than the last. He’s relentless, driving into you with a pace that’s both punishing and intensely gratifying, his every move calculated to bring you both to a fever pitch of raw, unchecked ecstasy.

Mark’s relentless pursuit to explore every inch of you intensifies as he shifts you effortlessly into various positions, each one designed to probe deeper, stimulating you relentlessly. As he flips you onto your back, lifting your legs for deeper penetration, his thick arousal hits all the right spots, drawing loud, uncontrollable moans from your lips.

Observing your writhing form with a lustful smirk, Mark commands you to climb on top. Despite the aftershocks of multiple orgasms still coursing through your body, you obediently straddle him. Your movements are slow, unsteady from the intensity of your previous climaxes. Mark’s impatience quickly surfaces as he watches you tentatively find your rhythm. His strong hands grip your hips tightly, taking control. He guides you at first but soon begins to drive upwards into you with vigorous, insatiable strokes.

Each of his powerful thrusts jolts you, sending deep, resounding waves of pleasure that ripple through your core. Your moans fill the room, each one louder and more desperate than the last, mingling with the rhythmic slapping sound of his skin against yours. Mark’s relentless pace and the depth of his penetration stir a wild, overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

As he continues to thrust upward, your control unravels completely. He angles his hips, each movement designed to hit all the spots inside you that scream for more. His gaze is fixed on you, dark with desire, watching every reaction, every collapse of your will under his command. His hands wander with possessive intent, one sliding up to grasp your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry kisses. The other hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight, deliberate circles that send you spiraling toward another explosive climax.

As you moan on top of him, you softly murmur, “Baby, I’m all yours.” Mark hums in response, his chest tightening as he hears the affectionate term you utter so rarely—only in moments like these when you’re deeply connected and seeking intimacy. The sound underscores how precious these moments are to him.

He smiles broadly, his gaze intense and possessive as he whispers back, “Yeah, that’s right. You’re all mine.” Driven by his words, Mark’s thrusts grow even more powerful and deliberate. He pulls you down against him, his lips meeting yours in a fierce kiss that mingles your moans. His hands roam over your body with a possessiveness that heightens every sensation, each touch sparking more desire. As he continues to thrust upward, each movement is perfectly timed to drive you closer to the edge.

“I’m yours, only yours,” you keep repeating, gasping between intense moans, the room echoing with the sounds of your fervent union. The intensity peaks as you both climax together; your body spasms around him, your cries mingling with his in a chorus of ecstatic release.

As the waves of pleasure slowly recede, you collapse onto him, your body soft and pliant in his strong arms. Your kisses are tender yet charged, each one a seal of your mutual satisfaction and deep connection. “Mark…” you whimper softly against his lips, overwhelmed by affection and the depth of your shared intimacy.

He responds with gentle, yet still possessive touches, his hands exploring your back as you nestle closer, seeking his warmth. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs reassuringly, his voice low and soothing. The room is quiet now, the air thick with the afterglow of your intense encounter, each breath and soft hum of contentment weaving an even deeper bond between you.

“Ahhh,” you moan against his lips, leaning in for a kiss that promises to deepen—but a loud knock at the door jolts you apart, making you scream in shock. Instinctively, you jab Mark’s arm. “You said you had the apartment to yourself until tomorrow morning, who’s that?”

He shrugs, a mix of confusion and annoyance fleeting across his face as he gently lifts you off his lap and climbs out of bed. Hurriedly, he pulls on his boxers while you dive under the covers for cover. Mark cracks the door open just a sliver, careful to shield you from view.

You hear a deep, unfamiliar voice, definitely not one of his roommates. “Mark, why don’t you come down and have dinner with us?”

“Uncle Doyoung!” Mark’s response is laden with forced enthusiasm, a clear contrast to the intimacy of moments ago. “I thought you and mum were heading out to dinner and staying at a hotel. Wait, how did you guys get in?”

“You gave us a spare key to your apartment, remember?” His uncle chuckles, amused by Mark’s forgetfulness. “We told you we’d be coming over later. Your mom wanted to cook you dinner, especially since you moved to university. She hasn’t been able to do that much anymore.”

“Come on, come down. Me and your mother are waiting. Also, tell your girlfriend to come and join us, we’ve been waiting to meet her.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and departs, leaving Mark standing there, laughing nervously before he turns to you with an apologetic look.

You’re under the covers, wishing they could swallow you whole, your heart still racing from the abrupt shift from passion to panic. Mark catches your eye, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and reassurance as he extends a hand to you. He leans in, his lips find yours in a soft, reassuring kiss. “I guess you’re going to have to meet my mom and uncle now,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a mixture of resignation and gentle amusement. The warmth of his kiss offers a silent promise that he’ll be right there with you, facing this unexpected introduction together.

Moments later and you’re pacing frantically around the room. Mark stands by the door, his expression patient yet attentive as you pace the room, the suddenness of the situation weighing heavily on you. “Baby, you don’t need to dress up,” he mumbles, his voice low and soothing.

“Do I need to meet them? Just convince them I was some random skank you’re sleeping with. I promise I won’t get mad!” you whisper back half-jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckles, shaking his head affectionately. “You’re not some random skank; you’re my girl. So can you stop worrying so much? It’s just my mum and my uncle,” he reassures you, his tone firm yet gentle.

“It’s not easy to just ‘stop worrying’,” you hiss back, your breath quick with anxiety. “What happened to us not telling anyone?” you add, frustration evident in your shake of the head.

As you panic, Mark tries to assuage your fears with a calm explanation. “Y/N, it’s my parents. I didn’t straight out tell them ‘me and Y/N are seeing each other.’ They obviously heard us together just now and put two and two together,” he says, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the awkward revelation.

You cringe, the reality of the situation hitting you hard. “Oh fuck, they heard us,” you cry out, the embarrassment coloring your voice. “Mark, I shouted ‘daddy’ like a hundred times.”

Mark can’t help but respond with a smirk, attempting to inject some humor into the tense moment. “Nah, you could’ve said it more,” he jokes.

You send him a death glare, not finding the situation amusing in the slightest. “Stop! This isn’t funny, we were so loud,” you protest, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you imagine what his parents must think. The lightness in his attitude does little to soothe your mortification at being overheard in such a compromising situation.

As Mark wraps his arms around you, the tension in your shoulders begins to melt under his gentle touch. He pulls you close, his presence a comforting barrier against the rush of sudden nerves. His hand lightly strokes your back in slow, soothing circles, grounding you with the rhythm of his touch. “Just wear one of my hoodies and your leggings, okay? You don’t need to worry about what you’re wearing; we’re at home.”

He coos softly into your ear, trying to ease your nerves. His breath was warm against the shell of your ear, whispering reassurances that are both calming and intimate. Feeling his steady presence, your breathing gradually deepens, matching his calm, deliberate breaths. With each inhale and exhale, you feel more anchored, the earlier panic subsiding into a quiet trust. His words, simple yet sincere, remind you of the normalcy and safety of the situation, easing the swirl of anxiety.

“Fine,” you mumble, finally relenting.

Hand in hand, you walk downstairs, your nerves bundled tightly within you. However, the moment Mark’s mother’s eyes land on you and she beams a sweet, welcoming smile, a wave of calm washes over you. She was undeniably beautiful; despite her age, her features retained a youthful glow that radiated warmth and kindness. Her hair, long and soft, flowed gracefully around her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. Her eyes, a deep and soft brown, sparkled with the same gentle warmth as her smile.

Mark had her eyes.

Now that you’ve seen both of Mark’s parents, it’s apparent to you that while he shares certain features with them—he has his mother’s soft eyes and his father’s defined facial angles—he doesn’t closely resemble either of them. As your eyes shift to his uncle, a realization strikes you: Mark looks like a carbon copy of his uncle. They both share the same sharp jawline that sets the structure of their faces, the same full, expressive lips that curve into identical smiles and their expressions and mannerisms are strikingly similar. The way they both laugh, with a throwback of their heads, or the way they furrow their brows in concentration, highlights their familial connection beyond any doubt.

Before she even has a chance to greet Mark, his mother sweeps you into a warm embrace. “You must be Y/N,” she says with a bright smile that radiates maternal warmth as you respond with a chuckle and a nod, instantly feeling welcomed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lee,” you manage to whisper, your voice soft with a mix of nerves and respect.

“Oh, please, call me Irene,” she insists, her tone as warm as her smile. Her kind, loving eyes and the genuine enthusiasm in her voice envelop you like a cozy blanket, making it immediately clear why Mark is the caring, grounded person he is today. Her presence is comforting and her energy infectious, hinting at a deep well of love and strength that has clearly shaped her son into the man you know and adore.

Dinner with Mark’s mom and uncle feels surprisingly comfortable, almost like being at home. The conversation is light and filled with laughter, sharing stories that highlight the close and loving nature of their family. When Mark formally introduces you, his voice is filled with pride, and you can see the affection in his eyes. It’s a straightforward and welcoming experience, making you feel connected to both him and his family.

You learn that his uncle was more of a father figure to him. He even calls him Dad and plans are underway for him to officially adopt Mark and be his father legally—though legality was just a formality. He had been Mark’s dad for as long as Mark could remember, raising him, shaping him into the man he is today.

You also discover that his uncle and his mother are in a newly blossomed relationship after years of unresolved romantic feelings. Their story of finding confidence to be together resonates deeply, leaving you touched and genuinely happy for them.

As the evening unfolds, you feel increasingly settled, the initial anxiety replaced by a warm sense of belonging. Seeing the depth of their relationships, the love that binds this unique family together, you feel a profound connection, not just with Mark, but with his family as well. In this shared space, laughter and heartfelt conversation flow easily, and you find yourself not just at ease but genuinely joyful to be part of such a special moment.

In the middle of your meal, just as you’re taking a bite of your potatoes, Ms. Lee catches you off guard with a question that nearly makes you choke.

“I have to ask, you and my son are in a strong sexual relationship. Is that right?” she inquires suddenly. “He’s making the right choices, right? You guys are staying protected?” she presses on.

“Mum…” Mark begins, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he shakes his head, but Irene simply waves him off, showing no discomfort with her line of questioning.

“Of course,” you respond with a nod, managing a smile while shooting a sideways glance at Mark. Both of you try to hide your smirks, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. You could definitely be more diligent with protection. Often, you run out of condoms, and sometimes, you’re simply too caught up in the moment to pause and get them.

Mrs. Lee sighs, her smile broadening, seeming to accept your response, while Uncle Doyoung, catching the exchanged looks between you and Mark, chuckles quietly to himself, amused by the undercurrents of the conversation.

As the dinner progresses comfortably, Mark’s mom leans forward with a twinkle in her eye, clearly excited to engage in conversation. “So, you’re Mark’s first ever girlfriend,” she announces with a smile.

You freeze, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, we’re not—” you start to clarify, unsure how to label your relationship in front of his family.

Mark quickly senses your discomfort and jumps in to smooth things over. “Mum, we’re still in the early stages,” he explains, giving you a reassuring glance.

His uncle, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chimes in with a playful grin, not missing a beat. “Oh, well I hope you come to your senses soon,” he adds, smirking as he nonchalantly continues to chew on his vegetables. The room fills with a light tension, punctuated by his playful nudge to the conversation.

───────────────────────────────

Later, as you fold some blankets in Mark’s living room, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your back. The comfort of his presence makes you lean back into him with a content hum. “Not so bad, huh?” he murmurs, his voice warm in the quiet space.

“It could’ve been worse,” you admit, feeling the residual warmth of his family’s company, even though the interaction had been somewhat draining.

“You have such an amazing family; it makes so much sense why you are the way you are,” you mumble, genuinely impressed by the love and complexity within his family.

He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek, his voice soft and inviting. “Come sit with me, baby,” he suggests, patting the couch next to him. Instead, you choose to sit on his lap, facing him with a sly smirk. His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly adjusts, leaning back to give you more room. “That works too,” he smiles, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“So, what’s the deal with you and your family? It’s such an interesting and intricate family tree,” you probe, genuinely curious about the dynamics that shaped him.

“What do you mean?” Mark asks, his gaze meeting yours with an openness that invites honesty.

“I just wanna know about you, Mark, about your family. I want you to let me in,” you press gently, your hands resting against his chest.

He nods slowly, a sign of his trust in you. “Okay, what do you wanna know?”

You sigh, unsure where to begin. “Okay, firstly, well, I’m quite surprised how close you are to your uncle, considering he’s your dad’s brother. I’m assuming your uncle is a really good man?”

Mark nods. “Uncle Doyoung has always been loving and giving for as long as I can remember. He was there for me and my mum when my dad never was. He’s miles ahead of my dad in kindness, nobility, love, sense… just everything. It’s surprising to me that they’re even related and had the same upbringing.”

“So your dad and your uncle aren’t close?” you question further.

He shakes his head. “Doyoung does try, he’s a good man and sees the best in everyone, but they evidently have a very tense and fractured relationship.”

“Why?” you whisper, drawn into the complexity of his family lore.

Mark shakes his head, a faint shadow of old pain crossing his features. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think my dad’s ego just can’t handle that my mom moved on after he left her. They broke up for good when she told him she was pregnant with me, and even after all these years—over twenty—he still hasn’t gotten over it,” he explains, his voice tinged with a dry chuckle.

“So Doyoung filled in when your dad couldn’t?” you ask, piecing together his narrative.

He nods again. “He’s always given me the fatherly guidance and affection that my own biological father never did. My dad initially rejected me and didn’t want anything to do with me. He viewed me as a reminder of his own failures and past mistakes. Even though I was just a child thrown into the middle of this mess. His rejection stems from his complicated history with my mum; they were high school sweethearts, but he left her when she became pregnant, then quickly moved on to Jeno’s mum, Seulgi. Seulgi fell pregnant with Jeno, and Taeyong chose to raise Jeno instead of me.”

“So that’s why me and Jeno are so close in age; I’m a few months older than him though. Taeyong got both of our mums pregnant in a short span of time,” Mark adds, a note of disbelief in his voice.

You gasp, feeling a sharp pang of empathy for Mark, who had to face such complexities at a tender age. “Did you always know about Jeno? When you were younger, did you know you had a half-brother on your dad’s side?”

Mark shakes his head. “I had no clue until I was 10 years old. We played in the junior league basketball league together. I loved playing there; have you ever had something you knew you were better at than almost everyone else?”

“Sex,” you quip lightly, trying to lighten the mood, but as Mark lets out a small laugh, you quickly apologise, realising this wasn’t the moment for jokes as he was opening up about something deeply personal.

“Anyway, when I joined the official team, I remember there was one other player with the same surname. I was so excited because I’d never known someone to have the same surname as me. But then I found out he was my brother. Guys kept teasing me about it, about how Jeno’s dad was my dad too. So I asked my mom, and she said he wasn’t, but I got home and heard her crying in her room. I knew it was true. So I never went back. I told my mum it was because I didn’t want to have to see his face, but it was mostly because I didn’t want her to have to go through seeing the man who abandoned her and her son every week,” Mark concludes, his voice tinged with sadness.

“So you and Jeno grew up as complete strangers?” you ask, trying to understand the full extent of his isolation.

He nods, his expression serious. “We barely spoke, just saw each other in the halls at school. Taeyong was really good at shaping Jeno; his behaviour and attitude towards me were like reflections of his own,” Mark explains, highlighting the strained relationship shaped by his father’s influence.

You decide to take the conversation in another direction, one that feels equally loaded but less raw. “What’s your opinion on Jeno’s mother? On Mrs. Lee?”

Seulgi, once Kang Seulgi and now Lee Seulgi, was a woman whose presence lingered quietly yet profoundly. She carried an aura of warmth, a kindness that was understated but genuine, even in the most difficult moments. The only resemblance Jeno had to her was her good heart—a trait buried deep within him, often obscured by the tougher, colder exterior shaped by his father, Lee Taeyong.

“Her and my mum are close,” he says, his tone tinged with an incredulous edge. “I’ve always found Mrs. Lee to be kind. She used to invite me and my mum over for dinner. I guess she wanted to try and make us feel like we belonged or something.” He pauses, the corners of his mouth lifting into a sad smile. “Those dinners were always awkward as hell. Tense, too. But she tried. She did a hell of a lot more for us than Taeyong ever did.”

Seulgi’s good nature seemed out of place in the world she was tethered to. She had an enduring gentleness, a quiet resilience that somehow survived her toxic environment. Despite being surrounded by manipulation and control, particularly from Taeyong, she remained steadfast in her care for Jeno, her love for him unshakable. You always admired that about her, how she never let the darkness around her snuff out her light.

“She’s a good person,” you say softly, your voice laced with sincerity. Your thoughts drift to the times you’d interacted with her. Seulgi had a way of making you feel cared for—gentle smiles, soft-spoken words, and the warm way she welcomed you into her home. Even during the times when arguments with Jeno would escalate, when you’d storm out or snap at him, she never treated you differently. There was no judgment in her eyes, only understanding, as if she saw past the chaos and into the heart of who you were.

She was sweet, caring, and undeniably maternal—qualities that made her impossible not to like. You could see how deeply she cared about Jeno, in the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, in the subtle but significant efforts she made to protect him from the worst parts of his father’s world. And yet, you could never understand how she ended up with someone like Taeyong. It baffled you, how someone so inherently good could bind themselves to someone as toxic and manipulative as him. Was it love? Obligation? A misplaced hope that things might change? You didn’t know, but it left an ache of pity in your chest whenever you thought about her.

You shake off these thoughts, not wanting to linger on the ache they bring. It makes you upset, a heaviness settling in your chest that you’re not ready to face. Instead, you focus on him, on the openness he’s already shown, and how much more you want to uncover. Your curiosity sharpens, especially about recent developments in his life. So, you probe further, your questions carrying a gentle eagerness, wanting to understand him even better.

“You’ve known your best friend since high school, right? So, Jeno probably knew her too? Did they get along?” you ask, trying to piece together how she and Jeno could have recently become close, wondering if it was perhaps a rekindled old connection.

Though you grew up walking the same school hallways as Jeno, Mark, and his best friend, you never really paid attention to the intricacies of their relationships or social entanglements. Back then, Jeno was more reserved, rarely opening up or letting you in, so you had little insight into whom he might have been close with on a deeper level. This gap in your knowledge makes you even more curious about the nature of his current interactions with Mark’s best friend.

He shakes his head, amusement clear in his voice. “No way, she’s been my best friend forever. It’s not about being possessive or claiming she’s all mine, but she chose to keep her distance from Jeno. She hated Jeno just as much as I did,” Mark states directly, firmly dismissing any notion of a past friendship between them.

You sigh, accepting that their connection must have been recent. “You’re really close with her, right?”

He nods, smiling fondly. “She’s like family. Always there, supporting me no matter what. We’ve given each other that kind of unwavering support, protection, love, and stability all our lives. It’s crucial, having someone you can truly rely on,” he expands, his words warm with appreciation.

Appreciating his sentiments, you smile. “She seems really important to you. I’m glad you’ve always had her, especially since Jeno was such a jerk to you when we were teenagers. And honestly, I was too caught up in my own mess to notice much, including you.”

He laughs, a knowing look in his eyes. “Oh, believe me, I know,” he says, his voice rich with layers of unspoken stories and memories, hinting at depths yet to be explored.

The way he says it, the look in his eyes brimming with past reflections, compels you to delve deeper. It feels as though he’s holding back, as if there’s more he wants to unveil about your shared history—a history that, until now, seemed nonexistent. Despite growing up in the same school hallways, you never once had a real conversation with him, nor did you ever make an effort to reach out. His words and the look in his eyes now make you wonder if you were truly non-existent to him.

Yet, a different curiosity nags at you, related to the kiss you witnessed between her and Jeno. You approach the subject cautiously, not wanting to betray her trust. “So, your best friend has never been in a relationship?” you ask casually.

He laughs, clearly surprised by the question. “No, why?” he responds.

“Oh, no reason. You sure she’s never been in a relationship? It’s always the quiet ones,” you murmur, deliberately keeping it vague and nonchalant, trying not to arouse his suspicion.

Mark frowns slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he probes, his suspicion evident.

Realizing he might be catching on, you quickly dismiss it. “Nothing, ignore me,” you say hastily, knowing he’ll respect your request. Mark has always been attuned to you, listening not just to your words, but also understanding your heart and mind, and you rely on this now more than ever.

Mark shares openly, his words unfiltered. “Trust me, she hasn’t been in any relationship. She would’ve told me if she was seeing anyone—we share everything. Instead, she’s always complaining about feeling left out and how she’s inexperienced.”

You tease him playfully, “I’m surprised you haven’t offered to fuck her.”

He feigns shock, his hand clutching at his chest. “Take that back. That was uncalled for.”

“Why?” you giggle, enjoying the banter.

“She’s like a sister to me. Plus, I don’t just go around fucking just anyone. Who do you think I am?”

“Someone who’s fucked Winter, Nancy, Mia, Lia… I could go on. I’m just lucky and glad you haven’t fucked Karina; I think I’d let her run me over,” you retort.

He huffs, a bit annoyed. “What? You got a list or something?”

You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Well, if I did, how many pages long would it be?”

He pauses, he’s about to count but then stops. “This seems like a trap.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan. “I didn’t want the list to be so long that it needed several pages.”

He tries to lighten the mood. “Isn’t your body count high too?”

You shake your head solemnly. “It’s 3, Mark. I wish it was just 2. I wish I never fucked Yeonjun. Somehow he knows he’s the only guy who ever fucked me apart from Jeno at the time, and now he’s obsessed with me.”

He shifts the conversation, his tone softening with seriousness. “Listen, out of all the people I’ve slept with, the only one that mattered was you. No one else meant anything; they were just placeholders until I could get my hands on the real thing.”

You hum, a soft smile playing on your lips, yet the words spill out before you can stop them. “That’s a lot of placeholders.”

He chuckles, shaking his head at your response. “Y/N.”

“How many placeholders would you say you had?” you can’t help but ask.

He remains silent, and you huff, “Fine, I don’t wanna know.”

“There are two lists in my head: one of the girls I’ve fucked and one of the only girls who’s ever mattered to me and who I truly care about. There’s only one name on the second list. It’s you, baby,” he confesses, his eyes intense yet tender, making you feel vulnerable again.

“You’re a corny fucker, has anyone ever told you that?” you respond, laughing, not allowing yourself to fully absorb the depth of his affection and the calmness his words bring.

You gently shake your head, breaking the intense moment, and lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you trust me enough to let me in like this,” you whisper, your eyes soft with affection. “Knowing more about you and your life—it means a lot to me.”

Mark hums, a sound deep in his throat, as he melts into your touch. Your fingers gently comb through his hair, soothing him as he opens up about his past. The warmth and care in your actions reflect the depth of your empathy for him.

As Mark continues to share the more painful parts of his family history, you draw even closer, your voice a tender murmur. “I’m so sorry, Mark. It must’ve been really tough growing up like that.” Your sincerity envelops him, offering comfort as he navigates through his memories, making him feel understood and deeply connected to you

He nods, and a tear escapes, tracing a path down his cheek. The sight of him so raw and open tugs at your heartstrings. “It was mainly for my mum,” he confesses, his voice cracking slightly. “I hated seeing her go through that. It’s just so unfair—bad things happening to really good people.”

You hum softly in agreement, your hand reaching up to gently wipe away his tears. You feel the weight of his trust in you, knowing how significant and fragile this moment is for both of you.

Mark continues, his voice steadier but still filled with emotion. “I never felt like I missed out on anything, though. I’ve always been happy, content. I was so lucky to be raised by my mum and Uncle Doyoung. I always feel like I got the better end of the stick. Jeno… he grew up shallow, egotistical,” he pauses, searching for the words, “and he lacked empathy and care for anyone who wasn’t him or didn’t meet his standards. I often wonder if I would’ve turned out like that under different circumstances.”

You contemplate his words, recognizing how profoundly one’s upbringing and environment shape character, morality, and values. But looking into Mark’s eyes, seeing the kindness and understanding reflected back at you, you shake your head firmly. “You have a good heart, Mark. I’ll always believe that, no matter what.” Your voice is filled with conviction, a pledge of your faith in him, underlining the intimacy and the bond you’ve forged through this heartfelt exchange.

Mark’s question catches you slightly off guard as he brings up a memory you both share. “Do you remember Jeno’s party? The day we first made out, and you tried to have sex with me?” he asks, a hint of nostalgia mixed with something deeper in his voice.

You nod, mumbling a quick “yes,” the memory vivid in your mind.

“That was my first time at Jeno’s apartment. I couldn’t believe how big and grand it was. I mean, that’s just his college place, not even his family home. One of the rooms there is bigger than my entire family house where I grew up,” Mark continues, his tone a mix of awe and bitterness. “And my dad’s house? I’ve heard it’s like a mansion. It just hurt, seeing all that.”

He pauses, his voice growing heavier. “My mom worked her ass off when I was growing up, you know? Early mornings, late nights, juggling multiple jobs at once to give me a decent life. And there’s my dad—barely works, his money’s mostly from old reputation and family ties. He profits off the people under him while they barely make ends meet. It’s unfair how the wealth and good living seem to go to those who don’t work for it.”

As Mark’s voice trails off, laden with the heaviness of his past, you don’t immediately find the right words to respond. Instead, you step closer, driven by an urge to bridge the gap his words have opened between you. Gently, you pull him into a warm, enveloping hug, your actions speaking the comfort you struggle to voice.

Mark’s one hand moves to slip under your sweater, his touch warm against your skin, while his other hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers and securing a tender connection. He begins to gently rub soothing patterns on your back with his hand, pulling you even closer to him. The softness in his gaze mixes with a flicker of gratitude for your silent understanding. You pepper his face with gentle kisses, each one a silent murmur of your presence and care, as you feel him relax under the tender assault.

Feeling the wet trail of tears on his cheek, you tighten your hold, whispering reassurances that mingle with the quiet of the room. “It’s okay, I’m here,” you murmur directly into his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart aches with empathy as you continue to comfort him, your touch a constant reminder of your support.

Your bodies pressed together, the warmth of his hand under your sweater, and the steady rhythm of your intertwined fingers—it all coalesces into a profound moment of solidarity and comfort. Mark’s gradual easing of tension, the slow steadying of his breathing, lets you know that right now, this closeness is everything.

With a heavy sigh, Mark closes the distance between the two of you, his movement a silent invitation. His eyes, deep pools of emotion, lock onto yours, communicating a depth of feeling words could never fully capture. As he draws nearer, the space between you dwindles until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that is gentle, almost tentative at first, as if he is savoring the moment before it deepens. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the heavy emotions shared just moments before. It’s a kiss filled with the promise of understanding and commitment, an intimate connection that speaks to the soul. His hands cup your face tenderly, thumbs caressing your cheeks as if to memorize every detail of this moment.

The world around you fades into a distant murmur, leaving nothing but the feeling of Mark’s lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both new and timelessly perfect. The kiss deepens, growing more assured as you both immerse into the sensation, into the profound connection that binds you. It’s a kiss that communicates more than any conversation ever could, laden with gratitude, acknowledgment, and the silent vow of shared futures.

As the kiss intensifies, Mark’s hands move from your face to your back, pulling you closer with a firm yet gentle touch. Your own hands roam over his shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the physical strength that contrasts with the tender way he kisses. The physical closeness, the heat of his body so near, heightens every sensation. The brush of his lips against yours is both electrifying and soothing, a paradox that sends a shiver down your spine. You are drawn deeper into the intimacy, each kiss a reaffirmation of the connection you share.

You reach to pull off his hoodie, eager to feel more of him, but Mark gently catches your hands, stopping you with a playful chuckle as you pout in response.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his eyes pleading as he looks deeply into yours.

“Mark… it’s nearly 1 a.m.,” you laugh, curiosity piqued by his unexpected request.

He kisses you softly, his touch lingering even as he pulls back. “I wanna show you something, please. Come with me.”

Nodding, you take Mark’s hand as he leads you outside. He presses another soft kiss to your lips as he opens the passenger door for you, waiting patiently until you’re comfortably seated before closing it with a gentle touch. Moments later, he’s in the driver’s seat beside you, the engine humming softly to life. He takes your hand again, holding it in his while he steers with the other, the warmth of his grasp reassuring.

As he drives, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly handsome he looks under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The drive takes about 30 minutes from campus, he tells you it’s much quicker at night when the roads are mostly empty. When he pulls up beside the familiar space, a realisation dawns on you, and a smile spreads across your face. He’s brought you here. The river court. It seems unchanged since your youth. Although you’ve always felt like an outsider looking in, this is only your second time here, the first being when you watched the showdown between Jeno and Mark.

You’re glad the river court is still close to campus, providing Mark a nearby refuge whenever life feels overwhelming. The proximity allows him a quick escape to a place where he can lose himself in the game, finding solace in the rhythm of dribbling and shooting, away from the pressures of daily life. As you step out of the car and onto the court, you feel a deep appreciation for this quiet, familiar spot that holds so much significance for Mark.

The river court, under the cover of darkness, transforms into a serene, almost otherworldly place. The cool night air carries the soft glow of nearby street lamps that illuminate the empty court, casting gentle shadows that dance across the worn asphalt. Here, the distant city sounds fade into a quiet backdrop, allowing the rhythmic bounce of the basketball and its echoing thud as it hits the backboard to dominate the soundscape, giving the place a haunted, nostalgic feel.

Mark is in his element, moving fluidly across the court with a practised ease. Every now and then, he glances over to make sure you’re still there, his gaze pulling you closer even from a distance. As he dribbles and shoots, his movements are precise and confident, each shot a testament to countless hours spent on this very court.

When he pauses to catch his breath, Mark walks over to where you’re seated on the old, weathered bench, your knees crossed over. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against them.

You run your hands through his hair, pulling him closer. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you bring me here at 1 a.m.?” you laugh.

He explains as he takes a seat next to you, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “This place is like a second home to me. I always used to play basketball here with my friends growing up. It’s special to me, that’s why I wanted to bring you here, to show it to you.”

He teases gently about how cute your reaction is, your cheeks flushed as you murmur, “Oh, cool.”

“But I’ve been coming here less and less since joining the team,” he continues, a trace of guilt in his tone. “I just don’t have the time as I’m practicing on official courts. It makes me feel guilty, you know? My dream has always been to join an official team and compete in tournaments, but in a way, I’ve left this life behind—the boy who used to shoot hoops with his friends on the river court. I feel like I’ve betrayed the past me.”

You shake your head, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to chase your dream, you deserve to be on the official team, you’ve earned your place. You’re still the same guy who used to play on the river court, still the same kind-hearted, mature guy. Nothing’s changed about you, that’s why I like you so much. You’re still so humble and down-to-earth despite how amazing you are.”

He hums, letting your words wash over him, allowing himself to believe each one. The night air, the echo of the river nearby, and the solitude of the court create a perfect backdrop as you both sit, hands intertwined, sharing this moment of reflection and reassurance, continuing to talk about dreams, memories, and the paths you choose in life.

Mark takes a deep breath, seeming to absorb the tranquillity of the empty court around you. He looks back at you, his eyes grateful. “Thank you, baby. It means a lot to hear you support me like this. Sometimes, I just worry that I’m losing a part of myself in all this hustle.”

“You aren’t losing anything, Mark,” you reply softly, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “You’re growing, evolving. That doesn’t mean you’re leaving the best parts of yourself behind. It means you’re building on them. The boy who played here, who loves this court—he’s still part of who you are today.”

Mark nods, reflecting on your words. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How places and times seem so permanent when you’re in them, but life just… moves on. Coming here tonight, it’s like stepping back into those memories for a bit.”

You nod, looking around the dimly lit court, feeling the countless games and laughter. “I appreciate you sharing this with me.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Because seeing this side of you makes me understand more about where you come from, it makes me feel closer to you. And I love that. I love seeing the world through your eyes, even if it’s just a basketball court at one in the morning.”

Mark laughs softly, the vibration from his chest tingling under your cheek. “I’ve never thought that you could make the river court sound like such a romantic spot,” he teases, his eyebrows wiggling playfully.

You shake your head, trying to hide your smile, but the intensity of his gaze suddenly makes the air between you feel electric. “Stop that,” you murmur, though your voice lacks any real conviction.

He gently turns your face to meet his, his fingers brushing your cheek with a touch that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes lock onto yours, deep and mesmerizing, making your heart flutter uncontrollably. “And what if I did bring you here for that reason?” he asks, his voice low and husky. The way he’s looking at you—so direct and full of unspoken promises—makes you feel both weak and exhilaratingly alive.

You’re silent for a moment, caught up in the intensity of his gaze. “Like a date?” you manage to say, and when he nods, you continue hesitantly, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I’m joking,” he cuts in, his tone lightening as he sees your reaction. “I’d never bring you here for our first date. I mean, how lame is that? I’d bring out all the stops, I’d make it unforgettable.”

“Oh really?” you gasp, your voice a mix of challenge and intrigue. The overwhelming need to close the distance between you grows stronger, and you lean in closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity is intoxicating, filling you with a desire to explore the promise of his words.

His smile turns more seductive as he senses your interest, his face inching closer to yours. “Absolutely,” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips.

You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His lips meet yours, the kiss a perfect blend of everything he’s promised—intense, passionate, and utterly unforgettable. You moan softly against his lips, the sound mingling with the quiet night around you, heightening the intimacy of the moment as your senses are enveloped in the warmth and taste of him.

───────────────────────────────

You bounced on Mark’s cock, each powerful thrust causing the car to rock aggressively. The tight space heightened every sensation, your sweat-slicked bodies sliding against each other as you impaled yourself deeper on him with each desperate rise and fall. The car’s frame shook with the intensity of your movements, merging with the relentless drumming of the rain outside to form a raw, primal rhythm of unchecked lust.

You were making out on the benches outside when suddenly it started pouring down. With giggles and laughter, you both dashed to the car, the playful chase intensifying the night’s electricity. Once inside, the pounding rain on the roof enclosed you in a private, tempestuous world.

You were supposed to head home as the rain intensified, but the charged atmosphere between you sparked something more urgent, more demanding. As Mark glanced over at you, the low light of the dashboard illuminating his features, you leaned over and kissed him, the taste of rain still fresh on your lips. Murmuring breathlessly, “I want your cock so bad right now,” you saw heat flare in his eyes. Without a word, he pushed his seat back, creating as much space as he could within the confines of the car. “Ride me then,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

You didn’t hesitate, quickly straddling him, pulling your soaked clothes aside. The car rocked gently as you began to move, your hips grinding down onto him, taking him in deeply. The space was tight, your bodies pressed so close there was no room for anything but the heat between you. Every thrust was intense, confined by the car’s limited space, making each movement feel more pronounced, more desperate. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, urging you to go faster. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, your breaths coming in short, heavy moans that fogged up the windows.

The rain began to patter against the car windows as you sat parked beside the river court, the quiet patter turning into a heavy downpour that blurred the outside world into streaks of water. The rhythmic drumming of raindrops created a cocoon around the car, amplifying the silence of the deserted court outside. It was just the two of you, the empty court, and the night—everything else faded away, swallowed by the sound of the storm.

Mark’s whispered encouragements were hot against your ear, “Go faster, baby, just like that.” You responded to his urgency, your movements becoming more erratic as pleasure built up. The car’s gentle rocking grew more pronounced with the rhythm of your bodies moving in sync. “You couldn’t wait until I drove us home?” he teased, breathless.

“You’re the one who pulled me onto your lap,” you managed to moan back, your voice drowned out by the sound of rain and the creaking of the car seat. The intensity of being so close, his body heat mixing with yours, the limited space making each touch feel more intimate, more vital—it was overwhelming, almost too much, but perfect in its urgency.

As you bounced harder on his cock, your moans echoing through the rain-soaked car, you leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his. “So… how many girls have you taken to the river court?” you asked, your tone teasing but laced with a sultry edge that made his eyes darken.

His lips quirked into a smirk, his chest vibrating against yours as he chuckled lowly. “Does my mum count?” he teased, the playful comment earning a sharp roll of your hips that pulled a groan from his throat.

“Mark,” you whined, your voice dripping with faux irritation, though your smile betrayed you. “I want a real answer.”

He gripped your waist tighter, guiding your movements as his voice dipped, thick with desire. “Just you, baby,” he murmured, sealing the confession with a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than tenderness. His lips moved against yours with fervor, his hands urging you to ride him harder, the raw intimacy of his words leaving you breathless.

Emboldened, you pushed further, your voice a breathless challenge between moans. “And how many girls have you fucked by the river court?”

His eyes locked onto yours, blazing with heat as he whispered, “Just you, baby.” His voice was low, reverent, each word laced with possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. “Only you.”

The fervent energy of your earlier movements gradually subsided into a slower, more deliberate pace, allowing you to savour the closeness between you. You moved together gently, the sound of your synchronized breaths filling the car. Between the slow thrusts, you exchanged soft kisses, each one deepening your connection, punctuated by quiet giggles and warm smiles that spoke volumes about your shared affection.

Mark’s gaze captured yours, intense yet filled with a tenderness that made you pause. “Y/N, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he whispered, his fingers lightly playing with your earrings, adding a touch of playful intimacy to the moment.

“Go ahead,” you hummed, the softness in his voice making you feel safe and cherished.

He took a deep breath, his gaze never wavering. “You know I fully understand and respect your decision to keep us a secret, at least for now. Although, eventually, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to start letting more people know, to stop hiding because we’re not doing anything wrong.”

You felt a pang of fear, your eyes widening slightly. “Mark, I can’t—”

“Baby, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about today, though,” he quickly reassured, sensing your discomfort. “I know you’re not ready for that right now, but I was wondering if you were ready for something else.”

“For what?” you mumbled, your heartbeat quickening with anticipation.

“I want to be exclusive with you. Well, privately exclusive, which kind of defeats the purpose of being ‘exclusive,’ but I think it’s a good start. We’ve become close, spending most nights together, having all these personal conversations and having so much good sex, but what’s the point if it doesn’t go anywhere?”

His words struck a chord, and a wave of guilt washed over you. Mark was right, and it was hard for you to open up like this, especially considering your past relationship with Jeno, which had left you wary of trust and full of unresolved pain. Each word Mark spoke, filled with understanding and patience, tugged at the emotional walls you had meticulously built.

“Us becoming exclusive wouldn’t change much; it would just make us more official. I don’t have any interest in getting to know or fucking anyone else, and I know you don’t either. We’ve basically already been exclusive since we started seeing each other. I just think it’s a good idea if we put an official label on that. It would make me happy and mean a lot to me. What do you say, baby?”

You contemplated his words, the idea of labels and official commitments still daunting. Yet, his next words melted your defences. “And you know I’ll never hurt you or make you lose my trust. You’re the only one I want and care about, and I want you to feel that.” He kissed you softly, his lips tender against yours, reassuring and gentle.

“I truly see you and feel like you’re ‘mine,’ and ‘my girl.’ I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, no one has come close. That’s gotta mean something, right?” He whispered huskily. His lips then met yours in a soft, insistent kiss

“So, until you’re ready to take it further with me and become more serious, I want you to exclusively be mine. All mine,” he murmured against your lips.

Your heart warmed at his understanding and patience, your doubts easing under his sincere expression. You whispered back, the words almost a sigh, “I’m all yours.”

As you moved to deepen the kiss, feeling him respond with equal fervor, you began to bounce harder, picking up the pace. But Mark gently pulled away to look into your eyes seriously, his hands on your hips controlling the rhythm. “I want to hear you say the words, baby.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally let the words spill out with conviction: “I want to be exclusive with you too.”

───────────────────────────────

Karina’s hands were a flurry of activity around your face, her fingers deftly maneuvering brushes and sponges as she concealed the marks on your neck. “I can’t believe how many hickeys I’m having to cover,” she muttered, her tone light with mock annoyance. However, a flicker of something more serious passed through her eyes, making you wonder if she was more concerned than she let on.

You were seated at your vanity, prepping for the night’s party at Jeno’s house—a celebration for the Ravens’ recent victory over the Hawks. Karina had offered to help you get ready, and you were more than grateful. Whenever she did your makeup and hair, you knew you’d look your best. She had a knack for choosing the right tones that suited your facial features perfectly and always made sure your hair framed your face beautifully, enhancing the overall look.

“Why are you so quiet?” she asked, her voice pulling you back from your thoughts as she dabbed more concealer on your neck. Satisfied with the coverage, she instructed softly, “Close your eyes lightly,” before she began to work on a smoky shadow accented with just the right amount of glitter.

“Just thinking,” you responded, your voice a murmur.

“About what?” Karina’s hand was steady as she maneuvered the eyeliner, her other hand lightly holding your chin to keep you from moving too much. “Is it because you and Mark are exclusive now?” she prodded, a knowing tone in her voice as she expertly flicked the brush to create a perfect wing.

You let out a soft sigh. “We’ve been exclusive for a few days and it feels really good. He’s a lot more touchy and possessive, which I love, but I’m just still so scared,” you confessed, feeling the weight of the revelation.

Karina paused, her brush mid-air, then resumed with a hum as she applied a pretty blush to your cheeks, making you look naturally flushed. “Then why did you agree to become exclusive with him?”

“I agreed because of the way he was looking at me when he asked; I just couldn’t say no. And then how he smiled and kissed me when I said yes,” you recalled, a smile playing on your lips at the memory.

“I don’t regret it, Karina. Especially after how good these last few days have been,” you affirmed, your confidence in your decision clear in your tone.

“Then why are you still scared?” Karina asked, genuinely puzzled as she stepped back to survey her work.

“It’s difficult to explain, Rina. It’s just that I’m constantly worrying about the future and what could happen. I always worry about what’s uncertain,” you explained, your gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “But Mark’s different; he’s more of a ‘live in the present’ type of guy. He doesn’t worry as much as I do.”

“That’s a good thing, right? It’s good when two people in a relationship balance each other out,” she mused as she packed away her makeup tools.

“We’re not in a relationship,” you corrected softly, a hint of wistfulness in your voice.

“Yet,” Karina rolled her eyes, muttering just loud enough for you to catch.

“Huh?” you asked, not quite hearing her.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, giving you a wink in the mirror and a smile that suggested she knew more than she let on. The room filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the rain outside as you both reflected on the night ahead, ready to face whatever it might bring, together.

“Hey, this came for you.” Winter breezed into your room, her presence as striking as her attire. She looked radiant in a beautiful white dress that clung softly to her curves, her hair cascading down in perfect waves. She placed a parcel on your bed with a casual grace.

You glanced over, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “I didn’t order this, is this yours?” you asked, turning to Karina, who shook her head and gestured towards the package. “Open it,” she encouraged.

Curious, you reached for the box, instantly recognizing the logo of Lumière Couture, a luxury brand known for its exquisite design and timeless elegance. The box was elegantly designed, adorned with a sleek, satin ribbon, hinting at the opulence inside.

“Wait, it is for me, my name is on the label,” you murmured, a mix of excitement and bewilderment in your voice. It was a surprise, definitely out of your usual budget.

As you lifted the lid and peeled back the tissue paper, your breath caught. Inside was an emerald green dress, the very one you had eyed for the longest time. It was exquisite, cut short to highlight your thighs, with intricate details that made it uniquely stylish—backless, enhancing its allure. The material felt as luxurious as it looked, promising a night where you’d feel nothing short of glamorous.

Next, you pulled out a mini black skirt, the fabric thick yet form-fitting, designed to accentuate your figure without weighing you down. It was daringly short, radiating a bold, sexy vibe that matched your taste perfectly.

Accompanying these was a white shirt, tailored to be well-fitted with three-quarter sleeves. You knew exactly how to style it to showcase your fashion sense.

Tucked beneath these items was a note that drew your attention. Picking it up, you read, ‘For my girl, you deserve it, I’m so proud of you. Love, Mark xx.’ A wave of emotion swept over you as tears welled in your eyes. Karina, reading over your shoulder, smiled supportively, though you missed the flicker of sadness in her eyes.

You remembered a day spent window shopping with Mark, dragging him into an upscale boutique. You had whispered longingly about the pieces you loved—the very ones now before you. How had he remembered so well? How had he managed to pay such close attention?

After Karina completed your makeup and styled your hair into a smooth, refined style, you chose to wear the mini skirt and cropped shirt that came in Mark’s gift. Underneath the shirt, you opted for a sheer lace black bra, its intricate details subtly visible due to the shirt’s single button fastening just around your midriff. This deliberate choice added a hint of allure, with the lace texture teasingly visible and the outline of your nipples just perceivable, enhancing the sultry vibe of your outfit. You rounded off the look with sleek black boots and elegant jewelry Mark had gifted you, including a gold charm necklace and delicate, dangly earrings.

With gold charms around your wrists and rings on your fingers, you spritzed on your best perfume, then stepped back to admire yourself in the mirror. The reflection that stared back made you feel utterly beautiful. Overwhelmed by gratitude and feeling exceptionally styled, you took out your phone and snapped a mirror selfie, capturing the moment and your radiant look.

───────────────────────────────

You arrived at Jeno’s party, the excitement palpable as soon as you stepped through the door. Jeno, clearly in high spirits and somewhat intoxicated, greeted you and your friends warmly. He hugged Winter and Karina, and when it was your turn, he dropped a gentle kiss on your cheek, his eyes lingering a little longer on you as he complimented, “You look hot.”

His gaze was appreciative and a bit hazy, his voice carrying the mellowness of someone who’d already been enjoying the night’s offerings. You playfully jabbed his arm in response, amused by his blatant once-over.

The house itself was stunning—a sprawling manor that spoke of wealth and luxury, its grand scale making it feel almost like a palace. Inside, the party was in full swing: the air vibrated with pulsating music, colorful lights flashed across laughing faces, and the scent of various perfumes mingled with the aroma of alcohol. Everywhere you looked, there were people dancing, some tucked away in dim corners sharing intimate moments, while others shouted over the music, drinks in hand.

Despite the many eyes that skimmed over you, assessing your daring outfit and the confidence with which you wore it, there was only one pair of eyes whose gaze you truly felt—a gaze that didn’t just look, but seemed to touch, intense with desire. Mark was across the room, and the way he looked at you was laden with possession and a raw hunger that made your heart race. His eyes held a promise, one that spoke of what the night would hold once you found each other alone.

You sent Mark a quick message, telling him you’d join him after a little while. You didn’t want to make your new exclusive status too obvious just yet, despite every fiber of you aching to be near him. For now, you stood with Karina by the bar, not shying away from the drinks or the more potent indulgences of the night. Pills and alcohol freely mixed in your system, heightening the buzz that kept you both anchored and adrift in the sea of party-goers.

As the night deepened and your inhibition lowered under the influence, you finally felt ready to seek Mark out. Navigating through the packed house proved challenging; your steps were unsteady, the world tilting a bit with each movement. But then, a familiar and strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you instantly. The scent of lavender and a deep, musky sweetness enveloped you, unmistakably Mark.

His presence instantly grounded you, his touch a clear signal of his intent and protection as he guided you away from the crowd and toward the quiet of a vacant room where privacy promised a continuation of the intense connection you both craved.

“Found you,” Mark’s voice was low and reassuring, his breath warm against your ear as he steadied you against him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” you admitted, leaning into his solid form, grateful for the support.

As you both manoeuvred through the throng of bodies, his proximity was a potent reminder of the night’s possibilities. “I’ve been watching you since you came in,” Mark confessed as you reached the doorway to a secluded room, his tone laced with a mix of desire and concern. “Couldn’t wait to get you alone.”

You smiled up at him, feeling the buzz of anticipation mix with the alcohol in your veins. “And I’ve been thinking about you all night,” you responded, your voice a whisper meant only for him. “Lead the way.”

Mark pushed the door open, a grin spreading across his face as he pulled you into the privacy of the room. “Finally,” he murmured, shutting the door behind you both, sealing away the chaos of the party. His hands found your waist again, pulling you closer. “Now, where were we?”

As you eagerly followed Mark, your mind buzzing with anticipation for the moment you’d be alone together, you were completely oblivious to the intensity of the gaze that tracked your every move. Across the room, Jeno watched with a storm brewing in his eyes, his confusion etched deeply into his furrowed brow as he saw Mark’s hand firmly around your waist, guiding you into a secluded room. The door shut with a definitive click of the lock that Jeno could almost hear over the music.

“What the fuck?” Jeno muttered under his breath, a mix of shock and confusion knotting in his stomach. He couldn’t piece together the scene unfolding before him—his brother and you, a pair he had never thought to suspect, disappearing together with such intimacy. His gaze lingered on the closed door, his mind racing with questions.

Jeno’s stance was rigid, his hands clenched at his sides as he tried to make sense of the unexpected revelation. The image of Mark’s protective, almost possessive, gesture replayed in his mind, challenging his understanding of his relationship with both of you. Was his dad right after all? Jeno never expected to witness such a close and intimate moment between you and Mark. The sight unsettled him, challenging his previous perceptions and leaving him questioning what else he might have overlooked.

As Mark pulled you into the room, his gaze captured you entirely—soft yet piercing, filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race. He bit his lip, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made every nerve in your body tingle with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he murmured in a sultry tone, his hand pressing against the wall just above your head. He took your hand, spinning you around effortlessly. His whistle was low, filled with appreciation, as he took in every detail of your appearance, the sound turning into a soft moan that sent shivers down your spine.

Mark’s gaze lingered on the subtle outline of your nipples pressing through the sheer fabric of your lace bra, visible beneath your barely-buttoned shirt. His eyes traced the length of your thighs, up to the curve of your neck, and finally to your lips, as if memorizing every detail.

Leaning down, he began to press fervent kisses against your neck, his mouth moving with a practiced intensity. He sucked and licked, marking your skin anew, as if he was fully aware that Karina had meticulously covered the previous marks. “Hey, there’s makeup all over my neck,” you giggled, the vibration of his chuckles against your skin making you urge him, “Go harder,” as you tangled your hands in his hair, lost in the bliss of his touch.

He briefly paused to press his lips to yours, wet and plump from his attentions, pulling back just enough for you to catch your breath and admire him. Mark was effortlessly stylish in a brown jacket and blue jeans, his white top stretched just right across his torso, a chain adding an edge to his outfit. His light brown hair perfectly complemented his sharp yet carefree look, enhancing his undeniable appeal.

“Hi,” you breathed out, a smile spreading across your face. He mirrored your expression, leaning in to kiss you deeply. “You look so fucking hot,” you moaned into the kiss, feeling his grip tighten.

Without missing a beat, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He pushed your skirt up, his hands moving with a purpose as he aligned himself with you, and in one fluid motion, he began to move, his actions deliberate and driven by the electric charge between you.

At the party, Karina slumped into her chair, visibly disheveled. Her movements were sluggish as she lifted the glass to her lips, the alcohol burning its way down her throat—a fleeting attempt to drown the burgeoning jealousy that gnawed at her. With each gulp, her resolve thinned, loosened by the intoxicating mix of spirits and the sting of exclusion.

She had seen it all: your hasty departure with a barely-there excuse, Mark’s hand possessively resting on your back, the shared secretive giggles as you both disappeared yet again. It was too much. Drunk and tinged with envy, Karina’s eyes clouded over, her mood a volatile mix of irritation and resignation.

Jeno approached, his voice tinged with disbelief, “Did you just see that?” He sat down beside her, grabbing her drink without asking and finishing it off. His sudden presence barely registered to her dulled senses.

“What?” she responded, her voice a slurred mumble.

“Did you not see Mark lock him and Y/N in that bathroom? What the fuck is going on?” Jeno pressed, his brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

Karina muttered under her breath, a string of incoherent thoughts that even she didn’t fully grasp. She shook her head, biting her lip as she fought the urge to spill everything. The alcohol swirled in her head, making it harder to keep the secrets that were not hers to reveal.

Suddenly, Mark’s best friend approached, her voice low and urgent as she pulled Karina aside, aware of Jeno’s curious gaze. “Where’s Y/N?” she asked, scanning the room.

Karina merely shrugged, too intoxicated to be helpful. The friend continued, her tone worried, “I need to tell her to be more careful. Chaewon saw her go into a room with Mark, and now she’s telling everyone they’re seeing each other. Word is spreading fast.”

At that, Karina let out a loud, bitter laugh, the sound slicing through the music. “So what? If she wants to be careless and make it obvious that they’re seeing each other, then who are we to look out for her?” Her words were sharp, her tone caustic. “I’ve done enough, made excuses to cover for her when she disappears with Mark and is dumb enough to make it obvious. I’m done.” Her declaration hung in the air, a mixture of defiance and exhaustion, as she leaned back, the fight draining from her.

“If Y/N wants to be exclusive with Mark, then it’s not my problem to keep their secret,” Karina’s voice, normally subdued and discreet when discussing you and Mark, breaks into a shout, the words slicing through the dense atmosphere of the party. She’s too loud, too caught up in her own whirl of emotions to notice the volume of her confession.

Beside her, Mark’s best friend reacts too slowly, her mouth opening in a delayed attempt to hush Karina, but the damage is done. Jeno’s expression undergoes a dramatic transformation. The initial confusion on his face hardens into a stony mask of anger. His eyebrows draw together tightly, the skin around his eyes tightening, as his gaze sharpens and his jaw sets firm. The muscles in his neck tense visibly, a physical manifestation of his rising fury.

It’s the sudden, stark realisation that his father was right—the suspicions he had dismissed as mere familial discord were actually true. Jeno turns slowly, his gaze shifting from Karina, whose face is flushed with a mix of guilt and intoxication, to Mark’s best friend, who swallows hard, her eyes wide with the dread of impending chaos. Then, his eyes dart toward the room where you and Mark had vanished.

Suddenly, the muffled sounds that he had subconsciously tuned out before become piercingly clear. The unmistakable sounds of moans and fervent movements echo from behind the closed door, the auditory evidence of betrayal now impossible to ignore. He doesn’t understand why these sounds are so clear now; perhaps it’s because he had chosen to ignore them before, much like he had chosen to disregard his father’s warnings. This selective hearing had masked the truth until now, before the stark revelation of betrayal forced him to confront what he had denied—believing you and Mark over his own Dad.

Jeno’s fists tighten at his sides, the strain turning his knuckles bone-white. “What?” he barks out, the word erupting from him like a growl of raw fury. “What did you say?” His voice thunders through the room, louder than he intends, each word saturated with a venom that rattles him to his core. As he swallows hard, his throat constricts; his nostrils flare with each heavy breath, and the veins in his temples pulse visibly. The shock of betrayal carves harsh lines across his face, marking the precise moment his reality is irreversibly altered.

authors note — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions—whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi—give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

taglist — @keelbeel @d3nbl4d3 @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @second-floors @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @xuyiyang @remgeolli @toroufriteh

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witchywithwhiskey · 19 hours ago

Text

assembling legos in avengers tower

pairing: captain america!steve rogers x shield agent!female reader

summary: you want to spend a night assembling legos with steve rogers, but when he proves to be too good at it, you have to get creative.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established relationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, teasing, begging, dirty talk, praise kink, captain kink, pet names (buttercup, daisy, sunflower, honeysuckle), lots of kissing, lots of fluff and silliness, avengers tower shenanigans

word count: 4.9k

a/n: this fic is entirely inspired by a conversation i had with my therapist last week where she was helping me think of things to do to disconnect from social media and give myself a break from the world. i mentioned i had a box of lego daffodils i hadn't put together and she encouraged me to do that. however, i finished those in like a couple hours and now i need more... anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this bit of fluff/smut and i hope it's a nice distraction from the world!! ♡

“A daisy for my pretty girl.”

You were focused on assembling a plastic version of a queen anne’s lace when a pretty pink Lego gerbera daisy appeared in your eye line. Steve Rogers’ comfortingly deep voice and the flower he offered dragged your attention from what you’d been doing and you looked up for the first time in half an hour.

You were curled up on the couch in Steve’s suite, assembling Legos in Avengers Tower on the rare night off he had from his duties as Captain America. He’d been sitting beside you, working away at his own flowers on the coffee table, but had clearly decided to get your attention with the pink daisy he’d finished.

For a moment after you looked up from your own Lego flower, you were distracted by just how good Steve looked in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He always looked good, of course, but there was something especially delightful and attractive about seeing him in casual, cozy clothes.

It almost made you want to abandon the Lego wildflower bouquet you were assembling together and slide into his lap. Suddenly, all you could think about was burying your fingers in his soft blond hair and having his sparkling blue eyes focused entirely on you for the rest of the night. But instead, you blinked and refocused on the moment.

“Aw, thank you, captain,” you murmured, a smile curving your lips as you took the plastic flower from Steve and gave it a pretend sniff while batting your lashes at him. “My favorite.” Your words were little more than a purr, and you couldn’t help the way your smile widened when a pink flush dotted Steve’s cheeks.

It was on the tip of your tongue to suggest that you and Steve leave the rest of the Lego bouquet to be assembled another time, but then your gaze fell on the nine already-finished flowers that were neatly lined up on the table in front of the couch. Your smile fell.

Steve had already put together more than half of the flowers that had come in the box, and you still hadn’t finished a single one. Briefly, you were confused about how he’d put them together so fast—until you remembered something that often slipped peoples’ minds when it came to Captain America.

Everyone knew that Steve Rogers’ strength and stamina were enhanced when he’d been given the super-soldier serum in the 1940s, but most folks forgot that his intellect had been heightened as well. It was why he was the trusted leader of the Avengers—Steve had a knack for strategizing in the midst of battle.

It also made him a wiz at puzzles.

You should’ve known that Steve would easily zip through his half of the Lego bouquet while you toiled over a single flower. You knew he was smarter than the world—and even some of the other Avengers—gave him credit for, and you were disappointed in yourself for not thinking through the idea of assembling Legos together.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Steve was also much more perceptive than most gave him credit for, and he noticed your change in mood immediately.

“What’s wrong, daisy?” Steve asked, cupping your cheek in his large palm and turning your face gently to look at him.

His brows were drawn together, and you knew instantly that he’d caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. Before you could muster a smile and assure him everything was fine, Steve went on, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in a gesture so achingly soft, a lump of emotion formed in your throat.

“Did I do something?”

“No, no, no, it’s nothing—really,” you said in a rush, trying to shake your head and show him that you were being silly. But your reaction only had Steve frowning even more.

Gently, he scooped you up off the couch and deposited you on his lap, arranging your body so you sat across his thighs, your legs curled up while he wrapped one arm around your back. Once you were settled, he cupped your chin in his other hand and tilted your face up so he could look into your eyes.

“Tell me, sunflower, please,” Steve rumbled, his final word a rasping plea that tugged so effectively at your heart, you couldn’t help but do as he so sweetly asked.

“I just thought we’d spend a little more time working on these together, that’s all,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze to the corner of Steve’s mouth, which was turned down in a slight frown. You wanted to reach up and smooth away that unhappy curve with your fingers, but you knew it wouldn’t work. Steve could be stubborn when he wanted.

“I’m sorry, buttercup,” Steve said in a hushed, regretful voice, ducking his head and pressing an apologetic kiss to your forehead.

You let out a soft, happy sigh as your eyes fluttered closed and you sank into the warmth of Steve’s body, snuggling deeper into his chest. You were wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts and a pair of leggings, so you weren’t necessarily cold, but you enjoyed the heat that emanated from him all the same.

“It’s ok, Steve, really,” you whispered, meaning the reassuring words more than you had a moment ago. Your thoughts were already straying to what you and Steve could do with the rest of the night alone in his suite…

You tipped your face up toward his, pouting your lips in a wordless plea for a kiss.

A chuckle rumbled deep in Steve’s chest moments before his lips brushed against yours. You could feel the smile in the gentle press of his lips, and your mouth curved in an answering smile, a giggle building in your chest at how silly the two of you must’ve looked—smiling at each other with your lips pressed together.

But then Steve’s mouth pressed more firmly to yours, kissing you a little harder and a little longer, and the smile slipped off your face, your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You tugged him closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips sliding slowly against yours like he had all the time in the world and didn’t want to do anything other than kiss you.

The two of you sank deeper into the kiss together, your bodies growing heated and your hands beginning to wander. A hard bulge nudged against your thigh and Steve groaned into your mouth, and you suddenly had an idea.

Pulling away from Steve, you ended the kiss abruptly, a grin spreading across your face as you watched the big, blond man blink his way back into the present. He looked so cute all dazed out from kissing you that you took a moment to appreciate it before voicing your idea.

“I know how to make it more difficult for you to put Legos together so fast,” you said, your voice slightly wheezing as you worked to catch your breath. “We just need some more Lego flowers.”

Steve’s kiss-swollen lips curved into a smile of his own. “I think we can manage that, honeysuckle,” he murmured, his expression filled with affection as he took in the excitement on your face. “Just one more kiss first.”

He reeled you in for another slow, drugging kiss, his mouth stealing the smile from your lips, though you were happy to give it to him if he kept kissing you like it was all he wanted to do.

A little later in the evening, Steve’s suite in Avengers Tower was piled high with dozens and dozens of boxes filled with Lego botanicals of all sorts. There were boxes for sunflowers and daffodils, two types of flower bouquets, and even a whole heaping pile of cacti and succulents.

It was more than you’d ever know what to do with, but Steve looked so pleased with himself, all you could do was smile. If he wanted to spend the rest of his nights off with you, assembling Lego flowers, who were you to complain? It sounded like a dream come true.

“Bought out everything from the Botanical Collection at the Lego store over on fifth,” Steve was saying proudly as he opened a couple daffodil sets, pouring out the plastic packages onto the coffee table while you watched him with amusement. Steve cut his eyes to you and smirked as he said, “I put it all on Tony’s card—d’you think he’ll notice, buttercup?”

You couldn’t help yourself, you tossed your head back and cackled at that. You knew, as a member of the Avengers’ SHIELD support team, that Tony Stark had given all the members of the team access to his credit cards “for emergencies only,” and you were frankly surprised no one else had thought to use it to prank him before.

When you finally got yourself under control and looked back at the mischievous Captain America, you shook your head at him. Your heart gave a little extra thump of delight when you saw the way Steve was looking at you, with so much happiness and affection, it made emotion clog your throat. It took you a full minute to gather your thoughts enough to answer his question.

“Nah, there’s no way,” you scoffed, but then you tilted your head to the side and really thought about it. Your eyes trailed over the boxes. There were just so many.

You figured Tony would leave something boring like financial statements to Pepper Potts, but there might be another way for Steve’s late-night Lego shopping spree to be used as a way to prank the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…

“Y’know, he might notice something when Lego flowers start popping up all around the tower,” you said slowly, cutting your eyes to Steve and offering him your own impish smirk. “Do you wanna see how many we can put in his lab before he says something?”

Steve’s head tipped back and he gave a great, booming laugh that filled all the corners of his suite. When he looked back at you, his blue eyes were sparkling with playfulness and his mouth was spread in a wide grin.

“You’re diabolical, daisy,” he rumbled, pulling you closer on the couch so he could catch your lips in a kiss.

It didn’t last long, both of you were too busy laughing to deepen it, but you did throw a leg over Steve’s thighs so you could sit in his lap. When you finally pulled away, you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You up for the top secret mission, Cap?” you asked in a deceptively serious tone, the corners of your mouth flickering as you tried to hold back your grin. “You gonna help me prank Tony Stark?”

“Gladly,” Steve declared, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer.

All the evil plans that had been brewing in your mind disappeared when your heated core settled against the thick bulge in Steve’s sweatpants, a delighted gasp tumbling from your lips. Your gaze found Steve’s and a thrum of desire pulsed between your thighs when you saw how much his eyes had darkened.

“But first,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back beneath the sweatshirt you wore, making you tremble deliciously in his lap. “I’d like to hear more about how you’re planning to make it more difficult for me to assemble all these Lego flowers.”

Steve’s mouth captured yours in a searing kiss and it would be another long few minutes before you were able to actually tell him what you had planned for him.

“Hah! Another daisy done,” you crowed, bouncing a little on Steve’s lap and dragging a deep groan from the man beneath you.

The movement of your body had shifted his cock inside you, his thick, sensitive length dragging against your warm, inner walls, which were hugging him tightly while you exulted in your accomplishment. You’d managed to finish seven flowers since you’d put your plan into action, and you had no idea what kind of progress he’d made.

You did, however, know he was enjoying himself, if his deep moans and muffled groans were anything to go by. There was also the way his cock throbbed inside you every so often, like his body was encouraging yours to move, even though the point of your plan had been to sit still on his lap.

It had come to you earlier in the evening when you’d felt his hard bulge against your thigh—the only way to slow down Captain America’s super-soldier-enhanced intellect was to distract him. And you’d come up with the perfect way of distracting him.

Once you’d explained your plan to Steve, he’d been all too eager to enact it, sitting on the floor in front of the couch and pushing down the hem of his sweatpants so his cock had bobbed free. You’d discarded your leggings and panties before lowering yourself down on his lap, taking his thick, hard length deep into your pussy while you straddled his legs.

For the next half hour or so, you’d been assembling Lego wildflowers on the couch cushions behind Steve’s shoulders and he’d been working away at his own box of daffodils on the coffee table—all while trying not to get distracted by the way your pussy was dripping all over his thick cock.

Leaning back so you could catch Steve’s eye, you grinned at the pinkness in his cheeks and the slightly hazy look in his blue eyes.

“You doing alright, captain?” you asked teasingly, your fingers trailing along Steve’s sharply cut jaw to turn his head so he’d look at you. His blue eyes were dark with lust as he blinked them into focus, a snarl of barely held restraint in the twist of his soft mouth. “It’s been a little while since you gave me any sort of update on how your flowers are coming along.”

You clenched your inner walls around Steve’s cock on the word ‘coming’ as a way to taunt the large blond man, and were satisfied by the way he grunted in pleasure, his eyes sliding closed. Plastic clattered on the coffee table when his hands abandoned the daffodil he’d been assembling to grab your hips, like he couldn’t stop himself from touching you any longer.

Steve huffed a laugh as he opened his eyes again, catching your gaze and groping your soft flesh a little roughly. He smirked when your mouth fell open and your eyes went heavy-lidded, his strong fingers working their way down to your ass as he kneaded your curves the way you liked—possessively.

“When you said you had an idea to make things more difficult for me, I thought you meant a blindfold, or hiding the directions,” Steve rumbled, his smirk turning playful and mischievous.

His expression was your only warning, but you didn’t have a chance to prepare yourself.

“Not this.” He thrust up from beneath you, slamming deep into your dripping pussy.

A moan wrenched free from your lips, pleasure bursting through your body at the friction of his cock dragging against your inner walls, the tip bullying against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You collapsed against Steve’s broad chest, gasping for air as you recovered from the single, brutal thrust.

It had been difficult to ignore the constant, throbbing perfection of Steve being inside you while you were cockwarming Captain America, but you’d done your best so that you could make headway in assembling your Lego wildflowers.

And, of course, it had become a stubborn stand-off between the two of you, where you both were holding out on giving in to your bodies’ desires.

That hadn’t stopped you from taunting Steve, though, and you’d told him there was only one thing he could do that would make you forget about the Lego flowers entirely. He just hadn’t been willing to do it—but you smirked into his neck as you caught your breath, thinking he was finally ready to be done with the stand-off.

“If you want to fuck me, captain, you know what you have to do,” you purred in his ear, pulling away and nipping at his jaw, wringing another tortured groan from the super-soldier. “You just have to admit I’m the best Lego flower assembler in the tower.”

Steve had initially chuckled at your silly demand, playfully telling you he’d only admit such a thing when you assembled as many flowers as him.

But the way his cock throbbed inside you when you called him ‘captain’ and the way his hands were desperately groping your hips, ass and thighs—any soft part of you he could reach beneath your sweatshirt—told you he had reached his limit. So, his next words didn’t come as much of a surprise.

“You are, honeysuckle, you’re the best Lego flower assembler in the whole fucking tower,” Steve rasped, his hips rocking slightly, like he simply couldn’t stop himself from fucking you even a little bit. His fingers were digging deep into the soft flesh of your body, moving you back and forth to grind on his cock. “You’re the best in the whole city—please, just let me fuck you, sunflower.”

Your breaths were catching in your throat as helpless whimpers and moans tumbled from your lips. The way Steve was jerking your body on his cock, like you were little more than a fuck toy for him to play with, was making your mind melt as heat cascaded through your body, settling heavily between your thighs.

It felt so good—Steve’s cock grinding deep in your cunt, your wetness dripping down his hard length to soak his balls, your clit rubbing against the base of him—that it took your mouth a moment to remember how to form more than unintelligible sounds of pleasure.

“Yes,” you gasped finally, dragging the word from the depths of your desire-drenched mind. And once you started, you couldn’t seem to stop, your hips rocking into Steve’s, meeting his grinding thrusts as you clung to his shoulders, your fingers buried in his soft hair. “Please, captain—please fuck me.”

“Thank fuck,” Steve growled, wrapping you up tightly in his arms and pounding into you from below. He held you pinned to his broad chest and buried his face against you, his lips mouthing at the soft mounds of your tits through your sweatshirt. “You feel so fucking good, buttercup, so warm and soft and fucking perfect wrapped around my cock.”

“Oh god, oh fuck, Steve,” you babbled, spreading your thighs wider and splaying them further open so that Steve could slam deeper and deeper into your pussy, making your head spin with how good it felt, how wildly perfect it felt to be fucked by him. “You fuck me so good, captain—please, ‘m already so close, Steve—please.”

Your last word was a desperate, begging cry as your body trembled so violently in Steve’s arms that he had to hold you tighter to keep you right where he wanted you. Pleasure was coiled tightly in your core, and you knew you were seconds away from cumming. It was all you could do to gasp for air as you prepared to tip over the edge.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, lifting his head from your tits to drag his mouth along the line of your jaw until he found your lips. His kiss was so all-consuming, you almost missed the way he tilted your hips so your clit was grinding ruthlessly against his pelvic bone while he rocked up into you. “Cum on your captain’s cock like the good girl I know you are.”

His command was rumbled against your lips before his mouth pressed back against you, his tongue plunging into you and swallowing your sounds of ecstasy as you shattered apart. You were undone by his words and the deliciously perfect way he worked your body.

The sheer force of your orgasm stole the breath from your lungs and you screamed, the sound muffled by Steve’s lips as he eagerly drank down the sound like it was his favorite thing in the world. Wave after wave of heated pleasure washed over your body and you moaned helplessly as your pussy clenched hard around Steve’s cock.

A groan ripped free from the depths of his chest and poured between your parted lips as he followed you over the edge, his hips rutting into you with hard thrusts that had you bouncing wildly on his cock.

If it wasn’t for Steve’s arms still holding you firmly against his chest, you were sure you would’ve lost your balance, but he kept you right where you were meant to be—on his cock while he emptied his balls into your cunt.

As Steve spilled himself inside you, your hands slid from his hair to hold his jaw in your palms. You kissed him through his release, licking his sounds of pleasure off his tongue and groaning at the delicious warmth that filled your body from head to toe.

Once Steve’s cock had been milked dry of all his cum, he rumbled a satisfied sound and finally loosened his hold on you. His big hands stroked up your spine and back down again, soothing your body as you relaxed against his chest, your mouths still moving together in an endless kiss.

Eventually, you pulled away from his mouth and let your head fall to his shoulder as your eyes slipped closed. A happy, contented sigh puffed from your lips and gusted against Steve’s neck, making him tremble slightly.

“So,” you started when you’d finally caught your breath, your heart rate back to normal and matching the steady pounding in Steve’s chest where you were pressed together. “How many flowers did you put together after I started cockwarming you, captain?”

Steve was quiet for so long, you half thought he’d fallen asleep against the couch, but then his hand squeezed your hip and he huffed an exasperated laugh.

“Three.”

Your cackling laugh was so loud, it filled every corner of Steve’s suite, and a moment later, Captain America’s booming chuckle joined the din to make a wonderful cacophony of joy in your little corner of Avengers Tower.

It seemed you had, in fact, figured out a way to make assembling legos with Captain America much more fair—and much more fun.

A week later, Tony Stark stormed into the Avengers Tower conference room where he’d gathered all the superheroes and their SHIELD support team for what he’d deemed an “urgent” meeting.

You sat next to Steve, his hand on your thigh and his fingers twisted with yours as you tried not to look at each other. Both of you suspected you knew what the meeting was about, and you knew you’d both break if you made eye contact.

It didn’t help matters when Tony slammed a small, potted Lego succulent on the glass table of the conference room, hard enough for the whole thing to tremble. A hush fell over the room as everyone stared at the irate Iron Man.

“Where the hell are all these Legos coming from?!” he demanded, his seething gaze roving the room, making eye contact with every single person who sat around the table. When no one spoke, he went on. “They keep popping up in my lab—and they’re starting to crowd my workstation. So who is it?”

You couldn’t help yourself, you cut a sideways glance at Captain America, and had to press your lips even more tightly together to hold back a laugh.

Steve’s gaze was filled with so much mischievous amusement, you could feel a laugh clawing up your throat. As you looked at him, Steve let the corner of his mouth flicker in a smirk, and it was nearly your undoing. You looked away before you could snort and give yourself away.

Thankfully, Clint Barton piped up, telling the room he’d assumed Tony had been the one assembling the Lego flowers that had been showing up all over the tower. He noted he’d found them in the kitchen, the gym, both locker rooms, and plenty of other places.

Bruce Banner agreed with Clint, asking Tony if he hadn’t picked up the hobby during one of his latest bouts of insomnia. It would make sense, Bruce reasoned, since most of the Legos seemed to be cropping up in Tony’s lab.

Meanwhile, Thor had plucked the Lego succulent from Tony and was playing with the pieces, pulling them apart and putting them back together. He lifted his head with a goofy grin and nudged Phil Coulson, murmuring something about the tiny building toy being quite fun actually.

At the opposite end of the table, Nick Fury and Maria Hill shared an exasperated look, then began having a hushed conversation among themselves. You caught snippets of intel about the next mission the Avengers were set to go on, but that was less interesting to you than the reason for Tony’s “urgent” meeting so your gaze slide away to see how everyone else was reacting.

Across from you, Natasha Romanoff caught your eye. She flicked something tiny and pink across the glass surface of the conference table, so discretely, no one else noticed except Steve. He caught the pink thing in his hand as it tumbled over the edge toward your lap.

When the two of you glanced down at his open palm, you discovered the tiny pink thing was a Lego cherry blossom from one of the sets you’d assembled and left in the kitchen.

Looking back at Natasha, she was smirking, and there was an unmistakeable knowing glint in her eyes.

As you watched, though, she pinched two fingers together and twisted them near the corner of her mouth, like she was turning a key in a lock. Her message was clear: Nat knew the Legos were coming from you and Steve, but she wasn’t going to say anything.

Both you and Steve let out silent sighs of relief.

The meeting went on for a little longer after that, though it didn’t go anywhere. No one admitted to planting the Lego flowers around the tower, and Tony was still furious that he didn’t know who was behind it.

Fury finally had to call an end to things when it looked like Tony and Thor were about to come to blows, the former convinced Thor was playing dumb about not knowing anything about Legos while the latter was grinning and egging him on.

Another week passed of Lego flowers and succulents appearing around the tower. Nat had taken to helping you and Steve, sneaking into Tony’s lab while the two of you kept him distracted with speculation about who it could be. Clint caught you leaving a Lego cactus on Bruce’s desk, but he promised to keep your secret and even joined in on the fun just like Nat had.

It wasn’t until the end of the month when Tony called another “urgent” meeting that your prank was finally unmasked.

Tony had a sheaf of papers in one hand and a video disc in the other, claiming that Pepper had discovered the charges made to one of his cards at the Lego store over on fifth. Apparently, he’d talked the manager into giving him a copy of the security tapes from the night when they’d been purchased, so he was about to uncover the culprit.

Once he’d announced all of this, Tony paused for dramatic effect, giving everyone in the room one last chance to come clean.

That time, when Steve cut his eyes to you, his mouth flickering with a smile, you couldn’t keep it together. Steve and you both lost it, laughing so hard, tears began streaming down your faces while Nat and Clint shared a private, knowing chuckle.

Steve came clean about the prank and admitted it had been you and him the whole time. He even explained how you’d roped Clint and Nat into helping once they’d discovered you—and both of them nodded to confirm Steve was telling the truth, grinning unrepentantly.

Tony took it all in stride, seemingly relieved to finally know the source of all the Legos. He did ask how Steve managed to spend so much money at the Lego store though. By his calculations, not even half of the Lego flowers Steve had purchased had popped up around the tower.

At that question, Steve’s cheeks pinkened a little and he admitted there was still a hefty pile of Lego boxes in his suite. You and him had spent plenty of nights assembling Legos—even when you weren’t getting distracted by cockwarming Captain America—but there were still a lot left.

Squeezing his hand in your lap, you spoke up with a suggestion for a Lego night, where everyone could get together and assemble some Legos. It could be a fun opportunity of team bonding, you said.

Fury liked the idea so much, he approved it immediately, then wasted no time in calling an end to the “urgent” meeting.

And that was how you ended up spending a night assembling Legos in Avengers Tower with Steve Rogers and the rest of team, laughing and talking and taking a much-needed break from the stresses of the world. It was the first of many wonderful nights.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans fanfiction #witchywithwhiskeywork #avengers tower au

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endearng · 8 hours ago

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Tie

Pairing: switch!Spencer Reid x sub!fem!reader Summary: Spencer gets unreasonably jealous of you. You let him take control to comfort and reassure him. That's what loving girlfriends do. WC: 3.6k Warnings: smut - oral (f receiving), edging, overstimulation, kinda softdom!Spencer, reader is compliant to everything he says, he's just as desperate as her, creamp1e (i long for a better word), bondage, p in v, dirty talk (they yap), pet names, pussy slapping. Jealous Spencer deserves a warning of its own. A/N: I have no excuse for myself (I'm ovulating). This is pure filth and indulgent because I was being tortured with thoughts of Spencer.

Feedbacks are always welcomed and appreciated <3 Masterlist

Subtle touches from Spencer all night had you going crazy. Well, they weren’t exactly that subtle.

During a particular conversation you were having with Rossi about Italian cuisine (you were an enthusiast, both of cooking and eating Italian dishes like nothing else existed), Spencer, who had an armed slung over the chair you were sitting on, started twirling your hair in his fingers. When you laughed at some remark about how the French people are insane for combining dairy with fish, your boyfriend pulled your hair rather crudely. You glared at him from the corner of your eye.

You got somewhat angry because it was uncomfortable for you to be that intimate around others, but his teasing worked wonders on you. Now, you wanted his touch to be bolder, thirstier, needier, just to match your own sinful thoughts and wants. Right now, Spencer was saying goodbye to Rossi, who was waiting for a cab to take him and his wife back home. Spencer's hand rested at the small of your back. The wine you sipped all through the night, combined with Spencer's bratty behavior, was now making your pussy throb with need for your boyfriend. Nevertheless, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you all worked up in public. "Goodbye, Krystall, and again, happy birthday. Thank you for including me! It was incredible," you said to the woman, who hugged you warmly and thanked you with a smile on her face. "Looking forward to those cooking sessions you mentioned earlier," you said, a big smile on your face as you gave David Rossi a hug.

"Anytime, bellissima." He said simply as you pulled away, smile gracing his face. You held out your hand to Spencer to walk back to his car.

The nickname had struck a nerve. He wasn't jealous, no, he trusted you with his body and his soul, even if he, as a man of science, didn't believe in the latter — that's how much he loved and trusted you, and it was Rossi, for God's sake... Still, he was just another man. Another stupid, territorial man. He opened the door for you and you entered the car, giving him a peck on the lips, "Thanks, handsome."

"Anytime, bellissima," he said through gritted teeth after he closed the door and as you fastened your seatbelt, out of your earshot. He turned around to enter the car, taking the driver's seat.

You went home silently, but you could sense the heavy atmosphere between you on the way there. As you entered your apartment, he got down on his knees to take off your shoes for you. He always did it, no matter what. Apparently, acting weird was no exception to his care with you. You bit your lip, a little apprehensive to bring up the subject. "Thank you, baby," you said softly instead.

"You're welcome, darling." he said, not looking at you and taking longer than necessary in his task.

You sucked in a breath. "Okay, baby, what was that? We need to talk about it."

"What was what?"

"Just when we left the restaurant. I said thanks and you basically ignored me all the way here," you explained, even if you knew he definitely knew what you were talking about. your hand found the nape of his neck, making him look up at you. He had a guilty look on his face.

Busted.

He sighed, "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I was mean." He apologized, eyes sincerely searching your form and hands reaching up to rest on the sides of your hips.

"Why did you do it, then?"

"Bellissima. You know what it means. I just got... jealous? I should be the only one complimenting you," he said, now standing at full height in front of you. Kissing your lips, hands caressing your waist, touch light as a feather, "telling you how much you mean to me," you sighed as his lips brushed the skin of your neck, "how much it drives me crazy just seeing you," he bit the sweet spot just behind your ear, "my beautiful, gorgeous girlfriend. Mine."

You pulled on his hair so he could see your features. Looking him dead in the eye, with an almost angry look on your face. You wanted him to pay for everything he had done that night. "Baby, you were touching me all night, knowing that you were driving me insane. knowing you're the only one who gets to do that," you leaned in to kiss him softly. "and then throw a tantrum like the spoiled little thing that you are just because someone said a word to me? You know compliments mean nothing when it comes from someone who's not you, baby. Thought you knew better."

Silence. He looked at you like you kicked his dog.

"Remind me, then," he retorted, looking you in the eye. "Remind me how much you're mine and mine only."

One of your favorite things about your relationship with Spencer was that, in public, your dynamic was totally different from what you were like between four walls. When you were surrounded by people, Spencer acted like a gentleman, always making sure to cater to your every whim, opening car doors, taking off your shoes for you, picking nice places to take you on dates, accepting your suggestions of what to wear — it was no coincidence that he looked a lot more styled lately, but you also loved his usual attires. It was how you met him and how you fell in love with him, after all.

But, in the bedroom (or wherever he decided to have you), it was totally different. You were compliant to everything he said, letting go of the control you had over yourself, over your relationship, over everything so he could take you to fucking heavens. You obeyed everything without so much a "yes, sir", and he fucking loved it.

He unzipped the skin-tight dress after leading you back to your shared room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, you stood before him, whose tie was loosened around his neck. "Is this all for me?" he asked as he saw what you had underneath your dress all night long, absolutely sick with the slightest idea that someone else could have that.

You sighed as he kissed your neck and trailed down to your breasts, easily unclasping your bra. "Yes, sir, all for you."

Just like clockwork, all his attention drifted to your breasts. One of his large, calloused hands held your waist securely and the other played with one of your nipples as he licked the other, his hot tongue circling the nub, making you whimper and sending a rush of wetness through your core. "mmm, always need my mouth full of you, angel."

"nnngh, it feels so good."

He smiled on your skin, biting your nipple afterwards. The sting made you see stars and desperate to feel him in some sort of way, you'd take anything he had to offer you. You just needed to be touched. As he continued your ministrations on your breasts, switching from one to the other, you moaned, your hands finding his hair. "Sir—ah—, can you please—touch me?"

He stopped his movements and looked up at you, laughing mockingly. "Is that all it takes, pretty? A few minutes of my mouth on you and you're already so pliant? So eager for me to touch you?"

"Yes, sir. I need you so bad."

"Tell me, then," he scoffed, "where do you want me to touch you?"

Your incoherent babbles meant nothing, so he just laughed at your poor attempt at an answer.

"You're so good at begging, aren't you?" You nodded, licking your lips with the sight of his wet ones. "Wanna kiss me, baby?"

"Always do. Can I?"

"Yes, you can." No matter how dominant he was, he could never deny you a kiss.

You leaned down to kiss him. The brush of your lips alone made Spencer crazy, craving more and more. He could spend hours just kissing you, never getting tired of the mind numbing sensation it had on him. You deepened the kiss, your tongue caressing his, earning a moan from his end. You smiled. "I love kissing you." You whispered as you barely pulled away, breathless.

"I know you do, pretty."

His hands trailed on the sides of your body, earning a shiver from you. Just as he reached the hem of your panties, they traveled up again, grazing the skin of your arms instead. As he found your hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze. He stood up and looked down at you, in for another kiss. "You have no idea what you do to me," he groaned. His words only spurred you further. "Take off my shirt. Slowly." he commanded. And you complied, taking every chance to brush your fingers against his hot skin, desperate to rake your nails on his chest, to make him shiver for you, too.

Spencer turned you around gently so you could see yourself in the big mirror placed in front of the bed. You watched as he pushed your hair out of his way, resting it on your left shoulder to give him access to your neck, his hands finding your breasts so he could play with them, too. He started with light kisses on your neck, lips barely brushing the area, making goosebumps soon erupt on your skin. His caresses got gradually more aggressive, making you blatantly moan his name when he bit the sweet spot behind your ear and grinded his clothed dick against your ass. You whimpered, overwhelmed with so many stimuli.

Turning you to face him, again, he sat you on the edge of the bed, covered only by your underwear in front of him. You could see the tent in his pants and you were desperate to taste him, to take him in your mouth in order to make him as crazy as he made you. God, the things you'd do to hear him whimper like he knew you loved to hear...

"Thinking about something, angel?" He chuckled, mocking you yet again when he saw what were you looking at and the position you put yourself in: cunt in full display after you placed both feet at the edge of the bed.

You nodded violently. That was how you always found yourself pleading for him. It didn't take much, honestly. "Please, sir, I'll do anything. jus', please, let me feel you,"

Anything...

"Aw, pretty, you're so desperate for me," his tone was condescending. "thought you'd wanted someone else for a moment tonight."

"No! No! Never, sir. Never. I only want you. I only want you to touch me."

Leaning down, his fingers raked over your stomach, ghosting over the fabric of your panties. Spencer groaned as he touched the wet patch on your underwear, glistening, begging for attention.

"'s just how much I want you..."

"Look at you, angel, begging me to have my way with you," he sneered, "so pretty..." he muttered, getting down on his knees.

Through your soaked underwear, Spencer caressed your mound and outer lips, almost as if he was drawing your cunt from scratch, tracing every single feature, making it cling even harder to the garment. Each touch made you feel eager. Want something, say something, right?

He teased you for what felt like hours, but when you were finally able to form a sentence, he pushed your panties to the side and he moaned lowly at the sight of you. "Spence—sir..." You started, but were cut by a breathless grunt that raked through you as he licked a broad stripe on your slit.

"You are soaked, princess, had to have a taste of you... you were sayin'?"

"Please, don't stop, sir," your hands flew to his hair, trying to push him back to what he had started.

"Nuh-uh, princess," he tsked, gathering his tie from the floor, "You don't deserve to touch me after the little show you put up today. I’m gonna have to tie you up, alright?"

There it was. Your punishment.

One thing about Spencer is that he always made sure to tell you whatever he was planning on doing with you, both so that you could say no if you wanted to and also because it turned you on beyond limits. It made your heart soar, he was so careful with you, making every man on earth seem like straight up Neanderthals. You whined at his plan as he looked at you to see if you were okay with the idea.

You jutted your lip out, brows furrowing, but you couldn't disagree with him. Adorable, he thought. He tied both of your hands behind your back, using his fucking tie. "... Yes, 's alright. I jus' wish I could touch you so badly," you complained.

"I know, pretty," he cooed, "that's why I'm gonna give you a chance to be good for me, and when you prove to me you can do it, you can touch me all you want."

"O-okay," you stuttered as he started placing teasing kisses on your inner thighs. You sighed.

"You smell so good. Want me to taste you too, hm? You're soaked, your pussy is begging me to do something about it."

"Yes, yes, I do!" you almost yelled. "Please, sir, I'll be good for you."

"I know you fucking will." he stated. Just then, he started licking your pussy, delicately at first just so you could get used to the feeling of finally having him the way you wanted. His hands held your hips in place to stop you from moving. He was the one in control, after all.

Then, once he sucked your clit between his lips, he started flicking his tongue against the nub, eliciting moans from you. The taste of you in his tongue was something he could never get used to, every fucking time felt like the first. He felt addicted to the power it had over him. The best he could do was at least try to be in control. You squirmed, almost like you wanted to get away from him, but his firm hands held you in place. "Be good and stay still," he muttered against your core, slapping your pussy once. You nodded, whining, too lost in the feeling after the sting, in the feeling of his tongue punishing you in a rhythm that put you in a frenzy. Spencer's middle finger slowly pushed inside your fluttering walls. "You're dripping all over my fingers. What a messy girl."

Knuckle deep inside your cunt and mouth feverishly and steadily working on your clit, your boyfriend started to feel more and more desperate by the second with the sounds coming from your mouth. You, on the other hand, could almost taste your release, a complete mess on the bed, chants leaving your reddened lips from all the biting, "yes, sir! You make me feel s'good, you're s'deep in me. Fuck! I'm your good g—" as he heard your words tinged with desperation in a high pitched voice and felt the muscles in your pussy tighten, he quickly stopped his actions.

He would bet money that it hurt him more than it did you.

"Noooo..." you whined, like a spoiled brat. A breathless, messy, spoiled brat. You knew what you were in for from the moment he took off your shoes. "Please, please, sir. You can f-eel how desperate I am for you," you blabbered, trying to argue. "Can I show you?" You decided to take matters into your own hands. Well, as best as you could.

He stood up. "Let's see what you've got, princess." He gripped his shaft in front of you, making saliva pool in your mouth. "You're not even being fucked yet, and you're already this dumb, baby?" He sneered at you. You looked up at his face, taking in his dilated pupils watching you. You looked like any man's wet dream, perfect pussy on display, chest heaving with anticipation of what was coming next, face contorted in the filthiest expression in the world.

He would be happy just to watch you, but he was actually able to taste, touch, see, smell and hear the whole thing.

He was the luckiest man in the world.

Half sitting on the bed, back against the headboard and already off of his slacks and briefs, he beckoned you over to his lap. You kneeled somewhat awkwardly on the bed to hover on his lap, cunt dripping arousal on his belly as you did so. He groaned, the dominant facade faltering for a moment. He had to be the most indulgent dominant man ever, because he was barely able to resist you and your seducing ways. "See how wet you make me?" You whispered, eyes focused on his, which looked directly at the sheer liquid pooling on his stomach.

"You're such a good girl, baby" in a weakened voice made its way out of his mouth. "Since you asked so nicely and you have proof, why don't you show me how much you love riding me, huh? Come on, pretty, sit on my cock. Ride me." His commanding sentences made your cunt gush yet again.

"Yes, sir!" you exclaimed, ready to obey his commands.

Spencer gripped his base and rubbed his dick against your folds. He groaned, biting his lip and it took every single ounce of self control not to kiss him senseless. After some more teasing, he muttered, "You can do it now."

You sat down on him, slowly, pushing the tip in. "Fuck," hoarse voice, just the way he loved it, "you feel so good, sir. And you're not even fully in yet."

"Come on, nice and slow, princess."

you sunk a little further, his girth stretching you out so deliciously, you shut your eyes closed as goosebumps erupted on your skin, pure bliss running through you. "Fuck—ah— you're so, so hard, sir," you hissed.

"Yes, that's it," he grabbed your hands in one of his. He felt you clench around him. "Gonna make sure you get off on my cock alone."

Recalling his demand, you obeyed. Nice and slow, savoring the feeling of having him buried to the hilt inside of you. each time you pulled back just to slam his dick inside again made you feel dizzy. Spencer was mesmerized by the sight before him. First, your expression told him how much you enjoyed riding him, mouth agape to let out the dirtiest moans and words, unlike the poised woman he liked to brag about to whoever listened. "Fuck, you're so deep. 's so good, love it when you let me ride you, sir."

Spencer kept silent for a moment, still admiring your form. He watched as the hair on your skin shivered each time he started to meet your thrusts, eager to make you his. his eyes drifted to your breasts, bouncing with every movement of your bodies. It was wanton, watching you get off on top of him, using him to chase your own high, but the sight that got him enthralled was your pussy making his cock glisten with your arousal. "Yeah, pretty? So what do you say? D'you remember you have to be nice?"

"Thank you, sir"

"Thank you for what?" he urged.

“Thank you for letting me sit on your cock,"

"That's right. You're taking me so well, princess, fucking hell," he cursed. "Such a tight cunt, so perfect for me."

"I'm all yours, sir! Yours."

"That's right. You're taking me so well, princess, fucking hell," he cursed. "Such a tight cunt, so perfect for me."

At this point, Spencer was a goner below you. You rocked your hips and he met you thrusts ruthlessly, focused on chasing your high. You slowed your movements, clit grinding against his pubic bone, dick still rock hard inside of you. You felt the telling signs of your orgasm approaching and, mind filled with thoughts of all the filth you've done with him. You still wanted to do much more. "Fuck, pretty girl—you're so good at taking me."

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, your tits brushing against his skin adding to the whirlwind of sensations. "Can I come, sir? Please! I want to come all over your cock," all your sentences sounded like heavenly, pathetic whines to Spencer's ears.

"You hafta take it, princess," he groaned, hands guiding your movements. "Take. It." He urged, words emphasized by two particularly hard thrusts. “Wanna come inside of you.”

"Yes, please! I'm all yours—Spencer!" You yelled out his name as your orgasm washed over you, still grinding against him.

The sound of his name leaving your lips was enough to follow you not shortly after. “Gonna come—fuck—inside you.” He gritted. After spilling inside you, he kept fucking his cum back inside with a few sloppier thrusts.

You crashed beside him, taking a minute to catch your breath. Spencer quickly reached to undo his tie on your wrists, kissing the soft skin after removing the garment. You chuckled at his care. “Don't ever stop me from touching you again,” you muttered.

“What are you going to do, angel? Stop me?” He laughed softly.

He cleaned you both up and you had your hands free to caress your boyfriend’s skin all night long.

The next morning, Spencer had you on the phone as he walked in the bullpen, saying “yes”, “of course”, and a series of different agreements, gleeful expression on his face.

He heard Derek Morgan chuckle. "Aw, Reid, she already telling you what to do?"

"There's no time for her to start, you know that, Derek," Emily quipped.

They had no idea you were telling him about the wet dream you had about him fucking you in the middle of the bullpen.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #switch!spencer reid #softdom!spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid self insert

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anundyingfidelity · 2 days ago

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HAPPY MISTAKE — Logan Howlett

Summary: Not ever, through all the years of your life, you found someone like Logan. Since he arrived at the school, something brought you together like a magnet. Sadly, not everything came out as you wished it would be. Time is not gentle with mutants, and you try so hard to show him your unconditional love before everything is over, but can you finally accept your feelings for each other? Or yours and Logan's tumultuous relationship through the years.

(PART ONE → PART TWO) | GEN MASTERLIST!

Pairing: Logan x mutant!female!reader.

Word count: 9.6k.

Warnings: slow burn, breaking up(?)/making up, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut and unprotected everything, language, character death, time travel, Logan hurting reader unintentionally, wounds and blood. Logan being a whore for both Jean Grey and the reader. Reader has slow aging as Logan and looks around mid 30s in my head. Anthropology teacher!reader. Reader can manipulate light (just like Starlight from The Boys). This takes place between different movies from the franchise, from X-Men 1 to DoFP, so spoilers of the movies ahead.

Notes: Long time no write. Life is horrible but somehow I managed to get this in like two months. I love Logan so fucking much now you don't have an idea. This was also written with Happy Mistake by Lady Gaga in mind. If you'd like to be tagged in the second part let me know or let me know your thoughts on this, it's very much appreciated! I suffered a lot writing it .

𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊'𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆.

—

2000

“Need any help?”

Logan stopped on his tracks from wandering around the cozy, yet strange place he woke up in. Turning on his feet, he saw your figure standing in the middle of the hallway. He said nothing, but you approached him as you had known him for a very long time.

“I assume you’re the new guy-”

“Where is she?” Logan abruptly interrupted once you stood inches away from him.

“Rogue? She’s fine. And you need to take a little rest.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” he said, looking around to search for a nearby exit. Before he walked away you took his arm in a soft grip.

He was, as much as you could tell, surprised by your boldness. You gave him no time to process his next movements once you talked again, your voice firm and welcoming in a way he had never felt before.

“Please, you need to meet Professor Xavier,” you said. “At least before you go. It’s totally fine if you wanna leave, I don’t recommend it though, but we can offer you a safe place here. We are just like you.”

Logan’s hardened expression relaxed for a moment, sensing no threat coming from you. All he saw in your eyes wasn’t pity, nor anger at him being kind of an asshole at first. It was just authority, the good kind where he also had something to say and decide about.

“Whatcha say, Logan?”

He was so immersed in his thoughts before you called his name, thinking it sounded beautiful falling off your lips. You gave him a half smile as he took in each detail of your face, as if he was memorizing every part of it.

It was the first time someone had been nice to him and it felt strangely good.

For some reason, it felt very good coming from you.

—

Logan just found out from the Professor’s mouth the mansion was a school for mutants. Gifted people, he called them. After learning another powerful mutant was behind him and Rogue, he had no other choice but accept the shelter. He didn’t like the other guys better, playing the teacher with a bunch of teenagers with special or cursed abilities. But besides Storm and Jean, you were the person who had welcomed him the most, even showing him the place and the room he would stay in.

One late night, you sat at the dining table together. Logan was silently drinking a beer outside school hours so the kids wouldn’t see him, and you, reading a bunch of papers from your students that you were missing. He realized how hard you worked, how you would praise your students, how you talked to them outside classes, being the one to actually convince Rogue to enroll in the school. Immediately, he knew you were really something, having much more in common than he thought. And you, living for so long, being both a mutant and a lady for sure had a hard life through time.

“What you teach again?” he suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence you shared.

“Anthropology,” you answered, giving him a short glance. “I took this at college a long time ago, and I’ve been alive long enough to know a thing or two,” you explained, putting away a paper after putting an A+ on it proudly. “It’s important to understand ourselves, humankind and mutants… It’s a diverse world and there are lots of cultures, languages and societies we don’t get to know, but it’s beautiful. I think I like to celebrate what makes us unique. I've had the chance to study some of them around the world since I had the time, y’know, and it’s truly amazing. It’s a shame we have to fight between us to make us heard when we could just be kind and empathetic to each other… Sorry, you didn’t ask but, y’know, anyway.”

You shook your head with a curve on your lips, going back to the next paper. Logan had taken the sparks in your eyes as you talked. He half smiled to himself once you buried yourself in your papers again, thinking you sounded just like Professor Xavier. No wonder why he took you in. Probably, if things were different for him, he would’ve found something that could light his face with so much passion just like you did.

“Been alive for almost two hundred years,” Logan said and you looked up to him. “We might have things about the past to share,” he drank from his beer. It was your turn to smile back at him.

“Yeah, well, I’ve lived both horrible but nice things. Couldn’t read or do math without being called a witch,” you chuckled to yourself, but hiding on the inside the awful experiences you had to endure. “Someday, we could go out and grab a coffee or something,” you said with a playful smile.

A light chuckle left your lips, but you and him knew it wasn’t just a joke.

He joined you with a warm smile that lit up his face before disappearing from his lips. “Of course. Count me in.”

—

The sun was shining bright and the weather was great that morning. Some of the students were in the yard playing, having some quality time, and others simply just left to go to the town. It was a good weekend before the next semester started, and it was better now knowing Magneto had been taken to prison after his failed attempt to use Rogue for his plans.

Sipping on your coffee, you saw the students outside. Laughing, running, having a good breakfast picnic. It felt heartwarming just taking this sight, wishing it would always be like this. Your mindful peace was interrupted when Logan entered the kitchen to have a coffee on his own. Visibly, you tensed just a little when he approached you and sat right in front of you at the dining table. The caffeine was not helping at all, you thought.

“Morning,” he greeted you, noticing something was off on you, but hoping it would pass. Maybe you already knew.

“Morning…” your voice came out as a whisper. “How you feeling?”

“Better. What about you?”

You gave a small nod. “Good, thanks for asking.”

A silence fell upon you. Not like the ones you used to share in lonely nights where you prepared your classes and Logan just sat down calmly because he couldn’t sleep. This time it was different. Words won’t come out of your mouth to ask what was really bothering you. You had grown up to like Logan and enjoy his company, but he had a lot of walls upon him, protecting himself of the world and people around him.

However, you understood why he did it. You both have been alive longer than anyone else. You saw people you love dearly dead, being killed because of your flaws. And you really connected to his idea of protecting people by leaving their side. It was better being away. That was until Professor Xavier recruited you. Here, you had a purpose and you helped young people to become the best versions of themselves. You wished Logan could do the same, stay and see he was more of what he thought of himself, but it wouldn’t happen. Right? He had things to sort out on his own.

“Are you leaving soon?”

When you asked the question, Logan knew you had heard something from the Professor. He gave you a nod.

“I need to reconnect with who I was,” he simply answered.

“Right… Wish you all the best there.”

Logan had grown to like you over the past few weeks you shared, exchanging experiences and lessons of life you had taken through the years. For a moment, he looked right into your eyes and smiled. He weirdly smiled, and you could swear he’d miss you too once he is away.

But that warm feeling soon faded away once Jean walked into the kitchen, saying good morning and beaming to the both of you. Logan followed her with his gaze, straightening himself on his seat as she served her own breakfast and an extra plate that you already knew was for Scott. She also began putting fruits and snacks inside a picnic basket while looking all happy and settled, and you knew why Logan had fallen in love with her. It was all over his face.

And you wondered how could he act and talk to you so kindly and sweet, and then look at Jean like that. It was a pain in your heart you tried to dissipate. Everyone knew Jean and Scott were a couple, and the fact that Logan had a not so secret crush on her really played on you. It made you feel like a fool and you had too many heartbreaks and hurted people, putting them in danger due to your mutation, to take initiative and start a relationship - or anything of the sort - again.

Scott made his way inside the kitchen, saying hi to both of you - mostly you. And took the tray with their plates as Jean grabbed the basket, but she let Scott leave the kitchen before.

“Have a good trip, Logan,” she said kindly. “I hope to see you around here soon.”

“Thank you, Jean.”

She smiled one last time before leaving you all alone, Logan following her with his eyes. Just for a second, you wished he could see you like that underneath his facade.

—

You had packed your stuff later that day, deciding a little air and a change for one night would do no wrong. Just as you were walking to the main door, Rogue was saying her goodbyes to Logan after giving him a small hug without really touching him. It was a cute sight how Rogue was able to step into his cold heart. She said goodbye to you as well before leaving the entrance.

“You’re going away too?” Logan asked, rather surprised as you both walked through the door, the sun hitting your skin as soon as you were out of the mansion. He knew your life was at the school.

“Just for the weekend,” you shrug it off.

Logan gave you a nod with a warm smile. “Then have a good trip and enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”

“I hope so too,” Logan answered and before he went to take Scott’s bike, he looked at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds. “We should go out and grab some coffee once I’m back.”

Your lips formed a wide smile. “That sounds really nice.”

For a moment, where time felt like hours and not seconds, you stood right out the door, looking at each other. You wanted him to go first, but he was waiting for you to say something. Probably to ride the bike with him, he could leave you somewhere near your destination and feel you close - just be around you for at least five more minutes. But none of that ever happened.

Instead, you studied his face, looking at his deep eyes, and then his lips - those lips you wanted to kiss so bad before, but never had the courage to do so. You didn’t think further, and if something had taken possession over you, you leaned towards him leaving a short, sweet kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Take care,” you mumbled once you pulled away.

Not waiting for his answer, you turned back, pulling your bag to your side stronger than ever and walked the path to the front gates, feeling his gaze all over you until you left the mansion.

He felt such an idiot for not kissing you properly.

—

2003

‘I know what I want, but what do you want?’

Mystique’s words echoed through his head. Logan left the tent so long ago he didn’t know what time it was anymore and the situation kept repeating again and again in his mind. The woman had shifted between Jean, Ororo, and you. The one that icked him the most being Rogue once Mystique had taken her figure in. Storm was a good colleague, Jean was a forbidden love, Rogue was like his little sister, someone he would protect as long as he could, and you… you were a different case. When Mystique was about to kiss him wearing your figure, he finally realized he started feeling things he had prohibited himself for a very long time, and he thought he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Once or twice you shared experiences about love and partners, but he could tell it hurted you the same way as him. He couldn’t burden breaking your heart, or worse, getting you hurt because of what he was. Logan knew you had the same bad luck in the past, but it didn’t stop any of you to pull towards each other like a magnet.

‘Living for so long does things to you, Logan. I feel we become more aware of what we are.’

Those words you said to him one time remained in his head like a warning, and he took it personally.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against a hard tree trunk some feet away from the tents where the rest of the X-Men rested. He tried to find some peace alone for a few moments when the sounds of steps approaching alerted his senses. Claws out and ready to attack, he spun around the trunk only to stop in a second.

There you were, a bright light emanating from your hand to illuminate your path in the darkness of the woods.

“Logan?”

Quickly, he withdrew his claws and his body relaxed visibly. “Sorry,” he apologized, leaning against the tree one more time.

“Are you okay?” you asked, but you already knew the answer. The exhausted sigh he let out told you everything you needed. You let the soft glow of light floating between you and him, to illuminate both of you under the branches. “You wanna talk?”

He slowly shook his head, mumbling ‘no’. He became startled in the light floating like a firefly, letting his own issues wash away with your sole company. Ironically, everything that was troubling him was you. Softly, you caressed his arm, taking him out of his own thoughts. Your touch didn’t help his poor mind either.

Looking worried about the next mission in Lake Alkali, you feared for him and your team. And your lack of sleep was showing it. But just like Logan, the growing feelings were troubling your head. You had seen him talking with Jean earlier when you landed in the forest - talking too close to your liking once he pulled her for a kiss. But what could you do? Logan was still after Jean even when she had already declined him countless of times, and it didn’t really hurt you. It just felt strange inside. Why would he do that while still being nice to you, quitting being a dick when he wanted because he knew you’d snap back at him. And to be honest, Logan looked as if he liked that about you. But he won’t admit it out loud, and of course, you wouldn’t ask. Men were so damn complicated.

“Well, I only expect things to not get worse…” you finally said in a soft whisper since he wasn’t talking and you stopped your head going further on the matter. And you knew he wouldn’t talk soon either. “And you’re brave for seeking your past.”

Logan locked his eyes with your own, under the soft light. Your tired gaze, your figure, your aura pulling him like he found a treasure in an abandoned cave… He felt so bad for falling for someone like you, who was nothing compared to the crap he was. And then, for the first time in years, he decided to follow his instinct with you.

He leaned towards your figure, his rough hand cupping your cheek gently before pulling you in for a kiss. With a soft sigh you corresponded, your arms around his neck as it turned deeper and harsher. Logan lifted you easily from the ground, your legs tangling around his waist until you felt your back against a rough surface, trapped between the trunk and his body. Soft moans and grunts mingled, your chest pressing against his own, his hips grinding against your crotch. It was obvious you wanted this. Logan desired you so painfully after that day you kissed him goodbye at the mansion, he needed your body and soul. But you had to have answers before giving into the heat of the moment.

Pulling away, you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his own as you tried to catch your breath. Logan tried to taste you once again, but you placed two of your fingers on his swollen lips.

“Why’d you kiss her?”

He remained silent, brows furrowed and eyes blown in lust. You didn’t make any effort to pull him away. He still had you between his legs, asking a simple question he had no response for.

“We’re adults here, Logan. Just wanna know why before we go further.”

Logan started to remember. He vividly heard Jean and Mystique voicing out and asking the right question.

‘Girls flirt with the bad guy. They take the good guy home.’

‘What do you want?’

“Do you really want me?” he asked in return.

You lifted an eyebrow at his sudden question. “And do you?”

He leaned again for a kiss on your lips, and thankfully for him, you didn’t stop it. But he quickly pulled away and inhaled your sweet scent from the skin on your neck, leaving a path of soft pecks, until he nipped the shell of your ear softly. You shivered under his touch.

“I’d love to have you,” he whispered, softly caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Come to my tent,” you mumbled. “Sleep with me. But like, seriously, sleep with me ‘cause I’m tired,” you chuckled, hoping to not kill the mood.

Logan smiled for a bit and nodded, pecking your lips one more time before helping you get on your feet on the muddy ground, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

“As long as I have you by my side it’s alright with me.”

—

Jean’s death was hard to swallow.

For weeks, students and teachers mourned her, and you felt sorry for Scott for losing his soulmate. Logan was not in the best shape either. He didn’t attend her funeral, he never had the guts to stand by her grave either, until now. You stopped right behind him and noticed him sighing, under the afternoon sunset. He was tense because of everything, but when you took his hand out of the pocket of his jacket, he held onto you. Your fingers intertwined together, feeling his life depending solely on you, like a rock he needed to support his whole weight.

The day was about to end, the sun slowly hiding, giving a beautiful painting of orange and purple in the sky. You thought it would soon become an intense thunderstorm due to Ororo’s mourn - something you had gotten used to the last few days.

“She saved us,” Logan barely mumbled, looking intensely at the grave.

You nodded, even if he could not see you. “Can’t blame her, I’d have done the same.”

Those words cause him to look back at you, wishing it’d be a lie. But inside, Logan knew you really had the guts to sacrifice yourself for others. It was something he remembered both of you talking about some time ago. And you would give everything in your hands to save the ones you love.

Quietly, Logan gave a last glance at Jean’s grave, and guided you inside the mansion. Classes barely started again due to the circumstances and a few kids could be seen around the halls. You accompanied him to the doors of his room, noticing you had been holding hands the whole time. Probably no one really cared, they were too busy trying to go through the grief of losing a loved one. Slowly, you broke the gesture, taking your hand away and Logan immediately missed the heat and comfort of your hand.

“Do you need anything?” you asked in a low voice.

Looking at you, Logan reminisced how you kissed in the woods, the need and lust for each other that couldn’t be. He did sleep in your tent that night, in the comfort of your arms, feeling the warmth of your skin. It was, probably, the first time he had a good, peaceful night of sleep in years. No one had brought that up, but he knew something was there. And he needed to act on it before it was too late.

So he brought up his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before planting a kiss on your lips, not caring he was standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see what was going on. You leaned against his touch, deepening the kiss until you couldn’t catch a breath. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead into yours, taking in the beauty of your bright eyes and swollen lips. Everything wandering his mind, making a path right into his cold heart was right in front of him.

“You.”

—

Knocking Professor Xavier's door, you walked inside as soon as his voice announced to come in. You caught your breath seeing Logan by his desk. He just gave you a quick, accomplice glimpse and left the room, closing the door behind. The exchange of glances wasn’t unnoticed by Charles.

“Here’s the report on my subject for this last semester, Professor,” you announced, leaving the folder on the wooden desk.

“Thank you. How’s Logan doing?” he asked all of a sudden, checking the door the man had crossed just seconds ago.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you believe he is comfortable helping the kids?” the old man asked again. He was seeing right through you, and you kind of hated every time he used to do that to you. Nothing could be hidden from Xavier; definitely you couldn’t hide a single thing for the man who took you in decades ago.

“Why would I know that?”

He shrugged it off. “Well, you seem very close lately.”

Close was not the best word to describe your relationship with Logan. Yet, you were sleeping on his bed just the night before. The trace of his kisses, the burn of his beard on your skin, his teeth biting softly your breasts, his rough hands all over your hips… Every touch he left on your body you could still feel it, and you wanted to think he was not just using you. During the past weeks, you were together. Not quite a relationship-thing was established properly, but it was the closest thing any of you could have as for now.

It was a mixture of grief, pain, and hope that had you both still standing. In the end, you understood what he felt. Being alone and alive for so long and then finding a place where people accepted you for who you were was a whole change, even if some years passed by. Though, the time Logan had been spending at the school was nothing but a blink of an eye compared to his past.

“What happened to our team is still affecting us,” you finally said. “I believe we are good friends, yes, we’ve been supporting each other. And he doesn’t know how to deal with the students yet most of the time, but I try to walk him through it.”

Xavier hummed, smiling at the corner of his lips as he eyed the folder you handed him. “I bet you both do.Thanks for bringing your report on time, as always, and I apologize if I am being intrusive. Just please be careful with the noises both of you make at night, we have kids around here.”

Shit.

You swallowed your pride right there and simply gave a nod, feeling the heat burning up your face.

“Will do, Professor.”

—

A loud gasp escaped your lips as you held for dear life on his broad shoulders, hips snapping against your own. His pace was reckless, keeping you on the edge of sin. Grunts mixed with sweet moans, skin hitting skin again and again every time you felt his cock inside you. If possible, your nails could have already left visible scars and marks on his back, scratching and bleeding off his skin as he fucked you senseless.

Logan sucked on the bare skin on your neck, inhaling your scent, feeling your walls clenching around his girth, his hands roughly grabbing the sides of your hips as you moaned his name, over and over, under the moonlight. He looked at you intensely with loving eyes when you came underneath him, eyes flashing that familiar bright light every time a powerful orgasm hit your body. The vulnerable sight of your figure shaking, eyes closing slowly and biting your lip to keep the pretty noises low, made him reach the sweetest high.

With a grunt, he leaned to attack your lips in a heated, wet kiss to moan against your mouth. Logan pulled back to press butterfly kisses on your jaw, until he reached your breasts, feeling himself soften inside your wet heat. His hips were still thrusting just enough to fill you up at a gentle rhythm. Marking you his and only his.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your chest. “Remind me why we’re here again.”

You chuckled softly, fingers tangling on his disheveled hair. You just had prepared a small date night out at the shores of a beautiful lake in the woods. No one could bother you if you were alone, and since your relationship was not so secret anymore, you needed him in a place that wasn’t the school. So here you were, laying on your back, fully naked on the picnic blanket, with the Wolverine between your legs, enjoying the calmness of the water, the green grass, the crickets singing around, and the cold of the night.

“Privacy perhaps?” you whispered as his eyes locked on yours.

Softly you touched his cheek with the palm of your hand and he rolled both of you over, until you laid on top of him, legs straddling his waist and your arms on his shoulders to sit on his lap. Silence took over, his hands soothing your hips and the marks he left on your body from the intense love-making.

“I’m so happy we took a couple of days off…”

You waited for Logan to say something. Anything. You wanted to continue, to tell him how you really felt. Instead, you decided it was better leaving it like this. Logan gave you a nod, pulling you for a short kiss.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He wanted to say it out loud, but was too scared to do so.

—

2006

After a couple of long years, the school and the team had to learn how to go through the grief and pain Jean left. Logan had a hard time processing it, just like all your teammates, specially Scott, and of course the students. It didn’t stop you from moving on as time went by though, always remembering her for the great person and mind she was. Going forward and keeping fighting is what she would’ve wanted for everyone, even now that a certain cure for mutants was announced to the public.

You tried to continue your life as a professor at the school, training students, leading young people, and you invited and encouraged Logan to do so countless times. Deep inside, you wished it was you the reason why Logan decided to stay and train young mutants - for you to be the answer to his loneliness. That he knew, for once and all, that he was not alone. You got each other, and you could do something about it. Words unspoken said more than anything, at least you thought so.

It was one of those rare nights where you got some time for yourselves, walking around the city after having a nice and calm dinner. Your shoulders brushed against each other while you walked downtown, your hands hiding inside the pockets of your jacket, protecting them from the cold.

There was a lot on your mind lately, thinking about what you two really were. If there was a stronger feeling in between, or if it was solely because he enjoyed your company and that was it. Both had lived enough to know there was a feeling in the middle. It wasn’t just friends with benefits, or co-workers who sleep together three times a week. Something was blooming deep inside you, but you tried to not give it a lot of attention all those years. Still, it felt like it had to be addressed sooner or later, and this could be the time. In the end, you understood each other perfectly. How painful it was, how living longer than anyone was, how you had to leave everything and everyone behind because you were dangerous…

“Have you ever wondered how’d it feel to have a normal life?” your question came out all of the sudden.

“How come?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t know if his gaze was judging you but you continued anyway.

“Like living a normal amount of years… Not having these things, genes that make us different. Or special…”

Logan suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed your arm softly so you could lock eyes together as he asked. “You’re not thinking of getting that damn cure, aren’t you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why’d you think that?”

“Because I never had anyone in my life, Logan,” you spat, pulling your arm away from his grip. “I’ve been alive for so long but I can’t promise myself a future. A real one. Not anything, it doesn’t matter if I live forever. Every person I loved before perished.”

Those words shook him out of the rough façade showing on his face. Your gaze told a hundred different stories when he studied your face every time. It was like mirroring himself at some point. You were the first person he ever got to know that has lived as long as he has, and maybe it was the sentimentalism, but he tried to push away those wishes of settling down. Of trying to be normal. Because he was not, and maybe, just maybe, you just didn’t accept it like he did. Probably, he was just giving up. But you weren’t, even after hundreds of years of disgrace continuously happening.

“I thought you’d get this, Logan.”

You mumbled, taking him out of his trance.

“Well, I do, in a way,” he said, but sounded more like an excuse for himself.

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“Wha-”

“Just say it,” you repeated and pointed between you and him. “What is this for you? What are we?”

Logan grabbed on your shoulders gently and leaned towards you, stealing a kiss on the sidewalk, a kiss you obliged with a bittersweet feeling for some reason, but then he whispered. “Darling, you’re everything to me now.”

Yet, you smiled and kissed him back, feeling his lips curve against your own. Well, that wasn’t so hard was it?

—

Needless to say, after the last date, your relationship with Logan had evolved to something more domestic, considering you lived together in your workplace. Affection, holding hands, quick kisses were shared now a little more freely, and you had received a couple of jokes and teases from some students and Storm. But it was fine as long as you had cleared your path with Logan, even if he didn’t act like a partner sometimes.

The certain calmness you felt one day disappeared when Logan and Ororo went to look for Scott, who often had these sad thoughts, and since Jean was his partner, it was thoroughly complicated for him to say the least. When Logan and Ororo came back to the mansion, it was not what you expected to see. Jean was alive and Scott was gone.

It hurted you, knowing first hand that their love wouldn’t be anymore. You met both of them when they were so young, becoming something like their mentor when they used to learn how to control their powers and how to fit in this world that loathed mutants to death. Now, the school was something else. It was a big, special place that was not the same without the brains of Jean, or the enthusiasm and leadership of Scott. Things were different, they had to change because the circumstances told so, and everyone had a difficult time adapting to it. One thing after another left you tired, with no option to run away, even if you wanted to. The complicated circumstances and the relationship you shared with Logan were no help either.

While on your way to check on Jean, who was still under observation after a couple of days, you stopped in your tracks when the heavy door of the med bay slid. Logan, looking all out of his daily self and mad, found you at the entrance, and you felt something different emanating from him.

For what you could see behind him, Jean was still asleep, and the Professor called Logan to come back with a serious voice, but he ignored the older man, instead approaching you.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Logan grasped your arm, his tone lower and deeper than usual.

You quickly pulled off his grip and hissed. “What are you talking about?”

“Jean.”

You felt silent. Of course she was anything he could think of since they found her.

“You knew he was controlling her,” Logan went on and your heart skipped a beat.

The look in your eyes told everything but lies. Logan scoffed and walked away, leaving you standing alone under Professor Xavier’s gaze.

“I’ll talk to him,” you mumbled at your mentor before following Logan, trying to keep his pace until he reached his room.

The whole way you tried to keep it professional, greeting students as normally you would, but when you crossed his door it was impossible to continue with the facade.

“Logan-”

“He’s insane,” he snapped, putting his jacket on and taking his bag out.

“Everything that was done was meant to protect her,” you responded calmly as he placed a handful of clothes inside the bag.

“No, you did it because you are disgusting. I bet this is what should’ve been for me if I refused to cooperate with your circus or something.”

“You don’t know what she is capable of-”

“Yeah, well I don’t wanna hear it anymore. This is so fucked up, even for you,” he continued, bag on his hand taking long strides until you were almost touching noses.

You scoffed, trying to laugh at the irony. “What does that even mean? Do you know how horrible it is to be controlled by the Phoenix inside her?.”

Logan rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear another poor excuse. You continued anyway, looking straight in his eyes before he could leave you hanging with your own words. Exactly like he used to do every damn time when you had an argument. Today, he wouldn’t run away that fast.

“She could kill you in a second and won’t hesitate. For her, we’re nothing. We’re not rivals, we can’t do shit. The only thing we could do was keep her alter ego somewhere hiding inside her mind, or else we wouldn’t be here arguing about something you never witnessed. Because I did and you don’t wanna see that, trust me,” you spat at him. He breathed rage at your words and you knew that it was getting on his nerves seeing the way his hands turned to fists. “And you think this version of her cares for you? Or that she loves you? Jean is gone now, Logan, fucking get over it.”

With last harsh words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door with a thud.

Logan breathed out. He wanted to scream, hit something, run away… Anything to let it out. He was a reckless mess but how could he react and accept Charles was playing with Jean’s mind? And you fucking knew all this time and didn’t say anything? Were his feelings dirty on him right now? Probably. Shit, he took years to finally tell you the truth about his love and affection towards you. He spent months trying to find the right words just to say ‘I love you’, and still, it seemed it wasn’t enough. The forbidden love he felt for Jean never disappeared, and he felt guilty for it.

—

You walked down to the med bay after calming down for a bit. You only needed to check on Jean for a moment and see how she was doing. Years prior, you had witnessed what the Phoenix was capable of, so you didn’t really question Charles’ methods when it came to hide this dangerous side of her inside her mind. You also thought your words might have been a little harsh on Logan, but it was the truth. He didn’t know who the Phoenix was and, if his feelings for Jean resurfaced after believing her being dead, then it wasn’t on you. As much as you loved him, as much as you tried and somehow managed to move on together, he was so easily dragged to her.

The anger you felt before took over you once again, as you found the metal doors of the lab in debris. Quickly, you made your way inside the room and found Jean wasn’t there and that Logan was lying unconscious on the floor. You knelt down by his side, calling him over and over and touching his face and shaking his shoulders until he finally opened his eyes slowly, coming back to reality.

“Logan, what happened?”

“She… she killed Scott. The Phoenix,” he whispered. You could tell he was a little weak and out of breath.

“You’re lucky she just ran away,” you pointed out, helping him to sit down. His eyes were lost in the mess in the room. Tools were destroyed, test tubes broken, crystal was everywhere, and Jean left the reminder of kissing him, yet again, before she escaped. God, he felt so idiotic.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, looking at you. “Sorry for being a jerk. It’s my fault.”

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her, okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her.”

“Come here, we need to alert Charles,” you said, helping him to stand up.

Inside, you knew he wouldn’t really need your help. He was strong and indestructible like the metal on his skull, but he seemed really taken back, and you decided to stay by his side, holding his hand strongly as a way to say sorry as well. It was kind of difficult to see Logan in that state of mind, confused and lost, and you wondered what had happened back there in the lab as you left him in his bedroom, ordering him to rest for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him with loving eyes.

Logan nodded, following your figure stepping out the room and disappearing in the hallway.

He let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. His mind was having a hard time and his heart felt like breaking, going in two opposite directions, and he hated himself for that. His fate was always the same: losing people he loved and cared for dearly. So seeing Jean back again was as if god or anything up there remembered he existed and brought her back just for him. Or maybe he was just being selfish because he already had you.

You were everything for him. A couple of years might be just a short glimpse for both of you, but he was able to feel peace and calm next to you, and he was sure you did as well. Because some nights, that was all you could talk about. Logan didn’t mind hearing you for hours, it reminded him he was alive. With you, but his stupid instinct had to act.

It was his fault Jean had left. The kiss, the whole act of embracing each other’s bodies for at least two minutes, and then her breakdown, begging for him to kill her… All of that was enough to bring out the beast inside her. And he felt such a jerk now for following his desires. He already had you. Wasn’t that enough?

His thoughts were interrupted once you arrived again, finding him sitting at the end of the bed exactly as you had left him there. Sensing something different on him, you sat down by his side and rubbed his hand gently.

“We might know where she’s going,” you whispered.

“I’ll go,” Logan said before you could finish.

“I’m not sure if I should ask, but are you okay? You could do some rest,” you suggested, since seeing the redhead was clearly getting some kind of reaction from him.

“No, I need to go,” he said. But Logan could read your face perfectly, and he knew you didn’t really like the idea of him leaving the mansion. You turned your eyes, scanning the room and avoiding his gaze.

You had the need to ask what exactly had happened back there with Jean, but you didn’t want to start a fight either. Feeling Logan’s hand on your shoulder, he leaned to kiss your forehead goodbye. Maybe you were the one who should stay, check the kids, the school…

“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, voice low and deep, as if trying to convince you, but himself as well. You nodded with your arms around his neck, giving him a hug that felt like some sort of apology you weren’t able to say out loud. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

And how you’d wish things would be fine.

—

The school has been very quiet lately. Too silent even for his taste. At nights like these, he could still feel the vigor and presence of the students running around, grabbing something to eat, planning to go out for a while... Instead, Logan found himself in a place that was mourning. Grieving the loss of Jean, Scott and Charles.

The feelings inside were complicated. He didn’t really feel the same, and the disgrace and remorse of his actions were growing on him. They were still haunting him; every day, every single night. You knew it too. It was impossible to ignore the nightmares each time he woke up from seeing Jean’s lifeless body fall against his own after he gave what she wished for the most: death.

And then, there was you. He noticed how difficult it was getting for you to sleep. You tried to hide your sorrow into your work, studying even more, keeping yourself busy with the school and not thinking about anything else. Since Charles was gone, Ororo took his place and you were her second hand. But you pushed yourself too hard.

Tonight he found your bedroom empty. He didn’t find you on his either, so he went to the place he knew you would be: your classroom. The door was half opened, the dim light of the lamp on your desk barely illuminated the papers on the surface. He found you deeply concentrated reading on something, hands on the sides of your head hiding your face.

“Hey,” he softly mumbled, stepping inside the empty classroom.

You quickly straightened yourself on the chair, wiping your cheeks and tried to look decent for a moment.

“Hey,” you replied back, low voice.

“Come to bed,” he said, coming to stand before you, his hand on your shoulder comforting and soothing you, making its way to the side of your neck. His big palm on your cheek, caressing the skin stained with your tears as if it was the most delicate thing. He took a look at the mess of papers and old books you loved too much to get rid of, scattered on the wooden surface.

“No, I- I can’t. Need to finish these by tomorrow…”

Logan gave you a nod and a grimace before taking your hand, motioning to come closer. You stood up, knowing he was trying to get you out of the work that was consuming you.

He observed every feature on your face, the sadness in your stare couldn’t be hidden. He just knew you too well, just like the palm of his hand, and he wanted to make you forget. At least for a little. You had taken care of him, helped him with your presence and your unique aura, bringing him comfort and peace to his broken mind. He wanted you to be fine. To feel loved.

Logan leaned just exactly to brush his lips with your own, teasing a kiss that he longed too much, his hands around your waist pulling you towards him.

“Can you just let me take care of you?”

Swallowing hard the knot on your throat, you curled your lips as much as the grief let you. “Yes,” you nodded.

With this, Logan leaned until your lips connected. Your arms around his neck pulled him as closer as you could get, feeling his chest against your own, his strong hands around your waist, softly touching you above your clothes.

Logan slowly walked you until your back hit the desk, hands roaming on your ass down to your legs, placing you to sit down over the loose pages. It might ruin the work a little, but none of you cared. Everything in your head was him, between your legs, running his wet mouth down your jaw, his stubble burning your skin as you gasped gently. Lying on your back on the desk, he began descending down your breasts, unbuttoning your blouse until he exposed you to the cold of the room.

He stopped right on your trousers, and gave you a quick glance. You were so eager, wet already. He could sense it. Your eyes were glowing and you were already trying to catch your breath by just his kisses and touch.

“You locked the door?” you whispered.

“Damn right I did,” he voiced, hoarse and low voice from just thinking of railing you right there and then.

“Then don’t stop.”

At your command, he unzipped your trousers, letting them fall down along with your heels on the floor. He then leaned to take your lips in a sloppy kiss, more urgent this time of feeling you close. You moaned, nails scratching his skin. His calloused hands explored your bare legs and things, creating friction with his hips with slow, controlled thrusts against your crotch. Logan left a trail of kisses down to your breasts, licking and tasting the saltiness of your body.

You urged him to go down where you ached the most, hand tangling on his hair. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, spreading to him until his nose was almost buried on your panties, smelling and taking the sweetness of your scent, licking softly with his wet tongue over the fabric. A trail of moans and curses left your lips. He pulled your panties aside before diving in your pussy, licking your folds and teasing your hole with two of his fingers.

“Logan…”

His name repeatedly left your mouth like a plea, his fingers now inside you, stretching your walls for him. The noises grew obscene and nasty as he ate you out like a sweet craving he had been denying himself the pleasure for so long.

He was growing hard just by hearing your whimpers, and he needed you. You always were a fucking longing for him. Your words, your intelligence, your beauty… Everything he needed, you had it. And still, he didn’t have any idea of how such a rational, smart woman like you learned to love him so deeply.

You tugged on his hair, hips thrusting up to meet his growling mouth. You were so close, felt almost there where you wanted, but he pulled away before you finished.

Logan unzipped his jeans leaning back, admiring your blissed out eyes and glistened figure.

“Come here,” you begged in a whisper, tangling your legs around his waist.

He let out a low, dirty chuckle, feeling your hands on his boxers, freeing his erection.

“So fucking eager,” Logan breathed kissing your lips, hands supporting his weight at the sides of your head on the desk.

You tasted yourself within the kiss and you moaned at his words, your hand pumped him just enough to feel his pre cum leaking already, lining his dick with your cunt. Inch by inch, he entered slowly so you could get used to his size. Logan pecked your lips gently, kissing your cheeks and the side of your neck to get into your sensitive skin. You tugged on his white shirt so he could remove it and he ripped your bra apart right after. He loved to feel your chest pressed against his own. You gasped but paid no mind, instead urging him to move inside you.

“Shit, Logan please-”

A particular harsh trust caught your breath on your throat. You held onto dear life with your hands on his shoulders. He pounded into you rock hard and deep. So damn deep the desk was shrieking under, papers fell off and the lamp moved at the same rhythm but you hoped it won’t break.

Logan growled, inhaling your scent and tasting the sweat forming on your collarbone, your breasts bouncing against his chest. He felt your nails trailing down his back, and oh, how he wished he could get damn scars on just by fucking you like this. But the view of you, squirming under him, eyes closed, being a whimpering mess… All because of him. He was so insanely in love with your fucked out expression every time.

Your walls clenched, close to the sweet end. Logan felt himself twitching inside your warm pussy and his thrusts were getting erratic and sloppy. He filled you up, reaching his own climax first, hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Your pussy milked him all the way as he kept spliting you open until you let yourself go, legs trembling around his waist.

For a moment, you stayed like this, with him kissing your shoulder and caressing your thigh, taking in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

“Thank you…”

Your whisper forced him to look up at you. There it was, that loving, sweet gaze you had reserved just for him.

He nodded, palm on your jaw holding you gently. “Of course…”

For some reason, he wanted to voice out for once those stupid three words.

I love you.

Or at least hoped you would do it first.

—

The night was cold under the moonlight, almost freezing. He wondered how he got trapped there, between the messy, withered shrubbery, fog, and the trees of a forest he never recalled knowing. He was alert, senses to the limit in case something might attack him. He felt as if he was being watched, but there were no eyes he could find around. He couldn’t see much like that.

But then a voice started to call his name from afar, claws coming out immediately as he sharpened his senses to find the owner. One, two, three times he heard, trying to find the person who was calling but there was only darkness. His heart skipped a beat when someone spoke behind him.

“Logan…”

He turned on his feet and he felt like dying again. “Jean?”

He withdrew his claws back immediately. The redhead smiled, coming closer until she touched his cheek with a soft hand before pulling away. “How are you, Logan?”

“What-”

“Are you happy now?” she asked, beaming brightly as if they were in a casual conversation instead of the darkness of the woods.

His brows furrowed. She couldn’t be real. She wasn’t there with him. Jean was gone, he had killed her because it was what she wanted. It was her way out to get what she needed; it was the key to her freedom…

“What do you mean?”

“With her… Be careful. You could kill her. Just like me,” Jean whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

Logan stepped back, trying to get away. He shook his head in disbelief, not knowing exactly why Jean was saying this to him.

“No… You’re not real…”

“Everything you love is destined to death and chaos, Logan. You shouldn’t be there,” Jean continued, her eyes switching from her usual tone to a deep black. The ground began trembling under their feet with each step of her, wind building up around. Logan felt truly scared, but somehow he couldn’t run, just stand there as she approached. “All she will know is a life of suffering if you stay. She doesn’t need that.”

“Jean-”

“She doesn’t need you!”

“Jean!”

And then it happened so fast. His claws buried on her chest, the Phoenix disappearing and leaving her to die. Jean collapsed against his body and Logan reminisced about the events of that battle, where he had to choose to be selfish or liberate her from her own demons. Logan wasn’t sure why he stabbed her like this. And when he thought Jean was dead in his arms, she started to call his name again. This time, he heard it far away.

Logan.

Logan…

Logan!

His eyes went wide open. And there you were, by his side on the bed, calling for him with a pain grimace on your face. His claws buried on your stomach.

“Logan…” you gasped and he pulled the claws out, but you were already bleeding, your nightshirt and the mattress stained.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I-”

“It’s okay,” you managed to say as he caressed your cheek before taking you in his arms hurriedly and quickly made the way out of your room through the halls. “The nightmares… I know, Logan…”

“God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Hank!” Logan stood outside the scientist’s door. “Hank, I need your help!”

The commotion caused some of the students to peek from their doors, and Logan waited outside what he felt it was forever under the gazes of the teenagers. It wasn’t the first time he had caused the same accident. The door opened, finally revealing a sleepy Hank putting his glasses on.

There was no need to explain what had happened.

—

“She’ll be stable soon,” Hank informed once he let Logan inside the med bay. “If you hadn’t brought her soon…”

Logan swallowed the knot on his throat, watching your unconscious figure on the stretcher. You already had received blood to cover up what you lost because of the wounds, and Logan’s claws were not minor weapons. His mind was a mess, confusion taking over. He didn’t know how he let this happen. He had nightmares pretty often, yes, but nothing like this.

Maybe Jean was right. Maybe she was trying to warn him about something. Or Jean was just trying to protect you from him. The last one felt more realistic. Logan wouldn’t hurt you, not ever. You talked about how dangerous it was to sleep together not so long ago, but you had insisted on staying. It was the first time something felt so damn real in his dreams and he wished you wouldn’t let him in your room that night…

“She’ll wake up, right?” Logan asked.

“Absolutely,” Hank nodded. “I will need to monitor her vital signs though, hopefully within a day or two she will be normal again… At least she’ll be stable until the wounds heal completely.”

Of course, Logan thought. You didn’t have a healing factor just like him.

“I’ll be right back,” Hank announced before stepping out of the room, leaving Logan alone.

He felt so guilty for doing this to you. For everything. For being the cause of your suffering now. He was a threat and mentally unstable. He was strong thanks to his genes, but he was weak on the inside. He promised countless times to protect you, but he couldn’t avoid hurting you himself. It didn’t matter that it was a very bad dream that felt disgustingly real, he had failed and hurted someone who truly loved. Again.

Taking your hand gently into his, he leaned to plant a kiss on your forehead, wishing it would be just another game from his mind.

But it wasn’t. Now, he had the person he loved the most lying unconscious and hurted because he would let his darkest thoughts consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching you sleep peacefully. “I should have said it sooner.”

PART TWO

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