#like this thing is almost 2000 words long...

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Nice.

[gingersnapwolves]

So today I want to talk about puberty blockers for transgender kids, because despite being cisgender, this is a subject I’m actually well-versed in. Specifically, I want to talk about how far backwards things have gone.

This story starts almost 20 years ago, and it’s kind of long, but I think it’s important to give you the full history. At the time, I was working as an administrative assistant for a pediatric endocrinologist in a red state. Not a deep deep red state like Alabama, we had a little bit of a purple trend, but still very much red. (I don’t want to say the state at the risk of doxxing myself.) And I took a phone call from a woman who said, “My son is transgender. Does your doctor do hormone therapy?”

I said, “Good question! Let me find out.”

I went into the back and found the doctor playing Solitaire on his computer and said, “Do you do hormone therapy for transgender kids?” It had literally never come up before. He had opened his practice there in the early 2000s. This was roughly 2006, and the first time someone asked. Without looking up from his game of Solitaire, the doctor said, “I’ve never done it before, but I know how it works, so sure.”

I got back on the phone and told the mom, who was overjoyed, and scheduled an appointment for her son. He was the first transgender child we treated with puberty blockers. But not, by far, the first child we treated with puberty blockers, period. Because puberty blockers are used very commonly for children with precocious puberty (early-onset puberty). I would say about twenty percent of the kids our doctor treated were for precocious puberty and were on puberty blockers. They have been well studied and are widely used, safe, and effective.

Well. It turned out, the doctor I worked for was the only doctor in the state who was willing to do this. And word spread pretty fast in the tight-knit community of ‘parents of transgender children in a red state’. We started seeing more kids. A better drug came out. We saw some kids who were at the age where they were past puberty, and prescribed them estrogen or testosterone. Our doctor became, I’m fairly sure, a small folk hero to this community. 

Insurance coverage was a struggle. I remember copying articles and pages out of the Endocrine Society Manual to submit with prior authorization requests for the medications. Insurance coverage was a struggle for a lot of what we did, though. Growth hormone for kids with severe idiopathic short stature. Insulin pumps, which weren’t as common at the time, and then continuous glucose monitoring, when that came out. Insurance struggles were just part and parcel of the job.

I remember vividly when CVS Caremark, a pharmaceutical management company, changed their criteria and included gender dysphoria as a covered diagnosis for puberty blockers. I thought they had put the option on the questionnaire to trigger an automatic denial. But no - it triggered an approval. Medicaid started to cover it. I got so good at getting approvals with my by then tidy packet of articles and documentation that I actually had people in other states calling me to see what I was submitting (the pharmaceutical rep gave them my number because they wanted more people on their drug, which, shady, but sure. He did ask me if it was okay first).

And here’s the key point of this story:

At no point, during any of this, did it ever even occur to any of us that we might have to worry about whether or not what we were doing was legal.

It just never even came up. It was the medically recommended treatment so we did it. And seeing what’s happening in the UK and certain states in America is both terrifying and genuinely shocking to me, as someone who did this for almost fifteen years, without ever even wondering about the legality of it.

The doctor retired some years ago, at which point there were two other doctors in the state who were willing to prescribe the medications for transgender kids. I truly think that he would still be working if nobody else had been willing to take those kids on as patients. He was, by the way, a white cisgender heterosexual Boomer. I remember when he was introduced to the concept of ‘genderfluid’ because one of our patients on HRT wanted to go off. He said ‘that’s so interesting!’ and immediately went to Google to learn more about it. 

I watched these kids transform. I saw them come into the office the first time, sometimes anxious and uncertain, sometimes sullen and angry. I saw them come in the subsequent times, once they were on hormone therapy, how they gradually became happy and confident in themselves. I saw the smiles on their faces when I gave them a gender marker letter for the DMV. I heard them cheer when I called to tell them I’d gotten HRT approved by insurance and we were calling in a prescription. It was honestly amazing and I will always consider the work I did in that red state with those kids to be something I am incredibly proud of. I was honored to be a part of it.

When I see all this transgender backlash, it’s horrifying, because it was well on the way to become standard and accepted treatment. Insurances started to cover it. Other doctors were learning to prescribe it. And now … it’s fucking illegal? Like what the actual fuck. We have gone so far backwards that it makes me want to cry. I don’t know how to stop this slide. But I wrote this so people would understand exactly how steep the slide is.

[pedgito]

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Logan Howlett x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | with no threshold for pain, logan finds that losing control with you is easier, triggering a thirst that is insatiable.

author's note | um.......yeah idk. i have no excuse and while i still write predominately for pedge boys i had to. i couldn't help it. am i sorry? no. is this insane? a little. special thanks to @ovaryacted, @pr0ximamidnight & @wannab-urs for being the best and reading this over

content warning | 18+ smut, written with x-men (2000)!logan in mind, mutant!reader, established relationship, hand kink (and sensitivity), pain kink, blood kink, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), exchange of bodily fluids (yes its bl*od), mentions of exhibitionism, also kinda body worship, this turned out way kinkier than it was supposed to be

word count —2.2k

Logan was never soft, but he’s learned to smooth out his sharp edges for you.

And while he was never shy, he wasn’t always open about his claws slipping out near climax when things got a little too out of control or his mind would slip, bordering into that animalistic ferocity he sometimes drifted into when he was more desperate.

Just a touch, a lick, a press of his skin against yours and he’d haul you onto whatever surface was close by and rail you into a near amnesic state of consciousness. It made you feel like you were floating, allowing his superhuman strength to lift you up and off to bed, spending most of those nights in his room rather than your own.

You weren’t a thing, it had never been established. But, Logan has grown comfortable, familiar, and he was appreciative of it, even if he didn’t show it. It came with the kisses when you slipped into his room after heavy training evenings or a night where he just needed some entertainment, something to keep him occupied. 

He liked your company even if it was never spoken aloud. 

The signs came when you would scoot away on the couch to give him space when you both would drift into meaningless conversation that would in turn mold into you, in his lap after a soft tug and a complacent smirk on his face.

You’ve grown fond of him, his wittiness and unrestrained personality that was often subdued under a dark, brooding facade, his body too—strong, chiseled arms and a well-defined chest. He was big, everywhere. All-consuming and just bordering on the edge of too much. But, it was his hands that really pulled you in.

Thumbs pressing beyond swollen lips as you run the surface of your tongue against his skin, an aid to muffle the whimpers that slip beyond your lips when you’re trying to be quiet—when Logan needs you quiet, teetering on a dangerous line of exhibitionism if you keep it up.

Or the length of his hands squeezing against your hips, pulling you back to meet his thighs as his cock spears you open, his palm often finding on your lower back as he presses you further into the mattress, ass angled up as best you could manage when he was rutting himself into you like he was in heat—gruff, wet pants of a gradually building high against your skin that drove you wild. 

His claws have slipped out a few times—your headboard remained the proof as he’d rid himself of his own long ago, deep but thick holes in the wood that you’re almost positive continued into the drywall. He’s ruined a pillow or two, but there was a surge of excitement that came along with it. 

The sound of them as they slip beyond his skin, not even the slightest grimace on his face as it happens, ultimately taken by his pleasure in overdrive, the action always registers half a second too late.

 Thankfully, you’ve come to sense it well.

You always know just where to touch—what drives him wild and extracts the feral nature in him and what softens his steely regard. Touches along his jaw pull him in, lips pressing against the spot on you mirroring your fingers on him. 

Sometimes it’s nails digging into his indestructible skin, irritated and swollen marks that would fade as quickly as they appeared, no use in drawing blood as it never spilled.

But, the soft and intriguing sounds that slip as you run your fingers along his forearm are something you take note of over time—occasionally just a tickle that he shrugs away with a soft chuckle, slipping his hand between your bodies to play with your clit, leaving him just out of reach as he circles that sensitive bundle of nerves, urging your eyes to stay on him, with him.

He’s always good at talking you through, gentle words of encouragement married with tight, guttural groans as his cock sinks into you, a hand at your thigh to keep you spread open, his gaze always wandering down to marvel at the sight of you and him and you take him so well—he’s told you a million times over by now.

Occasionally his hands will make a slow crawl to your shoulders or your neck, curling around the muscle and cradling you, like an anchor for himself. Your own fingers spread over his grip, right along the ridge of his knuckles. 

At first he tensed, his hands slipping away in a hurry to grip another part of your body, lower, deeper—disconnecting helped and even if he had learned to control the urge to a degree, there was always a chance.

Logan wasn’t oblivious to your own regenerative healing—not entirely indestructible, although the lack of pain receptors made you a viable asset for a plethora of things but being on the other end of a spar with him was still nothing to take lightly, a man of challenge himself, you weren’t leaving that fight without a couple knicks and cuts even though as soon as they appeared, they were then non-existent.

Physically, you were a challenge, nothing for people to underestimate. The perfect torture device, the ideal punching bag. You've learned to subdue the emotion and the mental toll it took, but with Logan, there was an openness to be vulnerable, knowing that you needed the pain just as much as it often displeased you.

Where Logan fears worry and shame, you find the care and curiosity in soothing the spots where his claws tear through, a gentle squeeze of your fingers in the spaces between his knuckles, a kiss to each one and down his wrist, a show of affection while your eyes never leave his own.

Sometimes you did it absently, on the couch while you both drifted to sleep after a long day or during a movie that you’ve thrown on to distract Logan from his own mind—some days he just needed you around in whatever form you had to offer.

There wasn’t a single part of him you didn’t admire and one night, like tonight, things reach culmination and Logan slips.

—

His mouth waters at the sight of you on your back, pussy on full display and your thighs spread wide under his grip as his cock sinks deep and pulls out, right to the tip before he’s drilling himself back inside of you, fingers twisting into the sheets so hard they often rip, eyes drifting close as your head keens back in overwhelming pleasure.

“Bub, eyes on me,” Logan coaxes, his fingers curling around the top of your thighs as they squeeze, keeping you apart and open, pliant under his touch, “keep ‘em on me.”

He hips still, waiting, watching—you peek your eyes open with a shy smile that is met with a smirk, his eyes brimming with warmth, nodding as you listen.

 “Right there, that’s good.”

You roll your eyes fondly, a flutter of your lashes as he pushes inside of you unexpectedly, a sharp and wild snap of his hips that pulls a surprised gasp from your chest, squeezing instinctively around him in response—again and again as your thighs press further and further in until he’s nearly at your chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of your breasts and you beg, tongue wetting your bottom lip as you speak.

“Don’t—please don’t hold back,” you plead—to some degree, he always did, shared mutant powers aside there was always a deep need in Logan’s psyche to protect and inadvertently to shield, “all of it—want all of you.”

As to seal the words with truth, your fingers slide over his hands gripped tightly at your thighs, keeping them still as your feet curl around the back of his thighs and pull him in. Deeper, tighter. Logan chuckles at the motion, almost taunting. There was a sensitivity to the spot where his claws pushed through, a warning of what was to come and like all the other softer, more receptive parts of him, the touch surges a sense of hot, angry need through his entire body.

Easy, his eyes read.

“I like it,” you admit with a gentle swirl of your hips to bring him back, followed by the slow angle and snap in response, “—lose control a little, Logan. Let it out.”

“That part of me—“ Logan begs, but there’s a quiet noise of disapproval from you, your eyes softer as you admire him.

“Is part of you,” you remind him, “and I—“ like an absolute menace, he penetrates hard, rubbing the sensitive swell of muscle inside of you that makes you dizzy, “fuck—I don’t need you to hide yourself.”

Logan goes quiet, contemplating but observant as his hands squeeze against the sound of surprise you make as he grazes your g-spot, a fist pressing against his groin that flattens out into your palm, feeling the flex of his muscles as he works himself inside of you.

“I wanna feel it, I need it to hurt,” You beg, his brows drawing in—pensive for a half-second before you can see the flip of a switch in his head, “you can lose control with me, Logan.”

He practically vibrates as the growl emits from his chest, watching his hands squeeze impossibly tighter before his claws are our, unsheathed before you and you can’t help but smile, a millimeter from splicing through skin that could never keep the memory of it and you run your finger along the base, the slight flicker of discomfort in his face that fades as you began to move against him again.

There was something about pain, that stinging feeling of a wound as the adamantium sliced through you, along the swell of your ribs and breasts, a trickle of blood falling from the cut before it disappeared—and instinctively, Logan’s hand settle away as he leans in and swipes the blood away with his tongue, eyes locked on your own and you quiver, mouth opening in a silent gasp.

He moans at the taste, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the action and to make matters worse, he speaks, blood on his tongue and teeth, “M’pretty sure she tastes even sweeter.”

His eyes flick toward your cunt, a whimper in protest at the loss of his cock as he slips out of you and sinks to his stomach in one fluid motion, his slick covered cock ruining your sheets as he drives his tongue inside of you, nose pressed against your clit as he satisfies the loss of him with more, claws dragging dangerously close to your hips, the tips of his claws pressing into the skin.

His tongue drags up to you clit, lapping up the mix of sweet slick and his own, your hands pressing over top of his to force the sharp edge deeper, slicing through your skin until you feel yourself on the verge of passing out, a small pool of blood gathering at your pelvis.

Your own fingers drag through the thick crimson, spreading it over his waiting mouth as he grins, a perfect picture of greed and pleasure as he dives back into your cunt, a hurried and overwhelming pace against your clit driving you over the edge within seconds, your orgasm crashing toward you far faster than you’re expecting as you cry out, hips lifting from the bed but not without a fight, Logan’s grip pressing you down into mattress to clean you up.

All of you.

He rises with a grin, brutish but charming as he kisses you, tasting yourself on him as your own blood smears your lips, giggling softly into his mouth.

“Inside,” Logan already knows, fist curling around his cock as he slips back inside of you, “—oh fuck, Lo—“

“Greedy girl,” He admonishes amorously and returns his hurried pace, claws sinking into your pillows and mattress, a sorry that would come later for the action but you needed him now, “gonna let me fill you full, huh?”

You nod jerkily, forehead pressed tight against his own as he huffs into your open mouth, a mingling of sacred noises between each other as his hips falter, a broken gasp falling from his lips as he snaps his hips once before he’s buried to the hilt, coming deep inside you cunt.

His claws retract synonymous with his climax as he settles against his now bare fists before he’s falling onto his back with a huff, looking like a fucked-out mess with his hair even more askew than it always it, blood drying at the corner of his mouth as you roll onto your stomach and grab for his hand, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with a soft smile, figuring you must be quiet the sight yourself.

“You have to stop worrying, Logan,” you remind him gently, dropping his hand to move closer, his arm extending and pressing against your back as you curl into him, your fingers tracing along his jaw as you speak to him, “that you’re going to scare me away.”

“You still have time to run,” He jokes lightly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to his tone and you shake your head with a quickly developing smirk.

“Only if you’re chasing after me,” You challenge, leaning forward to nip at his jaw, surprised when he returns the action as he buries his pith against your throat, rolling you onto your back with a laugh that bursts from your chest.

“That can be arranged, bub,” He promises, nosing himself into the sensitive spot behind your ear, “I’d sniff you out in seconds, anyways.”

-

divider creds: @saradika-graphics

[covenofagatha]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 1)

Hot, rich, lawyer Agatha comes into the bakery where you work and she takes quite an interest in you (or Sugar mommy Agatha)

Word count: 2000

Warnings: none yet

A/N: hope you guys like this one!

The bakery is always dead on Sunday afternoons. 

You’re not really sure why, maybe people are getting ready for the week or something, but it seems that in the town of Westview, no one craves sweets on Sundays. 

You’re not complaining, though. That just means you get to sit in an empty store and scroll on your phone and still get paid. 

Working at the bakery part time was a nice way to make some money while you finish up college, and to be honest, you did really like it. Your coworkers were all super nice and it wasn’t a very demanding job either. 

And then the bell on the door rings. You look up from your phone, startled. 

It’s a woman that you’ve never seen before. 

She’s wearing a tight white blouse under a brown blazer and smart gray pants. Her long, dark hair flows freely over one shoulder and her pale skin and blue eyes are striking. She is attractive. 

It doesn’t help that you’ve always had a thing for older women. 

“Hi,” she says, coming to a stop in front of the counter. 

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” You ask the rehearsed question. You wouldn’t be surprised if you said it in your sleep at this point. 

“What do you recommend?” 

You’re not even sure she’s looked at the menu that’s posted above the counter. “Depends on what you like. We have cupcakes, cake, pastries. It’s all good. What are you in the mood for?” 

You might be imagining it, but it really seems like her eyes rake up and down your body. She shrugs noncommittally. “Something fresh, something…sweet.” You swallow hard at the glint of heat in her eyes. 

“I just took a batch of cupcakes out of the oven,” you say. “Do you like red velvet?” 

“Sure, hon. I’ll take three,” she says. You smile wearily and get to work packaging them up. She watches you the whole time. 

You ring up the purchase on the register and clear your throat. “That’ll be $7.50.” She smirks and pulls out her wallet, flipping through bills. She pulls one out and hands it to you and your mouth falls open. 

It's $50.

“Keep the change,” she says with a wink. She grabs the box and walks swiftly out of the bakery. 

You assume it’s a one-time thing and pocket the extra money. You secretly hope she comes back though. 

And sure enough, she struts back in three days later, dressed just as nicely as she was the first time. You’re working the morning shift before your afternoon class and you are sipping on a desperately needed cup of coffee. She must be really rich, you think as she walks up, a smile playing on her lips. 

“Morning, hon,” she says. 

“Good morning, how are you doing today?” 

“Better now,” she replies and you can feel your cheeks getting hotter. “Can I get an espresso and a piece of cinnamon crumb cake?” 

“Of course. Anything else?” 

She raises an eyebrow teasingly like she wants to make a joke but says, “That’s all, dear. Thank you.” 

“Your total comes to $8.75,” you tell her. “For here or to-go?”

“For here, please.”

“I’ll get you the cake and then the coffee will be ready soon.” 

When you turn back with the piece of cake on a plate, she’s holding another $50 bill between her fingers. 

“Oh, I can’t–” She cuts you off by putting it into your uniform shirt pocket and pats it. You freeze with her hand basically touching your boob. She smirks and takes the plate from your hand and goes to sit in a corner booth. You don’t allow yourself to look at her as you make her espresso. 

She’s on her phone when you walk over to her, but she looks up earnestly when you put the cup down in front of her. 

“Here’s your coffee,” you say and you’re turning around to go back behind the counter when she touches your wrist. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” She asks, and it’s clear she’s not asking. And even if she was, she’s tipped you almost more than you make in a day on two separate occasions. You plop down on the other side of the table. “How do you like working here?” 

“Oh, um, it’s nice. I enjoy it. Plus we get dessert for free so can’t complain,” you say, a little surprised by the question. 

“Are you still in college?” 

“Yeah, I’m graduating in the spring.” She nods like she’s deep in thought. “What do you do?” 

“I’m a lawyer,” she answers, confidence oozing from her voice. Her tipping so much makes a lot more sense now. You launch into a series of questions, absolutely fascinated by her words, and she gives you everything you want. 

You’re so engrossed in her stories that you almost miss the bell to the bakery ringing. You suddenly jolt and remember that you’re supposed to be working. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” you say hastily and dart back behind the counter. A man orders a croissant and a coffee and you get his order out quickly. You want to back over to the woman, but you feel like you shouldn’t, especially with the other customer in here now. You can feel her looking at you the whole time though. 

A few minutes later she walks back up to the counter and places her empty coffee cup and plate down. 

“Oh, thank you,” you say, surprised. You usually clean off the tables yourself. 

“Thank you,” she says. Her eyes sweep over your face. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” 

“I’ll be here,” you joke lamely but she smirks regardless. “I’m y/n.” 

“I know,” she responds, reaching over again to tap on the tag that clearly says your name. You blush furiously and fight the urge to hide your face in your hands. “I’m Agatha.” 

“Nice to meet you, Agatha,” you say, trying out her name on your tongue. You like how it sounds, how it feels. 

“Have a good day, hon.” Before you can tell her to have one too, she’s on her way out of the bakery, the bell announcing her departure. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. How is it that she can have this much effect on you after meeting her twice? 

You take the bill from your shirt pocket and put it in the register, collecting the change. Sure she’s rich, but she doesn’t have to be giving you this much money. 

So why is she? 

You spend the rest of the day thinking about Agatha. 

The next day, she comes strolling in at the exact same time. You’re doing some school work on your laptop and you hope you don’t visibly perk up as much as you feel. You wonder if those three days you didn’t see her between the first meeting and yesterday she had come by when you weren't on shift. 

But that’s a crazy thought, because surely she isn’t coming by just to see you. She orders the same thing: an espresso with a piece of cinnamon crumb cake. 

She gives you another crisp $50 bill.

“I know you have money to burn, being a fancy lawyer and all,” you tease. “But please don’t go broke buying coffee and cake.”  

She laughs melodically. “Doll, I’m not just buying coffee and cake, I’m thanking the excellent service.” And once again, she’s made you flush. You inwardly tell yourself that you need to stop letting her have such an effect on you. 

You get her the cake and she goes to sit down at the booth from yesterday and you begin making her coffee. You’re lost in thought, wondering if Agatha will invite you to sit with her again, when your hand shakes as you're pouring coffee from the pot to the cup and splashes onto your hand. 

You gasp loudly and drop the pot. It shatters all over the counter and soaks your laptop. 

“Oh, god, no!” You groan and rush to grab paper towels. You quickly sop up the mess from your laptop and carefully collect the pieces of glass. 

“Everything okay?” Agatha asks and you turn to find her standing at the counter again, a look of worry on her face. 

“Yeah, god, I’m sorry, I accidentally dropped the coffee,” you sputter. You throw the towels away and open up your computer, frantically pressing the power button.

It doesn’t turn on. 

With a defeated sigh, you close it and pinch the bridge of your nose. Of fucking course. You aren’t sure how you’re going to pay for a new laptop. 

“You okay?” Concern laces Agatha’s voice. 

You scoff and shrug. “There could not be a worse time for my computer to break. I have school work that needs to be done – I have an exam to take! And now I have to go find time to go to the store and buy a new one and ugh. It’s just so frustrating.” It feels good to vent and then you realize that you’re talking to basically a complete stranger. You straighten up. “Sorry, let me get a new pot and I’ll have that espresso right up.” 

She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, doll. I’ll get it next time.” She winks at you. 

“Next time it’s on the house,” you say. She laughs like it’s some sort of inside joke. Granted, if she keeps tipping like she does, you could buy yourself a new computer in no time. 

You still don’t know why she’s doing it. You open your mouth to say something, maybe ask her what she’s doing here, but she cuts you off. 

“I have to go. I’ll see you later?” She asks, sounding slightly hopeful. 

“You know where I’ll be,” you answer, feeling a longing pang in your chest as her face lights up at your cheesy comment. 

“Sorry about your laptop,” she adds before she sticks another $20 in the tip jar. You gape at her as she smirks and walks out. She is quite literally just throwing cash at you. 

And it doesn’t stop there either. 

You’re just about to finish up your shift when a man walks in, carrying a white plastic bag and a clipboard. 

“Y/n?” He asks, looking at a piece of paper. You affirm and he puts the bag on the counter in front of you. “Sign here, please?” You’re not quite sure what’s happening at all but you do as you’re told. 

Once he walks out of the bakery, you practically tear open the bag to see what’s in it. The first thing you find is a note. 

Hope this will suffice. Let me know if you like it. X, Agatha. And then a number at the bottom. Your mouth drops open and you go back into the bag and pull out a box. You take the top off and inside is a sleek, dark, new MacBook Air. Probably close to a thousand dollars.  

“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath. You run your hands over the smooth cover and open it up. It blinks to life and you actually laugh out loud. 

Fucking Agatha. You’ve met her three times and she just bought you a brand new computer because you accidentally spilled coffee on yours just that morning. 

Speaking of the older woman. You pull out your phone and type the number into it. 

It’s y/n. Thank you so much for the laptop! You are literally a lifesaver. Is there anything I can do to repay you? I’d give you free coffee and cake for the rest of your life, but I might get fired. Thanks again!  You decide it’s a good mix of gratitude and humor and send it. 

Bubbles immediately appear and you wait with bated breath. 

Finally a response appears and heat courses through your veins. 

Of course, doll, it’s my pleasure. And don’t worry about paying me back just yet. I’m sure we’ll figure something out ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyone want to be my sugar mommy lol

[akiranzee]

headcanons, maybe? Muzan with a reader that is the TOTAL opposite when it comes to personality. Sweet, kind, optimistic and forgiving. things like that! feel free to add more to it, though.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ MUZAN WITH A SOFT S/O!!

───────────── ♡ ─────────────

༘˚ this man is a busy man, but he always makes time for you.

༘˚ and when he can’t, he sends at least one or two people to accompany you. ༘˚ why? because you’re too naive. muzan’s words. ༘˚ it wasn’t until he found out that you almost got scammed on an obvious scam. miyazaki mango for ¥2000? what kind of crap is that??? and now, he makes sure that he’s with you whenever you go to the market. ༘˚ also, that one time when your purse got snatched and the snatcher hadn’t even stepped a foot when muzan already grabbed him by the neck and you’re just; “muziee, stopp, he’s probably just having a hard time.” and then you give the snatcher some yen from your purse and muzan’s just like ???? ༘˚ so now he gotta up his security even more, glaring at anyone who tries to woo you :((. ༘˚ man’s also got the audacity to tell the old woman to get out of her seat on the train and let you sit instead when you’re literally fine. ༘˚ he also sometimes forgets his responsibilities and routines when he’s with you, time seems to slow down, he says and wonders. ༘˚ when raining, he tends to just take his coat off and drape it on your head, or if he didn’t wear one, he’ll cover you with his whole ass body. ༘˚ and when it’s a hot ass sunny day, he’ll always make sure to keep you hydrated and ask someone to fan you when you don’t even need him to. ༘˚ your relationship is more of a butler x princess. ༘˚ he’s like following you around in his free time that everyone around you will already know where you both are. ༘˚ also, anyone who dares to verbally abuse you will literally be sent to hell. he’ll either ask someone to beat them up while you cry in his arms, or he’ll beat them up himself while you cry in his arms, but it’s always the latter. ༘˚ now, as for cuddle time, he’ll usually be late, catch you already asleep, as again, he is a busy man, so he’ll just silently scoot inside the blanket and tuck you in his arms without surprisingly waking you up, and press a soft kiss on your forehead, the last of his duties as he too, drifts off to sleep. ༘˚ he also can’t stay mad at you for too long when you do something dumb or clumsy, ‘cause your pretty little doe eyes will just stare up at him and he’ll just... soften up. ༘˚ so, in conclusion, this man becomes soft when only and only he’s with you.

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a/n: this is my first time writing a headcanon lol. i also dk if u wanted this modern era or not :((.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ ONE MORE CHANCE? (IT WON'T BE THE LAST) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ you hate your ex, but nobody else can fuck you half as well — so maybe you'll give him one more chance.

contents: fem!reader. implied unprotected sex, dirty talk (?), lil' bit of praise, lil' bit of degradation, oral (fem. receiving), couch sex, gojo covers your mouth at one point, cursing, lil' bit of teasing/mocking (?). sorta toxic but whatevs we love a toxic king! 2000+ words.

author's note: got lazy in the middle of writing this loll

"he's just so fucking annoying," you groan, swirling the drink in your hand. the ice clinks against the side of the glass as you lift the cup to your lips, sipping the whiskey and wincing at the way it burns the back of your throat. you lean back in the plush couch in your friend's living room and sigh. "i don't know why i ever dated him."

your friend nods in agreement, eyes fixed on her phone for another second before she turns it towards you. "look what he posted on his instagram."

on your friend's screen is an instagram story, and the tag shows that it's from your ex-boyfriend — satoru gojo. tired of his insensitivity and annoying nature, you had dumped him two weeks ago, and god, you'd never had such a petty ex in your life.

after you broke up with him, he blocked you from all his socials and got all his friends to do the same. so, since he practically knew everyone, you lost a hundred followers.

and apparently, he's out fucking some other girl right now.

the story on your friend's phone is a picture of a smirking satoru with his arm wrapped around some girl with a red plastic cup in her hand. they're bathed in overhead red lights, and you can barely make out a familiar dark-haired boy in the back — another one of satoru's fuckboy friends.

"he's such a manwhore," your friend says with an eyeroll. "d'you want to stay the night?"

you shake your head, setting down the now-empty glass on a coaster. "it's alright, i wouldn't want to intrude," you say with a rueful smile.

your friend eyes you suspiciously for another second before leaning back in her own seat and closing her eyes. "stay safe, it's pretty late."

you nod and toss your things into your bag before stepping out the door, closing it gently behind you. as you get in your car and drive back to your house, thoughts of satoru fill your head. 

you don't recognize the girl under satoru's arm, but she's pretty — too pretty for him. sure, satoru was conventionally attractive, with his ocean-blue eyes and flawless physique, but still. 

satoru was a shitty boyfriend, and now he's an even shittier ex. when you two dated, his spoiled brattiness and constant sorry, i forgot's drove you insane. he couldn't even remember your birthday. it was a miracle that you tolerated him for that long — until your one-year anniversary, which obviously slipped his mind.

"you're so insensitive," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. satoru suppresses a sigh, blue eyes looking everywhere but at you. "and— satoru, are you even listening to me?"

you're quiet for three seconds before he responds, and naturally, it was with a "huh? yeah, what is it?"

every time. every single time.

"it's over," you mutter, shaking your head frustratedly. "we're over, satoru."

"fine," he responds after a moment. "i never really liked you anyways."

"fuck you."

if you didn't give a fuck about that white-haired bastard anymore, why did the memory of your breakup still sting?

you try to tell yourself that it doesn't matter. maybe it was for the best — he was out with some pretty girl, so why couldn't you go out and sleep with some hot guy? 

you make up your mind right as you step into your house, and thirty minutes later, you're in a tight dress and four-inch heels. and it's almost funny how easy it is to doll up when you don't have a horny boyfriend trying to fuck you every two seconds.

right before you step out the door, you eye yourself in the mirror and can't help but admire the way your dress hugs your waist, accentuating your curves. that smug manwhore didn't know what he was missing out on — so why not show him?

you pull out your phone and take a picture of yourself, snapping a couple before deciding on one and posting it on your story. you knew he'd see it — you intentionally let his burner stay unblocked, and coincidentally, he didn't block you either. 

just as you push open your door, you realize that your phone's on death's door — just over five percent remaining. so you plug it into your charger, kicking your feet impatiently as you wait for it to charge to a reasonable amount.

some part of you wants to chicken out, to stay home and spend the night watching a classic romcom. but the other part of you, the part that can't ignore the fact that you haven't had sex in two weeks, urges you to go out and get laid.

so twenty minutes later, when your phone finally hits forty percent, you practically throw open the door and rush out and find yourself face-to-face with the guy who's somewhere between belly conklin and andy bernard on your most-disliked list. satoru gojo.

"what the fuck are you doing here?" you snap, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cold night air touches your bare skin. satoru eyes you up and down, and suddenly, you're very aware of just how exposed you are. "satoru, answer the damn question."

"where are you going?" he asks, eyes narrowing when they settle on your dress's deep neckline. 

"none of your business," you reply shortly, biting the inside of your cheek. unfortunately, satoru looks good. just like in his instagram story, he has one button undone in his collar, and his hair is rumpled and perfect all at the same time. "answer the fuckin' question."

"saw your story," satoru replies, slipping his hands into his pocket. "you going out on a date or something?"

the question catches you off guard, and your irritated expression drops for a moment. strangely enough, satoru doesn't have his usual smug expression on his face — he looks conflicted. he never looks conflicted.

"doesn't matter," you respond, walking around him and relishing the way your heels clack on the concrete ground. without turning around, you ask, "so, what about my story made you come over?"

you're not sure why you're baiting him. maybe it's the slight chance that he would beg to get you back, maybe it's the tightness in your chest and pussy, or maybe you just want the satisfaction of seeing satoru squirm.

whatever it is, it lets satoru take you by the wrist and drag you back inside. you suppose that if you can get dick at home, then there's no point in going all the way to the club. and it's not like you're gonna get back together over one night — this would be purely physical. he wanted you, and you wouldn't mind him.

"fuck, right there, sweetheart," satoru groans, pushing your legs impossibly farther apart as his tongue laps at your pussy. the two of you barely made it to the couch in your living room before satoru pushed you down, a mischievous smile on his lips. one thing turned to another, and soon enough he was on his knees in front of you and eatung you out like a starving man.

"you're such a loser," you mutter, threading your fingers through his hair as his tongue makes you see stars. he really was — who shows up to their ex's place after getting dumped? a laugh bubbles out of satoru's lips while his mouth is still on your pussy and it makes you shiver. satoru looks up at you, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"s' that so?" satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your inner thigh with a smirk. "then why'd you let me in, huh?"

"why would i go out when i can just get fucked at home?" you say dryly, a smile growing on your lips. "since you made the effort of coming all the way here."

"my pleasure," satoru scoffs sarcastically, getting up and joining you on the couch as he tugs you into his lap. "so i'm the pathetic loser here, yeah?"

you nod, letting satoru unzip the back of your dress with one hand. he laughs and shakes his head. "you're the one who let me in, baby."

"yeah, well, you showed up."

"you coulda slammed the door in my face."

"maybe i should've," you mutter, not liking the way he's grinning at you. "you gonna fuck me or what?"

"aw, you're desperate. how cute," he replies without missing a beat. it's been a while since you got to banter with satoru like this, and some part of you misses it. sure, he's disgustingly cocky, but at least he has the dick to back it up. and it's fun, too — you like the chase, and clearly, he does too.

"not really," you say with a shrug. that's a lie — the only reason you let him in was to get fucked, and contrary to the excuses falling from your mouth, you were getting impatient. not that he needed to know that.

"fine. have it your way, brat." satoru smiles cheekily and bounces his leg up and down, making you grit your teeth as you struggle to focus.

you make a face at satoru, crossing your arms. "what are you—"

"waiting."

"for what?"

"for you to beg."

your mouth falls open, and you glare at satoru, hating the way he's smugly grinning at you. this isn't the first time he's asked you to beg for him to fuck you — back when the two of you were dating, he had no problem edging you the whole night and practically making you cry for him.

"not this again," you groan, letting out a drawn-out sigh. "just fuck me already, satoru. or i'll go get someone else to."

satoru clicks his tongue, smiling lazily. "we both know you won't do that."

again, he's right, and god, you hate him for it. "just shut up and fuck me."

"alright, since you asked so nicely," satoru drawls, running his tongue over his teeth. he studies you intently, white hair falling into his eyes. before you can ask what he's looking at, he has you pinned against the couch cushions, face down and ass up. 

"good girl, stayin' nice and quiet for me," satoru groans, hand clasped over your mouth as he pounds into you from behind. "you always talked too much. never knew when to shut that damn mouth."

you moan against his hand, unable to think about anything else but satoru and his dick. that's the only reason the two of you stayed together for as long as you did — because the sex was irreplaceable. and after two weeks without getting fucked, you seriously consider throwing all pride out the window and begging for him back.

"shit, you're so fuckin' tight," satoru says with a rough laugh. "have you really not fucked with anyone else since you dumped me?" 

you shake your head, eyes pressed shut as satoru continues sloppily thrusting into you. there's a coil in your chest that's threatening to burst, and the whines slipping out of your lips increase in both pitch and volume.

at this point, you can hardly remember why you broke up with satoru — or maybe, he's just not giving you a chance to remember. his pace is relentless and mind-numbing, and shit, maybe it's for the best.

when he finally lets you cum, it's the best feeling you've had in what feels like forever. the edges of your vision go white, and satoru removes his hand from your mouth, letting out the lewd, muffled sounds that you've been suppressing all this time. not long after, satoru cums too, and it's sloppy, messy, and all over you. 

satoru collapses on top of your back, hot breaths slipping out of his mouth and brushing against your cheek. "took me so good, baby," he groans, pressing his lips to your neck and laughing breathily. "we should do this again sometime."

you shouldn't like this. you should be shoving him out your door, but his mischievous smile is irresistible. and even though you know this time probably won't end any different than the rest, you decide to give satoru one more chance.

"yeah, same time tomorrow?"

"anythin' for you."

[drunkinyourbenz]

YOU DON'T REALLY NEED A BREAK

☆ SYNOPSIS: in which billie is stressed, so naturally she needs you more than ever. unbenkownst to her, she takes it too far. ☆ PART ONE ☆ RELATIONSHIP: dom!billie eilish x fem!reader ☆ WARNINGS: SMUT, use of safe word, angst, fluff, comfort, mean billie, reader is a little bratty, situationship/fwb, angry sex, crying, strap-on, edging, degradation, petnames, name calling (slut, whore, brat, etc.), choking, hair pulling, humiliation, dumbification, toxic dynamic (except less so because billie's realising things hehe), unedited. ☆ REQUESTED: yes, by a bunch of anons ☆ NOTE: y'all read my mind with these reqeusts i was already thinking of writing a part two abt exactly this and you all had the same idea!! sorry this took so long lmao exams are kicking my ass :/ this is very unedited sorry for any mistakes i read it through once and then posted it lmao read part one first for it to make more sense ☆ WORD COUNT: 3.5k words

billie hadn’t texted you in a little over a week, and you almost thought that she wasn’t ever going to again. the last time you’d seen her had ended like all of the other nights, she’d cleaned you up and then left you alone in the silent hotel room. usually, she’d text afterwards, just to make sure you were feeling okay, but there was nothing. the last text between the two of you was when you’d asked where she was when she was late that night. 

the two of you normally hooked up at least a few times a week, and you’d never actually gone a week without her since you started this four months ago.

you thought the worst: someone else had replaced you as her favourite. you’d always thought it would happen, but you thought you might have a few more times before it was over. but from the looks of it, you weren’t ever going to see her again. 

which was fine, obviously. you didn’t care—or that’s what you kept telling yourself. you had agreed to a no-commitment thing when you two started whatever this was, and she could do whatever she wanted. it stung a little bit that she wasn’t doing you, but ultimately, there was nothing you could do about it. 

so when you got home from a long day, thoroughly exhausted, your plan for the night was to hide in your bed and watch 2000s tv shows until you passed out. you showered, taking your time to wash your hair and feeling your tense and tired muscles relax under the hot stream of water. once out of the shower, you changed into some comfortable clothes, flopping down on your bed in relief. you were ready to finally just cuddle up under the blankets like you’d been wishing you could do all day.

about eleven minutes into the gilmore girls episode you were up to—rewatching for the hundredth time—your phone pinged, and you almost just ignored it, but you picked it up with a groan. 

your eyes widened when you saw it was from billie, the last number you expected to text. your heart almost skipped a beat.

billie: come over?

you paused for a moment, conflicted. you truly were exhausted, and it had been such a long day, and all you wanted to do was sleep, you honestly weren’t in the mood for what you knew billie would want. but… it was billie. 

so, inevitably, you ended up at her door. you were still in the clothes you’d changed into the moment you got home, just some comfortable sweatpants and a top—billie wouldn’t care about what you wore, she wanted you to be comfortable. plus, you knew full well that you wouldn’t be wearing them for long. 

you knocked on the door, and it opened within mere seconds, almost as if billie had been waiting by the door for you to show up. from the look on her face, you wouldn’t be surprised. she looked stressed, angry, and desperate. you looked her up and down, your eyes settling on her face. she was wearing a pretty similar outfit to you, sweatpants that hung low on her hips, the “HIT ME HARD AND SOFT” waistband of her boxers peeking out, and a white tank top that you could see the slight hint of her nipples peeking through. her arms were bare and your eyes seemed to gravitate towards the toned muscles there, which never failed to make your brain short circuit. paired with the noticeable outline of her strap in her pants, it was almost too much for you to take. 

you noticed the way her eyebrows were slightly furrowed and her eyes were narrowed in a firm gaze, the frustration was clear on her face. “rough day?” 

she groaned, and when she spoke, her voice had a slight rasp to it, “you have no idea.” 

the two of you fell into silence, just staring at each other for a few long moments. it wasn’t a comfortable silence, it was one that hung in the air around you, a claustrophobic silence. there were words left unspoken between the two of you that poked their heads around the corner but never truly revealed itself, it left you wondering when it would snap, but it never did. the two of you stared at each other for what felt like lifetimes, you waiting for billie to do something, and billie simply savouring the feeling of having you in front of her again. 

finally, she spoke, her voice still holding that same raspiness—which alone could get you on your knees for her. “it’s pathetic that you’re here so fast, considering i ghosted you for a week. you’re just a desperate slut for me, aren’t you? not that you’d be good for anything else.”

the bluntness of her words sent a chill down your spine, this was exactly what you’d expected. why else would billie text you after a week of not talking, if not to use her favourite girl? 

billie continued talking before you could even get a word in, it was like she’d read your thoughts. she leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear as she spoke, “you know i could just call over any of my girls and they’d be here in a heartbeat, and they’d be exactly the same. pathetic, desperate, and begging.”

you raised an eyebrow at her words. you knew what she was doing, trying to wind you up, get you to act out. you had honestly intended to just be her good girl tonight because you were so tired, but you knew she adored it when you acted up. so you spoke with the bratty tone you knew she loved.

“sure you could. but none of them are here now, are they? you called me.” 

the brattiness, especially when she was in a mood like this, made her eyes light up. your brattiness was her favourite thing, she loved it when you gave her an excuse to be harsher and meaner than she was on a normal day. so, when you talked back to her, she lets out a dark laugh. “don’t fuckin’ test me, mama.” 

you let a soft scoff fall past your lips, “or what?” 

“you know i’ll put you in your place, i’ve done it before.” and then you realised, this was what set you apart. this was why you were her favourite. you weren’t afraid to act up, so she didn’t have to be afraid of taking it too far. she could push you, because you pushed her. “maybe you should. you want to blow off steam, don’t you?”

at your words, her lips twitched upwards into a slight, barely noticeable smirk. you knew she would be taking them as a challenge, “you’re gonna have to drop the bratty attitude eventually, mamas.”

“maybe you should make me.”

that was exactly what she wanted—she wanted you to keep going, keep winding her up. she wanted you to give her a reason to pin you down and tear you apart; and you gave her that reason with that simple suggestion.

she took your wrist in her hand, her grip almost painful as she tugged you behind her to her bedroom. the air felt different than it normally did when you were here, everything felt so tense. her entire body language screamed irritated, dominant. but it wasn’t the normal kind of dominance she normally exuded. billie always had this kind of casual dominance that just hung around her, her presence was just effortlessly assertive. this is different, she had a look in her eyes you hadn’t seen before—she was always mean, but this was her normal level of mean times ten. 

she was clearly in a whole new headspace, not one you were familiar with. this wasn’t just dominant, wasn’t just mean, no, it was something else. she wasn’t just a little stressed, she didn’t just have a little bit of frustration she needed to take out on you, this was worse. it was an almost animalistic kind of energy, one that’s so raw, so intense, you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk by the time she was finished with you.

she took one of the belts from her merch from her dresser, shoving you backwards onto the bed and tying your hands to the headboard. she tugged it slightly, making sure it was firm but not too tight. it sent a rush of excitement through you, and you knew she felt the same. 

“gonna use you, mamas,” you knew from those words that she was going to absolutely ruin you, and you could tell by the look in her eyes.

sure enough, no more than five minutes later, she had her strap deep inside of you and was pounding into you at a bruising pace. the strap was bigger than the one she usually used, and it made you ache with a constant stinging pain. she hadn’t given you any time to adjust, and had started as she meant to go on. you were naked and on her bed, with her on top of you, fucking into you at a brutal pace. your hands were still tied up with her belt and the ache it brought only amplified the pleasure. one of her hands had your hair in a firm grasp, solely to make you feel the sting of pain it brought. she wanted to bring you to tears. her other hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it before letting her hand fall down on your ass in a harsh slap. 

the intense pleasure of her cock inside you and her finger circling your clit was a perfect contrast to the pain her hands brought you, and a trail of moans fell from your lips. “b-billie-” 

a mean, almost cruel laugh left her lips, “god, you’re such a slut.” another slap landed on your ass, “it’s pathetic, really. i mean, i can ghost you for as long as i want,” another slap. “and you’re still at my door in five minutes as soon as i ask.” slap, “pathetic fuckin’ whore.” 

you whined, which simply made her laugh. in her own sadistic way, she was enjoying this. 

this continued for what felt like hours—maybe it was, you had no idea. every time you got slightly close to your orgasm, she’d pull out, tugging you away from the edge. by now, you had tears rolling down your cheeks, and the fine line between pleasure and pain was slowly but surely being crossed. 

“fuckin’ take it,” she breathed. “god, you look so dumb around my cock. all you’re good for, hm? spreading your legs and taking it like the slut you are?”

you whimpered, and she simply slapped your ass again. 

this continued for much longer, and she wasn’t even mad at you for being bratty, not in the slightest. she just needed an outlet for her bad mood, and that was what you were. merely a way for her to release her frustrations. 

you let out a choked sob, your body trembling, “billie, please, i can’t—” 

you knew she wasn’t doing this because she had anything against you, there had been something deeply wrong with her day. she had never been this downright cruel before, and you knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t act like this without reason. but it was too much, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. she hadn’t asked for your colour even once tonight, and that thought alone was putting you on edge. sure, her being rough turned you on, but right now it was scaring you just as much. this was darker than you’d experienced in all four months of your friends with benefits situation with her, and you weren’t sure if you liked it. 

you felt the strap hit your most sensitive spot, and you let out a sound that was a mix of a moan and a sob. “billie–” 

“like being used by me, yeah? taking everything i give you like a slut?”

you weren’t sure when you realised that you actually weren’t enjoying it anymore, but it was obvious all of a sudden. it hurt, and not in a good way. you were exhausted from both your day and the sheer amount of time she’d been edging you for. the way your arms had been tied to the bed for so long was making them ache painfully, and at some point down the line, your tears of pleasure had turned into tears of pain. 

you normally had the safety net of knowing that she was paying attention to your signals, knowing that she didn’t want to hurt you. but it didn’t even feel like she was aware of what she was doing, she was so caught up in herself and drowning out her own frustrations. you hated that lack of awareness, it was like she wouldn’t even notice if she actually hurt you. 

she looked like she was about to speak again, so before she could get out another degrading comment, you gasped out, “red, billie–”

whatever half formed sentence billie had been about to say died on her tongue, your gasped words making her freeze inside of you. her mind suddenly went silent, her frustrated thoughts about her day coming to a halt as she looked down at you with wide, almost scared eyes. you’d never actually used your safeword—obviously it was something that the two of you had communicated, but billie had never expected to actually go too far, to push you to that. she was meant to check in on your colours, and she felt an intense pang of guilt when she realised that she hadn’t done that. 

as she looked at you, noticing the tears and the exhausted expression, as well as the way your wrists were visibly sore from being tied for so long, she felt a sense of dread. she was overcome with shame and she didn’t know what to do about it. her breath caught in her throat as she processed what was going on.

“shit, i’m so sorry.” after a moment, she shook herself out of her paralysed shock, she would’ve pulled out immediately, but she was aware that that would just hurt you even more. so she leaned over, quickly untying the belt around your wrists and letting it fall to the ground beside the bed. she massaged your wrists gently for a moment, trying to soothe you. 

her hands moved over your tense muscles, trying to ease some of the soreness. she brushed some of your hair out of your eyes, her touch soft and cautious. “i-i’m so sorry, baby. i never wanted to push you that far.”

you knew that. you knew that she would never actually intend to hurt you, you knew that she wasn’t herself. you didn’t need her to over explain herself, you just needed her to hold you. the hand that had been pushing your hair out of your eyes moved to stroke your cheek, and you could see the intense guilt in her eyes. 

“i’m gonna pull out now, okay?” her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, eyes fixed on your face. 

you simply nodded, hissing slightly in pain as she gently pulled the strap out of you. billie felt her stomach twist at your obvious pain, knowing that she had done that. “i know, i’m so sorry.”

once she was out of you, she climbed off you and gently shifted you so you were sitting further up the bed, propped up on the pillows slightly. her mind was clearly racing with what she could do to help, “do you need anything? water, food, whatever?”

you shook your head softly. if your brain hadn’t been so exhausted, you probably would have thought more rationally about this. but you didn’t, and you didn’t once consider the limited affection in your dynamic. “can you just hold me?” 

billie didn’t hesitate, she just nodded instantly. “yeah, of course i can.” she joined you further up the bed, pulling you into her arms. she held you against her chest gently, her fingers soothingly running through your hair while her hand rubbed your back softly. 

you could hear her heartbeat, it was fast and a clear reminder of how stressed she was. you spoke softly, “it’s okay, seriously.”

but it wasn’t okay, not to billie. she had hurt you, she had pushed you too far, even when you were already clearly tired. she should’ve known better, and the guilt was weighing down from her and eating her up from the inside. not to mention she was terrified that this might be your last straw, that you might never want to see her again, that she might have broken your trust. wondering why she cared so much about her casual fling’s feelings was something that would have left her perplexed on any other day, but it was not currently at the forefront of her mind. “but–”

“it’s okay.” you said firmly, “i wouldn’t be asking you to hold me if i was uncomfortable around you.” 

those words seemed to ease billie’s nerves slightly, and she tightened her arms around you, holding you close. after a few minutes of this, she gently pulled you to sit in your lap, and you shifted so that your head was buried in the crook of her neck. you could feel her breathing on your skin, and you could feel her chest rising and falling with each breath. it was incredibly grounding, the feeling of just being close to her. ever so slowly, you felt your breathing calm and your heart rate slow down. 

at least an hour passed as you were just laying there in her arms, your breathing syncing with hers as her fingers ran through your hair. it was a foreign thing, for the two of you to be this close without sex, but it felt so right. it was like you were made to be in her arms, despite the situation that had brought you here. you could sense her guilt, and if you’d been a bit more aware of what was going on, you probably would’ve realised that there was something more behind that guilt—something deeper than just feeling bad for pushing you. but you were unaware, it wasn’t really what took place at the front of your mind. 

the room was filled with only the sound of both of you breathing, and your mind was taken over by the calming feeling of her playing with your hair. after a while, she broke the silence. “d’you wanna borrow something to wear?” 

you couldn’t deny that you liked the feeling of this skin to skin contact, but you also knew that it was a good idea. so you nodded quietly, and she delicately lifted you off her lap and set you down on the bed. she walked over and grabbed you an oversized t-shirt to wear, and she walked into the ensuite to grab a damp cloth. she came back over and gently wiped your thighs with the cloth, at this point you didn’t flinch too much because it had been so long. she held out the t-shirt, which you recognised as one she had worn at some point.

“arms up, darling.” that was a new pet name, but you didn’t comment. instead, you just lifted your arms and allowed her to slip the top over your head. it smelt like her, which somehow just added to the comfort. 

soon enough, she was back on the bed and you were back in her arms. she was laying down and you were laying with her, partly on top of her and partly just cuddled up to her side. this hadn’t happened before between the two of you, but you certainly weren’t complaining. her bed was comfortable, and her arms around you felt like a cocoon you never wanted to grow out of. 

gradually, your breathing started to slow as the exhaustion caught up on you, both from the recent events and your already tiring day. your head slumped onto her shoulder as a yawn fell from your lips, to which billie smiled softly. 

“do you want to stay the night?” 

that was not something you’d ever expected billie to say, but you hummed softly against her shoulder. “if that’s okay, yeah.”

you could’ve sworn you heard a sigh of relief from billie, “of course it’s okay, please stay. i want you to stay.” 

and so you did. you stayed that night, wrapped up in billie’s arms. it was so new, but it felt so right. that night had been an irreversible shift in your relationship, for both obvious reasons and more hidden ones. you knew that the two of you would have to talk about some stuff in the morning, and you knew you’d have to set some more boundaries. but you also felt closer to her than you ever had, somehow. 

little did you know, that night was just as  meaningful for billie as it was for you. she had had a revelation, one that she would likely keep to herself for a while, although there was no doubt you would find out eventually. 

but there was no doubt that billie wanted you to stay, longer than she’d ever thought.

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[headspace-hotel]

current progress in theories of ecological succession!!!!!! This paper lists 19 different ecological succession theories and their perspectives and limitations

Before I knew its name, I knew succession....I still remember the exact moment of realizing the endless flow of change moving through the ecosystem around me. Looking at weeds, shrubby woods, gardens, and fields, I was seeing this unfolding and expanding web of trajectories and possibilities, and it was like peering into the secrets of the universe.

And ever since I've paid attention to it. Constantly observing the movement in ecosystems and its patterns.

All of these theories are partially correct but incomplete. How could we ever come up with a complete theory of succession? It's like studying the convergence of order and chaos itself. Some of the important tensions of succession brought up in this paper are:

Does the environment determine which plants survive, or do the plants that survive determine the environment? (both)

Does the plant community before disturbance determine post-disturbance regeneration, or does dispersal of new plants determine it? (both)

Are communities at different successional stages formed by whatever random assemblage of plants happens to exist at that stage, or are plant communities adapted to form certain stages of succession? (both)

Is succession a process of maturity of one big thing, or cycles of death and life of a bunch of smaller things? (both)

Do plants exclude other plants from niches as succession progresses or do they open up new niches? (both)

Is succession cyclical or linear? (both)

and like ok. this topic will get me sounding like some kind of deeply unscientific weirdo because I will be like Yes, The Weeds Taught Me The Secrets of Order and Chaos. but also this is a topic in science where all the literature written for non-layperson specialist audience makes Sense.

I was really excited reading this paper because this is like, the stuff I think about randomly all the time. like the other day I just basically blacked out and wrote like 2000 words about The Nature of Disturbance and Temporal and Spatial Dimensions of Ecosystem Change not even thinking about how I was writing about succession, and almost made my brain blow up.

like each successional theory developed so far has highlighted part of the big picture but there are several pieces of the puzzle that have barely been articulated yet. my questions:

Disturbance: What Does It Mean. When talking about something alive and changing, there is no stable state of being, so what does it mean to "disturb" an ecosystem? Every ecosystem is maintained by disturbance, like in an old-growth forest animals will graze and trample and trees will occasionally die and fall and there will be storms and fires and that is part of what a forest is. So like...where is the line between a disturbance that maintains an ecosystem at "climax," and a disturbance that makes the ecosystem no longer "climax."

disturbance, even the most severe and devastating disturbance with near 100% mortality of all plants, does not fully erase the previous plant community. so like, early-successional communities aren't a blank slate, but there is a such thing as an "early-successional community" in the sense that weed species not visible in the pre-disturbance community will pop up. Now, a lot of the theories assume that long-distance seed dispersal (and the availability of seed sources and dispersers) influences the arrival of weeds, but I think the soil seed bank is just as important if not MORE important. Do all soil seed banks have plenty of weeds? Do they have different weeds or the same weeds? Do those weeds match what was there the last time there was a weed community on that site?

disturbance is usually distributed over the land SUPER unevenly except in cases of lawns, logging and industrialized farming. at what spatial scale do edge effects irretrievably muddle the concept of discrete early-successional or late-successional communities. Like if you go into the forest and bulldoze a patch of forest down to bare dirt, that patch is fundamentally different from the bare dirt in a huge housing development, just because of being directly adjacent to a forest. Even completely disregarding seed dispersal- it's shaded, it is affected by the leaf litter and fine woody debris, etc.

I would tentatively state that linear processes of change occur in most man-made environments that are disturbed cyclically, for example, lawns- intensively managed monoculture lawns seem to persist in a lush state for a short time before the grass starts to die. most tilled agricultural fields are losing topsoil and fertility in a linear fashion. so like, the land has an accumulative legacy of tens or hundreds of disturbance cycles. Isn't this likely to be true on a much larger temporal scale? Like, is a forest ecosystem now affected by the fact that it was a prairie 1,500 years ago?

likewise, might this accumulative legacy be necessary for certain ecosystems to reach a "climax" state? e.g. prairie will overgrow into woodland in a few decades absent any disturbance, but cyclic disturbance by fire allows the cumulative progression of a larger successional process

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — seven

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 49.5k words 

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

synopsis — this is the end. after an eventful party that shifts everything you thought you knew, you realize it’s time to bring things back to how they were. with the state championships looming, the stakes are higher than ever. this will either be the end of all you know, the beginning of the end, or the start of something entirely new.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit themes, really emotional chapter (get tissues), rough sex, choking, hair pulling, and spanking, overstimulation and edging, use of substances (vaping, drugs) in a sexual context, oral sex (receiving), light humiliation and possessive themes, marking (hickeys, biting). use of spit, intense physical restraint and forceful movements, y/n remains confusing, mark is on his horny boy shit, karina best character as always, state championships drama, cute caffe scene, irene + y/n bonding. grab your tissues as this is the end :( sorry loves i have to keep these warnings short as i don’t wanna spoil anything

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

[fic ml]

Your stomach twisted as your gaze swept over the scene: four girls sitting around him, their attention locked entirely on him. Lia leaned forward slightly, her long legs crossed as she rested her chin in her hand, her laughter soft and melodic. Yiren sat closest to him, her eyes wide and sparkling as she twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. Giselle’s voice carried over the others, teasing and playful, while Chaewon batted her eyelashes, her soft giggle almost grating to your ears.

They were all staring at him with an intensity that bordered on comical, their eyes wide and lips parted as if he were the only person in the room. You couldn’t blame them, really—Mark had that kind of presence. The way his dark eyes sparkled when he talked, his quiet confidence, the relaxed curve of his lips—it all made him magnetic. And as you watched from the doorway, you couldn’t help but laugh under your breath.

It wasn’t jealousy, not even close. If anything, it was funny. Mark liked attention—you knew that much—and he wasn’t shy about soaking it in. But it was obvious he was keeping a polite distance, his posture relaxed but not leaning into their space. He was charming without even trying, his responses short yet kind, the corners of his mouth quirking up when one of them said something particularly over-the-top.

And the girls? Well, they were practically falling over themselves. Their bodies leaned toward him like he was the sun, their movements subtle but deliberate—playing with their hair, adjusting their tops, batting their eyelashes in synchrony. 

But the truth was, he didn’t see them. At least, not in the way they wanted. You knew how Mark looked at someone when he truly saw them, and this wasn’t it. He was polite, sure, and maybe even faintly amused by their obvious flirting, but he wasn’t engaged. Not like he was when he looked at you.

You stepped further into the room, your footsteps quiet against the floor. You heard fragments of their conversation as you approached.

“…your heart condition sounds so scary,” Yiren murmured, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head sympathetically. “How do you manage it?”

Mark gave a small, almost sheepish smile, bouncing the basketball lightly on the ground beside him. “It’s just about knowing my limits,” he said, his voice low and smooth, drawing the girls in closer. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Lia leaned forward, her hand lightly brushing against his knee. “But still… it must’ve been hard to tell the team.” Her voice was soft, filled with admiration.

“It was,” Mark admitted, his gaze flicking between them. “But they’ve been supportive. It’s good to have people who have your back.”

Giselle’s eyes sparkled as she chimed in, “You’re so brave, Mark. Seriously. And you’re still playing basketball? That’s incredible.”

Mark shrugged, the corner of his lips tugging upward in that effortlessly charming way that seemed to make the girls around him lean in closer. “Yeah, I’ll still play for the rest of the season,” he said, his tone casual but measured. “Not as much, though. Under strict control—fewer minutes, lighter practices. Gotta take it easy for now.”

Yiren tilted her head, her eyes wide with admiration. “That’s really disciplined of you. Most guys would try to push through it and end up making it worse.”

Mark gave a small nod, his expression softening. “I used to be that guy. Thought I could just power through anything, but this… it’s different. I’ve gotta be smart about it.” His hand idly spun the basketball balanced on his knee, the movement fluid and relaxed, like it was second nature.

Chaewon and Yiren leaned in toward him, their admiration practically dripping off them, and though you told yourself you shouldn’t care, the sight sent an unexpected surge of possessiveness through you. Chaewon’s lips parted slightly, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s still incredible, though. That you’re even out there at all. Shows how much you love the game.”

Mark didn’t respond immediately, letting Chaewon’s words hang in the air as though carefully considering them. The pause only seemed to heighten the anticipation, making Yiren’s voice cut through the moment with precision. “Do you ever need someone who’s there for you through all of this? You know, to give you support and—”

“I don’t need that,” Mark interrupted, his voice steady and certain, cutting through the soft hum of conversation around them. His words were resolute, leaving no room for doubt. “Because I already have that. I have Y/N.”

You had to press your hand against your lips, the laugh bubbling up so suddenly it nearly escaped. The way their faces fell was priceless—wide-eyed disbelief and barely concealed disappointment that turned the air heavy with awkward tension. Giselle’s lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words, while Chaewon exchanged a glance with Yiren, her brows furrowing in confusion. Even Lia, ever composed, looked momentarily caught off guard, her smirk faltering.

Yiren blinked, her brows knitting together as she exchanged a glance with Chaewon, their confusion palpable. Giselle was the one to voice what they were all thinking, her tone a careful mix of curiosity and disbelief. “But… didn’t you break up?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as though trying to make sense of Mark’s words.

Mark didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, we did,” he said, his tone calm but firm, as if the answer was obvious. “But that doesn’t change anything. She’s still the one who’s there for me. She always has been, and I know she always will be. Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean she’s not mine, and I’m not hers.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable. The girls exchanged glances, their disappointment obvious, but you barely noticed. Your laughter faded as your eyes found Mark—hidden from his view, yet completely absorbed by the way he spoke. Even when you weren’t there, he carried you in his words, and it hit harder than you wanted to admit.

His voice wasn’t rehearsed or performative. It was steady and real, filled with a conviction that left no room for doubt. He didn’t know you were listening, which only made it more genuine. This wasn’t a display for the others—it was Mark speaking about you as if nothing between you had ever changed. And you couldn’t ignore the pull of it, how deeply his words resonated.

Your chest tightened as you watched him. His hand rested on the basketball, his movements calm and deliberate, his focus entirely on what he was saying. He looked confident and composed, but there was a softness in the way he spoke your name, a quiet emotion that betrayed his exterior. The way he said you’re mine wasn’t possessive; it was certain, like he believed it with every part of himself.

The attraction you felt for him in that moment was overwhelming. The broad line of his shoulders, the way his hand gripped the basketball, the subtle curve of his lips—it all made your breath hitch. But it wasn’t just about how he looked. It was the way he spoke, the certainty he carried, and the way he made you feel like you still mattered. It reminded you of why you loved him, why you never fully let go.

A warmth spread through you, not just desire but something deeper. His tone, his presence, the way he still held you in his words—it made you question everything. You’d convinced yourself there was distance between you, but this moment proved there wasn’t. It made you want to step closer, to let yourself belong to him again, even though you knew it was dangerous. You couldn’t resist him, not then, not now. You still wanted him, completely and entirely.

But he was such a whore. You knew him too well for the smooth exterior he presented to everyone else. He loved attention, basked in it like it fueled him. Even though he kept a respectable distance from the girls, you could see how much he enjoyed being the center of their world in that moment. The way their eyes lit up at his words, the way they leaned in closer—it didn’t go unnoticed by him. You could read it all too clearly in the slight lift of his lips, the subtle satisfaction in his gaze.

And yet, why was he still sitting there? Why was he indulging them instead of looking for you? That familiar twist of frustration coiled in your chest as you watched him. He hadn’t once glanced around the room to find you, hadn’t even seemed to notice your absence. His soft smile, the one that seemed so easy and natural, made your stomach churn. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but seeing him like this—with them—made you question why you still wanted him so much.

You crossed your arms, your expression hardening into one of quiet distaste, but you forced yourself to stay still, masking the annoyance threatening to bubble over. That’s when Karina stumbled into the room, her glossy hair tousled, her lips swollen and red. Her eyes found yours immediately, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips as she made her way over, moving with a careless sway that could only come from being high—and freshly fucked.

“I just got absolutely destroyed by Jeno,” she murmured, leaning in with a smirk, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “He couldn’t keep his hands off me—pinned me against the wall like he was starving, growling about how tight I was while he fucked me so deep I couldn’t think straight. He just kept going, his cock hitting every spot like he knew my body better than I did. My legs are still shaking, and trust me, no one ruins a girl like Jeno can.”

Your gaze flickered briefly to her, taking in the sharp line of her jaw and the way her lipstick, though slightly smudged, still clung to her lips in a way that made her look effortlessly put together. Even after what she described—a night so raw and consuming it left her legs trembling—she looked pristine, her cheeks flushed with satisfaction, her eyeliner still perfect, and her hair cascading down her shoulders like she’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. The contrast between the composure in her appearance and the chaos she’d just described had you staring a moment too long, admiring the confidence and beauty she wore so easily.

She caught the direction of your eyes, her smirk sharpening when they landed on Mark. He was still seated on the couch, one arm draped lazily across the backrest while the other rested on his thigh, his fingers idly spinning the basketball balanced on his knee. The subtle curve of his lips hinted at amusement, though he didn’t seem to notice the crowd around him. His dark eyes, framed by the messy strands of his hair falling across his forehead, flickered with an easy confidence that made him impossible to ignore.

Karina’s chuckle broke the moment, low and dark, her voice playful but biting as she leaned closer to you. “Never thought I’d see Mark Lee being such a whore for attention,” she mused, her tone laced with teasing malice. Her gaze lingered on him, her smirk deepening as though she found the sight amusing—or perhaps a little too tempting.

He knew exactly what he was doing—the way he allowed his gaze to linger a beat too long, how his voice dropped just enough to make people lean closer, desperate to catch every word. It wasn’t just attention he was after—it was control, power, the thrill of knowing he could command a room without even trying. 

Your lips curled into a sharper, more dangerous smirk as you turned back to her, your tone smooth but layered with an edge you didn’t bother to hide. “He should only be a whore for my attention,” you replied, each word deliberate, cutting, and enough to make Karina arch a brow, her expression twisting into one of amused challenge.

She turned to you fully, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, reckless glint that always preceded trouble. She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have an idea.”

You raised a brow, her mischievous tone already giving away her intent, but you decided to play coy, tilting your head slightly. “Do I even wanna know?”

Karina leaned closer, her lips quirking into a knowing smile, the glint in her eyes confirming exactly what you’d suspected. “Wanna make him jealous?” she teased, her voice dripping with suggestion, as though she already knew your answer.

You knew what she was implying—knew the game she was proposing without her having to say another word. It wasn’t just about jealousy; it was about power, about shifting the dynamic and throwing Mark off his pedestal, even for a moment. You felt the corner of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself, the beginnings of a smirk betraying your crumbling resolve. “That would be immature,” you murmured, the words weak and unconvincing as your gaze drifted back to Mark. He sat effortlessly in command, the easy confidence in his posture making him look untouchable, and something about that made you waver.

“Yeah,” Karina agreed lightly, her tone almost sing-song, but her playful smirk hinted at far more. “But you’d get to make out with me.” Her words pulled a soft scoff from you, and you rolled your eyes, though the small grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. “We’ve literally kissed before. Remember all those threesomes with Jeno—”

Before she could finish, you cut her off, closing the distance in a swift, impulsive move. Your lips crashed into hers with an uncoordinated urgency that had the two of you stumbling slightly, your balance offset by your own recklessness. The kiss was messy and chaotic, a tangle of movement that made both of you giggle against each other’s mouths. Her soft laugh vibrated against your lips, and you felt her hands slide up to your neck, her fingers tangling into your hair with an easy familiarity.

It wasn’t sensual or romantic—it was playful, almost ridiculous, a show of exaggerated closeness meant for the eyes you knew were watching. Your lips moved together briefly, clumsily, as if neither of you were taking it too seriously. Still, you let the kiss deepen for a moment, her grip on your hair tightening as your head tilted slightly to the side, drawing her closer. It was just enough to make your point, just enough to draw every pair of eyes in the room without crossing a line you couldn’t laugh off later.

You pulled back first, breathless and slightly flushed, your lips swollen from the contact. The ghost of a smirk lingered on your face as you glanced at her, her expression matching your own—amused, teasing, and entirely unapologetic. Karina wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, a devilish grin spreading as she leaned back slightly, her gaze flicking toward Mark with a sharp glint that told you she knew exactly what kind of chaos you’d just unleashed. She moved as if to lean in again, but you shook your head, your grin widening as her laughter bubbled up, mixing with your own. The tension broke into something lighter, and for a moment, the two of you giggled like co-conspirators, perfectly aware of the storm you were brewing.

She didn’t say a word at first, just let her gaze linger on him before turning back to you, her grin widening. “Well,” she said, her tone light but teasing, “that definitely worked.” She smirked, leaning in closer. “Did you see him? He looked furious, like he wanted to come over here and break it up—but at the same time, I could tell he was so turned on. He couldn’t stop watching.”

But before you could look too and gauge his reaction, Jeno appeared, his towering frame filling the doorway with an air of casual dominance. His dark eyes locked onto the two of you, heat simmering in his gaze that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. Slowly, he stalked closer, his lips parting slightly as his hand drifted down to his waistband, blatantly adjusting himself with no care for subtlety.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. The way his gaze lingered made your skin prickle, but it was the weight of his hand landing on your head that made your knees almost buckle. For a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might join you, but instead, he nudged you gently to the side, his focus shifting with deliberate intent to Karina.

Your breath hitched as you watched him close the distance between them, his large hands gripping her waist with a possessiveness that left no room for question. His lips crushed against hers with a raw, unrestrained intensity, a kiss so consuming it sent a jolt of electricity through the room. Karina melted into him instantly, her moan breaking through the tense silence as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. The way their bodies moved against each other was magnetic, primal, as if nothing and no one else in the room existed.

You stepped back awkwardly, heat flushing to your cheeks as you tried to steady your breathing. Watching them devour each other with such hunger—such chemistry—made your earlier kiss with Karina feel insignificant, like a mere warm-up to the show they were putting on now.

The room shifted, the background chatter dwindling as heads turned toward the spectacle unfolding. A crowd was forming, their eyes drawn to the scene with a mix of awe and intrigue. The tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air like a storm about to break.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement, your gaze snapping to Mark. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his dark eyes was unmistakable as they bore into you. The weight of his gaze made your stomach twist, a blend of unease and anticipation gripping your chest.

The room shifted, the background chatter dwindling into an almost eerie silence as more heads turned toward the spectacle unfolding. Jeno and Karina were utterly engrossed in each other, their movements fluid and magnetic, drawing every eye like moths to a flame. A crowd was forming, the mix of awe and intrigue thick in the air, and the tension hung like a storm waiting to erupt.

You can’t help it—a quiet, desperate moan slips past your lips as you watch them. The raw heat between them is overwhelming, stirring something deep and primal inside you. They’re so hot together, so shamelessly in sync, and the thought hits you hard: What if you joined? Your heart races at the idea, your chest tightening as memories of past times flood in—moments when you had joined, when it was electric, seamless, and so, so good. You bite your lip, trying to steady your breath, but the temptation clings to you, relentless. You’re horny, high, and surrounded by two of your best friends—friends who know every inch of you, who know exactly how to make it all feel right. The idea isn’t just a fleeting thought; it’s a deep, undeniable pull, and you’re not sure how much longer you can resist.

But before you could linger on the idea, you felt it—the weight of Mark’s gaze, heavy and unrelenting, burning through the haze clouding your thoughts. It was as if he could see every sinful flicker in your mind, exposing the secret you hadn’t dared to voice. You dared a glance toward him, and your stomach twisted at the dark intensity in his eyes, locked firmly on you.

Mark’s reaction was subtle, yet it spoke volumes. He didn’t move right away, leaning back against the couch with calculated ease, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while his other hand gripped the basketball. His gaze didn’t waver, sharp and cutting, holding you in place like a predator assessing its prey. A flicker of something dangerous crossed his face—irritation, amusement, something possessive—but it vanished before you could fully decipher it, replaced by a chilling calm that only heightened the tension.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, drawing your eyes there despite yourself. It wasn’t casual; it was a challenge, a subtle display of control that made your breath hitch. His eyes flicked briefly to Karina and Jeno before returning to you, narrowing slightly, the fire in his gaze stoking the heat already pooling in your stomach. The smirk that curled the corner of his lips wasn’t soft—it was sharp, a warning, an unspoken claim that left no room for misunderstanding.

When Mark finally moved, it was deliberate, his calm exterior crackling with a restrained energy that made the air between you thick and oppressive. He stood smoothly, his broad shoulders rolling back as his presence swelled, consuming the space around him. The basketball hit the floor with a dull thud, forgotten in an instant as his focus honed in entirely on you. Each step he took was slow, measured, but there was nothing relaxed about him. It was a storm gathering strength, and you could feel the power in every deliberate movement as he closed the distance, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he said, voice low, smooth, and cutting in a way that sent a jolt straight through you. His eyes dragged over your face with a sharpness that made you feel exposed. “Standing here like that, staring at them like like you wanna join in.” His lips twitched into a smirk, but it was sharp, humorless, and the glint in his dark eyes was anything but forgiving.

You wanted to respond, to snap back or deny the accusation, but the words stuck in your throat. His gaze was a heavy weight, pinning you in place as he came closer, his tall frame practically looming over you. The flicker of anger—or was it something deeper, more possessive?—in his expression made your heart race.

Before you could think to step back or speak, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. The heat of his grip sent a shiver up your arm as he tugged you forward with no hesitation, the roughness of the motion stealing your breath. His hand tightened just enough to make you aware of his strength—not enough to hurt, but enough to ensure you didn’t try to pull away.

“Don’t fight me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for defiance. “You’re coming with me. Now.” The force in his words made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion, and his grip tightened further, a warning that you weren’t in control anymore. His tone was edged with something dangerous, a promise that there would be consequences if you resisted.

The room blurred around you, your pulse hammering as Mark led you toward the exit with an almost unnerving calmness in his stride. People moved out of his way without him so much as glancing at them, the tension radiating off him like a force field. His grip on your wrist didn’t falter, steady and unrelenting as he pushed through the crowd.

“Mark—” you started, but the sound of your voice barely broke the air before he turned his head, cutting you off with a sharp, warning glance. His eyes burned into yours, dark and unreadable, silencing you instantly.

Your chest felt tight, caught between the sheer weight of his anger and the unmistakable heat that burned in his gaze. Every nerve in your body was on edge as he pulled you through the threshold and into the quieter hall beyond. For a moment, all you could focus on was the intensity of his touch, the controlled fury in his movements, and the way your thoughts spiraled wildly, caught somewhere between fear and something much more dangerous.

The door clicked shut behind you, the muffled sounds of the party fading to a low hum. Mark had pulled you into one of the small side rooms off the main hallway, a quiet pocket of space tucked away from the chaos but still dangerously close to it. The room was dimly lit, a couch pushed against the wall and a small table cluttered with forgotten drinks and a jacket someone had left behind. It felt secluded, intimate—but the knowledge that anyone could walk in at any moment only added to the tension.

Your heart was still racing, your wrist warm where his hand had gripped you, but as you turned to face him, everything shifted.

The storm you’d seen in his eyes moments ago was gone, replaced by something softer, deeper—yet no less intense. The anger had melted away, leaving only that possessive edge you knew too well. His dark eyes softened, becoming the ones you loved, the ones that had a way of looking right through you, disarming you completely.

Before you could process the change, Mark was on you. His hands found your waist as he backed you against the door, his grip firm but tender as he held you close. The heat of his body pressed into yours, his presence overwhelming in the quiet intimacy of the small space.

He didn’t say a word at first, just pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It wasn’t the fierce grip you expected—it was grounding, safe, his way of anchoring you to him as his fingers splayed against your lower back. His breath fanned over your cheek as he leaned in, his lips hovering achingly close to yours, so close you could almost feel the kiss he refused to give.

Your chest heaved, a quiet, involuntary moan slipping past your lips as you tilted your head slightly, chasing the contact he was teasingly withholding. But Mark didn’t move, didn’t close the gap. The tension crackled between you, your whimper breaking the silence as his thumb brushed a soothing circle against your side.

His lips hovered over yours again, deliberate in their restraint, the closeness making you ache. You felt his breath against your skin, the soft tickle of it drawing another quiet sound from you as you clung to his shoulders.

But still, he didn’t kiss you.

“God I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet relief that made your knees weak. The faint annoyance that had lingered in his tone earlier—no doubt from your missed calls, ignored messages, and the scene you’d made with Karina—was gone, replaced by something warmer, something unspoken but clear. You had expected anger, sharp words, or even a cutting glare, but there was none of it. “Finally.” 

You raised a brow, crossing your arms as you stopped just a few feet away. “Finally?” you echoed, a teasing lilt in your tone. “Looked to me like you were doing just fine without me. I mean, all those girls, Mark…” You tut jokingly, your memory flickering to the four women who surrounded him. “Maybe I should’ve just left you to it.” You roll your eyes. 

A faint smirk tugged at Mark’s lips, his head tilting slightly as he looked you over. “You think I would’ve let you do that?” His voice dipped lower, enough to make your pulse quicken. “Pretty sure none of them can distract me the way you can.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you rolled your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “Oh, I don’t know. They seemed pretty captivated.” You gestured vaguely toward the girls, who exchanged awkward glances but didn’t leave. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you got caught?”

Mark’s smirk widened as he closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to lightly graze your wrist. The touch was brief, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. “Caught doing what? Talking?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “You jealous?”

You scoffed, but your lips curved into a sly smile, unable to help yourself. “Oh, please. A few compliments about your basketball skills? You must be eating this up.”

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning, but before you could respond, his expression shifted. The playful gleam in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker, something simmering just beneath the surface. His thumb brushed against your lip—slow, deliberate, almost mocking—as his gaze dropped to the faint smudge of Karina’s lipstick at the corner of your mouth. The motion sent a ripple of awareness through you, a silent reminder that he’d seen everything, that he wasn’t about to let it slide.

“What was that back there?” he asked softly, his voice calm, yet laced with an unmistakable edge. The question hung between you, heavy with quiet authority, as his dark eyes locked onto yours. They pinned you in place, cutting through your defenses with a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten.

“Just having fun. Just like you were,” you said, rolling your eyes, your tone deliberately casual. Your heart stuttered, and you hated how easily he could do this—strip you bare with just a look. Still, you raised a brow, feigning indifference, though the teasing note in your voice wavered slightly. “You’re such a show-off,” you quipped, the words softer than you intended. “But I’m not falling for it.”

Mark’s smirk deepened, his thumb grazing over the back of your hand in a way that felt far too intimate for where you were. His touch was slow, deliberate, the heat of his skin sending a ripple of tension up your arm. He stepped even closer, the space between you vanishing as his voice dipped into something darker, more confident.

“Baby,” he drawled, his lips curving in that way that made your pulse quicken. “You don’t have to fall for it. It’s already yours.”

His fingers tightened slightly around yours, grounding and possessive, the unspoken claim sparking a heat in your chest you couldn’t ignore. The way he looked at you, like he was undressing you with his eyes, made your breath hitch. This was shameless, utterly shameless—especially since you weren’t together anymore. But god, you couldn’t resist. Neither of you could. It was like a gravitational pull you had no desire to fight.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started, but you knew why you were falling back into this with Mark. Maybe it was the way you were both high, the haze clouding everything and heightening your senses, making every touch, every glance, feel electric. Or maybe it was the undeniable jealousy bubbling under the surface—the way you watched him with the other girls, the way he looked at Karina and Jeno, his sharp eyes full of frustration and possessiveness. It mirrored the tension building inside you, all those old emotions and unspoken feelings resurfacing, just waiting for an outlet. 

You knew this wasn’t healthy, that these were all signs of pent-up frustration and unaddressed jealousy, but it didn’t matter. The need, the desire, the pull between the two of you was so strong it almost felt inevitable. You weren’t together anymore, but it was impossible to ignore the way he made you feel, how everything about him made you want to give in. The way he touched you, the heat in his gaze, the possessiveness—it was like a magnetic force drawing you closer, making you crave him in ways you didn’t want to admit. Neither of you had the strength to fight it.

You tilted your chin up, defiance flickering in your eyes even as the heat coursing through your body betrayed you. “You sound so sure of yourself,” you murmured, your voice low, daring him to prove you wrong. “What makes you think I haven’t moved on? Maybe what you saw me do with Karina is a fraction of what I’ve been wanting to do with other guys.”  

Mark’s smirk deepened, slow and deliberate, as he raised his hand to your face, his fingers brushing against your jaw before settling firmly beneath your chin. His grip was confident, dominant, tilting your head up just enough to ensure your eyes met his. The heat in his gaze pinned you in place, stealing the breath from your lungs. “Oh yeah?” he said, his voice a low rasp that felt like it could unspool you entirely. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve moved on. Go on.”

Your breath caught, the words sitting heavy between you. His hand shifted, sliding to your waist as he pulled you a fraction closer, his touch warm and grounding against the thin fabric of your dress. The weight of his stare was overwhelming, the intensity in his eyes pulling you under like a riptide.

“You can’t,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that made heat coil in your stomach. “Because I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me since we broke up. Like you’re imagining exactly what I’d do to you if no one else was around. Like you’re waiting for me to stop teasing and just ruin you already.”

You tilted your head slightly, letting a teasing smile tug at your lips, your body leaning closer to his without meaning to. “Oh?” you challenged, your tone laced with mischief. “What makes you so sure? Maybe I already have. Maybe I’ve even thought about someone else’s hands on me.”

It was a lie, an obvious one. You’d never think about anyone else—never consider it, not for a second—but you wanted to push him, to test him, to see just how far you could pull his strings. His eyes narrowed slightly, catching on immediately, and instead of snapping back, he let out a low, rough laugh.

Mark leaned in, his smirk deepening as his breath grazed your cheek, warm and tantalizing. “Yeah?” he drawled, his voice dipping lower, heavy with challenge. “With who, baby? Tell me who you’ve moved on to. Tell me you don’t think about me late at night. That you don’t wish it was my hands on your skin, gripping you so tight you can’t think straight. That it’s not my name you’re moaning when you can’t help yourself.”

Your lips parted, but the sharp retort you wanted to throw back at him refused to come. You were stunned, his words striking deeper than you anticipated, leaving you momentarily speechless. His thumb brushed against your jawline, the movement slow, deliberate, and searing. Your skin tingled under his touch, your pulse racing in your ears.

“That’s what I thought,” Mark murmured, his tone low and full of satisfaction. His smirk grew as he held your gaze, unrelenting and full of heat. “You’re mine, baby. Always have been and always will be.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as a shiver ran down your spine. But despite the way his words sank into you, you forced a smirk onto your lips, masking the storm in your chest with a teasing edge. “Does it matter?” you quipped, tilting your chin up in defiance. “What if there is someone else?”

His eyes darkened, his grip on your chin tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “If there was,” he said, his voice steady but laced with heat, “you wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t be looking at me like this.” His thumb grazed the corner of your mouth, his gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Like you want me to drag you out of here and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Mark’s laugh was softer this time, the sound dripping with amusement, but there was a tension in the way he leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It matters,” he murmured, his tone rough and low, laced with something that made your pulse quicken. “Because I don’t share, baby. And I don’t think you’d want to, either.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a vise. He was calling your bluff, and the way his hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer, made it clear he wasn’t letting you go without making you admit it.

You tilted your head slightly, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned in closer, your breath grazing his neck. “Who says I’d even want to share?” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with heat. Your fingers traced a slow line along the front of his shirt, skimming over the firm muscles beneath. You paused, your gaze locking with his, daring and teasing. “But tell me,” you added, your tone dropping, “would it really bother you if someone else made me scream their name?”

His body tensed immediately, the air between you thickening with raw, electric tension. His hand slid lower, gripping your waist with enough force to make you gasp, his lips now brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Watch it,” he growled, his voice rough, dangerous. “You don’t want to test me, baby.”

Your breath hitched, the sharpness in his tone igniting something deep inside you. His grip on your waist was firm, possessive, and instead of pulling away, you leaned in closer, your lips just barely brushing his. “Maybe I want to test you,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with challenge, every word dripping with intention. “Maybe I want to see exactly what happens when you stop holding back.”

His free hand moved, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress as though testing the barrier between you. “You know what’s funny?” he murmured, leaning in slightly, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. “You show up here looking like that, wearing this…” His gaze raked over you, his lips curving into something that felt more like possession than admiration. “…and you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t want to ruin you in it?”

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small baggie and holding it up between your fingers. Mark’s gaze dropped to it, his brow raising slightly in curiosity. You grinned, pulling out a fresh blueberry vape next—two things that Jeno had slipped into your hand earlier without you asking, free of charge and with a lingering kiss on your forehead. You gave it a little shake for emphasis, your grin widening as you wiggled your eyebrows at him. “Wanna have fun?” you teased, your voice sultry, daring.

Mark’s smirk deepened, a dangerous edge sharpening his already magnetic expression as his gaze flicked between the baggie and your lips. Slowly, deliberately, his tongue swept over his lower lip, leaving it glistening as he stepped closer. The heat of his body was palpable, pressing into yours and making your breath hitch.

“You’re serious?” he drawled, his voice low and molten, dripping with intent. “You want to smoke, make out, and do drugs with me?” His head tilted slightly, his eyes dragging over you like a physical touch, lingering on the hem of your dress before sliding back up to meet your gaze. He leaned in closer, his lips just a breath from your ear, his voice a dark, intimate whisper. “You know exactly what that’ll lead to, don’t you?”

Your lips curled into a wicked smile, and you leaned up slightly, your voice soft but loaded with heat. “Good. Because I want to have sex with you too.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, the muscle flexing as his hand gripped your waist with bruising intensity. His other hand grasped the baggie from your grip, his movements fluid and deliberate, his confidence crackling in the air around you. His gaze stayed locked on yours, sharp and heated, his thumb brushing your hip as though grounding you in place.

He tore the bag open with practiced ease, slipping out a small pill—a pale blue ecstasy tablet, faintly chalky and imprinted with a star. A warmth of recklessness hung in the air between you, but something inside you twisted as you watched him hold it between his fingers. “Are you sure this is okay with your heart condition?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with worry.

Mark paused for a fraction of a second, the tablet poised near his lips, before he turned his gaze back to you, his smirk softening into something almost teasing. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice low, smooth, reassuring. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not overdoing anything. Besides, I’m barely playing basketball anymore, and I haven’t even started my meds yet. That’s next week. Trust me, this is fine.”

Despite his calm demeanor, your chest tightened with unease. “Mark…” you started, but he cut you off, tilting his head slightly as his smirk deepened.

“I’ve got this,” he murmured, his tone full of quiet confidence. He held your gaze as he lifted the pill to his tongue, his movements slow and deliberate. Instead of swallowing, he leaned in closer, his fingers tightening at your waist as his lips hovered just over yours. You couldn’t help but notice how smooth he was—too smooth—and you wondered fleetingly how many times he’d done this before.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he murmured, his breath brushing over your lips, the pill still sitting on his tongue. His voice was rough, teasing, dripping with intent. 

“Of course I do,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to betray the heat rushing through you. The words barely left your lips before Mark’s smirk deepened, his breath fanning over your skin as the pill still rested on his tongue, daring, teasing.

Before you could think further, his hand shot up, fisting your hair with deliberate roughness and tilting your head back. The action sent a shiver down your spine, a soft gasp slipping past your lips. And then he was on you, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation.

The kiss was rough, all teeth and tongue, the bitter tang of the pill passing from him to you as his lips moved against yours like he was starving for it. His hand tightened in your hair, anchoring you as his free hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body seeped into yours, his control over the kiss overwhelming in the best way.

His tongue slipped past your lips, commanding and deliberate, every movement sending shivers coursing through your body. The faint bitterness of the pill lingered, tangling with the heat of his taste, a combination that left your head spinning. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on desperate, rough yet devastatingly skilled. His grip in your hair tightened, tilting your head further back, giving him full control as his other hand gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin like he was staking a claim.

The world around you blurred, the muffled sounds of the party fading into nothing as the pill began to take hold. A slow, tingling warmth crept through your veins, heightening every sensation. The softness of his lips, the roughness of his grip, the way his body pressed against yours—it all became sharper, more vivid, like every nerve in your body was tuned to him. Your chest tightened as his tongue teased yours, drawing moans from you that only made him deepen the kiss, his hand sliding lower, splaying over your lower back to keep you pinned against him.

Mark growled low in his throat, the vibration against your lips sending another wave of heat spiraling through you. His kisses became messier, more urgent, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. The pill’s effects amplified the sensation, making every brush of his lips and every flick of his tongue feel electric. Your moan vibrated against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, but it only made him pull you closer. His fingers dug into your waist, his grip possessive as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away. The kiss deepened, messy and urgent, leaving you lightheaded and utterly consumed by him.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his lips glistening and swollen as his gaze bore into yours. Your chest heaved, the pill now dissolving on your tongue, but you barely noticed—your thoughts were a blur of heat and want, your body buzzing from the electric connection between you. Mark didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The intensity in his eyes, the way his hand remained tangled in your hair, said everything. And god, you wanted him to do it all over again.

Mark’s lips barely left yours, then he kissed you again, his hands roaming with a roughness that sent heat coursing through your veins. “You taste so fucking good,” he growled against your mouth, his teeth dragging over your lower lip before sucking it between his own. The sting melted into a wave of pleasure as his tongue swept over the spot, his dominance undeniable. His hands slid lower, gripping the back of your thighs with a possessive strength that had you gasping against his lips.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, the heat of his palms searing through the fabric as his fingers dug in, possessive and demanding. “Come here, baby,” he growled, his tone dark and full of raw need, leaving no room for argument. He tugged you forward, your body colliding with his chest as his hands slid up, rough and deliberate, tracing the curve of your hips before grabbing your ass with a firm squeeze that made you gasp.

His grip tightened as he pulled you into his lap, the friction between you igniting sparks along your skin. His fingertips pressed into your flesh, kneading and claiming, leaving you breathless as his touch became more insistent. He dragged you closer, guiding your hips to grind against him, the hard press of his arousal against your core unmistakable.

“Right here,” he rasped, his breath hot against your jaw as his teeth scraped along your neck, his hands relentless in their exploration. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me. Stay right here, baby. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

His grip on your hips tightened before one hand slid upward, trailing over your ribcage and coming to rest against your jaw. He tilted your face toward him, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, testing. “Open your pretty lips,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, a demand that sent a shiver down your spine. When you parted your lips, he slid his thumb inside, pressing it against your tongue.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes dark with heat as he watched you. His thumb retreated, replaced by two fingers that pushed deeper, the taste of his skin flooding your senses. He didn’t stop, sliding a third finger past your lips, the stretch making you gag. Your throat constricted around them, and he groaned low in his chest, the sound thick with approval.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his other hand gripping your waist to keep you steady on his lap as you choked softly, your lips stretched around his fingers. He pushed in deeper, his pace unrelenting, the scrape of his calloused fingertips against your tongue making your thighs tense against his. “Look at you, taking it so well. Don’t stop, baby. Show me how good you can be.”

Your body moved against him, frantic and unrestrained, the friction pulling desperate moans from your lips as you ground yourself harder against the thick, unrelenting hardness beneath you. His hips thrust upward with equal fervor, meeting you with a pressure so perfect it sent waves of pleasure rippling through you. “Fuck, Mark,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails scraping over his skin as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control. But there was none—he wasn’t giving you any.

The thin fabric of your dress had ridden up entirely, leaving nothing to the imagination. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing bruisingly into your flesh as a low, guttural groan tore from his throat. “You feel that?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, his breath scorching against your ear. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the sting reverberating through your body as a startled gasp escaped your lips. “You’re fucking mine,”  he growled, his tone dripping with raw possession as another spank landed, the sting mixing with the fire building inside you. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten those videos you sent me tonight, baby. This little skirt…” His fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it higher. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?”

“It’s a dress,” you managed to breathe out, your voice shaky but laced with defiance, a smirk tugging at your lips despite the heat coursing through your body.

Mark chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers tightened on your thigh. “Dress, skirt… doesn’t matter,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, dripping with intent. “Either way, I’m gonna make you regret wearing it around me.”

His hands gripped your hips firmly, rolling you down against him once with a rough grind that sent a jolt of heat straight through you. The friction was maddening, your need unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, you began bouncing on him, desperate for more, even through the barrier of his clothes. His chest heaved, his jaw tightening as his hands slid lower, grabbing you harder, guiding your movements with a possessive force. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice dripping with lust, his dark eyes drinking in every move you made. “So needy, so fucking desperate to feel me. You want me to lose it, don’t you?”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, his intent unmistakable, but you tilted your head back just enough to avoid him. A teasing smirk curved your lips, even as your heart pounded furiously in your chest. His eyes narrowed, darkening with frustration and something deeper, something raw. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin possessively, the heat of his grip anchoring you to the moment. “Playing hard to get now, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and full of warning, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

Instead of chasing your lips, he shifted his attention, his mouth finding the curve of your neck. The first press of his lips was rough and deliberate, the wet heat of his tongue dragging over your skin before his teeth sank in just enough to make you gasp. He worked his way down slowly, his mouth claiming every inch, his teeth grazing over the sensitive spots that made your body arch against him. “You feel that?” he rasped, his voice dark and dripping with possession. “This is what you do to me. You love being mine, don’t you? Letting me take you apart like no one else can.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer as he left another mark just below your jaw. His tongue followed the curve of your pulse, the wet heat making your breath hitch. “God, your skin,” he muttered against you, his voice wrecked. “I could taste you forever.”

He pressed another open-mouthed, spongy kiss to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid hickey that throbbed with every beat of your heart. The sensation sent a shiver coursing through you, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless moan. “Mark…”

His teeth sank in slightly, pulling another moan from you as he marked you with precision, each kiss, bite, and lick a deliberate claim. His hand moved to your ass again, kneading the flesh before another sharp spank made you jolt in his lap. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly against your throat. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breaths were ragged, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped out, “I’m yours.” The words tumbled out without hesitation, your resolve crumbling under the relentless force of his touch.

Mark’s lips curled into a smirk against your skin as his hand gripped your chin, tilting your face toward him with a deliberate roughness. “Damn right, you are,” His hands roamed your body with an unrelenting need, gripping, kneading, and exploring every inch, as the grinding between you turned frantic. The heat radiating from him wrapped around you, his every move leaving you breathless, trembling, and completely at his mercy

“Mark,” you whispered, your voice soft and breathless, a quiet plea wrapped in the sound of his name. Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze shifting toward the vape resting on the table, the silent message clear in the way your lips parted slightly, your chest rising and falling against his.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound dark and intimate, vibrating against your skin as he pressed a lingering kiss to your jaw. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, teasing, as his hands tightened their hold on your waist, pulling you down against him in a way that made your breath hitch. “You sound so fucking pretty when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp, his eyes smoldering as they traced your every reaction. 

You reached for your vape, your fingers trembling slightly as you took a slow, deliberate pull. Mark’s eyes followed your every move, dark and smoldering, his pupils blown wide with raw hunger. His jaw tightened as his tongue swept over his bottom lip, the sight of you unraveled, so close and vulnerable, making something primal flare inside him. “Baby, come here,” you murmured, your voice low and thick with need as you took another drag, the smoke curling from your lips.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips hovered over yours, his breath hot and heavy as you exhaled the smoke directly into his mouth. His tongue slipped against yours, pulling the smoke from you, the action intimate, filthy, and laced with the sharp tang of blueberry. The kiss deepened, messy and consuming, as his hands roamed your body with unrestrained purpose. His fingers gripped your thighs, dragging the fabric of your dress higher, exposing the bare skin beneath. The heat of his touch left a trail of fire in its wake, his grip firm, commanding, as he held you exactly where he wanted you.

Mark’s groan rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak. His hand moved to your waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, his possessiveness raw and unrelenting. “You have no fucking idea, do you?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust and frustration. “You’re in my head, baby. Every second. Every goddamn moment. I can’t stop thinking about you—how you taste, how you feel. It’s driving me insane.”

Your lips curved into a sultry smirk as you leaned in closer, your breath brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “Good,” you whispered, your voice dripping with challenge. “I want to ruin you, Mark. I want to be the only thing in your head.” Your teeth grazed his jaw, a deliberate taunt that had his breath catching, his grip on you tightening instinctively.

His laugh was dark, rough, almost feral, as his hand slid lower to cup your ass with a bruising intensity. Without warning, his palm came down sharply, the sound of the slap cutting through the heavy air. The sting burned through your skin, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core, and a gasp tore from your lips. “You fucking love it when I’m like this, don’t you?” he growled, his voice thick and commanding, his lips latching onto your neck. His teeth scraped over the sensitive skin before sucking hard, leaving a mark that screamed possession. “Admit it, baby,” he hissed against your skin, his voice dripping with heat. “You love knowing exactly what you do to me—how fucking crazy you make me.”

He didn’t say a word at first, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. The way his chest rose and fell, the faint sheen of sweat glistening along his collarbone, only added to the heat pooling in your stomach. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin as his thumb brushed a slow, deliberate line over the sensitive flesh. Everything about him—the sharpness of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he caught his breath, the heat radiating from his body—was overwhelming in the best possible way. He looked devastatingly good, every inch of him dripping with raw, magnetic energy that drew you in like a flame.

You didn’t respond, your mind too clouded by the sharp mix of pleasure and heat coursing through you. Instead, you arched into him, your fingers tugging harder at his hair as his hips rolled up into yours. The friction was maddening, every movement stoking the fire burning low in your belly.

He pulled back slightly, his chest heaving against yours as his hand reached for your vape, his movements slow and deliberate. He brought it to his lips, his jaw clenching slightly as he took a long, measured drag, his cheeks hollowing in a way that made your breath hitch. The way he held it—confident, casual, and commanding—sent a ripple of heat straight through you. His lips, full and slightly flushed from kissing you, curved into the faintest smirk as he exhaled, the smoke swirling lazily between you, thick and intoxicating.

He tilted his head, his eyes heavy-lidded and locked onto yours, his gaze dripping with intent. The smoke lingered in the space between you, and as he leaned closer, the sharp scent of it mixed with his natural warmth. His lips hovered near yours, teasingly close as he exhaled softly, letting the smoke drift into your parted mouth. You inhaled it instinctively, his fingers curling around your hip as if to steady you, the small, deliberate touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his breath warm against your lips as his thumb brushed along the curve of your waist. Every inch of him—his strong jawline, the veins visible on his forearms, the way his hoodie stretched over his chest—oozed raw, effortless heat. His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, his smirk deepening as his hand slid up to cup your jaw, pulling you closer. The kiss that followed was deliberate and consuming, his lips parting against yours, his tongue sweeping in with a rhythm so maddeningly slow it left your body trembling, your mind reeling, and your breath utterly stolen.

The kiss that followed wasn’t soft—it was consuming. His lips crushed against yours, his tongue demanding entry as his hands tightened on your ass, kneading and squeezing with a roughness that made you whimper into his mouth. He guided your movements, pulling you harder against him, forcing your hips to roll over the solid heat pressing into you. The friction was maddening, sending waves of pleasure through you as his fingers dug deeper, spreading you wider over his lap.

“God, you’re mine,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need, your hands clutching his shoulders for balance as you rocked against him, desperate for more. His grip on your ass shifted, his hands sliding underneath your dress, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your bare skin. 

He groaned low in his throat, leaning closer so his lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a sinful whisper. “Say it again. Tell me who owns this perfect ass, baby.”

Your breath hitched, your head tilting back as his teeth grazed your jaw, his hands squeezing and spreading your cheeks, leaving no part of you untouched. “Yours,” you gasped, your voice cracking as he rolled his hips up into yours, the pressure between your bodies building to an unbearable height.

“That’s right,” he growled, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath your entrance, making your thighs tremble. “All fucking mine. Don’t ever forget it.”

But it wasn’t enough. The need clawing at your chest was insatiable, your body trembling as you pressed yourself against him. Your hands moved feverishly, trailing down his chest, nails raking over the fabric of his hoodie in frustration. You tugged at the hem, desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips.

“Mark,” you whined, louder this time, your voice cracking with need. You tilted your head back, meeting his gaze with eyes blown wide and pupils dark with lust. “Please—need you. Right now. Can’t take it anymore.”

His smirk deepened, lazy and infuriating, as his lips brushed along your jaw, each slow, deliberate movement teasing you further. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice thick with mockery as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you still despite the frantic way you squirmed against him. “What do you need, baby? Hmm? Spell it out for me.”

Your hands scrambled to his waistband, tugging at his jeans with clumsy urgency, frustration making your fingers tremble. “I need you,” you panted, barely able to get the words out between shallow breaths. “Need your cock—please, Mark. Just—fuck me. Please.”

His laugh was sharp and cruel, a low, grating sound that made your cheeks burn with humiliation. He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes scanning you like a predator sizing up its prey. “Look at you,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath your dress, sliding up the soft skin of your thighs with rough, deliberate strokes. His grip was bruising when he reached the curve of your hips, his nails biting into your flesh hard enough to make you whimper. “So messy. So fucking desperate for me. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“No—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered, your head shaking wildly as tears pricked at your eyes. Your hands yanked at his shorts again, the button refusing to give under your shaking fingers. “Take them off,” you begged, your voice trembling as desperation turned into sobs. “Mark, please—I need you.”

His hand shot up suddenly, the sharp crack of his palm connecting with your cheek leaving you gasping, the sting spreading like fire across your skin. Your body went rigid, your hands freezing as you looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace, each word sending a shiver through your body. His gaze was molten, dark and commanding, pinning you in place with its unrelenting intensity. His hand gripped your wrist, firm but not painful, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. “After the shit you pulled tonight?” he hissed, his tone sharp, cutting. “You don’t get to call the shots, baby. Not when you’re acting like this.”

The heat on your cheek mixed with the unbearable ache clawing at your core, and your thighs pressed together involuntarily. A shaky moan escaped your lips, unbidden and humiliating, and his smirk widened at the sound.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he sneered, his fingers gripping your chin roughly, tilting your head back so you couldn’t look away. “You like being put in your place. You like pushing me until I lose my patience.”

“Yes,” you whispered, Without a word, he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you off his lap, setting you down beside him with a controlled, almost punishing precision. His palms didn’t leave your body for a second, sliding down to your knees and forcing them apart with a rough, deliberate motion.

“Open,” he commanded sharply, his tone cutting through the haze clouding your mind. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

Your legs trembled as they fell open, but the hesitation wasn’t fast enough for him. His hands gripped your thighs with bruising force, shoving them apart even wider, making you gasp as he positioned himself between them. His strength left no room for resistance, and his smirk grew darker as he took in the sight of you—messy, desperate, and completely at his mercy.

“Good girl,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, hard enough to make you shudder. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

His free hand slid down, grabbing the front of your dress with no hesitation. With a rough pull, the fabric tore, the sound sharp and jarring as it split apart, leaving you bare underneath him. The rush of cool air against your exposed skin sent a shiver through you, but the heat of his gaze made you burn even hotter.

“Mark!” you gasped, squirming against his hold, but he only chuckled, his grip on your wrist tightening as his other hand ghosted down your stomach. “That was new!” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his gaze flicking to the torn fabric of your dress. 

“Mark, please,” you sobbed, tears spilling over as your body writhed against his grip. “I’ll do anything—anything you want. Just touch me—please.”

His laugh was dark, almost cruel, as he pushed you back until your shoulders hit the cushions, his hand sliding from your wrist to wrap firmly around your throat. His grip tightened, making your breath hitch as your pulse quickened beneath his thumb. The pressure stole the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping softly, the sound only fueling the wicked smirk curving his lips. “Anything, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low, taunting rasp that sent a shiver through your body. His grip didn’t relent as he leaned closer, his eyes dark and commanding. “Then shut up,” he growled, his tone rough and dripping with dominance, “and take it.”

The world tilted as his hands locked onto your thighs, the force of his grip leaving no room for argument as he dragged you forward, pulling you higher until your knees bracketed his chest. His gaze was predatory, dark and commanding, the sharp edge of his smirk making your stomach flip. “Sit,” he growled, his voice rough, raw, and so sure of itself it made you shudder.

When you faltered, his grip tightened, bruising as his hands slid to your hips, lifting you effortlessly and positioning you over him. Your breath hitched as he adjusted you, spreading your thighs wide with firm hands, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. “Now,” he ordered, his tone sharp, brooking no defiance. Before you could process the shift, his hands gripped your ass, dragging you down hard, pressing you into him with a force that left you trembling, his fingers biting into your skin as he held you exactly where he wanted.

“Stay still,” he rasped, his voice rough and commanding, muffled against your skin as his lips grazed you with maddening precision. His grip tightened, possessive and unyielding, leaving bruising imprints of his control on your thighs. Your legs trembled, betraying your attempt at defiance, but his hold anchored you firmly, making it clear who was in charge.

A sharp, stinging spank landed on your ass, drawing a gasp that echoed into the charged air. The sound was obscene, your arousal slick against his palm. “I said, stay still,” he growled, his tone dark with warning, his breath hot as he dragged his lips along your most sensitive spots.

“Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction as his lips curved into a wicked smirk. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, daring you to resist. “Now, be a good girl and let me take what’s mine.”

Your body arched instinctively, thighs quivering as his mouth claimed you with unrelenting hunger, each movement deliberate, calculated to reduce you to trembling submission. His nails scraped against your skin, dragging over heated flesh, making you squirm in desperate pleasure.

“Mark—!” you gasped, the sound breaking into a whimper as his tongue dragged through your folds with a filthy, primal groan. The wet, obscene glide of it against your slick skin made you shudder violently, your thighs clenching on instinct. His hot breath fanned over your most sensitive spots, dizzying you as the tremors wracking your body betrayed your helplessness. His grip on your thighs was punishing, his fingers digging in deeply enough to leave marks, grounding you in place as if daring you to move.

“Messy already,” he muttered against your pussy, his words muffled but dripping with mocking satisfaction. The vibration of his voice sent a shiver straight to your core, pulling a strangled moan from your lips. His tongue flicked out again, slower this time, the deliberate pace almost cruel as he licked and sucked like he was savoring every drop of you. “You want my attention? You’re going to fucking take it.”

Your hands shot to his hair, tangling in the damp strands as you tried to steady yourself, but your hips betrayed you, jerking up against his face with reckless desperation. His growl rumbled low and deep, a feral sound that sent a sharp wave of arousal through you. The vibrations of it reverberated against your clit, wrenching a broken cry from your lips. His nails dug deeper as he shifted, gripping the underside of your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, forcing more of your weight onto his mouth as your legs dangled helplessly.

“Stay still,” he commanded sharply again, his words muffled but laced with warning, his nails biting into your skin as he pinned you down harder. “You move again, and I’ll tie you to this fucking couch.”

The threat made your breath hitch, heat flooding your cheeks and pooling low in your stomach. The sheer dominance in his tone, in the way his hands manhandled you like you weighed nothing, sent your heart racing. His tongue was merciless, lapping and stroking in erratic patterns that left you unable to think, only feel. When his lips sealed around your clit, sucking with devastating precision, the sudden intensity sent stars bursting behind your eyes. You bucked again involuntarily, but his hands clamped you down tighter, holding you open and exposed to his unrelenting assault.

“Fuck, Mark!” you cried out, tears blurring your vision as his teeth grazed you lightly, just enough to tease and drive you closer to the edge. The wet, filthy sound of his tongue and lips working you over filled the room, mixing with your desperate gasps and moans. His stubble scraped against your inner thighs, the slight burn only amplifying the overwhelming sensation of his mouth devouring you.

“Don’t fucking stop now,” he growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your slick before diving back in. “You wanted this—now take it.”

The obscene mess of it all was maddening—his mouth working against you with ruthless precision, his face glistening with the evidence of your arousal. His grip on your thighs was bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you wide open for him, leaving you completely at his mercy. Every movement of his lips, every deliberate stroke of his tongue, sent jolts of electric heat coursing through you, and the pressure building inside you was unbearable. You were trembling, teetering on the edge, unable to escape the raw need he was coaxing out of you.

“Mark—please!” you cried out, your voice breaking as your hips rocked against his face, seeking the release you were so desperately chasing. He growled low against you, the vibration sending another shockwave through your body, his tongue curling and teasing in ways that had your thighs quivering. You were so close—too close—your body tensing as the orgasm threatened to rip through you. “I can’t—I’m gonna—” The words spilled out between gasps, your grip on his hair tightening as your cries grew louder.

And then he stopped, his mouth pulling away just as your body teetered on the edge, leaving you trembling and squirming against the crushing emptiness. His breath was hot against your slick skin as he leaned back, his grip on your thighs unrelenting, keeping you pinned in place. “So fucking desperate,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting, sending a shiver down your spine. 

A strangled whimper escaped your lips, the sound raw and desperate, tears pricking at your eyes as your hips bucked instinctively, searching for the release he had stolen from you. “Please, Mark,” you choked out, your voice breaking, barely audible. 

“Look at you. Pathetic, dripping all over my face—and you still don’t get it, do you?” His fingers trailed up your thigh, stopping just short of where you craved him most, teasing with maddening precision. “You’ll come when I decide you’ve earned it,” he rasped, his tone dark and commanding. ���And when you do, you’re gonna fucking thank me for every second I made you wait.”

His hands slid up your body, strong and deliberate, cupping your breasts with a possessiveness that made your breath catch. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks, and the sensation shot through you like electricity. He leaned in without hesitation, his lips wrapping around one nipple as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, each slow, deliberate movement making you whimper softly. His free hand gripped your other breast, kneading the soft flesh before his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled against your skin, his voice dripping with heat as his teeth grazed your sensitive nipple. “So desperate, so fucking perfect like this. You like being in my mouth, don’t you? You want me to ruin you completely?” He sucked harder, pulling a ragged gasp from your lips as your body arched under him, every nerve in your body alive with need.

“Mark,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as his tongue flicked over you again, relentless and unforgiving. He groaned low in his throat, the vibration sending shockwaves through you as his mouth latched onto the other nipple. his teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. 

You couldn’t hold back the sharp cry that escaped your lips as his mouth sucked harder, his hands squeezing your breasts with a bruising grip. Your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer as you moaned helplessly, your hips shifting in frustration. “You’re mine,” he rasped, his tone dark and possessive. “And I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

The air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of your panting breaths when Mark finally pulled away, leaving you trembling, every nerve in your body on fire. But he didn’t give you time to recover, didn’t let you catch even a shred of composure. His hands gripped your waist with bruising force, spinning you around as he hauled you off the couch like you weighed nothing. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall beside the open door, the cool surface biting against your overheated skin.

“Mark—wait,” you managed to stammer, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. Your knees were weak, your legs trembling so violently you could hardly stand on your own. But he didn’t wait. His body pressed into yours, firm and unyielding, pinning you to the wall as his hands roughly turned you around.

“You think I’m going to stop now?” His voice was a low growl, dark and filled with a possessive hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers gripped your hips, forcing them to jut out as your palms scraped against the wall for balance. “You wanted this. You fucking begged for it.”

The sheer force of his strength was overwhelming. His body was the only thing keeping you upright, the heat and weight of him pressing into you so completely that your legs felt like jelly. The wall was cold and unrelenting beneath your hands, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. His cock was hard and insistent, grinding against your ass with enough force to make you gasp, your breath catching as he pushed your thighs apart with his knee.

The door was open, the soft creak of it swaying in the air just loud enough to remind you of your vulnerability. No one was here—not yet—but the thought that anyone could walk past and see you like this, bent over and pinned to the wall with Mark’s hands roaming possessively over your body, only made your arousal spike. Your pulse raced, your face burning as your wetness slicked the insides of your thighs.

“You like this, don’t you?” Mark’s voice was laced with a mocking edge, his hand coming down sharply to smack your ass. The sound echoed through the room, followed by your startled moan. “The thought of someone catching you like this, seeing how desperate you are for me.”

You whimpered, your hips jerking back involuntarily, seeking more of the punishing friction of his cock against you. He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding between your legs to cup your pussy. His fingers pressed against your soaked folds, teasing you with deliberate slowness that had you arching back into him.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers slipped through your slick. “I could take you right here, make you scream loud enough for the whole fucking building to hear.”

“Mark,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his fingers teased your entrance, circling but not pushing in. “Please—”

“Please, what?” he interrupted, his tone harsh and commanding. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so you were forced to meet his gaze in the reflection of a nearby glass pane. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

Your chest heaved, your heart pounding as you reached down, your trembling hand covering his. You dragged it over your stomach, lower, until his fingers hovered just above the spot where you ached for him most. The weight of his hand against your skin was grounding, a teasing promise of what you needed.

“I wanna feel you right here, baby,” you whined, your voice trembling, high-pitched and dripping with desperation. You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your lower stomach, your hips shifting needily under his touch. “Please, I want you so bad—so deep I can feel you here,” you whimpered, your words slurred and needy, your lips brushing his jaw as you begged. “I’ll be so good, I swear, I’ll take it all—just please, baby, I need you.”

Mark groaned, the sound guttural and raw, his control slipping for a fraction of a second as your words sank in. His fingers flexed against your stomach, his hand pressing harder as if he could already imagine the way he’d fill you. “Say that again,” he demanded, his tone a mix of rough hunger and command. “Say exactly what you want, and I’ll make sure you feel me there for days.”

“I want you to fill me, Mark,” you breathed, your voice trembling but laced with raw need. Your hand slid over his, pressing it harder against your stomach as your hips arched into him. “I want to feel you so deep it’s the only thing I can fucking think about.”

In one fluid motion, his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, yanking you back against him as the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. He didn’t ease in—didn’t give you even a second to adjust. With one hard, punishing thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you so completely that a sharp cry tore from your lips, loud and uncontrollable in the still air.

“Fuck,” he growled, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into you with relentless force. His cock stretched you to your limit, the sharp sting of it only making the pleasure more intense. “You’re gripping me so fucking tight—like your body was made to take me.”

The wall was cold and unforgiving against your chest, your nipples pebbling from the icy contact as they dragged against the unyielding surface with every thrust. The sharp contrast of the chill against your overheated skin sent jolts of sensation through your body, heightening the intensity of every movement. His hands gripped your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow, evidence of the way he claimed you. His body was the only thing keeping you upright, his strength pinning you to the wall as he fucked you harder, his movements precise and punishing.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the open door was a constant reminder of how exposed you were. Every moan, every filthy sound of his cock driving into you, echoed into the empty space beyond the room. Anyone could walk past and hear you, see the way your body arched into him, the way your hands scrabbled at the wall for purchase.

“You like that, don’t you?” Mark growled, his breath hot and rough against your neck as his hand came down hard on your ass, the sharp sting drawing a gasp from your lips. “You like being my filthy little whore, don’t you? Bent over for me, dripping, knowing anyone could walk in and see how fucking desperate you are.”

“Yes,” you choked out, the word tumbling from your lips before you could stop it, your face burning with a mix of humiliation and arousal. “Fuck, yes. I love it.”

“Of course you do,” he muttered darkly, his voice thick with satisfaction. His pace quickened, his hips slamming into you with enough force to make the wall rattle. “You’re such a dirty little thing, letting me take you like this with the fucking door open.”

You moaned his name, your voice breaking as his cock hit that perfect spot inside you, sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body. Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up, but his hands tightened on your hips, anchoring you to him.

“Stay up,” he commanded, his tone sharp and demanding. “Don’t you dare fucking fall.”

“I—I can’t,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as your arms buckled against the wall. “Mark, I can’t—”

“Then let me hold you,” he growled, his hands sliding up to grip your waist as he pressed you even harder against the wall. His strength was overwhelming, his body the only thing keeping you from collapsing completely. “You don’t need to do anything, baby. Just let me fuck you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body tightening around him as you gasped his name. The roughness of his pace, the way his cock filled you so completely, the sheer dominance in his every movement—it was all too much. The thought of someone seeing you, hearing the filthy sounds he was dragging from you, only made the pleasure sharper, hotter. You felt yourself slipping further, so cock drunk and fucked out that you lost control of your moans, your voice echoing loudly through the room as you screamed his name over and over.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly from the hall, followed by a distant voice. Your eyes widened in panic, and you gasped sharply, the sound barely escaping before Mark’s hand clamped firmly over your mouth.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone low but laced with a dangerous edge, his lips brushing your ear as he pressed his body even harder against yours. “Can’t have anyone hearing my girl like this,” he growled, his voice rough but intimate, the possessiveness in his words making your knees weaken further. His hand over your mouth tightened slightly, the pressure making you moan softly against his palm. “They’ll get fucking ideas. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Letting someone else hear how desperate you are for my cock?”

His hips didn’t stop, driving into you with a slow, deliberate force that left you trembling. His free hand slid up your body, fingers curling around your throat as he leaned in closer, pressing soft, tender kisses to your cheek and jawline. “You can scream for me later,” he whispered, his voice rough but tinged with something softer. “But right now, you’re going to stay quiet and take it, just like the good girl you are.”

Your muffled whimpers vibrated against his palm, your body shaking as he kissed a trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before soothing the mark with his tongue. His lips lingered, brushing over the corner of your mouth as he whispered, “You’re so fucking perfect like this. Just let me take care of you.”

The intimate sweetness of his touch contrasted sharply with the roughness of his thrusts, each brutal snap of his hips slamming his cock deep inside you and meeting the curve of your ass with a filthy, resounding slap. The hard press of his body pinned you against the cold wall, his relentless rhythm leaving no part of you untouched. Your muffled cries grew louder, uncontrolled, as the footsteps in the hall faded, the fear of being caught only making you tremble harder, your body arching helplessly into the  pace that pushed you closer to the edge

Mark’s hand stayed firm over your mouth, his lips still brushing over your skin, trailing kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. “That’s it, baby girl” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “You’re fucking perfect—my perfect little mess.”

Your walls clenched tighter around him, your body betraying the overwhelming pleasure even as you tried to keep yourself from completely falling apart. His fingers flexed against your throat, his grip possessive as he kept you pinned to the wall, his body the only thing holding you together. His hand slid lower, teasing over your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple, the cold wall pressing against you heightening the sensitivity.

“I can feel how close you are,” he rasped, his voice raw as his teeth nipped at your earlobe. “Don’t hold back. I want you to let go for me, baby. Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to.”

The mix of his commanding words and the intimate touches of his lips and hands was too much. Your body gave in, a muffled scream escaping against his palm as your orgasm tore through you, your walls clenching and pulsing around him as you shook violently in his hold.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he thrust deep one last time, burying himself completely inside you. The warmth of his release filled you, a deep, claiming sensation that left you utterly wrecked. He stayed there, pressed against you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his breath came in heavy, uneven pants.

Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, turning your head toward him as he captured your lips in a slow, almost tender kiss. “You did so good for me,” he whispered against your lips, his tone softer now, filled with quiet reverence. “So fucking perfect.”

His hands smoothed over your waist, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out completely. He pulled out of you slowly, a hiss escaping his lips at the sensation, and turned you in his arms to face him. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped down from the intensity.

“You still with me?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, though that teasing edge still licked at his tone. His lips brushed your temple, trailing down to your ear as he kissed the delicate curve and whispered, “That’s my girl. You’re so fucking perfect when you fall apart for me.” The softness of his words wrapped around you like silk, a stark contrast to the bruising grip of his hands just minutes ago.

Your body trembled as you nodded weakly, too wrecked to form a coherent response. Mark didn’t waste a second, spinning you around and forcing you down onto the couch with an almost feral precision. Your face pressed into the cushions, muffling the desperate, broken sounds spilling from your lips, while your ass arched high into the air, completely exposed to his control. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking hard enough to send a sharp jolt through your spine, forcing your back to curve further as he asserted his dominance. His other hand gripped your waist like a vice, his fingers sinking deep into your skin, holding you in place as he pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance. Without a word, he yanked your hips back sharply, burying himself inside you in one devastating motion.

Mark didn’t thrust; he didn’t need to. His grip on your waist tightened, and with brutal precision, he dragged you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every inch at his pace. The stretch was overwhelming, your walls struggling to adjust as he held firm, letting the weight of his cock fill you completely. He pulled you back again, harder this time, the obscene slickness of your arousal making the movement smooth and relentless. “Look at you,” he growled, his voice low and filthy, his fingers digging into your waist as he used your body like it was made for him. “

He kept you pinned there, forcing you to rock on his cock as he dragged you back with punishing force, his hands controlling the rhythm and depth without ever moving himself. Your thighs trembled with the effort, every pull making your cries grow louder as the sound of your slick arousal and his deep groans filled the room. “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled, one hand moving to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. The burn made you jolt forward, but his iron grip dragged you right back, slamming you onto his cock again. “This is where you belong—on my cock, taking me like the dirty little whore you are.” His other hand slipped between your cheeks, spreading them wide before he spit, letting the slick warmth drip between them. His thumb circled your tight hole, teasing it with deliberate pressure as he continued to yank you back onto him, each motion rougher than the last.

Mark’s hand slid down your spine, slow and deliberate, until his fingers reached the tight, untouched spot hidden between your cheeks. He didn’t hesitate, circling the delicate ring of muscle with a slick, teasing motion that made your entire body jolt. His touch was firm yet testing, the pressure increasing just enough to force a gasp from your lips as he worked the wetness into your skin, spreading it over the sensitive entrance with calculated precision. Your back arched instinctively, your body betraying you, pushing against his fingers despite the overwhelming heat pooling in your core. “Yeah, you like that,” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating with satisfaction as his fingers pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers through you. 

When he pushed the tip of one finger inside, testing your limits, your breath hitched, a sharp cry escaping you as he chuckled darkly. “That’s it,” he rasped, his cock still buried deep inside you, unmoving but heavy, stretching you completely as his hand worked you open in another way. He dragged his finger in and out slowly, filthy and deliberate, each push making your body tremble violently, each pull making you clench tighter around him. “You take me so fucking good,” he murmured, his tone thick with dark amusement as his finger teased deeper, curling slightly before retreating again, his grip on your waist tightening as he controlled every reaction you gave him.

But the intensity became too much. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the deliberate way he controlled every inch of you—it left you gasping for air. Instinctively, your hands gripped the cushions beneath you, clawing at the soft fabric, a weak attempt to create some space, to ease the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Mark caught the subtle shift instantly, his hand snapping to your wrist with a firm grip and pinning it beside your head. He leaned down, his body pressing harder against yours, holding you exactly where he wanted. “Where do you think you’re going?” he rasped, his tone rough but laced with a quiet dominance that sent a shiver straight through you. His free hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face back to meet his piercing gaze. “Why are you running from me, baby? Hmm?”

His hips shifted slightly, and you felt the insistent press of his cock inside your walls, teasing and unrelenting, as though he was waiting for you to break completely. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with untamed desperation. “Let me make you feel good.” His hand slid from your jaw to your neck, his fingers wrapping firmly around your throat as he shifted your head to the side, forcing your gaze to lock with his. 

“I wasn’t running,” you whimpered, your voice unsteady, shaky with need and overwhelmed desire. Your body squirmed helplessly in front of him, caught between the unbearable intensity of his dominance and the craving for more. Mark’s smirk deepened, a satisfied, knowing glint in his eyes as he chuckled softly, his grip firm as he pushed you further into submission. “Good,” he growled. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Mark’s filthy words filled the air, each one sharper, dirtier, and more unhinged than the last. “So fucking tight,” he rasped, his hips snapping brutally as his cock drove into you with an intensity that left you gasping. “You’re mine. My dirty little whore who takes everything I give her.” The sharp crack of his hand smacking your ass rang through the room, the sting forcing a broken cry from your lips. He spread your cheeks wide, spitting between them with obscene precision before using his thumb to rub it in. The wet heat only added to the overwhelming sensations consuming you, your cries growing louder as his fingers teased and pressed, filthy and relentless.

The added stimulation had you spiraling. His fingers teased you shamelessly, pushing you closer to the edge with every deliberate stroke as his cock stretched you, filling you to the brim with every punishing thrust. “Look at you,” he growled, his free hand snaking down to rub your swollen clit roughly. “Fucking ruined under me. You love this, don’t you? Love being my filthy little slut who takes it all.” The combination of his filthy words, the brutal snap of his hips, and the relentless pressure on your clit shattered you. Your body tightened around him, trembling violently as a scream tore from your throat, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless and sobbing into the cushions.

But Mark didn’t stop. He wasn’t finished with you yet. His pace only grew harder, more ruthless, as he chased his own release. “Take it,” he snarled, his voice rough and guttural, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock with every savage thrust. “Take everything I give you.” His name left your lips in a broken plea, your body overwhelmed and wrecked beneath him, but the sound only pushed him further.

When he finally came, it was with a deep, guttural moan, his hips slamming into you one last time as he buried himself to the hilt, holding you still as he spilled into you. The heat of his release left you trembling, your body quivering from the aftershocks as he leaned over you, his breath ragged and heavy against your ear as he pants and moans. 

Mark didn’t let go. His hands stayed firm on your hips, holding you in place as if you might try to escape. Your cries grew louder, desperate and raw. His mouth dragged hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin with enough pressure to leave burning marks. “I know, I know,” he rasped, his voice thick with a mix of dark satisfaction and raw need as your whimpers vibrated against him. His hips snapped harder, punishing, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. “But you’re going to take it, baby.” 

His hand gripped your jaw, forcing your head to the side to face him, his dark eyes locking with yours. “Open,” he commanded, his tone rough but teasing as his thumb dragged over your bottom lip. The moment your lips parted, he leaned closer, spitting into your mouth, the obscene act sending a jolt of heat straight through you. “Swallow,” he rasped, his hips snapping harder, his cock filling you so completely it left you whimpering around him. 

And you stayed like this for so long, trapped in the filthy, consuming intensity of him, your body molded to his as if you were made to fit him. His cock stayed buried deep inside you, every subtle twitch and shift reminding you who owned you, who kept you trembling and filled to the brim. His hand never left your jaw, his thumb occasionally brushing your lips as he made you swallow every filthy word, every guttural moan that left his mouth. His other hand stayed locked on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted, every slight adjustment sending aftershocks rippling through your overstimulated body. The night stretched endlessly, the heat between you mingling with the slick evidence of your need, as he whispered dark promises into your ear, his hips rocking slow and deliberate, ensuring you never forgot how completely he had you. You lost all sense of time, surrendering entirely to him as the air grew heavy with your mingled breaths and the unrelenting hum of raw, unfiltered desire.

──────────────────────────────

Your eyes blinked open, the soft golden light streaming through partially closed blinds casting unfamiliar patterns on the muted walls around you. The space wasn’t your own—too orderly, too quiet—and it certainly wasn’t Mark’s chaotic college apartment. Confusion stirred for the briefest moment, but it melted away as you became acutely aware of him. His arm was draped heavily over your waist, the weight possessive but comforting, pinning you against the solid warmth of his chest. His breath fanned over the nape of your neck, slow and steady, the faint rhythm of his snoring grounding you in a way that nothing else could.

The scent of him—clean, earthy, unmistakable—wrapped around you like a shield, and the tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding slipped away. You didn’t need to know where you were, not when his hold felt so familiar, so certain. Carefully, you shifted beneath his arm, your movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb the way his fingertips unconsciously flexed against your skin as though he could sense even the smallest hint of distance. Reaching for your phone on the bedside table, you tried to stretch without breaking the warmth surrounding you, your body still pressed tightly against his. The faint glow of the screen lit your face as you unlocked it, the weight of responsibility tugging at you—college work, deadlines, the world beyond this bed.

y/n — sorry i had to leave you this morning, i have some college work to do. i’ll call you later :)

Before you could press send, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm but not forceful, stopping you mid-motion. “Y/N,” Mark murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a jolt through you. The way he said your name, even half-asleep, was enough to make your heart skip. His hand didn’t let go, pulling you gently back toward him as his eyes cracked open. They were heavy with exhaustion but soft with concern as they focused on you. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone warm and grounding, like he couldn’t imagine waking up without you there.

His brows furrowed slightly as his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your skin. “Why are you trying to leave like that?” he asked, his voice more awake now, though still laced with a teasing edge. “Next time, just wake me up.”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of his sleepy but pointed stare. “You looked too peaceful to bother,” you murmured, glancing away, but his hand caught your chin, gently tilting your face back toward him.

He didn’t respond right away, but the shift in his hold spoke louder than words. His arm tightened around your waist, the firm press of his body pulling you closer, as though letting you go was an impossibility he refused to entertain. The heat of his chest seeped into your back, his grip possessive yet tender, a silent plea he didn’t try to hide. His fingers flexed slightly against your skin, anchoring you there, his need unspoken but palpable. It wasn’t just the physicality—it was the way he held you, as if the very thought of losing your warmth left him raw.

“I really need to go,” you whispered, though the words wavered as your lips brushed against his, soft and hesitant. His groan was immediate, low and dramatic, vibrating against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm and teasing as he trailed lazy kisses along your shoulder, the slow drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Why can’t you just stay?” he muttered, his voice rough with reluctance, punctuated by the way his hand slid up your hip, fingers curling slightly to hold you tighter.

You sighed, glancing around the unfamiliar room as his touch made it hard to focus. “Where even are we?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his smirk soft but teasing as his thumb brushed over your hip. “The house I grew up in,” he murmured, his eyes locking on yours, gauging your reaction. “The Uber to my place was cost too much last night, and after how high we got, there was no way I was driving,” he added, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as if daring you to argue.

Your brow furrowed as you scanned the room again, warmth blooming in your chest as the details clicked into place. The cozy space suddenly felt intimate, safe, an extension of Mark himself. “Why don’t I remember any of this?” you asked, curiosity lacing your tone as you shifted slightly against him.

His low chuckle sent a ripple of heat through you as he leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “You were out cold,” he said, his tone dripping with playful satisfaction. His hand gripped your hip a little firmer, pulling you snugly against him. “Guess I fucked you so good you didn’t even notice where we ended up.” His words were a mix of cocky and intimate, the kind of teasing that sent your heart racing and left you achingly aware of every point where his body met yours.

You roll your eyes, ignoring his teasing remarks as you had become so accustomed to them. “I’m sorry, but I really need to go. I have assignments due today that I haven’t even started,” you said, your tone soft but resolute, though the warmth of his grip made leaving harder than you cared to admit.

Mark groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the pillow before rolling onto his back with exaggerated frustration. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face like he was being asked to endure the impossible. But when his eyes found yours again, the teasing edge softened, replaced by something quieter, something more vulnerable. “We need to talk later, though, yeah?” His voice was calm, low, but there was an unmistakable weight in his words that made your chest tighten.

You nodded, leaning down to press your lips against his, the kiss slow and lingering, filled with more unspoken promises than either of you could voice. “Yeah. Later,” you whispered, your words feather-light as you pulled back, letting your gaze linger on him for just a moment longer before reluctantly pulling yourself away.

As you slid out of his hold and stood, his gaze followed you, a faint frown tugging at his lips. “Do you know the way out?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. “Wait—give me ten minutes, and I’ll drive you to campus.”

You shook your head, pulling on your jacket and grabbing your bag. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

Before you could fully step away, his hand caught your wrist again, tugging you back down for one last kiss. It was softer this time, almost tender, as if he wanted to make sure you felt it for the rest of the day. “Alright. Bye, baby,” he murmured against your lips, releasing you with a sleepy grin.

You couldn’t help but smile as you turned, glancing back once to see him flop back into the pillows, his breathing evening out almost immediately. Shaking your head, you slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind you.

As you walked down the stairs, you took in the details of the house. The banister was worn smooth, polished by years of use, and the walls were lined with framed photographs that seemed to tell the story of Mark’s life. You paused at one—a young Mark, grinning wide, his front teeth missing, with Doyoung standing behind him, arms crossed in mock disapproval. Another showed Mark in his basketball uniform, holding a trophy, his proud smile infectious.

Your lips curved into a small smile as you moved further, your fingertips brushing the frames. But time was pressing, and you couldn’t linger. You hurried down the last few steps, pushing open the front door—only to freeze in surprise.

You were suddenly standing in a small cafe, its cozy warmth immediately wrapping around you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, and sunlight spilled through the large windows, illuminating tables adorned with mismatched chairs and hand-knitted coasters. You blinked, confused. This hadn’t been here last night, had it? Then you remembered—Mark’s mom had mentioned owning a cafe, but you hadn’t realized it was attached to the house.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

You jumped at the sound of Irene’s voice, turning to see her behind the counter, carefully icing cupcakes. Her smile was warm, even though she hadn’t looked up yet.

“Oh, morning,” you replied, your voice hesitant as you stepped further inside. You weren’t sure if you should stay or leave, but before you could decide, Irene glanced up and motioned toward one of the chairs.

“Sit,” she said gently but firmly, leaving no room for argument. “What’s your coffee order?”

You hesitated, then gave it, watching as she moved around the counter with practiced ease. The cafe suited her—a reflection of her warm, welcoming personality. The walls were lined with shelves holding jars of coffee beans, plants spilling from terracotta pots, and pictures of happy customers. It felt lived-in, loved, much like the woman herself.

Irene placed a steaming cup in front of you before settling across from you, her gaze steady but kind. “How are you?” she asked gently, her tone warm but probing. “And Mark?”

You hesitated, taking a sip of the coffee to stall. “I’m fine. Busy.” Your voice was clipped, guarded. “Mark’s… fine too.”

Irene’s soft smile didn’t waver. “I heard you two broke up,” she said simply, tilting her head slightly, as though studying you. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve never seen him more at peace than when he’s with you.”

Your grip tightened slightly on the cup, her words landing heavier than you expected. “It’s… complicated,” you muttered, keeping your voice low, unwilling to meet her gaze for too long.

Irene reached across the table, her hand lightly covering yours. “Life is complicated,” she said gently but firmly, her touch grounding. “But love doesn’t have to be. Mark loves you, Y/N. And from the way you’re looking at me right now, I think you love him too. Don’t let fear stop you from being happy. You both deserve that.”

The cafe was quiet, as you’d expect this early in the morning, the faint hum of an overhead fan and the gentle clink of Irene’s utensils the only sounds breaking the stillness. You took a sip of your coffee, glancing around the cozy space. The mismatched chairs, hand-knit coasters, and the faint smell of cinnamon—it all felt so warm, so Irene. You thought this might be a good time to slip out unnoticed, but before you could make a move, the door swung open with a light jingle.

The door jingled, drawing your attention toward the entrance. To your surprise, Seulgi walked in, her laughter carrying into the quiet cafe, and beside her was Mark’s best friend. They were deep in conversation, their easy going interaction catching you off guard. It was a sight you hadn’t expected—especially given that Jeno and Mark’s best friend were now not on good terms. Seeing Seulgi, Jeno’s mom, laughing and walking side by side with her felt almost surreal.

When their eyes landed on Irene, they both smiled warmly, but as their gazes shifted to you, their expressions shifted. Seulgi’s brows lifted in recognition, and Mark’s best friend’s face remained neutral, though her sharp eyes briefly flickered with something you couldn’t place.

“Y/N?” Seulgi said, her tone surprised but warm as she crossed the room toward you. She didn’t hesitate to pull you into a firm hug, her arms wrapping around you tightly. You froze at first, caught off guard, but relaxed slightly into her familiar embrace. Despite everything, you’d always had a soft spot for Seulgi’s warmth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she pulled back, her sharp eyes scanning your face for answers.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. What could you say? The truth—that you’d spent last night with Mark and this was where he’d brought you—felt too raw and inappropriate to admit. Your silence hung for a beat too long, and Seulgi tilted her head knowingly.

“Ah, you’re here with Mark, right?” she said knowingly, her voice low enough that it didn’t carry across the room. “Jeno did tell me the two of you were… together.”

Your face burned, and you quickly looked away, stammering out a weak, “Yeah… something like that.”

Seulgi raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, her smirk deepening as she stepped back, her attention shifting to Irene, who had just finished icing another tray of cupcakes.

“Morning, Seulgi,” Irene greeted, her tone warm but brisk. She glanced at Mark’s best friend, who had stayed near the door, her gaze flickering between you and Seulgi. “Can you start setting up the pastry display? And refill the coffee station while you’re at it.”

Mark’s best friend gave a clipped nod, her expression unreadable as she brushed past you and headed behind the counter. There was something in her eyes—an unmistakable sadness—that made your throat tighten. You swallowed hard, your thoughts immediately circling back to whatever Jeno might have done. She glanced at you briefly, her smile tight and distant, polite but far from warm.

The hum of the coffee grinder filled the air as she prepared her drink, her movements quick and purposeful. Despite her efficiency, you couldn’t ignore the tension in her body, the way she avoided looking at you again. It was clear something was weighing on her, and it lingered in the silence between you like an unspoken question.

The awkwardness lingered in the air, but Seulgi, always the conversationalist, broke the silence. She pulled out a chair next to you and sat down, resting her elbows on the table as she looked you over. “So,” she started, her tone casual but pointed. “How long have you and Mark been… a thing?”

You hesitated, glancing at Irene for help, but she was busy arranging cupcakes. Seulgi leaned in slightly, her smirk widening. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Before you could stammer out a response, Irene set down her tray and joined you, her tone light but deliberate. “You don’t need to interrogate her, Seulgi,” she said, casting you a reassuring look. “Let her breathe.”

Seulgi leaned back, raising an eyebrow at Irene but relented, her smirk softening. “Alright, alright,” she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll back off… for now.”

You let out a quiet breath, grateful for Irene’s intervention, though you could still feel Seulgi’s eyes on you, curious and calculating. Mark’s best friend, meanwhile, had settled behind the counter with her coffee, leaning against it as she watched the interaction from afar. Her clipped expression earlier lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel her silent assessment.

“So, Y/N,” Irene said, sitting down across from you again, her voice warm and grounding. “How’s college treating you?” Her tone had shifted, softer now, as if sensing how much you were struggling to find your footing in this unexpected situation.

“It’s fine,” you replied shortly, avoiding her gaze as you sipped your coffee.

She didn’t let the conversation end there. “What do you study?” she asked, her curiosity gentle but insistent.

“Photography,” you answered after a brief pause, glancing at her.

Irene tilted her head slightly, her brows lifting with interest. “What’s that like?” she asked, her tone genuine, as if she really wanted to understand.

For the first time in the conversation, you felt a small, genuine smile tug at your lips. “It’s… freeing, I guess. There’s something about capturing a moment exactly as it is, or even how you see it in your head, that feels special. It’s not just taking pictures—it’s about perspective, emotion, storytelling. Sometimes, you see things no one else notices until they look at your photo, and it’s like sharing a part of yourself without having to say a word.”

Irene didn’t interrupt, her eyes fixed on you as you spoke. There was no dismissive nod or vague smile—she was listening, her attention fully on you. The way her expression softened and her gaze never wavered made something settle warm inside you, a quiet kind of reassurance you hadn’t expected. “That sounds amazing,” she said softly, and for the first time since sitting down, you felt the tension in your chest ease.

Seulgi leaned forward, her sharp but kind eyes meeting yours as her tone softened, unexpectedly changing the conversation. “You know,” she began, her voice lower, more personal. “I’ve missed you. After you and Jeno broke up, I stopped hearing from you, and that made me sad. I saw you as a daughter, Y/N,” she admitted, her lips curving into a faint, nostalgic smile. “And I still do.”

The weight of her words caught you off guard, and your chest tightened as guilt began to claw at you. You swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze for a moment, apology written all over your face. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…” You paused, searching for the right words. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore—after Jeno and I ended things. I figured it’d be too awkward.”

Seulgi’s expression softened even further, her brow furrowing as she reached out to place a hand over yours. “Of course not,” she said, her voice firm but laced with reassurance. “You didn’t hurt me. And you’re wrong if you think I’d ever want to stop seeing you just because of that.” She gave your hand a small squeeze, her gaze unwavering.

“You and Jeno weren’t right for each other, and I think you both knew that deep down. As much as I love him, I could see the cracks. You two are better as friends, and there’s no shame in that.” Her voice was steady, warm, as though she’d thought about this a hundred times before saying it to you. “What I want for you—and for Jeno—is to be with people who bring out the best in you. That’s what matters to me. Always.”

As she spoke, her eyes briefly flicked toward Mark’s best friend, who was focused on the coffee station, oblivious to the glance. The movement was so quick, so subtle, that it barely registered, but something about it gave her words an extra layer of meaning you couldn’t quite place.

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. “Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was all you could manage, but Seulgi smiled warmly, as if she understood exactly what you meant.

“Good,” she said with a quiet chuckle, patting your hand before leaning back in her chair. “Just don’t disappear on me again, alright? You’ll always be welcome in my life, no matter what.”

Seulgi’s reassurance settled deep within you, her words carrying more weight than you expected. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the warmth of belonging—an unspoken promise that, despite everything, you still had a place in her life. It was disarming, to say the least, and as her hand squeezed yours gently before pulling back, you found yourself unable to respond beyond a soft nod and an almost shy, “Thank you.”

She smiled warmly, leaning back in her chair as if her job was done, but then Irene joined in, her voice cutting through the brief silence. “Seulgi’s right,” she said, her tone softer but no less encouraging. “You’ve been carrying a lot on your shoulders, haven’t you?” Her words weren’t accusatory—they were understanding, and they hit you squarely in the chest.

You shrugged, taking another sip of your coffee to avoid answering outright. “I’m fine,” you said vaguely, your voice low. “It’s just… life, I guess.”

“Life?” Seulgi repeated with a small laugh, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, Y/N, we’re not here to judge you. We’re here to help.”

You hesitated, glancing between them—the warmth of Irene’s gaze and the playful curiosity in Seulgi’s making it hard to keep your walls up. “I don’t know what to say,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down and fidgeting with the handle.

“How about starting with how you feel about Mark?” Irene suggested, her voice light but probing.

Your stomach twisted, and you glanced away, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s… complicated,” you said softly, your go-to answer whenever the topic of Mark came up.

Seulgi smirked, leaning forward again. “Complicated, huh? You keep saying that, but I’m not buying it. What’s really going on?”

You sighed, your fingers tightening around the edge of your cup. “We’ve reconnected,” you said vaguely, your words hesitant. “It’s been… nice.”

“Nice,” Seulgi echoed with a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re killing me with all these one-word answers, Y/N.”

Irene smiled gently, her hand resting on the table near yours. “It’s okay to feel conflicted. But if you’re here, and Mark brought you to his childhood home, that tells me there’s more to this than just ‘nice.’ You’re the first and only girl he’s ever brought here.”

You bit your lip, glancing between Seulgi and Irene, their unwavering attention making it impossible to deflect. The lack of judgment in their expressions, the way their warmth seemed to seep into the room, chipped away at the walls you’d carefully built around this part of yourself. Against your better judgment, the words began to spill. It started slow—a vague mention of how you and Mark had started talking again—but their quiet patience, the unspoken invitation to be honest, drew out far more than you intended.

You told them about Mark. About how complicated things had always been between you. How he had this way of making you feel—grounded and completely untethered at the same time. Being with him was like standing too close to the sun; it was thrilling, magnetic, and sometimes unbearably overwhelming. You confessed how much you cared about him, how he made you feel seen in a way that scared you.

But then came the harder part.

You explained why it hadn’t worked, why you’d walked away even though it had torn you apart. Mark deserved someone who wasn’t carrying the weight of unresolved fears and insecurities, someone who didn’t feel like they were constantly trying to catch up to his steadiness. You’d been so lost in your own mess, in your need to figure out who you were, that you couldn’t give him what he needed.

Irene leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but firm when she finally spoke. “Y/N, healing isn’t linear,” she said gently. “It’s not about waiting until you’re perfect before letting yourself be loved. You can still heal and work on yourself while allowing yourself to be in a happy, committed relationship. Those things don’t have to be separate.”

Her words settled in your chest like a gentle weight, grounding you even as they challenged the beliefs you’d clung to. You opened your mouth to argue, but she continued before you could.

“Mark doesn’t love you because he thinks you’re perfect,” Irene added, her tone unwavering. “He loves you because of who you are, even the parts you’re still working on. And I think it’s clear you feel something just as strong for him. Don’t let fear convince you that you have to do this alone.”

Seulgi nodded in agreement, her sharp eyes softening as she crossed her arms. “She’s right. You don’t have to wait until you’ve got it all figured out. If you and Mark make each other happy, then you deserve to hold onto that while you keep growing. Life’s too short to keep pushing happiness away because you think you don’t deserve it yet.”

“I’m scared to try again,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if nothing’s changed? What if we fall back into the same patterns? What if I hurt him again?” You stared at the coffee cup in your hands, tracing its rim as you forced out the last thought. “What if I’m not enough for him?”

Seulgi leaned back in her chair, her smirk gone, replaced by something softer. Irene, on the other hand, leaned forward, her hands clasped gently in front of her.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Irene said finally, her voice steady and warm. “But if I can give you one piece of advice, it’s this: Don’t let fear hold you back. Mark loves you, Y/N. That much is clear to anyone who sees him around you. And I think you care about him more than you’re ready to admit.”

Her words landed like a punch, calm but unflinchingly honest. You tried to push them aside, but the certainty in her tone made it impossible to dismiss them.

Seulgi nodded in agreement, her sharpness softened by sincerity. “She’s right. Life’s too short for all this back-and-forth. If you care about him, if he makes you happy, stop making excuses. Go get your boy.”

Her words hung in the air, weighty and unshakable, but it was Irene who turned to you with a gaze that cut deeper. Her eyes searched yours with a quiet intensity, an understanding that left no room to hide. “I can see it in your eyes,” she said, her voice low but certain, pressing the moment forward.

You swallowed, the dryness in your throat making your voice falter. “See what?” you mumbled, the words barely audible, though they carried every ounce of your hesitation.

“You know what,” Irene murmured, her gaze unwavering.

“What?” Seulgi cut in, her confusion sharp and genuine. “What is she talking about?”

Irene didn’t look away from you, her words landing with quiet finality. “You love him. You just can’t admit it yet. But you feel it, deep inside.”

The truth of her words hit like a pulse, spreading from your chest outward, thick and undeniable. You gulped, the air around you feeling heavier, your body betraying the emotions you’d been trying to bury. Your heart thrummed painfully, its beat erratic, as though it was trying to speak the words you couldn’t. Your stomach twisted, an ache born of longing and fear, and your hands trembled slightly as you clenched them in your lap. Emotion swelled in your chest, raw and consuming, like you were standing on the edge of a precipice and falling all at once.

Your breath shuddered as the weight of it all—of him—settled in your chest. The way he looked at you, the sound of his laugh, the quiet moments where the world felt softer, smaller, when he was near. It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t fleeting. It was all-consuming, a fire that burned steady and deep. You nodded, a single, deliberate motion, the truth breaking free even if your voice couldn’t yet.

Irene’s lips curved into a fond smile, her gaze softening as though she’d known all along. Seulgi, however, gasped audibly, her surprise genuine. “I never thought your feelings ran that deep,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“They do,” you murmured, and then, as if the words were too much, a single tear slipped from the corner of your eye. The intensity of it all threatened to overwhelm you. Your chest felt tight, as though your heart had outgrown the space it occupied. Love wasn’t light or gentle; it was heavy, its weight pressing against your ribccage, demanding to be acknowledged. Your skin tingled with the thought of him, your hands yearning for the familiar warmth of his. Love felt like everything and nothing all at once—a quiet storm that you could never quite tame.

“I’ve never been… in love before,” you confessed, your voice breaking under the weight of your admission. The silence that followed was palpable, the words hanging in the air like something fragile and sacred. “That’s why I’m like this,” you added softly, the rawness of the moment pressing against your chest.

Irene reached across the table, her hand brushing yours in a gesture so small yet grounding. “Love is beautiful,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “It’s not meant to be pushed away. It’s not something you control. It’s something you let in, let it take root, and watch it grow. It doesn’t have to be scary. Let it embrace you, Y/N. You deserve to feel it fully.”

The tenderness of her words settled in the room, but Seulgi stayed quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line. The irony wasn’t lost on her, though she didn’t dare break the calm atmosphere. You had been in a long-term relationship with her son—how could Mark be the first person you’ve fallen in love with? It made no sense to her, but the serenity in your expression, the weight of Irene’s words, made her hold her tongue.

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and you leaned back, the heaviness inside you shifting—not disappearing, but no longer suffocating. “It feels so big,” you whispered, your voice fragile. “Like I’m going to break from it. But it doesn’t hurt… it’s just… overwhelming.”

“That’s love,” Irene said with a knowing smile. “It doesn’t fit neatly inside you. It stretches you, pulls you apart, and somehow makes you whole at the same time.”

You nodded again, your gaze dropping to your hands, which were still trembling slightly. “It scares me,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

“It’s supposed to,” Irene reassured you. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “But what about…” The thought of how messy everything had become made the words catch in your throat.

“I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone else,” Irene cut in, her voice firmer now, the sharpness of her words startling you. You blinked, momentarily caught off guard—not just by the force behind her statement, but by the fact that she had said it. Irene, with her calm demeanor and measured tone, wasn’t someone you expected to curse so bluntly.

But the conviction in her voice left no room for misinterpretation. Her gaze was steady, unwavering as she continued. “You and my son deserve to be happy. That’s what matters. Not what anyone else thinks, not what could go wrong. Just you and Mark, figuring it out together.”

You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue as you avoided her gaze. “I don’t know what to do,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, the vulnerability in it making you feel exposed.

Irene leaned forward slightly, her hand resting gently on the table between you. “You start by being honest—with yourself first and then with him. Tell him what’s in your heart, Y/N,” she said softly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, and it doesn’t have to make complete sense right now. Just let him know what you feel. He deserves that, and so do you.”

Her unexpected boldness only made her words hit harder, each syllable sinking deep into your chest. It wasn’t just reassurance—it was a declaration, one that made you feel like she believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself.

You glanced back at them, Irene’s soft smile and Seulgi’s playful yet sincere expression both carrying an unspoken confidence in you. It was hard not to smile, even as your thoughts swirled. There was no easy answer, no clear path forward. But for the first time, the fear didn’t feel insurmountable. It felt like something you could face. Something you wanted to face. You needed to tell Mark where your heart truly was, no matter how much it scared you.

You didn’t know how fast time had passed, but the glow of the sun now pouring through the windows told you it was midday. You were still here, seated in a booth with Irene and Seulgi, the three of you laughing like old friends as you shared stories and gossip. Somehow, despite the heaviness of the morning, they had made you so comfortable that you’d forgotten the time altogether.

“Y/N?” a voice behind you cut through your laughter, pulling your attention away mid-sentence. You turned in surprise, catching sight of Mark standing at the edge of the booth, his hair tousled and his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

It was clear he’d just woken up, his hoodie rumpled, his sleepy gaze soft as he took in the sight of you sitting there with his mom and Seulgi.

“Oh… hi,” you mumbled awkwardly, your cheeks heating under his gaze. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips twitching like he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“I thought you had assignments to do?” he asked, his voice low and groggy. “So what are you still doing here?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hand slipping into yours instinctively, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He reached out with his other hand, gently running it through your hair in a way that made your breath hitch.

“You should’ve just come back to me,” he said softly, his tone carrying a desperation that tugged at something deep inside you. His voice was low, almost whiny, like he couldn’t understand why you weren’t still in his arms.

You swallowed back a smile, deflecting the intensity of his words with a joke. “I came here to see your mom and Jeno’s mom, not you,” you teased, your lips curving upward as you glanced back at Seulgi and Irene, who were both watching with thinly veiled amusement.

Mark rolled his eyes at your words but didn’t let go of your hand.

You already knew Seulgi well—Jeno’s mom had always been a vibrant and lively presence. Her blunt honesty was oddly comforting, the kind that cut through awkward silences and made you feel seen without pretense. She was sharp, quick-witted, and had a way of making even the most uncomfortable situations bearable. Her warmth was loud and unapologetic, filling every room she walked into. But Irene… Irene was something entirely different.

With Irene, there was a quiet intimacy that made you feel held in a way you hadn’t expected. Her kindness wasn’t flashy or overwhelming—it was subtle, the kind that seeped into the spaces you didn’t realize were empty. She listened like every word you said mattered, like she could hear what you weren’t saying just as clearly. It wasn’t just her words that comforted you; it was the way she looked at you, with an understanding that felt almost motherly. You weren’t someone who opened up easily, but with Irene, it felt effortless. She made you feel like you belonged, like she had already made room for you in her heart before you even knew it was there. It wasn’t just touching—it was transformative, and it scared you how quickly you’d come to care for her in return.

Mark’s lips quirked up slightly, his gaze soft as he studied you. You hadn’t said anything in minutes, just staring at him as your thoughts churned. He hummed, the sound low and questioning. “You okay?” he whispered, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. His focus on you was unwavering, every inch of him tuned into the unspoken weight of the moment.

You gulped, the lump in your throat making it hard to form a response. His name slipped from his lips again, firmer this time, his tone urging you to say whatever it was that had your chest tightening.

Seulgi nudged you lightly from beside you, her touch subtle but steady. “Go on,” she whispered, her words barely audible but laced with encouragement.

Mark didn’t even glance at her, his attention fully on you. His eyes didn’t waver, his focus unshaken as he waited, his presence patient and grounding.

“I—I need to tell you something,” you stammered, your voice breaking slightly as your heart thudded in your chest. The words you wanted to say pressed against your lips, heavy and desperate, but fear kept them locked away.

Instead, you blurted, “You forgot your jacket at my place. I was going to bring it back today.”

Mark’s brow lifted slightly, and the faintest ghost of a smile crossed his lips, though his eyes stayed steady on yours. “That’s what’s been on your mind all this time?” he asked softly, his tone knowing, the question almost teasing but filled with quiet understanding.

You nodded quickly, looking away, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Mark lingered, his gaze fixed on you as though he were waiting for something more, something unspoken. His lips parted slightly, as if he might say something, but the moment stretched on without a word. Instead, he stood and moved away, settling himself on one of the counter chairs a short distance away. He faced your direction, though his attention shifted momentarily to his iced americano. The faint clink of the glass against the counter broke the silence, but his posture remained relaxed, one hand idly stirring the drink while his gaze found its way back to you, quiet and steady, catching every shift in your expression even when you tried to avoid looking his way.

You didn’t look back. Whether it was out of fear, hesitation, or simply because Irene’s voice had drawn your attention, you turned toward her as she started sharing a story. Her words carried a warmth that filled the room, her laughter bubbling over and catching Seulgi off guard, making her chuckle too. You smiled faintly, leaning in a little, your body unconsciously relaxing as the conversation shifted to something easier, lighter.

To him, it was everything. You, sitting across from his mom, your laughter weaving effortlessly into the conversation as though you’d always been a part of it. The way you leaned in when Irene spoke, your eyes bright with genuine interest, left him spellbound. It wasn’t just how seamlessly you fit into his world—it was how naturally you made it yours. A quiet warmth spread through his chest, settling deep, as he watched you. In that moment, nothing else mattered. You were here, with him, a part of his life in a way he never dared to imagine, and that was all he needed.

After a while, you forced yourself to check the time and sighed, the reminder of your looming college work breaking through the comfortable haze of the morning. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you couldn’t avoid your responsibilities forever. With reluctance, you stood, gathering your things and preparing to leave.

Before you headed toward the door, your gaze instinctively flickered to Mark—and you froze. He was already looking at you, he was leaning against the counter—no, propped against it, his posture lazy yet purposeful. His elbows rested casually on the surface, his back pressing into the edge of the bar while his legs were spread wide, inviting you into the space between them with a look that sent a warm flush creeping up your neck. The sight of him, the way his dark eyes lingered on you with an intensity that made the world blur around you, was magnetic. His chest rose and fell evenly, but there was nothing calm about the way he watched you.You didn’t realize you were moving until your feet carried you across the room, and you found yourself standing between his knees. His hands immediately found your waist, tugging you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You played with his hair absentmindedly, your fingers curling into the strands as you tried to steady your own pulse. His hold on you was firm, grounding, like he wanted to keep you tethered to him for just a little longer.

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then his jaw, drawn to the faint marks your mouth had left there last night, a reminder of how desperate you’d been for him. The sight of them sent a wave of heat pooling in your core, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw as you cupped his face, tracing the evidence of your touch like you were claiming him all over again. His eyes darkened as your thumb grazed his skin, his lips parting slightly, and you could feel the tension crackling in the small space between you, charged with the memory of everything you’d done—and everything you still wanted.

It wasn’t just his touch or his proximity that affected you—it was the way he was looking at you. His eyes roamed your face, his expression soft but filled with something that made your chest ache. It wasn’t lust alone; it was deeper, more intimate, a connection that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world who mattered to him in that moment.

“You’re pretty,” he said, his voice quiet but sure, the corner of his mouth curving into the faintest of smiles. The way he looked at you when he said it made your breath catch—his eyes so focused, so unguarded, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of you.

You bit your lip, your breathing unsteady as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His fingers pressed firmly into your hips, grounding you, yet his touch was tender, like he was holding something he couldn’t bear to lose. His chest brushed against yours, his warmth seeping into you, and the scent of him filled every corner of your mind. Your hands found his shoulders, trembling slightly as you traced the muscle there, and when his eyes locked onto yours, everything stilled. His gaze was deep, unguarded, as though he was offering you something only you could understand. In his arms, with his eyes on you like that, the tension you’d been carrying dissolved into a quiet certainty, a stillness that anchored you in ways words never could.

You and my son deserve to be happy. Just you and Mark, figuring it out together. Irene’s words echoed in your mind, clear and steady, pulling you back into the moment. You could feel them, those unspoken truths you’d tried to bury, rising to the surface. Looking into his eyes now, the weight of them felt lighter, less terrifying. His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly, his presence soft but unrelenting, and you knew. The fear, the uncertainty—they couldn’t outweigh the pull you felt toward him. The thread between you didn’t feel fragile anymore; it felt like something unbreakable, something waiting to be tied. And in his arms, with his gaze holding yours, you realized you were ready.

Your voice slipped out softer than you intended, the sweet nickname falling from your lips before you could stop it. “Baby.” It carried a neediness that caught you off guard, raw and unfiltered, but when Mark’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his eyes softening with something that felt like adoration, it made your heart lurch. His gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made everything else fade, and the air between you grew warmer, heavier.

He hummed low in his chest, the sound vibrating through the small space between you as he leaned closer. His breath brushed against your cheek, warm and steady, his presence wrapping around you like an embrace. His dark eyes roamed over your face, peeling back every layer of hesitation with an intimacy that left you bare. The way he looked at you, sharp and all-consuming, made your chest tighten and your knees weak. You knew he saw everything—the way your lips trembled, the way your body instinctively leaned into his. He always could.

“Can we talk? I need to tell you something,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet it carried the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

Mark tilted his head slightly, his fingers brushing against your sides in a deliberate, slow motion that sent warmth spiraling through you. His touch was firm but gentle, grounding you as his thumb traced small, soothing circles. “Yeah,” he murmured, his tone low and filled with curiosity, though his gaze stayed steady, unyielding. When your lips parted, a faint breath escaping, but no words followed, his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist. He nudged you softly, his tone gentle yet steady, like an anchor keeping you from drifting too far. “Go ahead.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his attention pressing against you, making your chest feel tight, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I—I… can we go to your room? I’ll feel better if I talk to you there,” you stammered, your voice trembling but laced with quiet determination, your eyes never leaving his.

The teasing comment you had braced yourself for didn’t come. Instead, Mark nodded again, his expression softening further as his brows furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his gaze. His grip on your waist didn’t falter, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against your skin, soothing yet electrifying all at once. He tilted his head toward you, his voice steady and calm. “Okay, but why are you getting so stressed?”

His fingers flexed against your waist, his hold firm but not restrictive, as though he could feel the weight you were carrying. His touch, so steady, so present, sent a warmth spreading through your chest, unraveling the tightness inch by inch.

“I’m not,” you lied, your trembling hands betraying you as they curled tighter against his shoulders.

His thumb paused briefly before resuming its motion, this time slower, firmer, like he was trying to steady you. “You don’t need to be,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, the words wrapping around you like a shield. “It’s just me, remember? Don’t want that pretty little head overthinking when you don’t need to. Especially not around me.”

The way he said it, quiet and intimate, sent heat blooming across your skin, pooling in your chest and spreading lower. His gaze was unwavering, filled with something heavy, raw, and unspoken. It wasn’t just the way he touched you—it was the way he looked at you, his eyes tracing every curve of your face like he was memorizing you, committing you to memory like this was a moment he never wanted to forget.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you mumbled, your voice shy, your gaze flickering away from his.

“Like what?” he asked, his tone low, teasing, though his hands didn’t loosen their grip on your waist.

“Like you’re fucking her with your eyes,” Mark’s best friend called out from behind the counter, her voice dry but tinged with amusement.

You didn’t flinch, your focus solely on Mark as you replied, “No… it’s something else,” your voice clipped, your expression unreadable.

Behind you, Mark’s best friend moved around the coffee station, her hands quick and efficient as she restocked cups and adjusted displays with practiced ease. Her silence, once indifferent, now carried an edge, her movements sharp and hurried as though trying to distract herself from something. You were too focused on Mark to notice the tension radiating off her, or the cracks forming in her carefully maintained composure.

Your gaze stayed locked on Mark, his hands firm on your waist, the steady brush of his thumbs against your sides grounding you. His touch was warm, deliberate, and when he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead, your breath caught, your pulse quickening. “Tell me, then,” he murmured, his voice low, inviting, the intimacy in his tone making your chest tighten.

“Take me to your room,” you mumbled, the words soft but carrying weight, your eyes flicking to the side briefly before meeting his again.

Mark tilted his head slightly, his grip on you steady as he asked, “Why can’t you just tell me here?” His voice was patient, but his brows furrowed slightly in concern as he searched your face for an answer.

You hesitated, your gaze darting toward Irene and Seulgi, who weren’t even trying to hide their curious stares from their corner of the room. Their presence made your skin prickle, the weight of their attention pressing on you like a barrier you couldn’t cross. You sighed softly and finally whispered, “I just… I want it to be private. Just us. It’s better that way.”

Mark’s gaze didn’t waver, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as if anchoring you. But before he could respond, your focus shifted, something catching your eye behind him. Your breath hitched, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your eyes locked onto her.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice unsteady as you looked toward his best friend.

Mark followed your line of sight, his shoulders dropping slightly as he saw what you did—her silent tears slipping down her face, her posture slumped in defeat. She looked at the two of you not with jealousy but with something deeper, a sadness that seemed to come from a hollow ache within herself.

Mark didn’t hesitate, his hands slipping from your waist as he stepped toward her. The loss of his warmth lingered on your skin, a reminder of the closeness you’d just shared, now disrupted. You moved aside, the weight in your chest pressing down, not sharp but persistent, as though something small and hollow had begun to settle there.

At the counter, her trembling hands dropped to her sides as Mark reached out, his touch careful, deliberate. When he pulled her into a hug, she collapsed into him, her body folding into his like she didn’t have the strength to hold herself up anymore. His arms wrapped around her firmly, his voice low and soothing, though the words were inaudible to you.

You watched, unmoving, your chest tightening as his hand moved in slow circles on her back, his touch steady and familiar. There was no jealousy—at least, not the kind you expected—but a twinge of something unspoken rippled through you. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t even about Mark. It was the image of him giving so much of himself to someone else in that moment, knowing you had been right there, waiting to open your heart to him.

The ache spread through you like an unwelcome visitor, quiet but persistent, tightening the space between your ribs. You weren’t jealous—there was no room for that. You knew Mark didn’t see her as anything but his best friend, his sister in all but blood, and that his heart belonged to you in ways he didn’t even have to say. But still, as you stood there watching him soothe her, the intimacy of the moment stirred something you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t hurt—it was need. A desperate, quiet need for him, for his comfort, for the safety of his arms and the chance to say the words you’d been holding in. You needed him. But now, as his fingers traced steady circles on her back and his lips pressed softly to her forehead, the moment had slipped away. You shifted uncomfortably, your hands fidgeting at your sides, the pull in your chest twisting tighter. He was doing what he always did, offering his unwavering kindness, and yet it left you standing there, the moment slipping through your fingers like sand, leaving you cold in its absence.

“I thought you were gonna talk to Jeno at the party. You only came for him,” Mark whispered, his voice low but tinged with a quiet tension that made your breath hitch.

She shook her head, her voice trembling as she replied, “I did only come for him, but he spent the night fucking Karina instead.”

The shift in Mark was immediate. His jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His usual calm shattered in an instant, replaced by a look of pure fury that burned in his dark eyes. His nostrils flared as his chest heaved, his frustration radiating off him like a storm about to break. His lips pressed into a thin line, but the anger rippling through him was uncontainable, his entire body taut as if holding himself back from erupting.

You sighed, the weight of it all crashing into you. It made sense now—her tears, her broken expression—it was all because of Jeno. Whatever he’d done to her, it was reckless, thoughtless, and entirely like him to ruin something good. A flicker of anger rose in your chest, hot and unwelcome. Jeno, in his selfishness, had messed things up again, and now, his carelessness had disrupted everything.

That’s when both Mark and his best friend turned to you. Her eyes met yours first, brimming with a quiet sadness, apology etched into every glance. Mark followed, his shoulders sinking slightly as the realization hit him—you still had something to say, something you’d been holding onto, and he had let the moment slip away.

“It’s fine, Mark, we’ll talk later,” you whispered, offering him a small, reassuring smile despite the tightness in your chest. “I gotta head to campus anyways.”

He hesitated for a beat, his gaze softening as guilt flickered across his face. Then, he returned your smile, his lips curving faintly, though his eyes carried an unspoken promise. “I’ll find you later, yeah? I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone low, sincere.

You nodded, your smile steady even as you turned away, the ache in your chest lingering, the words you couldn’t say still hanging heavy in the air.

──────────────────────────────

Mark never came that night.

You had been waiting for him, hoping he’d show up, but as the hours passed, it became clear—he wasn’t coming. You managed to get some work done on campus, forcing yourself to focus long enough to make progress, but your mind was a storm. Thoughts swirled incessantly: whatever the hell had happened between Jeno and Mark’s best friend, the heaviness in her voice as she spoke, the broken look in her eyes. Then there was what you felt for Mark, the way it had been pressing against your chest, aching to be said. And the words you overheard Chenle say at the party, lingering like an unwelcome whisper in your mind. It all tangled together, leaving you restless, unsettled.

As you packed up to leave campus, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to see Mark. The thought gnawed at you, the need to go to his apartment and just scream the truth to him, to let it all out without holding back. But your feet had other plans. They carried you away from where you intended to go, your body moving on instinct while your heart pulled you toward something else entirely. The weight in your chest guided you, seeking familiarity, seeking clarity.

By the time the sound of bouncing basketballs and faint laughter reached your ears, your steps slowed, and your breath hitched. You looked up and realized where you were—the river court. The place that had seen so many beginnings, so many truths. Maybe a part of you hoped, even foolishly, that Mark might be here, but he wasn’t. It didn’t stop you, though. Your feet carried you forward, onto the worn pavement, and you let out a quiet exhale, feeling the echo of memories press against you. The court had always felt like a place where things could be untangled, where clarity found you even when you weren’t ready for it. And tonight, it was pulling you back into its orbit.

The cracked concrete and faded paint, glowing under the midday sun like a worn-out sanctuary, came into view. It was empty of the person you most wanted to see—Mark—but not entirely empty. Donghyuck was sprawled lazily across the bleachers, twirling a basketball effortlessly on his fingertips, while Chenle stood at the center of the court, dribbling absently. Their easy banter evaporated the moment they noticed you approaching, their postures straightening as an uneasy quiet settled over the court.

Chenle’s eyes flickered to yours briefly before darting away, his shoulders stiffening as he pretended to focus on the ball in his hands. It stilled under his grip, and the silence became almost oppressive. “Mark’s not here,” he said quickly, his tone clipped and devoid of warmth, almost as if he’d rehearsed it.

You stopped just shy of the court’s edge, your gaze steady as you fixed it on him. “I’m not here for Mark,” you said, your voice clear and unwavering. “I’m here for you.”

Donghyuck’s head tilted slightly, his expression shifting from mild indifference to wary curiosity. He exchanged a glance with Chenle, who remained silent, before leaning forward on his knees, the ball spinning to a stop on the bench beside him. “Alright,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s this about?”

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. “I know what you think of me,” you began, your words cutting clean through the tension. “I overheard you. At the party. You don’t think I’m good enough for Mark. You don’t think I’m serious about him.”

Chenle’s gaze dropped to the ground, guilt flashing briefly across his face before he hardened his expression again. Donghyuck raised a brow, his posture straightening as if preparing for a fight, though he stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I get it,” you said, your tone steady but tinged with vulnerability. “I’ve made mistakes. I know that. Things between Mark and me haven’t always been easy to understand, even for me. But you’re wrong about me.”

Donghyuck’s brow arched further, his expression unreadable, but you caught the faintest flicker of intrigue. Chenle shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I am serious about him,” you pressed on, your voice growing stronger, more resolute with each word. “More serious than I’ve ever been about anything in my life. Mark isn’t just someone to me—he’s everything. And yeah, I’ve let him down before, but that’s not who I am anymore. I’ve spent so much time running from my feelings, trying to figure out what I want, and it’s him. It’s always been him.”

Chenle’s eyes lifted cautiously to meet yours, uncertainty softening the rigid lines of his face. He didn’t speak, but his silence felt less like rejection and more like quiet consideration.

“I’m not here to argue,” you added, your voice gentler now but no less firm. “I’m here to prove you wrong. To prove to you, to Mark, and to myself that I’m ready. That I deserve him. Because he’s mine, and I’m his. And I’m not letting him go.”

For a moment, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Donghyuck leaned back slightly, his gaze studying you like he was trying to gauge how much truth your words carried. Finally, he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he spoke.

“I can’t say I didn’t doubt you,” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest. “Mark’s been through a lot. He deserves someone who’s all in. But…” His lips curved into a faint smirk, though it lacked its usual bite. “I believe you.” He glanced at Chenle, who hesitated but eventually nodded in agreement. “We believe you.”

Relief coursed through you, the weight you’d carried all morning easing slightly. But before you could respond, Donghyuck leaned forward, his tone sharpening. “Just don’t hurt him again, alright? Because if you do—”

“I won’t,” you cut in firmly, your gaze locking with his. “I won’t hurt him.”

Donghyuck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp gaze fixed on you. “You’re saying all the right things,” he said slowly, his tone skeptical. “But words are easy. What makes this time different?”

Chenle, still clutching the basketball, finally spoke up, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “Mark’s been through enough. We’ve seen him pick up the pieces too many times. What if you change your mind again?”

You swallowed hard, steadying yourself under their scrutiny. “I’m not going to,” you replied, meeting Chenle’s gaze head-on. “I know I’ve hurt him before, and I can’t take that back, but I’ve spent so much time trying to figure out what I want, who I am. And I know now—it’s Mark. It’s always been Mark.”

Donghyuck tilted his head, his lips pulling into a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So, you’re telling us you’ve suddenly got it all figured out? That you woke up one day and decided you’re ready to be the perfect girlfriend?”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m not perfect, and I won’t pretend to be. But I’m ready to prove it—to him, to you, to everyone. I’m not running away this time.”

Chenle’s grip on the ball tightened, his jaw clenching briefly. “Mark doesn’t just need someone who cares,” he said, his tone hard but not unkind. “He needs someone who’s going to stick around when things get messy. Are you really ready for that?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation, the conviction in your voice causing Donghyuck to raise a brow. “I’m ready for everything. For the good, the bad, the messy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Donghyuck let out a low whistle, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Gotta say, you’ve got some guts coming here and saying all this,” he remarked, his tone softening slightly. “But guts don’t mean shit if you don’t back it up.”

“And I will,” you replied, holding his gaze. “I know I have to earn your trust, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Chenle finally sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “We just don’t want to see him hurt again,” he said, his voice quieter now. “He deserves someone who’s all in.”

“And I am,” you promised, your voice steady. “I’m not going to hurt him again.”

Donghyuck studied you for a long moment before nodding, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright,” he said, his tone lighter now. “But if you mess this up…”

“I won’t,” you cut in quickly, a small smile breaking through. “I won’t mess this up.”

Chenle exchanged a glance with Donghyuck before giving you a small, reluctant nod. “We’re holding you to that,” he said simply.

“And if you break his heart again,” Donghyuck added, his smirk now fully formed, “you’ll have us to deal with.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension finally lifting as you nodded. “Fair enough.”

Donghyuck nodded, satisfied, and Chenle relaxed visibly, though his guarded expression lingered. Without another word, you turned away, your steps lighter but your resolve even stronger. 

And as you turned to leave the court, the tension that had weighed on you all day seemed lighter, replaced by a new determination to prove—to them, to Mark, and to yourself—that you were all in. You were going to make things right, to make him yours again, yours forever.

──────────────────────────────

The campus had shed its ordinary skin, morphing into a realm brimming with life and purpose. Strings of lights crisscrossed between lampposts, their glow casting fragmented patterns across the walkways, illuminating the navy and gold banners strung high on every arch and railing. The sharp edges of buildings, usually so stoic, softened under the weight of decorations—streamers spiraled down columns, and hand-painted signs leaned precariously in windows, boasting messages like ‘Go Ravens!’ and ‘Bring It Home!’

The scent of fresh paint clung to the air, still sharp and metallic, evidence of the newly stenciled Ravens logo stamped onto every visible slab of concrete. The bold, sweeping insignias caught the light with a defiant gleam, demanding to be noticed, claimed as part of the night’s identity.

Food trucks lined the main quad like sentinels, their brightly colored exteriors clashing against the university’s muted stone buildings. Steam and smoke coiled lazily into the air, mingling with the unmistakable aroma of frying oil and caramelized sugar. The air carried a heaviness, rich with the promise of indulgence—popcorn drenched in butter, skewers of grilled meat, and the intoxicating warmth of spiced cider served in paper cups.

Students swarmed the pathways in navy sweatshirts and gold scarves, faces streaked with paint or glitter, laughter spilling out like static electricity. Even those not wearing school colors carried the fever of the evening in their strides. Sidewalk chalk messages sprawled across the ground, some inspirational, others haphazard, a few sharp-edged jabs at rival teams scrawled in smudged, hurried letters.

Beneath the strings of lights, clusters of people gathered—some to share snacks, others to exchange stories, their voices rising and falling like the notes of an untamed symphony. Beneath a large oak tree in the corner of the quad, a group of musicians played casually, the pluck of guitar strings and the soft hum of a violin weaving an unexpected intimacy through the larger chaos.

Farther out, the campus pathways stretched like veins into the quieter academic areas, but even here, the transformation had taken hold. The library steps were covered in students perched on the edges, sharing drinks and shouting into their phones. The dormitories glowed faintly in the distance, their windows lined with string lights and silhouettes of people leaning out to call to friends below.

It was as if the campus itself had awakened, each brick and blade of grass charged with the electric promise of something monumental. The night had made it its own, a canvas for chaos and celebration, stitched together by the navy and gold that painted the scene.

The state championship wasn’t just about a trophy—it was legacy, redemption, proof of belonging. For students, alumni, and everyone who called this place home, it was a collective heartbeat, a shared hope that tonight would cement the Ravens in glory. It was a night charged with the weight of what could be won—and what could be lost.

You walked arm in arm with Karina, the two of you cutting through the crowd in matching cheer uniforms that shimmered under the lamplight. The navy fabric hugged your bodies perfectly, the gold accents catching the light with every step. Your shoes squeaked slightly on the pavement, the rhythm of your strides syncing as you moved toward the stadium. The tightness of your ponytail tugged at your scalp, but the adrenaline buzzing in your veins drowned out the discomfort.

Your heart was pounding, not just from the infectious energy around you, but from something deeper—something more personal. Excitement mingled with nerves, the weight of the night pressing lightly on your chest. You couldn’t help but glance at Karina, who was grinning ear to ear, her confidence radiant and unwavering. You envied her ease, but at the same time, it grounded you. You took a deep breath, the cold air stinging your lungs as you allowed the atmosphere to settle over you. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for. The day that could change everything.

Tonight would be the night to make Mark yours again.

“This is it,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Karina, as your gaze swept over the grandness of it all. The sheer scale of the event was staggering—the towering posters of the team draped over every visible surface, the rows of merch stands glowing under string lights, and the distant roar of fans already settling into the gymnasium. Everything about tonight screamed monumental, and yet, the weight pressing on your chest wasn’t from the game. “I’m gonna tell Mark tonight.”

Karina looped her arm through yours, her grin wide and far too knowing. “I hope so,” she teased, giving you a playful nudge. “You’ve been trying to tell him for the last week now. I swear, it’s starting to sound like a broken record.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hold back the small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not that simple, okay? Every time I try to tell him, something happens. Like, the universe doesn’t want me to have this conversation.”

Karina snorted, her tone dry but affectionate. “Yeah, yeah. Blame the universe.”

You let out a frustrated breath, your voice softening as the words came tumbling out. “I’ve missed him so much, Karina,” you admitted, the vulnerability threading through your tone catching even you off guard. “I don’t even know how I let it get this far. It’s like—I can’t stop thinking about him. About us. I miss everything, you know? The way he’d look at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. The stupid things he’d say to make me laugh when I was upset. The way he held me, like he couldn’t imagine letting go. God, I just—I want that back. I want him back.”

Karina gave you a pointed look, raising a brow. “No offense, but haven’t you guys still been like that? You’ve literally had sex since the breakup, and you still act like you’re a couple half the time.”

You shook your head, the denial immediate and heavy. “No, Karina, it’s not the same. It feels different,” you said, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to put it into words. “It’s like… he’s holding back. He’s still there, but not really. When we were together, everything about him was so—present. Like, when he touched me, when he looked at me, I could feel how much he loved me, how much he wanted me. Now…” You paused, your throat tightening as you tried to swallow down the rising ache. “Now it’s like he’s waiting. Like he’s giving me all this patience because he thinks I need time, but I can feel him slipping further away. Like he’s pulling back just enough to protect himself.”

Karina’s expression softened, the teasing glint in her eyes replaced with quiet understanding. But you weren’t finished. The words kept spilling out, raw and desperate. “I know he’s trying to be patient, to give me space to figure myself out, but how long can someone keep waiting? How long before he just decides it’s not worth it anymore? He’s not going to wait forever, Karina. And the more I hold back, the more I feel like I’m losing him. Like he’s… just a little further out of reach every day.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, the weight of your own fear pressing down on you. “I don’t want to wake up one day and realize he’s gone for good. That he’s done waiting and moved on, because I’ll never forgive myself if that happens. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

Karina’s teasing faltered, her gaze softening for a fraction of a second before it hardened into something sharper. “Babe,” she said, her voice cutting through the air with brutal clarity. “You do know that you let it get this far, right?” You flinched, the honesty landing like a punch to the gut. But you didn’t stop her. You couldn’t, not when she was saying the thing you’d been too afraid to admit to yourself. “You’ve been overthinking every little thing,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact but far from cruel. “Torturing yourself for months, turning it into this massive, impossible thing in your head. You’re so scared of screwing it up that you’ve already been doing it, babe. You’re making it complicated when it doesn’t have to be.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, the truth of them sinking in like stones at the bottom of a lake. You wanted to argue, to push back, but there was nothing to say. She wasn’t wrong.

Karina shrugged, her tone lightening even as she glanced sideways at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “But hey, as long as you’re ready to beg for forgiveness and jump his bones, I’m here for it. Just say the word, and I’ll give you a pep talk so good, it’ll knock him flat.”

“Karina!” you hissed, whipping your head toward her as heat rushed to your face. Scandalized, but not nearly as convincing as you hoped, your voice wavered with a mix of shock and something dangerously close to intrigue.

But Karina wasn’t done—not even close. She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, her grin mischievous. “No, seriously. Surprise him. Wear something hot. Walk right up to him and tell him exactly how much you’ve missed his hands on you, his mouth on you, him. I swear, he’d lose it before you even finished the sentence.”

Your stomach flipped violently, and you shook your head as if to rid yourself of the vivid picture her words painted. “God, I can’t believe you,” you muttered, though the flush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “This isn’t just about that. I need him to know how I feel. That I’m ready now. To fix this. To fix us. I’ve already wasted so much time, Karina. I can’t lose him, too.”

For once, she didn’t laugh. Her smirk softened into something quieter, more deliberate, as she tugged you closer, syncing your strides without missing a beat. “And you won’t. But babe,” she added, her grin curling back with razor-sharp precision, “telling him how you feel is step one. Step two? Make him feel it. Make him remember why it’s always been you. That’s how you lock it in.”

You groaned, covering your face with one hand, but you couldn’t hide the reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Karina’s laugh rang out, loud and unapologetic, as if she thrived on watching you squirm. It was maddening, but beneath the teasing was something steady, something you desperately needed: belief. She believed in you, in Mark, in everything the two of you could still be.

And though her words made your cheeks burn, they sparked something else too—a fire deep in your chest. This wasn’t just about undoing the past or fixing what had gone wrong. It was about Mark. About showing him what he meant to you, what he’d always meant to you, even when you were too scared to admit it.

“And what about you?” you asked suddenly, shifting your focus to her. “How’s it going with Jeno?”

Karina sighed, her usual confidence dimming just slightly as she shrugged. “It’s not really going,” she admitted, a faint twinge of sadness creeping into her voice. “It’s just sex.”

You blinked, the answer catching you off guard. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She huffed, shaking her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips. “I thought so, but he’s such a fucking whore. He’s been going around, fucking half the campus, you know? And I swear—” She paused, her tone sharpening. “I swear he was head over heels for Mark’s best friend. Like, obsessed with her.”

You sighed, the weight of her words heavy in the air. “He fucked that up,” you muttered under your breath.

Karina nodded, her gaze flickering away for a moment, but before the silence could stretch too long, she turned back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Enough about him. Tonight isn’t about Jeno or anyone else. It’s about you and Mark. You’ve got one shot, and you’re not going to waste it.”

Your voice softened, trembling just slightly as the weight of everything you’d planned pressed down on you. “It has to go right today,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. “I’ve planned it all out. If it doesn’t… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Karina’s teasing faltered, and for a moment, her expression shifted, her gaze steady and reassuring. “Hey,” she said softly, nudging you with her shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. You’ve got this.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, but the words kept spilling out, your tone quiet but determined. “I’ve even decorated my room for us. I lit candles, there’s music ready to be played. I put flower petals on the bed. I even got the silk sheets out.” You hesitated, your cheeks heating again. “And my silk pajamas… and I ordered the sexiest lingerie the other day. I don’t want that to go to waste.”

Karina froze for a beat before bursting into laughter, her hand flying to her chest as she doubled over. “Oh my God,” she managed between gasps, her voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious. Candles? Flower petals? Silk sheets? Babe, you are so gone for him, it’s embarrassing.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. “I just want it to be perfect,” you muttered. “I just wanna make him proud of me”

Karina wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her laughter softening into something fond as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “You’re unbelievable. But honestly? I think he’s gonna lose his mind. You’re trying so hard, and it’s adorable. He won’t stand a chance.”

You nod, hoping all of your effort won’t go to waste tonight. It wasn’t just a confession. It was a vow, a chance to rebuild something real. Something worth fighting for. Something you weren’t willing to let slip away—not again.

Inside, the gym had become a roaring coliseum, the Seoul Center Arena pulsating with an energy so electric it felt like the walls themselves might give way. Every one of the 10,000 seats was filled, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, their collective voices rising in a deafening crescendo. The court gleamed under the relentless glare of the spotlights, its freshly polished surface reflecting the vibrant team banners hanging high above. The scoreboard loomed ominously, a stark reminder of the stakes, its bold digits ready to etch history into the night.

On one side of the court, the Ravens cheerleaders stood in formation, their uniforms shimmering in navy and gold, the perfect blend of athleticism and glamour as they readied for their routines. Among them, Donghyuck was impossible to miss—a magnetic whirlwind of energy with a megaphone in one hand and a pompom in the other. His voice boomed through the speakers, every word dripping with wit and showmanship, commanding the crowd’s attention like only he could.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Donghyuck’s voice thundered through the arena as he strode dramatically along the sideline, his pompom waving like a general’s banner. “Welcome to what might be the biggest day in the history of Seoul Ravens basketball!” He paused, throwing his arms wide as the crowd erupted in cheers. “10,000 fans have crammed into the Seoul Center Arena tonight to watch the Ravens take on the top-ranked Busan Titans for the state championship. The air is electric, the stakes couldn’t be higher, and I’m almost certain someone just spilled nacho cheese on their date. This is history in the making, folks!”

He pivoted, his expression suddenly more serious as his voice lowered just enough to hold the room. “But tonight isn’t just about the players. Oh no. This is the night to change the trajectory of Coach Suh’s coaching career forever. For those of you who don’t know, back in 2002, Coach Suh’s own Ravens team lost to the Busan Titans—” He let the name hang in the air, the crowd hissing in collective disdain. “—and tonight is his shot at redemption. While he’s not fully back in the coaching saddle, he’s been working behind the scenes, overlooking every play, every strategy. This isn’t just a game—it’s a reckoning.”

The gym erupted again, the crowd feeding off Donghyuck’s unrelenting charisma, their cheers vibrating through the floor.

Somehow, word had already spread about your plans to reconcile with Mark. The cheerleaders, ever the keepers of campus gossip, had wasted no time closing in, their faces alight with curiosity and excitement as Karina peeled off to grab drinks.

“So it’s true,” Nagyung said, ponytail bouncing as she grabbed your arm and pulled you into the circle. Her grin was wide and uncontainable, practically brimming with glee. “You’re really doing it, huh? Finally going after Mark?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “I… I hope to,” you replied hesitantly, your voice barely above the roar of the arena.

Nagyung waved a hand, dismissing your doubt as though it was laughable. “Oh, please. It’s happening. We all know it.”

Chaeyoung leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You should’ve seen the way he looked at you after practice the other day. It was like… like you were the only person in the room.”

“Totally,” Seoyeon chimed in, nodding so emphatically her ponytail swayed. “I’ve been saying it forever—you two are meant to be. Everyone sees it.”

The sheer confidence in their words made your chest tighten, warmth spreading through you even as your cheeks flushed under their attention. “Thanks,” you mumbled, ducking your head shyly.

“It’s not just us,” Seoyeon added, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Literally everyone who matters wants you two together. You guys just make sense.”

Their words settled over you like a heavy, reassuring blanket, equal parts comforting and overwhelming. It felt like the entire campus was rooting for you and Mark to figure things out, to take what was broken and turn it into something whole again.

You didn’t want to let them down. But more than that, you didn’t want to let him down.

Winter, who had been quiet until now, leaned in and spoke softly, her voice cutting through the noise like a thread of calm. “They’re right,” she said, her words simple but charged with certainty.

You glanced at her, surprised by her rare seriousness, and managed a faint smile in return. But she wasn’t done. “Is Mark even playing tonight? I heard about his heart condition,” she added, her brow furrowing slightly.

You nodded, the weight of her question settling heavily in your stomach. “He won’t be playing the entire game,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a mixture of pride and worry. “Only 15 minutes per half. Coach is being really strict about it.”

Karina rejoined the group, handing Winter a drink before chiming in with her usual bluntness. “He’s in the locker rooms right now, right? You should just go tell him now. It’ll give him a boost for the game, and you won’t spend the rest of the night stressing out. I know what you’re like, you’ll probably mess up the routine.” 

Winter snorted, her smirk returning as she took a sip of her drink. “And you should suck his cock while you’re at it. Good luck charm for the game, you know?”

You gasped, your cheeks flaming, but the suggestion stuck, a wicked little idea planting itself in your mind. The tension in your chest shifted, and before you could overthink it, you nodded, exhaling deeply. “I’m gonna go find him,” you said, determination sharpening your voice as your sneakers already started leading you toward the locker rooms.

But as you crossed the court, a ripple of movement caught your eye. The Ravens were filing out of the tunnel, their arrival greeted by deafening cheers that filled the gym. You stopped dead, narrowing your eyes as you glanced at the clock. The game hadn’t started yet, but their appearance meant you’d lost your chance to talk to Mark in private.

Your eyes scanned the players instinctively, and then you saw him. Mark.

He was breathtaking. His jersey clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the snug fabric perfectly outlining his athletic frame. His hair was damp, tousled just enough to give him an effortlessly rugged look, and the sharp cut of his jaw was accentuated by the way he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, his focus locked on the court. Every movement was deliberate, every step slow and commanding, as if the room bent to him without him even trying.

Then, as if he could feel your gaze, his eyes locked onto yours. The air caught in your lungs, the noise of the gym fading into nothing. The intensity in his stare was magnetic, searing, and intimate in a way that made your pulse quicken. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and without hesitation, he veered off course, heading straight for you.

The closer he got, the harder it was to breathe. His presence was overwhelming, his gaze holding you captive as he stopped in front of you.

“Hi, pretty,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his hand came up to cup your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, the touch featherlight but grounding. His eyes lingered on yours, roaming over your features as if committing every detail to memory. When he bit his lip, catching the plush skin between his teeth, the heat pooling in your core became impossible to ignore.

“I haven’t forgotten about what you’ve been wanting to tell me, hm?” he continued, his tone soft but charged, his words laced with both reassurance and a subtle promise. He knew. He’d known for weeks, maybe even longer, that you’d been carrying something too heavy to put into words. “I’ll come find you after the game. I’m all yours for the night.”

Your throat tightened, and you shook your head, your voice stronger than you expected when you said, “No, I need to tell you now.”

Mark blinked, holding back a small laugh, his eyes searching yours with curiosity. “Okay,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with amusement.

When you didn’t say anything immediately, his brow arched. “Y/N… are you actually going to tell me this time? Or should I just check my calendar for another day? You know, I do have a state championship to win.”

You huffed, but your stomach flipped at the teasing glint in his eyes. Winter’s earlier words—‘And you should suck his cock, good luck charm for the game, you know?’—echoed in your head, shameless and impossible to ignore. The thought of pulling him into the back, of doing exactly that, sent a rush of heat through you, your pulse quickening as your resolve hardened.

You leaned closer, your voice barely above a whisper, your lips just shy of his ear. “Can we go to the back?”

Mark’s teasing demeanor softened instantly, his hand reaching for yours without hesitation. “Yeah, let’s—” he started, but his words cut off as his gaze shifted over your shoulder, locking onto someone behind you.

Mark’s entire body locked up, his shoulders drawing taut, every muscle in his frame coiled like a spring ready to snap. His jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard his teeth grind, and his hand slipped from yours with a suddenness that sent a jolt of unease racing through you. His gaze, warm and soft only moments ago, turned razor-sharp, slicing past you like you weren’t even there.

“Hey, Jeno,” he barked, his tone low and biting, carrying enough weight to cut through the roaring gym.

You turned just in time to see Jeno entering the gym, his stride measured, his face unreadable but steady. He hadn’t walked out with the team, and something about his lone arrival made your stomach tighten. The shift in Mark’s demeanor was stark and dizzying, the tension radiating off him so palpable it felt like it could snap the air in two.

Before you could process what was happening, Mark moved. He stormed toward Jeno, each step deliberate, his fists clenching at his sides as if sheer willpower was the only thing holding him back. “Hey, Jeno!” Mark’s voice rang out again, louder this time, its unrelenting edge cutting through the crowd’s noise like a blade.

Jeno’s head turned, his expression guarded but calm, though his steps faltered slightly as he registered Mark’s approach. But Mark wasn’t stopping—his movements were fluid, his anger pouring into every stride. Then, without warning, the sharp crack of Mark’s fist connecting with Jeno’s jaw echoed through the gym, a sound so sudden and violent it seemed to suck the air from the room.

You gasped, your hands flying to your mouth as Jeno staggered back, clutching his face. The girls around you mirrored your shock, their whispers cutting off abruptly as the gym fell into stunned silence. The crowd turned as one, a ripple of movement spreading through the stands as every head swiveled to see what had just happened. Even the cheer girls on the Ravens team froze mid-laughter on the bench, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the tension on the court became undeniable.

From the announcer’s booth, Donghyuck’s voice broke the stillness, his tone laced with exaggerated disbelief and a hint of glee. “Ladies and gentlemen, in case you missed it, Mark Lee just delivered a right hook straight out of a boxing match to none other than Jeno Lee! We interrupt this basketball game for what appears to be some serious family drama on the court. Stay tuned, folks—this might get even messier!”

Mark barely registered the narration, his entire body taut and vibrating with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Jeno straightened, his jaw tightening as he brushed his knuckles across his face, his eyes dark and blazing as they locked onto Mark.

Jeno recovered quickly, his chest heaving as he straightened, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. “What the fuck is your problem?” he growled, his voice low and taut with barely contained fury. He shoved Mark back, hard enough to make him stumble.

Mark caught himself, his sneakers skidding slightly against the polished floor, but the fury in his eyes didn’t waver for a second. “You. You’re a fucking idiot,” he spat, his voice venomous, loud enough for everyone around to hear.

Jeno’s face twisted, his jaw tightening as his own anger bubbled to the surface. “I’m the idiot?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’re the one swinging fists like a fucking child!”

Mark’s lip curled, his glare unrelenting. “You ruined everything,” he hissed, each word seething with a rage so raw it made your chest tighten. “With her, with me—everything. You haven’t changed since that night on the river court all those months ago, and you never will. She was my best friend, Jeno—someone who trusted you, who cared about you, and you fucking destroyed that. What you did to her was unforgivable.” 

Jeno’s laugh cut through the tension like a whip, sharp and cold, his head tilting back slightly as he cackled. The sound was unnerving, like he’d snapped, and when he looked at Mark again, his eyes were blazing with something equally as dangerous. “Oh? What I did?” he said, his tone dripping with derision. “Is that what she told you? Fucking ridiculous.”

“Shut up—” Mark’s voice cracked with the sheer force of his anger, but Jeno didn’t flinch.

“She broke my fucking heart, Mark!” Jeno interrupted, his voice trembling as it rose, cutting through the gym like a shout in a cavern. “Not the other way around. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Mark faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing as confusion seeped into his expression. “Jeno—”

“No,” Jeno bit out, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to steady his breath. “You don’t get to lecture me about her. I know what I lacked—I fucking know. But I didn’t care. I wanted her. I wanted to give her everything—all of me.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, the anger in his expression wavered, replaced with something far more vulnerable. “I was ready to be her boyfriend, to be the man she needed, but she—” He broke off, inhaling sharply as if the words physically hurt him.

He dragged a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “I fucking told her I loved her,” he said, his voice quieter now, each word a dagger sinking deeper into the air between them. “And she left. So don’t you dare stand there and act like you know. Don’t act like you fucking understand.”

Mark froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “I…” he started, his voice uncharacteristically soft, but Jeno didn’t let him finish.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to love someone?” Jeno’s voice cracked again, and he took a step forward, his jaw tight, his fists clenching at his sides. “To let them in? To actually try?” He paused, his chest heaving as if the effort of holding himself together was too much. His eyes darted to you briefly, but he looked away just as fast, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. “I… I wanted her in my life. I was ready for her.”

He trailed off, his mouth opening like he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head violently, his expression hardening once again. “Doesn’t even fucking matter now, does it?” he muttered, his tone hollow as he turned away, leaving his words—and the room—heavy with an unbearable weight.

You hesitated, the tension in the air making it hard to breathe, but as you moved closer to the two of them, your gaze landed on Jeno’s face—and that’s when you saw it. Beneath the hard lines of his jaw and the anger radiating off him, his eyes were filled with something else entirely. Sadness, raw and unrelenting, clung to him like a shadow. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was loss, a kind of loneliness that seemed to consume him. Every forced laugh, every drunken hookup, every reckless choice was written in his expression now, no longer masked by his usual bravado. It was all there: the desperation to feel fine, to feel anything, and the crushing realization that nothing—not sex, not drugs, not distractions—was enough to numb the pain. He wasn’t angry; he was shattered.

You gulped, your throat tightening as you took it all in.

Jeno exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as he avoided looking at either of you. “You know,” he started, his voice softer now, the edges rough but quieter, “I’ve never… I’ve never really loved anyone before. Not until her.” His eyes flickered briefly toward Mark before darting away again. “And the one time I do, the one time I let myself feel something real… she fucking leaves. Like it didn’t even matter.”

The weight of his confession hit the room like a blow, sucking all the air out of it. Mark’s reaction was immediate but silent—his body stiffened, his expression shifting in an instant. His wide eyes darted between you and Jeno, his brows furrowing slightly, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that had suddenly grown more complicated. The shock in his face was raw and unguarded, a stark contrast to his usual composed exterior.

He hadn’t known.

It was written in the tension of his jaw, the faint crease in his brow. He hadn’t known that his best friend hadn’t told him everything. That she had lied, keeping this part of her history from him. That she had omitted the truth about Jeno, about their relationship, and about how deeply tangled it had all been.

The charged air grew heavier, the weight of his confession pulling everything into silence. It wasn’t the time to speak, and you knew that, but the tension was unbearable, and the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. “You know I’m right here,” you mumbled, your voice soft but pointed, cutting through the suffocating atmosphere like a flicker of light.

Jeno’s head snapped toward you, his brows knitting together in surprise, as if the reminder of your presence jarred him from his spiral. Mark’s attention turned to you as well, his confusion evident, but your focus was on Jeno.

“As your ex-girlfriend,” you continued, your tone somewhere between teasing and exasperated, “I feel like I should be a little offended right now. You just said you’ve never loved anyone before—hello? What does that make me?”

Jeno turned to you slowly, his brows furrowed, his lips parting in disbelief. “You stop it,” he snapped, his tone sharp but not entirely unkind. “You literally told my mum that Mark is the first person you’ve ever—” He stopped mid-sentence, his words halting as his eyes caught the confusion clouding Mark’s face and the silent, pleading look you shot him. Shut up. Shut up!!!

Jeno clamped his mouth shut immediately, his jaw locking as he shifted his gaze away. His hand curled into a fist at his side, and for a second, you thought he might say something else, but instead, he exhaled deeply, shaking his head as though trying to push the moment away.

Mark turned to you then, his expression sharp with confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What?” he whispered, the single word heavy with disbelief and suspicion.

Your eyes froze on his, your breath faltering as a wave of panic coursed through you. Every nerve in your body screamed for an escape, and before you could stop yourself, a strained, too-loud voice burst from your lips.

“Guys! Stop fighting!” you shouted, the words coming out rushed and uneven, a blatant attempt to break the tension and redirect Mark’s focus. “It’s not good for the team.”

Mark’s attention lingered on you for a second longer, his brow furrowing as if he wasn’t entirely buying it. The weight of his stare made your chest tighten, but you forced yourself to keep going, your tone firm though your voice trembled enough to betray how much this was affecting you.

“Stop it,” you said again, this time quieter but more resolute. “Please. Not today. This game is too important for this.”

Mark rolled his eyes dramatically, his lips twisting into a sarcastic smirk. “Well, we’ve stopped fighting, so you don’t have to say anything,” he muttered, his tone dripping with sass as he turned on his heel and started walking away, not even waiting for your response.

You blinked, stunned into silence, watching him retreat with a mix of frustration and exasperation bubbling in your chest.

Jeno huffed beside you, his jaw still tight, but he didn’t argue further. With a sharp exhale, he followed Mark’s lead, his steps brisk and heavy as he disappeared in the same direction. You stood there, your heart pounding, left to gather the pieces of a tension-filled moment that you weren’t sure how to fix.

Your shoulders sank as you trudged back to the girls, their eyes wide with curiosity, the unspoken questions hanging thick in the air. They were staring at you like they’d just witnessed the prelude to some unspeakable drama—which, to be fair, they had.

“I couldn’t tell him,” you admitted, your voice low and weighed down with regret. “He was fighting with Jeno.”

Karina opened her mouth, undoubtedly ready to pry further, but before you could elaborate or the others could bombard you with questions, the gym lights dimmed slightly, and the buzzer sounded. The game was about to begin.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate, the gym coming alive with the roar of the crowd. The Ravens cheerleaders took their places, pom-poms shimmering under the harsh lights as they began their chants, trying to inject some energy into the building. The players jogged onto the court, their sneakers squeaking against the polished wood floor. The starting lineup huddled briefly, Mark standing at the center, his head bowed as he barked instructions. But even from where you sat, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as he tried to rally the team.

You blinked, confused. This wasn’t Mark’s job—it was Jeno’s. As captain, Jeno was always the one to lead the huddle, to set the tone for the team, yet tonight he stood off to the side, arms crossed and head bowed like he wanted to disappear. In his absence, Mark took charge, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the noise as he rallied the players. Even from where you sat, the tension in Mark’s shoulders and the tight set of his jaw were impossible to miss. It was unsettling, watching Jeno—typically the heart of the team—withdraw into himself while Mark filled a role that didn’t belong to him. The team looked fractured, like a machine trying to function with its gears misaligned, and the unease settled in your chest like a heavy weight. As the huddle broke and the players took their positions, you couldn’t shake the sense that this was only the beginning of their unraveling.

When the whistle blew, the game started with a flash of movement, the ball flying into the air for the tip-off. The energy was electric, but it took less than five minutes for the crowd’s excitement to sour.

The Ravens were unraveling.

Their usual crisp passes and seamless transitions had been replaced by frantic, disjointed attempts to salvage the ball. Plays broke down before they even began, and every missed shot sent ripples of unease through the packed arena.

Jeno, typically the anchor of the team, was a shadow of himself. He fumbled passes he would’ve handled effortlessly on any other night, hesitated on drives, and forced risky plays that ended in turnovers. The fire and focus he usually brought to the court were gone, replaced by frustration that radiated off him in waves.

Mark and Chenle exchanged a look after one glaring misstep—a wild pivot from Jeno that resulted in the ball bouncing out of bounds. It was an unspoken agreement: they couldn’t rely on him tonight. Mark stopped looking Jeno’s way altogether, funneling the ball to Chenle instead, who did his best to create opportunities out of nothing.

But even their combined efforts couldn’t mask the cracks in the team’s foundation. Missed rebounds, miscommunications, and a defense that couldn’t seem to hold its shape—they were falling apart. The tension from the locker room had followed them onto the court, infecting every movement, every decision.

“Not the start we were hoping for, folks,” Donghyuck’s voice rang out through the speakers, noticeably lacking his usual charisma. “Our boys are trailing hard against the Titans, and it’s not looking good. Jeno, buddy, I love you, but maybe stop dribbling like my grandma?”

The crowd offered a smattering of nervous laughter, but it was short-lived, quickly swallowed by restless murmurs as the Titans continued to dominate. Donghyuck’s voice returned, more serious this time, the weight of the moment pressing into his usually lighthearted tone. “And it looks like there’s more bad news for the Ravens. Their one shining light of hope tonight—Mark Lee—is being subbed off as his first 15 minutes of the half are up.”

The announcement drew a mix of groans and scattered applause from the crowd, but all eyes were on Mark as he made his way to the bench. His shoulders were tight with tension, and the frustration was clear in the way he tossed his towel onto the seat with a huff. He didn’t say a word as he sank down, but the sharp set of his jaw and the way he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, spoke volumes. He wasn’t happy with the decision, and it showed.

Donghyuck’s commentary continued, trying to salvage some optimism. “Alright, folks, let’s see what the rest of the team can pull together in Mark’s absence. This is where grit comes in—come on, Ravens, let’s get it together!”

But the crowd’s energy had already begun to wane, the hope they’d clung to in the first quarter fading fast as the Ravens continued to struggle. Mark’s absence only seemed to deepen the sense of unease that hung over the arena like a storm cloud.

In stark contrast, the Titans were clinical. Their passes were razor-sharp, their shots clean and precise, and their defense suffocating. They capitalized on every Raven mistake, widening the gap on the scoreboard with ruthless efficiency.

By the end of the first quarter, the Ravens were down by double digits, their energy visibly deflated.

From your seat, your eyes tracked Jeno. He glanced toward the stands, his gaze landing on Eric and Sunwoo near the back. Their expressions were unreadable, but something about the way Jeno stiffened made your stomach churn. Whatever he was dealing with, it wasn’t just the game.

The second quarter was no better. Jeno’s frustration boiled over in a moment of weakness—a bad call from the referee led to him slamming the ball against the court, earning a stern warning. Chenle kept to his rhythm, icing Jeno out as the Titans smelled blood and pressed harder. Although it was harder for him to do so without Mark. 

“Come on, Ravens!” Donghyuck’s voice cracked with desperation. “Where’s the spark? The grit? Something—anything, guys!”

But no spark came. The cheerleaders’ chants grew quieter, their routines losing their usual fire. The crowd’s cheers dulled to murmurs, frustration and disappointment settling over the gym like a heavy fog.

By halftime, the scoreboard was brutal, the Ravens trailing by an almost insurmountable margin. The buzzer sounded, and the team trudged off the court, their heads low, their shoulders slumped.

The gym was stifling, the tension so thick it was hard to breathe. Conversations buzzed around you—snippets of complaints and murmurs of disbelief from fans who couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

You glanced back at Jeno as he trailed behind the rest of the team. His posture was rigid, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He didn’t speak to anyone as he shoved the locker room doors open and disappeared inside.

Whatever weight he was carrying, it was more than just the game. And as the halftime clock ticked down, you couldn’t help but wonder if the Ravens had any fight left in them—or if they’d already lost.

The second half was a transformation—everything had changed. When the Ravens stepped out of the locker room, they carried themselves like warriors ready for battle. Gone were the slumped shoulders and frustrated glances; in their place was a fire that made the air in the gym crackle with intensity. Their heads were high, their movements sharp, and their eyes glinted with a resolve so fierce it was almost tangible. The crowd felt it instantly—an electric shift from restless doubt to roaring anticipation.

“Alright, folks,” Donghyuck’s voice boomed over the speakers, his usual wit giving way to sharp focus. “This is it. Let’s see if our boys can pull off the comeback of the season. No pressure or anything.”

The buzzer sounded, and the game resumed with a ferocity that made the first half look like a scrimmage.

Jeno was the first to strike, and he was mesmerizing—raw power wrapped in effortless grace. He moved like a predator unleashed, every step calculated yet explosive, his sneakers squeaking against the polished court as he shifted directions with a speed that left defenders grasping at air. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat that glistened under the lights, accentuating the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. His jersey clung to his lean, muscular frame, every flex and ripple of his body screaming strength and control. 

His eyes burned with focus, his lips set in a determined line, and there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself—fluid yet commanding, his movements so seamless it was as if the ball was an extension of him. The frustration and hesitance of the first half had evaporated, replaced by a Jeno who ruled the court with unshakable authority, owning every inch like it was his birthright.

“Where was this energy in the first half?” Donghyuck exclaimed, his voice rising as the crowd erupted into cheers. “Now that’s the captain we know! Let’s go, Jeno!”

The Ravens’ defense locked in like a vice, suffocating every passing lane the Titans tried to exploit. Chenle played with wild confidence, draining a three-pointer from the corner that sent the crowd into a frenzy. The energy in the gym climbed higher with every possession, the momentum unmistakable. It was like the Ravens had remembered who they were, and the crowd fed off it, their cheers blending into a deafening roar.

Then, with 15 minutes left on the clock, the substitution the crowd had been waiting for finally happened. Mark stepped onto the court, and the reaction was instantaneous. The gym exploded with sound, the walls practically vibrating from the eruption of cheers.

Mark stepped onto the court, and the shift was immediate—commanding, undeniable. His movements were deliberate but effortless, every step grounded with purpose, his body taut like a coiled spring ready to explode. His jersey, damp with sweat, molded to his frame, emphasizing the sharp contours of his shoulders and the lean strength in his arms. His hair, messy and damp, framed his face in a way that only amplified the intensity in his expression—a razor-sharp focus that seemed to cut through everything around him. His gaze wasn’t just observant; it was piercing, dissecting the court like he could already see plays unfolding before they happened. There was a steadiness in him, an air of control that didn’t demand attention but seized it anyway, like gravity itself bent toward him. Every step, every movement, carried a quiet confidence that made it impossible to look away, as if the entire game had shifted to orbit around him.

Mark’s first play wasn’t just a statement—it was a reckoning. Jeno snatched a defensive rebound and, without hesitation, hurled the ball downcourt with the kind of pinpoint accuracy that required absolute trust. Mark caught it mid-stride, his movements smooth and controlled, his body cutting through the Titans’ defense like a blade slicing effortlessly through water. There was no wasted energy, no hesitation—just pure, unrelenting momentum that left his defenders scrambling in his wake.

Then he jumped.

It was the kind of jump that stole the breath from your lungs. Time seemed to stutter as his body soared, muscles taut and perfectly aligned, his form defying the laws of physics. His arm stretched upward, commanding the ball with a precision that was almost primal, before slamming it through the net with a force that sent a violent shudder through the backboard. The crack of the dunk reverberated through the gym, but it was instantly drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd.

“Holy shit!” Donghyuck’s voice cracked, nearly lost in the chaos, but his excitement was palpable. “Mark Lee just obliterated the Titans! Somebody put that man on a throne!”

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every movement radiated power and control, but there was a beauty to it too—a fluidity that seemed almost unnatural. He wasn’t just playing; he was creating. Every pass felt intentional, every drive precise, every shot like a crescendo in a symphony he was conducting. The court wasn’t just a battleground; it was his stage, and he commanded it with a presence that left no room for doubt. The tide had shifted entirely, and the Ravens were riding on his shoulders.

Jeno and Mark moved like two halves of a perfect machine, their earlier discord dissolving into seamless synchronicity. Jeno crashed the boards with a ferocity that seemed to shake the rim itself, snagging the rebound before weaving through defenders, his movements aggressive yet calculated. His eyes locked with Mark’s for only a fraction of a second before he passed, the ball zipping across the court like it had a mind of its own. Mark caught it mid-spin, faking a shot so convincingly that two defenders stumbled. He pivoted with the grace of a dancer, his body low and controlled, and banked in a layup so smooth it drew gasps from the crowd.

Chenle followed with a dagger from the corner—a perfect three-pointer that sent the Ravens ahead for the first time all night. The gym exploded in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.

The Titans were relentless. Each possession was a war, every point a battle hard-fought. The air grew suffocating with tension, every second dragging out into an eternity as the score stayed neck and neck.

With 30 seconds left on the clock, the game was tied. Sweat slicked faces and jerseys, breaths came in ragged gasps, but all eyes were on one person. Mark Lee.

The Ravens had possession, and the ball was in his hands. The gym fell into an unnatural hush, the kind of silence that amplifies every sneaker squeak, every breath, every heartbeat. It felt as though the entire world had paused, holding its breath, waiting.

“Mark Lee with the ball,” Donghyuck’s voice cut through the quiet, lower now, almost reverent. “30 seconds left. Score tied. This is it, folks. Everything comes down to this.”

Mark stood at the top of the key, his body still yet coiled with tension, like an arrow on the verge of release. His chest heaved, the jersey clinging to his frame, and his damp hair curled against his temple. His gaze swept the court with predator-like precision, scanning for openings, for weaknesses. The defenders circled him, their eyes locked on his every move, but Mark was unshakable, radiating an aura of control so complete it was almost unnerving.

You could barely breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears as you watched him. His movements were deliberate, each dribble slow and measured, a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.

Then he moved.

Mark feinted left, his body snapping into motion with a speed and grace that left one defender off-balance. He spun right, slipping past another, his footwork immaculate as he surged toward the paint. Every muscle in his body seemed to ripple with purpose, his movements fluid and electric.

And then he jumped.

It wasn’t just a jump—it was a moment suspended in time. His body soared, defying gravity, the arc of his leap impossibly high. His arm extended, releasing the ball in a perfect, calculated trajectory. The ball rose, a slow-motion curve through the air, and for a heartbeat, the gym seemed to hold its breath with you.

Your eyes flicked to his face—his gaze wasn’t on the hoop. It was on you.

Mark’s eyes burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was something raw and unguarded in his expression, a silent message that reached you even through the chaos. It wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t even confidence. It was a connection so visceral, so personal, it sent a shiver down your spine.

The ball swished through the net just as the buzzer sounded.

For a second, silence reigned. Then the gym erupted.

The crowd exploded into chaos, their cheers deafening as fans surged to their feet, screaming in triumph. The Ravens bench emptied onto the court, players swarming Mark in a frenzy of victory. Donghyuck’s voice cracked over the speakers, struggling to match the pandemonium. “Mark Lee! Are you kidding me? That’s how you end a game! Somebody get this man a statue!”

But amidst the bedlam, your eyes never left Mark. He stood at the center of it all, his chest rising and falling, his jaw tight, his face glowing with exertion and something else entirely. And even as his teammates crowded around him, slapping his back and shouting his name, he searched the stands.

When his eyes found yours, everything else fell away.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, and the world blurred at the edges, leaving only him in sharp focus. That smile said everything—this is for you—and the weight of it hit you like a tidal wave, your chest tightening, your breath catching in your throat.

Your heart swelled, an overwhelming rush of emotions crashing over you as your hand flew to your mouth. Mark didn’t look away, not even as his teammates swarmed him, their cheers deafening, lifting him onto their shoulders like the champion he was. His jersey clung to his skin, damp with sweat, his face flushed from exertion, his hair wild and messy from the game. And yet, even as he was jostled by the celebratory chaos around him, his gaze cut through it all, searching for one thing.

Searching for you.

The pull between you felt magnetic, an invisible thread tightening as his eyes found yours again, unwavering. You couldn’t look away. His expression softened as the tension in his shoulders melted away, his focus narrowing until it felt like no one else existed. There was something unspoken in his gaze—want, relief, and something deeper that made your knees weak.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you stepped toward him, weaving through the crowd with a determination that pushed past every lingering fan and excited teammate in your way. Each step felt like a bridge closing, the distance between you shrinking until you were finally there, standing just feet from him.

Mark’s body stilled, his head turning as if he felt you before he even saw you. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the noise of the gym seemed to fade into nothingness.

“Nice shot,” you said, your voice light, though your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

His grin widened, his expression softening even further, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “Nice legs,” he shot back, his voice low and warm, his gaze dipping down and lingering before returning to yours, sparking heat in your chest.

You let out a soft laugh, ducking your head in an attempt to hide the blush blooming across your cheeks. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Mark stepped closer, the space between you dissolving until his presence was all-consuming. His hand reached out, brushing against your arm lightly, grounding you in the storm of emotions swirling around you both. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice dropping, intimate and unguarded in a way that made your pulse quicken.

Your eyes flicked up to his, and the intensity there left you breathless. It wasn’t just triumph or joy—it was a quiet promise, something raw and deeply personal that made it impossible to look away. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm as he murmured, “I didn’t just make that shot for the team, you know.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, the weight of his confession hanging between you like a thread waiting to be pulled. His hand slid down, brushing yours, and his fingers curled slightly as if asking permission to close the gap completely.

“Mark,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, every ounce of your emotion laid bare in your gaze.

His smile turned softer, more private, his fingers intertwining with yours as he stepped just a fraction closer. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice filled with so much warmth and certainty it felt like it could steady you both. “I know.”

The gym buzzed around you—teammates slapping each other’s backs, fans shouting congratulations, Donghyuck still narrating the chaos with gleeful commentary—but it all felt distant. All that mattered was the steady thrum of Mark’s heartbeat against your cheek and the warmth of his arms around you.

His embrace felt like home, grounding you in a moment you wanted to stretch on forever. But his eyes, so intent on yours, eventually shifted, drawn away by the sound of his name being called. A few of the guys waved him over, their voices cutting through the background noise, demanding his attention.

Mark hesitated, his arms loosening just slightly, though he didn’t let go entirely. He pulled back enough to meet your gaze, his hands still resting lightly on your waist. “There’s a party tonight,” he said, his voice soft but hopeful, his lips curving into a small, boyish smile. “Some of the guys wanna celebrate the win. Do you want to come with me?”

He deserved this—he deserved every second of celebration, of joy, of pride that came with a victory like tonight’s. He’d earned the right to revel in the exhilaration of it, surrounded by the teammates and fans who had cheered him on. And yet, the weight of what you wanted to say pressed against your ribs, relentless and suffocating. It clawed at you, demanding release, and the idea of holding it in for even one more moment felt unbearable.

But you couldn’t take this from him. Not now.

So you shook your head, your smile widening despite the turmoil twisting inside you. “Go,” you urged softly, your voice steady even as your heart raced. “Enjoy your night. You deserve it.”

Mark’s frown deepened slightly, his thumb brushing over your hip in a way that felt both grounding and heartbreaking. His touch lingered, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ll come to yours tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he was reluctant to let you go. “We can talk then, and you can finally tell me what you’ve been wanting to say—”

“I love you.”

The words left you before you could stop them, trembling and raw, carrying all the weight of the fear and longing you’d bottled up for too long. They hung in the air between you, fragile and unguarded, as if daring the world to shatter them.

Mark froze. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, tightened reflexively, pulling you closer as if he needed the anchor. His eyes locked onto yours, wide and unblinking, the vulnerability in them so palpable it made your chest ache. You could feel his heartbeat quicken under your touch, his breaths shallow as he tried to process what you’d just said.

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, and the silence stretched like an eternity, your throat tightening as you waited, terrified and hopeful all at once. Slowly, his gaze softened, the sharp edges of shock melting into something warmer, something deeper. His lips parted, but no words came, only a shaky exhale that mirrored the unsteady rhythm of your own.

His composure cracked then, his jaw tightening as his eyes glistened. He didn’t look away, not for a second, even as a tear slipped down his cheek. You gasped softly, your hands moving instinctively, brushing against his face to catch it. “Baby,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the word breaking as it left you.

He leaned into your touch, his own hand covering yours as he held it against his face. His eyes closed briefly, his lashes damp as he let out a breath that sounded like relief and pain all at once. When he opened them again, his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your knees weak.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” you began, your voice soft and cracking, every word spilling out like a confession. “I’ve felt it for so long, but every time I thought I was ready, I’d get scared. Scared of what you’d think, scared of messing everything up—scared of this, of us.”

Mark’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, his touch steadying even as your voice wavered. You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping for a moment before you found the strength to look back up at him.

“Loving you… it isn’t about facing my fears,” you whispered, the realization sinking in as you spoke it aloud. “It’s about realizing that you are the calm in the chaos. You’re what makes everything feel less scary. You’re what grounds me, Mark. And I’ve spent so long fighting it, trying to avoid it, but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

The truth spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “You’re in my head every second of every day. You’re the first thought when I wake up, the last before I fall asleep, and you’ve taken over everything in between too. I can’t shake it, and I don’t want to anymore. You make me feel safe, like the world could fall apart, and I’d still have you to hold onto.”

Your voice cracked, and a tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept going. “But it’s more than that. You see me—all of me. The parts I’m proud of, the ones I try to hide—and you never flinch. You never look away. And that scares me because it makes me feel like I could deserve something this good. That we could deserve this.”

Mark’s hand tightened around yours, his jaw clenching as he took a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’ve spent so long running,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t think I was ready. But being without you has made me realize something. I’ll never feel ready—not the way I want to. But the thought of losing you?” You shook your head, your tears coming faster now. “That scares me more than anything else ever could.”

You stepped closer, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jersey. His warmth surrounded you, steadying you as the words tumbled out, heavy with truth.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking but resolute. “I love you so much, Mark. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending otherwise.”

Mark’s lips parted, his breath shaky, and his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache, the raw emotion in his gaze carving its way into your soul. Slowly, with deliberate tenderness, he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. His lips curved into the most disarming, tender smile you’d ever seen, the kind that felt like a sunrise breaking over your heart.

He moved even closer, his body nearly flush against yours, the world around you fading into a soft, hazy blur. The gym buzzed in the background—teammates laughing, fans shouting, Donghyuck’s voice narrating with endless energy—but it all felt distant, like you’d stepped into a scene pulled straight out of a movie. The bright overhead lights glowed like halos, illuminating the wisps of steam rising from the court, the air charged with electricity, alive with anticipation.

Mark’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his attention wholly absorbed, and it was clear in his gaze that whatever plans he had for the night no longer mattered. All that mattered was you.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, soft and reverent, as your fingers reached up to cup his face. Your thumbs grazed his cheekbones, your heart pounding as you leaned in, ready to close the distance, to seal your confession with a kiss.

But before your lips could meet, a voice broke through the moment. “Mark! You coming?” Chenle’s shout echoed across the gym, shattering the fragile bubble around you.

Mark groaned audibly, his forehead dropping to rest briefly against yours. Then, without looking away, he shouted back, “No!” The word was abrupt, forceful, but it was cut off almost immediately as he closed the distance between you.

His lips met yours, soft and searching, the kiss carrying a tenderness that made your knees weak. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—this was Mark, steady and sure, pouring every ounce of his emotions into that single moment.

You pulled back after a beat, though your hands remained on his face, your touch grounding him as much as it steadied you. Tears lined your lashes, but your gaze didn’t waver, and neither did your voice.

“I love you,” you repeated, the words pouring out of you like they were the truest thing you’d ever said. “I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you at the river court. You were so different from anyone I’d ever known—quiet, steady, but with this energy, like you were carrying the weight of the world and still managing to make it look effortless. Even then, I knew you were going to mean everything to me.”

“You’ve always seen me,” you continued, your voice low and trembling, though a quiet strength carried it forward. “That day at the river court, you didn’t just see me standing there—you saw through me. Even when I’ve been guarded, messy, selfish, or cruel, you stayed. You stayed and cared when I didn’t think I deserved it. When I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Tears welled in his eyes now, glistening under the gym lights as his jaw tightened, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but you stopped him with a gentle shake of your head.

“I love how patient you are,” you said, your thumbs brushing along his jawline. “How you’ve never pushed me to be something I’m not but still made me want to be better just by being around you. I love how you remember everything, like how to bring me back when I zone out or how I need the edge of the blanket tucked under my chin to fall asleep. You make me feel so… safe, like no matter what happens, you’ll be there.”

“And it’s not just that, Mark,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you leaned closer, your forehead almost brushing his. “It’s the way you love everyone so deeply, the way you look at the world with so much hope, even when you’ve been given every reason not to. It’s the way you talk about your music, like it’s the one place you can put all the pieces of yourself that don’t fit anywhere else. I love all of it. I love you.”

Mark’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with an emotion so raw it sent a ripple through you. “Come here,” he murmured, the words low and edged with a quiet urgency that made your skin tingle. The irony of his demand wasn’t lost on you—you were already impossibly close—but the way he said it felt like he was asking for more than proximity. He wanted all of you.

His gaze was steady, burning but gentle, as if he was trying to memorize every curve of your face, every unspoken thought in your eyes. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, soft and unhurried, yet it left your knees weak, your heart thrumming in your chest like a wild drumbeat.

Your palms flattened against his chest, the fabric of his shirt damp under your touch as you felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. It was strong, fast, and grounding in a way that made you feel both nervous and completely at ease. “Say it back then,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the words more a plea than a demand.

Mark’s lips curved into the softest, most intimate smile, his forehead dipping closer to yours. His fingers tightened on your waist, not possessive but anchoring, like he needed to hold onto you as much as you needed him. “I’ve already said it,” he murmured, his voice low, raspy with emotion, as if the words were carved out of him. He tilted his head, his lips brushing just barely against the shell of your ear, and his next words were softer, heavier. “But I’ll say it again. I love you. I’ve loved you longer than I’ve been able to admit. And I’ll love you forever.”

The weight of his confession made your breath catch, and before you could even process it, his lips met yours. The kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, deliberate, and consuming, the kind of kiss that made the world around you fall away. His mouth moved against yours with a gentleness that contrasted with the way his fingers pressed into your hips, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

His tongue brushed against yours, slow and intoxicating, a deliberate exploration that made heat pool low in your stomach. His hands slid up your sides, cradling your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks in a way that made the moment feel impossibly tender. It was like he was pouring everything he felt—every unsaid word, every buried longing—into the kiss.

The noises he made—soft, needy, quiet murmurs that came straight from his chest—made your skin flush and your fingers curl against him. You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, the way his lips molded so perfectly to yours, the intensity of his presence eclipsing everything else.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you catching your breath, the air between you thick with something unspoken but undeniable. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when he opened them again, they were filled with so much warmth it made your chest ache. His voice, low and tender, broke the silence. “My love,” he whispered, the words more a vow than a statement.

And you believed him. Fully, deeply, completely.

For a moment, the world dissolved into nothing but him—the warmth of his chest beneath your palms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the sea of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Your breath trembled as you gathered yourself, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his jersey. When you opened your eyes, his gaze was waiting, unwavering, and so full of tenderness that it made your chest ache.

“Come home with me?” you whispered, your voice small, almost shy, like you were asking him out for the first time instead of speaking to the man who had just kissed you like he’d pour his soul into it. The words wavered with vulnerability, a quiet plea wrapped in the softest of tones.

Mark’s lips quirked into a slow, easy smile, the kind that made you feel like the only person in the world. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his touch warm and steady. “Mmm, of course,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes gave him away—they were filled with something deeper, something unshakable. “That party was probably gonna be dead anyway.”

He didn’t even glance back at his friends, his attention solely on you as he laced his fingers with yours. His grip was firm but gentle, and the way his thumb brushed over the back of your hand sent a shiver racing up your spine. His other arm remained wrapped protectively around your waist as he guided you toward the exit, his presence magnetic, making it impossible to think about anything but him.

As the cool night air hit your skin, Mark glanced over at you, his grin turning playful, his eyes sparkling under the streetlights. “You know,” he started, his tone casual but with a teasing edge that made your stomach flutter, “my girlfriend looks really fucking hot tonight.”

You let out a soft giggle, rolling your eyes, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed how much his words got to you. “Shut up,” you muttered, but your voice turned playful as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing just past his ear. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you take it all off later.”

Mark suddenly stopped, his hand still in yours, and lifted your arm above your head. Before you could question him, he spun you around in the middle of the empty sidewalk, his whistle low and appreciative. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his eyes swept over you with unabashed admiration.

You stumbled slightly at the end of the spin, and his hand found your waist again, steadying you effortlessly as he pulled you flush against him. His lips dipped to your ear, his breath warm and teasing against your skin. “I can’t believe that little cheer you gave me on the court earlier” he murmured, his voice low and laced with playful heat, “you’re not allowed to cheer my name like that again.”

You blinked up at him, confused for a moment before realization hit. He was referring to the way you’d screamed his name during the game, your voice echoing through the packed arena. The memory flooded back, and your cheeks burned instantly.

Your steps faltered as his words replayed in your head. “I was just supporting my boyfriend,” you managed, your voice soft and a little breathless, the word boyfriend leaving your lips shyly.

Mark’s reaction was immediate, subtle but unmistakable. His pupils darkened, his jaw tightened briefly, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, as though he was fighting to suppress a grin.

“Excited and happy, huh?” he echoed, his tone light but the intensity in his gaze made your stomach flip.

“It’s true,” you replied, your voice airy and playful, though the way his eyes bore into yours made it hard to breathe.

Mark’s smirk deepened, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. “It sounded like you were moaning, baby,” he teased, his tone dripping with mischief.

Without missing a beat, you deadpanned, “I probably was.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was low and immediate, the sound vibrating through your body as he pulled you even closer. His nose brushed along your temple, his lips skimming the corner of your mouth in a touch so soft it sent a jolt straight through you.

“Mmmh,” he hummed, his voice dropping further, warm and intimate against your ear. “I could hear that forever.”

The way he looked at you made the world feel impossibly small, as though everything else had faded away and left only the two of you walking under the stars. His arm tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him, while his lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

You melted into his touch, the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin, his presence grounding and utterly consuming. His silence spoke louder than words, his actions weaving together a quiet promise that settled deep in your chest.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, trembling slightly, like the words were slipping out before he could stop them. “You feel like home,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he held you closer. “You always have.”

And as the two of you walked into the night, his arm around you and his hand laced with yours, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you belonged.

──────────────────────────────

“Mark,” you whined softly, your voice trembling with a mix of need and confusion as you sat naked on his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for some semblance of comfort. Your skin felt warm under the dim light of his room, the sheets beneath you cool and smooth. “What are you doing? Come here.”

Mark paced the room, shirtless and in just his sweatpants, his dark hair tousled from where your hands had been moments ago. His broad shoulders flexed with every step, his jaw tight with focus as he scanned the shelves lining the wall. You couldn’t help but feel an ache watching him, his lean, defined muscles illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

“I’m looking for something,” he muttered, his tone calm but deliberate. 

“Looking for something?” you huffed, frustrated. “You brought me here instead of my place, got me naked, and now you’re—”

“Be patient, baby,” he interrupted, his eyes flicking to yours with a playful glint. “We’ve got a whole lifetime of sex.”

You blinked, stunned silent for a moment, then groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “What are you even—”

“Found it!” Mark exclaimed suddenly, turning around with a triumphant grin and a dusty yearbook in his hands.

You blinked, completely thrown off as he finally made his way to you. Sitting beside you on the bed, he opened the book with a kind of excitement that was impossible to ignore. “I want to show you something,” he said, flipping through the pages with quick fingers until he stopped at one. His eyes lit up as he held it out in front of you without saying a word.

Your gaze fell to the page, scanning the colorful scribbles of goodbyes, good lucks, and bright, bubbly messages. But one thing stood out immediately: your name, not even your full name, written in plain black ink, bold and monotone amidst the vibrant chaos.

You looked up at him, your lips parting slightly in surprise, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. His touch was soft, reverent, but when he pulled back, the glint in his eyes returned. “Imagine 14-year-old me,” he began, his voice warm and teasing. “I had a massive crush on the prettiest girl in our year—her name’s Y/N. You know her?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Oh, shut up.”

He chuckled, flipping the yearbook closed and tossing it aside before sitting back on his heels. “I finally mustered the courage to ask her to sign my yearbook. It took weeks of mentally hyping myself up. I’d be walking to her, and she’d always be… annoyingly with my brother, who I hated at the time.” He smirked, shaking his head. “And you know what she wrote? Her name. Just her name, not even her full name.”

“I didn’t know you then!” you protested, jabbing his shoulder playfully, but your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze.

He reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache. His expression softened, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge whether it was safe to bare the parts of himself he’d hidden for so long. “You probably don’t even remember, but in high school, I could barely look at you without feeling like my heart was going to stop,” he admitted, his voice trembling, quieter now, heavy with vulnerability. “You never paid me any attention—not really—but you were the first girl I ever liked. No, more than liked.”

His lips parted, and a faint, almost wistful smile crossed his face. “You were beautiful,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Not just the kind of beautiful people talk about in passing. You were the kind of beautiful that made me trip over my own words, the kind that made my palms sweat every time you were near. Everything about you made me nervous—how you laughed, the way you wore your hair, the way you moved like you belonged wherever you were.”

His thumb brushed softly over the back of your hand, his gaze distant now, lost somewhere in the memory. “I used to sneak into those practices, even though I wasn’t on the team. I’d sit in the bleachers and tell my friends I was just watching the game, but really, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And God, I hated it, how you were so far out of reach, how you were with someone else, how I couldn’t even imagine you ever noticing me.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling over you, so full of unspoken longing and quiet heartbreak. “Mark…” you whispered, his name catching in your throat as his honesty cracked something open inside you.

He met your gaze again, and his faint smile faltered, replaced by something raw, unguarded. “You were untouchable back then. I was this awkward, hopeless kid who didn’t know how to talk to girls, let alone someone like you. You seemed perfect—too perfect for someone like me. You had everything: the friends, the confidence, Jeno. And I had… nothing that could ever compare.”

He paused, his forehead brushing lightly against yours, his voice dropping even lower, a confession whispered into the small space between you. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That you’d never see me the way I saw you. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when it hurt, I couldn’t stop.”

His free hand slid up, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline, the touch soft, almost hesitant, as if grounding himself in the moment. His gaze held yours, steady but vulnerable, the weight of his emotions unspoken yet palpable. “For so long,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet longing, “I’d look at you and wonder if you could ever love me back. If someone like you—so effortless, so full of light—could ever see someone like me.”

A faint, self-conscious smile crossed his face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “I tried to tell myself not to think about it, not to hope for something that felt so far away. But I couldn’t help it. Every time I saw you, every time you smiled or laughed… I’d find myself wishing. Wishing for even a moment that you’d see me the way I saw you.”

His forehead dipped lightly against yours, his breath warm as it mingled with yours. His voice softened, trembling with the honesty of his confession. “And now, with you here like this… I don’t know how to make sense of it. That you’d ever love me back the way I’ve always loved you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, his words settling deep in your chest, so sincere they made your heart swell painfully. Your fingers slid up, tangling gently in the hair at the nape of his neck as you blinked up at him, your breaths shallow, your emotions teetering on the edge.

He shifted, his weight settling on top of you, his touch reverent as his hand cradled your jaw. “I can’t believe you’re mine now,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with disbelief, like it was a truth he couldn’t quite fathom.

“I’ve always been yours,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips like a confession, unfiltered and raw. Your fingertips traced along the curve of his jaw, soft and deliberate, as if grounding yourself in the moment. His eyes darkened instantly, a quiet intensity swirling within them that sent a shiver coursing down your spine.

Mark’s hand slid up your waist, his touch warm and steady, before resting lightly at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin there. He leaned in closer, his breath fanning against your lips, his voice low and barely audible. “Say that again,” he murmured, his tone full of quiet need, like he couldn’t bear to hear anything else.

You tilted your chin up, your lips brushing his as you whispered again, softer but with no less conviction, “I’ve always been yours.”

His response wasn’t verbal; it came in the way his lips captured yours, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second of the moment. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, his other hand tightening at your waist to pull you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, not hurried but consuming, each movement of his mouth against yours saying everything words couldn’t.

He leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes softened, something deep and nostalgic flickering behind them as he held you close. His voice was quiet but steady when he finally spoke. “You know, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “What do you mean?”

His lips twitched into a small, teasing smile, but there was an unmistakable fondness in his expression. “You’re the reason I got back into basketball.”

“What?” You frowned, utterly confused.

Mark’s smile widened slightly as he shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “You threw a basketball at my face when we were 12 years old.”

Your jaw dropped, a mix of horror and disbelief flooding you. “I did what?”

“It was during a sports class at school,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving upward as if the memory played vividly in his mind. “You just hurled a basketball, and it nailed me right in the face. I think I cried to my mum about it later that night.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, a gasp escaping you. “Oh my God, Mark! That’s awful! I’m so sorry, baby,” you said, your tone trembling with guilt.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing against your cheek, grounding you in the moment. “Don’t be,” he murmured softly. “I don’t even think you meant to do it. You felt bad afterward.”

“That’s a relief,” you muttered, though your brows furrowed. “But I still don’t get it. Why would I throw a basketball at you? And why don’t I remember this at all?”

Mark’s smile grew softer, his eyes warm as they held yours. “Because for you, it was just another day. For me, it changed everything.”

You blinked, unsure what to say, the weight of his words catching you off guard.

“You didn’t throw it at me on purpose,” he continued, his voice tinged with amusement. “You were aiming for the hoop, but you were standing so far away. And when it hit me, you came over, said sorry, and then challenged me. You told me I wasn’t allowed to throw it back unless I made a shot from there—at least ten meters away.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “And?”

“And I did it,” he said, his tone growing softer, the teasing melting into something more vulnerable. “You didn’t know, but I’d just quit the little leagues team the week before. I was embarrassed, frustrated—ready to give up on basketball completely. But when I made that shot… something clicked. You didn’t know what I was going through, but you made me feel like I could prove something to myself. Like I was capable of more.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locking with yours, a quiet intensity in them now. “That day taught me not to give up on the things I love just because a few people are being idiots. It reminded me that I was good and that I loved the game too much to walk away. I joined another team that week. And… the rest is history.”

The weight of his confession settled in the space between you, warm and unshakable. You stared at him, your heart swelling as his words wrapped around you, heavy with meaning.

“Mark…” you whispered, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek, your thumb grazing his skin with the same tenderness you felt blooming in your chest.

His eyes softened even further, his head dipping slightly as he leaned into your touch. “You’ve been changing my life since before I even realized it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so soft it left you breathless.

When he pulled back, his voice was no more than a whisper, full of quiet reverence. “It’s always been you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions too overwhelming to name. “Mark,” you murmured, your voice trembling, as if his words had unlocked something raw inside you. Your fingertips brushed against his jaw, your touch soft but deliberate, grounding you both. “Then don’t just tell me,” you whispered, your gaze steady and full of quiet intensity. “Show me.”

Mark’s grin deepened, slow and deliberate, as he took a step closer. His bare feet brushed against yours, the heat of his body radiating into you, a breath away from pressing fully into you. Your hands instinctively found his chest, your palms flattening against the warmth of his skin. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch felt grounding, as if the world had melted away and left only the two of you. His muscles flexed subtly beneath your fingers, the silent invitation undeniable.

His eyes, dark and heavy with intensity, traced your face like he was memorizing you, committing every inch of you to memory. You felt exposed in the best way, his gaze unraveling you as your fingers lightly explored the planes of his chest.

When he kissed you again, it was slower, more deliberate, his lips soft yet commanding as they melded with yours. His hands slid to your waist, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled you impossibly closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless, teasing and coaxing until your knees felt weak.

He broke away only to trail his lips along your jaw, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp, before his mouth pressed tenderly to the spot beneath your ear.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm as you gently pushed back just enough to meet his gaze.

His brow furrowed slightly, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. “Take me to my apartment,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his. “I told you I had something waiting for you there.”

Mark’s head tipped back slightly as a low moan escaped him, his grip on your waist tightening. “Baby,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? What do you even have for me back at yours?”

You smiled, playful but sweet, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his collarbone. “It’s a surprise,” you teased softly.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice heavy with a mix of desperation and amusement.

Your grin widened, and you leaned in, your voice a soft whisper against his lips. “I just made my room look pretty—candles, fairy lights, silk bed sheets, and pyjamas,” you murmured, pausing just long enough to watch his reaction. “I even have a new lingerie set laid out on the bed.”

Mark moaned, the sound low and full of raw need, his forehead pressing against yours as his hands slid up your sides, gripping you like he couldn’t bear the wait. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, his voice thick with longing. “Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?”

You smiled, letting your lips ghost over his as you whispered, “So let’s go, hm? I’ve been really excited to show you all day.”

Mark’s breath hitched again, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss before he growled softly, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and resolute as he led you toward the door, his urgency palpable.

──────────────────────────────

The candlelight flickered softly against the walls, casting long shadows that swayed with every subtle movement. The air felt thick, not just with the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla but with the weight of anticipation, of the energy crackling between you. Your silk pajamas clung to your skin, the soft pink fabric whispering against your curves as you shifted beneath him. The unbuttoned top parted with ease, revealing the delicate lingerie beneath—lace so fine it barely concealed you, the sheer cups of the bralette stretching over the soft swell of your breasts, the faintest hint of your nipples peeking through. The matching panties sat high on your hips, hugging your curves with a teasing delicacy, the thin bands of lace framing the exposed skin with maddening allure.

Mark’s gaze roamed over you, dark and heavy, like he was trying to memorize every inch. He leaned closer, his hands braced on either side of you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. His hoodie hit the floor in a careless heap, the smooth expanse of his chest coming into view. The faint glow of the fairy lights illuminated every muscle, the dip of his collarbone, the subtle ripple of his abs. His body was unfairly perfect, but it was the hunger in his eyes that made your breath hitch.

“Pretty, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and laced with awe. The words were a quiet exhale, spoken as though he didn’t mean for them to escape. His hands slid under the loose silk of your pajama top, pushing it aside completely, his fingers brushing over the delicate straps of your bralette before skimming down to the lace band. The reverence in his touch made you ache, the way he held you as if you were something sacred.

Your laughter spilled out, soft and breathless, breaking the tension like the gentlest crack in a dam. His hair tickled your cheek as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. The intimacy of it—the way his chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the way your bodies pressed together with no urgency, only desire—was intoxicating.

Mark climbed fully onto the bed, his thighs bracketing your hips as he caged you beneath him. He hovered, careful not to crush you, his weight balanced yet grounding. His lips found your cheek first, then your nose, then the soft plane of your jaw. Each kiss was unhurried, tender, as though he were savoring every second. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin. The sincerity in his tone made your heart twist, a warmth blooming in your chest that threatened to spill over.

“I love you more,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. Your hands slid up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers pressing into the solid strength there. The heat of his skin under your palms was grounding, a reminder that this moment was real.

His lips trailed lower, brushing over the curve of your neck before finding the sensitive skin of your collarbone. His kisses grew wetter, hungrier, his tongue darting out to taste you. A quiet hum of pleasure escaped him as he worked his way down, his hands slipping beneath your thighs to pull your legs higher around his hips. The shift pressed his cock harder against your center, the thick ridge of him dragging against your folds even through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Mark,” you breathed, your voice catching as his teeth grazed the edge of your collarbone. He chuckled softly, the sound muffled against your skin, but there was a roughness to it now, a raw edge of restraint barely held in check.

He kissed his way down, his mouth following the line of your ribs, his hands guiding your body to arch into him. When his lips closed around your nipple, a sharp gasp escaped you, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. The lace of your bralette offered little resistance, and when his teeth tugged gently, the faintest hint of pain mixed with pleasure, your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you.

“I just can’t get enough of you,” he murmured, his words muffled against your skin. His tongue swirled over the sensitive peak before he sucked harder, his groan vibrating against you. His free hand cupped your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple with just enough pressure to make you squirm.

Your laughter turned into a soft moan, the sound swallowed by the low growl in Mark’s throat. His lips traveled lower, his teeth grazing the edge of your bralette before he slid it down, his hands eager but never hurried. He pressed a kiss to the valley between your breasts, his tongue darting out to taste the skin there, as though he couldn’t bear to leave any part of you untouched.

When he finally moved lower, his kisses trailing down your stomach, you shivered beneath him. His hands slipped under your hips, lifting you slightly, and he pressed his mouth to the inside of your thigh. The heat of his breath against your skin made you gasp, the intimacy of the gesture leaving you trembling.

The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, the slick heat of you drawing a low groan from his throat as he moved with an unhurried, aching slowness. He whispered your name, soft and reverent, the sound pulling your gaze to his like a magnet. The weight of his eyes on yours left you breathless, a quiet intensity passing between you that felt more intimate than anything else. He didn’t need to speak; the way his forehead pressed against yours, the way his body trembled as he began to push in, said everything. The stretch was slow, deliberate, each inch stealing the air from your lungs as your hands gripped his shoulders for anchoring.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch, the burn giving way to a fullness that left you gasping. He stilled, his chest heaving as he fought for control, his body trembling against yours. “I love you,” he whispered again, his lips brushing over yours. The words grounded you, the intimacy of the moment leaving you breathless.

His thrusts were slow at first, deliberate, each movement carrying the weight of his devotion. He kissed you deeply, his mouth moving over yours as though he couldn’t stand the idea of being apart, even for a second. The rhythm built gradually, the drag of him inside you hitting every sensitive spot, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips found your throat, his teeth grazing over your pulse before he sucked gently, leaving faint marks that would bloom into bruises by morning. His hips rolled, the angle changing just enough to make your back arch, a broken gasp escaping you as he hit that perfect spot.

“Mark,” you cried, your voice high and desperate, your hands tangling in his hair. He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his tone commanding yet tender. “I want to feel you come for me.”

The pressure built to a fever pitch, the knot in your stomach winding tighter with every stroke. He shifted again, angling his hips to press deeper, and the sensation sent you spiraling. Your body arched against him, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm ripped through you, wave after wave of pleasure leaving you trembling.

Mark groaned, the sound raw and broken, as he followed moments later. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, before he buried himself completely, his release spilling into you with a warmth that made you gasp. His forehead pressed to yours, his dark eyes holding your gaze as though he needed to see every flicker of emotion in your expression.

Mark’s breathing was heavy against your ear, his chest brushing yours with each slow, deliberate thrust. The room seemed to hum with the weight of the moment, the flickering candlelight catching the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the stray strands of damp hair sticking to his forehead. His hands slid along your sides, rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, anchoring you in place as he moved.

“Tell me what you feel,” he whispered, his voice low and ragged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The question wasn’t just a command; it was a plea, the kind that begged for honesty, for you to meet him in the vulnerability of it all.

“Full,” you breathed, your nails dragging across his back. “Like you’re everywhere, Mark.” Your voice trembled as the stretch of him sent another wave of pleasure spiraling through you. He groaned, the sound guttural, almost pained, as though your words had hit something deep inside him.

His hips shifted again, angling upward to press against that devastating spot that left you gasping, your thighs tightening instinctively around his waist. He pulled back, just enough to see your face, his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something softer there too, something raw and unguarded that made your chest ache.

“I want to stay here,” he murmured, his words broken between uneven breaths. “Like this. With you.” His lips brushed over yours, the kiss impossibly tender, a contrast to the way his body rolled against yours, deep and deliberate.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could think, your hands fisting in his hair as you pulled him closer. Your bodies fit together as though they had been made for this moment, every brush of his skin against yours, every inch of him inside you, speaking a language neither of you needed to translate.

His thrusts grew harder, more insistent, his restraint beginning to crack under the weight of his need. The bed creaked faintly beneath you, the sound blending with the soft moans and whispers that filled the room. The pace was deliberate but relentless, each motion calculated to drive you higher, to pull you closer to the edge.

“Mark,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hand slid down your side, gripping your hip tightly to keep you in place. He was relentless now, each thrust perfectly angled, the friction between your bodies building into something unbearable.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re taking me so well. Just like that. Just like you’re made for me.” The heat in his tone left you trembling, your head tipping back to give him more access as his teeth scraped against your pulse.

His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your panties, still pushed to the side. When his thumb found your clit, pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure, your whole body jolted, a sharp cry escaping you.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice a low growl, his thumb moving in slow circles that had your legs shaking around him. Your eyes fluttered open, locking with his, the intensity of his gaze leaving you raw, exposed. “That’s it,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. “Let me see you.”

The pressure in your core built to a fever pitch, your body trembling beneath him as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. The rhythm of his hips was relentless now, each thrust driving deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot that left you gasping for air. His thumb worked in tandem with his movements, the combination sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“I’m close,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat as your hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer. Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned low in his throat, his hand gripping your thigh as though he needed to hold onto something.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with strain. “I can feel it. Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

His words were your undoing. The knot in your stomach unraveled, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you gasping, your back arching off the bed as you cried his name. Your body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight, your walls fluttering around him as the aftershocks rolled through you.

“Fuck,” Mark growled, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. His thrusts turned erratic, deeper, harder, each movement driving him further into you. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in sharp bursts as his release filled you, the heat of it overwhelming.

He stilled, his body trembling above yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way. His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft but desperate, his hand sliding up to cradle your face as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The moment stretched, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the fairy lights above. His hips moved slightly, a subtle roll that sent a fresh wave of heat through you, the slickness of his release making every movement impossibly intimate.

Mark stayed buried inside you for a long moment, his breath warm against your neck, both of you trembling as the heat of his release spilled deep into you. The wet, slick sensation was intoxicating, a reminder of how completely he filled you. His hands smoothed up your sides, fingers brushing reverently along your skin as though he couldn’t quite let you go.

Your chest heaved against his, both of you gasping for air. His lips brushed over your collarbone, soft kisses trailing up the side of your neck until he found your mouth again. The kiss was unhurried, wet and lazy, his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned softly, the sound vibrating into your lips.

You shifted beneath him, your hands tracing the curve of his shoulders before settling on his chest, your touch hesitant but purposeful. “I need more,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips, your voice low and filled with longing. Your hips moved subtly, your thighs tightening against his sides, speaking what you couldn’t fully say.

Mark’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as his cock twitched inside you, responding to your every movement. He let out a soft, reverent groan, his hands resting on your hips, their warmth grounding you. “Anything you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice raw and laced with devotion. “Take it. Take all of me.” His lips quirked into a faint, almost bashful smile, the edges softened by the way he gazed at you, completely undone. The weight of his hands lingered on your hips as he let you guide him onto his back, his movements slow, as though savoring the shift. His touch remained, steady and reassuring, even as his body surrendered entirely to yours.

His gaze stayed locked on you, heavy-lidded and hungry, as you straddled him. The slickness of your combined arousal made the slide of his cock inside you effortless, your thighs quivering as you began to sink down slowly. A sharp gasp escaped both of you, your nails digging into his chest for balance as you took him to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his head tipping back against the pillow, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold himself together. “You’re so—tight. So perfect.”

You started to move, slow bounces that sent his cock dragging against your walls in a way that made your stomach clench. Your thighs trembled as you found a rhythm, your chest brushing his with each roll of your hips. His hands roamed your body, first gripping your hips, then sliding up your back until they settled between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer.

The motion brought your chest flush against his, the heat of his skin pressing into you as his mouth latched onto your nipple. His lips were hot and wet, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak before sucking hard enough to make you moan, your back arching into him.

“Mark,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his teeth grazed the stiffened peak. The sharp edge of pain melted into pleasure, a jolt shooting straight to your core. You could feel his cock twitching inside you with every bounce, the sensation making your thighs quiver.

“Keep going,” he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled and rough. “Just like that, baby. Fuck yourself on me.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, the coarseness of them sparking something primal deep inside you.

Your hips moved faster, the slick sound of your bodies meeting filling the room as you rode him. Each upward movement was slow, deliberate, teasing, before you dropped back down, taking him deep. His hands slid lower, gripping your ass to guide your movements, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“You like that?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. “Feeling me squeeze you?”

His groan was low, guttural, his hands gripping you tighter as his hips jerked upward to meet your movements. “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he rasped, his lips latching onto your other nipple, his teeth tugging gently before his tongue soothed the sting.

The angle shifted slightly as you leaned forward, your hips grinding against his in a way that had both of you gasping. Your nails scraped lightly down his chest, leaving faint red marks in their wake, your head tipping back as a moan tore from your throat.

“Mark—so good,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless. The weight of him beneath you, the solid strength of his body, the way his cock filled you with every bounce—it was overwhelming in the best way.

His hands moved to your back, his fingers splayed wide as he held you close. “Come for me again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

The combination of his words, the drag of his cock, and the wet heat of his mouth on your breast pushed you closer to the edge. You rolled your hips harder, faster, the pleasure building to a crescendo as you moved.

Your movements became erratic, your thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach tightened. His mouth left your nipple, his head tipping back to look at you, his dark eyes locking with yours. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Take what you need.”

The orgasm tore through you, fierce and unrelenting, leaving you gasping for air as your body trembled with the aftershocks. Your nails dug into Mark’s shoulders, desperate for something to ground you as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over you, blurring the edges of the world. Your walls clamped down around him, drawing a low, guttural groan from his throat, his hips twitching instinctively in response. His hands gripped your hips with a firm, steady pressure, holding you close as he whispered against your skin, his voice thick and raw.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the curve of your shoulder. “So good for me. So perfect.”

But neither of you was finished, not even close. The heat between you hadn’t dimmed—it had only shifted, deepened, simmering just beneath the surface as Mark pulled you closer. You found yourself in his lap, his hands guiding you with gentle insistence, your thighs tightening around his waist as your bodies pressed together.

His fingers slid between your folds, the slick evidence of your pleasure making his movements smooth and unyielding. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling in just the right way to make your head fall back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. “Mmm,” he hummed, his voice a low vibration against your neck, his free hand splayed across your lower back to keep you steady. “You’re so tight, baby. Feel how you’re gripping me?” His thumb circled your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, drawing a broken moan from deep within you.

Your hips began to move instinctively, grinding against his hand as his fingers pumped in and out of you, the wet sounds of your arousal mingling with your shaky breaths. The intensity of it built quickly, his movements precise, relentless, as though he knew your body better than you did. “Mark,” you whimpered, your voice high and trembling, your arms wrapping around his neck as you clung to him.

“That’s it,” he cooed, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers plunged deeper, stretching and filling you in a way that made your thighs shake. “Take what you need, baby. Bounce for me—just like that.” His voice was low, coaxing, the rough edge of his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Your thighs clenched tighter around his waist as you began to move, soft, desperate bounces that met the rhythm of his hand. Each movement drove his fingers deeper, brushing against the spot that made you cry out, your hands fisting in his hair as the tension inside you coiled tighter. “Mark, please,” you gasped, your voice cracking as your forehead pressed to his. “I want—everything. Everything with you.”

His fingers stilled for just a moment, his thumb continuing its slow circles over your clit as his gaze locked on yours, intense and searching. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and filled with something deeper than lust, something that made your chest ache.

You nodded quickly, breathless, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush. “Yeah. I’ve never been more excited in my life. I want to travel the world with you, go on so many dates, move in together eventually… you make me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Mark’s lips found yours in a kiss that was slow but consuming, his fingers resuming their rhythm inside you. “You don’t know what that does to me,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice shaking with raw emotion. “Hearing you say that.”

His movements quickened, his palm pressing against you with just the right pressure as his fingers curled and stroked relentlessly, driving you higher and higher. The intensity was overwhelming, your body trembling in his lap as he pushed you closer to the edge once more.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the pleasure so intense it left you gasping, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. “Mark, I—” you started, but the words dissolved into a broken cry as the orgasm hit, crashing over you like a wave. Your body spasmed around his fingers, your legs tightening around his waist as tears slipped down your cheeks, the pleasure so all-encompassing it left you shaking in his arms.

His lips found your temple, soft and soothing, as he held you through the aftershocks. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice tender, his hand gently easing out of you as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, your forehead rested against his, breaths mingling in the intimate quiet between you. Mark’s hand trailed lazily up your back, his fingers splaying wide as though holding you closer wasn’t just a want, but a need. His gaze found yours, steady and unguarded, a soft warmth flickering in his dark eyes.

“I always wondered,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the curve of your cheek, his voice low and tender.

“Wondered what?” you asked, your words a whisper, though you could feel the answer in the way he looked at you.

“If this was how it would feel,” he said, his lips barely moving, his voice laced with a quiet vulnerability. “To know you love me back.”

The words settled in the air between you, not heavy but final, as though the world had been holding its breath for this moment alone. It wasn’t loud or dramatic—it didn’t need to be. It was quiet, inevitable, like the way dawn breaks over a sleeping sky, soft and all-consuming. His smile, faint but deeply certain, carried the weight of years unspoken, a truth he no longer had to hold alone. His eyes found yours, raw and impossibly tender, as though the only thing he had ever been searching for had been right here, in this exact moment, looking back at him. And just like that, everything felt complete.

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EPILOGUE — SIX MONTHS LATER

The golden sunlight poured through the tall windows of the wedding hall, casting soft shadows across the polished marble floors. The air buzzed with quiet laughter and the clinking of glasses as the couple swayed to their first dance. The moment was picturesque—soft, romantic, and timeless. You lifted your camera, capturing the emotion in a single frame, but your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Your fingers brushed the delicate ring on your finger, twisting it idly as you smiled to yourself. The simple platinum band with its modest diamond sparkled subtly in the light, catching the warmth of the setting sun through the windows. It wasn’t an engagement ring, though its beauty could have fooled anyone. It was a promise ring, given to you by Mark on the day of your graduation, doubling as both a gift and a vow. He’d slid it onto your finger with a quiet certainty, the gesture filled with meaning. It wasn’t loud or extravagant, but it carried the weight of his love—a promise of the life you were building together, one shared step at a time. Every time you looked at it, you were reminded of him, of everything you had accomplished together, and of the future that was waiting for you both. It was more than jewelry; it was a tangible piece of him, a symbol of trust, devotion, and the deep connection that anchored you both.

The last six months had been transformative. Graduation had brought new beginnings, milestones, and a whirlwind of emotions. Landing your dream job as a destination wedding photographer felt like the perfect match. It allowed you to explore the world, meet new people, and live your passion—capturing love in its most raw, unfiltered form.

And yet, even with a job that took you to breathtaking destinations and gave you incredible experiences, nothing compared to the feeling of being with Mark. The relationship had deepened in ways you couldn’t have imagined. He wasn’t just your boyfriend; he was your home, your partner in every sense. Whether it was the way he held your hand during your lowest moments or the way he made you laugh until your stomach hurt, Mark had become the steady, unshakable presence in your life.

You glanced at the ring again, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Your heart swelled as memories of Mark flooded your mind—his easy smile, his quiet strength, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

The shoot was running over, and though you loved your work, you couldn’t help but glance at your watch. Tonight was important. Mark had organized a long-overdue reunion for your group of friends to celebrate his and his best friend’s new apartment. It would be the first time since graduation that everyone would be together under one roof. You had seen Mark, Karina, and Jeno one-on-one since then, but this was different. This was a moment to reconnect, to celebrate how far you’d all come.

Finally, the shoot wrapped. After a quick goodbye to the couple, you packed your gear and rushed to Mark’s apartment. It wasn’t just his apartment, of course. Mark and his best friend had been planning this move since they were teenagers. The apartment was their shared dream, years in the making, and despite the initial pang of jealousy you’d felt when he told you, you couldn’t help but support them. After all, you knew their bond was purely platonic—like siblings, even—and you also knew you’d practically be living there anyway.

When you arrived, the sound of the door unlocking was followed by soft footsteps, and then Mark appeared, his face breaking into a smile the second he saw you. His hair was slightly tousled, his sweater hanging loose over his frame, and yet he looked effortlessly perfect—warm, familiar, and entirely yours.

“Hi, my love,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice soft as your lips brushed against his in a kiss that lingered just a little longer than usual.

His smile deepened against your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw as though he couldn’t help himself. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, every word wrapped in quiet affection. He pressed a second kiss to the corner of your lips, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you into a brief but firm hug, his chest solid and comforting against yours.

For a moment, he held you there, his lips brushing your temple as he breathed you in, the quiet hum of the hallway fading away. “Long day?” he asked softly, his hand resting lightly on your back as he pulled away just enough to look at you.

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Better now,” you murmured, the weight of the day melting away under his touch.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your spine as he opened the door wider. “Come, baby,” he said, his tone warm, almost playful. “I’ve got you.”

As you stepped inside, his hand lingered on your lower back, a subtle but grounding presence, guiding you into the glow of the apartment. For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter—it was just you and him, and the quiet, unshakable ease that existed between you.

The apartment was breathtaking in its simplicity, a perfect blend of functionality and charm that felt effortlessly lived-in yet thoughtfully curated. The open-plan living space was awash with a warm, ambient glow, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, cozier. Sleek furniture in neutral tones gave the room a modern edge, but it was the small, personal touches that made it feel like home.

One wall was lined with a floor-to-ceiling shelf, brimming with books of every genre and interspersed with small potted plants, their greenery spilling gently over the edges. The sectional couch, a deep, inviting gray, stretched across the center of the room, its plush cushions scattered with mismatched throw pillows that hinted at both Mark’s practicality and his best friend’s eye for detail.

Above the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, string lights twinkled faintly, their golden glow reflecting off the glass and spilling onto the light wood floors. The windows framed a stunning view of the city skyline, the distant lights twinkling like stars, creating a sense of endless possibility.

In the corner, a small coffee table bore the remnants of earlier unpacking—a stack of unopened mail, a mug half-full of tea, and a neatly folded throw blanket. The kitchen, visible from the living space, was minimalist but warm, its countertops dotted with personal touches: a fruit bowl, a handwritten grocery list pinned to the fridge, and a vase of fresh flowers that added a pop of color to the neutral palette.

The apartment wasn’t just beautiful; it was alive, a seamless blend of Mark’s quiet strength and his best friend’s vibrant energy. Every detail spoke of care, history, and the promise of shared moments yet to come.

Mark’s best friend emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray of drinks in her hands, her grin wide and infectious. “Y/N!” she called, her voice warm as she walked over, setting the tray down on the coffee table before pulling you into a tight hug.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, pulling back to glance around the apartment. “This place looks amazing.”

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her cheeks glowing with pride. “Thanks. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it.” She grabbed a drink and handed it to you before nudging you playfully. “I hope you’re not jealous, though,” she teased, her tone light but mischievous.

You turned to Mark, giving him an exaggerated glare that made his lips twitch in amusement. “Oh, I’m absolutely jealous,” you deadpanned, pausing just long enough for effect before cracking a smile. “But don’t worry,” you said with a chuckle, raising your drink. “I’ll probably end up practically living here anyway.”

Her laughter echoed through the room, and Mark slipped an arm around your waist, leaning down to murmur, “She’s not wrong.”

The house warming party gradually came to life, the space filling with the sound of laughter, music, and the kind of chatter that only happens among close friends. Karina, unsurprisingly, wasted no time stirring chaos. She wandered from room to room, shuffling picture frames, poking at Mark’s carefully arranged décor, and draping herself over the couch as though it were a chaise lounge in an old painting.

“Karina,” Mark’s best friend called out, half-laughing, half-exasperated as she chased after her. “Put the frame back—that’s not where it goes!”

“I’m adding artistic flair!” Karina declared dramatically, clutching the frame to her chest before spinning away.

“You’re adding stress,” she shot back, earning a round of laughter from everyone else as Karina stuck her tongue out in mock defiance.

Chenle and Ningning arrived not long after, bursting through the door with enough energy to rival Karina’s antics. Ningning’s eyes lit up the moment she saw the apartment. “Wow, this is gorgeous!” she exclaimed, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. “I mean, who knew Mark had taste?”

“Hey!” Mark protested, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Ningning ignored him, grabbing Chenle’s arm and dragging him toward the bookshelf. “Okay, let’s see what we’re working with here,” she said, inspecting the books and trinkets with an exaggeratedly critical eye.

“Solid selection,” Chenle remarked, plucking a book from the shelf and flipping through it. “But seriously, who organized this? The color coordination is giving me anxiety.”

Donghyuck and Jaemin, who had been huddled in the corner with their drinks, burst out laughing. “Of course you’d critique a bookshelf,” Donghyuck said, shaking his head. “Let them live, Chenle.”

“You’re just mad because you can’t read,” Chenle shot back, grinning as Jaemin snorted into his drink.

Through the laughter and chaos, your gaze fell on Chenle and Ningning, who were seated on the couch together, their heads tilted close as they spoke in hushed tones. It was impossible not to notice how they seemed to exist in their own little world, their shared smiles and soft laughter radiating something undeniably tender. Chenle leaned in slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Ningning’s face, his fingers lingering for just a second too long, while she looked up at him with a warmth that seemed to fill the entire room. Even Donghyuck, notorious for teasing, left them undisturbed, glancing at them with a rare, knowing smile before turning back to his antics.

Mark’s arm never left your waist, a quiet but steady presence that anchored you in the midst of the buzzing party. His fingers would occasionally trace soft patterns against your side, a simple touch that carried so much unspoken love. Every so often, he leaned in to murmur something soft—an observation, a joke, or a quiet compliment meant just for you. At one point, he kissed the side of your head, his lips lingering as he whispered, “I’m so happy,” his voice full of emotion that made your chest tighten.

Across the table, Chenle caught the moment and winked at you, giving a subtle but reassuring nod as if to say, Yeah, he’s completely yours. The warmth of his silent approval made you smile, and for a while, you let yourself be swept into the laughter and joy of the room.

But as your gaze wandered, it landed on Jeno. He was sitting off to the side, a bottle of beer in his hand, his posture deceptively relaxed. Yet his eyes betrayed him, flickering with a distance that didn’t quite match the lively atmosphere around him. He hadn’t joined in much of the conversation, his responses minimal, his laughs quiet.

You noticed the tension more clearly when Mark’s best friend passed by him, her movements visibly stiff, her eyes focused too intently on the space ahead of her. Jeno’s gaze lifted briefly, flicking toward her like a reflex before darting away just as quickly. It wasn’t avoidance—it was something heavier, a silence charged with things unsaid.

You nudged Mark gently, tilting your head toward the pair. “It’s been months. Are they still not talking to each other?” you whispered, keeping your voice low.

Mark followed your gaze, his brow furrowing slightly. He sighed, his fingers tightening briefly around your waist. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “They’re both stubborn as hell. They know they went wrong, but neither one wants to be the first to admit it.”

Your heart ached for them. Whatever had fractured between Jeno and Mark’s best friend was more than just stubbornness; it was something that had clearly left a mark on them both. And yet, it wasn’t your place to push—it had to be theirs to fix, in their own time.

Your gaze swept the room, taking in the scene. Chenle and Ningning were tucked together on the couch, their heads tilted close as they exchanged whispered jokes. The way Ningning’s hand brushed Chenle’s arm and the way his smile softened whenever he looked at her made it clear—they were as in love as ever, even in the chaos.

Karina had finally settled down, though not without a bit of playful grumbling, while Donghyuck and Jaemin leaned against the counter, still sharing quiet jokes that made them shake their heads and laugh. Even Jeno, though quieter than the rest, seemed to relax slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smile when Mark’s best friend passed him again. It was small, but it felt like progress.

As the party began to wind down, the warmth in the room only seemed to deepen. It wasn’t loud or flashy; it was the kind of comfort that came from being surrounded by people who knew you, loved you, and had been through every high and low by your side.

Standing by the window, you let your gaze drift over the city lights twinkling in the distance. The skyline stretched endlessly, a perfect backdrop to the quiet hum of contentment that filled your chest.

Mark slipped behind you, his presence a familiar warmth that immediately made you smile. His hands settled on your hips, his thumbs brushing gentle circles through the fabric of your dress. “You look happy,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

“I am,” you whispered, leaning back into him. “This feels right. All of it.”

He pressed a lingering kiss just below your ear, his lips impossibly soft, his breath warm as it danced across your skin. “Wanna test out my new bed in my room?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though there was a quiet depth beneath the playfulness—an unspoken invitation that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him, laughter bubbling softly from your lips as your cheeks warmed under the weight of his gaze. His dark eyes held yours, steady and unwavering, the glint in them making your heart stutter. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head with a smile that you couldn’t quite hide.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that familiar, lopsided grin that always felt like home. “So… that’s a yes?” he asked, his tone teasing, though his hands were already sliding to your waist, their touch steady, warm, and grounding. His fingers lingered, curling against the fabric of your dress, pulling you just a little closer.

Before you could answer, his arms moved with effortless ease, sweeping you up in one fluid motion. Your breath hitched in surprise, but the sound dissolved into soft, giddy laughter as you clung to his shoulders.

“Mark!” you murmured, though the sound came out more like a laugh, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as he held you close.

His grin softened into something darker, his voice dropping as his eyes locked onto yours. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all night? Laying you down on that bed, taking my time, and feeling you come apart under me. I want to strip you bare, touch every inch of you, and watch the way your body moves when it’s mine to hold. I’ve been dying to hear those sounds you make, to feel the way you pull me closer, and to leave you trembling from everything I’ve been holding back.”

The heat in his tone made your chest ache, the steady strength of his hold making you feel entirely weightless. He carried you toward the stairs, the hum of the party fading behind you with each step. It wasn’t just his chuckle that filled the quiet—it was the sound of your shared breaths, the quiet intimacy of the moment pressing in around you like a secret the world couldn’t touch.

When he reached the room, he nudged the door open with his foot, and the soft light from the bedside lamp spilled gently across the space. The air carried a delicate mix of vanilla and orange blossom, a sweet, calming scent that was so undeniably him it eased every lingering thought, wrapping you in the quiet comfort of his presence.

Without hesitation, he walked you to the bed, his arms tightening around you briefly before he gently tossed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft bounce, a laugh spilling from your lips as you propped yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze.

His grin widened for just a moment before it faded into something softer, something impossibly tender. He braced himself on the mattress, leaning down to hover over you, his dark eyes searching yours as if memorizing every detail. His hand reached out, brushing over your cheek with a reverence that made your breath catch.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, his voice low and sure, yet carrying a tenderness that made your chest ache. There was no hesitation in his words, only the quiet confidence of a man who meant them completely, a certainty that wrapped around you like the warmth of his embrace.

The kiss that followed was unlike any you’d shared before. There was no rush, no lingering urgency—it was deliberate, each movement soft and measured, as if he wanted to savor the moment and etch it into memory. His lips moved against yours in a rhythm that felt unspoken yet deeply familiar, every touch carrying a silent promise of everything he was and everything he wanted to give you.

His hand stayed cradling your cheek, his thumb stroking just beneath your jaw with a softness that left you breathless. It wasn’t just grounding—it was reverent, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of this moment between you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the kind of stillness that felt profound.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly, as if even admitting it made him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, brimming with something so raw and pure that it left you undone.

As you looked at him, the man who had become an inseparable part of your heart, you felt it too. It wasn’t about the apartment, the milestones you were reaching together, or the quiet dreams you shared late at night. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the life you were building. It was him—the one constant that made every place, every moment, feel like it mattered.

As you looked up at him—the man who had become your anchor, your safe space, your greatest love—you realized that the apartment, the plans, the life you were building together—they all mattered, but only because they were with him.

In that quiet moment, with his arms around you, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be—wrapped in his love, completely at home in his embrace.

[ the final instagram posts ]

author’s note —  i can’t believe we’ve reached the end of the seven-part series. writing this has been such an emotional journey, and your support has meant the absolute world to me. thank you for sticking with me, for loving these characters, and for sharing your thoughts along the way—it’s been everything to me. please don’t hold back now; i’d love to hear all your feedback, your favorite moments, and how you feel about the ending. i love you all so much, truly. i’m feeling very emotional rn :( i love you guys

taglist — @bigjugz03 @hyuckkklee @hegdus @sungchannel @kidult0325 @hcluvie @second-floors @xjxnox @keelbeel @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @carelessshootanonymous @remgeolli @toroufriteh @sinsgaybutthatsokay @fancypeacepersona @cathamada @gomdoleemyson @ppeachyttae @strcwberi-deactivated20241207 @yunjinsart @millyswife

[666soulz]

rapper!connie first run in with fashionvlogger!reader was…interesting. you answered a question from a fan on twitter who asked if you could style one rapper who would it be? you replied saying, ‘connie springer, his music don’t match his style. he dressing like a regular hood nigga when he should be dressing like a bad bitch with a dark lair. pisses me off.’

eren snorted when he seen the tweet and sent it to connie. at first he was a little offended and was about to clean you right on up, but when he saw the comments agreeing??? he had to find out why your opinion mattered so much. so the the first thing he did was tap that instagram link. 550k followers. hmm. he seen that plenty of his celebrity mutuals followed you. 

                           hollowsoul

followed by thegirljt, gunna, liluzivert and others. 

when he tapped on your pinned photo he almost drooled at your beauty, your body, and the outfit you were wearing.  you indeed had that shit on to the T. connie caught himself scrolling through your feed as his anemic ass shook ice into his mouth. you sure did have a love for all black outfits. 

he taps on that message button and types in two words. ‘style me’ 

your phone lights up as you stir around the meat in the pan. you put your glass of wine down to pick up your phone. 

instagram 

new message 

you tap on the notification and it takes you to the dm. you didn’t really have a shocked reaction, but you were surprised that he even bothered to to dm you. connie was semi private. he has moments where he’s very active on social media then he becomes a ghost. 

‘sure long as your okay with me vlogging’

connie puts his cup of ice down beside his feet warning his dog, Choppo, to not touch before replying to you. 

‘i don’t mind. you free on friday?’

   ‘i am’

ight let’s meet at the outlet mall on Lafayette @ 1 then. you mind if me, my friends, and security come?

 okay sounds good and i don’t mind at all.  see you on friday x

trust me you were less boring in person. connie was lacking in first impression as he was late to you guys shopping date. 

you didn’t mind though, you were right in dior trying on sunglasses. “how these look y’all?” you ask your camera. “i don’t know they’re kinda cunt..” you say looking in the small mirror. you didn’t even notice connie and his crew walking in and walking towards you. 

“i like them.”

you look behind you, seeing connie and his friends. connie took you in while you were distracted and you were better in person. you were in an all black outfit, of course, and you looked fucking beautiful. 

“they’re cute right?” you smile looking up at the 6’1 FINE ass dominican man. one thing that  also irritated you about connie’s style is that it doesn’t emphasize his face. connie face card was something different. He had beautiful features, hazel eyes, low lids, some pretty plump lips, and he was pulling off a buzz cut like david beckham in the 2000’s. not many people can do that. 

“yeah, sorry I was late. had to drop my sister off to her dance practice.” connie says you wave him off, “oh I'm not worried about it. it gave me time to think of what stores i want to go to.” you say taking your glasses off. “hey it’s nice to meet y’all,” you said looking at the two men behind connie. eren and ony. they weren’t a group but they put out some collab albums. those albums were heat, and was always playing when you were working out or cleaning. 

“we’re starting here by the way. can’t go wrong with dior. do you have a favorite fashion brand or designer?” you ask connie as you walked over to the men’s section. 

“uhm nike?”

“nike..? you know what i’m just..i’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.“ you say shaking your head in disappointment. ony was laughing to himself in the background cause he could hear it in your voice. 

“what’s wrong with nike?” connie smiles as you picked up a dior sweater. “well first off all nike is a sports brand i’m talking about a fashion brand like rick owens, true religion, moschino. 

“what’s a moschino?” connie scrunches his face and he was dead serious. 

“do you know who jeremy scott is? law roach?”

“are these random white people?”

you looked at connie like he was a little lost baby, pouting your glossy lips. “aw you are so cute.” you pinch his cheek. “this is my favorite part. teaching you the ins and out of fashion.” you smile pushing an outfit into his chest. “go try this on.”

connie found out that you were a bossy little thing. if he didn’t like something, “oh well too bad you’re getting it anyways.” ony and eren enjoyed seeing him get bossed around as he was usually the demanding one in the studio. you had fun telling connie stuff about fashion and how to put together a good outfit. 

connie left that outlet with a new wardrobe, friend, and crush. a very big crush that his friends noticed. the way connie blushed like some nerdy school boy every time you’d hype him up. you noticed as well and found it absolutely adorable. 

“do that lil pose that you do. period!” 

you enjoyed Connie's presence. He was a mix between laidback and hyper. like when he got comfortable around you, he got to cracking jokes. even joking you. picking up some ugly ass cowgirl boots and saying, “this looks like something you’d like.” and you’d just give him a little playful glare telling him to not play with you. 

you left Connie with a homework assignment. learn how to use pinterest and make a pinterest board. 

[ssickive]

thinking of single father!jeonghan who always asks you, his best friend, to babysit for him. he works long hours for him and his daughter, and you're one of the few people he trusts with his princess.

single father!jeonghan calls you when his daughter is running a fever and he can't get out of work. he never has to beg; you'll come running, both for him and the angel that you've grown to love.

single father!jeonghan texts you during his meetings— thanking you for your support, promising you a good diner. thank you. these meetings are boring. miss my princess (and you). 💗

single father!jeonghan has to bite back a laugh when, later that evening, you coo at his daughter in your desperate bid to get her to drink medicine. "this will make you feel good," you promise. "right, daddy?"

single father!jeonghan refuses to let that go. "you really think i'm going to let you walk out of here after calling me 'daddy'?" he teases as he blocks your way out of his apartment. "what does calling me 'daddy' make you then?"

single father!jeonghan is insufferable in trying to get you to call him 'daddy' again. you call him annoying and delusional as he practically begs for you to give in. "all i need is one eensy-weensy little word from you," he pleads. "just one little word, and i'll stop teasing you about it. promise."

"is this some kind of kink of yours?" you ask warily, and he can only laugh. "i'm not that kinky," he huffs. "though if it was, i'd definitely admit to it."

it's all fun and games for single father!jeonghan until you say with faux, biting innocence, "whatever you say, daddy," and suddenly, there's an unfamiliar stirring in his belly.

"what's wrong?" you prod. "thought you said it wasn't one of your kinks."

"it's not," single father!jeonghan says as his fingers trace absentminded circles on your thigh. "but hearing you say it is making me reassess."

single father!jeonghan knows it's his fault. he's the one who pulls you down on to him on the couch, the one who maneuvers you until you're straddling him. "this isn't—" you're saying, but jeonghan can't help himself.

single father!jeonghan plays with the hem of your shorts. his lips are up against your ear, your breath warm against the sensitive skin. "let me guess what you were going to say. this isn't proper, right? appropriate?"

single father!jeonghan plants gentle kisses up and down the expanse of your throat, feeling you quiver on top of him. "come on, sweetheart." he grins into your skin. "say it again and see just how much power you have over me. daddy's getting impatient."

but then you say his daughter's name, you remind him that she's fast asleep just down the hall, and single father!jeonghan is snapped back to his senses. the two of you are in the living room. his daughter, his lifeline, could walk in at any given moment. he'd never forgive himself.

single father!jeonghan centers himself enough to grouse, "we have to stop. we should sit and watch a movie— like normal—"

single father!jeonghan is thankful when you clamber off his lap, when you go to play some early 2000's romantic comedy. but he can't focus on the film at all. he finds himself stealing glances at you, his mind wandering back to the moments before, to the way your body had responded to his touch, the needy little whimpers that had escaped your lips.

single father!jeonghan sees how distracted you are, too, and he knows he has to bring it up. he lets the movie play on in the background as he tells you, "we can't just ignore this. it will become a problem if we do. we need to set some kind of boundary, some kind of rule to prevent this from happening."

single father!jeonghan idly plays with a lock of hair that's fallen over your shoulder, almost like he can't resist the magnetic pull drawing him to you. "we can't let this happen again," he says softly. "we need to keep things platonic."

"of course," you murmur. a rueful smile tugs at your lips. "but you're also the one touching me, yoon."

"this is all part of setting boundaries," single father!jeonghan mutters, his fingers leaving your hair to trail down your neck once again. "we have to establish where the line is. no touching like this, for instance. off-limits."

single father!jeonghan knows that you see it for what it is: an excuse. it's evident in how you rest your hand on his knee, how you ask him tentatively, "is this off-limits, too? or is this still okay?"

single father!jeonghan swallows hard before responding. "no. that's okay. that's fine." his legs spread wider, creating more room for you to keep your hand where it is. "just keep your hand there. don't go any lower. no higher, either."

"it's your turn to test my limits," you say, your voice a bit quiet. a bit shaky. verging on delirium with just how much want is undercutting it.

single father!jeonghan can't resist your offer. his hands reach for your hips, tracing every curve that he can reach. soon enough, you're back on his lap, his hands sliding around to your lower back.

single father!jeonghan can feel the heat of your body, the way your chest presses against his, the way your breath comes out in little gasps. "this will be off-limits," he rasps.

single father!jeonghan is a man on the brink, his grip white-knuckled on your thighs. when you give an intentional roll of your hips against it, he just about loses it. his breath hitches in his chest; you're saying something, a strangled whisper of "this will be— hng— off-limits?"

"off-limits," he repeats, his voice strained as you continue to move torturously slow over his lap. "definitely— fuck, definitely off-limits."

single father!jeonghan keeps his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the couch. you're humping him, now, the layers of clothing between you barely providing the friction that you really need. "sweetheart, you have to stop," he manages to choke out. "this isn't—"

"please," you plead, like you're whispering a confession. "just— a little bit. just let me get off on this, yoon, and we'll never have to talk about it ever again."

your fingers are digging into his shoulders, your face half-buried in the slender column of single father!jeonghan's neck. "we don't even have to— ah— do more," you mumble. "just let me use y'for a bit, please? please, honey?"

fuck, that just about kills single father!jeonghan. use him? honey? "okay," he says shakily. "okay, go ahead."

"thank you, hannie, honey," you gasp into his skin. "been so pent-up. just need a quick one. 'm sorry— ah, fuck."

single father!jeonghan sinks his teeth into his lower lip, trying to hold back the moans threatening to tear out of his throat. his hands are all over you, grabbing at your thighs, your hips, your waist— anywhere he can reach.

"it's okay," he grunts out. "you can have whatever you need. whatever you want. that's it— that's it, sweetheart. just let go."

"i'm sorry," you keep gasping against his skin. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm—"

your voice breaks when a particularly rough thrust has single father!jeonghan's clothed hardness brushing over where wetness is pooling at your core. your movements temporarily still as you fight to keep quiet, to regain some dignity. "god, hannie, i'm so sorry."

one of single father!jeonghan's hands come up to cradle the back of your head, holding you gently against him. the other hand moves to your hip, guiding your movements to provide you with the friction that you need.

"don't say sorry. just focus on how you feel, sweetheart. that's all that matters."

"that's it. just like that, darling. don't think. just feel."

single father!jeonghan guides you in moving on top of him. your body is tense, trembling, as you get closer to the edge. he feels a pang of guilt; this isn't going to satisfy either of you, will only complicate things a lot more.

single father!jeonghan pushes all those thoughts aside to focus on you. he keeps his hands entangled in your hair, clutching your waist, as he guides you in grinding down on him.

"just a little longer, honey. you're so close, i can tell."

you're tense, your breaths coming out in little gasps and whimpers. sounds he'll replay a million times later in his mind when he's alone in his own bed.

"that's it. don't hold back. want you to come for me, sweetheart. i need you to."

single father!jeonghan holds you as his soothing words push you over the edge, as you bury your face in the crook of his neck in a bid to keep yourself quiet. you climax with your walls clenching around nothing, your release flooding your underwear.

single father!jeonghan moans low in his throat when you whine out his name. it's a sound that's going to haunt him forever.

he is so, so gone for you, and now he will pay the price for letting this happen.

𓂃🖊 @ssickive | 12:01 a.m.

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors with Benefits: Chapter 14 (Joel x reader)

Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2000

Your mother was busy getting all the side dishes ready for the picnic while your dad packed coolers of beer, soda and water outside and prepped the grill.

“I'll bring these out,” you offered, repeating what felt like a thousand times, “What else do you need?”

You knew your mother had a thousand things to say, and maybe a hundred questions after that. Still, she remained cordial and attempted to seem normal on the surface. You knew by her tightly wound mannerisms that she wasn't even close to portraying that - at least not to you. She might've fooled a coliseum full of people with her mask, but not you.

When everything was set up and less than an hour remained until guests began to arrive, you tried to excuse yourself.

“Okay, I’m going to shower.” You scampered toward the stairs but your mother called you back.

Fuck. You had almost gotten up the stairs, but without stalling made your way back to where your mom stood in the kitchen.

“Do you need any more help?” You tried to butter her up a bit by offering your aid and pressing on a smile, but your mother wasn't having it.

“You need to consider what you're doing, (Y/N),” she warned, “I'm saying it for your own good.”

“Okay,” you halfheartedly agreed.

“I mean it,” your mother went on. “I honestly don't know what other advice to give you. He’s a man. He's married.”

“He's not with Cecille,” you insisted, “Do you really think I'd get involved with a married man? I mean, I guess legally he is but they haven't lived together for awhile and they're getting a legal divorce.”

“You're twenty-three.”

“And I'm able to date who I want to date,” you said without trying to sound confrontational. “Mom, I know on the surface this looks bad. But I'm going to feel this out and see where it goes. If I get my heart broken, it's on me. I have feelings for Joel and he has feelings for me. I’ll deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.”

She stared at you for a long moment before saying quietly. “Okay.” Her white flag was waving and, if nothing else, she was done fighting you on it - for the moment.

A temporary victory. You knew this meant your mother wasn't going to tell your father; not yet. And so you silently thanked her with a closed-mouth smile and took the stairs to take a shower.

***

The picnic had dragged. You checked your phone again and again and again. Joel, you guessed, was refraining from being the one to initiate conversation. You couldn't blame him, and you hoped that was all it was - him being cautious.

What if it's over? You wondered. What if that's it? What if all this scared him off?

Your anxiety got the best of you and you wandered around the side of your house to text him. Your thumbs danced on the screen as you asked how his day was going, if he got in touch with Tommy and if later was still good to meet up.

You chewed on your thumbnail and rounded back into the picnic. It was much to your relief that Cecille hadn't shown up. As the hours ticked by you grew more hopeful that she wouldn't swing by. Still, seeing her car in the driveway next door made your insides twist with a concoction of feelings.

Ding! Your phone sounded off and your head was pulled down like a magnet toward the screen.

Text me a time, Joel texted back to you, remember how to get to the fishing spot?

You typed back without hesitation: Yes. I'll let you know when I'm done here.

All you wanted was to be back with. You wanted to take in his body language, hear his words. You wanted to know that despite what had happened that morning, that everything was alright.

You glanced around the backyard at the scene you would have typically enjoyed. There was a four on four volleyball game going on, two people were playing cornhole, others were talking and laughing around the tables you'd helped your parents set up. Regardless of the smiles, the music, the laughter and the sun shining down on everyone, your smiles were forced and fake.

By the time the last of the guests were waving goodbye, you couldn't wait any longer.

Seven o'clock? You typed to Joel, while helping your parents clean up.

You folded a table in half and began lugging it toward the open bay of the garage. When your phone pinged, you set the table down on the driveway so you could check it.

I'm addicted, you acknowledged. Fuck.

Being head over heels for someone was more than you bargained for. You truly felt addicted to Joel Miller.

I'll be waiting, Joel wrote back.

His words out more pep in your step, and you hurried to lug in the cornhole boards and a second table. Inside, you helped your mother wrap up some of the leftovers and wipe down the countertops before finally hurrying to retrieve your keys and a backpack you prepared.

“Are you going to be home tonight?” Your mother asked. She held your gaze and you shook your head.

“I don't think so “ you told her honestly, “But I'll let you know for sure.” She added, “Is that alright?”

“Like you said, you're twenty-three.” She shrugged. “You can do whatever you want.” Your mother turned toward the sink. “Be careful. And text me.”

“I love you.”

She turned and met your gaze. Despite her outward, quiet concern for the situation she said honestly. “I love you, too.”

On a completely opposite and oblivious note, your father high-fived you by the front door as he entered after putting some things in the garage.

“See ya later, kiddo!”

You smiled to yourself, relieved by his nonchalant demeanor. “See ya later, Dad. Love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

You were out the door a few seconds later, speeding off into the night to meet Joel at your secret location. You needed to see him in the worst way. Despite his agreement to meet, there was doubt that plagued the back of your mind.

What if, what if, what if…

Your foot hit the gas a little harder as you drove from back road to back road until the park came into view. You had to really think to remember a few of the last bends in the road but soon you recognized the wooded area that led down to the lake.

Where is he? Where is he?

Relief filled your core when you saw Joel’s truck in a small clearing. Your stomach filled with butterflies as you pulled up beside him. Joel turned from where he sat in the driver’s seat and he flung his door open almost immediately.

Oh, no, you thought. He has something to say.

Joel looked like a man on a mission. You prepared yourself for the worst. You prepared yourself for the heartache. The other shoe was about to drop. All of a sudden you were scared to get out of the car. Joel's face was too serious. If you just sat there then you wouldn't have to hear his let down.

Stop! You scolded yourself.

You popped open your door and let yourself as Joel rounded the front of your car.

Fuck, he looks good.

Joel was all you thought all about all day - not that that was anything new. He stared at you down with jeans a snug fitting white t-shirt. It hugged his rugged upper in all the right places and your former anxious thoughts were replaced far different ones.

“Hi,” you said to him, folding your hands in front of you.

Joel didn't immediately say anything. He appeared as if he was studying you. You were sure he was far better at it than you were.

He walked the rest of the way to you and you went to speak again.

“Joel, I-” You were cut off when he grabbed your face and kissed you firmly on the lips. You kissed him back, letting your guard down completely in his embrace. Almost immediately it grew heated. Your hands began to wander. He began to snake your shirt up over your head and before you knew it you were nearly naked in the bed of his truck with his body blanketing yours.

“Joel,” you finally choked out, “I want you.”

“I love you,” he voiced in a gruff whisper against your lips before devouring them once more.

“I love you,” you whimpered back. One of your legs hooked around his naked waist and Joel groaned into your mouth.

Everything about the moment was feral and raw and right. Being apart all day amidst the uncertainty and the angst made you needy for one another. As bad as you wanted Joel, you wondered if he wanted you more. It felt impossible, but the way he approached you that evening without even saying a word left you breathless.

Darkness had fully taken over the world when the two of you finished. Even long after your lovemaking was through, your lips touched, your hands explored one another and Joel kissed along your collarbone, neck and shoulders.

Being out in nature completely nude and basking in the afterglow of perhaps the most tender, emotional sex you had ever had was an experience you wouldn't soon forget.

“I was afraid you were going to break things off with me,” you said quietly, kissing Joel’s neck as he closed his eyes beside you.

“I could never do that.”

“Never?” You let your teeth graze his neck as you continued to kiss him there.

“Mmm..” Joel moaned out loud, “Never.”

Laying face-to-face you linked your arm up under his and rested your palm on his shoulder blade. You pulled him close and kissed him. There was no getting enough of Joel. You slipped your tongue past his lips and he eagerly reciprocated. As you made out you felt him harden again against your upper thigh.

“I want you again,” you practically begged, pulling him closer. “Please.” Your hand drifted down to his lower back and Joel rolled his body back on top of yours with your encouragement.

His kiss was smoldering. You pawed your arms around him and tangled a hand in his thick, dark hair. When Joel’s lips parted from yours he kissed down your neck to the tops of your breasts before separating himself from you.

“No,” you begged, pulling him back with a smile as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

Joel satisfied you with a sloppy, closed-mouth kiss. “I'm just reaching inside for some blankets,” he explained, whispering against your lips. Joel pried open the back window on his truck and grabbed a small stack of blankets from the back seat.

You adjusted so he could place a few down on the truck bed and then laid back down flat and pulled him back to you.

Your bodies connected immediately as his lips crashed back against yours. When your lips finally parted to take a breath, you gasped out the words, “Don't leave me.”

Why was this such a problem for you? Even Joel, himself, saying he would never leave wasn't convincing enough. You were too deep into it emotionally and it was making you a wreck inside.

Joel, patient as ever, brought his lips to your ear. “You're mine.” His teeth latched onto your ear lobe and he swirled his tongue around the area. “All mine.”

Your head dropped back in pleasure and you dug your fingers into his back.

New kink unlocked.

CLICK HERE FOR NEXT CHAPTER

@mellymbee @pedropascal111 @axshadows @mybritishstyle @untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @goodvibesonly421 @cosmic006533-blog @ashleyfilm @maybetomorrowgirl @rebeccawinters @cuteanimalmama @vickie5446 @writlingerz @drewharrisonwriter @churchofjoemiller

[sturncakez]

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 ෆ

contains: bsf!chris, plot, smut, oral (fem receiving), n fingering.

reader discretion is advised.

christopher owen sturniolo. your bestfriend, but also the love of your life.

you’ve known him and his brothers matt, nick, and justin ever since you were little.

your father and jimmy have been extremely close since they grew up with each other, and of course passing the tradition along, they wanted their children to do the same. despite you being an only child.

you loved all of the boys equally, of course. but you seemed to gravitate towards chris. growing up you couldn’t tell why, but as you got older it seemed to be more obvious. i mean, look at the boy. he’s perfection.

there were so many reasons why you used this word to describe him. but you couldn’t even wrap your finger around just one.

was it the way his beautiful blue eyes shined in the summertime? or was it the way he was so calm and caring, only when it came down to you? perhaps it was the way you guys treated each other, almost like you guys were soulmates, but with no real feelings attached.

you can go on and on about him. his soft and dark locks that seemed to shine with no effort, his listening skills, eye contact that could and always easily melted your heart away, the way it felt like you guys could talk for ages for hours, or even days. in your eyes he had zero flaws, and as you got older, you realized you were in love with your bestfriend.

ྀིྀི

you’re seventeen now. junior in highschool. you peaked quite early to say the least. you’ve had confidence ever since you were young, but as the years went by it’s gotten better and better.

what type of person would chris be to not notice that? he was your “bestfriend” of course.

you had your own sense of taste and style, and your personality wasn’t like the rest. the last thing you would want to do was fit in with any girl at somerville.

little did you know that this is what made chris fall inlove with you. but you being oblivious, you payed no mind to that. thinking that there was no way in hell that your best friend of 15 years would ever feel the same.

one thing you really liked about yourself was your music taste. you had at least 6 favorite artists, but the neighbourhood being your absolute fave. you listened to them all the time. getting ready, in your car, during class, whenever.

one of your favorite songs by the band was softcore. it was your comfort song growing up, and you felt like you could relate to some of the lyrics given the situation with you and chris.

‘..you’ve been my muse for a long time

you get me through every dark night..

i’m always gone, out on the go

i’m on the run and you’re home alone..’

the lyrics touched you physically when you listened to that song for the first time. it was true. chris was your muse. he did get you through every single dark night. when your parents were fighting almost every single night as a kid, or that time they were so focused on your grades instead of your mental health. you were way too young for all of that to happen to you. chris was the one that got you through all that. no one else. it’s almost like if you didn’t have him you would break.

another reason why you felt so touched by those lyrics is because you were almost always out of the house.

it was an escape from reality for you. whether it was walks in the park, going to parties, or sneaking out. chris on the other hand, was the exact opposite.

ྀིྀི

it was friday, but today was different. you weren’t in the mood for anything today. every few months your body gave out from all of the constant going out you would do. you decided maybe tonight was the night you would be an average teen girl and just stay home and watch movies. you were pretty tired anyway.

you decided to just binge watch 2000’s movies and fall asleep watching baylen levine. those plans seemed to be interrupted though, as you heard a ‘ding’ noise coming from your phone.

confused, because your phone always seemed to be on do not disturb, you checked to see who it was. forgetting that there was only one person that you allowed yourself to get notifications from.

it was chris.

chris: Hey

Was just wondering if you wanted to come over, nick n matt are gone for a bit and i’m pretty bored 😭

If not it’s fine tho

your heart began to pound in your chest as you stayed staring at the message. realizing you had your read receipts on you immediately jumped back into reality and began typing away a reply.

should you say yes? or should you say no? you told yourself you wouldn’t let your crush change anything between you guys but something felt different today..

a feeling lurking inside of you telling you that you couldn’t hold it back.

you started to type away.

you: ofc i’d loved to come over

just give me like 10 mins to get ready

chris: Alr np, just text me when you’re otw

you received a sick feeling in your stomach getting that last text. nonetheless, you got up out of your bed and began getting ready.

you threw on a cropped white tee and comfy sweatpants. it didn’t really matter what you wore around chris, and you didn’t think much of what he thought either. because of this you decided to not throw on a bra thinking it wouldn’t matter, but oh were you wrong.

after throwing on your outift and popping your gold hoops and remaining jewelry in, you put your hair in a low half up, got your belongings, and headed out while texting him you were on the way.

it wasn’t that far of a drive to chris’s, his house only being a few blocks away. you parked in the driveway and contemplated going in.

ྀིྀི

finally, you knocked. letting him know of your arrival.

you could hear his footsteps on the other end of the door, and the clicks and clacks of him unlocking it.

“heyyy! i missed you kid!” he exclaimed joyfully, pulling you into an embrace.

“i missed you too, chris! how have you been?” you replied back, feeling as safe as a baby in their mothers arms with him.

“bored outta my mind honestly man. nick and matt have been out for hours, and fortnite was started to get boring believe it or not.” chris said back as he pulled you in, shutting and locking the door behind you.

“surprised to hear that coming from you chris. so was hanging with best friend of fifteen years a last resort or what?” you said in a playful tone while taking off your shoes.

“kinda didn’t wanna bother you ‘cause i thought you had better things to do” chris replied.

you chuckled and looked up at him. “okay so what now?”

chris sighs. “movie?” he says with a cheesy smile on his face.

“gosh you know me so well” you respond back to him.

“kid i’ve known you since we were 2, ‘course i do.”

silence lingers in the air for a while as you both just stare at each other. a smile starts to creep up chris’s face as he full on lunges towards you and picks up right off of the ground as if you weighed nothing. you squeal “CHRIS WHAT THE FUCK PUT ME DOWN!” as he begins running up the stairs to his bedroom and throwing you down onto his bed. this was one of his many ways to mess with you. “calm down kid i wasn’t gonna throw you that hard.” he replies and starts to laugh his ass off as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

you just start to look at him as he laughs, loving the way his smile is, and adoring the sound of his laugh — which most may call obnoxious.

“you’re insane i hope you know that.” you reply.

after he calms down from his laughing fit that seemed to last ages, a moment of silence begins to brew again. lasting longer than the first time. this time was different though. the eye contact didn’t seem like ‘friendly’ eye contact, but at the same time you never really had that eye contact with each other in the first place.

you start to look down at his lips. and right now, in this moment, they looked as delectable as ever. something about them. the rosy pink color they had, the same one displayed on his cheeks. the way they were plump and looked kissable. so kissable.

a feeling started to brew in your stomach. butterflies.

you could tell chris felt the same way. he looked down at your lips, admiring the brown and pink colors. before you could even get a breath out, his lips collided with yours. the kiss was perfect, more than that. they fit so well together, like a mold. he held your the side of your face as you began to straddle on-top of his lap.

but suddenly, you stopped. “wait chris..i’m not sure if..we should be doing this.” you said as you catched your breath, realizing what had just taken place seconds ago.

“baby it’s fine, i’ve been wanting this, wanting you, for as long as i could remember. you’re fine, i promise.” chris replies.

something about the way he said that..his words. its like you could feel them in your heart. you replied a shy “okay” and smiled as you started to kiss him again. this time the kissed last longer, and began to get steamier and steamier.

chris quickly dominated the kiss, interlocking his tongue with yours. it was messy but you loved it. and it definitely made you wet. chris on the other hand was going insane. more blood instantly began flowing to his dick, making his already erect cock even harder. struggling to hide it, he knew he had to do something. he broke the kiss, making you whine in disappointment.

you got used to the feeling of his pillow soft lips. “i know baby, i know.” chris said as he instantly understood how you were feeling. he began to kiss the side of your lip, then your jawline, moving down to your neck. he started to kiss and suck the soft skin and went harsher and harsher as he went lower and lower.

“can i take this off baby?” he said, motioning to your shirt. “mhm.” you replied, making him frustrated. “i need your words mama.” “yes chris, you can take this off!” you said chuckling a bit. chris’s eyes began to wander and they immediately went to your nipples. them being hard as it was cold in his room. “such a fucking slut not wearing a bra around your bestfriend hm?”

as if you weren’t wet enough, his words immediately had your panties even more soaked. chris dipped his head down as he started to swirl his tongue around your nipples and suck. he began to leave dark purple marks all over your skin, letting you know you were his. a thought began to linger in your mind. were you too young for this? i mean, you guys were only seventeen.

but all thoughts were swept away as chris added stimulation to your clit, using one hand and using the other to massage your right breast. you’ve had only two sexual experiences in your life so far, the first one being a girl and the second a guy, neither being able to satisfy you right. but chris, chris was different. “take your pants off for me ma, panties too.” you immediately obeyed his directions and looked back up at him eager to see what was next “so perfect for me baby, all just for me.” your heart melted.

“lay down f’ me.” you laid down on the bed as you patiently waited for his next move. chris began to take his shirt off and started to kiss all over your body again. starting from your neck down to your stomach, and making the kisses slow and sensual, making sure you were blessed with the right amount of satisfaction. you began to let out whines and moans signaling you wanted more than that, the feeling already being beyond immaculate. chris started to kiss lower and lower and pried open your legs.

he stared for what felt like hours, but was probably only seconds. “oh my fucking gosh ma, you’ve been hiding all this from me?” chris said as he began to lick and suck on your thighs, devouring all the remnants of your arousal. you began to whine even more. that’s when chris ducked his head even lower and began to lick at your entrance. “mmmmm” he groaned at the taste, tasting sweet and saltiness.

he began to flatten his tongue against your clit, making you moan as loud as ever. before you could even get a word out he began to fuck you with his tongue. “h-holy fuck chris!” he started to slurp and suck repeated on your weeping pussy. you looked down at him seeing a mess of your arousal and his spit forming on his face. “yes yes yes! oh myyy, oh my fuck baby” you moaned loudly. “hmmm you like that ma?” chris groaned into your pussy, the vibrations immediately going straight to your core, making you wrap your thighs around his head.

chris instantly put his head up and stared into you. “keep your hips down or i’ll stop. understand?” chris said demandingly. you’ve never seen that side of him, but oh did it turn you on even more. “ ‘m sorry baby just please, please keep going..” your wish was his command as he immediately went back to eating you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. like a starved lion. the dirtiest slurping, slushing, and gushing sounds could be heard from chris’s room. “ohhh my godddd” you moaned, feeling your orgasm start to build up. chris started to suck faster and faster, it was inhumane at this point. he groaned repeatedly knowing it would go straight to your core. “fuck chris i can’t- i can’t take it!” as soon as the words left your mouth and whipped out his fingers, stuck his head up and said “spit.” in the most devilish tone.

you spat into his hand. “good fucking girl.” chris said, as he stuck two of his fingers into your hole that was practically begging to be fucked with his fingers. maybe even his cock. his began to thrust into you slowly letting you get used to the pain, and then started to go faster, as if there was no tomorrow. you squealed and moaned out of intense pleasure not knowing how much longer you could take it for.

not even being able to think straight, chris added a third finger. he stared at your convulsing body and groaned “take it. take my fucking fingers in that tight fucking pussy of yours like the whore you are.” and that was it. those were the last words you heard before you saw flashing of your squirt exiting your body and your vision going white.

chris enjoyed seeing this, knowing that the pleasure he gave you was so intense that you couldn’t even signify him of when you were about to cum. letting you ride out your high, he slide out his fingers and sucked them, moaning a bit. you looked up at him with the most fucked out look in your eyes. “that was. the hottest. thing. i’ve ever seen.”

“i don’t know how i’m still alive after that. that was amazing chris.” you replied in awe. “you’re amazing.” chris said as he began to lean in and kiss you. “you like the way you taste huh?”

you moaned into the kiss signifying your answer. he broke the kiss saying “you did such a good job for me baby. so so good.” you looked at him and smiled. letting out a small “thank you.” “so..where does that leave us now?” chris says.

he didn’t get to finish yet.

- rosa speaks

hi guys this is my very first fic anddd smut. it is loosely based off of the song ‘softcore’ by my favorite artists of all time the neighbourhood!! this is for @annamcdonalds67 writing comp so when i saw this song up there i was so fucking happy. pls lmk what u think of this n if u want a pt. 2 i’ll happily make one.

- also sorry to all the ppl i tagged that don’t like 2 be tagged if they aren’t notified beforehand, i finished this way later than i was supposed to and i was supposed to dm ppl n ask if they wanted to be tagged but i don’t have time. sorry again but i hope u guys like it! ALSOOO COMMENT A PINK HEART IF U WANNA STAY ON MY TAGLIST FOR THE FUTURE 🩷🩷🩷

@musegyra @recklesssturniolo @stunza @sturnphilia @sturnsdoll @pinksturniolo @suyqa @thesturniolos @hoesformatt @mattscoquette @sturnrockwell @sturn777 @slut4chriss @thenickgirl @m9ttsverse @medilovesmatt @stars4chratt @slutz4sturniolos @mattbf

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day One: In His Hands

Logan x Gender Neutral Reader

Tags: MDNI,  18+ ONLY, Set during 2000s X-men, Knife play (Ft. Claws), smut  Synopsis: With Logan deep inside you he can't help but wonder how perfect you would look with his running down your body. WC: 973

A/N: The big day is finally here! The first day of Kinktober😍 Again, this is my first year participating so bare with me as I get into the groove of things! Happy reading my little spooky loves <3

| Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Two |

The night was quiet, the room bathed in a soft, amber glow from the dim lighting, casting long shadows on the walls. It was a stolen moment, one that you and Logan had grasped out of the chaos that seemed to swirl around the mansion. The world outside was full of danger, uncertainty, and mutants constantly fighting to find their place in it. But here, right now, none of that mattered.

Logan's breath was hot against your neck, his body pressed intimately against yours. Every sensation was magnified—the way his muscles flexed under your touch, the low growl in his throat as he kissed you deeply, passionately. His lips moved over yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands gripping you firmly as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart from you even for a second.

You gasped softly as he thrust deeper, your body arching into his, the heat between you palpable. The bed creaked beneath the weight of your entwined bodies, the only sounds filling the room were your mingled breaths and the quiet groans that escaped between kisses.

His hand found its way to your face, rough yet tender, cupping your jaw as he broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with lust but also something deeper—affection, maybe even love, though he’d never say it outright. The connection you shared with him was unlike anything else, raw and untamed, just like him.

"Do you trust me?" His voice was gravelly, rougher than usual, a low rumble that vibrated through you, heightening the tension between your bodies. His question, though simple, was loaded with meaning.

Your heart raced, the intensity of the moment heightened by the weight of his words. You nodded, breathless. "Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, though not from fear—never fear with him. It was the thrill, the anticipation of whatever Logan had in mind.

Without breaking eye contact, Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. You watched as he lifted his right hand, the familiar metallic sound filling the air as his claws unsheathed with a sharp snikt. They gleamed in the soft light, deadly, dangerous, yet somehow beautiful. He lowered his hand to your body, and the cool metal of his claws hovered just above your skin, sending a new kind of shiver coursing through you.

Logan dragged his claws slowly down your body, not cutting, just grazing the surface with the barest of touches. You could feel the cold steel as it glided over your heated skin, the contrast making every nerve come alive. He was careful, deliberate, watching you closely, his gaze as intense as the sharp edge of his claws.

You couldn't look away, your breath hitching with every gentle scrape. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt before—a perfect balance of danger and trust. You knew he would never hurt you, not Logan. Not your Logan.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper filled with admiration, almost reverence. His eyes roamed over your body, following the path of his claws. "You look perfect like this."

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, a low heat pooling deep inside. You could feel his gaze burning into you, devouring every inch of you as he admired the way your body responded to him. He let the claws trace the curve of your side, your hips, down to your thigh, never breaking the skin, but leaving a tingling trail of sensation in their wake.

Your eyes stayed locked on his claws, watching the way they moved, the sheer control he had over them—over you. It was intoxicating, the power he held, but the trust you had in him made it even more thrilling.

Logan growled softly, his lips curling into a smirk as he took in the way your body trembled under his touch. "You like that, don't you?" His voice was teasing, though there was an edge to it, his own desire barely restrained.

You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Yes," you whispered again, unable to form any other words.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Good." Then, in one swift movement, he sheathed his claws and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him, his lips crashing onto yours with renewed fervor.

Logan kissed you like he was claiming you, his hands roaming your body now without the claws, but with the same intensity, the same focus. He thrust deeper, his pace quickening, and the room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, your moans mingling with his low growls as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body moved with his, perfectly in sync, every touch, every kiss fueling the fire between you. You could feel the tension building, the sensation of his earlier touch still lingering on your skin, making everything more intense, more urgent.

And then, with a final thrust and a guttural growl, you both came undone, the world outside disappearing as the pleasure washed over you in waves. You clung to him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you rode out the climax together.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound was the soft panting of your breaths as you both came down from the intense moment. Logan's arms remained around you, holding you close, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he nuzzled you softly.

"You're something else," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough but filled with warmth, his affection for you evident in every word.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you stroked his hair, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours. "So are you, Lo." 

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[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point