#so he could have parties with his friends

[littlechivalry]

Robin had gotten a lot of things from becoming platonic soulmates with Steve Harrington. Rides to school, hair care tips, unrelenting trauma, slightly bitchy dating advice that to her eternal chagrin actually worked, and entree into a weird little family that she couldn't imagine living without.

But also... Robin had to listen to sex talk.

It wasn't bad at first, she had actually gleaned a lot of advice from his stories that stood her in good stead with a few select girls. But then on the Family Video bathroom floor Steve had asked if Robin would be okay with him talking about sex with guys.

She said yes one time and now it was her life.

Steve had spent most of their shift moving tapes around the store, shuffling them into different genres based on what he thought they might be about. It was his standard 'I have something to talk about but I don't know if I can say it' behavior.

"Look," she said flatly. "I'm stopping this now. You have five minutes to sum up the problem and then I don't want to hear it anymore."

Steve put the last tape, a copy of St Elmo's Fire, into the Action-Disaster section before coming back to the counter, sharing his head. "I appreciate the thought Robbie but I don't think you're ready for this."

Robin gasped, ready to take full and dramatic umbrage when a Tasmanian Devil made of leather jacket and cheap sterling silver jewelry banged into the store.

"Babe, did you ask her," Eddie asked, grinning madly.

"Not yet," Steve whined and before Robin could gather her thought she felt two sets of eyes settle on her, one steady and concerned and the other sparkling with glee.

Robin stepped back from the counter and held her hands out in front of her. "I don't know what's going on here but no, I will not carry a baby for you two. Get Steve knocked up the old fashioned way if you want kids."

Steve brightened for a moment before pouting, "You wouldn't want to bring a little Buckley-Harrington-Munson into the world? Wow, Robs."

Eddie lunged forward, pushing past Steve to plant his hands on the counter. "We'll come back to that Buckley, but we have a different issue. We need you to be a completely impartial party."

"We really don't," Steve said. "This is not a big deal."

"I disagree," Eddie said. "I happen to think this is a very big deal."

"Well, and--," Steve said. "Isn't 'big' the problem?"

"It's not a problem for me," Eddie said, leering at Steve.

Robin stepped forward and waved her hands between the two guys, interrupting their creepy eye contact. "Okay, fine, tell me what's going on but make it snappy."

Steve hummed but didn't say anything. Eddie grinned and looked from Robin to his boyfriend and back again. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything Steve's hand was pressed half over his face.

"Eddie wants me to try sitting on his face but I'm afraid I'll, like, suffocate him to death." Steve grimaced and pulled his hand away from Eddie before rubbing it roughly on his jeans. "Gross, Eds."

Robin shook her head while they started squabbling. Steve was her best friend and Eddie was a close second. Part of being a best friend was apparently arbitrating their weird sex arguments.

The squabbling had evolved into a slap fight so Robin took the opportunity to examine them. They were the same height but Steve probably had a few pounds on Eddie. Then again Robin knew Eddie was stronger than he looked. Given the way Eddie hadn't stooped smiling since he walked in he definitely didn't seem intimidated by the idea.

Okay.

"Okay," Robin said sharply. "Knock it off. I decided."

The two boys stopped, Steve's arm locked around Eddie's neck while it looked like Eddie was trying to either give Steve a wedgie or just straight up shove his arm down Steve's acid-washed jeans.

It took a few moments for them to separate and put themselves back to rights before they were finally standing in front of her waiting for a verdict.

Robin looked from Steve to Eddie, then back again. She nodded towards Eddie before winking at her best friend. "If he dies, he dies."

"Thank you, Buckley," Eddie crowed, before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"Where are you going," Steve called out.

Eddie turned back. "I gotta do some stretches, baby," Eddie said, rolling his neck. "I have plans." Eddie blew Steve a kiss before rubbing his hands together and walking out the door.

Robin looked at Steve, his hand still clenched in front of him where he had 'caught' the kiss, a bright red flush on his cheeks.

"I'm gonna marry that man," Steve murmured.

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[tinythebunni]

rafe had his eyes on you for a while. you were new to the island and everyone wanted to be by you. you seemed to have this energy that attracted everyone, like a fucking magnet.

rafe couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you. you were everything he could want in a girl. tall, slim, curvy, shiny skin, beautiful hair, and most of all you were so feminine. he loved a girl he could take care of, provide for even.

he first saw you at the country club. you were clad in skimpy pink bikini with white polka dots, a white bow in the side of your hair, and white flats on. you read some magazine he couldn’t be bothered to even pay attention to. for right now, you were his main object of his attention. you could feel his eyes on you, you usually did.

you’d been here only two weeks and you knew all about the infamous rafe cameron. there were rumors he killed some cop and he had a drug problem.

people said he was one of the most fun people in the world but he would blow up in the quarter of a second. no girl could hold him down and he always got what he wanted. everyone wanted to be him or fuck him.

he’d made slight advances in the short amount of time you’ve been in the outer banks. holding a door open for you, paying for your drink, offering to apply your sunscreen while you tanned at the beach, the whole shabang.

you didn’t give him the slightest ounce of your attention. you wanted him to work for it. obviously you wanted him but you can’t let him know that! if rafe always got what he wanted then he wouldn’t mind a challenge.

you liked this game of cat and mouse you guys played. you didn’t know how much longer you could take it though. your friend daphne had invited you to some kook party at her stupid chad bfs house.

you went of course because rafe would be there. and you wanted him to see you, especially in this outfit. a lacy pink halter neck and pink mini skirt with ties on the sides. it showed just enough of skin to make him crazy. you wanted him to know what he was missing out on.

who knows? maybe tonight you’ll let him have a taste.

after a while of being at the party you started to get a bit bored. there were people making out in the corners, the alcohol tasted shit, and rafe still wasn’t here.

you were slightly buzzed and contemplating walking out when you saw him. he wore only a white wife beater and some denim jeans. what really caught your attention was the way his eyes were immediately on you when he came in.

he looked you over, greeting a few people, but not once did his eyes stray off you.

“top, i gotta go handle something. i’ll catch ya later.” and with that he strides over to you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you into a room upstairs.

you had butterflies in your stomach. after a month he couldn’t take it anymore. you were excited to see what he would do now.

he swiftly locked the door and turned towards you with an almost primal look in his eyes. you giggle as he rubs the back of his neck and glares.

“do you think this shit is fuckin funny? been wanting you for months and you think it’s game. do you know how hard you make me? those skimpy fucking skirts and that coy smile.“

you were positive you looked like a fish out of water right now. you could feel a heat rising in your belly and a blush flushing your checks and neck.

“i didn’t know i affected you that much” you whispered.

“bullshit. i see you close your thighs each time i fucking look at you. can barely focus on anything when you’re near by.”

rafe is stalking towards you now, and you back up more and more until your knees finally hit the bed. he pushes you back until your lying on your back, with only your elbows and forearms holding you up.

he pulls your skirt over your tummy, glancing up at you as he places a kiss on your thigh.

“tell me this is okay. i needa know what you taste like. i can’t fucking stand it. so close to your pussy i can practically feel you on my tongue already.”

you give a shaky nod but that’s not enough.

he pinches the inside of your thigh and shakes his head with disapproval.

“no. baby i need words. use your voice, ain’t even touched you yet so i know you’re not fucked out already.”

“yes, yes rafe this is okay! please i need it” you whine while your lips pout slightly.

he was being so mean right now! is this what it felt like for him all this time?

he places a kiss on your clit over your panties and thumbs at your entrance. he smoothes your arousal over your lips and curses under his breath.

rafe takes his time making you whimper and whine. you push your hips up for some kind of friction, something more than he’s giving you. he uses his left hand to hold you down while his right pushes down on your clit, the pressure making your eyes roll back.

“calm down sweet thing. s’okay. m jus getting you ready. been dreaming bout this and i wanna take my time”

the cameron boy takes off your underwear and pauses. you can’t tell if he’s in awe or disgusted.

“so fucking pretty baby. is this all for me?” he questions as if he doesn’t already know the answer.

“rafe of course it is, do you see anybody else in this fucking room?” you’re mad now, you’re so fucking horny and he’s being a tease!

“alright alright” he laughs, placing a kiss to your thigh and looking up at you one last time.

“not letting you go after this is done. you’re mine.”

[heesimp]

Okay but sex addict heeseung pls pls like he loses his damn mind if he doesn't feel a pussy wrapped around him at least twice a day j gehssjsnsj

I looove the sex addict trope so much like it’s so hot imagining heeseung always wanting to fuck to the point that it’s all he can think about

warnings: mentions of porn (videos + magazines), doggy, use of a pocket pussy, fucking while on a zoom meeting (audio and camera are turned off), unprotected sex, creampie, implied mention of multiple rounds of fucking.

-

Heeseung loves sex.

Sex is so natural for him, the feeling of his cock springing to life makes his heart race because he loves getting himself off and watching himself be covered in his sticky cum. He’s always hard, even when his horniness is simmering underneath the surface.

You’re here to satiate that need with him ever since you moved in next door. One text from Heeseung and you’re coming over no matter the time of day because like him, you worked from home.

He’s supposed to be in a meeting but his cock needs to be wrapped up in something warm and tight. His camera and microphone are muted while he plows into your pussy from behind, one knee on his bed while his other foot is planed beside you to push himself so deep into your hole that you feel him right in your cervix.

“Love this tight pussy,” he moans and grips your ass to push and pull you back into him despite the sound of his manager talking in the background. “I’d fuck you all day if you let me.”

Back when he was younger and first learned how he loved to pleasure himself, he thinks his obsession with sex began when he found porn magazines underneath his brother’s bed just before college. He’s not afraid to admit he stole it out of sheer curiosity and felt his cock harden upon seeing naked tits and wet pussies out on full display for him like that. Heeseung pretended these women were spreading themselves out for him and that alone was enough to make his bedsheets dirty every single time.

College was where he let loose. Heeseung practically bathed himself in sex with the amount of girls he’d meet every single weekend at parties to make friends and get some action. This was the first time he’d been away from home and the unsupervised weeks made for a perfect excuse to get fucked up on the weekends and have sex without abandon. Nobody could tell him what to do and he knows he’s hot enough to get his dick wet at the snap of his fingers.

He’s never met anybody who shares his libido but it doesn’t matter to him much when girls opened up their legs for him. He’s not shy about it at all, eating pussy like he’ll die without it and fucking them like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Heeseung needs to have sex and he needs to have something wrapped up around him at all times of the day. No exceptions.

His best purchase was a pocket pussy when he first moved into his one bedroom apartment without any roommates. Heeseung was free to masturbate whenever he wanted and didn’t have to time the arrival of a dorm mate with his sex sessions. He no longer needed to touch himself in the quiet of the night and didn’t need to worry about how loud he was moaning since there wasn’t a single person who he needed to worry about.

Heeseung would sit in meetings with his camera off and stroke himself with his toy and he’d fuck it during the nights when no one was free to come over. Netflix had nothing on the loud fry of his voice when he’d plunge his hardened cock into the lives toy and it was never enough to cum just once. He knows the tight silicon toy enables his addiction but he really doesn’t care. His favorite way to use it is when he puts his favorite porn videos on his tv and uses it to get off while he puts the toy in all positions on his couch.

Somehow, meeting you the day you moved in next to him felt like fate. He welcomed you into the neighborhood by giving you four consecutive orgasms and the following week made you realize your neighbor loved to fuck.

He abandoned his regular flings for you, telling himself it was the convenience. You loved the feeling is his dick shoved down your throat or when he was lodged inside of your hole, so much that it didn’t matter what time of day it was, you would always be free for him.

You find yourself on your hands and knees more often, especially at this our on this day of the week. This is when Heeseung has an hour long internal meeting that he isn’t needed for but has to attend anyway. It’s the perfect window to have a quick fuck. Heeseung doesn’t even need to text you because you always come knocking on his door when it starts.

“I’m gonna cum again,” he grunts when he watches your orgasm coat his cock. “Fuck, fuck, yeah. I’m cumming baby.”

He stills his hips when he spurts right into you just as his manager shares his screen for a PowerPoint presentation. Heeseung clenches his ass and pushes the rest of his cum out of you, which bubbles around your opening and seeps right back onto his softening cock.

It’s too good to quit. Heeseung doesn’t think he could ever stop fucking.

***

please reblog if you liked it and feel free to send me scenarios and ideas :)

[loulovingho]

Fell asleep then woke back up still pissed, because:

Tim was clear when he decided on bi buck, Tommy was chosen on purpose. Someone who fit in with the team already and could fit in Buck’s life. It solved the outsider problem.

They wrote Chimney talking about how cool he was, made him and Eddie friends, had Eddie invite him to a virtual bday party, had Bobby give a huge stamp of approval saying Tommy was good for Buck, that he was good people. Made a big deal of the wedding/coming out scene.

They could have made this an off screen breakup at the beginning of season 8. Honestly, I would have accepted it better. But they brought Tommy back, showed again how he fit with Buck’s world. Showed there was no hostility between him and Eddie. They showed Tommy going above and beyond for Buck, sleeping on a couch with too small of a blanket, doting on him, staring at him with so much love, “breaking the curse,” etc.

I don’t buy Tommy’s lame excuse for breaking it off. That’s such crappy, high school writing. This man is 40 fucking years old, he’s six months into this relationship, and I’m supposed to believe he just suddenly decides he and Buck aren’t made to last? That Buck needs other partners? Please!

It also pisses me off that they had him get Buck basketball game tickets for their anniversary. He has got to know by now that Buck doesn’t actually like basketball. And why even have Abby be part of it at all? That was all part of the red string of fate theory, so it felt like an extra slap in the face to include it in their breakup.

The whole thing was so poorly executed, and it seems wrong that they had Oliver and Lou do a whole ass interview at the end of 7 to just… go nowhere in 8. Then have Lou do two exit interviews when he’s not a main anyway, so it feels worse to actually hear from him (especially when he seems as genuinely confused as we do).

They should have had it be some random guy. They shouldn’t have made the effort to include Tommy as much as they did. They shouldn’t have mentioned wanting bucktommy to be like tarlos. Shouldn’t have mentioned getting Buck off his hamster wheel. They gave fucking Taylor more time than this, and she spent the majority of her screen time using Buck to further her career.

And someone, somewhere down the line could have made a statement to stop fucking harassing Lou, seeing as they’ve known for at least a few months that he was no “threat” to anyone or anything.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Older

This is for the @6esiree contest that they are holding! I hope you enjoy it, and even if it doesn't perform well, I am glad to have made something long! Word Count 3.5k Alastor x Gen Z Reader Based on Song Older by Isabel LaRosa TW: Sexual content, stubbornness, gen gap, age gap, tentacles, begging

Dying wasn’t the first thing on your list of exciting things to do. I mean, yes, you were a 23-year-old living in 2024, so of course, your will to live was low, but that didn’t mean you were ready for it when it happened. No, instead, death came hard and fast, all because you had some serious FOMO and a quite pitiful YOLO moment. 

One minute, you were having a great night out with friends, you had a handsome silver fox wrapped around your finger, and then the next thing, you woke to a red landscape of what you only assumed was hell. With your life, it made sense why ‘Hell’ was where you ended up. You died partying and sleeping with the older man, so it only made sense that this was where you would consequently end up. 

A deep sigh left you as you looked at the chaos around you. The only good thing you saw so far out of this event was that you didn’t have bills to pay anymore. It looked like as long as you played your cards right, you could get anything here without needing money. As that thought crossed your mind, an ad for redeeming sinners played on a nearby radio. 

The voice on the radio was alluring as all hell and had you questioning your life and undead choices. Not even five minutes into being dead, and you are already fawning over an older man's voice. It's good to know that living habits don’t die with you in the afterlife. 

Your resolve not shaken, you make your way to where the voice spoke of the Hazbin Hotel and find yourself at the base of a hill, looking up at a grand building with flashing lights. A shiver runs up your spine as you realize how powerful whoever runs this place must be. Maybe pretending to want to be saved would be well worth your time, then. 

Let’s get one thing straight here: you are no damsel; you may like your men older, but that doesn’t mean you need one. No, you are an independent queen who can do what she pleases. She just also realizes when to fold and when to hold her hand. Right now, seeking refuge from the fires and sex work was worth it; however, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t earn your keep all the same. 

While you thought about these prospects and made your way up to the door, you noticed it was open without you even having to knock. Pushing your head through more of the door, it was clear to see what type of establishment this was…a chaotic one. 

Just standing in the entryway, the sights before you were hilarious and intriguing. A cat at the bar grumbled as he watched a spider dance on the bar. A young lady resembling a lamb hurriedly tried to stop the provocative dancing while a gray woman yelled at the spider. A cyclops laughed hysterically while tossing what you could only imagine was a bomb. A small woman rushed around laughing and stabbing the air while a man who looked a little like the lamb girl walked through the room. 

The deer caught your eye the most, though, and it seemed you caught his, too, as he was the only one looking at you and your entrance. You two held eye contact, a shiver running up your spine. Oh, you definitely could get used to staying here. 

Nodding more to yourself than the deer man, you walked in further and cleared your throat, everyone stopping to look at you. With a slight wave, you smiled brightly and introduced yourself.  “Heya, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet ya,”

The room was silent, causing you to laugh awkwardly. As you slowly backed away, thinking maybe this wasn’t a great idea, the lamb girl came over and jumped on you. Holding your arms and bouncing, she spoke excitedly. 

“Oh my goodness, a new arrival! Hi, my name is Charlie. I am the hotel's owner,” She beamed proudly at the statement and motioned to the others all in the lobby area of the room, “And this is the Hazbin Hotel residents and staff! The cat is Husk, then Angel Dust, Vaggie, Cherri, Nifty, my father,” She leaned in and whispered, “Also known as Lucifer,” 

Laughing at your surprised face, she pointed to the deer man last. “This is Alastor. He is the hotelier; he helps me run the hotel! Was it his broadcast that brought you in?”

You shook your head at the information overload and laughed softly. Nodding to the question, you looked at everyone around. “Yes, I actually passed not too long ago, and as I was weighing my options on where to go, I heard the message on the radio.” 

Charlie beamed proudly at Alastor, who just smiled at you precisely as he had been this entire time. You couldn’t lie. He was drop-dead gorgeous. He was tall and fit, and if his voice sounded anything like how it did on the radio, you would be a goner for sure. He was an enigma and one you knew you had to be careful of if you wanted to make it out of this hotel with your head screwed on straight. 

“My my, I am quite honored my radio show was able to bring in a petal quite like yourself, dear,” He spoke so smoothly, and you knew right then how right you were; you were a goner. “I do hope you are staying here with us to be redeemed as Miss Charlotte wishes; I am eager to learn…more about you, miss Y/N.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding. Looking at the others, you laughed and began some small talk while they decided where would be the best place to put you. The conversations ranged from how everyone died to how people got here, and you learned more about how hell worked. Learning that Alastor owned many souls only made him more appealing and dangerous. 

As Charlie led you to your room, she made sure to inform you of the dangers of getting mixed up with Alastor. Being mindful of her warnings and the blaring alarms in your head that did not match the alarms between your legs, you made it a goal to avoid falling for Alastor at all costs. Oh, how wrong you were for that. 

Alastor had his eyes on you the minute he felt your presence near the hotel. You were unlike any other woman he had seen. You looked young and still full of life, so how could someone like you have died so carelessly? Not to mention, he did find you oddly attractive, and your calm demeanor was refreshing. He wanted you and in more ways than just your soul.

He knew the best way to any woman's heart was to court her and get her to fall for him slowly till she needed him and him alone. However, you were a tricky one to get under the skin of. You were so damn stubborn and stuck in your ways of being the lead in your own life that allowing him any control seemed futile. However, the challenge you possessed was all the more thrilling to him. 

It started off simple: He escorted you around the hotel. He wanted to lead you around like a gentleman, but you had your own plans. As he talked and explained a specific part of the hotel, your attention was elsewhere in your explorations. 

“Y/N, dearest, are you even paying attention?” he asked you sharply as you looked at the paintings for the millionth time since your arrival. You really wanted to listen to him, but this was kind of boring. After becoming close with the others, you were eager to hear more about their lives than be trapped with the man you swore not to sleep within this proximity to you. 

“Sorry, Alastor. Yes, I am listening. I was just wondering about some of the paintings; they are quite pretty.” You were honest, at least in the fact that you enjoyed the paintings. Someone had a knack for art, and you were not shy to admit it. However, when you soon learned it was he who chose all the art minus a handful, you quickly shut down your praise. 

The next time Alastor tried to win you over and claim your soul was when he began opening doors for you. He never thought the day would come when he saw someone challenge him so brazenly. However, that was probably the day he fell in love with you, as he allowed it to happen.

“Uh…Alastor, what are you doing?” You looked at the opened door with your arms crossed, your body still midstep from when he raced ahead to open the door. 

“I am being a gentleman, Miss Y/N, that is all.” He looked so innocent, but you had heard more stories and learned so much about him from the shadows. He was no innocent man but a cold-blooded killer. You wouldn’t lie, though, that his past and present only made you that more attracted to the idea of him. You wanted him biblically, and it only made you hate his advances more, as you didn’t want to lose your soul. 

“No, thank you, Alastor. I can open my own doors.” You quickly took the door from him, closing it and reopening it before walking through. The look on Alastor's face was akin to pain and frustration. He was not a fan of your independent attitude and was willing to bet he could break you before the year ended. 

Alastor resorted to making sure you always walked on the right side of the road, that your chairs were pulled out for you, and that your food was pre-cut; he even went out of his way to acquire a simple ruby necklace for you to wear so others knew you were accounted for. However, you were stubborn and not taking on his advances. All you would give him was that Cheshire grin and stubbornly push his buttons by mimicking his chivalry with your version. 

When it came to Alastors courting skills and all his advances, you managed to turn them down in the same stubborn way. However, it didn’t go amiss by Alastor that each turn down went from cold and distant worry to more playful and light-hearted jests on your part. Was it possible you were falling for him, too? 

He admitted to himself a while ago, just as you had that the immediate attraction you two felt despite the age and generational gap was mutual. He didn’t know how to break you while you were too worried about becoming his next meal, even though the way he wanted to eat you was not how you were thinking. 

That was until one fateful day when the hotel was barren except you two. You had sat perched in the library reading some trashy romance novel, hoping to get yourself off while Alastor was busy with his work. Busy working till his shadow happened to inform him of what you were reading. 

The book you had chosen was interesting in that the main female lead was a time traveler who managed to end up in the olden times as a helpless damsel needing a strong man to care for her—the complete opposite of what you were as a person. However, you wouldn’t lie that the thought of letting Alastor take care of you wasn’t electrifying; it just went against everything you stood for. 

However, reading the book and getting to the more intense sex scenes where the woman is restrained and taken care of sexually only caused you to feel more of a heated desire for the man who had plagued your thoughts since you made eye contact with him all those months ago. Sighing deeply, you flipped to the next page and moaned softly at the words, wishing it to be you. You wondered how long your and Alastor’s game of cat and mouse would play out until one caved.

Alastor entered the room and looked over your shoulder. He was enamored with you rutting into your leg as you read the heated pages. He smirked as a tentacle wrapped around your throat and pulled your attention up from the book to his eyeline. “My dear, what do we seem to have here?” He practically purred, and you whimpered softly. 

You were already so close to release on your heel that you didn’t realize the pleas coming from your lips. You needed an older man badly; you needed Alastor—someone who would worship your body. As the pleas left your lips, it didn’t take long for Alastor to pounce on you, his pent-up desire for the independent brat growing. 

Alastor wasted no time and already had your sleep shorts pooled at your ankles,  ratty nightshirt hiked up your back and drooping off one shoulder. Your inner thighs were slick and glistening with arousal from your earlier menstruations while reading.

 Alastor hummed in amusement, bending you over the couch, his cold tentacles holding you in place as he moved down your back. His soft breaths tickled you as much as they excited you. He hummed as he saw your pussy in full view, a smile growing on his face. He touched it softly, slick coating his hand as he spoke, “My dear, you are already soaking; you were thinking about me, weren’t you? Thinking about me taking you just like that man does in that book.” He smiled wider, lining his face with your slick. “All you had to do was ask, beautiful.”

A tender hand pushes down on your back, further squishing your chest into the soft plush of the couch arm, his other hand grasping firmly at the fat of your backside where Alastor’s face is lapping at your dripping cunt. Soft mewls cry from your lips, hands reaching back to grasp his head, fingers tangling through the soft red and black locks, being mindful of his ears. He only grunts in response as he continues his onslaught on your most sensitive area.

What felt like minutes and hours at the same time passed; your legs were trembling, knees threatening to buckle under you with three orgasms already coaxed out of you on his tongue alone, milking you of your sweet, slick nectar. Your quiet, strained cries did nothing but aid the tightness in Alastor’s dress pants, his cock oozing arousal in his boxers, dampening the fabric beyond. Every involuntary shift of his hips causes more friction and tension with the fabric, sending a groan throughout your pussy.

Alastors noises vibrate against your cunt, shocking your overstimulated and oversensitive clit. All you can do is cry out as he pushes himself deeper, closer. his tongue is merciless and selfish as he threatens to swallow you whole. At this point, you're begging for him to relent, repeated pleas of his name falling from your lips as the familiar heat builds in your core, and you writhe under his hands. The cold slick of his tentacles digs into your skin as he takes hold of your ankles and wrists now to keep you open. 

Everything becomes overstimulating as the world begins to spin. Your jaw goes slack, and saliva pools in your mouth as it threatens to spill over your swollen lips. Tears are streaming down your flushed face, your hair is frizzy, and your eyes are practically rolling to the back of your head as yet another release washes over you, sending a shudder through your body.

Alastor finally pulls his face away from the space he has claimed as his between your thighs, not without flattening his tongue over your cunt for a last taste gathering all of you he could. The tentacles held you tighter as he smirked and sat upright, admiring the mess he had made of you. A slick shimmer on his face as he licked his lips, “Delicious, better than any venison I have ever had, dove.”

As he stands up, his hand on your back pushes you back onto the couch arm. He kneaded the flesh of your backside, groaning at the sight in front of him. His hands meet your hips, pulling you back on his clothed erection. A small yelp escapes your lips at the friction against your sensitive area. Your frayed nerves against the soft material that soaks up your arousal and previous releases. 

You whine as he rocks his hips slowly, grunting as he watches the material dampen quickly before he pulls away from your hips. His movements are hasty, and he does not waste any more time as he uses more tentacles to help not only hold your wiggling form but also get his clothes off him. He liked this sight of your half-dressed attire as he held purchase over you, dominance you refused till now to give up.

Once he was undressed, he bleated softly at the warmth of your puffy, swollen folds as he rubbed his cockhead up and down your pussy before catching your willing slit. He groans at the tightness that welcomes him; the slick, clamping, spongy walls that pulse around his dick almost milks him of every last drop of cum. 

Your voice is hoarse, almost gone by the time his cock is sheathed in you, his cockhead brushing your sweet spot as you feel him abuse your need for him. You can feel every prominent vein of his cock against your spongy walls; they're practically ingrained in you as your pussy is molded to take his dick.

A creamy, white circle forms at the base of his cock as he pushes his length inside, his girthy dick stretching your weeping pussy with loud, lewd squelches. He doesn't give you time to compose yourself. He's selfish tonight, unapologetically so, because you had been toying with him for too long. After almost a year of cat and mouse, this is finally how he takes you. You drove him mad.

It isn't long until your backside is red, his hips pistoning into your sopping cunt, the sight of your slick pussy swallowing his red, angry cock so needily, sucking him in so desperately and clamping around him was addicting, and the feel even more so. His pace isn't lovely; he's mean, relentless, and bruising.

"Fuck sweetheart, so needy for me; you could have just told me how much you wanted this from the get-go. Saved us both precious time," he whined in your ear, his cock drilling into your tight hole as he nipped at your earlobe. Claws out, he uses his hands, kneading the fat of your ass, a sharp slap to your skin causing it to turn even more flushed and red as he fucked himself stupid using your cunt.

He was growing more and more pussy-drunk, drool forming in his mouth and pooling in his permanent smile, leaning over to place his lips onto the expanse of your shoulder. He pressed lewd, wet kisses against your supple skin, adding to the marks and bruises from his teeth as his demonic form began to take precedence.

With how hard he was holding on to you with his hands and tentacles, you were covered in bruises. He was marking you as his not only with chivalry and jewels but pretty marks that will mar your skin for weeks. He tightened his hold around your throat, pulling you up to a sitting position. He pumped into you harder, watching your stomach grow with his length in you. He groaned heatedly as he transformed more; his hand was pulling you up while his other hand began pushing down on the spot on your belly where he was poking through. 

As you both whined and felt relief, he growled in your ear, “I will make you all mine, my Doe. Not a single person can have you now.” He pushed harder for a few more pumps before you two were spilling over one another. He filled you to the brim, his seed spilling out before he could even pull out of you. With a satisfied hum, he let his body slowly return to normal as he slid out. 

You were fucked out beyond belief. He smiled, gently picking you up and placing your clothes back on you. He held you in his arms and sighed, acting as if he didn’t just release eons of pent-up sexual tension on you. He snapped his fingers, redressing, and walked with you in his arms to his chambers. There, he would repeatedly remind you who you now truly belong to. Soul or not, he was the one to dominate the disobedient brat you were.

[withwritersblock]

Those Eyes

~Those Eyes by New West~

Author's Note: idk! tehe as always italics are flashbacks Summary: Y/N surprises Luke after a long few months near the end of his rookie season Warnings: implied smut, swearing Word Count: 3,887 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

The exhaustion on his face was heartbreaking enough. The loss was probably one of the hardest games she’s ever watched. The second half the roster left the ice within the first two seconds she knew it was going to be a long night.

They fought hard and almost tied it late but the game ended in a disappointed loss. The camera panned towards Luke dart towards the tunnel with his head hanging low. Her shoulders hung low as she dropped her head into her hands. 

She wanted nothing more than to hug him and hold him. 

A groan fell from her lips as she took a deep breath. She stood up and wrapped her dark blue blanket around her body as she stumbled out of her bedroom. The blanket was draped acrossed her shoulders as she snuggled the ends against her chest. 

“How’d it go?” her roommate and best friend, Hannah, said as she saw Y/N walk out of the room. 

“Bad,” she let out as she wandered towards the kitchen, in desperate need of an alcoholic drink. “Luke looked so tired,” her voice cracked slightly. 

“Shit,” Hannah muttered as she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. 

The party was in full swing and Luke spent most of the night trying to find Y/N. She promised that she was going to be there but not until after eleven. It was well past eleven and he couldn’t find her. 

Y/N texted him ten minutes ago and he was on the hunt for her instantly.

They were in a new relationship, only a few weeks but he was desperate to find her. There was barely any room to move or breathe. Shoving through the crowd, he kept shouting apologize yet no one seemed fazed by his efforts. Shimming his shoulders to the beat of the song every time he squeezed through a group of people to pretend like he was having a good time.

He would be having a good time if he could find her. Pressing his lips together he scanned the party. He was taller than majority of the crowd, so it was easy to scan the crowd. He brought his beer towards his lips as he bobbed his head to the music. Eyeing the crowd, he saw his teammates happily dancing with random girls they met just that night. 

He ran his fingers through his hair as he continued to scan the crowd, a couple of girls met his gaze. Smiling or shyly looking away, none of them were even close to his girl.

After a few seconds, he finally found her. It was as if time stopped once he saw her, she slowly turned her gaze towards him. Smiling widely towards him, she leaned away from the wall she was against. His heart jumped into his throat as he smiled widely. 

He began stumbling through the crowd, still shouting apologizes as he squeezed through a large crowd of his teammates. He looked up hoping to see her but he couldn’t, until he felt a tap against his arm. Spinning around, he met her gaze.

“Hey!” he shouted as he admired the way her lips curled up into a grin.

“I didn’t realize how crazy this was going to be!” she shouted back. Luke nodded as he rested his hand onto her lower back, subconsciously pulling her towards him. 

Leaning down, he whispered against her ear, “Do you want to stay out here or go somewhere quieter?” 

He pulled away, meeting her gaze. She pressed her lips together as she waved her finger towards him. He leaned back down as she delicately took a hold of his jaw. “Can we get a drink before we disappear?” she pulled back, her hand still holding his jaw. He immediately nodded. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her towards the kitchen.

They bumped into a handful of his teammates and they were forced into conversations for a while before was able to get a drink. Even after she got her drink, she nearly finished it before they disappeared into his room.

He shut the door and the music instantly got quieter but it was still shaking the floor slightly. Luke smiled awkwardly towards her as he wiped his hand across his nose. She took another sip of her drink as she kept looking towards him.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Luke asked as he stepped towards her, taking a hold of her waist. He stole the drink from her and placed it onto the night stand beside his bed. He stumbled back towards his bed. She raised her eyebrows suspiciously, “A Friends marathon,” he let out as his legs hit the back of the bed, nearly forcing him to fall onto his back. 

She barked out a laugh as she rolled her eyes playfully, “I could always watch that,” she mumbled as she climbed over him, laying beside him. He looked towards her, smiling softly as he began to pull up the TV show. 

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbled as she happily laid in his arms.

Y/N took a hold of two White Claws and walked towards the living room. Hannah eyes widened as she held out her hand excitedly for the drink. Y/N tossed it towards her. They both popped open their drinks as she sat down beside Hannah. She draped the blanket over the both of them.

“You know, spring break is next week. You should go visit him,” Hannah offered before she brought the drink towards her lips. Y/N tilted her head back and let out a groan.

“I don’t have the money for that,” Y/N mumbled as she tilted her head against the top of the couch. Shutting her eyes, an image of Luke on the bench. Defeat written all over his features. 

“You know who does,” Hannah expressed, “Your boyfriend.”

“I am not going to ask him for money,” she let out before she brought the drink towards her lips. Hannah let out a long dramatic sigh as she smacked her hand against the couch dramatically. 

“It’s not asking him for money if it’s to visit him,” Hannah let out. Y/N pouted her lips as she tilted her head against the top of the couch. “Sounds like he really needs it,” Hannah urged. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “I need it too.” Y/N shifted her gaze towards the TV to see a movie on the screen. It was one of her favorites and it was one of the new ones on Netflix. 

Hannah shifted her gaze towards Y/N, frowning slightly before glancing back towards the screen. Hannah clenched her jaw as she frowned slightly. Y/N pulled her phone from her hoodie pocket, glancing at her phone screen to see a photo of Luke and herself.

It was a photo from one of his frat parties, the lights were dark and it was nearing the end of the party. They were both asleep on the half broken couch, they were facing one another, Luke’s hands were wrapped around her body. One of his hands were on the base of the neck and his other was low on her hip. Her arms were around his upper body. In the photo, Dylan was tossing a blanket over them in the live photo and Mark was giggle as he took the photo.

Blinking rapidly, she felt her eyes start to well up in tears. She turned off the screen as she tilted her head back up to meet Hannah’s eye. There was a look in her eye that felt as though she was right. 

After a few seconds, her phone started to ring. Pulling her phone up to see Luke was calling her. 

She shot up, staring at his contact photo for a moment. It was a screenshot of him on FaceTime after he scored his first goal. He was smiling and laughing and so happy. It’s been a little while since she’s seen him like that.

Jumping off of the couch, she tossed the blanket towards Hannah. She brought the phone towards her ear. Neither of them said anything at first. Y/N walked towards her bedroom.

Luke took in a sharp breath as he sniffled. 

“Luke, are you back at the hotel?” she questioned, before swallowing hard. He hummed. Shutting the door behind her, she immediately collapsed onto her bed. “Are you okay?” she asked. 

“No,” he choked out, “I’m so tired and I want the season to be done and my body fucking hurts,” he explained as he started to cry. She’s only seen him cry tears of joy. “I don’t know how to do this, I can’t do it anymore-it’s too much. I just want to go back to school and you. I just want to go back to you,” he sobbed. “I can’t do another year of this,”

He took another sudden breath and another sob falling from his lips. 

“Lukey, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, “The season’s almost done, my love-”

“What if I don’t make it?” he let out, his voice completely cracking in the process. 

“M-make what?” she let out while shaking her head. It was silent on his end of the phone as she heard him sniffle and take a deep breath.

“I’m supposed to be as good as Quinn and I-I can’t and the fans hate me,” 

“They don’t hate you, Luke,” she tried to comfort him. “You’re a Calder contender, Luke that’s incredible, love, you’re almost through the toughest year in the league. You’re getting through this,” she explained, trying not to tear up. 

“When do you graduate again?” he let out, his voice cracked.

“Decemember,” she mumbled, “Barely a year left, my love.”

“I can’t do another year without you,” 

That was the moment she realized that she needed to visit him when he was back in New Jersey. For the next hour she was on the phone with him, calming him down. There wasn’t much of anything that she could say that truly could make him feel better. He was so exhausted that he ended falling asleep while on the phone with her.

After Luke fell asleep, she immediately called Jack. It ran a few times before he answered. “Uh-hey, Y/N?” he let out groggily. 

“Hey Jack, I’m sorry that I woke you,” 

“‘S cool, what’s wrong?” he muttered. 

She took in a shaky breath, “Luke’s really struggling and I was hoping you could help me with something,” she mumbled. There was shuffling on his end of the phone.

“Do you need money for a flight? I’ll do anything, the kid is miserable,” he let out a dry chuckle before he continued to shuffle on his end of the phone.

Taking in a deep breath, “Yeah.”

“Okay, so we come back late Saturday, can you be here by then? Our neighbor has an extra key. I’ll let him know that you’ll be there to grab it,�� he explained.

“Wait really?” she asked.

“He needs to see you. I’ll keep it a suprise,” he expressed. “Just let me know how much the flights are,” 

“Thank you Jack,” her voice cracked as she spoke.

The party was nearing it’s end but Luke and Y/N were already in his room. It was normal for them to disappear near the end of the parties. Or in the middle of the parties. Or in the beginning of the parties. It was something they’ve been doing since the first party she attended six months ago.

He was laying on the bed, his hands were resting beneath his head. Sitting up, she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. Her lips fell into a pout as she delicately glided her hands across the curve of his abs line. 

Pouting his lips, his eyes flickered up and down her frame. The small skin tight dress was starting to ride up her thighs. More and more of her skin was starting to get exposed. Swallowing hard, he tilted his head to the side. Pulling his hand away from his head, he took a delicate hold of the side of her thigh. He began to absentmindedly rub against her skin. 

“Do you want to change into something comfier?” he asked as he ran his hand higher and higher. A small smirk formed to her lips as she leaned towards him. Her hands slowly glided up from his abs towards his jawline. Her fingertips glided so softly, his skin started to erupt in goosebumps. 

His lips curled upward slowly as she slowly climbed onto his lap. His cheeks started to flush red as he continued to look towards her. 

“I don’t really have anything here,” she mumbled as she slowly leaned towards him. His hands slowly slipped down towards the back of her thighs. He squinted his eyes slightly as he fought the smile that was starting to form on his lips.

“I’ve got clothes. Pretty comfy clothes. I mean I think they’re pretty comfy,” he mumbled as he took in a sharp breath. She giggled as she leaned towards him, delicately pressing her lips against his. He hummed against her lips as his slowly ran his hands up the back of her thighs, climbing higher up her dress. She pulled away, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“Well give me some options,” she muttered before pressing her lips against his again for a few seconds. He smacked his hands against her ass forcing a giggle from her lips. “Luke!” she scolded as she climbed off his lap. 

He fought off a grin forming to his lips as he followed after her. Stumbling towards his closet, she adjusted the bottom of her dress. Biting his bottom lip, he started looking through his t-shirts and hoodies. 

“O-or you could just take the dress off,” he said shyly. Looking down towards her, she looked up towards him widening her eyes while fighting off a smirk.

“Are you trying to get me naked?” she let out teasingly. He pursed his lips forward, a blush forming to his cheeks. 

“I didn’t-I mean. If you don’t feel comfortable or-”

“Luke,” she teased as she rested her hands onto his arms, “I was messing with you.”

“Right,” he muttered as he took in a sharp breath as he reached into his closet and pulled out a random t-shirt. “It’s-um pretty comfy if you want-” he let out.

She smiled up towards him as she took a hold of the shirt. She stepped backwards, looking into his eyes. “Can you help me?” she asked, smirking softly. Slowly, she spun around and pulled her hair away from her neck. Luke swallowed harshly as he felt his heart racing suddenly.

“Are you sure? I was technically kidding-”

“Luke,” she whispered.

“Right,” he let out as he slowly reached his hands towards her. He delicately rested his hand onto her hip while he reached for the zipper. He clenched his jaw nervously as he slowly started to glide the zipper down her back. Once it was completely unzipped he kept his hands on her waist. “Can I?” he asked barely above a whisper. She hummed.

Stepping towards her, he slowly glided his hand up her back. He slowly began to push the dress off of her body. Leaning towards her delicately pressed his lips against her shoulder. Tilting her head back, she rested it against his chest. Slowly the dress fell from her frame. Luke’s hands happily wrapped around her body as she spun around to face him.

Looking up into his eyes, he felt his heart jump into his throat. “Is this okay?” he let out. She nodded as he leaned towards her kissing her softly yet urgently. Reaching down, he took a hold of her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she jumped up wrapping her legs around his waist. He walked towards the bed and delicately laid her onto it.

She looked up towards him with those eyes that he could never get tired of seeing. He smirked as he climbed on top of her, urgently leaning down and kissing her passionately.

She had been pacing in Luke’s apartment for nearly an hour as she waited for both Jack and Luke to enter the apartment. Jack explained that after they landed in the airport, they would be back at their place within the hour. Which she found out was a lie because it’s been much longer than an hour and she needed to hold him. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she quickly pulled it out to see a text from Jack. They were almost up from the parking garage. She took in a deep breath as she continued to pace in a short three step cadence.

Her body was engulfed in tingles as she was starting to breath heavier and heavier. This was the first time she’s even attempted a surprise like this and she was feeling the pressure.

Especially since Jack had been texting her since they planned it, telling her how much Luke needed to see her. How much he needed this surprise. It was everything for both of them.

She heard keys outside of the door and Luke’s laugh. 

She stopped moving, nearly stopped breathing. She stood awkwardly a handful of feet away from the front door. 

The door was pushed open and Jack was the first one to step inside. He had a wide grin on his face as he nearly hopped away from the front door, holding his phone up excitedly. 

Luke’s gaze was on his phone as he walked inside. Abesentmindedly slipping his shoes off and rolling his suitcase to the side. He shoved his phone into his pocket at the same time she felt her phone vibrate in hers. 

Luke lifted his gaze to see her standing in the living room. Their eyes connected and it felt like time stopped. 

His mouth fell open as stood in shock for only a second. “Oh my god,” he mumbled as he began to blink rapidly. His lips started to quiver and fall into a small pout as he took fast steps towards her.

A giggle fell from her lips as he held his hands out widely as he practically leaped towards her. He completely submerged her body in his as he urgently took a hold of her. She wrapped her arms around the center of his back. 

“Oh my god,” he let out as he shut his eyes harshly. One of his hands took a hold of the center of her back as his other one took a hold of her head, holding her tightly to his chest. 

He didn’t let go, he couldn’t because if he did let go, she could be gone and he could wake up from a dream. 

“Fuck,” he let out as he pulled away, but kept his hand on her lower back and he moved his hand to the base of her neck. Scanning his features, she saw a few tears fall onto his cheek. Quickly, he submerged her in a bear hug again, still afraid of letting go. 

Still holding her to her chest, he shifted his gaze towards Jack; who was no longer recording. He was simply smiling as he leaned his head against the wall. “Did you know?” he asked Jack. He simply nodded before he started walking towards his own bedroom. 

After several more seconds, he finally pulled away. His hands were still rested on her waist as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he mumbled, “I can’t-” he shook his head as a wide smile formed to his lips. Bringing his hands up, he wiped the tears falling from his cheek. “Cried twice this week, new record I think,” he joked as he reluctantly stepped away from her.

She pouted her lips as she watched he jog towards his suitcase quickly before he began dragging it. He held his hand out towards her and she gladly accepted it. They both began to walk towards his bedroom. He dragged the suitcase into his room, leaving it next to the door before he shifted his gaze towards her. 

“You’re actually here,” he mumbled.

“I am,” she let out barely above a whisper. He smiled softly as he rested his hands onto her cheeks and pulled her towards him. He kissed her as if a bomb was about to go off if he didn’t. His entire body relaxed the second he felt her lips on his. 

It was almost as if every ounce of tension, body pain, and exhaustion left his body. Her hands rested on his chest as also felt her entire body relax. He pulled away, taking a small breath as he rested his forehead against hers.

“You have to tell me how you and Jack pulled this off,” he muttered before he stepped back. A chuckle fell from her lips. He pulled the winter jacket away from his body, his cheeks were flushed red. She sat down on the bed looking up towards him.

“After the Rangers game and after we talked, I called him and he helped me with getting a flights until Wednesday. I couldn’t not see you after that,” she explained. He tiled his head to the side for a moment before he took off his hoodie. He tossed it towards the floor before he stepped towards her. He took a hold of her chin. 

“Best girlfriend ever,” he mumbled half joking as he looked into her eye. While maintaining eye contact she scooted away from him, lying at the center of the bed. He quickly climbed on top of her. A giggle fell from her lips as his body weight was crushing her for a brief moment. He rested his head in the crook of her neck, as she ran her hand up and down his back slowly. Her fingertips sent shivers up and down his body. 

Every few seconds, he’d sleepily press his lips against her neck. “Lukey,” she muttered. 

He hummed.

“I love you,” she whispered. She could feel him smile against her neck for a few seconds before he lifted his head up to meet her eye. Leaning down, he kissed her softly as he began to hold himself up as their lips remained connected. 

Her hands started gliding through his hair, as he slowly pulled away. His lips were still hovering over hers, “I love you so much,” he muttered before he pecked her lips a few times before he reluctantly rolled onto his back. He began to slip under the comforter, she followed in pursuit. 

“If I didn’t have a game tomorrow, we would be busy but-” he explained while rolling onto his side to face her. Following him, she faced him as she reached her hand over and delicately took a hold of his cheek. He shut his eyes as his lips slowly curled upward in a small smile. 

“I know, my love, sleep good,” she whispered. He bit his bottom lip as he reached towards her, taking a hold of her thigh and dragging her body towards him, practically on top of him. 

“Oh I will,” he whispered before he pressed his lips against hers for a long moment. “You really are the best, you know that?” he whispered against her lips. 

[rafesbangs]

seeing toxic!rafe at a party after you've broken up (again)

you'd just be doing your own thing, dancing and enjoying the party with your friends, swaying around as you do to whatever song you convinced whoever was on aux to put on.

rafe would be in the corner, sitting with some friends he came to the party with, silently taking swigs of a beer as topper and kelce talked about something he wasn't interested in. his gaze would be totally fixed on you but he'd remain where he is, trying to cook up a plan of action.

you would have no idea that he would be there, he usually stays away from you for a while when you break up or have fights. he didn't want to stay away this time, he was getting more and more possessive. that would've been what your fight was about, him needing to hear from you every second of the day if he wasn't there with you.

after a while you would walk off to find another drink or the bathroom and you'd disappear out of rafe's view, causing him to get up and follow a little behind you.

you'd end up somewhere where there aren't a lot of people and he'd say your name, just seemingly appearing behind you. you'd jump nearly sky high out of shock but then your brow would furrow and you'd demand to know "why the hell (he) thought coming here was a good idea."

he'd shrug and shift closer to you claiming he just wanted to see how you were doing because he worries about you, and the two of you would get into a little argument again about how you feel like he doesn't trust you. how he's obsessed with your whereabouts and you feel like you're constantly being watched.

"i love you y/n. that's why. i worry 'bout you constantly 'cause i'm fuckin' in love with you... an' you're right, 'm obsessed with you"

he'd get closer and closer but you'd allow it, listening intently to his words as his pupils grow wide.

he'd kiss you ravenously and you'd kiss him back, eventually you two would end up in one of the bedrooms of whoever's house party it was and he'd demolish you. rough rough sex but at the same time he'd just keep telling you how obsessed he is about you. how he wants you forever.

he'd moan into your ear when he's cuming inside you, telling you he wants you to have his babies, telling you he'd marry you so he could fuck you like this every night in your own mansion.

and then you two would end up getting back together again, hopefully for longer this time.

[katiascraft]

"This is how you fall in love" | OP81

parings: Oscar Piastri x Reader.

Summary: Oscar is truly, madly, deeply in love with you.

Now playing: "this is how you fall in love" by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler.

Word count: +1,2k

Warnings: I think none just pure fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many errors). I do what I can. Not proofread.

Authors note: hey I don’t even know if this is good - I really hope it is - but I needed to write about Oscar SO BAD. (Btw is Yale in New York? Forgot to look it up). Update: I changed it. Yale it’s no even near to NYC 🤣 I’m a mess. Don’t forget to comment, like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

It was a sunny morning in Monaco. The quiet of the city could still be appreciated. You were asleep on the bed you shared with Oscar. It was your first night here since you haven’t seen each for the last time about 1 month or maybe almost 2. Time is a difficult thing to be aware of with his schedule to be honest.

Both of you had really busy lifestyles yet managed to build this relationship. Mostly it was a long distance relationship. He was traveling and working the whole year. And you were a student at Ivy Columbia University in New York City. As students it was difficult to find a gap between your exam and classes that fitted the races. You tried your best to always be there for him. Even if it was through the phone after the race. And for him that was really considerate.

You didn’t even have time to breathe when it was exams season yet you still find time to call and check on him. He knows it’s an obvious thing you’re supposed to do with people you love. But still he really appreciates it.

He was so happy and grateful you were finally together. Because you don’t see each other that often - every moment you spend together it’s so intense and pure magic. You do everything you could think of before saying goodbye again and part ways. It was the hardest part of your relationship. You said goodbye to each other so many times it anxiety breaking. He just never could get enough from you, from being with you. He has never felt this way about anyone and the fact that it’s been 4 years of being side by side it was crazy to him. How he would never get bored of you. You were always so intriguing, unpredictable, witty. You were the opposite when it came to what others could see. But behind close doors in your little magical and full of love world - you two matched each other's crazy perfectly.

Oscar is an introvert and really shy when it comes to interactions with people, always feeling nervous and so polite. You were always loud and could talk even with a wall if you wanted to. Always the life of the party so extroverted. You were the opposite but the same in a way. You would get so shy around him giggling like the teenager you were since you two met. And he could be the best at flirting and teasing around you. You made him feel so comfortable in his own skin and he just got loose and relaxed. Could be the real him with you. And just for you.

In your little beautiful world you wouldn’t stop talking about everything and anything. Joking around and teasing each other just to end up having sex in the living room. The chemistry between you two was unmatched. Behind your four walls he was the most confident man and you were as well. Bringing the best of each other out. Just for the other one. You were sexy, fierce, not afraid of anything. He made you feel even powerful.the way he always uplift you when you needed him the most and the fact that you could be so vulnerable knowing he won’t judge. He never did. He knew the real you and embraced it. His love changed you so much. He is the best thing that ever happened to you. And you were his. Oscar with you was kind of another person. It was him of course but intensified. Open and free. You gave him that space, that safety. And he adored you so much for that. Being himself it’s something he struggles with most of the time. Shying away. But with you by his side he could be the life of the party too.

He loved watching you study so concentrated. He would join you in silence, maybe by reading a book, or preparing your favorite tea in moral support. Or he would just sit in silence admiring you. How the sun would reflect on you and how it could make you shine even more. How perfect you’d look. And how that could make his heart race high speed. He would feel so lucky to have you. The comfort he felt was so big. He would want the time to stop right there and live stuck there forever. With you. Also, he loved the way you showed him so much love. He loved your homemade cakes and pies. You were so good with pastry. It was your inside joke. Because you were so good with him as well. He sometime would join you and try to help just to fail miserably and start a flour fight. The kitchen ended up in a mess but you were giggling and enjoying yourselves. Everything was worth it.

He really loved sharing activities together. Whether it was a paddle match against George and Carmen or Maria Kart battles with Lando. Also you loved hiking together and discovering new places around Monaco where you could escape reality and plan picnic dates. He loved that you got along so well with his friends and family. Since day one it felt natural. Everyone was welcoming of you. He was so nervous about it. But it was perfect because for him you were.

He heard you coming down the stairs just in time for the breakfast he had prepared for you both. You appeared with your hair in a mess and sleepy eyes. His tshirt on and your boxers of lighting mcqueen. You looked so adorable. Squishy. he smiled widely at you. And you returned the smile hugging him tightly.

“Good morning sleeping beauty” he said sweetly, grabbing you in his arms and kissing your temple. He heard you giggle.

“Good morning my Prince Charming. How grateful I am to wake up next to you for the rest of my life” you said teasingly and romantically looking at him. He giggled blushing. A soft pink tone now on his cheeks. You always had that effect on him.

“and how grateful I am to have you in my arms every morning for the rest of my days” he said just like you making you giggle to then plant a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you,” he said, pulling away gently.

“Me too my love” you said softly.

You two took all of the things he had prepared with so much love to the table by the pool. The morning was beautiful and warm. Perfect. He put all of your favorite fruits and prepared your favorite cappuccino as well. He is always on the details. He remembered everything about you. You didn't have to ask - he already knew. He was perfect. Perfectly imperfect. There was no other man like him. You were sure about it. And you felt really lucky he even looked at you. These past few years were everything and more of what you could ever have dreamed as a kid. You always wanted to have your special someone - but you never thought you would find him.

You had your breakfast talking about what you were gonna do for the day.

Maybe this is what it really feels to fall in love.

Peaceful. Comfortable in silence. Not overthinking. Just being you and feeling loved. Feeling seen. Feeling celebrated. Cared for. Being chosen. The one. The bestest of friends. Your shoulder to cry on. Laughing until crying. Hugs and more hugs. Plasire. Deep talk. Vulnerability. Partnership. Support. Admiration. Trust and communication.

Giving a part of you to someone else to carry everywhere they went trusting they will never break it.

Maybe this is how you fall in love.

How you two fell in love every single day.

——————————————————————————————-

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[amethystarachnid]

BET

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)

ᯓ★ Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene

ᯓ★ AU: college au

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows he’s going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, which—based on the collection of red solo cups by their feet—might be a while.

They’re all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Bucky’s arm, catching his attention.

“Bet you couldn’t last a month with someone like her,” Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.

Bucky glances up, following Sam’s gaze until he spots you. You’re perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. He’s seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. There’s something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know he’s more the type to go for a party girl—someone loud, someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.

“What, the bookworm?” Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends don’t let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.

“You’re always chasing the same type,” Steve chimes in. “What are you afraid of, that she’d actually challenge you?”

Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge that’s always lurking just beneath his smirk.

“All right,” Bucky finally says, shrugging. “I’ll do it. One month.”

His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomach—a feeling he’s not used to. He brushes it off. It’s just a game, a challenge. It’s not like he’s actually going to care.

The next day, you’re tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesn’t match the usual quiet of the space.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.

You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’ve seen him around campus—he’s hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.

“Sure,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. You’re used to people mostly ignoring you here. It’s your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.

“You look like you’re buried in work,” he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. “What’s got you so busy?”

You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. “Just…assignments. Trying to keep up with everything.” You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.

“What’s your major?” he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people don’t bother to ask; they assume or don’t care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, you’re telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.

It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into you—at the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, you’re wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.

And Bucky? He’s surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. There’s a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like he’s someone worth knowing.

He tells himself it’s just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows he’s starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.

It’s been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, he’s found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself it’s harmless—he’s just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows he’s lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.

One night, back at the frat house, he’s lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.

“So, Barnes. How’s it going with the bookworm?” Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isn’t so easily deterred. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings.”

Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. “It’s going fine. Like I said, a month’s no problem.”

Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, you’ve got to take it further.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “Further?” He has a bad feeling about where this is going.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Buck. You’ve been hanging out with her, sure, but we’re talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you know—” He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Sleep with her,” Sam adds bluntly, laughing. “Seal the deal, and there’s two hundred bucks in it for you.”

Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself it’s just a stupid bet. He’s done things like this before—gotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. He’s Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesn’t do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feel…off.

“Fine,” he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty he’s trying to ignore. “Two hundred bucks. Done.”

The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.

When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. It’s been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since you’ve felt genuinely excited about someone. Bucky’s been different from the start—warm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You’ve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.

After a second, you type back, Yeah, I’d love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.

The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.

“You look amazing,” he says, his gaze warm. There’s something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldn’t have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.

The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon you’re strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date this nice,” you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.

He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “I guess I’ve just never…met anyone like you before.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low.

You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.

But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what he’s doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and it’s enough to make his stomach turn. He’s never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. “You trust me, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. “Good,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if he’s going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it matters—that he won’t let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows he’s lying to himself.

The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like they’re happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like there’s this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.

Every time you’re with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if he’s sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when he’s not looking—at the way his jaw clenches when he’s lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you can’t quite name.

It’s after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you he’s got some old movies you’ve probably never seen, and, honestly, he’s right—you’d never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but that’s exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon you’re sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.

The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.

“You can get closer, you know,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.

Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until you’re tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent that’s becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.

Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more dates—little coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.

One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, he’s stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you can’t help but notice how natural this feels. It’s terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if he’s always been there.

You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.

“You’re terrible,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though you’re laughing too.

“Oh, come on. It was hilarious,” he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “I just…can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. He’s there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. He’s there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he can’t believe his luck.

One night, you’re back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. You’re nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and he’s quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.

“Bucky?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Being with you…it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like he’s savoring every second. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re finally safe with someone, that this is something real.

But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. He’s never felt this way before—this calm, this…connected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.

He’s supposed to ask for more. That’s what Sam and Steve were expecting, weren’t they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he can’t turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that he’s crossing a line he can’t uncross.

He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he can’t bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe you’ll never have to know.

One evening, as you’re lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.

“Bucky?” you whisper, your voice soft.

He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. “I…I think I’m falling for you.”

The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.

She deserves the truth.

That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that he’s in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much he’s risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but he’s terrified—terrified that this fragile, beautiful thing you’ve built together will shatter, that you’ll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.

In the morning, he makes a decision. He’ll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.

So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft. “It is.”

But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows there’s a chance he’ll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.

For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, you’ll understand.

The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if it’s his own. He knows he should say something—that he needs to say something—but the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever he’s built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.

As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.

Once you’re inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than you’ve ever seen it. "You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

“I want to,” you say, the words escaping before you can even think. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.

Bucky’s eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if you’re something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s softer than any before. It’s unhurried, tender, as if he’s savoring every second.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.

Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. There’s a gentleness to Bucky’s movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. He’s slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.

You nod, feeling breathless but certain. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feel—safe, wanted, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, you’re exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.

Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.

You’re both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something you’ve been holding back, something you hadn’t planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “I…I want you to know that this was my first time.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that he’ll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesn’t flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“Your first?” he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah…I wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.”

Bucky’s chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like he’s just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, as if he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. “Thank you, Bucky…for making it so special.”

He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid to let you go. “I’d do anything to make you feel special,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.

But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he’s kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness you’ve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that he’s already crossed a line he can’t uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truth—soon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.

But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.

The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.

He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Morning,” he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.

The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of him—the playful, thoughtful side—is something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.

You’re both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.

It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like you’ve found a place that’s safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.

But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if there’s something he’s not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You don’t press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if you’re seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something you’re not yet ready to confront.

As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. There’s an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isn’t the end.

Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book you’re pretty sure you’ll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. You’re nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.

As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Bucky’s laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voice—Sam’s—cutting through, low and joking.

"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Sam’s voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if he’s talking about something trivial.

You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.

"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, “don’t act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.” You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. “So? How was it?”

Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice casual, light. “It was… good.”

You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet don’t move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.

Steve’s voice joins in, chuckling. “Well, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?”

“No clue,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.

Sam laughs again, louder this time. “And hey, bet’s a bet,” he says, and then there’s a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. “Two hundred dollars, as promised. Can’t say you didn’t earn it, though—you even managed to get her into bed. Didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are!”

Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Bucky’s earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust you’d handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.

Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You don’t let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.

Hours later, you’re back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe there’s an explanation you’re missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.

A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Bucky’s voice calling your name softly from the hallway. It’s just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that something’s wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.

When you open it, Bucky’s eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. “Hey, you,” he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.

“Were you even going to tell me?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. “Or were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?”

Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Tell you what? I—I don’t understand.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Don’t play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.”

He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. “Y/N, I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. “So, it’s true, then? All of it? This whole… this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?”

He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. “Y/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasn’t like that, I swear. It started that way, but then… then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we shared—it was real.”

You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. “Real? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. “I trusted you, Bucky. I thought… I thought you cared about me.”

His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. “I do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. That’s why I wanted to tell you, I just—”

“Wanted to tell me?” you interrupt, your voice shaking. “When, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Bucky’s shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.

“Do you even realize how humiliating this is?” you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I trusted you with something… something I’d never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.”

His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. “It was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” you repeat, laughing bitterly. “You lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to… to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.”

He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. “Y/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Just stop,” you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make me feel sorry for you when you’re the one who lied.”

Bucky’s face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, just… give me a chance to make it right.”

Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you don’t know if you can ever look at him the same way again.

“I can’t do this,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N… I love you. I know I don’t deserve to say that, but it’s the truth.”

You don’t reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.

The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like you’re on autopilot. It’s as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.

It doesn’t take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if you’re okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each time—a nod, a small smile, and an assurance that you’re just tired. It’s easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.

Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when he’d whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Bucky isn’t doing any better. In fact, he’s a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptiness—it lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didn’t know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesn’t blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy they’d known for years, looks hollow, as if he’s carrying a weight he can’t shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Bucky’s bed.

Bucky doesn’t react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.

“What’s up, guys?” he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.

“We should be asking you that,” Steve says, his tone softer than usual. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, it’s like… you’re a completely different person.”

At the sound of your name, Bucky’s face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “That’s because I am.”

Sam frowns, studying Bucky’s expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. “Look, man, we didn’t mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared… why didn’t you just tell her the truth from the start?”

Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I was scared, I guess. I knew I’d screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just… couldn’t. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stupid, right?”

Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. “Not stupid, just… a mistake. A big one, yeah, but you’re not the first guy to mess up. You’re just… Bucky, this isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”

Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s because I’ve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I can’t even fix.”

Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “So what are you gonna do about it? You can’t just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to her—and to yourself—to try and make it right.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s empty, hollow. “And how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t trust me. I don’t deserve another chance.”

Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, “Maybe. But you can’t just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that you’re not just the guy who hurt her, that you’re willing to fight for her. And if she doesn’t take you back… at least you’ll know you tried.”

Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve it.”

Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. “Look, man, I get that you’re hurting. But don’t you think she’s hurting, too? She’s probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.”

Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows you’re hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didn’t deserve. And knowing that he’s the reason for your pain… it’s a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that he’s truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. He’s terrified, but he can’t ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.

Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesn’t know if you’ll listen, doesn’t know if you’ll even give him a chance. But he has to try—to give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that you’ll give him the chance to show you that he’s not the man who hurt you—that he’s ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.

The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to pull you from your thoughts. You’ve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty that’s almost heartbreaking. He’s gripping a small notebook in his hands—your notebook, the one you left in his room—and his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation you’ve never seen before.

“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice guarded.

He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. “I, uh… you left this. Thought you might need it.”

You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. “Thanks.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Can we… can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost pleading. “Please. I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll understand, and I’ll leave you alone. I just… I need you to know the truth.”

You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you have every right to hate me,” he starts, his voice barely steady. “I know I messed up in ways I can’t even fix. And I know… I know what I did was horrible. I just—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t all a lie. When we started this… when we first got close, I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I didn’t think I’d feel the way I did.”

You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. “But it was a bet, Bucky,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You… you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.”

He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. “I know. I won’t make excuses for it—I was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started… I started caring about you, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Then why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. I was terrified that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now, that I’d lose you. I know that doesn’t make it better, but it’s the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe… maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.” He looks down, his voice breaking. “But that was stupid. I should’ve just been honest with you from the start.”

You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything he’s saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. “I trusted you, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought what we had was real.”

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. “It was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesn’t change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that he’s truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, “I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and it’s going to take time for me to get past that.”

He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesn’t look away. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I just want the chance to prove to you that I’m more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we can’t go back, I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”

You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you can’t rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, he’ll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. “Maybe we can start as friends. Just… friends. No promises, no expectations. If you’re willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up… then maybe, someday, I’ll be able to trust you again.”

Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll take that. Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take it. I’ll prove to you that I can be better. I’ll prove that I’m worth your trust.”

You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s small and fragile, but it’s enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. You’re surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that he’s serious about making things right.

Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing something precious he thought he’d lost forever. It’s in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.

One day, as you’re both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. “I know we’re just friends right now, and I’m okay with that. But I want you to know that I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if it’s just like this.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say softly. “For not giving up. For being patient with me.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lost—a tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person he’s trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know there’s a long road ahead, you’re finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he won’t let you down.

The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. It’s your first time back here since everything happened, and you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels different—Bucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.

Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. He’s proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. He’s become someone you can lean on, someone who’s earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between you—something deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.

When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, They’re harmless.

“Glad you came tonight,” he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. “I was worried you might skip.”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Well, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.”

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. It’s the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even better—because you’re finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.

As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. He’s attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure you’re comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.

At one point, as you’re talking with a friend, you feel Bucky’s hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. “Want to get some air?”

You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he begins, his voice low and steady, as if he’s thought about this moment a thousand times. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N… being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing that’s been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.

“Bucky,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I… I feel the same. It’s been hard, letting go of the past. But I think—no, I know—I’ve forgiven you. You’ve shown me who you really are, and… I like that person.”

His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure you’re truly ready for this.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. It’s gentle at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, “I promise, I’m not going to mess this up again. I want this with you—for real, no games.”

You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, it’s real.

maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol

[ayyy-pee]

Discord 18+ - Bluesky

Pairing: Ex-Outlaw Toji Fushiguro x Outlaw Reader

WC: 8.7k

Summary: Shit luck. That's the unfortunate reputation branded to ex-outlaw Toji Fushiguro. That is, until tonight, when a reunion with an "old friend" turns his luck on its head.

Story Warning: Bar Fight, Gambling, Cheating (at gambling lmao), Violence and Blood and Broken Bones, Implied Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Implied Ass play, Misogyny, Protective Toji, Marking, Profanity, Smut obviously, Outlaw pt.1 references, No Y/N usage here

Art by: shesdeny on X

A/N: I had Backroads by Tanner Adell on repeat the entire time I wrote this ON REPEAT. I didn't proofread i'm so tired yall

Word on the prairie is there’s been one hell of a train heist.

It’s the talk of the town right now, and Toji’s soaking up every word of it as he sits at the parlor poker table. 

One man places a card down on the table, taking a drag of his cigar. “I heard they cleaned the locomode right out. Not even a silver spoon left at the scene.”

‘Thorough,’ Toji thinks. 

Another slides his chips into the center, where the dealer takes them. “Yup, heard that, too. An’ I heard it was a broad that did it.”

This piques Toji’s interest. He slides more chips forward, taps the table to check, letting them know he’s not adding any more money to this pot. Not that he has anymore to offer. He’s really hoping the shit luck he’s been having lately turns tonight.

“A broad?” The cigar smoker asks, thick smoke falling from his lips. “Can’t imagine a woman bein’ able to pull that off.”

At this, Toji snorts under his breath. These men don’t know what a determined and smart woman is capable of. But he does.

Another man laughs hard, tapping his fists on the table. “Thought so, too, but they caught a outlaw at the scene, too.” He tries to catch his breath, chuckling when he describes the scene. Apparently, the poor sucker was picked up from the train car with his hair knotted around the seat bar and his dick out for everyone to see. This makes Toji shake his head, amused, because he has a strong feeling he knows exactly who could have pulled something like that off.

A clean sweep? Leaving the other party humiliated just because they can? Toji’s fairly certain about who the culprit is for this one.

“But they say the outlaw escaped on the way to hoosegow,” notes the man. “Ain’t been able to find him. Probably gonna kill the broad when he finds her.”

Toji shakes his head, the slightest smirk sitting on his lips. That tracks. Leaving the scene with enemies left behind in embarrassing situations? Yeah, he knows exactly who pulled this heist off.

The men go on and on about the heist and the rumors circulating around the town. To everyone else, it all seems impractical. How could some woman possibly have the wits and the courage to be able to face off with one notorious outlaw and come out on top both literally and figuratively? 

Toji only knows one woman capable of achieving such a feat — you.

You’re the one who got—

“You in or you out, Fushiguro?” The dealer calls impatiently. “Hurry up.”

Toji checks the spread across the table, what’s laid out to determine if he’s going to stay in the game or not. And as his eyes flit across the cards, he kisses his teeth.

He lost, as usual.

”I’m out,” he grunts, standing from his seat. “Gonna take a piss.”

-

The streets are alive with activity. Brothel girls stand on the porches of their building, batting their lashes and waving their handkerchiefs in an attempt to lure each and every man inside. They call out to Toji, blow him kisses and offer him the “night of his life” while waving their fingers flirtily in his direction. Toji ignores their advances, not in the mood after taking yet another hit to his already dwindling funds.

This streak of bad luck has been following him all his life. Small inconveniences, minor problems that have built up and taken a toll on him over time. It seemed as if being an outlaw was the only thing he was good at, though he wouldn’t call himself one now. He’s not sure why he ever thought hanging up his hat as an outlaw and taking up gambling would change his luck. He’s never won, not once. But he can’t seem to stop himself from putting it all on the line in hopes that he’ll hit big, just one time. So far, no luck.

Toji strolls into the back alley of the parlor, nose wrinkling at the rancid smell of sweat and piss that fills the area. He finds what he thinks might be a cleaner spot than the rest of the alley and pulls his pants to his knees, grabbing hold of himself just before he begins to relieve himself.

The sharp sounds emanating from the piano keys throughout the many saloons can be heard and Toji finds himself tilting his head back and staring up at the night sky, letting a little tune fall from his lips in a whistle. It’s when he’s shaking the remnants of his bathroom break off that he feels the cold press of metal against the back of his head, effectively cutting his whistling short.

Shit.

Just his luck. Of course he’d go out to relieve himself and end up with a damn gun to his skull.

“Ya know what they say ‘bout whistlin’ at night, don’t ya?” A familiar sweet voice sings behind him. “Brings bad luck.”

Toji chuckles, shaking his head - and the extra piss - off. “That’s a cowboy’s belief,” he remarks. He pulls his pants back up, securing them around his waist. “And I ain’t one.”

The stranger hums, the pressure of the gun easing just slightly, but it’s enough for Toji and he takes this moment to spin around swiftly. His large hand catches the weapon in his palm and he yanks forward, pulling its wielder with it. He holds the barrel of the gun against the center of his forehead, a sick grin sitting on his lips.

“Just kill me if you’re gonna do it. But just know…I ain’t got shit for ya to take.” In the dim lighting of the alleyway, Toji can just make out the way this person stares up at him through hooded eyes, teeth digging into their bottom lip as they have this short standoff with him. Then they sigh, unceremoniously lifting their skirt and holstering their weapon between their thighs. 

“I see shit ain’t changed since the last time I saw ya, Toji.”

Toji only shrugs, a lopsided grin on his face. “Creature of habit, I guess.”

And there’s that laugh he hasn’t heard in some time. One that he won’t admit he’s missed because it reminds him of a different time in his life. One that he also won’t admit that he’s missed.

Standing before him is the earlier topic of discussion amongst the men inside. You’ve got your hands on your hips, dressed in the pretty little get up you usually wear when you’re up to no good, and Toji knows you’re about to have one hell of a night. And he has a feeling that you’re going to be dragging him into whatever plot you’ve cooked up. 

He takes in your appearance, the fancy new gun you tucked away and a very nice hat that probably sells for a hefty price.

Toji motions to your new possessions. “Keepsakes from your last job? Heard it was a damn good ride.”

You lift a hand, running your fingers along the brim of your hat, giggling as you play dumb. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

He knows better than to pry, at least not in the open where just anybody can hear. So instead he tells you, “You look pretty tonight,” and basks in the smile you give him. Soft and genuine, but only for a second before you’ve shifted into the little facade you put on.

“D’ya wanna show me ‘round here?” You ask sweetly, looping your arm through Toji’s and tugging him along. 

Toji slips his hands into his pockets. Truth be told, he hasn’t been in this town long, just arrived a couple days ago when he heard there was easy money to make at the parlors. But he hasn’t found that to be true. He was actually planning on heading out soon anyway. “Not much goin’ on in this town ‘round this time of night. Same ol’ gamblin’, drinkin’, fuckin’ and fightin’ that happens in all the others.”

“Hmm,” you nod, peering up at Toji with the false innocence he’s familiar with. “And what about you?” You’ve switched on your proper speech as well, Toji notes, but he doesn’t miss the suggestive tone behind your words when you ask, “Which one are you gettin’ into tonight?” 

He wants to tell you that he’ll be in whatever shitshow you start, just how he always is when you two run into each other in whatever middle of nowhere town you end up in. But instead he just smirks as he leans down to your ear where he whispers, “Let's see how the night goes.”

-

You’re careful to make sure there are no watchful eyes when you both emerge from the alley arm in arm. Toji leads you back towards the parlor, not missing the salacious looks you’re getting from the other men and cowboys while he holds onto you. And you, ever the actress, offer a demure smile and nod to each and every one of them that has them melting beneath your gaze.

And it’s a ridiculous thing, really, how Toji also finds himself melting for you. Although it’s for different reasons. You can offer all the innocent and pretty smiles you want. It may fool the average man, but it’s never fooled Toji. You two are cut from the same cloth, and that’s what brought you two together in the first place all those years ago.

You’re a beautiful woman, of course. A perfect face with a perfect body to match, filling that outfit of yours just the way Toji has always liked. But it’s your mind that draws Toji to you. Your ability to easily cook up a scheme that you rarely fail to pull off. The way you can slip on a manipulative mask like the one you’re wearing now and wrap anyone around your finger. How you can lure people into your traps and get anything you want. Any time he’s in your presence, Toji’s convinced that he’s sick in the head, because he can’t fucking get enough of watching you conspire against whatever poor person you’ve deemed your target.

It brings him back to his outlaw days, when he’d met you mid-scheme and almost threw a wrench in your plans. But somehow, it ended with you two teaming up to pull off one hell of a heist. And the aftermath? Well, let's just say you left Toji more than satisfied with the outcome.

When you two enter the parlor, it seems the gambling table has changed as well as the dealer, Toji notices. You both observe the dealer, placing three cards face down on the table. He shows one card - the 4 of diamonds - to the players around the table before setting it down and wildly shuffling them. When he’s finished and all three cards lie in a line on the table, one of the men selects a card, and they all erupt in a string of curses when it’s wrong.

Beside Toji, you scoff. “This’ll be a easy night, looks like.” You glance up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. “Please don’t tell me ya lost all your money gamblin’ on goddamn Three-Card Monte,” you murmur just loud enough for Toji to hear. “All ya gotta do is find the damn card.”

“Can’t lose what I ain’t got,” Toji chuckles. “Come on.”

Of course you’d enjoy this game, he thinks. Three-Card Monte, or Find the Lady. It’s a card game in which the marks, or the players, are tricked into thinking they can find the “money card” among three face-down cards. It seems so simple, but if the dealer is anyone worth his salt, it’s easy to fuck the players over. Make them think they have a chance, so they just keep betting until they’ve got nothing left to lose. 

But of course, you’re a step ahead. This dealer thinks he’ll be playing you, when it’s really the other way around.

“Ya ready?” You question. “Let's make it quick.”

Sounds like Toji doesn’t have a choice. Looks like he’s pulling off a heist tonight. His ex-outlaw heart sings.

He approaches the table with you on his arm just as two men free up seats for you when they opt out of playing any further. You take a seat beside Toji, carefully adjusting your skirt, removing your hat and setting it in your lap. The dealer eyes you, he eyes your bosom unabashedly, grinning when you tilt your head and fix him with a curious look.

“Good evening, sir,” you speak softly and Toji watches you work your magic. “What are we playing tonight?”

The dealer chuckles, shuffling his cards in his hands. “We are playin’ Three-Card Monte, pretty darlin’.” He leans forward, the thick and nasty stench of his cigar breath making Toji’s nostrils burn. “I’d explain how to play it to ya, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to keep up with the rules. This fine gentleman here, however,” he turns his attention to Toji. “Would you like to buy in, sir?”

Toji’s gaze cuts to you. If the dealer’s statements bother you, it doesn’t show. Your smile doesn’t falter in the least. “You’re so considerate.” Your voice is soft and sweet, but Toji hears the bitterness behind your words. “I’m so fortunate my darlin’ husband here…” you reach over and caress Toji’s arm, nails dragging along his skin in a way you know will leave goosebumps in their wake. “...He took pity on poor lil’ me and taught me to play. Right, dear?”

You beam up at Toji, all soft and loving, and he wants to laugh to cover up the way his heart races – one, because you’ve referred to him as your husband which he’s embarrassed to admit doesn’t sound too bad. Two, because you involving him in your little game tonight excites him in more ways than one. He hasn’t felt the thrill of pulling off a heist in some time, his luck almost never panning out the way he wants. But now that he’s run into you, he’s sure it’s going to take a turn for him.

“Yep,” he affirms. “And I’ll teach ya whatever else your lil’ heart wants, angel.” Toji grins, enjoying the way your brows rise just barely at the pet name, some emotion he can’t place behind your eyes. He can’t dwell too long because he’s eyeing the dealer, whose gaze is glued to your breasts again. Toji roughly clears his throat, grabbing the man’s attention. “She’ll buy in.”

“If ya say so.” Of course the dealer isn’t going to argue. You’re what he thinks is the easiest mark of his night.

The first game goes exactly how Toji imagined you’d have it play out. The dealer tells you he’ll be generous and do a practice round for you so that you can “wrap your pretty head around the rules”, and you agree. You of course don’t find the card, or so the dealer is made to believe. But you enthusiastically agree to an actual game.

The first real game, you bet low, telling the dealer that you’re just too nervous to bet too much money, and you’re not sure if your dear husband would approve.

“Put down as much as ya like, angel,” Toji pushes eagerly, earning him a quick scowl from you, covered by a sweet giggle.

“Do you want me to lose all of our money, dear?” You ask, the real question hardly concealed beneath your words.

It’s not your money to bet, so shut the fuck up.

Your foot connects with Toji’s leg beneath the table, just to drive the message home. Toji grunts, covering the pain with a clearing of his throat.

The dealer places the cards face down on the table, then picks the one on your left up. He shows it to you – the Queen of Hearts. 

Fitting, Toji thinks, what with the way the dealer winks at you before he shuffles the cards around quickly then settles them into position. A cocky smile spreads across the dealer's face. He knows where the card is. And knowing you, you probably do, too.

So Toji sits back and lets you play cards while playing dumb in the dealer's face. 

You lose this round, and he can tell it’s on purpose this time, pouting cutely and making the dealer blush a deep red as he shakes his head. “Chin up, darlin’. Why don’t ya place another bet. See if your luck changes.”

“I think I will,” you declare, nodding. 

You place the same small bet and let the dealer do his job. When the cards are settled, you tap your index finger on your chin, pretending to think really hard about it. Then, in feigned hesitation, you select a card. Toji watches proudly, relishing the way the dealer’s eyes widen when he lifts the card and turns it in your direction.

“Oh! I won!” You grab hold of Toji’s arm, your mouth slightly agape as you motion for him to look.

“Look at you,” he purrs, taking hold of your hand. He lifts it to his lips, turning it slightly to press a kiss to your wrist, right where your pulse lies, grinning when you inhale sharply. “Knew ya could do it, angel.”

Your teeth press into your lip, a shy look on your face now. Only for a moment, then you’re shaking it off as you turn back to the dealer. “I’d like to bet more, please.”

He deals you in again, a slight look of displeasure on his face when you somehow end up winning once more. And then you win again, and again. The dealer’s fingers drum rhythmically against the table in annoyance, eyeing you suspiciously.

Now, Toji gambles, but he doesn’t gamble the way you do. His days as an outlaw involved doing anything that involved brute force. He was good at that. Need someone manhandled? You pay the right price and he’ll take the job. Got a bounty out on someone’s head? Dangle a bag of money in Toji’s face and he’ll do it. But when he left his outlaw days behind, and fell into a habit of placing bets he couldn’t make good on, he quickly figured out that all the sneaky counting cards and sleight of hand shit was beyond him. He did, however, pick up on a few things.

Like now, when he notices two random men have joined either side of you and Toji to play the game. They’re obviously shills, there to try and assist the dealer in trying to cheat you out of your winnings. The shill beside Toji places his bet, the dealer shuffling the cards quickly to confuse him. He loses, pretending to be upset when the dealer moves onto you.

You place your bet - a large sum, larger than any you’ve put in tonight and Toji’s brows rise.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?”

It’s your money, sure, but you must feel pretty confident in your ability to win if you’re willing to put so much on the line. 

You nod, lips curling in a smile while you watch the dealer shuffle. “Yes, dear. I think this will be my best round yet. I just know I’ll have fun with this one!”

There’s something about that sentence that puts Toji on edge. Especially when the other man on your side leans over, engaging you in conversation while the dealer shows you the target card – the King of Diamonds. It’s a ploy to distract you, even Toji knows that. They want you to take your gaze off of the cards so that you can’t keep track of where the target is. But you stay focused even as you entertain the man, nodding along to the conversation as you pay attention to the way the cards are moved around.

It feels like forever before the dealer stops and sets the cards down. He waves his hand over them, waiting for you to pick.

You think hard, seriously this time. Toji watches the way the dealer eyes you, sweat beading along his forehead. Likely from nerves, because you’ve been sweeping the floor with him for the last few rounds and he’s sure he doesn’t want to lose more money. If you lost this large bet, you could walk away clean and go on with your night. Toji doubts it’d put a dent in your pocket. With all the heists you’ve pulled off, especially your most recent, he’s pretty sure you’re set for quite a while.

But your eyes meet the dealers, your hand floating back and forth above the cards before coming down to point to a card and the dealer makes a noise that sounds something like a mixture of a scoff and chuckle. There’s certainty in his expression as his fingers flip the card over, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Miss. Looks like you’ll have to –” he swallows his words when he sees the King of Diamonds sitting beneath his fingertips. “H-how?!”

You bat your lashes innocently. “How what, sir?”

The dealer's hand slams down hard on the table, shaking the winning bets and silencing the parlor. The pianist freezes on the keys, the bartenders stop making their drinks, the guests stop speaking, all heads turning to the table where you and Toji sit. The shills now stand, and Toji’s eyes track their movements. One directly behind you, the other to the side of him.

The dealer grits his teeth, face red with rage as he now screams. “You’re cheatin’!”

You gasp, hand coming to your chest to clutch your imaginary pearls. “I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Oh, shut your fuckin’ mouth! I know you’re cheatin’!” 

“I-I’m just playin’ the game, sir.” You turn to Toji, mock concern on your face. “Right, dear? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

And Toji nods, keeping the ruse going. “Of course, angel.” He sees the anger continue to rise for the dealer the more this drags on, his hands flexing into fists repeatedly. Does he plan to try and hit you? He hopes not, for his own sake. “That’s a serious accusation,” Toji tells the dealer. “You’d better have good proof of my wife cheatin’. You know cheatin’ at cards means hangin’ in the town square.”

“Ya want proof? Look!” The dealer flips all three cards laid out on the table, and there lies the evidence with only one Three of Clovers lying there, and two Kings of Diamonds in the spread. “See?! I knew somethin’ wasn’t right with this broad! Ain’t nobody ever won Three-Card Monte this many times when I’m dealin’ the cards! You’re slippin’ cards onto the table!”

So he’s a cheat, too. Toji should’ve called that. There’s hardly a noble and honest person working in these establishments. Even still, it boils his blood for some reason. 

It may be the fact that Toji has lost most of his savings in this very building tonight, or it may be the way this slimeball has been eyeing you up and down all night trying to see how many times, how many ways and probably in how many positions he could take advantage of you, or the fact that he’s now speaking to you like tar stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Regardless, he’s getting pissed.

Toji’s gaze catches yours briefly, and you purse your lips together. He can see the wheels turning, trying to think of an excuse as to how this could happen. Everyone in the building is holding their breath, and more staff have gathered around to see what the commotion is. Toji counts about three more men around you that he believes may be with the dealer. Jaw tight, he waits for your next move.

You giggle, shaking your head as you sit your hat back atop your head, and Toji watches your mask slip off in real time. “Can’t believe this shit,” you sigh. “This damn shill,” you gesture to the man standing behind you. “He’s good.” The dealer sees your change, too, finger jutting out to point straight at you.

“I-I know you! You’re that outlaw bitch! The one that’s wanted all over for cheatin’ at cards, murder, breakin’ out of jail, and–”

“Aww, the train robbery ain’t at the top of the list yet?” You interrupt, leaning back in your seat with a pout. “Feel like that’s my best work.” You grab hold of the dealer’s finger - swift and easy, bending it back roughly, the man screaming out in pain and doubling over onto the table. “Ya got me,” you whisper teasingly in his ear. “Gimme my earnin’s and I’ll just be on my merry way. No need to cause a ruckus.”

“You fuckin’ whore, I’ll-” The man winces, crying out when you bend his finger further. 

“I’d think real careful ‘bout your next words if you don’t wanna lose a finger.”

“Okay! O-okay!” The dealer concedes. “Just take it ‘nd get the fuck out of here!”

Toji can’t help but watch in awe…and arousal…witnessing you in your natural element again. You’re wild, impulsive, insane. So much so, you’ve got everyone else in this parlor frozen in shock as you pocket your winnings. They can’t seem to wrap their heads around a woman being so outwardly bold to commit a crime out in the open, and proudly, the way you are. It’s admirable; it reminds Toji of when he was at his best as an outlaw, maybe better. 

You glance at Toji, tilting your head towards the money and he snaps out of his reverie and begins to move, pocketing what he can, too.

“Keep whatever ya grab,” you offer, and Toji grins. His adrenaline is pumping, heart pounding behind his ribcage as he grabs all he’s able to. This is a feeling he hasn’t experienced in so long. The feeling of winning. He doesn’t ever want to come down from this high.

When your pockets are full, tied tightly and secured, you finally release the dealer who whimpers as he holds his finger to his chest. He looks about ready to rip your head off, but his eyes dart to Toji who looms over him, daring him to say something and the dealer thinks better of it.

Now all that’s left to do is leave this place quickly and quietly. Maybe grab something to eat and find some place to sleep.

You tip your hat, and just as you turn to leave, the dealer reaches over the table and grabs hold of your dress sleeve. He yanks you forward harshly, dragging you across the table.

“I’ll kill ya, bitch!” He raises his fist and you laugh, covering your face with your arms, anticipating the hit.

You wait for him to make contact, but the hit never comes. You only hear the sickening crack of bone meeting bone, and then you’re falling hard onto the floorboards a second later. Women gasp and race out of the establishment along with some men, but the remaining people step back to take in the scene. Peeking through your arms, you see Toji’s large body standing over the unconscious and bleeding dealer. 

You scramble to your feet and dart over to Toji. His eyes are hard, jaw clenched as he stares down at the man. “Toji,” you whisper, shocked yourself at what he’s done.

“He should watch his fuckin’ mouth when he speaks to ya,” he grunts, and you can’t help but erupt into laughter. And you laugh hard, until you’re doubled over and holding your stomach.

You lean against Toji’s arm, grinning as you nudge him. “You soft for me or somethin’?”

The question doesn’t even register to Toji, because in that moment, one of the shills finally finds his courage again, rushing towards you and Toji with a beer bottle in hand. “You son of a bitch!” He shouts, charging at Toji, but you’re quick to grab hold of a chair, using all your strength and swinging the piece of furniture at the man. You miss, but it buys Toji enough time to grab a chair of his own and launch it across the parlor, slamming into the back of another man at the bar.

He spins around, face contorted in rage, barking out, “who the fuck threw that?!”

You point to the shill, who points to Toji, who points to himself.

The stranger looks confused, but still furious. And he rushes towards you all, elbowing his way through the crowd as he barrels forward. He shoves several men around, all of whom are too drunk off their asses to realize what’s going on. They only know it’s getting rough here and they need to defend themselves. It only takes one drunk bastard to throw the first punch, and then it’s all out chaos. Arms are being thrown, furniture is flying, the floors are slippery with the mixture of alcohol and blood. 

Toji ducks, avoiding a stray punch aimed at him, only to receive a shove in the back. He spins around, catching a man by his collar and easily tossing him aside and knocking the lights out of another man who lunges at him. It’s complete insanity here, so loud and chaotic and in the midst of it all…he finds himself having a good fucking time. This is fun for him. His fist meets the stomach of one man and his heart soars. A knee to the face of another man and his lips spread in a wide grin. His palm comes down to slam someone’s head against the table, rendering them unconscious and Toji chuckles.

Even with the cacophony of punching and screaming and cursing, Toji can hear your wild laughter floating throughout the space.

You’re going toe to toe with grown men, using whatever weapon you can get your hands on and it’s not even about defending yourself anymore. You’re simply enjoying the frenzy. You don’t care if the sheriffs show up, if they put cuffs on you and throw you in the slammer. You’re used to that. You don’t care if your involvement here means a death sentence. Why would you when you’ve been sentenced to death in multiple towns across the prairie and have managed to escape every attempt to put you down?

Toji admires that about you, admires that you don’t give two shits. You’re only interested in doing what you love and if lying and cheating and violence is what you love, then hell, he loves it, too. So Toji lets himself have fun with you.

He throws another punch, relishing the disgusting sound of a nose bone being crushed beneath his fist.

He erupts with laughter when he wraps one of his large arms around a man’s neck and he squeezes until Toji feels him fall limp to the floor.

He lifts a leg, smirking when his foot connects dead center in the chest of a man wielding a blade and sends him flying across the room.

Then in the chaos, his back connects with yours and you both swing around, ready to take out the next person. But it’s just you. You, and your jagged whiskey bottle that you’ve busted over someone’s head and hold out defensively in front of you. The poor victim of the impact lays unconscious at your feet. 

Toji takes these few seconds to drink you in, the way the shy and innocent mask you had on upon entry to the parlor is long gone, leaving behind the wild outlaw he’s come to know over the years. He takes in the way your chest heaves, breasts barely contained within the confines of your corset. How you’re covered in blood and grime that he’s certain isn’t yours.

The violence and commotion behind you makes for quite the backdrop to this image he’s committing to his memory. He’s never seen a woman so beautiful.

Your lips part just slightly and Toji’s eyes dart down to the movement. You drop the liquor bottle, not caring that it knocks against the unconscious man on the floor’s head and shatters next to him. Your feet move, carrying you over to Toji until he’s just within arms reach. You’re giving him that same look you had in the alley just earlier, chewing your lip and looking like you want to eat him alive.

And he’ll let you.

Because the feeling is definitely mutual, evidence of his desire only growing in his pants. He shouldn’t be surprised that this is where the night is heading, as it’s led to this many times. But something about tonight has Toji particularly excited. So, he reaches a hand forward, hooking his fingers in the front of your corset and yanks you forward. You throw your arms around his neck, and your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, full of tongue and teeth and groans. His hands palm your ass, lifting you easily and you wrap your legs around his waist. Toji presses your core against him, at the same time he feels your holstered gun press into his side and it only makes him harder. He moves your body, dragging your center along his hardening length.

“Where’re ya stayin’?” You gasp into the kiss, and Toji steps to the side just in time for a bottle to whizz past your heads.

“Brothel up the street,” Toji groans when you dip your head low to drag your lips along his neck. You break away to stare down at him, only smirking in response.

Yes, this night is headed exactly where he thought it would.

-

Your back hits the wall hard, knocking the wind out of you and sending a painting that hangs on the wall to its demise as it falls to the floor and shatters to pieces. You barely have time to catch your breath after Toji has broken away from your nipples, courtesy of him freeing them from your corset halfway up the stairs to his room.

“Fuck, ya always feel so good,” Toji lets out of a garbled moan, his lips finding your neck as you grip his hair.

“Thinkin’ about me a lot, huh? So, ya are soft for me?” You ask, a giggle falling from your lips, only to be cut off when Toji presses his thick length to your core. “Ah– fuck, Toji,” you cry out. You moan when he sucks hard. 

He’ll surely leave a mark, and some part of Toji finds that he likes the idea of you strolling around with the brand he’d left on you on display for all to see. He wants men to see you, see you’ve been marked up by someone else and wonder who you go home to at night. Even if it’s not Toji, at least it was him who made it crystal clear that you laid with someone who wasn’t them the night before.

He loves the idea that he gets to have you, because you choose to let him have you. It’s not a part of some scheme you’ve come up with, you don’t have some ulterior motive. You don’t want anything but to get your fill for the night, and you want to get your fill from him. You want him to have you, and the thought has him grinding his clothed erection against you in a desperate attempt to gain some friction between the two of you.

You tug at Toji’s strands, moaning at the way he ruts against you, how his tongue slides smoothly across your pulse. “Shitttt, don’t hold back,” you gasp, and Toji can’t help but chuckle.

“When have I ever, angel?”

The pet name has you looking at Toji the way you had earlier. A flash of something unfamiliar behind your gaze, gone as quickly as it appeared and your hands crash down on Toji’s chest, shoving him back. He sets you down and you shake your head, wasting no time in falling to your knees without him having to say so. He watches you lift your skirt, unholstering your gun and carelessly tossing it aside. Then you undo his pants, pull the fabric down until his clothing sits in a pool at his ankles.

Your hands wrap around his cock, thick and veiny and pump him slowly. Toji grunts, placing his palms against the wall as he enjoys the view of you kissing the underside of his dick.

“Like that, angel,” he sighs when you run your tongue over the fat vein that runs all the way from his balls to his tip. “Fuuuck…”

Your tongue reaches his head, where a bead of precum sits and you lap it up greedily, grinning when Toji’s legs tremble just slightly. “Like this?” You ask, swirling your tongue around him slowly just before you take his entire length to the base.

Toji hisses, hips bucking forward on instinct. He grits his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you swallow around him. Your throat squeezes him deliciously and he can’t stop the pathetic groans falling from his lips. You bob around him, hollowing your cheeks as you suck and take all of him with every bob of your head.

When Toji’s cock nudges your throat and you gag around him, Toji hisses. “Yes, yes, stay there,” he grits out. You hum around him, eyes alight with mischief and Toji’s back stiffens. The vibration shoots straight through to his cock and Toji leans his forehead against the wall to keep from losing his balance at the sensation. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” 

Toji’s mouth parts slightly, a rough groan leaving his lips. You’re toying with him, the way you toy with everyone. You love this shit, love having whoever you set your sights on going crazy over you. You’ve got those cute lips of yours wrapped perfectly around his cock, working him closer to his release and you’re enjoying every second of bringing him to the edge. It doesn’t help when you hold eye contact with Toji while you take him in your mouth, all the way down until your nose is buried in his soft pubic hair while you lift your skirt and slip your hands into your undergarments.

Your brows knit together, moans muffled by Toji’s dick in your throat while you touch yourself. The image is so arousing, your lips stretched around him while your mouth is full. He can’t help but buck forward – once, twice, and then he’s fucking your mouth all on his own.

“Yessss, play with that pretty pussy for me,” Toji groans. He’s fucking your face at a frantic pace, and you’re taking every stroke he gives. “Ah, fuuuuck –” Toji pants, a hand coming down to hold the back of your head. He pushes your head down, forcing your throat open to take his entire swollen length down your throat, occasionally holding you there for a moment, loving the sound of you choking on his dick and your saliva more than any sound he’s ever heard you make. The mixture of your fluids drips messily down your chin, and still, Toji keeps fucking your face until you’re gagging and squeezing around him.

He pulls out, holding the base of his cock tightly. Because he’s watching you - mouth agape as you gasp for you, chin glistening and lips swollen with her hand in your pants. The sight is so sexy, so arousing, he thinks he could paint your face right this second.

You inhale sharply, swallowing as much air as you can. Your fingers tease at your clit, dipping inside your walls just briefly before your breath hitches and you whimper a pathetic challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”

And Toji grins, easily shoving himself back into your mouth. He’s even rougher with you if possible, and you seem to love it that way, keening around him as your fingers rub tight circles on your clit. He pulls away from you once, brows pulled together as he tries to catch his breath while he makes you take him down to the hilt over and over again. “Fuckin’ hell, angel. Takin’ my dick so good for me. Your throat feels so fuckin’ good. Don’t move–”

Toji scrambles forward, grunting and pressing his length all the way down your throat, so far, so desperate to feel you squeeze around him again that he’s got your head up against the wall. There’s nowhere for you to go as his hips buck forward. 

“Fuckin’ take it, swallow my cock, fuck–” 

Your hand finds his thigh, squeezing tight while the other works you closer and closer to your release. It feels way too good, better than any woman, any mouth Toji’s ever been in. His balls are tight, slapping loud and wet against your chin as he slams into your face.

He hears you, hears your moans as the rise in pitch, getting higher and higher with every thrust of his hips, every press of your fingers against yourself.

“Gonna cum, angel?”

You whimper in response, unable to nod or speak, while Toji’s got his dick stuffed into your throat.

“Cum for me, then. Make a mess on your fingers while I fuck your mouth,” he grunts, hips snapping forward.

Your eyes roll back, nostrils flaring as you dip your fingers into your core and feel your walls fluttering around them. Your release washes over you with such intensity, your legs begin to shake, tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes, drool falls in thick strings from your lips. And all the while, Toji is still fucking into your mouth. 

The sight is one he wants to burn into his memory. You - the woman who just a few hours ago knocked men on their asses, cheated and won and still somehow escaped without punishment - now getting off on getting him off. 

He’ll be sure to remember you on your knees for him, bringing yourself to ecstasy while your mouth is stuffed with his cock, tits bouncing with every thrust and –

Oh, he’s gonna cum.

Toji tells you as much, then moves to pull out, but you press your hands to the backs of his thighs and pull him back into your mouth, staring up at him as if begging for his cum.

And when you look at him like that, how could he ever say no?

He presses forward, mouth falling open with a loud and guttural moan as he finally reaches his peak. Toji’s body tenses, cock stiffening and thighs trembling as he twitches in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper if that’s even possible, and Toji’s moans only grow in volume. His cum shoots from his swollen tip, straight into your throat and you gag on the sheer amount of it.

“Fuckin’ swallow,” Toji growls, watching the way you struggle to handle all he’s giving you. “Don’t waste a fuckin’ drop. Swallow it for me, angel.”

And you do as you’re told, gulping down every thick rope of cum that paints your esophagus. When you finally release your hold on Toji, his cock softening between your lips, you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering while you wipe away the remnants of you and Toji’s deed.

“Almost killed me,” you jokingly complain, voice rough from the abuse your throat just took.

Toji chuckles, stepping back and taking your hands to help you stand. “Guess we’re even, then. I mean, ya almost got me killed tonight.”

You giggle and shake your head, pressing your palm to his chest, pushing Toji backwards until his knees hit the end of the bed and he falls back with a loud oof. You lift your skirt, climbing atop Toji and straddling his hips, and Toji would be lying if he said he wasn’t hard all over again.

“Hope ya ain’t got all that gettin’ even feelin’ out just yet, because I can think of plenty of times ya almost got me killed.” You lean forward, a hand on each side of Toji’s head and his hands find your breasts, still free from your corset. He cups both soft mounds, idly running his thumbs over your nipples and drinking in the expression you make when you moan without your mouth being stuffed full.

Toji grins, eyes honed in on the way your breasts feel in his hands. “Like the horse stealin’. That rancher almost blew your top off.”

Your lips spread with a smirk. “Well, if ya hadn’t been so fuckin’ loud when we were in the barn, he would’ve never woke up!”

Toji scoffs, “Well, ya snuck a finger in my ass! I ain’t ever had that happen! How the hell was I supposed to know it’d feel like that?!”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, reminiscing on all the crazy shit you two have gotten into over the years. You make Toji miss his outlaw days, almost make him want to go back to it. But that life’s not for him anymore. Though, it is fun to dabble in it from time to time, only with you.

Your lips find Toji’s, tender and sweet. Until - like all things you do - it’s not. It quickly turns heated, your hands dipping into Toji’s dark tresses while your lips lock in a searing kiss. You both make quick work of ridding each other of any clothing, hands roaming each other’s bodies once you’re bare.

It’s a fight for dominance in this bed. Who can kiss harder, who can leave more marks, who can pull the most moans from the other? The bed rocks with every movement, the headboard banging against the wall as Toji flips you over, pinning you to the bed with his body weight.

You hum, your hand ghosting across Toji’s muscular ass. “This looks familiar.” You take a finger along the seam of his behind and Toji inhales sharply. “Ah…by that ya meant…it felt good. Should I do it again?”

Toji’s head dips down, the tip of his nose touching yours as he breathes, “let's see where the night goes.” He slips inside of you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths.

You move together, losing yourself in the passion of the night, disregarding the way the bed shakes.

And the way the photos and paintings fall from the walls.

And the way the headboard beats dents into the paint.

And the way the head mistress bangs on the door.

And - 

-

The morning sun blazes high in the sky, shining through the thin curtains of Toji’s room. He stretches his noticeably sore body, yawning as he lets himself slowly wake up. 

What a night - and morning. He knows he needs to hightail it out of town soon to keep from being identified as your accomplice at the parlor last night. He can’t sit around dawdling all day.

Toji sits up in his bed, already knowing it’s pointless to glance at the other side and wonder where you went. Of course, true to form, you’d made a smooth and quick exit. You’re probably long gone by now, wreaking havoc in another town. He tries not to take it personally that you likely didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

He slides off the bed, wincing when he feels a sharp sting of pain in his foot. He lifts his leg, pieces of wood falling to the floor where remnants of what appears to be a broken side table lie. His eyes scan the room, and the absolute mess all over. It looks like a damn tornado ripped through here.

Chairs thrown aside, a shattered mirror and pieces of glass all across the floor, broken art all over. He doesn’t remember you two being that rough with each other last night. 

His stomach grumbles angrily, not allowing him to dwell on the mess he’s already planning on leaving behind. He searches his room for his discarded clothes, slipping on the items before he finds his bag. He’ll make a quick exit and slip out, hop on his horse and get the hell out of this town.

Toji’s not sure what he was expecting when he went to find his belongings. Maybe that you’d have taken them with you, just because it would have made you laugh to know you had your way with him then took all he owns. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find the fancy cowboy hat you wore last night sitting beside his bag, or to find a pouch of silver in his bag with a note inside. Toji unrolls the piece of paper, green eyes skimming the words.

“for the luck you keep sayin’ you ain’t got. hope that changes”

He shakes his head, a goofy smile on his face as he counts the money left for him. And it’s enough for him to get by for a while, enough for him to enjoy a bit of gambling, too.

Toji will have to thank you the next time he sees you. If you survive that long. But he doesn’t doubt that you will.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, exiting his room. He’s sure to close the door, hiding the horrendous disorder he’s leaving behind. Toji’s feet carry him down the stairs to the main floor of the brothel where it’s already bustling inside, people sitting down to enjoy breakfast. He’d have a seat, too, but he can’t risk sticking around in case someone recognizes him from the parlor. Or sees that damn room. As hungry as he is, he needs to go.

Toji maneuvers around those who stand around the room, idly chatting with each other. He’s about halfway across the room when someone calls out to him - a man’s voice. He could keep walking, ignore the man, but that would only make him look suspicious. It’s important for him to not draw attention. So Toji stops, spinning on his heel and coming face to face with the man calling out to him.

“Pardon me, sir. I’ve asked everybody in here, but no one knows a thing,” he explains as he approaches. He stops in his tracks, gaze locked on the top of Toji’s head. “Nice hat…” The man points towards the new item Toji wears.

“Thanks.”

The man stares for a few more seconds before he inhales sharply and continues. “I got word of a bar fight here last night…started by a woman.” The man reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper and unfolding it. He holds the paper out to Toji, who just glares at it. 

It’s you. Your face on a WANTED poster, beaming happily in your mugshot with the largest bounty he’s ever seen on your head.

Toji eyes the younger man - long, black hair, violet eyes and strangely stretched ears. He wonders why he’s asking about you. To collect the bounty? No, he doesn’t look the type.

“What about her?” Toji asks.

The man runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I’m lookin’ for her. Ran into her once and…” He sighs again, like it pains him to think about his run in with you. And Toji is sure it does. That’s typically how you leave men (and women) in your wake. Spiraling and chasing any trail you may leave behind. “I just need to find her.”

Toji adjusts the weight of his bag on his shoulder. “Ain’t seen her in my life,” he answers simply. He doesn’t wait for a response from the man. He turns, making his way out of the brothel before the stranger has a chance to follow.

The man stands there, unblinking as he watches Toji’s form retreat from the brothel. His violet eyes narrow, the rage he feels bubbling in his chest. He could act now, because he’s fairly certain that what he feels is correct. 

Whatever happened last night, it involved you.

Whoever that scar lipped man is, he knows you.

He has his hat, the one you stole from him the last time he’d seen you.

But acting on his hunch would only bring unwanted attention. So he takes a deep breath, exhaling any anger he feels. After all, he’s positive that he’s one step closer to finding you again.

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — part 3

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 33.3k words 

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

synopsis — you and mark deepen your secret relationship, becoming exclusive while navigating tensions with jeno and his father. however, the secrecy of your romance is threatened by intense basketball games, dramatic party revelations, and escalating conflicts among your friends, risking the exposure of your intimate world with mark.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree, explicit language, explicit themes, so much smut this chapter! reader cockwarms mark as he tries to concentrate on his work, plenty of riding and bouncing on his cock throughout the chapter. nipple sucking, photography sex, mark takes nude photos of her for one of her ‘projects,’ lots of body praise and affection from him, they both switch around with being dominant/submissive, super rough sex, dirty talk, name-calling such as ‘daddy’ and ‘good girl,’ and big cock mark like always, size worship, elements of jealousy and possessiveness, pussy, cheek and ass slapping, spitting, sucking on fingers, manhandling, power play. car sex, semi-public setting with rain pouring outside, reader riding mark’s cock, desperate bouncing and grinding in tight, confined space, dirty talk, “i’m all yours,” “you’re all mine,” possessiveness and dominance from mark, rough hands guiding hips, controlling pace, intense eye contact during intimate moments, jeno and reader sweet moments, mark and yn aren’t good at keeping secrets, karina and yn bestie moments, mark and jeno get a lot closer, they start considering themselves as actual brothers, tense basketball matches like always, karina is stressed about the cheer team, donghyuck is a cheer maste, boys got moves, jeno and mark brother moments, massive fights break out after the game, yeonjun is a dick, you will meet mark’s mom and his uncle!!! they’re the best, cute family scenes, yn feels apart of the family, mark and yn actually communicate healthily, have personal and deep chats, mark opens up about his upbringing, about his family, mark gets emotional :(, he takes her to the river court!! they have even more personal convos, open their hearts up, but shit will go down at a party!! that’s all i’m gonna tell you hehe enjoy 

[fic ml]

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

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It’s been a few weeks since you and Mark started seeing each other, and things between you two have escalated quickly. Every day, almost without fail, you find yourselves tangled in sheets, having a lot of sex—so much, it’s nearly every day. But it isn’t just about lust; you’ve formed a deep, gratifying connection that’s bloomed remarkably quickly. You can’t remember another time in your life filled with so much laughter, or when you’ve felt this intensely satisfied both sexually and emotionally.

With Mark, it’s not only the sex that’s addictive; it’s also the depth of your conversations and the quality time spent together that deepens your connection. His presence is compelling—drawing you in irresistibly. It’s not just his body that you crave but also his mind and the genuine intimacy that you share.

Being around him means constantly craving his touch and his attention. He makes you feel desired, seen, and cherished. The rapid progression of your relationship feels completely natural, as if everything in your life had been leading up to this connection. Every kiss, every orgasm, every whispered secret not only intensifies your physical connection but binds your emotions closer, turning what could have been just a fling into something profound and all-consuming.

You’ve been spending a lot of time in Mark’s room lately, and it feels more like home every day. The walls are adorned with soft, muted tones that reflect his calm demeanor, a stark contrast to the vibrant life he leads. Around the room, carefully chosen photographs hang in a curated display—snapshots of him with friends at the river court, heartwarming pictures with his mother and uncle who have shaped much of who he is today. Each image tells a story of love and support, echoing the warmth of his personality.

The room also houses eclectic art pieces that speak to his varied interests, from abstract paintings to a sleek, modern sculpture that catches the light from the window. In one corner rests his guitar, a constant in his life, its wood gleaming softly under the room’s ambient lighting.

Nearby, his desk is a testament to his multifaceted life: cluttered yet organized, with stacks of music sheets and textbooks balanced precariously next to a high-powered laptop and mixing equipment. The desktop is littered with little personal touches—guitar picks, a worn notebook open on a half-written song, and a coffee mug from a concert he never stops talking about.

As you glance over at Mark, working intently on a music composition, you can’t help but admire how effortlessly handsome he looks in his natural habitat. His ash brown hair falls just slightly over his forehead, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he pores over his work. The soft lighting of the room highlights the swell of his cheekbones and the focus etched into his features. His lips, plump and slightly reddened from your earlier kisses—and from going down on you—are parted as he hums a melody under his breath. He wears his headphones like a crown, lost in the world he creates with every note.

Currently, you’re nestled against him, straddling his lap—more precisely, cockwarming him while he works. The sensation of his cock, thick and warm inside you, sends faint pulses of arousal through you. The heat radiating from his body blends with your own, making every inch of your skin hypersensitive, intensifying the connection that makes the rest of the room fade into insignificance.

“Stop moving,” Mark’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. The tone alone sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the distraction in his eyes, glued to his laptop, that fuels your defiance. You shift slightly, testing his limits, and feel the subtle press of his cock, the angle changing just enough to make you clench around him involuntarily.

“I’m so still, it’s you,” you respond, teasing him with a playful lie. Truthfully, you were both moving, his hips subtly meeting yours in small, almost imperceptible thrusts.

He hisses, the faintest sound of his restraint breaking. “Behave,” he warns, his voice low, gravelly with irritation and something deeper. But you can’t help it—he’s buried so deeply, stretching you so perfectly that the need to move, to do anything but sit still, is consuming.

“I am behaving,” you murmur with a coy smile, rolling your hips slightly, just enough to make him twitch inside you. “If anything, you’re the one moving.”

Mark’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking to yours, dark and heated despite the glare of his laptop screen. “You’re testing me,” he mutters, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before he quickly hides it. The challenge in his voice stokes your defiance, and you shift again, this time slower, more deliberate. The reaction is immediate—his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he growls, but the flicker of fire in his tone betrays his resolve. The sharp edge of his voice sends a thrill through you, making you bite your lip to keep from moaning outright.

When you attempt to slide off him in mock frustration, his hands snap to your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm, laced with an unmistakable possessiveness. The way he pulls you down again, seating you fully on his cock, makes you gasp, your walls clenching involuntarily around him.

He leaves no room for doubt—he wants you exactly where you are, seated on him, his warmth enveloping you. He finally turns to face you, a defeated yet tender look in his eyes that softens when you giggle. Smiling back, he leans in for a kiss, a gentle sigh escaping him as he closes his laptop and sets his headphones aside, surrendering to the moment.

The kiss deepens, his lips soft against yours, tasting faintly sweet. His hands roam from your hips to your thighs, the touch both soothing and stimulating, urging you to move. You begin to bounce, initially slow but picking up pace, the motion seamless and increasingly desperate. Moans spill into his mouth, muffled by the kiss, as the room fills with the sound of your escalating breaths and the subtle squelch of intimacy.

“Keep going, just like that,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and husky. Each word is a vibration that drives you wilder. Your movements become less restrained, more fervent. The pace is relentless now; you’re riding him hard, each bounce drawing a deeper groan from his throat.

The sounds of your bodies moving together fill the room—your shallow breaths, the soft slap of skin meeting skin, and the faint creak of the chair beneath you. Mark’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, threading into your hair to tug your head back so he can trail kisses down your neck. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way his hips start to meet your movements, thrusting up to meet you halfway.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your movements grow frantic. The chair is too small, the space too tight, but none of it matters. All you can focus on is his cock filling you completely, how every thrust sends a ripple of pleasure through your body.

“Look at me,” he commands, and you lift your gaze to meet his—intense, filled with raw desire. It’s too much and yet exactly what you need. He grips your thighs tighter, urging you on, faster, harder. The sound of your bodies coming together punctuates the air, a lewd, satisfying slap that echoes off the walls.

Leaning away from his fervent kisses, you murmur breathlessly, “Bed.” Despite the heat between you, fatigue begins to seep into your muscles, exacerbated by the confined space. His hands on your back offer support, his words encouraging, yet the allure of a larger, more accommodating space is undeniable. Your voice is a quiet whisper and it breaks slowly. “Please, I need you in me properly.”

Without missing a beat, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you across the room to the sprawling comfort of his bed. As he lowers you onto the soft mattress, the change in setting reinvigorates you. You resume your rhythm, now with more vigor, bouncing passionately on him. Each movement causes your breasts to sway enticingly, capturing his attention immediately. He leans in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking with a fervor that sends ripples of pleasure through your body. The needy sound of your combined moans fills the room, the sexual energy palpable.

“I can’t get any work done for my uni project that’s literally due tomorrow,” you gasp out between bounces, “you keep distracting me with sex.” Each word is punctuated by the rhythm of your bodies meeting.

“And what about you?” he retorts with a groan, his hands gripping your hips to meet your every move. “I ask you to sit still while I work, not bounce on it.” His playful complaint is laced with arousal, emphasizing how much you distract him as well.

He shakes his head and chuckles, changing the subject, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing his face. “What’s your project about? Maybe I can help, though you really should have gotten it done earlier,” he teases, his voice light yet hinting at a genuine offer of assistance.

You slow your movements, catching your breath as you explain, “Professor Jeong asked us to capture things that we find beautiful and physically stunning,” you say, the topic steering your mind momentarily from the carnal to the cerebral. “It’s about the correlation between visual beauty and emotional well-being—how art impacts our happiness and mood.” You’re tasked with compiling this into an A3 page, presenting it effectively and thoughtfully.

Suddenly, inspired by your words and perhaps the visual before him, Mark reaches for the camera positioned on his nightstand. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he starts snapping photos of you in your most uninhibited state. The camera clicks rhythmically, capturing every flush of your skin, every bead of sweat, and the raw, unfiltered desire in your eyes. His gaze, intense and focused, drinks in every detail as he shoots, clearly turned on by the sight of you—powerful, beautiful, and utterly entrancing.

“Mark?” you murmur, your voice catching slightly as you hear the soft click of the camera. You feel exposed, suddenly shy, and instinctively, your hands fly up to shield your eyes.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm, carrying a quiet authority that makes you immediately drop your hands. There’s something irresistibly commanding about the way he says your name. You can’t help but comply, and it thrills you. His dominant demeanor, the way he takes control in these moments, is incredibly arousing. You’ve given him the reins in the bedroom, and every session leaves you deeply satisfied, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

The room is charged with an electric tension as you approach the climax. His eyes never leave you, capturing every flush and gasp as you ride him, the camera documenting every moment. You feel him close to the edge, his movements becoming more urgent under you.

Then, the release comes. It’s intense, leaving both of you breathless and spent. You collapse beside him, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heart pounding in his chest as he flips through the digital images he captured.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs almost reverently as he reviews the photos. The breath catches in your throat when he hands you the prints, the images stark and raw in their honesty. One captures you in full motion, riding him, your eyes fierce with determination and pleasure, hands pressed flat against his chest, lips parted in a silent moan. Another shows you when fatigue began to edge in, your expression one of blissful exhaustion, a sheen of sweat highlighting your features. The third is a close-up of your breasts, buoyant and full, the image erotic and powerful.

“I can’t believe I look like this when I’m fucking you,” you say, your voice a mix of awe and embarrassment as you survey the photos.

He responds with a soft kiss on your lips. “You can see how beautiful you look, hm?”

Your cheeks flush with warmth, and you quickly shift the topic, though his intense gaze makes your heart race. “Mark, I don’t know how I’m gonna use my nudity for a university project. What if Professor Jeong sees.”

He chuckles, his eyes still glued to the photos. “I mean, Professor Jeong is sexy,” you add playfully.

“I’m sexier,” he counters smoothly, his smirk evident in his voice as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Plus, it’s not for him or anyone else, it’s for me. All mine,” he whispers huskily, his words sending shivers down your spine. The possessive intensity in his gaze as he scans your body and face makes your heart thump louder. The idea that these images are his, that this moment is just for him, ignites something wild within you.

“Do you actually like those? Are you gonna keep them?” you ask, curiosity in your tone.

He nods enthusiastically. “If you’ll let me,” he asks sweetly, his eyes widening with a plea, and he grins triumphantly when you nod in agreement. He draws even closer, resting his forehead against yours, his lips meeting yours in a soft, earnest kiss before he murmurs, “And of course, I like them. You’re absolutely breathtaking,” he continues, his voice deep and stirring. The intensity of his stare and the richness of his tone fill you with a fluttering nervousness, making it hard for you to maintain eye contact.

“I’m not really the photogenic type,” you joke half-heartedly, trying to brush off the compliment.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” he scoffs, his look of reassurance mixed with a gentle challenge, pushing back against your self-doubt.

You sigh and respond with another kiss, this one quickly flaring into a heated exchange. His hands roam over your body, each touch sparking electricity across your skin. His lips press urgently against yours, his movements poised and ready. He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock teasing you, testing the waters. It takes several tries as you adjust to his size, each attempt leaving you feeling more exposed and vulnerable yet increasingly desperate for the fullness he promises.

Finally, after a few deep breaths and some coaxing, you manage to relax enough for him to slide in, stretching you deliciously. “Good girl,” he growls approvingly, as you start to synchronize your movements. His thrusts are deep, powerful, unrelenting. Each plunge sends a ripple through your body, his pace rough and determined. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, alongside your intertwined moans and gasps for air. “Just like that,” he pants, his voice husky with desire. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you to meet each of his punishing thrusts, ensuring you feel every inch as he drives deeper, stretching you to accommodate him fully.

“Capture something you find beautiful,” he murmurs almost to himself, the camera back in his hands, snapping photos of you in your blissful abandon. He focuses on capturing the intensity of your expressions—the soft flutters of your eyelashes, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy, the way your lips part on a sigh, then morph into a moan. The room is filled with the continuous soft shutter sounds of the camera, documenting every moment of your ecstasy.

As the session grows more intense, his hands roam across every inch of your body, each touch a silent testament to his sheer obsession with you. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers fiercely, his mouth traveling across your skin, planting kisses that are both tender and demanding. “You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he declares between breaths, his voice thick with lust as he continues to thrust into you, each movement designed to provoke another cry of pleasure from you. His relentless pace, combined with the deep, deliberate thrusts, draws out moans that fill the room, blending seamlessly with the rhythmic sound of the camera’s shutter.

The room fills with the symphony of your breathy moans and soft whimpers, the air thick with the melody of your pleasure. Each affirmation from him is punctuated by his rhythmic, firm thrusting, his movements deliberate and paced to stoke the fire that builds with each of his profound, measured strokes. Your body responds instinctively, arching towards him, craving more of the exquisite friction he masterfully creates.

Every touch he delivers is precisely calculated to heighten the cascade of sensations that engulfs you. His murmurs, husky and intimate, resonate along the curves of your body. “Every inch of you is perfect,” he whispers with intensity, his voice rough as his hands navigate your skin. His fingertips trace your collarbone, glide between your breasts, and sweep over your stomach, pausing to circle your navel before venturing lower with slow, deliberate intent. His lips follow the paths his fingers set, each kiss and lick sending shivers through you, your skin tingling with each featherlight touch.

As his lips and tongue lavish attention on every part of your body. The room fills with the sounds of your breathy moans and the soft clicks of the camera, creating a symphony of sensuality. He treasures each response—every shudder and whimper that escapes your lips—using them as cues to elevate the intensity of your shared experience, driving both of you toward a crescendo of intense satisfaction.

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All day, you’ve been on a mission to find Jeno, but he’s proven elusive. Jeno wasn’t the easiest person to track down—unless he was at the gym or playing basketball, his whereabouts were anyone’s guess. Rumors often placed him in the company of various girls, but today, none of the usual spots had panned out. This search wasn’t fueled by curiosity alone; it was tinged with anxiety. It had been a few weeks since his dad had caught you and Mark in a compromising situation, and Jeno hadn’t said a word about it. You were left to wonder if his dad had kept the incident to himself.

Your intent wasn’t to confront Jeno about his father; that could make things worse if he was oblivious. Instead, you hoped to gauge his demeanor, to see if he would hint at any suspicions or knowledge of the situation.

As you walked across the campus, the environment buzzed with the typical mid-semester activity. Students lounged on the grassy quads, some absorbed in their books, others laughing and chatting in small clusters. The paths were busy with the comings and goings of students between classes, a vibrant backdrop to your own restless thoughts.

Finally, you spotted him. Jeno was unmistakable even from a distance, dressed in a hoodie that obscured his hair, and headphones likely shielding him from the world. “Jeno! Jeno!!” you called out, but he didn’t turn—his music evidently drowning your voice. Quickening your pace, you followed him toward the tutor center, puzzled. Jeno had never struck you as someone who needed academic help; his grades were more than decent.

Just as you were about to follow him inside to catch his attention, you froze. Inside, Jeno wasn’t alone; he was with Mark’s best friend. Your eyes narrowed as you watched their interaction through the glass—low whispers, soft smiles, gentle eye contact. The scene before you didn’t add up; they were an unlikely pair, never known to interact, let alone in such a close, personal manner.

Curiosity piqued and hidden by the doorway, you strained to catch any piece of their conversation, but their voices were too low. Then, it happened—the moment that stilled the breath in your chest. Jeno leaned down with a tender smile and kissed her. It wasn’t just any kiss. It was soft, intimate, beautiful, and sweet—so starkly genuine that it felt like it belonged in a more private world than this public space.

Stunned and suddenly feeling like an intruder, you stepped back from the door, your mind racing with questions. Were they keeping it a secret? Why? The weight of the moment pressed down on you, a mirror to your own hidden truths with Mark.

Choosing to respect their privacy, you walked away, your steps heavy with the complexity of your thoughts. If they were indeed keeping whatever was blossoming between them under wraps, who were you to expose them? You understood the need for secrecy all too well. As you left the tutor center behind, your mind was a whirl of unanswered questions and newfound secrets, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the paths that felt somehow more twisted than before.

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Lee Jeno, with his sharp features, has an unmistakable resemblance to his father. He often catches the eye for the same reasons his father does. From the strong jawline to the sharpness of his cheekbones, Jeno is almost a carbon copy of Taeyong. Even their expressions, when thoughtful or focused, mirror each other. Jeno’s eyes, a deep, reflective brown, carry the same intensity as his father’s, yet there’s a softness in Jeno that suggests a gentle spirit.

It turns out that you didn’t have to find Jeno after all; he has come to find you. You watch him approach with a smile, trying to shake off the memory of the intimate kiss you witnessed earlier. It’s hard not to think about it, but you remind yourself it wasn’t any of your business.

As you settle into the cozy corner of the campus café, Jeno approaches with his usual easy grace. He boops you on the head playfully with a finger before taking a seat opposite you. Reaching for the popcorn you offered, he takes a few bites, his smile spreading warmly as he makes himself comfortable. The silence between you is comfortable, filled only with shared smiles and an easy familiarity that speaks volumes of your current relationship.

After everything you’ve been through—the breakup that surprisingly mended more than it broke—your bond with Jeno has evolved. It’s surprisingly the best it’s ever been. There’s a newfound respect and calm between you two, a stark contrast to the past’s turbulence. You’ve both acknowledged the toxicity that once clouded your relationship, realizing that being apart has made each interaction healthier, more supportive.

Jeno is incredibly important in your life; he’s more than just a past love, he’s a steadfast friend. Since you were young, he’s been a significant figure in your life, one of the first people you truly got close to. Despite the messiness of your past relationship—moments that now make you cringe when you remember them—your friendship has endured. To you, Jeno isn’t just an ex; he’s like a brother, a best friend whose presence is both comforting and irreplaceable.

As you watch him, you notice a certain hesitancy in his eyes, a telltale sign that there’s something on his mind. Your history together has attuned you to these subtleties in his demeanor. You’re about to inquire, to delve into whatever is weighing on him, when a thought crosses your mind about his father. Why hasn’t his dad said anything yet about you and Mark? Is there hope that he didn’t want to interfere in the lives of the young people in his son’s life? This unspoken question hangs in the air, adding a layer of complexity to the comfortable silence between you.

Jeno finally speaks up after battling with his thoughts for the last few minutes. Gathering his courage, he says, “Hey, so my dad was trying to convince me of something crazy.”

You gulp, trying to calm your breathing and maintain a composed expression, secretly relieved that Jeno hasn’t noticed your anxiety yet. “What did your dad say now?” you attempt to joke, playing into the well-known fact that Jeno’s dad often spreads lies and toxicity.

“He told me that you and Mark are seeing each other, that you guys are fucking, and he even saw you make out,” Jeno states, his eyes searching yours for any sign of truth.

Your eyes widen, and your mouth feels dry, the sudden anxiety palpable. “That’s crazy, right?” Jeno asks, almost laughing, trying to convince himself that his dad is just trying to stir up drama again. His face betrays a mix of disbelief and a trace of underlying betrayal, disturbed by the thought that you could be seeing Mark behind his back.

You force a laugh, deflecting the accusation. “That is the craziest, most unbelievable lie your dad has ever told. Do you remember when he accused me of trying to seduce your uncle? I was 16 at the time,” you say, putting on your most convincing demeanor, playing into Taeyong’s notorious character to bolster your denial.

Jeno nods, visibly relieved as the tension drains from him. “That’s what I said. I told him he was crazy and to stop trying to interfere in our lives and create a mess out of nowhere.”

Given his strained relationship with his dad, Jeno opts to dismiss it as another of Taeyong’s manipulations, choosing to believe your lie over his dad’s truth, showing how deeply he trusts you.

“But if you actually were seeing Mark behind my back, that would be absolutely insane and unbelievable. I mean, what would you even see in him?” he scoffs, trying to make light of the situation but clearly uncomfortable with even the notion.

Shaking your head, you carefully respond, “He’s not that bad.” You bite your tongue, holding back from defending Mark too vigorously to avoid suspicion.

Jeno scoffs again. “Apparently, Mark fucks around a lot, so I just told my dad he probably saw him kissing another girl.”

Puzzled, you ask, “Really? He fucks a lot?”

Jeno nods. “Yeah, his body count is literally higher than mine.”

You choke on your coffee, truly shocked. Knowing how high Jeno’s count was, especially since you two had numerous breaks in your relationship when he’d see other people, the revelation that Mark might be even more experienced brings a mix of intrigue and unease.

Jeno changes the subject, standing up and moving to sit beside you on the couch. He drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close with a gentle firmness that feels reassuring yet suffocating given the conversation. His eyes are soft and earnest as he looks into yours, searching for something unspoken.

“We’re in a good place, right?” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “So, if anything like that were to happen, I trust you’d tell me. I believe you trust me enough to communicate and not hide anything from me. I’m glad we’re in a healthier, stronger place now, that we realised how toxic we were together and that we’re better off as friends. I wasn’t going to let my dad’s lies ruin that or sabotage my life any further.”

You feel a tightness in your throat as he speaks, a mix of anxiety and guilt constricting your chest. The physical discomfort is palpable, manifesting as a slight tremble in your hands that you hope he doesn’t notice. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm, pounding against your ribcage as if trying to escape the duplicity of your reassurances. You gulp, struggling to manage a nod, your mouth dry.

“Yeah, we are in a good place. And of course, I’ll always tell you anything. I have so much trust in you, and I’m glad you trust me too. You’re still so important to me, Jen,” you manage to say, your voice slightly strained as you force the words out, hoping they sound more convincing to him than they do to you.

He gives you a smile, one that’s meant to be reassuring, but it only deepens the knot of guilt in your stomach. With a casual affection, he scruffles your hair and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek before standing to leave. You watch him walk away, each step echoing like a verdict in the quiet room.

Left alone with your thoughts, the guilt washes over you in waves. His trust feels like a weight, heavy with the burden of your secrecy. The warmth of his kiss lingers on your cheek, a reminder of the bond you cherish yet betray with each passing moment of deception. The silence around you feels oppressive, filled with the ghosts of words unsaid, and you sit there, grappling with the reality of your actions and the fear of losing one of the most stable connections in your life.

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It’s been a few days and you still haven’t mentioned to Mark what Jeno told you. It’s been weighing on your mind, knowing it could stir up tension. You’re torn on how to bring it up—discussing such sensitive topics has always been a challenge for you. The thought of addressing it tightens your chest with anxiety, making you hesitate each time you think about revealing it.

The room is dim and cozy as you both sink into the sofa, the television casting a soft glow around you. You lean against Mark, feeling the reassuring strength of his shoulder against your cheek. Your hand finds his, fingers interlacing as you absently trace patterns on his skin. His steady breathing and the rise and fall of his chest bring a comforting rhythm to the moment, while his laughter vibrates warmly against you, pulling you away from the thoughts that weigh on your mind.

Despite the movie flickering in front of you, your eyes wander, unfocused, as anxiety subtly stirs within you. The comfort of Mark’s grip is grounding, yet it can’t quite still the restless thoughts that distract you from the plot unfolding on the screen. The room, with its soft shadows and gentle light, feels both safe and confining as you struggle to anchor yourself in the tranquility of the moment.

Mark senses the shift in your mood; his perceptiveness is one of the things you cherish about him. He turns to you, his voice a soft whisper against your hair. “What’s up with you?” His lips brush your scalp gently as his hand cups your face, coaxing you to look at him. You resist his gaze, too intense in the moment, and sigh heavily.

“I’m okay, just stressed about college,” you mumble, a half-truth that hangs awkwardly in the air between you.

“I don’t believe you,” he replies with gentle firmness. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”

In response, you pull away from his embrace and lean forward to grab something from the desk in front of you. You’re not ready to delve into your worries, not when they feel so heavy and complex. Instead, you retrieve your art portfolio, a safer subject to share.

“I want to show you something,” you whisper, opening the portfolio to divert the conversation. Mark nods, understanding your need to share on your terms.

As you flip through the pages, Mark’s attention is fully on the art before him. “This is so good, Y/N,” he breathes out in awe. Each page reveals a different facet of your talent: a striking portrait of Jeno donned in stylish sunglasses, his features sharp against a blurred background; a vibrant landscape that captures the serene beauty of nature, the colors vivid and alive; a whimsical depiction of Karina in a flowing dress, set against the backdrop of a sunlit picnic scene; and an abstract piece, swirling colors and shapes that evoke a sense of deep emotion and creativity.

Mark studies not only the artwork but the meticulous notes beside each piece, written in your neat, flowing handwriting. He takes in every detail, from the annotations on technique to the thoughtful descriptions that accompany each image.

Leaning forward, he kisses you softly, admiration tinting his words. “I can’t believe how talented you are.”

A shy smile plays on your lips as you confide in him. “Professor Jeong talked to me after class. He said I should be applying for graduate schemes and postgraduate opportunities, but I’m too nervous about being rejected. I’m scared I’m not good enough.”

In response, Mark gently pulls you onto his lap, facing him. His eyes are earnest as he looks up at you, his hands resting reassuringly on your hips. “I want you to promise me that you’ll apply for these schemes. You’re incredibly talented, and I know you’ll be accepted. You need to see how good you are,” he says, his voice imbued with a conviction that makes you want to believe him.

The hesitation in your eyes is met with the calm certainty in his. The soft glow of the room highlights the sincerity etched across his face, making him look almost angelic, grounded yet hopeful.

“Will you promise me?” he asks. The weight of his gaze compels you to nod, his belief in you nudging you out of your comfort zone.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice a soft echo in the dimly lit room, drawing you nearer. His lips capture yours in a kiss that quickly sheds any pretense of gentleness. It deepens voraciously, fuelled by the mingling of mutual desire. Each press of his lips against yours sends a thrill through you, while the low, contented giggle that escapes you adds a playful undertone to the fervent exchange. His hands roam across your back, pulling you impossibly closer with each breath you release—a sigh, a moan, a whisper of his name.

The room resonates with the sounds of your combined breaths, an intimate symphony punctuated by the occasional brush of your fingers along his shoulders, tracing the contours of his muscles that flex under your touch. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss to explore new depths. You react instinctively, your hands venturing lower to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if trying to merge further into him. The kiss escalates, driven by a shared urgency that pulses in the air around you, your bodies moving in a fluid dance of give and take.

As you pull away momentarily to catch your breath, the air between you thickens with desire. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intensity, reflecting a hunger that mirrors your own. “Keep going,” he murmurs, voice thick and husky, compelling you back to his lips with an irresistible force. Your response is immediate and desperate, your lips crashing against his with renewed passion. Hands roam more boldly now, mapping the landscape of each other’s bodies with a familiarity that only heightens the intensity of each touch, each kiss. The space around you feels charged, every sigh and touch a spark in the quiet darkness, fueling the fire that you both stoke with every moment that passes.

Lost in the rush of the moment, you and Mark are oblivious to the sound of the front door swinging open. While you’re completely absorbed, Mark, who is usually more attuned to his surroundings, hears the noise but dismisses it, assuming it’s Karina. Since she’s the only one who knows about the two of you and has kept your secret, you’ve grown comfortable being openly affectionate around her—kissing, touching, and more, without the need for concealment.

“I told you they were seeing each other,” a voice cuts through the air, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, breaking away from Mark’s lips as the unfamiliar tone slices through your bubble of intimacy. Scrambling off his lap, you turn to see Winter standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with amusement and curiosity. Beside her, Karina wears an expression that’s a complex tapestry of apology and sadness, her eyes avoiding yours as if carrying a burden of guilt.

“Karina!” Your voice cracks, laced with disbelief and anger. “Why is she here? I thought we agreed I’d have the apartment tonight,” you protest, pointing accusatorially at Winter, trying desperately to regain some control over the situation.

You fight the urge to panic, aware of how much Winter relishes drama and her close ties with Jeno. The thought of her running to him with this information sends waves of anxiety crashing through you. Karina, arms crossed, meets your gaze with a defiant shake of her head. “Y/N, I messaged you that Winter was coming. It’s your fault for not checking your phone.”

“That’s not the point,” you retort sharply, the tension palpable.

“I just came here to get something,” Karina says flatly, her voice tinged with irritation as she storms off towards her room, her back to you, cutting off any chance for you to explain or mitigate what she saw.

Now, it’s just you, Mark, Winter and an awkward silence. Mark, still visibly horny and frustrated, looks desperately out of place. You know he’s just dying to drag you back onto his lap and fuck you until you forget this mess ever happened.

Winter’s voice cuts through the stillness, sultry and probing, as she leans towards Mark, her intention clear in the curl of her lip. “Mark…” she purrs, her gaze locked on his with a mischievous twinkle. “Do you remember?”

Unmoved and steady, Mark’s expression gives nothing away. “No,” he states, his voice a flat denial that leaves no room for doubt or continuation.

Undeterred, Winter presses on, her voice dropping to a whisper that only you and Mark can hear. “You don’t remember, like, two weeks ago, your cock—” She pauses, watching him for any sign of acknowledgment.

Mark turns towards you, his look serious, the lines of his face hardened by the need to clarify things before they spiral further. “It was a month ago, way before we started seeing each other,” he explains, his voice low and earnest. “It was just sex, it didn't mean anything more.”

Your arms fold over your chest as a knot of confusion and jealousy tightens within you, a reaction you can’t fully suppress. “How many girls have you fucked?” The question escapes you almost without thought, a reflex to the swirling doubts.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies with a calm that feels both comforting and final. His eyes hold yours, gentle yet firm, as he tries to redirect the focus from his past to the present, to what matters the most to him right now — you. 

At that moment, Karina reenters the room, her annoyance palpable. “You know, ever since you both started seeing each other, you’ve just been fucking all over his apartment, every room, every corner. It’s really careless and annoying.”

Karina turns to Mark, her tone laced with biting humor as she tries to mask her true annoyance. “And you,” she says, her voice dripping with feigned surprise, making Mark visibly tense. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a virgin, that you were innocent. After hearing and seeing how you two go at it… I’m honestly surprised Y/N’s pussy is still intact.” 

Mark scoffs, clearly offended. “You—you what? You thought I was a virgin?” he asks, disbelief coloring his tone.

Karina nods and crosses her arms, maintaining her assertive stance.

Mark laughs heartily. “Why?” he inquires, genuinely puzzled by her previous misconception.

Winter interjects, her voice clear and matter-of-fact. “Before Mark started seeing Y/N, he was pretty active. He’d sleep with several different girls every few weeks. His body count is way higher than Jeno’s.”

Mark looks shocked at her blunt disclosure. “How do you know so much?” he quickly asks. The fact that he doesn’t deny it confirms the truth of her words, making you squirm uncomfortably.

“I didn’t need to know that!” you exclaim, covering your ears. You can’t help but feel unsettled by the idea of Mark’s sexual history with other girls before you.

“Guys, none of this matters. What matters is how selfish Y/N is being by fucking in every corner of this house,” Karina retorts, her frustration now plainly directed at your recent actions.

“Don’t call me selfish or try to make me feel guilty,” you fire back, irritation rising. “We agreed that I’d get the apartment today. You knew I was having Mark over tonight.” Your voice is sharp, your patience clearly wearing thin with the ongoing accusations.

Karina’s frustration seems to boil over. “It’s just—it’s everywhere, Y/N. Can’t you keep it to one room, at least?”

“Are you serious? What the fuck is your problem? Sorry I’m getting some and you aren’t. What do you want me to do about it?” Your voice matches hers in sharpness, the edge in your tone reflecting the tension that’s been building.

Mark and Winter exchange a wide-eyed, awkward glance, opting to remain silent amid the escalating confrontation. Mark’s arm tightens around you, his fingers drawing comforting patterns on your skin, grounding you with his touch, which is intimate and reassuring amidst the brewing storm.

Mark coughs awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood as you lean into him, visibly frustrated. “Hey guys, do you wanna see Y/N’s art portfolio? It’s really good; she’s amazing,” he offers, pointing to the portfolio on the table.

Intrigued despite the tension, Winter nods. “Show me.” Winter’s interest in seeing your art isn’t just casual curiosity; it’s rooted in her appreciation for creativity, shared through the same course you both study.

As Mark reaches for the portfolio, you quickly intervene. “Don’t,” you whisper firmly, taking it in your hands. You retreat to your room, shutting the door behind you, needing a moment alone.

“Did Y/N let you see her art portfolio?” Karina’s shock is evident, her voice laced with disbelief.

Mark nods, preparing to follow you to offer comfort but pauses as Karina continues. “You know Y/N doesn’t let anyone touch her art portfolio. She doesn’t even let me touch it, and we’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

A soft smile spreads across Mark’s face as he processes her words, pride swelling in his chest. He feels a flutter of happiness, realising the trust and special place he’s starting to hold in your life. With a renewed sense of closeness and privilege, he makes his way toward your room, his steps light, eager to reassure you and perhaps, share in the intimate parts of your life that you guard so closely.

Karina’s demeanor speaks volumes as she stands there, her expression betraying a complex blend of emotions that extends beyond mere annoyance. It’s evident, even to a casual observer, that her discomfort stems from a place deeper than superficial jealousy. She doesn’t harbor romantic feelings for Mark—rather, her reaction is rooted in an acute sense of infatuation and perhaps, a touch of envy towards the closeness you share with him. Mark, with his undeniable charm and increasing popularity, has become a focal point of attention, making him the object of many admiring glances, including Karina’s.

As she watches the effortless intimacy and laughter you and Mark share, a pang of loneliness strikes her. It’s not just the affection but the ease of your interaction that seems to highlight her own isolation. In your shared apartment, where she once felt at home, she now feels like an outsider looking in on a world where she no longer belongs. This sense of displacement is sharpened by the realization that her connection with anyone has never mirrored the depth and vibrancy of what you and Mark have, which intensifies her feelings of solitude.

The jealousy, therefore, isn’t about wanting Mark for herself but about missing that profound emotional connection. Seeing you two so synced and happy together magnifies her own insecurities about being alone, about not having someone who looks at her the way Mark looks at you—with undisguised adoration and admiration. This internal turmoil manifests as tension and a somewhat sharp edge in her interactions, not because she despises what you have, but because it serves as a mirror to what she lacks in her own life.

Her frustrations are further compounded by the fact that she can’t openly express these feelings without seeming petty or envious. So, she remains silent, wrestling with her feelings privately, which only adds to the weight of her isolation. Every laugh and whisper she overhears, every moment she witnesses of your shared happiness, is a reminder of the void within her own emotional landscape, making her feel even more detached and alone.

Thus, her reactions and expressions are not just about the disruption in the household or the inconveniences caused by your romantic escapades. They are about a deeper, more personal ache—an ache for connection, for being seen, for being part of something as effortlessly beautiful as your relationship with Mark. In her quiet moments, she grapples with these feelings, unsure how to bridge the gap between her loneliness and the contentment she observes in you.

───────────────────────────────

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice is gentle as he taps lightly on your bedroom door, his presence just outside a comfort in itself.

“It’s open,” you call out, your voice muffled by the pillow. He enters, quietly shutting and locking the door behind him before his eyes find you. Wrapped in your sheets, tear streaks marking your cheeks, you look up as he approaches.

“Hey, baby,” he coos, his tone soft and caring as he sits at the edge of your bed. His hand reaches out, tenderly brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face. You don’t resist when he gently pulls you into his arms, arranging you so your head rests against his chest—a silent fortress against the storm brewing inside you. His fingers stroke your back in soothing patterns, each touch a silent promise of his support. The soft kisses he plants on your temple are like whispers of reassurance, telling you he’s there, waiting for you to share when you’re ready.

After a few moments cradled in his embrace, you find the strength to speak, your voice quivering slightly. “I need to tell you something,” you start, feeling his chest hum in response, a non-verbal cue that he’s listening.

You take a deep breath, your story pouring out in a nervous rush. “Jeno came up to me earlier, and it turns out his dad did tell him what he saw. He said that Taeyong tried to convince him that we were having a relationship behind his back.” The words tremble as they leave your lips, tears welling up again.

Mark’s hold tightens, his voice concerned. “Oh,” he murmurs, clearly taken aback. “But I had practice with Jeno today. He was… normal. We joked around, practiced together. If he knew, wouldn’t he be mad at me? Try to confront me?”

“That’s the thing,” you sniffle, wiping away a tear. “Jeno told me he chose not to believe his dad because he knows Taeyong is a liar and manipulative. Me and Jeno have gotten a lot closer as friends, and he’s choosing to trust me—to believe that I’m not going behind his back.”

Mark’s expression softens, his eyes filled with empathy yet tinged with concern. “Is that why you were so quiet earlier?” he inquires, referring to the strained silence that had hovered between you during the movie.

You nod, the weight of keeping your relationship with Mark a secret pressing down on you. “Mark, please, we need to keep ‘us’ a secret. No one can know, not Jeno, not anyone. It’s already bad enough that Karina and now Winter know, but I’ll make sure they keep it quiet. We just… it’s too risky otherwise. I don’t want any drama or tension. I’m just so tired of it all.”

Mark nods solemnly, his voice firm yet filled with an aching tenderness. “If that’s what you want. I’d love to touch and kiss you in public without caring who’s watching, but I’ll always put your needs first. Whatever makes you feel safe, I’m in.”

Relief floods through you at his words, and you exhale a shaky breath. “Thank you, Mark, truly,” you murmur, feeling the sincerity of his promise wrap around you like another blanket.

He exhales a deep, contemplative sigh. “It’s probably for the best,” he admits, his tone mixing resignation with newfound understanding. “I’m actually starting to get along with Jeno. It’s surprising, I know, but he’s proving me wrong. Beneath that tough exterior, he’s not that insufferable. I still think he’s a jerk but as I get to know him better, I see why. He’s just putting up a front, but he’s really not so bad once you break through that.”

Mark’s eyes meet yours, filled with a sincere resolve. “He’s my brother, and family is something I don’t have much of. I’m starting to realise what little I have. I don’t want to jeopardise what’s building between Jeno and me. Not now. So, I agree—we keep our relationship under wraps for a bit longer. I don’t want to lose the chance to really become brothers, not over a misunderstanding or impatience on my part.” His voice is steady, the words flowing more from a place of understanding and less from frustration, showing his maturity in handling the delicate balance of family ties and personal relationships.

You hum, relieved yet thoughtful. Despite the shroud of secrets surrounding your relationship, you feel a profound sense of rightness about how things are unfolding with Jeno through Mark. “What’s the deal with your family?” you ask softly, realising you’ve only ever known the outlines of his familial ties. You know that Mark and Jeno share a father, one who abandoned Mark’s mother while she was pregnant, leaving Mark without a father figure.

You’ve never met his mother, but from what Mark’s shared, you imagine her as a formidable woman who raised a son with a resilient mix of kindness and strength. Mark embodies so many qualities that speak to a loving, though challenging upbringing—he is confident yet unassuming, talented yet humble, and possesses a sharp wit paired with a deep-seated kindness. These traits endear him not just to you but to everyone around him. His laughter, easy and infectious, has a way of lightening even your darkest days, and his support has been unwavering, a testament to his character and the values instilled in him.

Mark’s empathy, perhaps his most striking quality, seems to come naturally. He listens intently, making those around him feel understood and appreciated—a likely gift from his mother, who needed to be both parents at once. He supports you quietly but wholeheartedly, celebrating your successes and standing by you through challenges as if they were his own. These qualities, deeply woven into his character, paint a vivid picture of the woman who shaped him, a person of strength and unconditional love.

He’s silent for a moment, the weight of his history reflected in the depth of his gaze. You can see the struggle, a mixture of resignation and resolve, as he contemplates his past. Finally, he offers you a small, somewhat weary smile. “It’s a long story, another time?” His voice is soft, tinged with vulnerability and an emotion so palpable it makes your heart tighten in your chest.

You nod, your understanding clear in the softness of your eyes. Reaching out, you take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Okay, whenever you’re ready,” you whisper gently, showing him that there’s no rush, that you’re here for him whenever he wants to share more. To further comfort him, you lean in and press a tender kiss to his forehead, then gently push back a lock of his hair from his face. 

His lips find yours in a passionate kiss, lingering and intense. Each touch is a promise, a silent communication of his deep feelings for you. He breaks the kiss only to continue his tender exploration, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, his movements gentle and reverent. The adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, a profound affection that speaks louder than words. His smile, boyish and breathtaking, lights up his features, making your heart flutter with the sheer beauty of the moment.

You feel the warmth of his affection enveloping you, each kiss a testament to his deep feelings. His eyes, alight with warmth and a hint of desire, hold yours in a gaze so intense it sends shivers down your spine. The air around you thickens with intimacy, each breath you take mingled with his. It’s a connection that goes beyond the physical, charged with an emotional depth that makes every touch, every kiss, feel like the first and only.

───────────────────────────────

The morning light sneaks in softly as Mark stirs beside you. His early morning departure starts with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing yours as he murmurs about having to head to practice. His voice was low and still thick with sleep, he promises to see you later, his words a soft echo as he leaves. Despite the warmth of his farewell, the quiet that settles after his departure does little to calm the storm of thoughts whirling through your mind, all echoing the tensions from last night.

Reluctantly, you slip out of the comforting tangle of sheets, still dressed in Mark’s shirt and your own shorts, you shuffle towards the kitchen. The sight of Karina munching on cereal and Winter’s unexpected presence doesn’t startle you, it only compounds the morning’s heavy air. They both pause, eyes following you in silence as you approach the coffee machine, their gazes laden with unspoken words.

Karina cuts through the quiet first, nodding towards the counter. “I already made your coffee,” she mutters, a subtle peace offering in her tone. Gratefully, you wrap your fingers around the familiar mug, the warmth seeping into your palms. 

“Thanks,” you manage, the rich aroma soothing some of the rough edges of your wakefulness.

Karina hesitates before speaking again, her voice softer, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Her apology hangs between you, earnest and hopeful. 

You meet her eyes, finding sincere regret there, and it nudges your own words forward. “Me too, I didn’t mean for things to get so heated.”

As you both step tentatively around the remnants of last night’s fallout, discussing the sharp words and misunderstandings, the air begins to clear. “Just, please, make sure you don’t tell anyone about me and Mark,” you add, needing to hear it again. 

Karina nods firmly, her assurance steady. “You can trust me. You know I’ve got your back.”

Winter, who had been quietly observing, chimes in, her agreement soft but certain. “You have my word too, Y/N.” Relief floods through you, easing some of the tightness in your chest. Their honesty, their readiness to support you—it fortifies the trust you place in them, reminding you of the solid friendships you’ve built.

Winter catches your eye, her question probing gently but deeply enough to unsettle the surface of your calm. “Mark makes you really happy, doesn’t he?” she asks, a soft curiosity in her voice.

You deflect, shaking your head and looking away. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, unwilling to peel back layers of emotions you aren’t ready to acknowledge yet.

Unable to resist your own curiosity, you shift the conversation towards a less vulnerable topic, one that needles at your insecurities though you hate to admit it. “So, you’ve had sex with Mark?” The words taste bitter, revealing more about your feelings than you’d like.

Winter nods, and without any reservation, begins detailing her brief encounters with Mark. “Yeah, it was only a couple of times. He’s really good, you know? His cock is huge, and he knows exactly how to use it. And his dirty talk? Absolutely mind-blowing.” She pauses, a hint of reminiscence flickering across her features. “But it was just sex. He made sure I knew that. We both knew what it was.”

Hearing Winter’s casual recount helps; it echoes Mark’s assurances to you that whatever happened before you was meaningless. Yet, a part of you tightens at the thought, a mixture of relief and residual jealousy tangling inside you.

Karina watches you closely, her gaze piercing as she catches the subtle relaxation of your shoulders at Winter’s words. She leans in, her voice barely above a whisper, “You’re really falling for him.”

Your reaction is immediate and visceral. You choke on your coffee, coughing and sputtering as you vehemently shake your head. “No, I’m not. We’re just fucking,” you assert, a desperate denial coloring your tone. 

Deep down, you’re terrified to admit these burgeoning feelings, to acknowledge that what’s between you might be more than physical. You’re scared to open your heart fully, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with real attachment. Your laughter and denials are just shields, protecting you from the possibility of heartache, even as you unwittingly fall deeper each day.

But Karina knows better; she sees through the facade. Your actions betray your words—constantly smiling when he’s mentioned, always eager to be near him, your face lighting up in a way that only someone falling hard could relate to. Despite your protests, it’s clear in the way you seek his presence, the way your mood lifts perceptibly around him, and how you relish every intimate moment—even as you tell yourself it’s nothing serious.

Karina’s confusion deepens when she considers the lack of formal commitment between you and Mark. Despite the clear signs of deep affection and mutual respect, the two of you haven’t yet defined your relationship with any official labels, nor have you discussed the potential of becoming exclusive. This hesitancy puzzles her, given the unmistakable chemistry and closeness that anyone can observe. To her, it seems apparent that you are falling for Mark in a way she hasn’t seen before. Having been so close to you for many years, she knows you well enough to recognize the signs of genuine emotional investment. Mark isn’t just another fling; he’s becoming a significant part of your life, a constant thought, a person whose absence you feel deeply even in brief separations.

Her own experiences with fleeting connections make her all the more sensitive to the nuances of yours with Mark. She sees the way your eyes linger on him, the way your laughter seems fuller when shared with him, and the softness in your voice when you speak to him, all indicators of a burgeoning affection that even you might not fully acknowledge yet. It’s this burgeoning reality, contrasted starkly against the backdrop of her own solitary existence, that stirs a blend of hope and melancholy within her. She wonders why, with all the evidence laid bare, you haven’t moved to cement what clearly seems inevitable. Is it fear of commitment, the remnants of past hurts, or perhaps a reluctance to change the dynamic that currently brings so much joy and fulfillment? Whatever the reason, it underscores a cautious dance around a conversation that could either solidify what you have with Mark or expose vulnerabilities that are easier left unexplored.

In these reflections, Karina grapples with her mixed emotions—envy at what you have, yet concern for what might happen if these unspoken truths remain buried. Her understanding of love, tainted by her own loneliness, makes her both a silent cheerleader for your happiness and a reluctant witness to the complexities of modern relationships, where labels are sometimes the barriers rather than the bonds.

───────────────────────────────

The gym was buzzing with frantic energy, underscored by Karina’s sharp commands that cut through the air. “Y/N! I thought I told you to switch off your phone,” she shouted, her voice a mix of irritation and stress. With a quick flick, you silenced your phone, muttering an apology as you caught her distressed gaze. Karina was on edge, her role as cheer captain weighing heavily on her today.

“Guys… we’re so screwed,” Karina groaned, collapsing to the floor with a dramatic flair, her pom-poms tumbling beside her. She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled but thick with despair. “We’re a member down, Ningning is still out of sync, and Yeji keeps missing the double back handspring…” Her list of grievances spilled out, each member’s flaw punctuated by her sharp, directive tone, correcting stances and motions with a precision born of desperation.

You crouched beside her, your hand rubbing her arm in a soothing rhythm. “It’s okay, Rina. Listen, we have time to turn this around. I’m sure we can find someone to fill in for Giselle and then we can touch up on our routine.” Optimism was your lifeline, even if it felt a bit misplaced in the chaos of the moment.

She shook her head, frustration etching deeper lines across her forehead. “How are we going to find someone to fill in for Giselle? Who could possibly learn our routine that quickly?”

As if on cue, the door swung open, and in walked Mark’s best friend accompanied by Donghyuck, his presence like a burst of fresh air. You hadn’t known Donghyuck long, but his upbeat personality had already made an impression. He was one of Mark’s closest friends and a roommate, someone whose charm was effortless and infectious.

“Okay, so we managed to do our spying,” Donghyuck announced, his voice a beacon of hope. He was known for his optimism, a trait that seemed particularly invaluable today.

You turn to Winter with a puzzled expression. “Since when did Karina start talking to Donghyuck?” you whisper, confusion evident in your tone. It felt like different worlds were colliding—your circle with Mark and his friends now overlapping unexpectedly with your cheer squad. The lines were blurring, and it was both intriguing and unsettling to see these separate parts of your life merging right before your eyes.

Donghyuck continued, oblivious to your confusion. “The Hawks are looking strong this year—synchronised lifts, tight formations, and their music is spot-on,” he explained, his tone both informative and slightly ominous.

Karina’s response was immediate; a strangled yell escaped her as she threaded her fingers through her hair. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” The pressure was palpable; the big match was just two hours away, and the cheer squad was visibly unravelling.

Donghyuck, ever the optimist, clapped his hands, his eyes bright. “We still have time to turn it around. I can teach you guys some fresh moves. Your current routine isn’t bad; it just needs some tweaking.”

He stepped forward, launching into a demonstration. “Instead of this move,” he said, smoothly executing a complex sequence of a cartwheel followed by a high kick that transitioned into a split. “Try this one,” he suggested, shifting into a full twist layout, his movements crisp and clean. Each step was executed with such unexpected grace that it earned shocked and admirable gazes from the team.

Karina, fueled by Donghyuck’s enthusiasm, stood, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. Yet it faltered as she remembered another crucial gap. “We’re still a member down,” she muttered.

Without missing a beat, Donghyuck pointed at Mark’s best friend. “She can join!” His suggestion came with a burst of excitement. “She’ll fit in perfectly. She’s a quick learner.”

Karina eyed Mark’s best friend with a mix of skepticism and faint amusement. The corner of her mouth twitch into a wry smile. Her arms were crossed, and her stance exuded a challenging aura. “Let’s see what you’ve got then. Go on, impress me,” she said, her voice laced with a dare, half expecting to be entertained rather than impressed.

Mark’s friend stepped into the center of the room, her movements hesitant at first. She tried to mimic some of the team’s signature moves, but her execution was more comical than competent, her limbs not quite syncing up with the beat or each other. Each awkward shuffle and misplaced step made her look less like a dancer and more like someone tangled in an invisible web.

From the sidelines, Donghyuck’s initial enthusiasm waned, replaced by a cringe as he watched her fumble. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth, each misstep making him visibly wince. “It’s like watching a puppy try to walk on ice,” he muttered under his breath, but then, squaring his shoulders, he jumped in to help. “Okay, okay, let’s break it down,” Donghyuck interjected, his tone bright and coaching. “Imagine you’re more… graceful. Yeah, try to channel a swan, not a duck.”

Karina’s smirk grew as she watched Donghyuck lead Mark’s best friend through the basics, his patience comical in its contrast to her lack of rhythm. Each instruction he gave, paired with her faltering attempts, turned the session into something unexpectedly amusing. Unable to suppress a chuckle, Karina leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Well, if enthusiasm alone won championships, we’d be unstoppable,” she remarked, the dryness of her tone belied by the grin tugging at her lips. She watched them for a few more moments, her smirk broadening with every misstep that somehow managed to look even clumsier than the last.

Karina sighed, then her gaze softened, and she reached into a nearby bag, pulling out a spare uniform. She tossed it to the new recruit, who caught it awkwardly. “We don’t have any other choice,” Karina said, a half-smile appearing as she accepted their fate. “Come on, then. You’ve got a whole routine to learn, and just under two hours to get it down.”

Laughter and chatter filled the room as Mark’s best friend quickly changed and joined the group. Donghyuck took the lead, demonstrating the choreography with a precision that belied his non-cheer background. His instructions were clear, his demeanor light yet focused, making the practice session feel less like a crisis and more like a spontaneous dance party. Everyone was surprisingly in sync, their spirits lifted by Donghyuck’s charisma and clear guidance. The routine gradually took shape, laughter mingling with the music as they practiced, the earlier tension dissolving into a collective effort to nail the performance.

“Donghyuck, you sure you haven’t done this before?” Mark’s best friend joked, trying to mimic his flawless execution of a particularly complex cheer move.

Donghyuck flashed a grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Maybe in another life!” he quipped, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, team, from the top, and this time, let’s make sure those lifts are as sharp as my dance moves!”

As the girls lined up, Donghyuck moved through the formation, correcting postures and demonstrating the sequences with an infectious enthusiasm. He detailed each step, his instructions interspersed with humorous comments that kept the mood light. “Remember, it’s not just about the height; it’s about style. Imagine you’re trying to impress your crush from across the field!”

Karina, usually the stern one, couldn’t help but laugh, her earlier stress momentarily forgotten. The group followed Donghyuck’s lead, their movements becoming more fluid with each run-through. The camaraderie in the room grew as they started feeling more confident in their routine.

“Alright, when Winter is up in the air, let’s not look like we’re struggling with a maths problem,” Donghyuck teased, his eyes twinkling as he demonstrated a smoother transition for the lift. The team erupted into laughter again, with energy at an all time high.

As the laughter begins to fade, a palpable tension fills the air when the rival team— the Highland Hawks—struts into the gym, their cheer squad in tow. The Hawk’s cheerleaders, with Yeeun leading them, give Karina and your team a condescending once-over. They mock the frantic pace of your last-minute practice, predicting a lacklustre performance from your group.

“You’re still trying to polish that tired routine?” Yeeun taunts, her voice dripping with faux sweetness as she exchanges a glance with her friends, Ryujin and Arin, who snicker beside her. “It’s adorable how you think you stand a chance.”

Karina, usually unflappable, clenches her jaw, her fists balling at her sides. “We’ll see who’s adorable at the end of the match, Yeeun,” she retorts sharply, her tone icy. The fake niceties hang heavy between them, laced with years of rivalry and mutual disdain.

However, you find yourself distracted from the brewing showdown. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mark walking alongside Jeno, a sight that still surprises you—both of them engaged in what appears to be a friendly conversation, far from their usual confrontational antics.

You attempt to look away as Mark passes, fearing your expression might betray the turmoil and longing he stirs within you. Despite your efforts, your gaze meets his; the connection is instantaneous, his eyes reflecting a mix of desperation and affection. It’s clear he’s yearning for a moment alone with you, his glance heavy with unsaid promises of how intensely he wants to fuck you, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

Mouthing a quiet “sorry” with a helpless shrug, you see him smirk in response, his expression softening as he whispers, “It’s okay,” before turning to continue his walk.

Winter, who’s been observing the exchange, leans in and murmurs with a teasing edge, “Stop eye fucking each other, you’re making it really obvious.” You give no reply, too caught up in the rush of emotions Mark’s brief interaction has left you with, the words echoing in your mind, leaving you flustered and even more aware of the palpable sexual tension that you both seem unable to conceal.

The moment lingers, suspended in the charged air of the gym, until it’s abruptly shattered. Your breath catches when you spot someone familiar among the opposing team— a casual hookup from a past you almost forgot. You remember him mostly for the string of intense, sexually-filled encounters during one of your many breaks with Jeno. The surprise of spotting him here sends a twist through your gut, unsettling you deeply.

His recognition is immediate, his smirk widening as he steps closer, his gaze sliding over you with unwelcome familiarity. The discomfort of his stare pricks at your skin, his eyes tracing contours that only serve to remind you of a past best forgotten. He approaches with a cocky tilt of his head, his words dripping with insinuation. “Miss me? We had some good times, didn’t we? Come on, let’s recreate some old memories,” he suggests, the arrogance in his tone grating against your nerves.

Before you can react, his audacity crosses a line—his hand reaches out, grasping your ass with a brazenness that snaps your restraint. You shove him back, hard, the impact echoing your surge of anger. Around you, the other cheerleaders rally, their voices raised in a cacophony of protests, demanding he back off.

The commotion catches the attention of the nearby players, including Mark and Jeno, who glance over, instantly alert. Mark’s eyes, sharp and protective, find yours first, reading the distress etched across your face. His jaw tightens, and without a second thought, he strides over, his presence like a shield. Jeno, recognizing the man and the threat he poses, follows close behind, his own anger flaring up.

The guy laughs, mistaking their approach for a casual challenge, but the cold fury in Mark’s eyes belies the seriousness of his intent. “You think you can just touch her like that?” Mark’s voice is low, dangerous, a clear warning. Jeno stands shoulder to shoulder with him, adding, “She said back off. That means you’re done here.”

Their stance is confrontational but calculated, designed to intimidate without revealing the depth of their personal stakes. Mark’s protective nature is on full display, yet he’s careful to frame his intervention as if he’s merely backing up Jeno, keeping the true nature of his and your relationship under wraps.

As the guy backs down, muttering under his breath, the tension doesn’t fully dissipate but shifts, leaving behind a charged silence. You’re shaken but grateful. This incident reminds you of the complex layers of past and present entanglements. Yet, in this moment, the support shown by Mark and Jeno, despite their complicated history, highlights a growing respect and understanding that moves beyond old grudges.

───────────────────────────────

The team didn’t win at the cheer competition, finishing behind the Hawks again, but the loss didn’t hit as hard this time. Karina, usually the most disheartened by defeat, seemed surprisingly upbeat. The atmosphere had shifted from intense competitiveness to a focus on fun and team bonding, thanks in large part to Donghyuck’s efforts to keep everyone laughing and relaxed during practices.

Mark’s best friend, who joined the team temporarily, also made a noticeable impact. She received quite a bit of attention for her spirited presence and the way she fit into the cheer outfit, which complemented her well during the performances. Her addition to the team brought a fresh energy that was well received by everyone, including the spectators. You didn’t miss the way Jeno kept glancing over to her, the way he was checking her out. His interest was subtle yet unmistakable.

The gym buzzes with anticipation as the Seoul Hill Ravens prepare for a pivotal game. The stands are a sea of excited faces, the air charged with the collective energy of hopeful fans. As the team warms up, the sound of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking against the polished floor adds to the building tension. Above this din, Donghyuck’s voice cuts through, clear and enthusiastic: “The crowd is electric tonight! With one more win, the Seoul Hill Ravens will make the state finals for the first time in 18 years. Tonight, all eyes are on Lee Jeno.”

Just then, Jeno spots two unsettling figures, Sunwoo and Eric, lurking in the audience. He nudges Mark, nodding toward the duo. “Hey, what are those guys doing here?” he whispers.

Mark frowns, tension lining his face. “How should I know?” Jeno snaps, clearly irritated.

“Well, I saw you talking to them on the river court earlier today,” Mark pushes, trying to make sense of their presence.

“Mind your own business, Mark,” Jeno retorts sharply, turning away to focus on the game ahead.

The whistle blows, and the game kicks off with intense energy. The Ravens start strong, but the Highland Hawks are close on their tails. Donghyuck continues his narration, his voice filled with excitement, “The Ravens are leading but not by much. Every move, every play could tip the scales!”

Mark dominates the basketball court with a commanding presence, each movement a blend of power and grace. His jersey, damp with exertion, clings to his muscular frame, emphasising his athletic build as he leaps for layups and darts past defenders. There’s a raw magnetism in his play, a compelling allure that captures your undivided attention. 

However, despite Mark’s standout performance, the team’s usual synergy seems off. Jeno, normally a key player, is visibly distracted, often glancing towards the audience where Sunwoo and Eric sit watching. The pressure isn’t coming from his father tonight, it’s something else—something that has Jeno playing far below his usual standard.

Donghyuck’s voice fills the gym again, laced with concern, “Oh, and Jeno misses another shot that normally would be a sure thing for him. Something’s off today. He’s not himself.”

The frustration builds on the court; Chenle shouts from the sidelines, visibly annoyed, “Hold onto the ball, Jeno! Oh my god, kick it out, man. What’s wrong with you?”

Jeno’s responses are subdued, his usual fiery spirit dampened, “Sorry,” he mutters, his eyes not meeting his teammates’.

As the game progresses, the lead narrows even further. Mark, catching a bad pass from Jeno, can’t hide his frustration. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you want us to lose?” he yells across the court.

“Chill out, man, we’re still leading,” Jeno shoots back, though his tone lacks conviction.

“Yeah, by FOUR,” Mark retorts, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

The game is a rollercoaster of emotions, with every Raven feeling the strain of an unexpectedly tough match. As the final quarter approaches, the outcome hangs precariously in the balance, and everyone senses that the usual harmony of the team has been unsettled by whatever is weighing on Jeno.

At halftime, the locker room is echoing with Coach Suh’s booming voice, his frustration palpable and resonating off the walls. “What is going on out there? Can somebody explain to me why we’re only four points up when we should be blowing them out of the water? It’s like you guys are trying to give away points! Get out there and shoot around!” His tone is both incredulous and demanding, pressing the team for answers and better performance.

The mood among the crowd mirrors the tension in the locker room—spirits are notably dampened, the usual vibrant cheers replaced with anxious murmurs and restless shifts in the bleachers. Everyone senses the unusual underperformance, the atmosphere charged with concern rather than the typical energetic support.

Back in the locker room, Mark confronts Jeno amidst the turmoil, their conversation low but intense. “Hey, Jen… what’s going on?” Mark probes, his voice laced with worry rather than accusation, sensing there’s more beneath the surface of Jeno’s distracted plays.

Jeno’s response is defensive, a clear indication he’s not ready to divulge any truths. “With what?” he counters, dodging the question with a feigned ignorance that doesn’t fool Mark.

Mark doesn’t let up, his observation sharp. “Well, the way you’re playing tonight. It’s not nerves, I can tell.”

“You can’t tell anything, you don’t know me,” Jeno snaps back, his voice a mix of defiance and weariness.

Despite Jeno’s resistance, Mark pushes for clarity. “I know you’ve somehow gotten into trouble with those two guys, and suddenly they’re here in the audience and you’re playing like crap. What do they want you to do, Jen? What… lose the game? Betray your teammates and your coach for some money?” His accusation, though harsh, is driven by concern not only for the game but for Jeno himself.

Jeno’s reply is tinged with desperation. “All right, listen to me. Take the self-righteous attitude and shove it. You can’t begin to understand what’s happening and the shit I’m in, so leave me the fuck alone and mind your own business.”

Mark’s patience thins, his frustration palpable. “Well, you better help me understand, or I’m going to Suh,” he states firmly, his tone indicating that he’s not willing to let this slide.

Jeno’s face tightens, a mixture of defiance and resignation washing over him. “Listen, I’d never throw a game, okay? We’re still gonna win… just by less than 10 points.”

Mark huffs, disbelief etching his features as he rolls his eyes. “Oh… Jeno,” he mutters under his breath, his voice laden with disappointment. He can’t fathom Jeno’s rationale, his brother’s words sounding more like excuses than justifications.

Jeno’s expression hardens, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Don’t, okay? The only reason we’ve gone this far is because of me. And besides, all anybody cares about is winning. Nobody cares if I gave it my all or not.” His words spill out, laced with a mix of defiance and resignation, reflecting the pressure he feels from all sides.

Mark’s frustration is evident as he retorts to Jeno, “Do you really believe that? You’re the star player, you’re supposed to be, you’re the captain.” His voice carries a mix of incredulity and concern, highlighting the gravity of the situation unfolding between them.

As their intense discussion continues, you leave the gym and decide to approach the locker room, hoping to catch a moment with Mark. Most of the players are already heading back to the court, the game’s urgency pulling them from the confines of strategy talks and hurried pep talks. You suspect Mark is alone and you wish to offer a quick kiss and some words of comfort, knowing he’s stressed about the slim lead.

However, as you reach the door, you overhear the tail end of a heated conversation. Your steps falter, a frown forming as you recognise Jeno’s fiery voice. The possibility of a private moment vanishes, replaced by concern as you catch fragments of their exchange.

“Yeah, okay? I have to believe that. I got no other way out. Unless you got 15 grand lying around,” Jeno’s voice is thick with desperation and resignation. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications heavy and dark.

At that moment, Coach Suh enters, his presence like a sudden gust of wind that slices through the thick atmosphere. “Is there a problem here?” His voice is stern, demanding truth in the stifled air.

“No,” Jeno responds curtly, his tone dismissing the underlying tension. He exits swiftly, his annoyance palpable, with Suh following closely behind, leaving the room charged with unsaid words. You retreat into the shadows, hiding briefly to avoid detection. Once the coast is clear and the echoes of their departure fade, you slip into the locker room.

Inside, you find Mark, his expression stormy, the weight of the team’s performance and his brother’s troubles etched deeply across his brow. His shoulders are tense, bearing not just the physical demands of the game but the emotional turmoil that the day has brought.

“Hey,” you whisper, breaking the silence gently. He looks up, a mixture of relief and sadness in his eyes. His smile, though soft, doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and needing. You walk over and pull him into an embrace, feeling his body tense under your touch. As you hold him, the room’s residual stress seems to dissolve slightly, confined to the background as you focus on the man in front of you.

You lean back just slightly, tilting your face up to meet his lips with a gentle, tender kiss. “What was that about? Jeno seems really stressed,” you murmur, pulling back to look into his eyes, seeking answers in their depths.

“No clue,” Mark replies, his voice laced with frustration. He glances at you, a flicker of concern crossing his face as he raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t overhear us talking, did you?” he asks. You shake your head, and you notice a subtle sigh of relief escape him, though he tries to mask it.

He kisses you again, his yearning clear. “You look so beautiful today. Can’t be bothered to finish this game, just wanna be in you,” he confesses, his voice low with need, a smirk playing on his laps as he catches you gasping at his tone. His hands find your waist, fingers splaying wide over the fabric of your cheer skirt, edging daringly beneath to grip your ass with a boldness that sends a thrill through you.

You offer him a warm smile, your eyes softening as you feel a rush of affection. “There’s not much time left in the game. Go out there, win it, and then I’m all yours for the evening,” you say, your voice low and encouraging, aiming to boost his spirits. You reach up, tracing the line of his jaw tenderly with your fingertips, adding a playful yet sincere, “Make me proud.”

Mark’s response is immediate and intense; a low growl vibrates from his throat as he pulls you closer. His hands roam over your back, tracing the contours of your body with a possessive touch that sends shivers through you. “I’ll win it for you,” he promises, his voice thick with anticipation, his eyes burning with a mix of determination and desire as he looks down at you.

Mark’s affection is tender and constant as he dots kisses across your face, each touch soft and deliberate. He starts at your forehead, then gently presses his lips to your cheek, your nose, and the delicate skin of your eyelids. A soft kiss lands on your chin, and then he’s back to your lips, lingering there longer. Between these gentle caresses, he murmurs, “I wish that idiot from the other team could see how I’m kissing you, wish he could see that you’re mine.”

You can’t help but giggle, the warmth of his words spreading through you, making your cheeks flush with a mix of delight and a hint of shyness. As he pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes with a softness that makes your heart race, he asks, “Who was he anyway?” His tone is curious, tinged with a protective edge. 

“Just someone I used to see,” you reply quietly, avoiding his gaze as you recall the uncomfortable encounter. “I think he’s mad that I ghosted him.”

Mark’s protectiveness flares instantly. “If he makes you feel uncomfortable again, you’ll tell me, hm?” he asks, his gaze intense and serious.

You nod, feeling a surge of affection for his concern. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer. “I know you’ll always protect me,” you affirm softly.

He responds by leaning down to kiss you again, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. The kiss is gentle, yet filled with all the emotion he’s holding back, a quiet statement of his care and connection to you. The world around you fades, leaving only the feeling of his lips on yours, tender and full of unspoken promises.

───────────────────────────────

Donghyuck’s voice fills the gymnasium, keeping pace with the game’s intensity. “The game is still on. Time is winding down in the fourth quarter, and the Ravens have a 7-point lead… now 9 points. And the Hawks are gonna call time-out.”

The whistle blows, signaling a pause in the action. Coach Suh takes the opportunity to strategize, calling his team over. “Jeno, take a seat.”

Jeno looks perplexed and protests, “What? Why?”

Coach Suh’s voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “Because we’re up by 9, and I’m not gonna expose my best player to injuries.”

“But Coach, we only got a couple seconds left,” Jeno tries to argue.

“It only takes one to blow out a knee. Now sit down,” Suh commands. Jeno, though reluctant, obeys and takes his place on the bench. Suh then turns his attention to Mark. “Mark, come here. Look, they’re gonna be looking to foul. You’re our best free-throw shooter. Now, I want you to go in there and ice this thing.”

The Ravens team gathers for a quick huddle, hands together in unison, their voices echoing in the gym, “One, two, three — Ravens!”

In the stands, the atmosphere is tense. Sunwoo and Eric, cynical and watchful, observe the proceedings with keen interest. Sunwoo mutters to his accomplice, “If the Ravens score one more point, Jeno Lee doesn’t leave this gym in one piece.”

The game resumes with the clock ticking down. Donghyuck continues his commentary, “The Ravens are up by 9. Just five seconds stand between them and a trip to the state championship… three seconds now.”

As the crowd holds its breath, Na Jaemin executes a quick steal for the Ravens, clinching their lead. Donghyuck exclaims, “Na Jaemin picks up a quick steal! And that’s gonna ice it. With two seconds left on the clock, the Ravens are headed to the state championship. All that remains is for Mark Lee to seal it.”

From the sidelines, you catch Mark’s eye, sending him a small, encouraging smile. He holds your gaze, his expression softening as a confident, almost playful smile curls at the corner of his lips—a silent promise that he’s got this. You can feel the quiet intensity in his look, as if he’s drawing strength from your presence, fueling him with that last bit of resolve for the final seconds of the game.

Donghyuck inquires to his co-commentator, Yeri, “What’s his free-throw percentage, Yeri?”

“Well, he’s 92% from the line… and 100% hot,” Yeri replies, a hint of attraction in her voice.

Mark prepares for the shot. You know him well enough to sense that something is off—it isn’t nerves; Mark doesn’t get nervous. He’s always confident in his abilities. It must be something else. As lines up at the free-throw line, bouncing the basketball methodically, a ritual of focus before each shot. His posture is the epitome of readiness, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the rim, yet there’s a subtle tension in his frame that you’ve come to recognize. This isn’t the usual concentration or the typical pre-shot jitters that some players exhibit. There’s a deliberateness to his movements, a measured nature that seems out of place.

He takes a deep breath, and you can see the slight furrow in his brow, an indication of the internal conflict perhaps stirring within him. Mark is not one to falter under pressure, nor is he one to let the crowd’s energy sway his composure. His confidence on the court has always stemmed from a deep-seated belief in his skills and a clear mental focus that rarely wavers.

Yet, today, as he stands ready to take what should be a routine free throw, his glance briefly drifts to Jeno, who’s seated on the bench, his own expression a mixture of tension and unreadable thoughts. This fleeting look, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying close attention, suggests a connection to the younger player’s troubles—a shared burden or a silent acknowledgment of a situation only they understand.

As Mark adjusts his grip on the ball, his usual smooth rhythm seems slightly forced, his movements minutely hesitant. It’s clear to you, having watched him play countless times, that whatever is weighing on him is affecting his usual seamless play. This shot, normally a mere formality for someone of his skill, now carries an unspoken weight, hinting at stakes much higher than just the points on the scoreboard.

Donghyuck builds the anticipation, “If Mark can make this free-throw, the lead will be 10 points, and that would be the Ravens’ ninth double-digit victory of the season.”

Mark steps up to the line, his usually steady hands briefly faltering as he takes a deep breath. His gaze shifts, not just to the basket but to the bench where Jeno sits, a silent tension passing between them. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even a glint of reluctance—as he dribbles the ball once, twice, then steadies himself. The gym is a quiet hum of anticipation, the crowd holding its collective breath. 

Finally, Mark raises his arms, releases the ball with precision, and… it’s just slightly off. The shot hits the rim, bounces wide, and the opposing team rebounds just as the buzzer blares through the gym. “The shot is up… and it’s no good!” Donghyuck announces as the buzzer sounds. “The Hawks rebound, the buzzer sounds, and this one’s over! We won! The crowd goes on the floor, and this place is going crazy. The Ravens have won by 9! They’re headed to the state championship, baby! Yeah!”

The Ravens have won, the crowd exploding into cheers as fans rush the court in a frenzy of celebration. Mark’s teammates are ecstatic, embracing each other, but you can’t shake the feeling that Mark’s miss wasn’t an accident. You watch him, his expression unreadable amid the jubilation, silent questions linger in your mind. What are the brothers hiding? What the hell is going on?

You’re pulled from your thoughts by an all-too-familiar voice. Yeonjun—finally placing a name to the face of the guy who’s been giving you trouble—saunters over with that arrogant smirk plastered across his face. He’s the guy you had a casual fling with ages ago, nothing serious, and certainly nothing you thought you’d have to deal with again. The irritation flares up instantly as he nears you, unbothered by the glare you give him.

“I’ll call Jeno over,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice low but firm. “He’ll beat you up like he did before. We both know he can’t stand you, so get the hell away from me—”

“But he’s not your boyfriend anymore, is he?” Yeonjun cuts you off, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “You should’ve told me you were single. Would’ve saved me some trouble.” He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, clearly delighted by the reaction he’s getting.

Your pulse quickens, a mix of anger and discomfort rising in you as you realize that your relationship status only fuels his audacity. Knowing him, it wouldn’t have mattered whether you were single or taken; guys like him ignore boundaries regardless. He inches closer, continuing with his unwanted comments, his eyes trailing over you in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“Come on, babe. We both know you missed me,” he sneers, voice dripping with condescension as he leans in, hand reaching out to grab you.

You push him back firmly, raising your voice in defiance. “Get your hands off me!”

The force of your voice draws attention from the crowd, heads turning toward the commotion. Mark, who had just finished high-fiving his teammates, catches sight of what’s happening. Any remaining patience vanishes from his face as he watches Yeonjun’s approach, eyes narrowing with fury. The restrained frustration he’d been holding back—after everything with Jeno, not being able to touch and kiss you in public, and the weight of the game—is now focused entirely on Yeonjun.

Mark steps forward, his eyes dark and unyielding as he stares Yeonjun down. His posture is tense and unyielding, he reaches Yeonjun in seconds, shoving him with enough force that he stumbles back and away from you. “You need to back off. Now.” His voice is calm, but the underlying threat is unmistakable.

Yeonjun scoffs, tossing a condescending look at Mark. “What’s your problem, man? She’s not yours to protect.”

Mark stands firm, his expression unyielding. “Yeah? Well, she sure as hell doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

With a smirk, Yeonjun leans in, his tone venomous. “Oh, I get it, you want her too, huh? She has such a tight pussy… I’ll tell you, it’s something else.” His words are calculated, aimed to incite a reaction.

Mark’s jaw clenches, a vein throbbing at his temple, signaling the fraying edge of his composure. He steps forward, closing the gap between him and Yeonjun in a heartbeat. With a swift movement borne of frustration, he shoves Yeonjun hard. The force catches Yeonjun off guard, causing him to stagger backwards, his feet scrambling to regain his balance. The smug smirk that had been plastered on Yeonjun’s face falters, morphing into a scowl as he realizes he’s not dealing with someone who’s going to back down.

As Yeonjun steadies himself, his eyes narrow, and without warning, he launches a punch aimed directly at Mark’s face. But Mark, anticipating the move, dodges to the side, his own anger simmering just below the surface. The miss doesn’t deter Yeonjun; instead, it fuels his rage, and he lunges again, more recklessly this time.

Mark’s response is swift and decisive. As Yeonjun swings, Mark catches his wrist, using his momentum against him. With a quick twist and a firm push, Mark pins Yeonjun against the wall. His grip is tight, controlled—marking the restraint of someone well-practised in keeping his cool.“ Think very carefully about your next move,” Mark hisses into his ear, his voice low and menacing. The immediate area around them grows tense, players pausing as the altercation unfolds, ready to jump in at any sign of escalation.

Jeno had been silently observing everything since Mark went over to defend you against Yeonjun. He was puzzled—what was all that about? As far as he knew, you and Mark weren’t particularly close; there was no obvious reason for Mark to get so worked up unless he had some personal issue with Yeonjun. His confusion only deepened with the ongoing situation.

His father, Taeyong, watching the exchange from a distance, chuckled cynically and nudged Jeno with a knowing smirk. “Still don’t believe me? It’s obvious they’re fucking, son.”

Jeno shot his dad a withering look, choosing to ignore the crude comment. Despite the seed of doubt his father tried to plant, Jeno’s trust in you remained unshaken. He wasn’t going to let his father’s baseless accusations color his perception of you or Mark. Turning his attention away, Jeno scanned the gym’s bleachers for Eric and Sunwoo. A small sigh of relief escaped him when he saw they had already left, sparing them from any more of the drama.

Jeno, with a look of renewed determination, wastes no time in joining Mark’s side. His approach is swift and determined, his loyalty to Mark unmistakable as he positions himself as a barrier between Mark and any further threats. Spotting a player from the opposing team trying to intervene, Jeno grabs him by the arm and firmly pushes him back, effectively blocking him from escalating the fight. 

The atmosphere in the gym quickly becomes charged as the altercation draws more attention. Teammates and opponents alike dive into the mix, with some trying to break up the fight and others fueling it. Fists fly and shouts fill the air, creating a disorder and chaos. The floor becomes a maelstrom of moving bodies—players dodging, weaving, and colliding as the skirmish grows. In the midst of the fight, Mark swiftly gains the advantage over Yeonjun. The crowd’s attention is locked on the action, their cheers growing louder as Mark dominates the confrontation.

Amidst the frenzied chaos, tensions between Karina and Yeeun, the opposing cheer captain, reached a boiling point. The air was thick with rivalry as they squared off, their frustrations from the entire season spilling over.

“Still think you’re better than us?” Karina taunted, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, the muscle in her jaw twitching with anger.

Yeeun stepped closer, her sneer sharp and cutting. “Better at everything. Especially not losing my head over stupid boys,” she shot back, her voice dripping with disdain.

That was the last straw for Karina. In a flash of fury, she lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Yeeun’s hair and yanking her head back with a fierce tug. Yeeun retaliated instantly, her nails digging painfully into Karina’s arm as she tried to free herself.

The scuffle escalated quickly into a wild flurry of kicks and screams, each girl trying to overpower the other. Winter and Ryujin rushed to intervene, desperately pulling and pushing to separate them, but their efforts only intensified the struggle. Arin joined the fray, shoving Winter aside with a harsh push that sent her staggering back.

Amid the chaos, Karina found an opening. She pulled her arm back and landed a solid punch on Yeeun’s cheek. “And that’s for trying to steal my man that one time,” she hissed, her breath hot with anger. Not giving Yeeun a moment to recover, Karina swung again, connecting another punch. “And that’s for stealing my move at the last Nationals—the Twisted Halo jump!”

The gym is a storm of chaos, with shouts, punches, and unrestrained aggression filling every corner. Coaches, teachers, and spectators scramble to intervene, but the tension has reached an uncontrollable peak.

Time seems to slow as the chaos finally fades away, leaving a heavy stillness in its wake. Mark bears the visible signs of the recent confrontation—a few fresh marks bruising his hands and a harsh line across his face. It’s painful for you not to rush to his side, especially now when all you want to do is envelop him in your arms, thank him, and tend to his wounds. But the reality of your secret relationship keeps you at a painful distance in the crowd.

The two of you had tried to sneak away to the locker rooms for some privacy, only to be halted by the loud echoes of Coach Suh’s furious voice berating the players involved in the fight. With a mutual sigh of resignation, you both came to the conclusion that there would be no moments alone tonight. 

However, you can’t help but to find yourself constantly searching for Mark in the crowd. Your heart swells as you watch him embrace a woman. Even from a distance, her youthful vigor is apparent, but the maternal pride in her eyes is unmistakable—this is his mother. You can’t hear their words, but her gestures, filled with boundless praise and affection, speak volumes. She reassures him with a fervour that despite his missed shot, her pride in him is unwavering, her love absolute.

The light in Mark’s eyes and the broadness of his smile as he embraces his mother capture you completely. He seems to radiate happiness, the kind that fills the space around him and draws people in. His cheeks, surely aching from smiling so much, only add to the warmth that his expression carries. Watching him in such a pure moment, you can’t help but feel a surge of joy that tightens your chest in a familiar, yet always surprising, way. It stirs something deep within you—a mix of admiration and a sharp pang of longing. What was this tightening in your chest that seemed to draw tighter with each of his smiles?

Seeing him like this makes you ache to be by his side. You want to be the one he shares these moments with, someone who can give him the same comfort and support that he gets from his family. The happiness on his face brings a soft smile to yours, even as you feel a small pang of longing, wishing you could step closer, congratulate him, and tell him how proud you are. But, for now, you stay where you are, letting the warmth of his happiness reach you from afar.

“That’s how he looks when he’s with you,” Karina murmurs, startling you. She’s right beside you, and her presence snaps you back to reality. You quickly ask about her condition, recalling the fight she’d been involved in. She waves off the concern, showing only a few scratches. “We handled it,” she assures with a wry smile. 

Your attention drifts back to Mark, who now converses with a man standing close to his mother. The man’s presence is comforting, almost fatherly as Mark looks at him with evident respect and fondness. Curiosity about his identity flickers through your mind, but the warmth of seeing Mark surrounded by love overshadows it.

You stifle a giggle as his mother scolds him for his involvement in the fight, her hands gesturing animatedly. Yet, in the next moment, she’s gently tending to a cut on his face, her touch tender. Relief washes over you, grateful that he’s being cared for.

Mark had assured you earlier, his voice earnest as you felt guilt over how he defended you. “Don’t worry about me. I’d do anything for you.” And somehow, you knew he meant it with every word, that this barely scratched the surface of what he’d be willing to do for you. As they prepare to leave, you watch them go, a silent goodbye lingering on your lips, mingled with regret that you couldn’t openly share this moment with him. 

Moments later, you stand alone in the nearly empty gymnasium, the echoes of the night’s chaos still lingering around you. As you wait for Karina to gather her things, your phone buzzes with a message. It’s Mark. A small smile forms as you read his words, and soon, you’re lost in a back-and-forth exchange, your fingers typing quickly as he fills the silence around you. Each message from him brings a warmth that eases the tension left from the night’s events, grounding you in the comfort of your shared connection.

You’re giggling, smiling down at your phone as you text back and forth with Mark, so absorbed in your conversation that you don’t notice someone walking up to you.

“Texting Mark?” a voice asks, amusement clear.

You look up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise to see Mark’s best friend standing there, an amused smile on her face. Quickly, you try to cover, stammering, “No—uh, I mean… no, I’m just texting… someone else.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So, you’re just randomly blushing and giggling at your phone for ‘someone else,’ huh?”

You bite your lip, fumbling to keep up the charade. “Yeah, we’re not… I mean, it’s not… Mark and I aren’t close like that. We just… hang out sometimes.”

She crosses her arms, clearly enjoying this. “Listen, you don’t need to lie to me. I know you’re seeing Mark.”

Your jaw drops in shock. Why would he tell her? After he promised to keep it between you two. The panic must show on your face because she quickly adds, “Hey, don’t get mad at him. He told me before you asked him to keep it quiet. He’d never have told me otherwise. He really likes you and respects your wishes. He wouldn’t want to lose your trust.”

“Oh… okay,” you mumble, feeling the tension slip away. You glance back at your phone, your heart easing a bit.

She nods, leaning in a bit. “Considering Mark and I share everything, it means a lot that he’d respect your privacy. I know he’d have kept it a secret if you’d asked him sooner. But since I already knew…” She pauses, looking at you seriously. “I’m really close with him. He’s my best friend, and he’s one of the best people in my life. I care a lot about his happiness, so please… don’t hurt him, okay? I’ve never seen him this into anyone before. It’s always been you.”

“I… I don’t plan to hurt him. You don’t need to worry,” you whisper, taken by the sincerity in her tone.

She watches you carefully, then tilts her head. “Is it serious between you two? Or is it just… you know, sex?”

You gulp, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. You search for the words. “It’s… I’m not sure. We’re not at that stage yet. I mean, we haven’t had those conversations… it’s complicated.” You try to explain, feeling a mix of uncertainty and honesty.

She studies you, then sighs, her tone firm but gentle. “You can try to brush it off all you want, but I see how he looks at you—and I see how you look at him. You’re not fooling anyone. If you keep denying it, you’re just going to end up hurting both yourself and, most importantly, him. Just… don’t hurt him, okay? I swear to god.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected, her serious expression making it clear how much this means to her. You hadn’t expected this level of protectiveness, this strength behind her words, and it leaves you momentarily speechless.

Finally, you manage to nod. “I won’t. And… don’t hurt Jeno either,” you add as the words spill out, you’re unable to find any other words. You watch her reaction carefully.

Her eyes widen in surprise, and then she laughs softly, clearly not expecting you to have figured it out. “You… know about that?”

You smile, shrugging. “Yeah. Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me, I just know. I saw you guys making out near the tutor centre. I won’t say anything, your secret is safe with me.”

“So… Mark doesn’t even know?” you add, watching her closely.

She shakes her head, exhaling softly. “No, he doesn’t,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of anxiety and determination.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile forming. “Figures. I feel like he’d be pretty angry if he found out, right?”

She nods, visibly tense at the thought. “Yeah, he would be. That’s why it’s really important that you don’t tell him. I need to handle this on my own terms. I’ll figure it out… I’ll find a way.”

You nod, feeling the weight of her trust. “You’ve got my word. It’s safe with me,” you reassure her, squeezing her hand gently.

She lets out a small breath of relief, her grip on your hand tightening. “Thank you. Really. I mean it.”

You both share a quiet, understanding laugh, and then, in a light-hearted moment, you pinky promise to keep each other’s secrets safe. She beams, gushing a bit as she talks about Jeno, her words spilling out in excited whispers about how much she likes him, how they’re still figuring things out.

You listen, genuinely happy for her, the warmth between you both growing as you share these moments. It feels good, this small, unexpected connection, knowing that you both care deeply for people who mean so much to you.

You glance away from his best friend, your attention shifting as footsteps approach. Your heart jumps when you see Mark walking towards you, his gaze locked on yours. You remember he said he was heading home earlier, but by the look in his eyes, that’s clearly not his plan anymore. A smile tugs at your lips, the warmth spreading through you as you realize he’s here for you—probably wanting to surprise you, hoping to spend the night together. He’s always like that, slipping in small surprises just for you.

The way he’s looking at you sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze dark and intense, holding so much unspoken need. He’s barely able to keep his hands to himself, his eyes tracing over you, lingering in a way that makes your skin heat up. There’s something raw, almost desperate, about his expression, and it’s clear he’s fighting hard to keep his composure with his best friend standing right there.

When he’s close enough, you lean toward him slightly and whisper, “I know you told her.” Mark’s tense posture softens as he sighs, relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters before he finally lets go. He doesn’t waste a second, closing the distance between you in one fluid motion, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that takes your breath away. The intensity of it makes you forget the space around you, his lips moving urgently against yours, stealing every thought from your mind. His hands tangle into your hair, anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss, his movements strong, unyielding. You find yourself pressed back as he leans closer, his hands gripping you as if he never wants to let go.

Every sensation overwhelms you—the warmth of his mouth, the way he’s pouring himself into the kiss, the firmness of his hands guiding you. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting gently against yours before he drops a soft kiss onto your forehead, a stark contrast to the intensity just moments before. “Let’s go, yeah?” he murmurs, holding out his hand, his expression tender yet filled with anticipation, waiting for you to take it.

Mark’s best friend tosses a playful remark, her tone teasing. “Guess this is it, huh? Figured once you got her, you’d forget about me.”

Mark smiles, briefly letting go of your hand to give his friend a quick, but heartfelt hug. It’s short and warm—a stark contrast to the lingering, intense hugs he reserves for you, where his hands roam freely. You watch, a small smile playing on your lips as she enthusiastically praises him for the win. “Nicely done, Mark!”

He returns the gesture with a grateful smile, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before reaching back for your hand. “Thanks,” he replies, warmth evident in his voice.

You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer with a soft smile. “I thought you were leaving with your mom and that man. Who is he, by the way?”

“He’s my uncle,” Mark replies, his voice warm with affection.

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just told them to head off without me. They’re going on a date,” he continues.

Your eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “Your mom and your uncle going on a date… wait, that’s not your mom’s brother?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, you dummy. Why would my mom go on a date with her brother? He’s my dad’s older brother.”

You laugh, feeling a mix of relief and amusement at the misunderstanding, and before you can speak again, Mark leans in. His kiss is gentle, a soft press of lips that eases the tension from the earlier confusion. The kiss deepens slowly, rich with tenderness and unhurried desire. Your hands find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, while his hands settle on your waist, holding you firmly yet softly.

The kiss lingers, a quiet statement of affection that resonates with the comfort of knowing each other well. As you part, a smile lingers on your lips, mirroring the affectionate glow in his eyes. The moment is intimate, cushioned within the soft hum of surrounding conversations.

Breaking the soft silence, Mark teases, “Did you and Jeno ever talk? Or just have sex? Surely he would’ve mentioned that his dad had an older brother?” His tone is light, playful.

You jab him lightly in the chest, your face animated with mock annoyance. “Well, you and I won’t be having sex tonight,” you declare, pointing between the two of you with a humorously stern expression.

Turning to his best friend, you continue with exaggerated seriousness, “Mark keeps on making fun of the relationship I had with Jeno, this is his tenth jab at us this week! I said that when it reached that number then I wouldn’t let him fuck me.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Mark replies with a grin, his laughter mingling with yours.

You shake your head and pout, the playful banter drawing a more pronounced smile from him. “It doesn’t matter,” you sigh playfully.

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s just so easy,” he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection, lightening the atmosphere further.

His voice drops to a low whisper, the words barely a breath between you. “So you won’t let me touch you or fuck you, really?” He smirks, a hint of challenge in his tone as he watches your slow nod, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and desire.

───────────────────────────────

“Fuck, Mark.” Your moan escapes, desperate and raw, as the pressure in your core surges toward a shattering climax. Your thighs burn with the relentless effort, your entire body ignited by the overwhelming sensation of him thrusting deep, stretching you perfectly, filling every inch. Yet it’s still not enough—you’re greedy for more, clenching tightly around him to pull him even deeper. Clenching around him, you grind down hard, then lift yourself only to slam back onto his cock, chasing the relentless wave of pleasure with fervent intensity.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper breathlessly, your fingers digging into his chest as you lean in close, your breaths mingling. “You’re meant to be on a sex ban.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His smirk brushes against your lips, his voice a mix of defiance and amusement. You had only been half serious about imposing a sex ban, playfully wanting to test his limits and see how desperate and needy he could become for you.

Yet, it turns out you were the one who ended up begging for his cock. When you arrived at his apartment, the visible bruises from his recent fight marked his skin. You took your time to carefully examine each one, your touch soft yet charged with underlying desire, expressing concern while silently thanking him for enduring so much for you. 

He then requested you sit on his cock to “mend” him. At first, you shook your head and crossed your arms, determined to stand firm. But it only took one pleading look from his soft, desperate eyes to make your resolve crumble.

“I didn’t ask you to bounce on me like this, fuck baby. I thought you were just gonna sit on it.” His voice was a mix of surprise and raw desire when you began to move, not just sitting but actively riding him.

But you couldn’t help it. After initially settling on his lap, his cock nestled deep inside you, the intensity built too quickly. What started as a tender moment—your lips brushing his, your hands roaming his body as you whispered soothing words—soon spiraled into desperation. Soon, you found yourself begging him to let you ride him fully, craving the feel of him deep inside you, surrendering to the desire instead of maintaining the control you know he usually likes to exert. All you wanted was to make him feel good tonight, to alleviate the burdens of his day—he deserved that intense pleasure after everything he had endured.

“Fuck… just like that,” Mark groans, his gaze intense as he watches you take control. His hands are firm on your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh, yet he lets you dictate the rhythm entirely. He’s fully immersed in the moment, savoring every second of your boldness. “You gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby? Huh? You gonna ride me until you come?”

“Yes, baby,” you moan out, the words tumbling between heavy breaths. The pace is brutal—each time you slam down onto his cock, it’s like you can’t get enough. You bounce harder, faster, your whole body moving with reckless abandon as you chase your release. “I’m gonna fuck myself dumb on your cock, Mark… fuck, I’m so close.”

His grip tightens, but he lets you ride him, lets you take what you need. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Take it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me.” His encouragement spurs you on, his hands now guiding your hips to meet each of your desperate, plunging descents, amplifying the pleasure that spirals out of control within you.

Your thighs shake uncontrollably, muscles burning with the exertion, yet you don’t relent. Driven by raw need, you’re consumed by the sensation of his cock stretching you, filling you completely, relentlessly hitting all the right places. The pleasure is overwhelming, your movements frantic and almost desperate as you lose yourself to it.

“Mark… fuck… Mark!” Your scream is loud, hands pushing against his chest for more leverage as you ride him with fierce intensity. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes around the room, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna break me,” Mark gasps, his voice strained under the intensity. He’s struggling to keep pace, but his eyes remain fixed on you—captivated by the sight of your breasts bouncing with each violent thrust, your body surrendered to uninhibited lust. His hands roam upwards, grasping your breasts roughly, squeezing in rhythm to your wild movements.

“Can I go faster?” you murmur, even as he slides a finger between your lips. You choke slightly, a reflex that quickly turns into eager sucking, your tongue swirling around him with desperate intensity. Even though you’re the one on top, driving the rhythm, there’s a thrilling sense of submission in asking for his permission. His nod, firm and eager, grants you the consent you crave, emboldening you to increase your pace. Fueled by his approval, you ride him with renewed vigor, each movement more intense. “Daddy!!!” you scream, overwhelmed by the escalating pleasure. 

“Yeah?” His voice is lower now, husky with desire as his hands tighten on your hips. His thrusts slow but intensify, each one deliberate, plunging deeper, stretching you completely. “You feel how deep I am?” His tone is raw, his gaze intense and locked with yours, challenging you to respond.

“You feel me here?” Mark growls, his hand pressing down on the slight bulge at your lower belly, marking where he fills you to the hilt. The sensation of his fullness, combined with the pressure of his hand, elicits a whimper from you. He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours, fully aware of the control he wields over your senses. “Daddy’s cock stretching you out so well, isn’t it?” He mutters, lust thick in his voice. “

You nod frantically, overcome, but he demands more. “Use your words, baby,” he insists, his grip firm on your waist. His cock throbs inside you, his gaze dominating, claiming every part of you, igniting a surge of arousal through your body.

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you gasp, your voice breaking, breaths ragged. “I can feel you so deep… so fucking deep.”

“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice a mix of wonder and desire as he watches you ride him hard. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like it’s what you were made for.”

His words stoke the flames inside you, driving you to move even more fiercely. You bounce on him with such force that the bed creaks under the strain. The sound of your bodies colliding, the slickness between your legs amplifying the raw, primal nature of your coupling. You’re beyond thought, the pleasure consuming you entirely.

As you move above him, your breasts bounce enticingly with each rhythmic thrust. Mark watches, captivated by the sight, his arousal heightening at the vision of your body in motion. “Fuck, your tits are perfect,” he moans against your skin, his lips closing around your nipple with a fierce pull. “I could suck on them all fucking day, baby.”

With a mischievous grin, he reaches up, his thumbs teasing your nipples into taut peaks before he grasps them gently, rolling them between his fingers, heightening your sensitivity to a fever pitch. Driven wild by the dual sensations of his cock and his fingers, your vision blurs with ecstasy. “Fuck, yes, suck my tits, Daddy,” you cry out, your voice quivering with intensity.

Unable to resist the inviting bounce, he leans forward, capturing one nipple with his lips and pulling it into his mouth. The sensation of his hot tongue swirling around the stiffened bud, coupled with the intense suction, sends waves of pleasure cascading through your body. The sounds of his enjoyment, the wet, sucking noises mingling with your gasps and moans, fill the air, creating a symphony of desire that drives both of you closer to the edge.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he strains, his voice thick as he struggles to maintain his composure. “Keep going, baby. Use me. Take what you need. I want to see you come all over me. I want to feel how fucking tight you get when you climax.”

He switches to the other nipple, his actions relentless, his tongue flicking rapidly, drawing sharp, pleasure-laden whimpers from you. “That’s it… ride me, baby. Ride my cock. Don’t stop.”

“God, Mark…” you gasp, your voice barely audible through the thick haze of pleasure enveloping you, but he hears every whisper.

Mark’s response is a deep growl against your flesh, his mouth fiercely attaches to your other nipple, sucking with a voracious intensity while his other hand aggressively massages your other breast. “You’re fucking perfect,” he grunts, his voice muffled against your skin as he savors you. His tongue lashes over your sensitive skin, his lips pulling at your nipple, drawing deep, uncontrollable moans from you. “These tits… fuck, they’re so perfect. Bouncing just for me, baby. You like when I suck them?”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you whimper, your movements growing more frantic as pleasure mounts explosively. The sensation of him sucking your nipples while you ride him is overwhelming. “Fuck, I’m so close… I’m so close…”

Your entire body trembles, thighs screaming with the exertion, but the pleasure is so intense, you can’t think of stopping. “Please, Mark,” you beg, your voice laden with desperation and need. “Please, I don’t want to stop.”

“You’re not fucking stopping until you come all over my cock,” Mark commands, his eyes blazing with lust. His hands clamp down on your waist, dictating your rhythm as he thrusts up into you with even greater force. “You feel that?” His voice is coarse, breath scorching your skin as he leans in close. “You’re gonna come for me, baby. I want to feel you fucking soaking for me.”

His rough words ignite a surge within you, and you’re on the edge, barely holding on. His cock penetrates you so deeply, each thrust ruthlessly targeting that perfect spot inside, making your mind spin out of control. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” you whisper, a breathless plea.

That’s all it takes. With one final, desperate grind, you shatter, catapulting into the most intense orgasm you’ve ever known. Your entire body seizes, clenching tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Your breath catches, your vision momentarily whites out as the full force of your orgasm crashes over you. Your hips lose their rhythm, jerking spasmodically as your body trembles violently, clinging to him in desperate need. The slickness from your release pools between your legs, coating him, making each of his thrusts slide even deeper, intensifying the raw, primal sensation. Sweat sheens your skin, your chest heaves, completely unraveled by the overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction, his eyes devouring the spectacle of you coming undone. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it.” Lost in the ecstasy, you feel every pulse, every slick slide of him inside you, your release drenching him as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. His hands grip you firmly, guiding each shudder of your climax, his voice low, rich with pride. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he murmurs, his lips trailing hot, urgent kisses along your neck, punctuated by his deep, guttural moans. “So fucking tight for Daddy.”

The wetness between your legs soaks both of you, but as you climax, it feels as though your entire body explodes. Your muscles clench around him in pulsing, relentless spasms. Heat floods through your belly, radiating down your thighs as you shake uncontrollably. The slick sounds of your bodies mingling fill the room as you drench him, your release and his relentless thrusts merging into a crescendo of ecstasy.

As the intensity of your climax washes over you, you’re just about to collapse into his arms and share a tender kiss, but with a swift movement that leaves you dizzy, he flips you over. The sudden change is so unexpected that you burst into giggles, and his chuckle resonates against you, his chest vibrating against yours as he positions himself to enter you again.

The pace he sets is fast and urgent, leaving no time for you to adjust, though it seems you no longer need it. His gaze is intense, focused entirely on you, pleased with how well you’re handling the swift, deep thrusts. Laughter still lingers between you, the sound mixing with the rhythmic noise of your bodies moving together, suggesting the session might remain light and playful. But then, his expression shifts, and the mood changes drastically.

Without warning, his hand comes down sharply on your cheek, the slap crisp and startling. You gasp, the sting mingling with a rush of unexpected arousal. He does it again, harder this time, and you can see the dark intensity flood his eyes. “Fuck,” you moan, your body reacting to the mix of pain and pleasure.

“I can’t believe you fucked Yeonjun,” he growls, his voice thick with a sudden, raw jealousy. Now his rough movements make sense; his thrusts become even more aggressive, each one a claim, a reassertion of his presence.

He tightens his grip, pulling you closer, and in a bold move that sends a thrill through you, he lets a drop of spit fall deliberately into your open mouth. The act is daring and intensely intimate, highlighting his control in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His hot breath fans against your ear as he thrusts deeply, his voice a rough whisper that curls into you, “Can he fuck you like this? Make you feel as good as I can?” Each word vibrates through you, amplified by the relentless, commanding rhythm of his body against yours, underscoring his dominance with every movement.

You shake your head, overwhelmed by the force of his movements, the room tilting as your senses are consumed by him. “No, no he can’t,” you gasp out, each word a breathy echo of his impact on you. “Mark, please…” The rest of your plea dissolves into a moan as you reach for him, your hands grasping, pulling him closer, needing more. Each motion towards him is a silent acknowledgment of his effect on you, drawing him deeper, compelling him to claim every part of you.

As he continues, he demands you vocalize your loyalty, to affirm that he’s the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Each command he issues is more assertive than the last, each thrust deeper, claiming you entirely. The room is filled with the explicit sounds of your union, the slick, rhythmic noise that underscores his total control over your senses.

As Mark’s movements grow more forceful, the atmosphere becomes charged with a potent, almost tangible intensity. His hands explore assertively—gripping, pushing, and pulling you into each powerful thrust. He completely overpowers you, his strength undeniable as he drives into you with relentless depth. Suddenly, you feel a sharp slap on your ass, the sound crisp in the air, each strike a clear declaration of his control. 

The stinging sensation melds into the heat building inside you, spurring a mix of pleasure and a raw, primal response that courses through your body.

“Did he even make you cum, baby?” Mark’s voice is low and taunting, resonating with a rough edge that sends shivers racing through your body. “Or are you just letting losers fuck you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, his eyes locked onto yours, reading the undeniable truth in the way your body clenches and arches toward him, utterly consumed by his intensity.

Words escape you, swallowed by the overwhelming tide of sensation he stirs within you; your voice fractures into moans and broken pleas, “More, Mark, please,” each plea spilling out in a desperate cadence. He dominates the rhythm, pulling out completely, the absence of him almost as intense as his presence, only to surge back in with a force that robs you of breath. Each deliberate thrust pushes you closer to the brink, his pace a calculated assault designed to shatter your composure.

Mark’s grip tightens around your thighs, manhandling you into the perfect angle for him to dive deep with every thrust. The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the room, a lewd soundtrack to the overwhelming intensity of his movements. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and heavy. “You can’t even form words, can you? Just moaning and begging,” he growls, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches your frazzled expression.

He increases his pace, each thrust plunging deeper and with more force, overwhelming your senses. The room seems to tilt and spin as the intensity escalates. You hover at the precipice of total loss of control, each deep connection blurring the line between overwhelming pleasure and sheer sensory overload.

“You’re mine, understand?” Mark’s voice cuts through the haze, commanding and absolute. “Say it,” he insists, his tone brooking no argument, pausing his forceful rhythm just enough to focus fully on your response.

With each labored breath, you muster the clarity to respond, the words tumbling out breathlessly, “I’m yours, only yours.” Your voice is weak, tremulous with the force of your nearing climax under his unyielding command.

Pleased with your capitulation, Mark drives forward once more, resuming his punishing pace. Each thrust pushes you further into the depths of ecstasy. Your combined cries—the sounds of his dominance and your surrender—fill the room, creating a raw symphony of unchecked passion. The intensity of your interaction charges the atmosphere, leaving an indelible mark of your shared fervor.

He pulls out only to slam back into you with ferocious intensity, each penetration deep and precise. This torturous pattern he orchestrates—withdrawal to the brink of absence, then a forceful return—sends a surge of conflicting emotions and sensations through you. Each pullback leaves you gasping, the absence keenly felt, while each forceful re-entry fills you completely, stretching and overwhelming you with raw pleasure.

His movements are unrelentingly rough, each thrust deliberate, meant to disorient and dominate. The sound of his skin slapping against yours punctuates the air, rhythmic and harsh. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with desire, burning with the need to see every flicker of response across your face. He watches you unravel under him, a mix of satisfaction and lust in his gaze as he pushes you over the edge again and again.

With every deep thrust, you find yourself unable to hold back the moans and cries that spill from your lips, each one louder and more desperate than the last. He’s relentless, driving into you with a pace that’s both punishing and intensely gratifying, his every move calculated to bring you both to a fever pitch of raw, unchecked ecstasy.

Mark’s relentless pursuit to explore every inch of you intensifies as he shifts you effortlessly into various positions, each one designed to probe deeper, stimulating you relentlessly. As he flips you onto your back, lifting your legs for deeper penetration, his thick arousal hits all the right spots, drawing loud, uncontrollable moans from your lips.

Observing your writhing form with a lustful smirk, Mark commands you to climb on top. Despite the aftershocks of multiple orgasms still coursing through your body, you obediently straddle him. Your movements are slow, unsteady from the intensity of your previous climaxes. Mark’s impatience quickly surfaces as he watches you tentatively find your rhythm. His strong hands grip your hips tightly, taking control. He guides you at first but soon begins to drive upwards into you with vigorous, insatiable strokes.

Each of his powerful thrusts jolts you, sending deep, resounding waves of pleasure that ripple through your core. Your moans fill the room, each one louder and more desperate than the last, mingling with the rhythmic slapping sound of his skin against yours. Mark’s relentless pace and the depth of his penetration stir a wild, overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

As he continues to thrust upward, your control unravels completely. He angles his hips, each movement designed to hit all the spots inside you that scream for more. His gaze is fixed on you, dark with desire, watching every reaction, every collapse of your will under his command. His hands wander with possessive intent, one sliding up to grasp your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry kisses. The other hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight, deliberate circles that send you spiraling toward another explosive climax.

As you moan on top of him, you softly murmur, “Baby, I’m all yours.” Mark hums in response, his chest tightening as he hears the affectionate term you utter so rarely—only in moments like these when you’re deeply connected and seeking intimacy. The sound underscores how precious these moments are to him. 

He smiles broadly, his gaze intense and possessive as he whispers back, “Yeah, that’s right. You’re all mine.” Driven by his words, Mark’s thrusts grow even more powerful and deliberate. He pulls you down against him, his lips meeting yours in a fierce kiss that mingles your moans. His hands roam over your body with a possessiveness that heightens every sensation, each touch sparking more desire. As he continues to thrust upward, each movement is perfectly timed to drive you closer to the edge.

“I’m yours, only yours,” you keep repeating, gasping between intense moans, the room echoing with the sounds of your fervent union. The intensity peaks as you both climax together; your body spasms around him, your cries mingling with his in a chorus of ecstatic release.

As the waves of pleasure slowly recede, you collapse onto him, your body soft and pliant in his strong arms. Your kisses are tender yet charged, each one a seal of your mutual satisfaction and deep connection. “Mark…” you whimper softly against his lips, overwhelmed by affection and the depth of your shared intimacy.

He responds with gentle, yet still possessive touches, his hands exploring your back as you nestle closer, seeking his warmth. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs reassuringly, his voice low and soothing. The room is quiet now, the air thick with the afterglow of your intense encounter, each breath and soft hum of contentment weaving an even deeper bond between you.

“Ahhh,” you moan against his lips, leaning in for a kiss that promises to deepen—but a loud knock at the door jolts you apart, making you scream in shock. Instinctively, you jab Mark’s arm. “You said you had the apartment to yourself until tomorrow morning, who’s that?”

He shrugs, a mix of confusion and annoyance fleeting across his face as he gently lifts you off his lap and climbs out of bed. Hurriedly, he pulls on his boxers while you dive under the covers for cover. Mark cracks the door open just a sliver, careful to shield you from view.

You hear a deep, unfamiliar voice, definitely not one of his roommates. “Mark, why don’t you come down and have dinner with us?”

“Uncle Doyoung!” Mark’s response is laden with forced enthusiasm, a clear contrast to the intimacy of moments ago. “I thought you and mum were heading out to dinner and staying at a hotel. Wait, how did you guys get in?”

“You gave us a spare key to your apartment, remember?” His uncle chuckles, amused by Mark’s forgetfulness. “We told you we’d be coming over later. Your mom wanted to cook you dinner, especially since you moved to university. She hasn’t been able to do that much anymore.”

“Come on, come down. Me and your mother are waiting. Also, tell your girlfriend to come and join us, we’ve been waiting to meet her.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and departs, leaving Mark standing there, laughing nervously before he turns to you with an apologetic look.

You’re under the covers, wishing they could swallow you whole, your heart still racing from the abrupt shift from passion to panic. Mark catches your eye, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and reassurance as he extends a hand to you. He leans in, his lips find yours in a soft, reassuring kiss. “I guess you’re going to have to meet my mom and uncle now,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a mixture of resignation and gentle amusement. The warmth of his kiss offers a silent promise that he’ll be right there with you, facing this unexpected introduction together.

Moments later and you’re pacing frantically around the room. Mark stands by the door, his expression patient yet attentive as you pace the room, the suddenness of the situation weighing heavily on you. “Baby, you don’t need to dress up,” he mumbles, his voice low and soothing.

“Do I need to meet them? Just convince them I was some random skank you’re sleeping with. I promise I won’t get mad!” you whisper back half-jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckles, shaking his head affectionately. “You’re not some random skank; you’re my girl. So can you stop worrying so much? It’s just my mum and my uncle,” he reassures you, his tone firm yet gentle.

“It’s not easy to just ‘stop worrying’,” you hiss back, your breath quick with anxiety. “What happened to us not telling anyone?” you add, frustration evident in your shake of the head. 

As you panic, Mark tries to assuage your fears with a calm explanation. “Y/N, it’s my parents. I didn’t straight out tell them ‘me and Y/N are seeing each other.’ They obviously heard us together just now and put two and two together,” he says, trying to keep the atmosphere light despite the awkward revelation.

You cringe, the reality of the situation hitting you hard. “Oh fuck, they heard us,” you cry out, the embarrassment coloring your voice. “Mark, I shouted ‘daddy’ like a hundred times.”

Mark can’t help but respond with a smirk, attempting to inject some humor into the tense moment. “Nah, you could’ve said it more,” he jokes.

You send him a death glare, not finding the situation amusing in the slightest. “Stop! This isn’t funny, we were so loud,” you protest, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you imagine what his parents must think. The lightness in his attitude does little to soothe your mortification at being overheard in such a compromising situation.

As Mark wraps his arms around you, the tension in your shoulders begins to melt under his gentle touch. He pulls you close, his presence a comforting barrier against the rush of sudden nerves. His hand lightly strokes your back in slow, soothing circles, grounding you with the rhythm of his touch. “Just wear one of my hoodies and your leggings, okay? You don’t need to worry about what you’re wearing; we’re at home.”

He coos softly into your ear, trying to ease your nerves. His breath was warm against the shell of your ear, whispering reassurances that are both calming and intimate. Feeling his steady presence, your breathing gradually deepens, matching his calm, deliberate breaths. With each inhale and exhale, you feel more anchored, the earlier panic subsiding into a quiet trust. His words, simple yet sincere, remind you of the normalcy and safety of the situation, easing the swirl of anxiety.

“Fine,” you mumble, finally relenting.

Hand in hand, you walk downstairs, your nerves bundled tightly within you. However, the moment Mark’s mother’s eyes land on you and she beams a sweet, welcoming smile, a wave of calm washes over you. She was undeniably beautiful; despite her age, her features retained a youthful glow that radiated warmth and kindness. Her hair, long and soft, flowed gracefully around her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. Her eyes, a deep and soft brown, sparkled with the same gentle warmth as her smile.

Mark had her eyes. 

Now that you’ve seen both of Mark’s parents, it’s apparent to you that while he shares certain features with them—he has his mother’s soft eyes and his father’s defined facial angles—he doesn’t closely resemble either of them. As your eyes shift to his uncle, a realization strikes you: Mark looks like a carbon copy of his uncle. They both share the same sharp jawline that sets the structure of their faces, the same full, expressive lips that curve into identical smiles and their expressions and mannerisms are strikingly similar. The way they both laugh, with a throwback of their heads, or the way they furrow their brows in concentration, highlights their familial connection beyond any doubt.

Before she even has a chance to greet Mark, his mother sweeps you into a warm embrace. “You must be Y/N,” she says with a bright smile that radiates maternal warmth as you respond with a chuckle and a nod, instantly feeling welcomed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lee,” you manage to whisper, your voice soft with a mix of nerves and respect.

“Oh, please, call me Irene,” she insists, her tone as warm as her smile. Her kind, loving eyes and the genuine enthusiasm in her voice envelop you like a cozy blanket, making it immediately clear why Mark is the caring, grounded person he is today. Her presence is comforting and her energy infectious, hinting at a deep well of love and strength that has clearly shaped her son into the man you know and adore.

Dinner with Mark’s mom and uncle feels surprisingly comfortable, almost like being at home. The conversation is light and filled with laughter, sharing stories that highlight the close and loving nature of their family. When Mark formally introduces you, his voice is filled with pride, and you can see the affection in his eyes. It’s a straightforward and welcoming experience, making you feel connected to both him and his family.

You learn that his uncle was more of a father figure to him. He even calls him Dad and plans are underway for him to officially adopt Mark and be his father legally—though legality was just a formality. He had been Mark’s dad for as long as Mark could remember, raising him, shaping him into the man he is today.

You also discover that his uncle and his mother are in a newly blossomed relationship after years of unresolved romantic feelings. Their story of finding confidence to be together resonates deeply, leaving you touched and genuinely happy for them.

As the evening unfolds, you feel increasingly settled, the initial anxiety replaced by a warm sense of belonging. Seeing the depth of their relationships, the love that binds this unique family together, you feel a profound connection, not just with Mark, but with his family as well. In this shared space, laughter and heartfelt conversation flow easily, and you find yourself not just at ease but genuinely joyful to be part of such a special moment.

In the middle of your meal, just as you’re taking a bite of your potatoes, Ms. Lee catches you off guard with a question that nearly makes you choke.

“I have to ask, you and my son are in a strong sexual relationship. Is that right?” she inquires suddenly. “He’s making the right choices, right? You guys are staying protected?” she presses on.

“Mum…” Mark begins, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he shakes his head, but Irene simply waves him off, showing no discomfort with her line of questioning.

“Of course,” you respond with a nod, managing a smile while shooting a sideways glance at Mark. Both of you try to hide your smirks, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. You could definitely be more diligent with protection. Often, you run out of condoms, and sometimes, you’re simply too caught up in the moment to pause and get them.

Mrs. Lee sighs, her smile broadening, seeming to accept your response, while Uncle Doyoung, catching the exchanged looks between you and Mark, chuckles quietly to himself, amused by the undercurrents of the conversation.

As the dinner progresses comfortably, Mark’s mom leans forward with a twinkle in her eye, clearly excited to engage in conversation. “So, you’re Mark’s first ever girlfriend,” she announces with a smile.

You freeze, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, we’re not—” you start to clarify, unsure how to label your relationship in front of his family.

Mark quickly senses your discomfort and jumps in to smooth things over. “Mum, we’re still in the early stages,” he explains, giving you a reassuring glance.

His uncle, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chimes in with a playful grin, not missing a beat. “Oh, well I hope you come to your senses soon,” he adds, smirking as he nonchalantly continues to chew on his vegetables. The room fills with a light tension, punctuated by his playful nudge to the conversation.

───────────────────────────────

Later, as you fold some blankets in Mark’s living room, he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your back. The comfort of his presence makes you lean back into him with a content hum. “Not so bad, huh?” he murmurs, his voice warm in the quiet space.

“It could’ve been worse,” you admit, feeling the residual warmth of his family’s company, even though the interaction had been somewhat draining.

“You have such an amazing family; it makes so much sense why you are the way you are,” you mumble, genuinely impressed by the love and complexity within his family.

He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek, his voice soft and inviting. “Come sit with me, baby,” he suggests, patting the couch next to him. Instead, you choose to sit on his lap, facing him with a sly smirk. His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly adjusts, leaning back to give you more room. “That works too,” he smiles, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“So, what’s the deal with you and your family? It’s such an interesting and intricate family tree,” you probe, genuinely curious about the dynamics that shaped him.

“What do you mean?” Mark asks, his gaze meeting yours with an openness that invites honesty.

“I just wanna know about you, Mark, about your family. I want you to let me in,” you press gently, your hands resting against his chest.

He nods slowly, a sign of his trust in you. “Okay, what do you wanna know?”

You sigh, unsure where to begin. “Okay, firstly, well, I’m quite surprised how close you are to your uncle, considering he’s your dad’s brother. I’m assuming your uncle is a really good man?”

Mark nods. “Uncle Doyoung has always been loving and giving for as long as I can remember. He was there for me and my mum when my dad never was. He’s miles ahead of my dad in kindness, nobility, love, sense… just everything. It’s surprising to me that they’re even related and had the same upbringing.”

“So your dad and your uncle aren’t close?” you question further.

He shakes his head. “Doyoung does try, he’s a good man and sees the best in everyone, but they evidently have a very tense and fractured relationship.”

“Why?” you whisper, drawn into the complexity of his family lore.

Mark shakes his head, a faint shadow of old pain crossing his features. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think my dad’s ego just can’t handle that my mom moved on after he left her. They broke up for good when she told him she was pregnant with me, and even after all these years—over twenty—he still hasn’t gotten over it,” he explains, his voice tinged with a dry chuckle.

“So Doyoung filled in when your dad couldn’t?” you ask, piecing together his narrative.

He nods again. “He’s always given me the fatherly guidance and affection that my own biological father never did. My dad initially rejected me and didn’t want anything to do with me. He viewed me as a reminder of his own failures and past mistakes. Even though I was just a child thrown into the middle of this mess. His rejection stems from his complicated history with my mum; they were high school sweethearts, but he left her when she became pregnant, then quickly moved on to Jeno’s mum, Seulgi. Seulgi fell pregnant with Jeno, and Taeyong chose to raise Jeno instead of me.”

“So that’s why me and Jeno are so close in age; I’m a few months older than him though. Taeyong got both of our mums pregnant in a short span of time,” Mark adds, a note of disbelief in his voice.

You gasp, feeling a sharp pang of empathy for Mark, who had to face such complexities at a tender age. “Did you always know about Jeno? When you were younger, did you know you had a half-brother on your dad’s side?”

Mark shakes his head. “I had no clue until I was 10 years old. We played in the junior league basketball league together. I loved playing there; have you ever had something you knew you were better at than almost everyone else?”

“Sex,” you quip lightly, trying to lighten the mood, but as Mark lets out a small laugh, you quickly apologise, realising this wasn’t the moment for jokes as he was opening up about something deeply personal.

“Anyway, when I joined the official team, I remember there was one other player with the same surname. I was so excited because I’d never known someone to have the same surname as me. But then I found out he was my brother. Guys kept teasing me about it, about how Jeno’s dad was my dad too. So I asked my mom, and she said he wasn’t, but I got home and heard her crying in her room. I knew it was true. So I never went back. I told my mum it was because I didn’t want to have to see his face, but it was mostly because I didn’t want her to have to go through seeing the man who abandoned her and her son every week,” Mark concludes, his voice tinged with sadness.

“So you and Jeno grew up as complete strangers?” you ask, trying to understand the full extent of his isolation.

He nods, his expression serious. “We barely spoke, just saw each other in the halls at school. Taeyong was really good at shaping Jeno; his behaviour and attitude towards me were like reflections of his own,” Mark explains, highlighting the strained relationship shaped by his father’s influence.

You decide to take the conversation in another direction, one that feels equally loaded but less raw. “What’s your opinion on Jeno’s mother? On Mrs. Lee?”

Seulgi, once Kang Seulgi and now Lee Seulgi, was a woman whose presence lingered quietly yet profoundly. She carried an aura of warmth, a kindness that was understated but genuine, even in the most difficult moments. The only resemblance Jeno had to her was her good heart—a trait buried deep within him, often obscured by the tougher, colder exterior shaped by his father, Lee Taeyong.

“Her and my mum are close,” he says, his tone tinged with an incredulous edge. “I’ve always found Mrs. Lee to be kind. She used to invite me and my mum over for dinner. I guess she wanted to try and make us feel like we belonged or something.” He pauses, the corners of his mouth lifting into a sad smile. “Those dinners were always awkward as hell. Tense, too. But she tried. She did a hell of a lot more for us than Taeyong ever did.”

Seulgi’s good nature seemed out of place in the world she was tethered to. She had an enduring gentleness, a quiet resilience that somehow survived her toxic environment. Despite being surrounded by manipulation and control, particularly from Taeyong, she remained steadfast in her care for Jeno, her love for him unshakable. You always admired that about her, how she never let the darkness around her snuff out her light.

“She’s a good person,” you say softly, your voice laced with sincerity. Your thoughts drift to the times you’d interacted with her. Seulgi had a way of making you feel cared for—gentle smiles, soft-spoken words, and the warm way she welcomed you into her home. Even during the times when arguments with Jeno would escalate, when you’d storm out or snap at him, she never treated you differently. There was no judgment in her eyes, only understanding, as if she saw past the chaos and into the heart of who you were.

She was sweet, caring, and undeniably maternal—qualities that made her impossible not to like. You could see how deeply she cared about Jeno, in the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, in the subtle but significant efforts she made to protect him from the worst parts of his father’s world. And yet, you could never understand how she ended up with someone like Taeyong. It baffled you, how someone so inherently good could bind themselves to someone as toxic and manipulative as him. Was it love? Obligation? A misplaced hope that things might change? You didn’t know, but it left an ache of pity in your chest whenever you thought about her.

You shake off these thoughts, not wanting to linger on the ache they bring. It makes you upset, a heaviness settling in your chest that you’re not ready to face. Instead, you focus on him, on the openness he’s already shown, and how much more you want to uncover. Your curiosity sharpens, especially about recent developments in his life. So, you probe further, your questions carrying a gentle eagerness, wanting to understand him even better.

“You’ve known your best friend since high school, right? So, Jeno probably knew her too? Did they get along?” you ask, trying to piece together how she and Jeno could have recently become close, wondering if it was perhaps a rekindled old connection.

Though you grew up walking the same school hallways as Jeno, Mark, and his best friend, you never really paid attention to the intricacies of their relationships or social entanglements. Back then, Jeno was more reserved, rarely opening up or letting you in, so you had little insight into whom he might have been close with on a deeper level. This gap in your knowledge makes you even more curious about the nature of his current interactions with Mark’s best friend.

He shakes his head, amusement clear in his voice. “No way, she’s been my best friend forever. It’s not about being possessive or claiming she’s all mine, but she chose to keep her distance from Jeno. She hated Jeno just as much as I did,” Mark states directly, firmly dismissing any notion of a past friendship between them.

You sigh, accepting that their connection must have been recent. “You’re really close with her, right?”

He nods, smiling fondly. “She’s like family. Always there, supporting me no matter what. We’ve given each other that kind of unwavering support, protection, love, and stability all our lives. It’s crucial, having someone you can truly rely on,” he expands, his words warm with appreciation.

Appreciating his sentiments, you smile. “She seems really important to you. I’m glad you’ve always had her, especially since Jeno was such a jerk to you when we were teenagers. And honestly, I was too caught up in my own mess to notice much, including you.”

He laughs, a knowing look in his eyes. “Oh, believe me, I know,” he says, his voice rich with layers of unspoken stories and memories, hinting at depths yet to be explored.

The way he says it, the look in his eyes brimming with past reflections, compels you to delve deeper. It feels as though he’s holding back, as if there’s more he wants to unveil about your shared history—a history that, until now, seemed nonexistent. Despite growing up in the same school hallways, you never once had a real conversation with him, nor did you ever make an effort to reach out. His words and the look in his eyes now make you wonder if you were truly non-existent to him. 

Yet, a different curiosity nags at you, related to the kiss you witnessed between her and Jeno. You approach the subject cautiously, not wanting to betray her trust. “So, your best friend has never been in a relationship?” you ask casually.

He laughs, clearly surprised by the question. “No, why?” he responds.

“Oh, no reason. You sure she’s never been in a relationship? It’s always the quiet ones,” you murmur, deliberately keeping it vague and nonchalant, trying not to arouse his suspicion.

Mark frowns slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he probes, his suspicion evident.

Realizing he might be catching on, you quickly dismiss it. “Nothing, ignore me,” you say hastily, knowing he’ll respect your request. Mark has always been attuned to you, listening not just to your words, but also understanding your heart and mind, and you rely on this now more than ever.

Mark shares openly, his words unfiltered. “Trust me, she hasn’t been in any relationship. She would’ve told me if she was seeing anyone—we share everything. Instead, she’s always complaining about feeling left out and how she’s inexperienced.”

You tease him playfully, “I’m surprised you haven’t offered to fuck her.”

He feigns shock, his hand clutching at his chest. “Take that back. That was uncalled for.”

“Why?” you giggle, enjoying the banter.

“She’s like a sister to me. Plus, I don’t just go around fucking just anyone. Who do you think I am?”

“Someone who’s fucked Winter, Nancy, Mia, Lia… I could go on. I’m just lucky and glad you haven’t fucked Karina; I think I’d let her run me over,” you retort.

He huffs, a bit annoyed. “What? You got a list or something?”

You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Well, if I did, how many pages long would it be?”

He pauses, he’s about to count but then stops. “This seems like a trap.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan. “I didn’t want the list to be so long that it needed several pages.”

He tries to lighten the mood. “Isn’t your body count high too?”

You shake your head solemnly. “It’s 3, Mark. I wish it was just 2. I wish I never fucked Yeonjun. Somehow he knows he’s the only guy who ever fucked me apart from Jeno at the time, and now he’s obsessed with me.”

He shifts the conversation, his tone softening with seriousness. “Listen, out of all the people I’ve slept with, the only one that mattered was you. No one else meant anything; they were just placeholders until I could get my hands on the real thing.”

You hum, a soft smile playing on your lips, yet the words spill out before you can stop them. “That’s a lot of placeholders.”

He chuckles, shaking his head at your response. “Y/N.”

“How many placeholders would you say you had?” you can’t help but ask.

He remains silent, and you huff, “Fine, I don’t wanna know.”

“There are two lists in my head: one of the girls I’ve fucked and one of the only girls who’s ever mattered to me and who I truly care about. There’s only one name on the second list. It’s you, baby,” he confesses, his eyes intense yet tender, making you feel vulnerable again.

“You’re a corny fucker, has anyone ever told you that?” you respond, laughing, not allowing yourself to fully absorb the depth of his affection and the calmness his words bring.

You gently shake your head, breaking the intense moment, and lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you trust me enough to let me in like this,” you whisper, your eyes soft with affection. “Knowing more about you and your life—it means a lot to me.”

Mark hums, a sound deep in his throat, as he melts into your touch. Your fingers gently comb through his hair, soothing him as he opens up about his past. The warmth and care in your actions reflect the depth of your empathy for him.

As Mark continues to share the more painful parts of his family history, you draw even closer, your voice a tender murmur. “I’m so sorry, Mark. It must’ve been really tough growing up like that.” Your sincerity envelops him, offering comfort as he navigates through his memories, making him feel understood and deeply connected to you

He nods, and a tear escapes, tracing a path down his cheek. The sight of him so raw and open tugs at your heartstrings. “It was mainly for my mum,” he confesses, his voice cracking slightly. “I hated seeing her go through that. It’s just so unfair—bad things happening to really good people.”

You hum softly in agreement, your hand reaching up to gently wipe away his tears. You feel the weight of his trust in you, knowing how significant and fragile this moment is for both of you.

Mark continues, his voice steadier but still filled with emotion. “I never felt like I missed out on anything, though. I’ve always been happy, content. I was so lucky to be raised by my mum and Uncle Doyoung. I always feel like I got the better end of the stick. Jeno… he grew up shallow, egotistical,” he pauses, searching for the words, “and he lacked empathy and care for anyone who wasn’t him or didn’t meet his standards. I often wonder if I would’ve turned out like that under different circumstances.”

You contemplate his words, recognizing how profoundly one’s upbringing and environment shape character, morality, and values. But looking into Mark’s eyes, seeing the kindness and understanding reflected back at you, you shake your head firmly. “You have a good heart, Mark. I’ll always believe that, no matter what.” Your voice is filled with conviction, a pledge of your faith in him, underlining the intimacy and the bond you’ve forged through this heartfelt exchange.

Mark’s question catches you slightly off guard as he brings up a memory you both share. “Do you remember Jeno’s party? The day we first made out, and you tried to have sex with me?” he asks, a hint of nostalgia mixed with something deeper in his voice.

You nod, mumbling a quick “yes,” the memory vivid in your mind.

“That was my first time at Jeno’s apartment. I couldn’t believe how big and grand it was. I mean, that’s just his college place, not even his family home. One of the rooms there is bigger than my entire family house where I grew up,” Mark continues, his tone a mix of awe and bitterness. “And my dad’s house? I’ve heard it’s like a mansion. It just hurt, seeing all that.”

He pauses, his voice growing heavier. “My mom worked her ass off when I was growing up, you know? Early mornings, late nights, juggling multiple jobs at once to give me a decent life. And there’s my dad—barely works, his money’s mostly from old reputation and family ties. He profits off the people under him while they barely make ends meet. It’s unfair how the wealth and good living seem to go to those who don’t work for it.”

As Mark’s voice trails off, laden with the heaviness of his past, you don’t immediately find the right words to respond. Instead, you step closer, driven by an urge to bridge the gap his words have opened between you. Gently, you pull him into a warm, enveloping hug, your actions speaking the comfort you struggle to voice.

Mark’s one hand moves to slip under your sweater, his touch warm against your skin, while his other hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers and securing a tender connection. He begins to gently rub soothing patterns on your back with his hand, pulling you even closer to him. The softness in his gaze mixes with a flicker of gratitude for your silent understanding. You pepper his face with gentle kisses, each one a silent murmur of your presence and care, as you feel him relax under the tender assault.

Feeling the wet trail of tears on his cheek, you tighten your hold, whispering reassurances that mingle with the quiet of the room. “It’s okay, I’m here,” you murmur directly into his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart aches with empathy as you continue to comfort him, your touch a constant reminder of your support.

Your bodies pressed together, the warmth of his hand under your sweater, and the steady rhythm of your intertwined fingers—it all coalesces into a profound moment of solidarity and comfort. Mark’s gradual easing of tension, the slow steadying of his breathing, lets you know that right now, this closeness is everything. 

With a heavy sigh, Mark closes the distance between the two of you, his movement a silent invitation. His eyes, deep pools of emotion, lock onto yours, communicating a depth of feeling words could never fully capture. As he draws nearer, the space between you dwindles until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that is gentle, almost tentative at first, as if he is savoring the moment before it deepens. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the heavy emotions shared just moments before. It’s a kiss filled with the promise of understanding and commitment, an intimate connection that speaks to the soul. His hands cup your face tenderly, thumbs caressing your cheeks as if to memorize every detail of this moment.

The world around you fades into a distant murmur, leaving nothing but the feeling of Mark’s lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both new and timelessly perfect. The kiss deepens, growing more assured as you both immerse into the sensation, into the profound connection that binds you. It’s a kiss that communicates more than any conversation ever could, laden with gratitude, acknowledgment, and the silent vow of shared futures.

As the kiss intensifies, Mark’s hands move from your face to your back, pulling you closer with a firm yet gentle touch. Your own hands roam over his shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt, the physical strength that contrasts with the tender way he kisses. The physical closeness, the heat of his body so near, heightens every sensation. The brush of his lips against yours is both electrifying and soothing, a paradox that sends a shiver down your spine. You are drawn deeper into the intimacy, each kiss a reaffirmation of the connection you share.

You reach to pull off his hoodie, eager to feel more of him, but Mark gently catches your hands, stopping you with a playful chuckle as you pout in response.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his eyes pleading as he looks deeply into yours.

“Mark… it’s nearly 1 a.m.,” you laugh, curiosity piqued by his unexpected request.

He kisses you softly, his touch lingering even as he pulls back. “I wanna show you something, please. Come with me.”

Nodding, you take Mark’s hand as he leads you outside. He presses another soft kiss to your lips as he opens the passenger door for you, waiting patiently until you’re comfortably seated before closing it with a gentle touch. Moments later, he’s in the driver’s seat beside you, the engine humming softly to life. He takes your hand again, holding it in his while he steers with the other, the warmth of his grasp reassuring.

As he drives, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly handsome he looks under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The drive takes about 30 minutes from campus, he tells you it’s much quicker at night when the roads are mostly empty. When he pulls up beside the familiar space, a realisation dawns on you, and a smile spreads across your face. He’s brought you here. The river court. It seems unchanged since your youth. Although you’ve always felt like an outsider looking in, this is only your second time here, the first being when you watched the showdown between Jeno and Mark.

You’re glad the river court is still close to campus, providing Mark a nearby refuge whenever life feels overwhelming. The proximity allows him a quick escape to a place where he can lose himself in the game, finding solace in the rhythm of dribbling and shooting, away from the pressures of daily life. As you step out of the car and onto the court, you feel a deep appreciation for this quiet, familiar spot that holds so much significance for Mark.

The river court, under the cover of darkness, transforms into a serene, almost otherworldly place. The cool night air carries the soft glow of nearby street lamps that illuminate the empty court, casting gentle shadows that dance across the worn asphalt. Here, the distant city sounds fade into a quiet backdrop, allowing the rhythmic bounce of the basketball and its echoing thud as it hits the backboard to dominate the soundscape, giving the place a haunted, nostalgic feel.

Mark is in his element, moving fluidly across the court with a practised ease. Every now and then, he glances over to make sure you’re still there, his gaze pulling you closer even from a distance. As he dribbles and shoots, his movements are precise and confident, each shot a testament to countless hours spent on this very court.

When he pauses to catch his breath, Mark walks over to where you’re seated on the old, weathered bench, your knees crossed over. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against them.

You run your hands through his hair, pulling him closer. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you bring me here at 1 a.m.?” you laugh.

He explains as he takes a seat next to you, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “This place is like a second home to me. I always used to play basketball here with my friends growing up. It’s special to me, that’s why I wanted to bring you here, to show it to you.”

He teases gently about how cute your reaction is, your cheeks flushed as you murmur, “Oh, cool.”

“But I’ve been coming here less and less since joining the team,” he continues, a trace of guilt in his tone. “I just don’t have the time as I’m practicing on official courts. It makes me feel guilty, you know? My dream has always been to join an official team and compete in tournaments, but in a way, I’ve left this life behind—the boy who used to shoot hoops with his friends on the river court. I feel like I’ve betrayed the past me.”

You shake your head, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to chase your dream, you deserve to be on the official team, you’ve earned your place. You’re still the same guy who used to play on the river court, still the same kind-hearted, mature guy. Nothing’s changed about you, that’s why I like you so much. You’re still so humble and down-to-earth despite how amazing you are.”

He hums, letting your words wash over him, allowing himself to believe each one. The night air, the echo of the river nearby, and the solitude of the court create a perfect backdrop as you both sit, hands intertwined, sharing this moment of reflection and reassurance, continuing to talk about dreams, memories, and the paths you choose in life.

Mark takes a deep breath, seeming to absorb the tranquillity of the empty court around you. He looks back at you, his eyes grateful. “Thank you, baby. It means a lot to hear you support me like this. Sometimes, I just worry that I’m losing a part of myself in all this hustle.”

“You aren’t losing anything, Mark,” you reply softly, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. “You’re growing, evolving. That doesn’t mean you’re leaving the best parts of yourself behind. It means you’re building on them. The boy who played here, who loves this court—he’s still part of who you are today.”

Mark nods, reflecting on your words. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How places and times seem so permanent when you’re in them, but life just… moves on. Coming here tonight, it’s like stepping back into those memories for a bit.”

You nod, looking around the dimly lit court, feeling the countless games and laughter. “I appreciate you sharing this with me.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Because seeing this side of you makes me understand more about where you come from, it makes me feel closer to you. And I love that. I love seeing the world through your eyes, even if it’s just a basketball court at one in the morning.”

Mark laughs softly, the vibration from his chest tingling under your cheek. “I’ve never thought that you could make the river court sound like such a romantic spot,” he teases, his eyebrows wiggling playfully.

You shake your head, trying to hide your smile, but the intensity of his gaze suddenly makes the air between you feel electric. “Stop that,” you murmur, though your voice lacks any real conviction.

He gently turns your face to meet his, his fingers brushing your cheek with a touch that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes lock onto yours, deep and mesmerizing, making your heart flutter uncontrollably. “And what if I did bring you here for that reason?” he asks, his voice low and husky. The way he’s looking at you—so direct and full of unspoken promises—makes you feel both weak and exhilaratingly alive.

You’re silent for a moment, caught up in the intensity of his gaze. “Like a date?” you manage to say, and when he nods, you continue hesitantly, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I’m joking,” he cuts in, his tone lightening as he sees your reaction. “I’d never bring you here for our first date. I mean, how lame is that? I’d bring out all the stops, I’d make it unforgettable.”

“Oh really?” you gasp, your voice a mix of challenge and intrigue. The overwhelming need to close the distance between you grows stronger, and you lean in closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity is intoxicating, filling you with a desire to explore the promise of his words.

His smile turns more seductive as he senses your interest, his face inching closer to yours. “Absolutely,” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips. 

You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His lips meet yours, the kiss a perfect blend of everything he’s promised—intense, passionate, and utterly unforgettable. You moan softly against his lips, the sound mingling with the quiet night around you, heightening the intimacy of the moment as your senses are enveloped in the warmth and taste of him.

───────────────────────────────

You bounced on Mark’s cock, each powerful thrust causing the car to rock aggressively. The tight space heightened every sensation, your sweat-slicked bodies sliding against each other as you impaled yourself deeper on him with each desperate rise and fall. The car’s frame shook with the intensity of your movements, merging with the relentless drumming of the rain outside to form a raw, primal rhythm of unchecked lust.

You were making out on the benches outside when suddenly it started pouring down. With giggles and laughter, you both dashed to the car, the playful chase intensifying the night’s electricity. Once inside, the pounding rain on the roof enclosed you in a private, tempestuous world.

You were supposed to head home as the rain intensified, but the charged atmosphere between you sparked something more urgent, more demanding. As Mark glanced over at you, the low light of the dashboard illuminating his features, you leaned over and kissed him, the taste of rain still fresh on your lips. Murmuring breathlessly, “I want your cock so bad right now,” you saw heat flare in his eyes. Without a word, he pushed his seat back, creating as much space as he could within the confines of the car. “Ride me then,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

You didn’t hesitate, quickly straddling him, pulling your soaked clothes aside. The car rocked gently as you began to move, your hips grinding down onto him, taking him in deeply. The space was tight, your bodies pressed so close there was no room for anything but the heat between you. Every thrust was intense, confined by the car’s limited space, making each movement feel more pronounced, more desperate. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, urging you to go faster. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, your breaths coming in short, heavy moans that fogged up the windows.

The rain began to patter against the car windows as you sat parked beside the river court, the quiet patter turning into a heavy downpour that blurred the outside world into streaks of water. The rhythmic drumming of raindrops created a cocoon around the car, amplifying the silence of the deserted court outside. It was just the two of you, the empty court, and the night—everything else faded away, swallowed by the sound of the storm.

Mark’s whispered encouragements were hot against your ear, “Go faster, baby, just like that.” You responded to his urgency, your movements becoming more erratic as pleasure built up. The car’s gentle rocking grew more pronounced with the rhythm of your bodies moving in sync. “You couldn’t wait until I drove us home?” he teased, breathless.

“You’re the one who pulled me onto your lap,” you managed to moan back, your voice drowned out by the sound of rain and the creaking of the car seat. The intensity of being so close, his body heat mixing with yours, the limited space making each touch feel more intimate, more vital—it was overwhelming, almost too much, but perfect in its urgency.

As you bounced harder on his cock, your moans echoing through the rain-soaked car, you leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his. “So… how many girls have you taken to the river court?” you asked, your tone teasing but laced with a sultry edge that made his eyes darken.

His lips quirked into a smirk, his chest vibrating against yours as he chuckled lowly. “Does my mum count?” he teased, the playful comment earning a sharp roll of your hips that pulled a groan from his throat.

“Mark,” you whined, your voice dripping with faux irritation, though your smile betrayed you. “I want a real answer.”

He gripped your waist tighter, guiding your movements as his voice dipped, thick with desire. “Just you, baby,” he murmured, sealing the confession with a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than tenderness. His lips moved against yours with fervor, his hands urging you to ride him harder, the raw intimacy of his words leaving you breathless.

Emboldened, you pushed further, your voice a breathless challenge between moans. “And how many girls have you fucked by the river court?”

His eyes locked onto yours, blazing with heat as he whispered, “Just you, baby.” His voice was low, reverent, each word laced with possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. “Only you.”

The fervent energy of your earlier movements gradually subsided into a slower, more deliberate pace, allowing you to savour the closeness between you. You moved together gently, the sound of your synchronized breaths filling the car. Between the slow thrusts, you exchanged soft kisses, each one deepening your connection, punctuated by quiet giggles and warm smiles that spoke volumes about your shared affection.

Mark’s gaze captured yours, intense yet filled with a tenderness that made you pause. “Y/N, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he whispered, his fingers lightly playing with your earrings, adding a touch of playful intimacy to the moment.

“Go ahead,” you hummed, the softness in his voice making you feel safe and cherished.

He took a deep breath, his gaze never wavering. “You know I fully understand and respect your decision to keep us a secret, at least for now. Although, eventually, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to start letting more people know, to stop hiding because we’re not doing anything wrong.”

You felt a pang of fear, your eyes widening slightly. “Mark, I can’t—”

“Baby, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about today, though,” he quickly reassured, sensing your discomfort. “I know you’re not ready for that right now, but I was wondering if you were ready for something else.”

“For what?” you mumbled, your heartbeat quickening with anticipation.

“I want to be exclusive with you. Well, privately exclusive, which kind of defeats the purpose of being ‘exclusive,’ but I think it’s a good start. We’ve become close, spending most nights together, having all these personal conversations and having so much good sex, but what’s the point if it doesn’t go anywhere?”

His words struck a chord, and a wave of guilt washed over you. Mark was right, and it was hard for you to open up like this, especially considering your past relationship with Jeno, which had left you wary of trust and full of unresolved pain. Each word Mark spoke, filled with understanding and patience, tugged at the emotional walls you had meticulously built. 

“Us becoming exclusive wouldn’t change much; it would just make us more official. I don’t have any interest in getting to know or fucking anyone else, and I know you don’t either. We’ve basically already been exclusive since we started seeing each other. I just think it’s a good idea if we put an official label on that. It would make me happy and mean a lot to me. What do you say, baby?”

You contemplated his words, the idea of labels and official commitments still daunting. Yet, his next words melted your defences. “And you know I’ll never hurt you or make you lose my trust. You’re the only one I want and care about, and I want you to feel that.” He kissed you softly, his lips tender against yours, reassuring and gentle.

“I truly see you and feel like you’re ‘mine,’ and ‘my girl.’ I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, no one has come close. That’s gotta mean something, right?” He whispered huskily. His lips then met yours in a soft, insistent kiss

“So, until you’re ready to take it further with me and become more serious, I want you to exclusively be mine. All mine,” he murmured against your lips.

Your heart warmed at his understanding and patience, your doubts easing under his sincere expression. You whispered back, the words almost a sigh, “I’m all yours.”

As you moved to deepen the kiss, feeling him respond with equal fervor, you began to bounce harder, picking up the pace. But Mark gently pulled away to look into your eyes seriously, his hands on your hips controlling the rhythm. “I want to hear you say the words, baby.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally let the words spill out with conviction: “I want to be exclusive with you too.”

───────────────────────────────

Karina’s hands were a flurry of activity around your face, her fingers deftly maneuvering brushes and sponges as she concealed the marks on your neck. “I can’t believe how many hickeys I’m having to cover,” she muttered, her tone light with mock annoyance. However, a flicker of something more serious passed through her eyes, making you wonder if she was more concerned than she let on.

You were seated at your vanity, prepping for the night’s party at Jeno’s house—a celebration for the Ravens’ recent victory over the Hawks. Karina had offered to help you get ready, and you were more than grateful. Whenever she did your makeup and hair, you knew you’d look your best. She had a knack for choosing the right tones that suited your facial features perfectly and always made sure your hair framed your face beautifully, enhancing the overall look.

“Why are you so quiet?” she asked, her voice pulling you back from your thoughts as she dabbed more concealer on your neck. Satisfied with the coverage, she instructed softly, “Close your eyes lightly,” before she began to work on a smoky shadow accented with just the right amount of glitter.

“Just thinking,” you responded, your voice a murmur.

“About what?” Karina’s hand was steady as she maneuvered the eyeliner, her other hand lightly holding your chin to keep you from moving too much. “Is it because you and Mark are exclusive now?” she prodded, a knowing tone in her voice as she expertly flicked the brush to create a perfect wing.

You let out a soft sigh. “We’ve been exclusive for a few days and it feels really good. He’s a lot more touchy and possessive, which I love, but I’m just still so scared,” you confessed, feeling the weight of the revelation.

Karina paused, her brush mid-air, then resumed with a hum as she applied a pretty blush to your cheeks, making you look naturally flushed. “Then why did you agree to become exclusive with him?”

“I agreed because of the way he was looking at me when he asked; I just couldn’t say no. And then how he smiled and kissed me when I said yes,” you recalled, a smile playing on your lips at the memory.

“I don’t regret it, Karina. Especially after how good these last few days have been,” you affirmed, your confidence in your decision clear in your tone.

“Then why are you still scared?” Karina asked, genuinely puzzled as she stepped back to survey her work.

“It’s difficult to explain, Rina. It’s just that I’m constantly worrying about the future and what could happen. I always worry about what’s uncertain,” you explained, your gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “But Mark’s different; he’s more of a ‘live in the present’ type of guy. He doesn’t worry as much as I do.”

“That’s a good thing, right? It’s good when two people in a relationship balance each other out,” she mused as she packed away her makeup tools.

“We’re not in a relationship,” you corrected softly, a hint of wistfulness in your voice.

“Yet,” Karina rolled her eyes, muttering just loud enough for you to catch.

“Huh?” you asked, not quite hearing her.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, giving you a wink in the mirror and a smile that suggested she knew more than she let on. The room filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the rain outside as you both reflected on the night ahead, ready to face whatever it might bring, together.

“Hey, this came for you.” Winter breezed into your room, her presence as striking as her attire. She looked radiant in a beautiful white dress that clung softly to her curves, her hair cascading down in perfect waves. She placed a parcel on your bed with a casual grace.

You glanced over, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “I didn’t order this, is this yours?” you asked, turning to Karina, who shook her head and gestured towards the package. “Open it,” she encouraged.

Curious, you reached for the box, instantly recognizing the logo of Lumière Couture, a luxury brand known for its exquisite design and timeless elegance. The box was elegantly designed, adorned with a sleek, satin ribbon, hinting at the opulence inside.

“Wait, it is for me, my name is on the label,” you murmured, a mix of excitement and bewilderment in your voice. It was a surprise, definitely out of your usual budget.

As you lifted the lid and peeled back the tissue paper, your breath caught. Inside was an emerald green dress, the very one you had eyed for the longest time. It was exquisite, cut short to highlight your thighs, with intricate details that made it uniquely stylish—backless, enhancing its allure. The material felt as luxurious as it looked, promising a night where you’d feel nothing short of glamorous.

Next, you pulled out a mini black skirt, the fabric thick yet form-fitting, designed to accentuate your figure without weighing you down. It was daringly short, radiating a bold, sexy vibe that matched your taste perfectly.

Accompanying these was a white shirt, tailored to be well-fitted with three-quarter sleeves. You knew exactly how to style it to showcase your fashion sense.

Tucked beneath these items was a note that drew your attention. Picking it up, you read, ‘For my girl, you deserve it, I’m so proud of you. Love, Mark xx.’ A wave of emotion swept over you as tears welled in your eyes. Karina, reading over your shoulder, smiled supportively, though you missed the flicker of sadness in her eyes.

You remembered a day spent window shopping with Mark, dragging him into an upscale boutique. You had whispered longingly about the pieces you loved—the very ones now before you. How had he remembered so well? How had he managed to pay such close attention?

After Karina completed your makeup and styled your hair into a smooth, refined style, you chose to wear the mini skirt and cropped shirt that came in Mark’s gift. Underneath the shirt, you opted for a sheer lace black bra, its intricate details subtly visible due to the shirt’s single button fastening just around your midriff. This deliberate choice added a hint of allure, with the lace texture teasingly visible and the outline of your nipples just perceivable, enhancing the sultry vibe of your outfit. You rounded off the look with sleek black boots and elegant jewelry Mark had gifted you, including a gold charm necklace and delicate, dangly earrings. 

With gold charms around your wrists and rings on your fingers, you spritzed on your best perfume, then stepped back to admire yourself in the mirror. The reflection that stared back made you feel utterly beautiful. Overwhelmed by gratitude and feeling exceptionally styled, you took out your phone and snapped a mirror selfie, capturing the moment and your radiant look.

───────────────────────────────

You arrived at Jeno’s party, the excitement palpable as soon as you stepped through the door. Jeno, clearly in high spirits and somewhat intoxicated, greeted you and your friends warmly. He hugged Winter and Karina, and when it was your turn, he dropped a gentle kiss on your cheek, his eyes lingering a little longer on you as he complimented, “You look hot.”

His gaze was appreciative and a bit hazy, his voice carrying the mellowness of someone who’d already been enjoying the night’s offerings. You playfully jabbed his arm in response, amused by his blatant once-over.

The house itself was stunning—a sprawling manor that spoke of wealth and luxury, its grand scale making it feel almost like a palace. Inside, the party was in full swing: the air vibrated with pulsating music, colorful lights flashed across laughing faces, and the scent of various perfumes mingled with the aroma of alcohol. Everywhere you looked, there were people dancing, some tucked away in dim corners sharing intimate moments, while others shouted over the music, drinks in hand.

Despite the many eyes that skimmed over you, assessing your daring outfit and the confidence with which you wore it, there was only one pair of eyes whose gaze you truly felt—a gaze that didn’t just look, but seemed to touch, intense with desire. Mark was across the room, and the way he looked at you was laden with possession and a raw hunger that made your heart race. His eyes held a promise, one that spoke of what the night would hold once you found each other alone.

You sent Mark a quick message, telling him you’d join him after a little while. You didn’t want to make your new exclusive status too obvious just yet, despite every fiber of you aching to be near him. For now, you stood with Karina by the bar, not shying away from the drinks or the more potent indulgences of the night. Pills and alcohol freely mixed in your system, heightening the buzz that kept you both anchored and adrift in the sea of party-goers.

As the night deepened and your inhibition lowered under the influence, you finally felt ready to seek Mark out. Navigating through the packed house proved challenging; your steps were unsteady, the world tilting a bit with each movement. But then, a familiar and strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you instantly. The scent of lavender and a deep, musky sweetness enveloped you, unmistakably Mark.

His presence instantly grounded you, his touch a clear signal of his intent and protection as he guided you away from the crowd and toward the quiet of a vacant room where privacy promised a continuation of the intense connection you both craved.

“Found you,” Mark’s voice was low and reassuring, his breath warm against your ear as he steadied you against him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” you admitted, leaning into his solid form, grateful for the support.

As you both manoeuvred through the throng of bodies, his proximity was a potent reminder of the night’s possibilities. “I’ve been watching you since you came in,” Mark confessed as you reached the doorway to a secluded room, his tone laced with a mix of desire and concern. “Couldn’t wait to get you alone.”

You smiled up at him, feeling the buzz of anticipation mix with the alcohol in your veins. “And I’ve been thinking about you all night,” you responded, your voice a whisper meant only for him. “Lead the way.”

Mark pushed the door open, a grin spreading across his face as he pulled you into the privacy of the room. “Finally,” he murmured, shutting the door behind you both, sealing away the chaos of the party. His hands found your waist again, pulling you closer. “Now, where were we?”

As you eagerly followed Mark, your mind buzzing with anticipation for the moment you’d be alone together, you were completely oblivious to the intensity of the gaze that tracked your every move. Across the room, Jeno watched with a storm brewing in his eyes, his confusion etched deeply into his furrowed brow as he saw Mark’s hand firmly around your waist, guiding you into a secluded room. The door shut with a definitive click of the lock that Jeno could almost hear over the music.

“What the fuck?” Jeno muttered under his breath, a mix of shock and confusion knotting in his stomach. He couldn’t piece together the scene unfolding before him—his brother and you, a pair he had never thought to suspect, disappearing together with such intimacy. His gaze lingered on the closed door, his mind racing with questions. 

Jeno’s stance was rigid, his hands clenched at his sides as he tried to make sense of the unexpected revelation. The image of Mark’s protective, almost possessive, gesture replayed in his mind, challenging his understanding of his relationship with both of you. Was his dad right after all? Jeno never expected to witness such a close and intimate moment between you and Mark. The sight unsettled him, challenging his previous perceptions and leaving him questioning what else he might have overlooked. 

As Mark pulled you into the room, his gaze captured you entirely—soft yet piercing, filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race. He bit his lip, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made every nerve in your body tingle with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he murmured in a sultry tone, his hand pressing against the wall just above your head. He took your hand, spinning you around effortlessly. His whistle was low, filled with appreciation, as he took in every detail of your appearance, the sound turning into a soft moan that sent shivers down your spine.

Mark’s gaze lingered on the subtle outline of your nipples pressing through the sheer fabric of your lace bra, visible beneath your barely-buttoned shirt. His eyes traced the length of your thighs, up to the curve of your neck, and finally to your lips, as if memorizing every detail.

Leaning down, he began to press fervent kisses against your neck, his mouth moving with a practiced intensity. He sucked and licked, marking your skin anew, as if he was fully aware that Karina had meticulously covered the previous marks. “Hey, there’s makeup all over my neck,” you giggled, the vibration of his chuckles against your skin making you urge him, “Go harder,” as you tangled your hands in his hair, lost in the bliss of his touch.

He briefly paused to press his lips to yours, wet and plump from his attentions, pulling back just enough for you to catch your breath and admire him. Mark was effortlessly stylish in a brown jacket and blue jeans, his white top stretched just right across his torso, a chain adding an edge to his outfit. His light brown hair perfectly complemented his sharp yet carefree look, enhancing his undeniable appeal.

“Hi,” you breathed out, a smile spreading across your face. He mirrored your expression, leaning in to kiss you deeply. “You look so fucking hot,” you moaned into the kiss, feeling his grip tighten.

Without missing a beat, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He pushed your skirt up, his hands moving with a purpose as he aligned himself with you, and in one fluid motion, he began to move, his actions deliberate and driven by the electric charge between you.

At the party, Karina slumped into her chair, visibly disheveled. Her movements were sluggish as she lifted the glass to her lips, the alcohol burning its way down her throat—a fleeting attempt to drown the burgeoning jealousy that gnawed at her. With each gulp, her resolve thinned, loosened by the intoxicating mix of spirits and the sting of exclusion.

She had seen it all: your hasty departure with a barely-there excuse, Mark’s hand possessively resting on your back, the shared secretive giggles as you both disappeared yet again. It was too much. Drunk and tinged with envy, Karina’s eyes clouded over, her mood a volatile mix of irritation and resignation.

Jeno approached, his voice tinged with disbelief, “Did you just see that?” He sat down beside her, grabbing her drink without asking and finishing it off. His sudden presence barely registered to her dulled senses.

“What?” she responded, her voice a slurred mumble.

“Did you not see Mark lock him and Y/N in that bathroom? What the fuck is going on?” Jeno pressed, his brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

Karina muttered under her breath, a string of incoherent thoughts that even she didn’t fully grasp. She shook her head, biting her lip as she fought the urge to spill everything. The alcohol swirled in her head, making it harder to keep the secrets that were not hers to reveal.

Suddenly, Mark’s best friend approached, her voice low and urgent as she pulled Karina aside, aware of Jeno’s curious gaze. “Where’s Y/N?” she asked, scanning the room.

Karina merely shrugged, too intoxicated to be helpful. The friend continued, her tone worried, “I need to tell her to be more careful. Chaewon saw her go into a room with Mark, and now she’s telling everyone they’re seeing each other. Word is spreading fast.”

At that, Karina let out a loud, bitter laugh, the sound slicing through the music. “So what? If she wants to be careless and make it obvious that they’re seeing each other, then who are we to look out for her?” Her words were sharp, her tone caustic. “I’ve done enough, made excuses to cover for her when she disappears with Mark and is dumb enough to make it obvious. I’m done.” Her declaration hung in the air, a mixture of defiance and exhaustion, as she leaned back, the fight draining from her.

“If Y/N wants to be exclusive with Mark, then it’s not my problem to keep their secret,” Karina’s voice, normally subdued and discreet when discussing you and Mark, breaks into a shout, the words slicing through the dense atmosphere of the party. She’s too loud, too caught up in her own whirl of emotions to notice the volume of her confession.

Beside her, Mark’s best friend reacts too slowly, her mouth opening in a delayed attempt to hush Karina, but the damage is done. Jeno’s expression undergoes a dramatic transformation. The initial confusion on his face hardens into a stony mask of anger. His eyebrows draw together tightly, the skin around his eyes tightening, as his gaze sharpens and his jaw sets firm. The muscles in his neck tense visibly, a physical manifestation of his rising fury.

It’s the sudden, stark realisation that his father was right—the suspicions he had dismissed as mere familial discord were actually true. Jeno turns slowly, his gaze shifting from Karina, whose face is flushed with a mix of guilt and intoxication, to Mark’s best friend, who swallows hard, her eyes wide with the dread of impending chaos. Then, his eyes dart toward the room where you and Mark had vanished.

Suddenly, the muffled sounds that he had subconsciously tuned out before become piercingly clear. The unmistakable sounds of moans and fervent movements echo from behind the closed door, the auditory evidence of betrayal now impossible to ignore. He doesn’t understand why these sounds are so clear now; perhaps it’s because he had chosen to ignore them before, much like he had chosen to disregard his father’s warnings. This selective hearing had masked the truth until now, before the stark revelation of betrayal forced him to confront what he had denied—believing you and Mark over his own Dad.

Jeno’s fists tighten at his sides, the strain turning his knuckles bone-white. “What?” he barks out, the word erupting from him like a growl of raw fury. “What did you say?” His voice thunders through the room, louder than he intends, each word saturated with a venom that rattles him to his core. As he swallows hard, his throat constricts; his nostrils flare with each heavy breath, and the veins in his temples pulse visibly. The shock of betrayal carves harsh lines across his face, marking the precise moment his reality is irreversibly altered.

authors note — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions—whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi—give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

taglist — @keelbeel @d3nbl4d3 @hyuckkklee @ahgasezennie @second-floors @lovetaroandtaemin @steadyparkjisungbookishspy @xuyiyang @remgeolli @toroufriteh

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"HALLOWEEN PARTIES"

EXTRA CONTENT- "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of possible future pregnancy, lots of suggestive conversation and making out. not edited. upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 9.9k+ → a/n: @take-everything-you-can plagued me with thoughts of what our idiots would get up to on halloween, and i just couldn't help myself. it definitely spiraled out of control though. my bad. ALSO, QUICK DISCLAIMER: please if you get a snake don't do what reader and eddie did. snakes a homebodies. we are just going to pretend it's okay in this context for the name of fiction, alright? obligatory snake owner ramble over. let's GO.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

The thumping of the bass was audible before you’d even exited the elevator fully. 

Any other day of the year, you’d assume your group of friends would be earning an instant noise complaint for the volume of the music coming from behind Steve and Robin’s apartment front door. But it wasn’t just any other day – it was Halloween, and somewhere amongst the rhythm of what surely had to be Steve blasting Abba, you could make out fellow neighbors playing music just as loudly. 

If anything, the overly quiet apartments were more concerning than the noisy ones. 

“Do you think Lestat is going to do okay with the music?” Eddie suddenly frets, one hand reaching to tug on what little fabric there was of his costume. It almost made you smile, a reminder of what exactly your usually ‘scary’ boyfriend was donning. 

Britney Spears, circa 2001. One of her most iconic VMA performances. 

He’d decided it the moment you two had come home several months ago with the most important accessory that was draped around his neck – a juvenile ball python named Lestat, who looked surprisingly content as he hung onto Eddie’s shoulders. 

“I don’t know,” you hum, looking over at Eddie, a little bit concerned now that he’d brought it up, “Maybe it’s a bad idea-”

“I’m texting Nance to turn the music down.” 

“What if it freaks him out?” 

“It’ll be fine.” 

“What if he gets stressed and bites you, Eddie?” 

To any onlooker, the sight of you might have been a bit funny. Furrowed brows, arms crossed, sticky blood spread out across your stomach and sternum. 

The theme tonight for the two of you had been iconic performances. Eddie insisted, and part of you knew he was just afraid to dress up so extravagantly all alone when it came to this small get-together, but you hadn’t hesitated to pull together your own version of Lady Gaga’s iconic VMA performance from 2009. If you two were going to commit to a theme this year, you were committing. 

Eddie balances his phone in one hand, typing with a single thumb. Impressive, given his history of ardently avoiding owning a smart phone. His other hand trails up to his collarbone, sneaking a careful finger below Lestat’s head, holding him up and pouting his lip a little, “This little guy? Biting me? He would never.” 

The sight was cute. Obnoxiously, overly, endearingly cute. 

“He’s still a snake,” you try to argue, stopping right outside of apartment 34C. The music was more clear now as it switched from whatever Abba tune had been playing to Maneater by Nelly Furtado, “If he gets scared enough, he might.” 

“I’d hardly call him a snake,” Eddie snorts, shoving his phone back into his pocket, smiling as he tilts his chin to awkwardly stare at the snake now carefully slithering over his knuckles, “Dude misses the mice on his first strike every time we feed him. And if there was ever a time he was going to bite me, it would have been when I was taking that moss out of his mouth as he was eating.”

That earns a huff of a laugh from you as well. The image of Eddie on Monday night, absolutely losing his mind as he’d noticed that Lestat had gotten his mouse entangled in some of the moss decorating his enclosure, not even hesitating to open the tank once more and throw his hand in right along with the tongs to prevent your new ‘son’ from ingesting it, crosses your mind. It hadn’t mattered how much you reassured him that it was probably normal in the wild, that Lestat’s body could certainly handle it. Eddie had been insistent and blinded by what could only be described by paternal instinct. 

If you’d asked yourself last Halloween if that had been where you see your life heading in a year’s time, you would have rolled your eyes. 

“You do realize how dumb that was of you, right?” you insist, remembering your fear and the way your breath had caught in the moment. It was funny now, but you’d never gripped onto Eddie’s shoulder tighter than when he’d recklessly done so. You loved the snake, you really did, but you’d realized in that moment you might still love Eddie just a little bit more. 

The conversation is cut short as it’s clear that Nancy had received Eddie’s text, the music behind the door quieting a bit along with a change of song. 

Your jaw nearly drops, “You did not make Nancy do that.” 

The opening notes of I’m a Slave 4 U were impossible to miss.

“I did.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Are you gonna insult me the entire night, or let me make my iconic entrance?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer, Eddie carefully passing by you, Lestat’s head bouncing a little as it passes a bit closer to your face than you would have been comfortable with a few months ago. 

The snake, funnily enough, had even been your idea to begin with. Your want, your desperate argument you’d wasted countless breaths upon while getting ready for bed with Eddie. 

It’ll be fun, you’d whined to Eddie as you’d both crawled into bed, we even have the space in the living room. 

Sweetheart, you’re fucking terrified of snakes, Eddie had easily rebuttalled. He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t stop you from huffing like a petulant child. 

That’s an exaggeration, you argued right back.

Your hands had still shook ferociously that first day of bringing home the snake when you’d been the one to move him from the small container the store had placed him and into the full fifty gallon tank now occupying a fairly large chunk of the apartment’s living room. 

You’re still lost in your head as the door swings open for Eddie right as the first chorus of the song begins. He’s dramatic, fully committed, a glimmer of who he must have been in high school shining right through as he struts confidently into your friends’ apartment. 

A version of Eddie you somehow missed despite never having met. You almost wonder if you would have still ended up here if you’d met then; you almost wonder if you would have still ended up at each other’s throats inevitably, even in those days. 

You probably would have. You secretly hope that it all would have still happened exactly as it has. 

“No fucking way!” 

Robin is the first voice you can hear excitedly shriek out a reaction to Eddie, followed by a sharp hush from Nancy. They’re deeper in the apartment, out of your line of sight. You can hear Jonathan’s muttered response lost in the music, and you can smell Argyle’s presence rather than hear or see it. 

Weed had been expected, but Steve and Robin were strict in their rule of only partaking on the balcony. 

“Yes fucking way,” Eddie responds, clearly giddy. You finally trail in behind him, not necessarily shy but certainly not nearly as extravagant as he had been. You hang back a bit, biting back a grin, just admiring your boy.

All warmth, rosey cheeks spread wide in his boyish grin, eyes bright as he wiggles his brows as Robin. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Robin whispers as she rushes forward, glancing over her shoulder, clearly looking for Steve before she leans it a tad bit closer towards Lestat. 

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” Eddie snarkily replies, moving to slowly remove the snake from his neck. 

“Language,” you jokingly scold him, reaching out to take the snake from his hands as he brings it to his chest, giving Robin a closer look at the nearly-glimmering pale scales of your pet. Almost instinctively, he starts to pull the animal away, but once he sees the look on your face, he’s quick to hand him over. “No cursing around our son.”

Nancy finally walks up, still no sign of Steve as she joins your side and Lestat wraps his body slowly around your wrist, “Oh my God, don’t tell me you also refer to this thing as your child.” 

“This thing?” Eddie huffs, more offended than you, “Nance, he has a name.” 

Robin has gravitated towards you now, entirely captivated by the ball python, eyes shimmering as she lets out the smallest gasps and squeals under her breath, “What’s his name?” 

“Lestat,” you whisper, watching Nancy and Eddie grow closer and clearly get more immersed in their own private conversation, “But Eddie wanted to name him Frodo.” 

“Frodo,” Robin chuckles a little, looking at you questioningly as she holds out a timid finger. You give her a nod, moving a thicker part of the snake’s body to face her rather than the head, “Sounds like Eddie.” 

It did indeed. Once the bickering of whether or not you two would even get the snake to begin with had faded, the entire argument of what its name would be had started up. Eddie wanted the snake to be named after his favorite books – you wanted to name the snake after your most recent reads. 

You’d clearly won. At the sacrifice of promising the inevitable first of many cats you and Eddie would eventually have be named Frodo instead. But you’d still won. 

Robin’s eyes finally leave the snake long enough to take in your own outfit, and you hadn’t realized it was possible for the girl’s grin to widen, “Wait - are you dressed as Lady Gaga from her Paparazzi performance?” 

“Oh, my dear Birdie,” you coo out the endearment, shivering slightly as the cool body of the snake continues to slither up near your elbow, “This night is just getting started.”

—

You were right. The night had just begun. 

The first few hours pass fairly chaotically. A languid and rapid mixing of everyone excitedly catching up on each other’s lives, various drinks beginning to be concocted. Some delicious, and some spurring gags from others simply from the description of the hard liquor that had gone into them. 

Argyle had managed to lure many of the group out onto the patio at various intervals to partake in the devil’s lettuce, as he had proudly proclaimed it. Nancy and Jonathan had figured out a way to set up a makeshift karaoke party in the living room, lyrics for songs being displayed on the main TV. And Steve, for all his attentive hospitality as the one of the co-hosts of the night, had remained painfully oblivious. 

Eddie had gone behind his back when it came to bringing Lestat. Steve had made it clear when the two of you had purchased the puppy in reptile form that he wanted nothing to do with the python, while the rest of the group had been easily intrigued – especially Robin. And so once Eddie had decided upon his Britney outfit, the next logical step had been securing Lestat’s attendance at the party. He hadn’t texted Steve - or Nancy, as a matter of fact - but rather Robin. 

The girl hadn’t even taken a minute to respond, overly enthusiastic to meet the snake. 

Everyone had slowly become a part of a more silent bet as the night dragged on, and for once, you and Eddie were on the betting side of it all. The drinks were poured, the weed was smoked, the music was sung along to painfully off-key, and Steve never once noticed the snake that was frequently wrapped around various parts of yours and Eddie’s body. 

The quick exchanges probably didn’t help. When Steve needed your help in the kitchen at one point, you’d smoothly handed Lestat over to Eddie in passing. When Eddie had agreed to join Jonathan and Argyle on the balcony at one point, he’d easily and carefully draped the snake across the nape of your neck from behind the couch. Hell, you’d even spent a good five minutes engrossed in a conversation with Steve, all the while Lestat had been comfortably coiled around your bicep opposite the man. 

As the hours passed by, you found yourself wanting to be caught. 

Your phone pings suddenly as you bury yourself deeper into the leather couch, giggling over Steve’s current rendition of What’s New Scooby Doo?. 

You shuffle carefully to pull it from where you’d wedged it against your hip, trapped weakly by your white bottoms speckled with glittery blood.

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND: I want a cigarette :-( 

You do a double take of the contact name, blinking rapidly before you finally connect the dots. 

YOU: when the hell did you change your contact name in my phone?

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND:  Unimportant. 

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND:  Do you think if I hand Lestat off to you right now that Steve would notice? 

Your eyes flick up as the song ends, Robin having jumped up to finish off the performance with Steve, the two of them a mess of flailing limbs clinging to each other and joyful laughter bubbling out of them for unknown reasons. 

Well, partially unknown reasons. One of them was surely the strange concoction the two of them had chugged at some point in the night that had included both watermelon flavored vodka and green apple whiskey. That had been one you’d cringed and stuck your tongue out at. 

YOU: 50/50 chance. And NOT unimportant btw, what’s my name in YOUR phone? 

Just as Eddie exits the bathroom, Steve perks up at the sound of the door and distant flush, removing himself entirely from Robin’s embrace, “Fuckin’ finally! I have to piss.”

Everyone holds their breath as he rushes past Eddie, but he still remains completely unaware of the snake that Eddie is carrying. 

The slam of the door times perfectly with Eddie’s collapse onto the couch next to you, a shy and guilty grin already gracing his face before you even begin bursting at the seams with continuing the text conversation face-to-face. 

“Seriously,” you waste no time, turning to him quickly and your knee easily overlapping his thigh as you shuffle into a more comfortable position, “When did you change your name in my phone, asshole?” 

He takes his time answering, pulling on the ridiculously small jean shorts he wears as his shoulders quiver with the effort of holding in his laughter, “Words hurt, baby.” 

You hate the way nicknames as simple as baby can send still shivers down your spine. 

“You couldn’t have at least been a little more creative? Like, world’s hottest boyfriend? C’mon, you can be more clever than that, surely.” 

It’s easy to do this, to egg him on and prod at his ego in the softest of ways. It’s also always been a dead giveaway to him that he’s gotten under your skin. 

“My name with a pretty black heart next to it just wasn’t cutting it anymore,” he pouts exaggeratedly, leaning into your space a bit, holding the snake a careful distance away as he looks into your eyes and a suspiciously jubilant look crosses his face, “What would you have preferred?” 

“Something shorter,” you breathe out, feeling some of the alcohol coursing through your veins now, making your headswim as you suck in the scent of his cologne heavy in the space between you, “It’s a bit of a mouthful, if I’m being honest.” 

“It is,” he nods, and his lips spread salaciously, pupils growing just a tad bit wider before he delivers a devastating blow, “But we both know you can take it, can’t you, baby?”

Damn him. Fuck him. Send him all the way down to the depths of Hell, for all you care. 

He’s caught on to a clear game he can play now that you’re tipsy, one that he certainly has the upper hand in, and you can’t tell if the night ending in him winning it would actually spell your loss. You swear, you can already feel his hands on your hips, tearing off the costume you’d spent several weeks carefully sewing sequins into, his lips getting sticky with all the fake blood across your torso, his- 

Huh. Never had you realized yourself to be such a horny drunk. 

“Now I need a cigarette,” you grumble, leaning away from him, trying to break whatever spell he was casting. None of your friends’ have even noticed the interaction happening on the couch, saving you from eternal embarrassment. 

If you’d had less pinot noir and shots of Fireball whiskey in your veins, you’d probably still find the decency in you to be self-conscious at toying with these things in public. Maybe scold him, maybe douse out whatever flames he was attempting to ignite. 

Eddie leans back as well, clearly satisfied with himself as he lifts Lestat up to preoccupy himself by pretending to study the lightened coloring of the snake. Mostly white, with splatterings of a traditional morph at random across the body. The woman who had sold the snake to the two of you had referred to it as a piebald. If you had been shopping with an actual breeder rather than a reputable rescue, he would have cost an arm and a leg. 

Luck had been on your side the day you’d stumbled upon the snake. You wish luck was still on your side tonight. 

Eddie sticks out the tip of his tongue to mimic the snake a few times before he focuses on you again, “You know, we could always see if Robin wants to watch him while we both go grab one.”

You have no clue how the girl had heard him from across the living room, but she suddenly appears at his side, just as eager in appearance as her original text giving the blessing to bring Lestat had been. 

“Did someone say I could hold the snake?” she bounces a bit on the balls of her feet, looking down with utter fascination, “Please tell me you guys just said I could hold the little guy. When you first got him, I did a ton of research so I’d know proper handling tips, and also how to know if he gets too stressed. Also I may or may not have been nervous about how often they bite, but I found out that-”

“They don’t bite,” Eddie interrupts with reassurance, offering a small smile as he looks up to her, “At least, not very often. You usually have to aggravate them pretty badly, or catch them on a really shit day for them to strike.” 

It had been a huge selling point in convincing him. Ball pythons were docile in nature, and they’d be quicker to match up to their namesake by balling up than actually strike out at someone. 

Of course, the day you had been informing of this, you had no idea he was already aware of it. He knew they didn’t bite, he knew the specifics of what a habitat for them needed, he knew their dietary needs – he’d already had an Amazon shopping cart filled with supplies after the first time you brought the snake up to him, unbeknownst to you. 

“Yeah,” Robin nods ferociously, hands reaching out carefully, already more than prepared to take the snake, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now hand over the baby and go do whatever debauchery you two are clearly wanting to get up to.” 

“We aren’t getting up to debauchery!” you try to defend the two of you, watching Eddie carefully uncurl Lestat from his arm to pass him into Robin’s waiting hands, “Eddie just wants a cigarette and-”

“And you want to join him and probably get in some hot and steamy makeout sessions, right?” Robin finishes your sentence for you, quirking an eyebrow for a second before letting out a whisper of a squeal when Lestat takes to her quickly. His tail wraps around the length of her wrist and you’re shocked as you watch him stay just as curious as he had been while held by you and Eddie. A tad bit more reserved, but no sign of balling up any time soon. 

Eddie stands from the couch, patting his largest back pocket to ensure his pack of cigarettes and lighter are still safely tucked into it, and you know it’s useless to keep arguing with Robin. She’s entirely entrapped by the snake in her hands now, whispering in a high-pitched tone that surprisingly doesn’t seem to bother Lestat. All her coos nearly resemble baby-talk. It’s cute – sort of. A direct mirror of how you and Eddie have been acting at home when you handle the ball python. 

You stand slower than Eddie had, hawk eyes still glued to your friend, “Just- Just be careful, okay? Avoid touching his head, and don’t wave your hands around too much while talking, because it can scare him. He also might try and crawl up to your hair because Eddie lets him hide in his at home, and sometimes he’ll pull on it because it sticks to him, so just-”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie stresses, throwing an arm around your shoulders, giving your bicep opposite from him a quick squeeze, “She’ll be fine.” 

Robin nods, clearly only half listening to the debate as she watches Lestat wander up her arm in clear wonder. 

It sort of does feel like Lestat is your actual human child, as though you’re leaving your toddler with a babysitter for the first time. 

Eddie tugs you deeper into his side, musky cinnamon and boyish charm filling your nose as he leans down and murmurs, “C’mon.” 

A Ghost song starts to thump over the speakers as you allow Eddie to guide you over to the sliding door beside the kitchen, the layout different and even a tad bit nicer than your own apartment. It’s odd, the view of the kitchen being clearer than the living room, the exact opposite of how your home is. 

Home. Even in your tipsy state, even after so much time having living with Eddie and even going as far as to now own a pet with him, the notion fills you with warmth. 

Maybe you’re actually a sentimental drunk. 

As the two of you pass by Argyle, he briefly lifts his head, cherry-shaded eyes peering up excitedly until Eddie quickly shakes his head, making the poor man sink back against the loveseat that he occupies with Jonathan and Nancy. You almost feel bad, but it’s clear Argyle is too far gone to even feel disappointment right now. 

“After you, m’lady,” Eddie chivalrously slides the door open for you, half-bowing and putting on a half-assed British accent as he sweeps his arm for you to exit onto the balcony first. 

“It’s Lady Gaga to you,” you snark as you slip out into the crisp Autumn air, cheeks cooling instantly. 

“Oh,” the door slides shut with a soft thud behind Eddie as he joins you, face immediately covered by the shadows of the evening, “My apologies.” 

It’s nice out. Far nicer than any October has been in the city in what feels like years. The air is refreshing, dare you even say sobering, and the city lights below wink at you as you hear all the distant noises of life. Car horns, children’s laughter, music from other parties. It sounds as though one of the neighbors below is blasting heavy rap, and you swear you can hear the trill of a radio pop song from your left. 

Beer, cider, pumpkin spice – it all fills the air. It’s Halloween, and it’s nice. 

The breeze is electric with all the livelihood, sending goosebumps up your arms as you approach the railing, looking out across a night sky painted some sort of faded cross between navy and grey rather than a stark black of midnight. 

It all turns to static the moment Eddie wraps his arms around your waist from behind you, heavy pack of cigarettes in his palm as his lips find solace in one of the few bare patches of skin on your shoulder. 

“God, I love Halloween,” he murmurs against you, his breath hot as it catches across your costume. 

God, I love you.

You can’t help the cheesy thought as a hand comes up to grip Eddie’s forearm, giving three short squeezes, pulling him just a tad bit closer. But it’s true – Halloween was wonderful, you’d always enjoyed any excuse to get together with your friends and family, but it had never felt quite like this. 

Planning cliche dates during the season, movie marathons spent cuddling up with your other half rather than sitting across on a couch from friends. Kisses in the pumpkin patch. Cider on his lips. Putting up decorations and ending up chasing each other around the apartment, landing in a pile of limbs that slot against one another perfectly. Arguing about which decorations should go on the balcony, which garland to line your front door with. 

It wasn’t a replacement for spending time with your friends. And there were still crude jokes, still bickering over timing of plans and locations to visit. It still felt like spending the holiday with friends – it was spending it with your best friend. 

Eddie Munson. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. The sentiment is unexpected to past you, but so entirely welcome by the you currently enveloped in his embrace.

“I used to insist on spending Halloween alone, you know,” you mumble as his chin digs in the point where your shoulder connects to your neck, vision blurring as you continue to stare out at the tiny busy streets, “Just, like, lay around in my dorm. Watch shitty horror movies on my laptop until I got too scared and had to find some dumb comedy to help me sleep. It was the only day of the year where my roommate sort of acknowledged my existence. She was the one who’d go out, and she’d get all this candy and share it with me.” 

You don’t know the point of your rambling, but Eddie is listening intently anyways. 

You turn carefully in his arms, now mesmerized by how his face looks in the warm glow of the seasonal lights Robin and Steve had put up. Shades of orange flickering across his amber eyes, shadows making all his sharpness in his features more prominent. 

“Talking about it now sounds kind of boring,” you muse, laughing a bit dryly, “The most festive thing I would do was going to the Halloween store with Robin and Steve once they opened.”

“Yeah?” he asks softly, arms still tangled around you, grinning gently, “I don’t think that’s too boring.” 

“It was,” you insist, pressing just a little closer to him, “God, it was so boring. Not going to the store with those idiots – I mean, that was pretty fun. But it was nothing compared to setting up a snake habitat, or carving pumpkins with you. Now I can watch whatever slasher you want before bed, and I still sleep just fine, cause I’ve got you to protect me.” 

His smile matches your own – radiant, proud, happy. 

“Oh, definitely,” he nods once, twice. So sure, ego inflated for the bit, “Any scary men with a chainsaw dare to break into our apartment, and I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

Our apartment. The perfect ring to it. 

“Didn’t you scream about that spider in our apartment yesterday? Like, full on squeal, hopping up onto the couch, begging me to save you-” 

He cuts off all your teasing, even though it was true, with a kiss. Simple, strong, sure. Fingers dancing under your chin to pull you up to him, meeting you halfway and not even hiding his smile at your antics as he effectively shuts you up. 

“We agreed to not talk about that,” he mumbles against your lips, tasting like the last shot of whiskey he took with Nancy. 

“You agreed to not talk about it,” you pester back, trying to pull away from his kiss. But his other hand comes up, trapping your face between both his palms, and it’s a useless effort, “I just promised to not immediately share the photo of you up on the couch with everyone.” 

Half the words are hardly articulate as his lips continue to nip at yours, struggling from your wide smile and the way your entire body is shaking from your giggles. You can feel the cold metal of the railing brushing your exposed lower back, a breeze picking up that can be blamed for the goosebumps racing down your spine rather than Eddie’s wandering hand. It’s not devourment, it’s not desperation, it’s not Earth-shattering. 

It’s something like mending. Something like a promise. 

Living together, celebrating the holidays together, owning a pet together – they were all baby steps leading to something even brighter in the future. An unspoken truth between the both of you. An inevitable crescendo to all that had been built. 

Eddie whines a bit when you pull away again, but this time, your forehead stays pressed to his. A joint effort between the way you tilt your head and the way his hands press you against him.

“Do you remember the last time we were on a balcony together?” you ask in a low whisper, trying to mimic the same suggestive tone that he’s always been able to put on at the drop of a hat.

You’re not quite as talented as him. You’re actually just a giggly drunk.

His brows furrow, “What? This morning?” 

“No.” 

“Two nights ago, when you insisted Lestat needed to see the moon?”

“No.” 

“Are you talking about the afternoon we had a redo of our pumpkin carving contest? Because I still won again, fair and square, ba-”

“I’m talking about the bet, you idiot.” 

His fingertips press a bit deeper into your flesh, his lips forming a wobbly ‘o’ as he stares down at you, “How was I supposed to know you were referring to that? That was definitely not the last time we were on a balcony together-”

You shut him up with the same courtesy as he had done to you, adding in a roll of your eyes before your hands wrap around his neck to pull him into you. This time, you make it hot and heavy. Lips and teeth and tongues, grabby hands from the both of you making their way across all the exposed skin and scraps of costumes you two wear. It takes Eddie aback at first, clearly not expecting the sudden passion, but he recovers quickly. 

He remembers exactly what you’re referring to quickly. 

Your back collides a bit harsher with the railing as he rolls his body up against yours, not a breath of space between the two of you as he wedges his knee between your thighs. You have no idea where his pack of cigarettes has vanished to, but you don’t care. All you really care about is the way he’s holding you, the way he’s suffocating you, the way he’s watering you. 

It’s hard to believe the garden within that he’s nurtured at your side for the last year was ever something broken. That there was once a time it was nothing more than dried vines and pathetic blossoms begging to see the light of day. Now, the warmth of a thousand suns was gifted to you every morning you awoke to his smile. Every joke, every small caring act, every kiss stolen just because one of you felt like it. You two may have accidentally killed that first plant you bought the week you moved in properly with him, but this? 

You can’t imagine a day where the two of you ever might let this die off. 

His lips break from yours, predictably painting a path along your jaw as he murmurs, “I think I do remember. But, just in case – wanna remind me?” 

And for a second, you almost do. 

All your coils are tight across your body, burning in your abdomen and shaking in your knees, but all it takes is the faintest movement of a shadow to remember all your friends inside the apartment still. 

“We can’t,” you whisper, as if they might hear you in the glass, trying to pry yourself away from him just as his teeth start to graze your neck, “Seriously - we can’t.” 

Eddie chuckles lowly against your neck, and you know exactly why. 

You’d started this without even considering the consequences. 

“Started something you can’t finish, didn’t ya, baby?” 

Oh, damn him. That stupid low and teasing tone. That dimple you can feel brush against your skin as he moves his mouth to the other side of your neck. All the heat in your body travels south, pooling between your hips, aching for him to go against your wishes to avoid embarrassment and just finish this. 

He doesn’t, though. You’re starting to believe he’s less drunk than you are, a clearer mind than your own with far more sensibility than he seems capable of most of the time. His lips leave your neck, his hands finding the polite placement of hovering over your hips. The fog is starting to clear, if only just the slightest bit, and-

You were wrong. So, so wrong. 

He’s not sensible. That wicked hand placement was nowhere near polite. In an instant, he’s latched onto you tightly and spun you around, quickly bending you over against the railing so your chest presses into the metal and the cold sends shockwaves across your entire body. Your ass is pressed to his crotch and one hand holds you securely, tight enough that he can be sure you won’t fall, as the other crawls up your back at impeccable speed to press you further down. 

Immediately, you’re squealing, “Eddie!” 

His laughter is just as loud as all your protests as you come face-to-face with the true height of a three-story balcony, knuckles paling from gripping onto the bars. 

You’d hate him for it, but you feel the security of his palm and knuckles around your waist, and you know he’s not letting you go anywhere over that railing. He’s hardly even allowing your head to hang over it. 

The moment you start to lean back up against his hand on your back, he’s allowing it immediately. There’s no friction or fight as you stand up straight once more, back against his chest and your hands already prepared to swing back to smack him before both of his arms come up around your shoulders and cross your chest. 

“You asshole,” you gasp out, flailing hands deciding to grip strongly onto his forearms as he cradles you up in the tight embrace from behind, still chucking in your ear as you both take several steps back. Your heart pounds, and you’re pretty sure your nails are biting into his skin. 

Maybe they’ll leave a mark – you hope they sort of hurt. 

“Just had to make sure you really do remember that night,” he jokes, trying to lean his head far enough over your shoulder to get a good look at your face, “I think the bars would have been a bit more exposing, though, yeah?” 

Your nails dig in deeper, and his grin widens. 

Bastard.

“What if I had fallen?” you snap, finding it hard to be mad at him. Those damned strong arms around you, the thump of his own heart right against the space between your shoulder blades, that fucking dimple. 

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

If the two of you had children some day, would they have his dimples? 

“We’re both drunk-”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“-And I’m pretty sure this balcony isn’t up to OSHA standards-”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t.” 

“-And you almost left our poor son motherless,” you finish off with a forced scowl, shaking off his embrace to face him properly, “Are you prepared for that? Were you prepared to be a single father?” 

God, you hate his fucking smile. God, you hope if you have real kids someday, they have that same shit-eating grin. 

With a pout of his lips, he steps back up to you, looking down tauntingly, “You’re right, baby. I didn’t even think about poor Lestat.”

You hum, standing your ground, but your defenses are quickly crumbling. Your mind is running with too many thoughts, exhausting itself over everything except the residing anger you should feel at your absolute nuisance of a boyfriend. 

The feeling of being held down by him in that position once more. How the heat of his body had warmed you, and you’d only noticed now that the cool air was attacking your exposed back. Swimming in the visions of what color eyes your children might have, pigtail curls of a little girl with Eddie’s defiance or a little boy who wears his shit-eating grin as he exhibits your same unbreakable curiosity. 

You definitely shouldn’t have drank so much tonight. It doesn’t matter what kind of drunk you are – it was a bad idea regardless.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Eddie’s voice takes you out of your thoughts as he slides his arms around your waist, always needing to be touching you, clingy to a ridiculous degree. 

You weren’t complaining, though. How could you? If given the option, you’d make a home out of his bones in a fraction of a heartbeat as well. 

“Nothin’,” you lie through a sigh, head tilted dramatically, much preferring to focus on the ginger contours of Eddie’s cheeks than whatever future Jack Daniels had been painting in your mind. 

“Bullshit,” he doesn’t hesitate to call you out on it. And it’s not the alcohol fueling his boldness – it’s just how he is. He knows you better than the back of his hand, the roof of his mouth, his favorite songs on guitar. He knows you. “You got this dreamy look in your eyes, and you’re staring so hard over my shoulder, I’m almost scared I’ll turn around to see a ghost in the window-” 

Jack Daniels will be your arch nemesis after tonight, the culprit behind the way the words suddenly tumble out of your mouth, “Do you think we’ll have kids someday?” 

You wait for the air to leave the space between the two of you with the same urgency it’s left your lungs. You wait for a crack in the air, a chasm to suddenly appear. It’s heavy – God, it’s a heavy question to suddenly ask your boyfriend of one year at a Halloween party. You’re both drunk on your friends’ balcony, and you were having a perfectly sweet moment, and you’d just gone and ruined it. And to top it all off, Eddie was still just smiling, and- 

Wait. 

Eddie was smiling. 

The air was still there, filling his lungs with calm breaths. No sign of fear within his twinkling eyes. No chasm squeezing between the stitches holding you two together. 

He’s just smiling. 

“Is that really what you were thinking about?” he quietly asks.

You almost don’t want to answer. You almost want to force out cackles of fake laughter, to double over and face the ground rather than his humored expression. 

“Yeah.” 

Maybe he doesn’t believe you yet, maybe he has to double check before he breaks out into his own laughter. Maybe the alcohol in both your veins is just delaying the inevitable that you’d been originally expecting. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Maybe not. 

Instead of laughter, instead of mocking you, he keeps a cheery expression as he shrugs softly, “I mean, maybe? I sort of hope so. And, don’t get me wrong, I know a kid is a pretty far leap from a snake, but I’d say we make a pretty good team at keeping living things…. Well, living, y’know? Besides, I solemnly swear I won’t try to name our kids after Tolkien. I’ll reserve those names for the pets.” 

All the air leaves your lungs again, but this time, it’s a little less painful, “What?” 

“Annie’s a cute name,” he continues on, completely unphased. It’s nearly impossible to remember that you were the one who had started such a serious conversation about the future, “I also like the name Parker. I remember you mentioned that one once, right? Something about being able to nickname the kid Pac-Man, I’m pretty sure. I think that’d be pretty sick.” 

And oh, was he right. You had mentioned the name Parker once. Just not to him. Not directly, at least.

The entire ridiculous make-believe scenario had come to you during a girls’ night, after one too many glasses of wine and Nancy bringing up the topic. You, her, and Robin had all spent a good hour coming up with names for children and the best nicknames to suit them. Some had been genuine, and some had been for nothing more than shits and giggles. 

Parker, and the nickname Pac-Man, had been serious for you. Parker Anthony. You hadn’t figured out a second middle name to complete the initial acronym of Pac that night, the rosé eventually getting to you, but you had been serious. 

“You were listening that night?” you breathe out, only feeling slightly betrayed, “What the Hell? I thought you said you were going to put your headphones on and listen to some Metallica to unwind after work.”

“I lied,” he cheeses, hot palms against your barren lower back, “I’m nosey. Sue me.” 

“You could have just joined us, Eddie.” 

“And miss the chance to hear you plot out the middle names of our future children?” Eddie snorts, “Not a chance, sweetheart.” 

He says it so casually, you wonder if it’s possible for a heart to burst from optimism. 

“So,” you pause, take a deep breath, feeling the embarrassment creep back up your throat, “Is that, uh…. Is that a yes? That you do think so?”

Why was it so hard to repeat yourself, to just say the words already spoken? 

Eddie had made it clear you had nothing to lose. You two were on the same page. He hadn’t scoffed in your face, he hadn’t even pulled away at the mere mention of the idea. Instead, he had leaned fully into it, head-first as he slid right into the imaginary future with you. He’d given a name to the little girl with his hair and his spunk, to the little boy with his dimples and his mischief. 

Was it still a little too soon, too fast? Was that where the hesitation was born from? 

It just all felt a bit too easy. After the rocky start you two had endured, this entire last year had just felt too simple. 

Of course, even if the hesitation was sitting there in the pit of your stomach alongside all of your anxieties, all of your waiting for the other shoe to drop, Eddie easily soothes it all over as he gives a slow nod and responds, “Yeah. I do – I really do.” 

And you clearly wear your heart on your sleeve, emotions painted across your eyes and cheeks for him to read clear as day, because he notices that catch in your breath.

“Not right now,” he rushes to add on, “I mean, listen, we’re still adjusting to Lestat. I think I’d like to be a cat dad too, before I even think about being a girl dad.” 

“You’re gonna be a girl dad?” you laugh out without thinking, starting to thaw into a conversation that Jack Daniels had begun but you know you can surely finish with Eddie at your side, “That’s… unexpected.” 

His face scrunches for the first time during the entire conversation, “What? You don’t think I’d be a good girl dad? I already deal with my rat’s nest of hair, so I know I’d be at least decent at braiding. And can you imagine getting to take a mini-you to shows, or buying her some cute unicorn helmet once she’s old enough to ride ol’ Nightfury? God, I think I might die from cuteness overload…”

Your cheeks are aching, ears ringing with his words. But all you can do is latch onto one little phrase: mini-you. 

Here you were, picturing duplicates of Eddie bounding around the two of you, and you hadn’t considered what he might be seeing. 

Not a child with his spunk. No, he’s seeing a little girl with your wit. A little boy with your stubbornness. Those eyes of his, nearly resembling heart-shapes at this point, weren’t wanting to see carbon copies of his whiskey irises. He wanted yours to be looking back up at him. 

Hearts clearly can’t burst from an overload of optimism, of happiness. Yours beats wildly as proof, still intact behind your ribs that bloom with rosebuds for the boy pressed to your front. 

“Mini-me?” you murmur, making him trail off, focused entirely on you so sincerely you could choke up. You shake your head, letting out a soft huff of air, smiling down at the ground, “No, I- I think you’ll be an amazing dad, Eddie. I just didn’t…. I just forgot…”

“That I’m with you all the way?” he finishes your sentence for you, one eyebrow arched as he gives a squeeze to one of your hips, “You could decide tomorrow you don’t even want to talk about having a kid ever again, that you’d rather get ten more snakes and live as some sort of cryptic couple somewhere in the Midwest the rest of our lives, and I’d be just as excited. I don’t really care where we end up, sweetheart – I just care that it’s with you,” You can no longer tell if it’s his words or the remnants of alcohol in your system that has you tearing up. All you know is that you are, and it’s ridiculous, but it’s fine, because all you see are dark brown eyes and entire realms of possibility in front of you, “Girl dad, snake dad, cat dad – whatever you need from me, I’m your guy.”

When the first tear falls, you're quick to shoot one hand up to your cheek in order to swipe it away as the other reaches out blindly to smack Eddie softly, “Shut up. Stop being cheesy. I’m too drunk for this.” 

“You’re right,” he nods ferociously, taking over the duty of wiping away your tears without so much as mentioning it, “Wanna make out again instead?” 

You let out a snort, and it eggs him on. 

“Or, hey,” his eyes light up, some of the seriousness of the moment fading naturally, “Maybe we ditch this party and start practicing. You know, in case we still want kids someday.” 

His pupils widen a bit, and you know surely that it’s only half a joke. You don’t miss the way his breathing picks up at the thought.

“Careful, big boy,” you tease, leaning into his feathery touch on your cheek, relishing the way the nickname draws him under your spell even when you aren’t saying it with an ounce of gravity, “It’d be awfully dangerous to get yourself worked up in such short shorts.” 

Saying it outloud almost makes you want to see it, genuinely. 

“Worked up?” he scoffs, backing up a little, caught off-guard, “Who says I’m getting worked up? I’m not getting worked up.” 

It doesn’t matter how many steps back he takes from you, you still follow, your palm still lands dead center on his chest as you roll your eyes, “Right. Because I’m totally meant to believe that the guy who used to jack off to Playboy magazines with girls who looked like me isn’t going to pop a boner at the thought of fucking a baby into me-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Nearly more resembling a bite, his canines digging right into your bottom lip as he pulls you forward and collapses back against the glass door behind him. 

No words are spoken, no subtle interruptions for this kiss. Toying a dangerous line, dancing along a narrow cliff, and he’s the one who’s decided to drag the two of you off of it. 

You don’t mind. You’d follow him to the ends of the world if he asked you to. 

When one of his hands reaches up to your scalp, tugging at the roots of your hair for no other reason than he can, your mouth opens up into a silent laugh. An invitation, a jeer, a challenge. A quiet whisper of go ahead, do it. Consume me already. 

He’s already everything to you. He’s already a definition of home thinly veiled with skin and bones, a future with a heartbeat. 

His tongue down your throat doesn’t change the matter. Just reclaims it. 

A whine is lost in translation somewhere from the back of your throat and right into his cheeks. His right hand wraps around some of the skin of one of your thighs, encouraging it to lift up to his hip, and you can still feel the memory of his usual rings imprinting into your skin. A permanent tattoo, a ghost of a feeling that’ll haunt you for all time – you love it. You want to live there forever, right here in this haunted house, collecting memories and dust of all that he is. 

Haunted houses are only lonely when you’re left to wander these halls all by yourself, and you think he’d truly cross over into the actual afterlife rather than leave you like that. 

The kiss is almost enough to forget where you are and who’s waiting on you inside the apartment. It’s almost enough to have you recreating that fateful night from over a year ago, to let him bend you back over this balcony railing again, and this time, any squeals you let out won’t be of fear. You’d face that fall head on.

His hot hands on your waist, his tongue in your cheek, his knee once again pressed between your inner thighs. Him, him, him-

A sharp rap sounds on the sliding door behind Eddie, and you’ve never jumped apart faster. 

It’s Robin and Nancy at the door, Lestat happily wrapped around Robin’s forearm as she waves and points eagerly to him and Nancy simply crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow as though she might have been a disappointed mother rather than a friend at the moment. 

You done? Robin mouths, exaggerating her silent enunciation. 

As you nod, Eddie only deeply sighs, throwing his head back against the glass with a soft thump. Nancy is quick to throw out a palm against the glass and tap back at him, mimicking swatting him for his theatrics. 

Eddie pays no mind to Nancy’s retaliation, or maybe he just doesn’t see it, as he whines out, “I didn’t even get my cigarette.”

“Oh, cut it out, drama queen,” you snicker, trying to hide all your breathlessness as you fully pull away, “We’ve left our son alone long enough. You can chainsmoke to your heart’s desire once we get back home.” 

You’re already walking towards the door, Nancy and Robin having retreated further into the kitchen, when he catches your wrist to tug you back close to him. He leans down, deliberate and careful to make sure his lips catch against the lobe of your ear, whispering soft as night, “Can’t chainsmoke if I’m too busy fucking a baby into you, sweetheart.” 

It feels like someone’s poured literal fire across your body. As if flames have been dumped over the crown of your head, and are licking their pathway down your spine. 

“Eddie.” 

If you don’t get inside within the next ten seconds, you’re definitely going to make a decision you regret. 

He’s chuckling the entire time he steps around you, opening the door and waving for you to slip inside in front of him. Your entire body is still burning so violently, you barely register the way his fingers hang at his side and make a point to brush the back of your thigh when you pass him. 

Bastard, you want to snipe, but instead you just smile. 

—

The next morning, you’re awoken by the incessant pinging of your phone. 

You try to ignore it at first, burying your head deeper beneath the covers as a headache pulses at the edges of your mind, but after the fifth ping, it becomes impossible. 

“Who the fuck is texting us this early?” Eddie’s muffled voice complains into his pillow, facedown with one arm thrown across you securely. 

You can even feel him kick his bare legs in a show of defiance next to yours at the edge of the bed. If it wasn’t for the late night prior catching up to you, it’d be something sweet to laugh at. 

“What time is it?” you croak, scooching further up the bed, making Eddie’s arm around you only tighten. As if he can stop you from getting out of bed, or delay the inevitable by resisting you checking the phone, “Is it even early?” 

His free arm that had been tucked below his pillow flings out to the bedside table quickly, grabbing blindly for at least one of your phones. It doesn’t really matter if it’s yours or his; he’s got the password to both. 

“It’s eight in the fucking morning,” he curses, seeming more awake as he notices that he was right in it being early. “How in the fuck is anyone up right now? We didn’t leave until nearly three.”

His arm is finally loose enough for you to sit up properly, tugging the comforter with you to keep your bare chest covered, “Lemme see it.” 

“If it’s Harrington, can you post my bail for murder?” 

“You’re not killing Steve,” you nonchalantly reply as you snatch the phone right out of his hand. It had been yours, unsurprisingly. You don’t even know if Eddie remembered to put his own phone on the charger before the two of you had promptly passed out. You hardly even remember how you managed to do so, “But – yeah, it’s Steve.” 

“Fucking Harringt-”

“And Robin. And Jonathan.” 

“Have I mentioned I hate our friends?” 

The fog of sleep has officially lifted for you, and despite the wave of fatigue and aching joints you’d argue you’re far too young to be experiencing right now, you smile at your grumpy boyfriend. He exchanges his pillow for your stomach, shoving his entire cheek tightly to you as his arms wrap around you slowly. Clinging to you like a child, squinting against what little light pours in through the curtains. 

“You don’t hate them,” you murmur, holding the phone in one hand to get a better look at the phone as the other cards through his curls, “You hate mornings.” 

He hmphs in agreement, relaxing against your makeshift scalp massage. 

DINGUS: WHY THE FUCK IS THERE A PHOTO OF ME WITH A SNAKE IN THIS CHAT? 

BIRDIE: it is too early to be yelling

DINGUS: oh my bad

DINGUS: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU, ROBIN, SEND A PHOTO OF A SNAKE IN THIS FUCKING CHAT? WHO’S FUCKING SNAKE IS THAT?

You can’t help the gasp that leaves your mouth as you begin to see what the entire commotion was, and Eddie is lifting his head immediately.

“What?” he questions, moving to lift himself up and peer over the top of the phone, nosier than ever, “Why did you gasp? Is someone dead?” 

You scroll up, finding the photo being referred to.

“Not yet.” 

Steve, clearly partaking in another round of karaoke. Eyes glazed over, mid stumble based on the blur. 

“What do you mean not yet?” 

Most impressively, most notably, is the snake around his neck. 

Lestat, without a care in the world, his upper body being cradled by Steve’s palm as your drunk friend appears to be serenading the snake. 

You bite back your smile, eyebrows high as you glance down at Eddie, “You remember when we let Steve sing Taylor Swift while holding Lestat? About… two and a half drinks after he finally noticed we had him, and he didn’t flip out courtesy to all that Absolute vodka?” 

“Oh, fuck me.” 

Eddie flings himself back to the edge of the bed in search of his phone just as another notification pings. 

JOHNNY: I’ll do you one better. I have a video.

You don’t know if you’ve ever watched Eddie excitedly type on his phone faster than he does once he’s read that message, already giggling like a fool long before you can see what he’s sent in the chat. 

LOVER BOY: Johnny, my boy, you can’t just say that and NOT send it.

JOHNNY: Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish. 

DINGUS: WHO’S FUCKING SNAKE WAS IT? IS IT EDDIE’S? 

YOU: i will not stand for this erasure of me as lestat’s mother. 

Eddie snorts and looks up at you with glee as he reads your response, “He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?” 

“Can we be buried next to each other?” you respond with a question instead, looking at him lazily, “We could have matching headstones.” 

“Oh, hell yeah,” his grin is worth whatever Hell there may come to pay with Steve and the Lestat debacle last night, “Should we look up designs or-” 

He’s cut off by the trill ringing of his own phone, watching several messages roll into the groupchat in quick succession. 

DINGUS: who the fuck is lestat?

BIRDIE: the snake, dingus. 

NANCE: As someone who has seen the video… I think Jonathan should send it. 

DINGUS: DON’T YOU DARE

You’re a mess of hoarse giggles, hardly able to look at Eddie for the fear of both of you descending right into a madness of laughter. Like two children staying up too late at a sleepover, the room rings out with all your little noises, Eddie propping up his chin to watch you with the widest of smiles. 

Except you’re not children – you’re just two idiots, in your shared apartment, with your shared snake in the living room and your shared friends blowing up both your phones. 

Mornings have never felt quite as sweet as this kind. 

“We’re gonna hear an earful next time he sees us, aren’t we?” Eddie finally sighs wistfully, rolling over flat on his back, head propped up slightly in your lap. 

“Oh, definitely,” you nod, taking to twirling his frizzed curls around your knuckles this time rather than scratching mindlessly at his scalp, “But who cares? You saw how in love with the snake he was after a few drinks. He’ll come around, sober this time.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut. 

You let the two of you sit in the quiet a bit longer, phones still buzzing with new messages, but the chaos can wait. For now, you just want to drink it in. Rays of vivid sunlight, the silence from the lack of the buzzing AC unit, the birds chirping annoyingly outside the window. You have one foot in relaxation, and one foot in the hangover you know you’ll have to battle once you choose to leave this bed. 

“You know what sounds good?” you question, nearly under your breath. You’re really thinking outloud more than anything, but Eddie still entertains you with a hum in his tired state, “Betty’s.” 

He’s the equivalent of a puppy dog who’s heard the word walk. One second, Eddie Munson is seemingly dead to the world, and the next, he’s perked up entirely. If it wasn’t for his nude state, he’d probably already be out the door with his keys in hand, dragging you right along with him. 

His eyes shimmer despite heavy lids as he asks, “Almond croissants?” 

A small nod, an ever present smile. You recall the conversation from the night before as you look into those deep russet eyes, and you see an entire future of late nights and almond croissants reflected back. 

“Almond croissants.”

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked to the muses of times past—and thus!...

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms. 

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth. 

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes. 

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought. 

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.” 

“That’s all you, sweetheart.” 

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?” 

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?” 

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.” 

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering. 

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon. 

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much. 

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come. 

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend. 

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.” 

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.” 

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.” 

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance. 

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less. 

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.  

“I give up,” you sigh. 

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.” 

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper. 

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside. 

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie. 

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was his company. 

Eddie had an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.  

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction. 

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes. 

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through the sea of thoughts in search of the right words. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.” 

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin. 

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

“I’ll pick up,” you promise. 

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows. 

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume. 

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat. 

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?” 

“No,” you lie. 

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you. 

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot. 

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page. 

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?” 

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become. 

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles. 

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.” 

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.  

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and he steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum. 

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality. 

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice. 

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck. 

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help. 

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight. 

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself. 

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...” 

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter that he swallows down like a lifeline. 

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales. 

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him. 

“Might be important.” His voice is rough. 

“They can leave a message.” 

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact. 

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do. 

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.  

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm. 

“Eddie, please…” 

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger. 

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach. 

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything. 

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling. 

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.” 

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling. 

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside. 

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips open with his teeth. 

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch. 

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him. 

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.” 

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.  

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet. 

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way. 

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely. 

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.” 

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips. 

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat. 

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit. 

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.  

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…” 

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips. 

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down. 

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest. 

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.” 

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—” 

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands down his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him. 

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling. 

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly. 

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.  

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...” 

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?” 

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt. 

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips. 

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.” 

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

PART ONE

MORE

[endless-ineffabilities]

be young, be dope, be proud

dynasty heir Aemond x heiress reader

a/n: randomly and carelessly drafted after a night out, so don't even ask me what this is. title obvi from Lana. also, I feel like the setting here is an acquired taste. so, enjoy? 💁🏼‍♀️🤍

themes/warnings: spoiled rich assholes, New York/modern references, language, clichés galore, Targs are like the Kennedys if that whole family was pure evil and Rep, SMUT, angst between brats who clearly want each other, also—you're kind of a hypocrite

main masterlist

The estate reeks with old money: marble columns, ancestral portraits, and a long dining table loaded with crystal and silver. Chandeliers try to warm the place, but it's all cold opulence. Outside, the gardens are cut and tamed to show that even nature has a price.

Your father always brings the family along to stately dinners up there in Westchester, with the usual crowd in attendance—the Targaryens, the Velaryons, the Lannisters—the whole lot.

Between them, they could probably purchase every building in Manhattan without creating a single dent in the bank.

Hell, maybe they already have. Generational wealth truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

You've tried to distance yourself from it. From people whose words drip poisoned honey and condescension. Being waited on like new order royalty.

But who are you to talk, when your father's lineage traces back to the fucking Mayflower? You and them are one and the same—filthy rich and borderline insane.

It is nearly impossible to maintain a steady sense of self, to have ample room for personal growth, when everything, every single thing, is handed to you on a silver platter. There is no tension there, no struggle, no need to exert any effort.

Failed your courses? Your father donates a building to the university. Aemond gets several DUIs? His great-uncle is a Supreme Court Justice. Aegon nearly burns his friend's house down while throwing a bacchanal-themed party? Let's just say that friend is grounded. For a week. Oh, the horror. Their family had many other estates, in many other places anyway.

When there are no real repercussions to your actions, you will feel like you can do just about whatever you want.

Burn the world down, for all you care. You can just buy a new, better one.

Granted, not everyone in your circle is an entitled egotist. There's Helaena, who strangely enough, does not possess a single self-important bone in her body, unlike her aforementioned brothers. Jace, who spends most of his time getting involved in political activism, for the side that his magnate grandfather Viserys steadfastly opposes.

You'd always sit beside either of them in these dinners, for the sake of your sanity. Unfortunately, Aemond and Aegon are never far. Especially Aemond—who occassionally stares you down as he sits across the table. Aegon, seated to his left, whistles at you. "Hey. Hey so... are you still slumming it with the art crowd?"

"I'm sorry?" You narrow your eyes at him. He didn't even say hello or mind if I cut in? as Jace was telling you about attending the DNC rally.

Aemond watches you again, so closely it raises goosebumps along your arms. He's been stealing glances at you ever since you arrived with your family. And you've been openly shooting glares at him when you sense it. Him and that steely one-eyed gaze of his always gets under your skin.

Aegon sneers, and you think how it's so in character of him. "You still live in Brooklyn? Cosplaying as a normie?"

"Fuck off, Aegon."

You've been living in Brooklyn for the past year, trying to finish up your Masters from Barnard. You would never hear the end of how this is the most redundant and useless thing, especially from people like Aegon. It does seem contrived, daddy's little heiress playing at being a scholar at Columbia, but at least you are doing something.

Besides, you have no desire to take over your family's empire. If anything, you want to branch out, maybe take on Jace's proposal on starting a charity foundation together.

"Aegon! Do you know how messed up that sounds?" Jace comes to your rescue, but you know it'll be for nought. Aegon's brain is too warped, too silver-spoonfed, to recognise his folly. You used to feel sympathy for the guy—this life is all he's ever known, and it isn't as if the adults around him ever set a good example, so can you blame him?

Used to. Now, he just annoys you. You grew up the same, but you are not like him, aren't you? So did Hel and Jace. So did Aemond. And Aemond, while still an asshole, is at least someone you can tolerate. He's vicious when it comes to his ambition, but he's genuinely smart.

He's cold and aloof, but he is also capable of tenderness.

You would never readily admit to anyone how you know this about him.

And he's staring you down, once again. You immediately know it's him when you feel someone nudge your shin under the table.

You eye him warily. What do you want?

He raises his eyebrows. Nothing. Just missed you.

At least that's what you're picking up from him. Why wouldn't he miss you? You're probably the best thing in his life right now. He should be so grateful you're still giving him the time of day, especially after everything he's done.

Aemond nods ever so subtly, the gesture meant for only you. You already know what he's getting at, but you don't feel like caving just yet.

It's another long moment of tuning in and out of your conversation with Jace, but Aemond's unspoken question lingers. When you deign to look at him again, he tilts his head to the side. Let's go.

He knows to leave first, and he stands and excuses himself from the table. Barely anyone gives him any mind, the adults debating passionately at the farther end.

You wait one whole minute, your heels tapping impatiently under the table. Then you follow suit.

"I need some air. Might have a smoke or something," you mumble to Jace. He wouldn't want to tag along, the scrunch of his face revealing how much he loathes the habit.

"Just the one," he tuts, raising a finger.

You roll your eyes fondly. "Okay, dad."

Aemond has just lit a cigarette when he hears you come in. The door to the private library lets out a tiny creak then shuts without a sound. He faces the window, his back to you. But he knows it's you. He can almost hear the derision in your exhale. A hint of your unmistakeable Guerlain scent is present in the room.

When you draw closer, he sees the ghost of your reflection on the glass, a mirage perched atop his shoulder. He thinks of the age-old visual of having an angel and a devil on either side. You would be the angel, and the devil... would probably be his own self.

The side he fights to keep buried. He knows you see it, and hate it, but you want him anyway. You let him have you anyway. And these stolen moments with you are the only times when he is truly free.

Without a word, he offers a cigarette to you, his hand moving with a smooth, practiced form that makes it feel like he's not just offering you a smoke but issuing a silent challenge. He lifts his lighter, an intricate, expensive thing engraved with his family crest, flicking it open with a soft metallic click, then holding the flame steady as you lean in.

He can't help but admire how beautiful you are as the glow illuminates your face.

"Do you ever get bored?" you sneer, folding your arms as you lean against a shelf. "Sitting there all night with that smug, 'yes, I agree with all of this' look while your family drones on about the 'sanctity of tradition.' Like a good little heir."

Aemond raises an eyebrow, barely looking up from his cigarette as he takes a drag. You sure have a habit of getting right down to business. "Funny," he replies smoothly. "For someone who 'hates' tradition, you play the part of Daddy's obedient little princess pretty well. I saw you batting your eyes at every gray-haired councilman at that table."

"Oh, please." You roll your eyes, heat flaring in your cheeks, though whether from anger or the way his gaze always seems to pin you in place, despite your best efforts, you can't say. "I'm not doing it because I like it. I don't sit there pretending I'm better than the rest of the world."

"You don't?" He cocks his head, his lips quirking into a wry, infuriating smirk. "Could've fooled me, princess. All I ever hear from you in these dinners are 'Oh, absolutely' and 'Oh, that's so interesting'—like you'd just die if they didn't think you cared."

"Wow, okay, says the guy who spent twenty minutes nodding along while they debated the tax breaks for HNWIs. Planning to cut yourself some more slack there, hotshot?" You take a quick, sharp puff, the smoke billowing out of your lips as you continue your tirade. "You're a damn statue, Aemond. Most of the time, you don't even say a word, and yet somehow you sit there looking like everyone should be grateful you graced them with your presence."

He takes a step closer, and his voice drops. This is something only you can do—you get to him, you hit him where it matters. Or, you're the only one he allows the privilege of doing so. "And you hate it, don't you? You hate that I don't care what they think. That I'm not actually here to impress anyone."

Your laugh comes out bitter. "Please. You don't care because you're so convinced they already think you're perfect. You don't have to impress anyone because you're Aemond Targaryen, right? The perfect heir to a glowing legacy."

"Better that than playing the poor, tortured rebel." He's so close you can count the facets of the sapphire in his socket, a dangerous gleam flashing behind them—another outlandish, excessive thing only a billionaire's son would think to do. "At least I'm not pretending I want to burn it all down while running around in the same circles as everyone else. Tell me, do you actually care about the policies Jacaerys painstakingly explains to you? Or is it all just for show?"

"You don't know me, Aemond."

"Oh, but I do. In fact, I think I'm the only one who knows the real you."

You clench your jaw, craning your neck up to look at him. How ironic that he literally has to look down on you too. "Unlike you, I actually feel something about all this. You sit there like you're above it all, and it's pathetic."

"Pathetic?" He lets out a low, humorless laugh. "You want to talk about pathetic? The only thing pathetic is you standing there acting like a revolutionary when you're just like the rest of us."

"At least I want to get out. At least I want to make a goddamn difference and—"

"Then do it," he says, his tone mocking, as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your face. "Get out. Run off, make your big escape. Show everyone how different and special you are, princess."

"Oh, right," you shoot back, trying to regain some of your moxie after his unexpected retort. "And leave you to taint my image after then?"

He scoffs, the gesture dismissive, almost cruel. "You wouldn't be here if you actually had the guts to go through with it."

Aemond may be a pretentious asshole, but he's right, and you know it. "You know what, Aemond? What if... I tell you that I like it. The power, the status, all of it. Is that what you want to hear?"

He smirks. "You'd be adrift without it. You'd be lost without all this to complain about." His gaze drops to your mouth, as if he could already guess exactly how a rendezvous like this is going to end.

How it always ends.

You feel your breath hitch, your pulse racing even as you grit your teeth against the draw of him.

"Don't look at me like that," you snap, trying to keep the upper hand. You should leave. You know this, know you should storm out and leave him here with that damn arrogant smirk on his face.

Call it a truce, and do it all over again next time.

"What's wrong? Afraid you'll do something you'll regret?"

The challenge in his tone has you seething, heat blazing up your neck. "You're insufferable, you know that?” You try to sound as furious as you feel, but your voice wavers, and the corner of his mouth tilts in a dark, smug smile.

"Then leave, princess." His eyes flash, daring you, mocking you, yet he doesn't move back. "Go on. Show me that strength you keep talking about."

The words are meant to push you away, to test how much you can take, but they do something else instead. They push you over the edge, sending you surging forward before you even know what you're doing, fisting the front of his pristine shirt and yanking him down to you.

Your mouth meets his, all anger and fire, biting at his lips as he smirks against you, welcoming the aggression. His hands find your waist, pawing at your gown, pushing you back until you stumble against the bookshelf.

You try to hold onto the anger, to use it to keep yourself in control, but the way he kisses you—rough, possessive, familiar, with a hunger that seems to match yours—makes it impossible. His hands slip to your hips, fingers digging into you with a desire that you both pretend doesn't exist anywhere but here, in the dark corners of your little meeting places.

"Stop," you gasp for breath, pulling away for just a second, trying to steady yourself, but he follows, his mouth trailing down your jaw to your neck, biting down just enough to make you groan.

His fingers slip beneath the slit of your dress, finding bare skin. "Then tell me you don't want this."

Your head tilts back involuntarily, the blissed hitches in your breath becoming frequent. You should tell him to stop, but the words never come, not with his fingers tracing up your thigh, the pressure of his lean body against yours, the electric shiver that races through you as his mouth tongue dances with your own.

You give in, letting your anger melt into something messier, something that's been building between you both for so long you don't know how to unravel it. Your hands move to his white-blonde hair, pulling him closer. His hand slips higher, while the other is braced against the bookshelf behind you.

There's nothing careful about it—gone are the dynasty heirs who are unfailingly curated and perfect and genteel in the public eye. It's all frantic, hands grabbing, mouths clashing, neither of you willing to let the other take control but both of you giving in to the heat. He yanks your dress up, lifting you and positioning himself between your legs, his breathing rough as he makes quick work of his belt. Then he lets his trousers and underwear drop halfway down his thighs, and his cock springs free, pressing on the draped material of your gown, which you hurriedly bunch to the side.

It's like a sick power play when he takes two fingers and plunges them past your soaked entrance, right to his knuckles. All without breaking eye contact.

But neither has the upper hand. You and Aemond are one and the same.

"Seems like you're ready for me, princess."

"Mhmm, aghh—" He hooks his fingers inside you, hitting that damned spot. "Just fuck me already."

And when he does, his cock practically propping you up against the bookshelf, it's fast, chaotic, your movements nothing short of needy and desperate, as if you're both trying to prove something to the other. You don't care about the priceless first-edition books that rattle precariously behind you, nor about the way his fingers dig into your flesh that guarantee bruises that will show tomorrow. Right now, you're past caring, past pretending that you actually ever cared about anyone but yourself.

And maybe... Aemond.

His groans come out unrestrained against your neck, his tongue flicking over the droplets of sweat, as if he can't bear you being any less than perfect.

Only he can taint you, only he can see you broken in and fucked out like this, your lipstick smeared to the side of your mouth. That same shade of rouge littering his cheek, his jaw, the collar of his shirt.

No words are exchanged, as if they've been used up in your twisted version of foreplay from earlier.

All he offers is, "Fuck, baby, I'm close," as his hips continue in its assault, his hands buried in the softness of your arse, keeping you in place.

"So am I," you counter.

He falls apart inside you, his cock sputtering while lodged deep in your clenched walls. The near-animalistic growl he lets out brings you to your climax, your forehead falling against his as your entire body is rendered limp in his arms.

When you finally pull away, flushed, your heart still racing, he looks at you with that same arrogant smirk, and you can't help but feel the distaste rising back up.

"Still think I don't know you?" he murmurs, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

You glare at him, pulling your dress back down, refusing to let him have the last word even as his expression uncharacteristically softens as he gazes at you, making you want to pull him close and kiss him again. Gentler, this time.

"This can't happen again," you force out your usual lie.

"That's what you said last time, princess."

Vhagar taglist: @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @mrsmunson-harrington @romyfe06

[rafesbabygirlx]

Time Loop

Masterlist

Rafe x Reader

Summary: Rafe finds himself caught in a time loop, reliving the same disastrous 2 days when everything goes wrong. He must figure out how to break the cycle by changing his choices, leading to new insights into his relationship, motives, and a self-realization.

A/N: might be a little delusional from school but I rewatched Happy Death Day on Halloween and had this idea written down. Read this over 100x and I’m pretty sure I follow through. Enjoy :)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: angst, smut at the end

Rafe’s relationship with you was a storm of highs and lows. When other couples argued over trivial things—what to eat, misplaced items, or being late—your conflicts with Rafe were on a different level. They revolved around coke, cheating, and his relentless need to please his father.

Rafe’s habit of disappearing for “errands” tied to his dad’s business, his unapologetic flirting at parties, and the lines of cocaine that constantly blurred his reality had worn you down. Three years together, and it had only gotten worse. His betrayals were countless, yet somehow, you both stayed. Amid the chaos, there was a twisted comfort that kept you to each other.

Loop 1. It was a Saturday, and Rafe was at Kelce’s party. He hadn’t responded to your texts or calls all day. Sitting in his usual spot, hunched over the coffee table with white powder all over it, he looked oblivious to everything except the high. You arrived reluctantly, dragged by your friends who insisted you shouldn’t stay home alone, overthinking. You told yourself you’d stay hidden, avoid Rafe, and just get through the night.

You led your friends to the kitchen and grabbed drinks, steering them out to the pool where Rafe rarely went. Hours passed, with each of you taking turns fetching refills. When your turn came, the kitchen was crowded, so you slipped into the living room instead. And that’s when it happened. Your eyes locked with Rafe’s across the room. A blonde was straddling his lap, pressing kisses down his neck while he smirked at you, a cold and taunting expression. Something in you snapped. Without thinking, you threw the remains of your drink at them and stormed out before he could react.

The next morning, Rafe woke up in one of Kelce’s guest rooms, head pounding and eyes squinting against the sunlight. He reached for his phone, seeing a flurry of messages from you.

You 1:46 AM – FUCK YOU, RAFE CAMERON. You never deserved me.

You 1:55 AM – I hope you snort yourself to death, you asshole. Enjoy your coke while you can.

You 2:04 AM – YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN. I HATE YOU.

You 2:06 AM – WE’RE THROUGH. ROT IN HELL.

He groaned, a mix of regret and anger simmering beneath his hangover. He needed to talk to you. You always went to brunch at the club on Sundays, so he threw on some borrowed clothes and headed there.

There you were, sitting on the patio with your friends, your hair catching in the breeze, looking radiant and untouchable. It hit him how much he had messed up. He approached cautiously. “Hey, can we talk? Please?”

You didn’t acknowledge him, eyes focused ahead. “Please, Y/N. I need to talk to you.” You turned to him sharply. “We have NOTHING to talk about. You’re not my problem anymore, Rafe.” His jaw clenched, ego a bit strained, anger bubbling up. He rolled his eyes. “You think I wanted to be tied down with you? Always breathing down my neck? That’s probably why I cheated. I needed a break from you.” He didn’t mean it.

The lie hung between you like a knife. Your voice was icy. “You’re such a piece of shit,” you said, louder than you intended. “What was that, angel? Say it again,” he goaded. You stood up, refusing to back down despite his height. “You’re a piece of shit, Rafe Cameron. A slut, a drug addict, and a failure who will never be good enough for your father.”

The entire patio fell silent. The slap came without warning, sharp and loud, leaving him stunned. You threw down cash for the bill and walked out, your friends hurrying after you. Humiliated and seething, Rafe’s pride took over. As he left, he spotted your car. Without a second thought, he grabbed a rock and smashed the windshield, then slashed three of the tires. Adrenaline pumping, he sped off to Barry’s place and spent the rest of the day numbing himself with beer and more lines of coke. By nightfall, he was a mess, barely coherent, when he picked up his phone and typed:

Rafe 7:32 PM – baby pls I mis u dont do thiss to mee, ur al I want

Rafe 7:38 PM – bby

Rafe 7:39 PM – bbay

Rafe 7:40 PM – pls I ned you answr me

Finally, your response came, slicing through his fog.

You 7:50 PM – You should’ve thought of that before you were a complete shit boyfriend. Before you chose drugs over me, your dad over me, other girls over me.

You 7:53 PM – AND BEFORE YOU DESTROYED MY CAR, ASSHOLE.

Rafe’s rage erupted, and he hurled his phone, shattering it on the floor. “SHIT!” Barry jolted awake. “Damn, country club. What’s your problem?” He throws his crushed phone back at him. “Nothing,” Rafe muttered, tossing cash down before leaving. He considered going to your house but decided to sleep it off and try again tomorrow.

Loop 2. The next day, he woke up at noon, head heavy, stomach in knots. His phone, perfectly intact, rested on the nightstand. The date read Saturday. Confused, he checked his messages—none of what he remembered existed. Before he could think too hard, Ward barged in, ordering him to get dressed and join him on errands.

The day felt like a warped replay. He ignored your incoming texts, but told Kelce he’d be at the party, and numbly followed the script. That night, as he sat at Kelce’s, a girl climbed onto his lap, and he froze. Between the drugs, and the shock of realizing what’s happening he just sits there. She straddles his lap, grinding down onto him and kisses his neck. He looks up and sees you and gets instant deja vu. You appeared at the door, eyes wide with betrayal. Just like before, you stormed out after throwing your drink. He threw the girl off of him and tried to reach you but you slipped through the crowd before he could. He couldn’t believe what was happening. This is exactly what happened in his dream. At least he thinks it was a dream.

With the drugs and what just happened he feels like he’s loosing his mind. He heads upstairs and passes out on the guest bed. Not surprising when he wakes up to see you sent the same text messages again. He doesn’t know what to do. But he repeats the same process. Finding you at the club, trying to talk to you, you embarrassing and leaving him standing there. He walks out to the parking to see your car but he doesn’t touch it this time. Panic crept into his mind, a distressing realization that something was wrong. At Barry’s later, he tested his theory. “Hey, did I come here already?” he asked. Barry squinted. “Yesterday to pick up some for the party, you good man?” Rafe’s stomach dropped. The night had repeated itself. He left, pacing in his room later, mind racing. Glancing at his phone, he stomped it underfoot, shattering it again.

Loop 3. Rafe woke up with a migraine, instinctively grabbing his phone. The screen glowed brightly, not a single scratch, displaying the day: Saturday. His heart sank as a familiar wave of confusion washed over him. Everything was playing out exactly as it had before. The knock on the door was immediate, and soon enough, his father burst in, barking orders. His phone buzzed throughout the day incessantly with your texts, followed by Kelce’s message about the party and a request to score some coke. Rafe felt a nauseating sense of deja vu again, an unsettling lightheadedness clinging to him throughout the day.

At Barry’s place, Rafe pocketed a bag of coke, glancing nervously at the dealer, who was lounging with a cigarette. Barry was the only person who might not think he was entirely out of his mind. “I gotta ask you something,” Rafe blurted out. Barry raised an eyebrow, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “If it’s a favor, I’m not doing it.” Rafe sat down across from him, trying to still the tremor in his hands. “No, it’s not a favor. Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in a loop? Like, the same thing playing over and over again?”

Barry’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about, Country Club?” Rafe rubbed his face, feeling his pulse race. “I’m serious. It’s like I’ve lived the same two days over and over for nearly a week now. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s real. I can’t shake it.” Barry snorted, a half-laugh slipping through. “Man, lay off the coke for a while. It’s messing with your head.”

At Kelce’s party, Rafe felt the buzz of anticipation crackling around him. He sat in his usual spot, beer in hand, taking only a small line of coke, half-dreading and half-expecting what came next. Just as he suspected, the blonde girl approached, eyes glinting with interest. His heart raced; it was happening again. He let her sit beside him, testing the reality of the loop. Just then, he spotted you entering the room, and the recognition in your eyes shifted to anger. You threw your drink, and before you could walk away, Rafe caught your arm.

“Baby, please,” he said, voice trembling with urgency. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Your eyes flashed with hurt and rage. “Oh, now it’s important? Not when I called or texted you all day? Not when you’re so high you fuck anything that breaths and forget I exist? Now, suddenly, it’s important?”

Rafe pulled you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as the noise of the party dulled. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not high. I knew everything that was going to happen today. I had to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming. Please trust me. I love you.” Your expression hardened, eyes glistening. “You don’t love me, Rafe. You’re not making any sense. You sound insane. I’m leaving. We’re done. Officially, done.”

He reached for you, desperation turning his voice raw. But you pushed him away, tears streaming as you walked out. Rafe stood frozen, guilt and helplessness clawing at him. For the first time, he left the party nearly sober, trudging up to Kelce’s guest room. He threw himself face-first onto the bed,

The next morning, Rafe bolted upright and glanced at his phone. Sunday. Again. He quickly dressed and drove straight to the club, determination hardening his features. Before you could brush him off, he dropped to his knees by your table, ignoring the looks of your friends and the other members

“Please,” he begged. “I know I look crazy, but you have to hear me out.” You stood up and motioned for him to follow you out to the golf course, away from prying eyes.

“About what I said last night,” Rafe continued, breathless, “it wasn’t just rambling. The party—it’s happened three times. I’m living the same 2 days over and over. I get up, do stuff for my dad, get to the party, you find me, we break up, I come find you hear, there’s no resolve, I go to bed Sunday night and when I wake up it’s Saturday again. I don’t know why, but I’m losing you each time, and I can’t take it anymore.”

You crossed your arms, a wall of hurt and skepticism. “You expect me to believe that? After three years of lies and betrayal, you think I’ll buy into some theory about time loops all of the sudden? No, Rafe. I’ve had enough.”

He reached for your shoulders, his voice breaking while he smacks his cheek. “Look at me. I’m sober, I’m awake, and I’m telling you the truth. Something isn’t right, and I can’t let you walk away.”

Your eyes softened for a moment, but you shook your head, stepping back. “I can’t do this.” And with that, you turned and left him standing on the empty fairway, the early morning light casting long shadows. Rafe stood there, piecing together the pattern. The loop was about you. It was punishment, a reckoning for the way he’d taken you for granted. Each version of the day confirmed that losing you was the universe’s way of making him face the consequences. But if he had this chance, he’d use it. That night, he skipped Barry’s and stayed in his room, scribbling notes and plans, willing himself to break the cycle.

Loop 4. Rafe woke up early, it’s Saturday… again. His heart thumping as he texted you before you could reach out first. He asked if you’d meet him at the dock, the place where you’d had your first date. When you agreed, a rare glimmer of hope sparked inside him. When you arrived, he stood and hugged you tightly, pressing kisses to your forehead. You pulled back, a puzzled smile playing on your lips. “What’s all this for?”

“I just love you,” Rafe said, voice steadier than it had been in ‘days’. “Please, sit. I need to talk to you.” You settled on the blanket, accepting your favorite snack he handed you. “So, talk.” He took a breath, the weight of three years and three repeated days pressing down on him. “I know this will sound insane, but hear me out. I’ve been in this loop—like, I’ve woken up on the same Saturday, again and again. Every day, the same mistakes. Ignoring you, getting high, letting someone else come between us, and you leaving. When I go to bed Sunday night, k wake up and it’s Saturday again.It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I can’t lose you again. I need you to believe me. I don’t want anything to be the same. I want to change for you. Maybe it’s just a dream. But it feels so real, I can’t shake it. I can’t lose you.”

You studied his face, eyes searching for any hint of deceit. Then, cautiously, you placed your palm on his forehead, half-joking. “You’re right. You do sound crazy. But you’ve never promised to change before. That’s… something.” A sad, hopeful smile tugged at Rafe’s lips. “I mean it. I’ll do anything. I’ll go to rehab, give up the coke, anything. I just want you.”

Your lips curved into a small smile, and you leaned in, kissing him gently. “Come on,” you said, pulling him up by the hand. “My parents aren’t home. Let’s go somewhere we can really talk.”

Back at your house, you sat on your bed, facing him. “You know how much I love you, Rafe. But how much do you really love me? These past three years have been exhausting. I’m tired of giving and getting nothing in return.” “I love you more than anything. I’m sorry it took something this insane to make me realize how much I need you. I want to make up for all the time I wasted. I promise.”

You brushed your thumb along his cheek, turning his face to yours. “Then prove it. Promise me again.” You leaned in, and he whispered between kisses, “I… promise.” He lays you down on the bed, resting in between your legs. You grip his shirt trying to get it off. He sits up pulling it off and you mimic him pulling off yours. He reaches your lips again and you both fumble with each other’s pants. When you finally get each other’s clothes off, he lifts you up into the center of the bed. Kissing his way back down to lean in front of you. Leaving kisses on your inner thighs making his way to your clit. Just the simple kiss has your back arching. Rafe is never this gentle with you. It’s usually quick fucks or rough. Never soft or intimate so you make sure to take in everything. He takes his time. Making sure he tastes every bit of you. He keeps going and your back lifts off the more and more until a wave of relief washes over you. Rafe doesn’t stop until you’re back on the bed and your grip of his hair loosens a bit. He cleans up what’s left and makes his way back to you, leaving behind a trail of kisses.

He stops for a second just to stare at you. Wondering how he got so lucky to have someone as beautiful as you and how he just managed to fuck it up and take advantage of all that beauty and love. You stare back at him wondering if he’s serious, but you’re so in love with him that if he is you’ll be there every step of the way. You grab the back of his head and pull him back in to continue kissing him. Your other hand reaches in between you to line him up and you nudge him to push in by wrapping your legs around his waist. He slowly enters you, savoring each second. He moves instantly but the thrusts are different. They’re strategic and careful. You let out moans and he moves to the crook of your neck kissing it softly. He keeps these movements the entire time. You both climax at the same time and he goes to move but you hold him against you.

“You swear promise?” You ask while rubbing his back. “I promise, every bit of it. The both of you lay in bed for the rest of the day and when nightfall comes you fall asleep in each other’s arms. When Rafe is woken up by the light peaking in from the morning sunrise. He checks his phone instantly it’s Sunday. He panics a little but then he notices the weight on him. It’s you, lying on his chest. He lets out a sigh of relief realizing the cycle was broken, he’s back in reality. He pulls you in close giving you a kiss on the top of the head.