#something something everything is connected

[flowersforbucky]

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

���Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

[greengoblinswifey]

Trust— Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

summary— based on season 4 episode 9, slight spoilers. rafe is convinced he can help you relax, take your mind off the drama on the ship and make you trust him.

warnings— manipulation, oral, praise kink, degrading kink, bondage, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

Rafe looked up as you entered the small, cramped bathroom, his blue eyes narrowing before softening a bit as he registered your expression. “Come to check on me again?” he drawled, his voice low and rough after days of confinement. Despite his irritation, there was a hint of something else in his tone, something that felt almost, relieved.

“Yeah,” you replied, sighing as you slid down to sit on the floor next to him, finally giving yourself a break from the chaos upstairs. “I needed to get away from everything. JJ's out of control, everyone’s on edge, and it’s just—it's all a lot.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, shifting a bit to get more comfortable despite his tied-up position. “Sounds like a mess,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “But not surprising. I’d be losing it, too, if I were up there. Though, you don’t seem the type to lose it.”

You exhaled, glancing away. “I don’t know, sometimes I think I'm just about at my limit. It feels like I’m the only one who, I don’t know, tries to keep it all together by being civil.”

Rafe smirked slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to, you know. Keep it together all the time,” he murmured, his voice taking on an edge. “Sometimes, you just need to let off some steam.” His voice dropped, a bit huskier. “Maybe even relax a little.” His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt your pulse quicken.

You frowned, glancing at his wrists, still bound. “Rafe…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his tone almost too smooth. “Untie me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held your gaze with an intensity that made you falter. “Let me help you relax.”

Hesitating, you chewed on your lip. There was something, different about him right now, and you couldn’t quite pin point it. But, against your better judgment, you reached forward and undid the ropes around his wrists, slowly freeing him.

Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, and he pulled you in close, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was both rough and gentle, catching you completely off-guard. You melted into it, the tension you’d been carrying washing away under his touch. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself leaning in closer, craving the connection.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured against your lips, “So naughty for letting me loose like this.”

Flustered, you pulled back slightly, breathless. “Rafe…”

He only smirked, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “It’s alright,” he whispered, holding your gaze with a soft, challenging glint. “Now that I’m out, maybe I can return the favor and help you feel a little better.”

You slowly nodded. You couldn’t deny the way he was making you feel.

Rafe’s hands moved slowly over your bare stomach, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your skin, sending shivers up your spine. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So responsive,” he murmured, watching your breath hitch as his hands continued their slow exploration.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, feeling vulnerable but completely unable to pull away. Rafe’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your skirt, and with a quiet confidence, he slipped it and your thong off, leaving you feeling even more exposed. He let out a quiet chuckle, his hands never leaving your skin.

When he pulled off his own shirt, his eyes never left yours, and then he moved closer, his presence between your legs grounding you in the moment. “Trust me,” he whispered, voice low as he leaned in, and before you could fully process the warmth of his breath, he began to press soft, deliberate kisses along your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from you.

“You’re so—” you managed, words slipping away as he looked up at you with that familiar smirk, his gaze unrelenting.

“So what?” he teased, “I haven’t even started.”

Your breath grew shallow, anticipation building as his hands traced along your hips, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

His mouth attached to your clit and it sent a spark through you, his touch patient yet undeniably intent, and you couldn’t help but give in to the sensation, letting yourself relax under his steady hands. His tongue was precise, lapping up every part of your pussy that was soaked with your juices.

“Don’t hold back now,” he murmured. His constant sucking and flicking over your clit made your orgasm wash over you, leaving you completely captivated, and all you could do was let yourself melt into the moment, trusting him entirely.

“I’d say you were my good girl and you are but fuck, you’re such a slut just letting me make you cum like this, I thought you and your friends didn’t trust me?” he chuckled, sitting up til he was beside you. You buried your face into his chest, embarrassed that he was right.

“Oh that’s okay baby, don’t be embarrassed,” he laughed, “you know what would make it all better? Me doing to you what they did to me.”

Your head shot up, confusion etched across your face.

“Not like that baby, you’d be willing wouldn’t you? Would you let me tie you up and use you? Gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked huskily.

Slowly, you nodded. You couldn’t deny his words made you throb. You’d let this man do anything to you. He smirked at your obedience and took up the rope, beginning to tie you in the same position he was before. The rope was tied firmly, but not firm enough to hurt or bruise you.

“Is that okay baby? You like being all tied up for me?”

“Y-yes Rafe,” you muttered, eyes big and full of need.

He slipped down his boxers and your eyes went wider, gasping at the size of him. He was so thick and leaking for you. You needed a taste.

“Open up that whore mouth,” he growled.

Immediately, you did what was told and he shoved his cock straight to the back of your throat making you gag.

“Breathe baby, breathe, I know you can take it, you seem like you’d be such a good cock sucker.”

You wanted to prove him right, you wanted to be exactly what he thought of you. As he slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue went to work, swirling over the base and the tip, getting it as sloppy as you could. He moaned deeply above you, as his thrusts grew faster, your lips suctioned around him, making the sweetest little sounds.

You would’ve played with his balls if your hands weren’t tied and so, you leaned your head down, slurping and sucking on his balls as he threw his head back and shivered.

“Fuck, I knew you could do it, I knew you were a little whore, what a fucking mouth.” He slipped back into your mouth, his hands now going to your curls as he held you down on his cock, but before he could shoot his load down your throat, he pulled out.

“I know you’d swallow every last drop of my cum like the whore you are but I’d rather your pussy swallow it,” he chucked.

Heat rose in your cheeks as you thought about him filling you up. You weren’t on any form of birth control and you knew for a fact him or anyone on the ship did not have a condom in their possession. He’d definitely get you pregnant, just like his sister was at the moment. Ironic.

“Now, I have an idea.” You looked up at him curiously then gasped as he lifted your lower body, your hands in a slight awkward position as he held you up to fuck you mid air.

“Think you can take it— oh who am I kidding, you’re going to fucking take it,” he muttered, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock up and down your pussy lips.

“Your pussy is so wet and pretty, so happy you just gave it up to me.” You both moaned in unison as his cock slowly penetrated you. In that moment you partially wished your hands weren’t tied so you could’ve placed it on his abdomen, halting him from any further movements.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began pounding into you, your tits spilling out of the skimpy top you had on. His cock was deep inside you due to the angle, the feeling making your pussy quiver.

“Who’s making you feel this good huh?” he asked, his hands squeezing your hips harshly.

“You are Rafe, you,” you cried out. Your friends had definitely heard your screams.

“Good girl, trust me now?” he chuckled, breathlessly.

“Yes Rafe, I trust you. Faster, please,” you pleaded.

His rough thrusts sped up and the sound of your sloppy pussy and your loud moans filled the bathroom, possibly alerting your friends above.

“I need to feel you cum on my cock baby, you can do it,” he urged.

He went faster and deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you to draw the orgasm out. Before long, you screamed his name, your pussy squirting all over the bathroom walls as he continued fucking you through your high, pulling everything out of you.

“You’re so fucking hot, good girl,” he cooed.

He began chasing his own orgasm, his hand wrapping around your neck and his other skillfully holding under you as his thrusts grew more sloppy.

“Clench around me baby, I’m gonna pump this sweet pussy full of my cum. Gonna get you fucking pregnant, have you carry my babies inside this sexy body.”

You couldn’t protest even if you wanted to and your walls clamped around him, milking him of every ounce of his cum as he slammed into you. His thrusts grew slower and slower and he held you with one hand, the other unbinding your hands and when he did, he held you close to him, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

You both shivered under each other’s touch, panting slowly subsiding.

You shifted off him, the feeling of his big cock slipping out of you making you wince and whimper at the loss and you sat beside him.

“You look so beautiful and relaxed,” he smirked, pushing your curls behind your ear.

“Well you were right, you could help me relax,” you giggled.

“I’m always right. I meant what I said by the way, you’re gonna carry my babies inside that sexy fucking body,” he smirked, rubbing your stomach.

Before you could respond, there was a pounding on the door, it was your best friend.

“Y/N, what’s all that noise? What’s going on in there?” Cleo called out.

[fear-is-truth]

mature content ; mdni

˖˚⊹ 𝓙’s note: post-prison spence is just sooo pent-up but also touch-starved during sex, someone sedate me pls

after everything, he’s finally back, and it’s almost unreal having him here again. spencer’s different now, though. prison’s left its mark on him.

maybe he thinks you’re the only part of him left that feels unsullied. he’s quieter, more intense, less of the nervous, endearing man who fumbled with his words and shyly avoided your gaze. instead, his eyes are locked on you, never drifting when he’s fucking you.

almost as if he’s lost pieces of himself in those walls and found something else he hadn’t known was there.

there’s a possessiveness to him now that wasn’t there before. the old spence was gentle, careful, almost timid in how he’d reach for you. but now, he is ravenous. even when the two of you were connected in the most physically intimate way possible—with him grinding his pelvis against yours and burying himself into the deepest parts of you, somehow it’s still not enough. his hands are tracing greedily across the planes of your skin, the curve of your spine, relearning the lines of your body. mapping you in a way that feels both familiar and foreign.

sometimes, the spencer you knew surfaces. his hips stutters—that tale-tell throb accompanied by the catch of his breath, you can feel the tremors running through his entire body as he clings to you, pressing his face into your shoulder. when you thread your fingers through his hair, tugging gently, he lets out a broken whimper as he spills himself inside of you.

there are also moments when you catch a glimpse of something darker in his eyes, a hardness that wasn’t there before. it unsettles you just as much as it thrills you, but even with that edge, he’s still your boy. your spence.

[narfin-frood]

i've been itching to share my swap au since i thought it up, but i think i now finally have an actual baseline to introduce it with!!

the idea isn't that it's a personality swap, but a role swap, with wander and sylvia as antagonists and hater and peepers as the protags, and i have a whole lot to say about it so im gonna go ahead and infodump below the cut

so i've renamed these two, at least, since hater's story has become less about getting over himself and more about how he sees the world Now That He's Gotten Over Himself. i'm calling him The Great (and absent) Lord Lackadaisical right now, but i don't think that's what he'd like to be called, since he's an absent ruler who doesn't really care to be in a position of so much power and would rather fuck off to all the planets with really nice hot tubs. he and Sir Peepers (his loyal knight who cannot be convinced to leave his side) travel the galaxy with hater's sweet ride (i'm not too good at designing motorcycles yet. pending).

i haven't thought of new names/titles for wander and sylvia just yet (i cannot just call him Sitter Over Therer) but i do know what their deal is, and it's the main reason i made this au (i feel like if wander were a villain he would not in fact be a villain like lord hater or dominator because i think that kinda disregards wander's whole Shit, he'd be like screwball, and even then he'd have very strong convictions that he's doing the right thing): wander has a cult (a hivemind, kinda) and sylvia is his priest.

i think wander comes along this mushroom during a time in his life when everything seems to have been torn asunder, and instead of continuing his adventures and learning and growing as a person, the mushroom offers a solution that doesn't require much effort on his behalf. the mushroom links people together borg-style, makes them share a brain and a purpose. wander not only thinks it's super neat, but he's in such a poor state of mind when he finds it, he convinces himself it's the only way to make the galaxy a better place.

sylvia is the only person in his Ring of Friends who isn't hooked up to the mushroom, because she's actually wander's friend, and she's his ride or die. she does the things she does out of free will and dedication to her best friend, including preaching and fisticuffs.

^^^ here's some more of my initial concept art. originally the mushroom was gonna be a tree, but i had a vision of an upside down mushroom (or several, to take the place of watchdogs) scuttling around and by god is it easy to make that look like his hat.

the thing that really really pushes wander over the edge is the sheer boredom of it all. when he's connected to the mushroom, he's very little more than the brain they all share. he can't move around, and that KILLS him (see: the hole lotta nuthin). so when hater (name pending) comes along and refuses to join him and annoys him enough, he gets suuuuper stoked about having something to really DO for once.

anyway. this is what i've got for now. do you like it. you can be honest if you dont like it

[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.

───────────────────────────────

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

[lovemomhatepolice]

what brought back that smile? - lando norris

navigation taglist requests

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

warnings: kinda established relationship, fresh relationship, curious muppets!, English is my second language!

type: fluff, pure fluff

word count: 3,5k

summary: 5 times when someone asked the reason for Lando's sudden surge of happiness, but he preferred to keep his sweet secrets to himself

more content: f1 masterlist, lando norris masterlist

Since Lando Norris broke up with his then-girlfriend Luishina in 2022, no one has seen him this happy since. Of course, there have been moments where Lando walked around smiling - for example, when he won his first race in Miami or partying with friends in Ibiza. On more than one occasion, fans saw him joking and laughing until his stomach hurt with other drivers, but further down the line, everyone knew that the old Lando was gone. The one who laughed through love. The one foolishly in love, who proved it at every turn. Since his former relationship, Lando hasn't bonded with anyone - there were only rumors of fleeting romances or PR relationships. Until recently. In fact, no one knows when it took place. And since when Lando felt like a foolishly infatuated boy again.

THE FIRST TIME: Oscar Piastri When Oscar noticed changes in Lando's behavior, it was not much before the Japanese race. Or at least it wasn't so visible before. Norris was walking around smiling from ear to ear, constantly forgetting what he should do or who he should talk to about the changes in the car. No one paid much attention to it, and Oscar initially tried to ignore it as well, and winning in Miami a month later further eclipsed the spy's thoughts. After all, Lando had won his first race after so long in Formula One and so many times standing on the podium. The Mclaren drivers weren't the best of friends on the grid, but Oscar knew it wasn't because of winning the race. Or at least not just because of that.

Oscar was curious, even if he said very little about his life, the Lando case drilled him from the bottom up. And it started off small.

One morning 2 weeks after the Miami race, Lando showed up for a meeting with a goofy smile on his face. His attention was focused on everything during the strategy discussion, his mind was clearly elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” asked Oscar, poking his teammate under the table. As if awakened from his trance, Lando stopped tapping his fingers against his thigh and turned his head toward the Australian, smiling that silly grin again. “Yeah, all good, mate. “ he asked, tilting his head to the side. Oh, how foolishly charmed he was. “Why do you ask?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. You just seem... happier these days. What brought back that smile?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment. Lando hung his head and laughed quietly under his breath, as if he was thinking whether he wanted to say it or rather not. And that was the option he chose, keeping his new infatuation to himself.

“Well, you know, buddy, I won a race recently. A chance to celebrate, huh?”

Oscar laughed, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else behind that smile, and that Lando was lying right in his eyes. Something - or someone - had brought back that trademark Lando smile. But Oscar decided to let it go for now.

Meanwhile, Lando was smiling to himself. Was it really that noticeable? Could everyone now know his sweet secret?

Such questions were cluttering his mind, but he tried not to worry about them. They were quickly superseded by thoughts of [Y.N]. It was wild how fast she had slipped into his life. What had started as a chance meeting turned into hours of effortless conversation, late-night phone calls, and a connection that had somehow brought him back to life. He hadn't felt this way since…. well, he couldn't remember the last time. And that was the point of it all.

MUPPETS: Carlos Sainz Jr Carlos had known Lando since 2019, so this year was their 5th anniversary of knowing each other. From the very beginning, the men, despite the age difference, got along great. And they soon became friends, too, supporting each other in worse and better moments. You could say they knew each other like the back of their hand, so while Lando was drifting away more and more each possible time during their conversations, the Spaniard had no more questions or thoughts. He was well aware that his younger friend's head was occupied by not something, but someone.

The sun beat down on the lush green of the golf course, the Spanish heat was unrelenting even in the early hours of the day. Carlos set up for his shot, squinting against the blinding glare, while Lando stood to the side, waiting his turn. It was a rare moment of calm before the chaos of the Spanish Grand Prix weekend, and Carlos was glad to be spending it with his best friend.

Until he saw Lando miss every time, which hadn't happened all that often before. Well, okay, Lando was worse than Carlos at golf, but to that extent?

And those constant glances at the phone, which he was so reluctant to leave in the golf cart.

“Ay, muppet. What the hell is wrong with you?” rang out Carlos' voice as he hit the ball.

Of course it flew cleanly where it was supposed to fly. But what's the pleasure of playing as your friend drills a hole in the grass with his club, his other hand constantly checking his phone screen?

"Huh?" Lando snapped out of his trance. This had been happening to him more and more often lately, nay, it had been happening to him for more than three months now.

“You’ve been smiling like an idiot all day,” Carlos teased, though his tone was softer, more curious than mocking. “Actually, you’ve been like this for weeks like not months now. So, tell me—who is she?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed pink, and he quickly turned his attention to the golf ball at his feet, fiddling with his club. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but there was a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. And in fact, I don't think he wanted to get rid of it.

Carlos laughed, poking Lando playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, cabrón. I know you too well and it's been a long time since you've been this happy. So who's the lucky girl? Who brought back that smile?”

Lando sighed under his breath - he knew he could trust Carlos, he was his best friend. He just liked the fact that he and [Y.N] were in a closed bubble of happiness that they had made for themselves in three months. Of course it was still fresh and nothing was certain yet, but Lando gave in. To whom as to whom, but to Carlos he already had to tell. It was drilling him from the inside.

“It's … nothing serious,” Lando finally said, shrugging his shoulders as if it was no big deal. “It's just… I'm meeting someone. I'm trying to keep it discreet.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Dude, I've known you long enough to know when you're serious about someone,” he said, and his voice became softer. “And if she makes you smile like that, I'd say it's more than a casual.”

Lando bit his lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through. The truth was that [Y.N] had quickly become the best part of his days.

“Maybe,” he admitted, finally meeting Carlos' gaze. “But for now it's just … between us, sure?

Carlos clapped Lando on the back, a broad grin on his face. “I’m happy for you, hermano. And don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone. But I have to say, it’s good to see you like this again.”

They both laughed and Lando already knew he was lost. Together, with Carlos, were like the biggest gossips, so he quickly unlocked his phone, even jumping up and down with happiness, wanting to show Carlos some pictures of them together. What luck befell him when he found out that [Y.N] also loves to take pictures.

Carlos leaned closer, curious. Lando pulled out a photo from a few weeks ago - from his once-in-a-lifetime date with [Y.N]. They were sitting on a blanket in a meadow somewhere by the water, the golden sunset casting a warm glow over them. The girl's head was tilted toward him and resting on his shoulder, her eyes were crinkling with laughter, and Lando looked happier than Carlos had seen him in a long time. His hand was on the girl's shoulders, visibly embracing her closer to him.

“I want her to be the one, you know?” muttered Lando, smiling even wider when he saw the notification from her.

LUCKY CHARM: Lando's parents Lando was able to hide his fresh relationship from his friends, from his fans and from the rest of the world. But he definitely couldn't hide it from his parents and siblings. Not even a month of knowing [Y.N] had passed when he vividly talked about how much he had fallen in love and how he hoped she was the one and last woman in his life. His loved ones were damn happy to finally see the most sincere smile of his entire life on the face of this little Lando Norris.

The air around Silverstone was charged with electricity, and the energy of the home crowd gave Lando joy like no other race on the calendar. Walking through the bustling paddock, he felt lighter than he had in years. It wasn't just the thrill of racing on his own track - it was the realization that somewhere among the sea of faces there was [Y.N], watching him.

Fortunately, he managed to smuggle her into a private hospitality suite, away from prying cameras, journalists and fans. They had been seeing each other for almost four months, in truth they were not a couple, but everything was going for it. Lando wasn't the only one who was foolishly infatuated with the relationship; the girl, like him, walked around with her head in the clouds, as her university colleagues or friends seemed to notice more than once. But in her case it was easier to hide, after all, she didn't have a million eyes on her like Lando did.

When Lando entered his private area in the Mclaren garage, he immediately noticed his parents, sisters and brother, who were smiling at him from ear to ear. The entire Norris family had a close relationship with each other, so of course everyone knew about Lando's new sweetheart, whom he had been dating with for four months.

“And there's our smiling boy!” laughed Lando's mother, hugging her son tightly. The driver laughed under his breath, hugging his family one by one, fortunately in a place where the eyes of others did not reach and they could have a moment of peace. “I'm glad you're all here,” Lando said, stroking his younger sister Flo's hair.

“How could we not be here?” asked Oliver, Lando's brother, laughing under his breath.

The atmosphere was great, however, everyone knew this question would come sooner than perhaps it should?

“Well, you know what, tell us where she is,” said Lando's dad, poking him lightly on the shoulder. “You're laughing so hard, I won't believe she's not here.”

“Yes! Show us finally what brought back that smile,” said his mom, echoing her husband.

Lando felt his face heat up, but he couldn’t keep the grin from spreading. “You two don’t miss a thing, do you?” he said, shaking his head.

“We just want to meet her,” his mum said softly, eyes twinkling with warmth. “We’ve heard so much about her, and if she’s the reason our son’s been so happy lately, we’d love to say hello.”

After a moment's thought, Lando nodded. “All right. I'll bring her - but behave,” he said with nervous but excited energy.

Lando slipped stealthily out of the garage and headed for his room, which only he and a few Mclaren people had access to. Although it was a rather hidden place, [Y.N] did not complain. She could wait out the time until the race in peace, just as she could go out to Mclaren's garage and watch it there. Lando made her as comfortable as possible.

When the girl saw him, she raised her eyes and smiled warmly in his direction. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, everything is fine,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. At the same time, he forced her to get up from the soft couch. “But… there is someone who wants to meet you. My family is even dying to meet the woman of my heart.”

The girl took a deep breath and smiled. “I'd love to meet them.”

Holding hands, they returned to the hospitality. When they went inside, Lando's mother sighed quietly and immediately crossed the room to hug [Y.N]. “Oh, how nice to finally meet you,” she said, and her voice was filled with sincere warmth.

“She's beautiful,” Cisca whispered, looking at Lando. The boy only whispered a quiet “I know” and laughed under his breath.

Immediately the whole family greeted the girl, hugging her tightly and bestowing kind words on her, including telling her how happy they were that she was making Lando so happy again. And everything was somehow better. His parents and siblings were talking to the girl he'd had in his heart for several months, and everything was going smoothly. Lando was just standing off to the side, keeping his hand on her back and giving her a little kiss to make her feel better. But he was probably the most stressed one there.

Lando checked his watch, feeling the familiar pre-start jitters begin to overwhelm him. But today he felt a little better than usual.

“I have to go now,” he said reluctantly, turning to face the girl. His parents moved away to give them a moment of privacy.

“You can do it, you're amazing on the track,” she purred, placing her hands on his shoulders and gently correcting his suit.

Lando merely smiled in her direction and without hesitation placed his hand on her cheek and leaned in, pressing their lips together in a quick but tender kiss. This was not how they had imagined their first kiss, but in that moment it was their best memory and the time this kiss could have happened. Lando pulled away from [Y.N], their eyes met and they both smiled at each other, giggling under their breath.

Lando checked his watch, feeling the familiar pre-race jitters starting to creep in.

“I’ve got to go,” he said reluctantly, turning to her. His parents stepped back to give them a moment of privacy.

“Good luck out there,” she whispered, her eyes shining with pride. “You’re going to do amazing.”

Lando smiled, but there was a flicker of nerves in his eyes. “I hope so. This one’s important,” he said softly.

[Y.N] reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You’ve got this, Lando. I believe in you.”

Without thinking, Lando leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a swift, impulsive kiss. It wasn’t planned, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He pulled back, their eyes locking, and they both smiled.

“For good luck,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

And even if he came in third place after the race, it didn't bother him much. He won something better and it was an amazing woman.

HI IBIZA: Max Fewtrell stream Max knew Lando since they were kids. Both could not imagine life without the other person, they were inseparable. Even if it didn't work out for them to be Formula One drivers by their side, it didn't change anything. They were always side by side, and as soon as Max heard about Lando's new crush, he knew this was the one. Norris had never talked so seriously and eagerly about any girl before. And Max liked to tease him about it. But at the same time, he was damn happy.

The warm glow of sunset in Ibiza paints everything with a golden sheen. Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell and their group of friends held a casual live stream at their bungalow, which they rented for the whole group of friends. This stream was definitely different from their typical ones, where they played games on two different sides of the screen, but that was good too.

Everyone was more muted than at times when they were playing and shouting at each other. However, the biggest difference could be felt in Lando. He was more subdued, gently but sincerely smiling, and his eyes shone with such happiness that you could envy him.

The stream had been going on for about an hour, and the fans didn't run out of questions. They were inundated with the same questions as always, but today they had more opportunity to answer them because they weren't stressed by the background game. Lando kept getting questions about the Championship, the races, the competition and some side silliness. Until Max caught one significant comment among thousands of others. And of course he had to ask them.

Fan comment: "Lando, what brought back that smile? It's been a long time since we've seen you so happy, and of course that's great, but what's your secret?"

Max looks at Lando with a smile and winks. "Good question," he says, leaning back in his chair. "So, man, what's been making you so happy lately?"

"Oh, you know. Life has been better lately. Beautiful weather, sunshine, we have a beach house. The break from racing is good for me too, my head isn't as busy," Lando replied, playing with his hair and smiling under his breath.

Oh how he lied, how he lied to keep his bubble of happiness calm even longer.

"Really? Gee, I guess I agree with that comment, you're somehow happier lately," said Max, glancing at Lando with a teasing look. He remembered well how Lando had talked down his relationship on the stream, but he wasn't going to do the same to him. "Or maybe you've found a hobby other than Formula One?"

"Maybe," he laughed lightly under his breath, feeling the warmth inside his body. "I guess I just got old and I'm not that rebellious 20-year-old anymore "

"Oh, it's definitely old age, you name it" Max laughed and went back to looking for interesting comments, leaving the matter of Lando's happiness. He wanted his friend to still have peace from prying eyes.

After the stream was over, everyone went their separate ways. Some decided to have a bonfire, but Lando felt he needed the solitude. He walked out to the beach, which they had right outside the gate of their cottage, and felt the cooler evening wind brush his face. He smiled under his breath when he saw [Y.N] by the shore. It wasn't a smile that the cameras could see; he reserved this one for her alone.

The girl was wearing a white loose dress that swayed gently in the wind, and her hair was tousled by the wind. It wasn't a moment before she heard him and gently turned toward him, giving him a beautiful smile. "Have you finished the stream yet?"

"It's been a while now," Lando stepped closer, feeling the sand under his feet surround him pleasantly. "I had to get away from the chaos. And the fans are getting curious, they asked what secret I have"

Girl raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Secret? What secret?"

Lando smiles mischievously and walks closer. "That I'm the happiest I've been in years." - he says in a quiet but sincere voice.

[Y.N] smiles, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Without another word, she steps into his arms, and Lando doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close. They stand there for a moment, just the two of them, the sound of the waves crashing in the background. Lando takes a deep breath and places a kiss on her hair, pulling her even closer to him. It was the peace he had needed for a long time

FIRST CHRISMTAS: [Y.N] Lando and [Y.N] had been together for almost half a year. Their lives were filled with happiness that neither of them had ever experienced before. From the first day, they understood each other like two peas in a pod, and that's how it stayed. That's why she was surprised by how happy Lando was.

The couple in love are together in the kitchen, with the countertop in front of them strewn with flour and other ingredients for making gingerbread cookies. [Y.N] is wearing one of Lando's voluminous sweaters and humming a Christmas carol, pacing next to the countertop. Lando, on the other hand, dressed in his loose Mclaren T-shirt and Christmas pajama pants, is trying to roll out the dough, but it's not going well. His hands are covered in flour and the dough keeps sticking to the rolling pin. Well, it's easier to say that his whole body is covered in flour.

"Do you need help, chef?" - asks [Y.N], leaning against the countertop and looking at him with an amused smile.

Lando raises his gaze, feigning impatience. "It's harder than it looks, sure?" - He laughs, combing his flour-dusted hair with his hand. "I thought baking was supposed to be easy."

"It's easy, you just have some manual problems," the girl laughs and moves to his side, gently taking the rolling pin from his hands. "Here, let me," she says, guiding him to the side. Their fingers brush as she takes over, a soft, tender moment.

"Sure, my baking queen," the boy laughs, looking at her with adoration.

"You could do the icing." the girl says, pointing to the already made gingerbread cookies.

Lando's eyes brighten, his smile widening. "Icing, huh? That's sounds better." He grabs a piping bag and starts filling it, but as he attempts to pipe a simple design, it all goes horribly wrong.

“Lando!” she laughs, her eyes crinkling with amusement. The icing has spilled everywhere.

He looks down at his hands, dripping with icing. “Well, that’s not what I had in mind…” He shrugs sheepishly.

“You’re adorable when you try, you know that?” She leans in and wipes a bit of icing from his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin.

“And you’re just adorable,” he says, moving closer to her.

Lando’s hands quickly find their place on her waist, and his face is twisted into a genuine big smile. They both giggle, putting the matter of the cookies aside.

“What brought that smile again, huh?” the girl asks, touching his lips, which is also dirty with icing.

“You,” he says simply, and his voice carries a quiet sincerity that makes her heart skip a beat. "It was always you"

For a moment, they both stand in silence, the hum of the Christmas music in the background, the quiet crackling of the small fire in the corner of the livingroom adding to the coziness of the apartment. It’s a peaceful stillness, the kind that only exists between two people who’ve found something real.

A/N: i know it's no nut november and this should be smut but i swear when i had a vision i had to write this. i hope you like it because i won't lie, i fucking love it!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[chryso-poeia]

According to the norm, with everything i’ve been through, i should be in a psych ward, but i let that darkness alchemize me into the light. I know that the most agonizing moments carry the potential for the deepest learning. I know that we all share these feelings and emotions, i know that when i acknowledge another one’s pain, both are transcended in connection through compassion.

I know that darkness is a guide, not an external enemy. I know that despite everything, something in me refuses to give up or back up, because i know how good life can be. I know how delicious it can be. I know how profound it can be when you strip all the bullshit off and truly experience it. I live my life like this.. ”wasting time in ways i enjoy”. I will never let anyone or anything tell me how i can or cannot be or what i can or cannot do. The process is excrutiating at times but i hold onto unified unconditional love. The duality of the symbols of the dove and the phoenix and their interplay.

[won4kiss]

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────I’LL WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE.

(🧺) ── 𝓙EONG JAEHYUN﹙정재현﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ f2l ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ kissing ៸ lovesick jae❞ best friend! jaehyun x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 2.7K ꒱ SYPNoSiS 𐙚 year by year, moment by moment, growing up with jaehyun has led to the love you’ve been waiting for all along .ᐟ ── LiBRARY

─2005

THE FIRST TIME YOU MEET JEONG JAEHYUN,

you’re both eight years old, and it’s the last day of second grade—it’s one of those annoyingly hot afternoons where the sun is brighter than ever, stretching shadows across the playground.

you’re sitting on the swings, your feet barely brushing the sand, when you notice a boy standing nearby, hesitating, as if unsure whether to approach.

he’s holding a small toy in his hands, a little red car with chipped paint, and he’s staring at it with a furrowed brow.

he finally looks up and meets your gaze, and there’s something curious and open in his eyes.

“hi,” he says, his voice nervous but steady. “i’m jaehyun.”

you tilt your head, watching him, and he gestures to the empty swing beside you. “can i sit?” ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

you nod, and he sits down, gripping the rusty chains of the swing and kicking his feet off the ground in a way that feels awkward, like he’s too big for it already.

for a while, the two of you just sit, listening to the squeak of the swings and the lively chatter of the kids around you.

“i like the swings,” he finally says, his voice quiet. “it feels like i’m flying, like superman.”

you smile, feeling an instant connection to this boy with his shy smile and big dreams. “me too, but batman’s better than superman.”

from that day on, jaehyun becomes a constant in your life.

every day after school, he finds you on the playground, and together, you make up games, share secrets, and talk about everything from your favorite snacks to the names you’d give your future pets.

he tells you he wants to be a singer someday, his face lighting up with excitement, and you tell him that you think he’ll be amazing at it.

─2010

MIDDLE SCHOOL ARRIVES, BRINGING A LOAD OF CHANGE.

suddenly, jaehyun is taller, his voice has deepened, and he’s taken up basketball.

you notice the way people seem to watch him now, like he’s someone worth paying attention to.

but even though he’s growing into himself, becoming the kind of boy who can light up a room, he’s still your best friend.

one autumn afternoon, the two of you are sitting on the grass behind the school, sharing a pack of chips after practice.

the leaves are a vibrant mix of orange and red around you, and the air is crisp, the kind that makes you feel alive.

as you talk, he reaches over and plucks a small wildflower growing in the grass, examining it with a thoughtful expression—without a word, he hands it to you, his cheeks turning pink.

“it reminded me of you,” he says, a little shyly. “small but… strong.”

you take the flower, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest that you can’t quite place your finger on.

you press it between the pages of your notebook that night, letting it dry as a quiet reminder of that moment, a memory of a shift between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

─2014

BY HIGH SCHOOL, JAEHYUN IS SOMEONE EVERYONE NOTICES.

he’s joined the basketball team and fills out his uniform in a way that turns heads—girls pass him notes in class, and he’s always surrounded by people who want to be near him, to bask in his warmth.

but even with all the attention, he never changes around you.

he’s still the boy who waits for you outside your classroom, who finds you in the crowded hallways with an easy smile.

one friday night, there’s a big party, and he convinces you to go with him—the house is filled with people, the music loud and the lights dim.

you feel a little out of place, but jaehyun stays by your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as he introduces you to his friends, laughing and making sure you’re comfortable.

at some point, the noise becomes too much, and you slip outside for a moment to catch your breath.

you’re leaning against the porch railing, looking up at the stars, when you hear footsteps behind you.

“hey,” jaehyun’s voice is soft, and he’s smiling as he joins you, leaning beside you on the railing. “you okay?”

you nod, grateful for the quiet moment away from the crowd. “just needed some air.”

he watches you, his gaze warm. “thanks for coming with me. i know parties aren’t really your thing.”

his words make you feel seen in a way that goes deeper than friendship, and you wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in the stillness.

for a moment, you’re both quiet, the night stretching around you, and you feel a longing settle deep in your chest—a quiet, insistent feeling that you’re almost afraid to acknowledge.

─2016

SENIOR YEAR IS A BITTERSWEET TIME.

the two of you are talking about colleges, dreams, and the future—you’ve applied to different universities, and the thought of not seeing jaehyun every day makes your heart ache.

one afternoon, you’re sitting in the school gym, watching as he practices with the basketball team.

he’s focused, his movements graceful and sure, and you find yourself lost in the sight of him—when practice ends, he jogs over, grinning, his hair damp with sweat.

“thanks for waiting,” he says, a little breathless, he tosses his towel over his shoulder, his smile softening as he looks at you.

“can we go somewhere?” he asks after a moment, his voice quiet.

there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you rarely see, and you nod, letting him lead you outside.

you end up at the park, the same one where you met years ago.

sitting on the swings, just like you did when you were kids, there’s a feeling of nostalgia between you, a sense that something is ending.

“i’m going to miss this,” he murmurs, his voice soft. he looks at you, his eyes reflecting the sadness in your own.

for a moment, you feel a surge of courage, the desire to tell him everything that’s been building in your heart over the years.

but the words catch in your throat, and instead, you reach over, slipping your hand into his.

“me too,” you whisper.

─2018

UNIVERSITY IS A STRANGE AND LONELY PLACE WITHOUT JAEHYUN.

you both try to stay in touch, texting and calling when you can, but the distance is hard, the busy schedules and new friendships creating gaps that you can’t always bridge.

but you still make time for each other, clinging to the friendship that has been your constant for so long.

one weekend, he comes to visit you—the moment you see him standing outside your dorm, that familiar, warm smile lighting up his face, it feels like coming home.

you spend the day exploring the city, eating at food stalls, wandering through bookstores, laughing and talking like no time has passed at all.

that night, you’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

jaehyun is beside you, his breathing steady and soft—you can feel the warmth of his body, the comfort of his presence, and you wonder if he knows how much he means to you.

in the quiet darkness, he reaches over, his hand finding yours. “you’re still my favorite person,” he whispers, his voice carrying a vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

you squeeze his hand, the words catching in your throat. “you’re mine too, jaehyun.”

─2021

NOW TWENTY-FOUR,

you’re both navigating the chaos of post-college life, juggling work, bills, and responsibilities.

jaehyun’s career is taking off, his life filled with new challenges, new dreams.

and though your paths have diverged, you still find time for each other, the bond between you as strong as ever.

one evening, he shows up at your apartment, looking exhausted and worn, the weight of his schedule pressing heavily on his shoulders.

without a word, you pull him inside, letting him sink onto the couch.

you make him tea, sitting beside him as he sips it slowly, his eyes closed in relief. “thanks for this,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “i just… needed a break.”

you reach over, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to do everything alone, jaehyun. i’m here.”

his eyes open, meeting yours, and there’s something deep and raw in his gaze, a quiet acknowledgment of everything you’ve shared over the years.

he reaches for your hand, holding it tightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that feels intimate, grounding.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

and in that moment, you know that no matter where life takes you, he’ll always be a part of your story.

─2023

NOW AT TWENTY-SIX,

you’re both a little older, a little wiser, but still tethered by that bond that has carried you through every stage of life.

you’ve shared dreams, heartaches, and countless memories, and through it all, your feelings for jaehyun have only grown, a quiet love that’s been there all along.

one summer evening, you’re at his apartment, cooking dinner together.

the kitchen is a mess, there’s sauce spilled on the counter, the scent of garlic filling the air.

you’re laughing, both of you a little tipsy, the warmth of the wine making you feel bold.

as you sit down to eat, jaehyun looks at you, his expression serious, his gaze soft and steady.

“there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you, i’ve been putting it off for about a decade though,” he says jokingly, but you could hear the weight behind his words.

your heart skips a beat, and you meet his gaze, feeling the seriousness of the mood.

“i think… i think i’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he confesses, his voice trembling anxiously. “i didn’t know how to tell you, or even if i should. but i can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

tears fill your eyes as you reach for his hand, your fingers entwining. “i’ve been waiting for you to say that for so so long,” you whisper, your voice heavy with emotion. “i love you too, jaehyun.”

in that moment, every doubt, every fear melts away, leaving only the truth that’s been there all along—he’s the love you’ve been waiting for.

and as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, you know that you’ve finally made it where you were always meant to be.

─PRESENT DAY

NOW, LYING BESIDE JAEHYUN IN THE EARLY MORNING LIGHT,

you feel the quiet peace that comes from being right where you’re meant to be.

the sunlight filters softly through the blinds, gentle rays fill the room and paints jaehyun’s face in warm, golden light.

his arm is draped over your waist, and you can feel his slow, steady breathing, his warmth seeping into you as he stirs slightly, eyes fluttering open.

he blinks, looking at you with a sleepy smile, the kind that’s just for you, a little private thing that makes your heart swell.

his hair is tousled, his face soft with sleep, and you can’t help but reach up, brushing a strand away from his forehead.

“morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick and a little raspy, but filled with a tenderness that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“morning,” you reply, your voice just as soft.

for a moment, you both lie there in comfortable silence, simply watching each other, basking in the warmth of the morning and the quiet intimacy that fills the room.

jaehyun lifts his hand, gently running his thumb over your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours.

“what’s on your mind?” he asks quietly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

you smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you, a joy that’s almost too big for words. “you,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up, even after all these years of knowing him.

his smile widens, a small chuckle escaping as he leans closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss that feels like a promise.

he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with that familiar, deep affection that has only grown with time.

“i really like that answer,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle murmur that echoes the countless quiet moments you’ve shared over the years.

as you lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you think of everything you’ve been through, every stage of life you’ve faced side by side.

from playgrounds to high school hallways, from late-night calls in college to quiet evenings in the kitchen, your lives have been woven together in a bundle of shared moments, small joys, and unspoken promises.

jaehyun sighs, a contented, happy sound as he pulls you closer, his hand trailing up and down your back in a slow, comforting rhythm.

“i don’t think i ever told you this,” he says, his voice a quiet murmur. “but there was always something about you… from the very beginning. even as kids, i knew that you were going to be someone special to me. someone i couldn’t live without.”

you smile, feeling a lump form in your throat as his words sink in—you reach up, cupping his cheek, brushing your thumb along his jawline.

“i think i always knew, too,” you say softly. “you’ve been my best friend, my constant… and now my love.”

a warmth blooms between you, filling the room with a quiet kind of joy that feels both old and new, a love that’s grown through years of friendship and shared memories.

jaehyun presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he whispers, “thank you for waiting for me. for always being there.”

you close your eyes, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with a happiness that feels almost overwhelming.

“you were worth the wait, jaehyun,” you murmur, feeling the truth of those words settle around you like a warm blanket.

the two of you stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, letting the quiet morning stretch around you.

it’s a moment that feels suspended in time, a snapshot of a love that’s been years in the making, built on a foundation of trust and friendship.

eventually, he shifts, pulling you closer, his gaze soft as he studies your face.

“what do you say we make breakfast?” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

you laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at the familiar suggestion. “as long as you don’t burn the food this time,” you tease, poking his side.

jaehyun grins, a playful light in his eyes as he sits up, pulling you with him. “no promises,” he says, his laughter filling the room as he pulls you out of bed and leads you to the kitchen, your hands still intertwined.

as you sit down together, sharing a simple breakfast, you realize that this—these quiet, everyday moments—are the ones you’ll cherish the most.

because after all the years of waiting, all the moments of longing and uncertainty, you’ve finally found your way to each other after all your years of knowing him.

jaehyun reaches across the table, his hand finding yours, his fingers warm and steady around yours.

he looks at you, his eyes filled with a quiet, enduring love that speaks of all the years you’ve shared, all the small moments that have led you here.

and in that moment, with his hand in yours and his smile lighting up the room, you know that every second of waiting was worth it.

every second of waiting for his love was worth it.

© WON4KISS 2024 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. i genuinely enjoyed writing this sm !! i miss my husband already guys this is so horrendous T-T i was listening to we can’t be friends string ver while writing this i’m literally sobbing ☹️

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[depravitycentral]

yandere, 18+

I know I write about this kind of stuff a lot, but there’s just something about men humping inanimate objects that just really gets to me.

It’s the desperation that they can't control. It's the physical urge to move, to feel something underneath them, their body physically unable to stop itself from fucking something. It's the way their hips snap and buck and jolt all without them meaning it, their body betraying them on the most primal level because their subconscious is recognizing that they need something warm and soft and oh so pretty to sink into, to rut against until he's smearing pearls of white against soft, supple skin. It's the uncontrollable need to hump themselves against you, really.

Fucking their fist and mechanically bringing their wrist up and down again and again until cum oozes from the tip is fine and dandy, but they need more. They need the full immersion of the fantasy of fucking you, their brain needing the mental images and the physical motions of thrusting, pretending with every fiber of their being that its your warm, wet cunt sucking them in, the velvety feel of your walls leaving phantom touches against his skin.

(Some of them even go so far as to scratch at their own back, eyes rolling to the back of their head imagining that it’s you leaving your mark on him, that it’s your nails digging into his skin and digging into him, making him yours yours yours. They'll pinch at their own nipples, press fingertips hard against their biceps, even wrap a hand around his neck hard enough to leave the area red and irritated just to simulate the way that you'd touch him.)

Pillows, cushions, blankets, anything soft that could be a poor stand-in for your body is fine. Anything that he can clutch onto, that he can press his hips against tightly enough to be suffocating, something that can mold to the shape of him just as you would - all just to really feel like he’s got every single inch stuffed inside of you, giving everything he possibly can to you.

Even hard things will do in a pinch - perhaps the cover of a book you love and cherish, the texture of the binding leaving a slightly painful sting behind that blends into the pleasure and makes his eyes roll back. (Will you still smell the pages and sigh at that old-book smell, or will you perhaps notice the new presence of something slightly musky, slightly heavy, unexplainably male?) Your hairbrush - rutting against the handle he knows you’ve fucked your self with, alternating between rutting against it and bringing it up to his mouth to suck on, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to taste any traces of you.

The only rule is that it has to be something of yours, or something that connects to you in some way. Your pillow, a few wayward strands of your hair sitting against the plush, feeling like heaven and making him blush when he sees the way his sticky cum has left the hairs smeared again his skin, tacky and stuck to him. (The sight makes him suck in his breath, gulping harshly as he comes down from his high, a thumb coming out to carefully, nervously brush at the hair, unable to stop himself from feeling like the sight is somehow so very right.)

It’s better when things are stained - your underwear with discharge discoloration bleaching the fabric, your favorite skirt that you accidentally stained during your period, even a particular pair of socks that you once got dirt on. It’s been used and loved by you, and now he’ll use and love it, too, even leaving his very own stain behind.

There’s just something about it that makes everything feel better, more complete, more real. Of course nothing will ever compare to actually fucking you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And of course, the pinnacle, when he really gets desperate, is when he whips out one of the many, many photographs he's taken of you. (Or, photos he'd printed out from your social media accounts because he's too shy to actually photograph you - and this is less creepy, right? Right?) He's touching it with delicate fingers, barely pinching onto the corners, laying the image down on his bed and positioning himself to be right over it. He'll take his time to trace the outline of your face with the tip, sighing and biting his lip, before the urge takes over and soon he's groaning, hips rutting against the smooth surface of the photograph - your face, really.

(The cool feeling and the twinge of pain he gets when he angles wrong and catches the edge of the photograph only makes him grit his teeth, eyes squeezing shut harder because he has to do this - he has to keep fucking, to keep pushing himself because he needs to come for you, you deserve and he wants to give it to you so badly and oh oh oh - The photograph of you smiling is almost prettier with globs of his cum staining your pearly teeth and the apples of your cheeks.)

It's just so depraved, but they can't help it - they just want you so badly that they can't help it.

(In particular I'm thinking of the chronic humpers - Kageyama, who gets so, so whiny, his voice going high and pitchy and his face turning a bright pink color as his abs clench and flex, each drag of his hips making his arms shake even more, sweat beading at his temple leaving his dark hair matted to his forehead.

Or Sugawara, who tends to lay onto his back, humping at the pillow from underneath, pressing the cotton so hard against his pelvis that his biceps are taut, back arching and Adam's Apple bobbing as he chants yes yes yes under his breath, one hand even coming up to blindly grope and squeeze at the air where he imagines your bouncing tits to be.

Or Giyuu, who's thrusts start out slow, hesitant, embarrassed, as if he can't believe he's been reduced to his, worried to sully your good name. But then his hips get faster and he's burying his face into the crook of his elbow, whispering out a stuttered, broken p-please accompanied by your name as he cum seeps into the pillow material.

Or Tomura, who has all the fancy sex toys in the world that he's found on the deepest, most questionable parts of the internet, but finds that nothing is a good stand in aside from your pillow. He starts off animalistic, mounting the pillow and smacking at it, imagining the way your pretty ass would bounce back and ripple at the motion. But then his orgasm draws closer and the thrusts get deeper, more meaningful, like he's trying to reach as deeply inside of you as possible, and his grip is almost unbearably tight as his orgasm washes over him, hips quivering and twitching as he imagines the way you'd clutch onto him and thank him.

Or Feitan, who's biting into the pillow as he cock drags against it, teeth bared and practically snarling into the (stained) cotton, dark eyes squeezed shut as he tries so very hard to not whine your name.

Or even, on very, very specific occasions, Chrollo, whose sense of dignity flies out the window when you deny his romantic advances once again. You're just playing so very hard to get, and while he's invested into the game for the long run, he's still just a man - and the image of you spread out underneath him, wearing lacy, angelic lingerie and spreading those creamy, supple thighs of yours is enough to drive him mad.

It's just pathetic enough to be sweet, really, and although you aren't exactly flattered when you walk in on him heatedly grunting your name with the pillow tightly clutched between his thighs, just know he's doing it for you. Everything he does is for you.

[remyousa]

I have been in touch with a close friend of mine who works in rather high security data management, whose identity and specific job title they would prefer not to be disclosed, but this is their advice on best practices for a redundant archive system. Per their words: "External hard drives are good, easy to budget for, can be encrypted, and are effectively air-gapped w.r.t. security (they're only vulnerable when actually connected, which you don't necessarily need most of the time). They're not the most reliable medium though, and you run the risk of losing everything due to mechanical failure if they're in regular use or travel.

The completely other end of the spectrum is something like Amazon S3 - it can be encrypted, but is effectively always-connected, so you have to do all the security yourself (which can be a bit of a burden if you're not really technically savvy - honestly, I'm not savvy enough to understand all the ins-and-outs of that one). It's also a subscription service, so you run the risk of losing everything if you don't/can't pay your bill (though it's not expensive, per se, it's still an imperfectly predictable cost and will tend to be more than the cost of buying a hard drive of equivalent size after about a year).

What I've taken to doing, with my own data (which I don't expect to be raided or whatnot, but using my knowledge of archives to drive my own backup policy), is the following:

Keep one copy as the primary archive. For me, this is on my desktop, but could easily be a laptop, external drive (if that's your primary copy), or whatever.

Keep a second copy, that you replicate from the primary regularly, as a backup. For me, this is a linux server that I keep in my basement. It's basically good for "Ooops, I deleted that thing and want it back" or easy sharing from one computer to another. You can set this one up as your "share" space for others to access if you want, or it could be your "whenever the external drive comes back to me, I make a second copy" that you keep on-hand.

Keep a third copy, that you keep off-site. For me, this is an external drive that I keep in my office at work. I replicate from my backup copy to the external drive about 2-3 times a year. If the house burns down, I'll still have (a maybe older) copy of all my data. I wouldn't recommend burying this one in the woods or anything, but something where you've got a synched copy physically separated is key.

If you're doing this only with external drives, each of these would be separate drives:

1 for you to have on-hand as the "full" archive of what you're trying to save.

1 that gets shipped around, and may get dinged up, but is the primary "share" archive.

1 that your most trusted person has at their house, your studio/office, etc.

If you're doing this with servers, you might have something like:

Your laptop where you keep everything organized

A web site, server, AWS S3 bucket, or whatever for folks to access

An external drive where you back stuff up and keep wherever makes sense.

SSDs travel better, but degrade each time they're written to. HDDs are more reliable long-term, but tend to have mechanical failures if they get bounced around. If I were setting this up using only drives, I would make the "share" drive SSD and expect to replace it more often, but the 3rd copy I would make an HDD.

A good rule of thumb is: 3 copies 2 media types 1 copy off-site."

If you haven’t started already, start archiving/downloading everything. Save it to an external hard drive if you’re able. Collecting physical media is also a good idea, if you’re able.

Download your own/your favorite fanfics. Save as much as you can from online sources/digital libraries. Recipes, tutorials, history, LGBTQ media, etc. It has been claimed, though I can’t find the exact source if true, that some materials about the Revolutionary War were deleted from the Library of Congress.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry and save and preserve what you can. Remember that cloud storage also is not always reliable!

Library of Congress - millions of books, films and video, audio recordings, photographs, newspapers, maps, manuscripts.

Internet Archive - millions of free texts, movies, software, music, websites, and more. Has been taken offline multiple times because of cyber attacks last month, it has recently started archiving again.

Anna's Archive - 'largest truly open library in human history.’

Queer Liberation Library - queer literature and resources. Does require applying for a library membership to browse and borrow from their collection.

List of art resources - list of art resources complied on tumblr back in 2019. Not sure if all links are still operational now, but the few I clicked on seemed to work.

Alexis Amber - TikToker who is an archivist who's whole page is about archiving. She has a database extensively recording the events of Hurricane Katrina.

I'll be adding more to this list, if anyone else wants to add anything feel free!

[bestofmultiverse]

Between the pages || 2

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

" I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. "

- J.D. Salinger, The catcher in the rye

Part 1

Y/N blinked, trying to get her bearings in the soft morning light streaming into her bedroom. She wasn’t on the sofa anymore, and she certainly hadn’t fallen asleep in her bed last night. But here she was, tucked neatly under her comforter, and beside her, separated by a few pillows, lay Aubrey. She was asleep, her face softened by rest, her features even more striking in the early morning calm.

A smile crept across Y/N’s face as she studied Aubrey’s peaceful expression. She was undeniably beautiful—not just beautiful for her age, but in a way that felt timeless and grounded. It made Y/N’s stomach flutter, and a slight pang of insecurity hit her; Aubrey was everything Y/N admired—confident, talented, and effortlessly alluring.

Feeling her heart race at the thought of Aubrey waking up to see her staring, Y/N slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, padding to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she returned, she busied herself in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. The faint hum of the radio kept her company as she toasted bread and scrambled eggs, relishing the simple, cozy act.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice murmured, soft and sleepy, breaking Y/N out of her thoughts.

Y/N turned, catching sight of Aubrey leaning against the doorway, her hair still mussed from sleep. She looked comfortable, yet somehow effortlessly poised, even in Y/N’s small kitchen. Y/N blushed, realizing how close they were.

“Good morning! Do you want something to drink?” Y/N asked, smiling. “I don’t really drink coffee, but I can go grab you some from the café around the corner if you’d like.”

Aubrey’s lips curved into a warm smile. “No need, this is perfect. I’m just happy to be here.” She stepped closer, glancing at the plates Y/N was setting up.

“So… not to rush you out, but I have a mountain of work today,” Y/N said with a small, guilty grin. “You’re welcome to stay, but just a heads-up—I might be a little boring.”

Aubrey laughed, her expression softening. “That’s okay, I get it. I have some things to get to anyway.” She hesitated, then continued, “But… I’d love to see you again, if you’d like that.”

Y/N’s face lit up, her smile wide and genuine. “I’d love that too.”

From then on, their connection only grew. They read together, taking turns with books y/n recommended, and spent hours talking about everything from their childhood dreams to favorite movies. After their third date—a late-night visit to a bookstore followed by a stroll through a quiet park—Aubrey walked Y/N home. They held hands, a shared warmth between them, and when they reached Y/N’s door, Aubrey leaned in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to her lips. It was careful, as if reading Y/N’s shyness and matching it with tenderness.

As the days turned into weeks, they grew more comfortable, falling into each other’s lives seamlessly. Aubrey was patient, taking her time to get to know Y/N. She made Y/N feel safe, and Y/N adored every minute they spent together. Soon, they were FaceTiming in between meetings, texting about little things that made them think of each other, and finding moments to be together whenever they could.

When they finally crossed that last boundary, sharing their first night together, it was both gentle and passionate. They communicated, both eager yet considerate, learning each other’s wants and needs. Aubrey’s natural confidence took over, her assertiveness balanced by her desire to make Y/N feel loved and respected. Y/N, in turn, was just as attentive, savoring every moment with Aubrey, discovering a balance between playful and deeply intimate.

Two months into their relationship, it wasn’t just the two of them who noticed how special their connection was. After a dinner date, a paparazzi photographer managed to capture a candid shot of them leaving the restaurant hand in hand. By morning, the image was everywhere, spreading faster than Y/N could have imagined.

Aubrey’s publicist called with the news, explaining that the story had already taken off. Y/N knew Aubrey was a public figure, but she hadn’t expected their private moments to become public conversation so suddenly. Their little bubble was shattered, and suddenly her face was online, next to Aubrey’s in articles and tabloid stories speculating about their relationship.

The attention was overwhelming. Y/N’s friends started teasing her about dating “the Aubrey Plaza,” while her family’s reaction was more complicated. They had always known she was queer, but the age difference gave them pause, making them wonder if Y/N was really ready for such a serious relationship.

As the media frenzy grew, it was hard for Y/N to brush off the harsh comments online—insinuations about why Aubrey would date someone younger, or assumptions about Y/N’s motives. It felt as if the world was intruding into their private life, prying apart the joy they had found together.

But Aubrey was her anchor through it all. Late one evening, after Y/N shared how overwhelmed she felt, Aubrey wrapped her arms around her and whispered, “Forget them. I know who you are, and you know who I am. The rest… it doesn’t matter.”

They held each other close that night, letting the world outside fade, finding comfort in each other’s presence. And as they lay there, Y/N knew that, no matter the scrutiny, what she shared with Aubrey was real, something worth fighting for—even if they’d have to face the world together, one step at a time.

As days went on, the intensity of the media attention didn’t exactly die down, but Y/N and Aubrey learned to adjust. Aubrey handled it with practiced ease, guiding Y/N with little tips on how to ignore the comments and dodge prying eyes. Despite the pressure, they found solace in each other, learning to carve out quiet moments that felt like their own little world.

One evening, they decided to stay in for a movie night at Y/N’s apartment. Y/N had loaded up a few of Aubrey’s favorite old films, trying her best to make it feel special—a few candles, some popcorn, and a cozy blanket they could share.

“You know,” Aubrey said, settling down next to Y/N, “I don’t think I’ve had a better night in ages.” She glanced around, smiling at the thoughtful touches Y/N had put together. “You really went all out.”

Y/N blushed, nudging her playfully. “It’s just popcorn and candles. Hardly a red carpet.”

Aubrey smirked, tilting her head. “It’s the thought, and you, that make it perfect.” She reached for Y/N’s hand, entwining their fingers, and squeezed gently.

As the movie started, they fell into a comfortable silence, Y/N nestled into Aubrey’s side. The world outside felt far away, reduced to nothing more than the faint city hum in the distance. Halfway through the film, Aubrey leaned over and softly kissed Y/N’s forehead, her lips lingering just a little longer than usual. Y/N looked up, her heart skipping as she met Aubrey’s gentle gaze.

“Thank you for sticking with me through all of this,” Aubrey murmured, tucking a loose strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear.

Y/N’s hand found its way to Aubrey’s cheek, tracing the soft lines of her face. “I’m not going anywhere. I knew this might be hard, but… you’re worth it.” She offered a small, reassuring smile. “And I’m learning. I mean, I’ve got the best teacher.”

Aubrey chuckled, pulling Y/N closer. “Flattery will get you everywhere, just so you know.”

They spent the rest of the night laughing, sharing stories, and talking about the little things they hadn’t yet told each other. Y/N felt a kind of warmth she hadn’t felt before—a love that was both grounding and freeing, as if Aubrey had opened up parts of herself she didn’t know existed.

A few weeks later, they decided to spend a weekend out of the city, heading to a secluded cabin by the lake. Aubrey had rented it on a whim, sensing that they both needed a little time to breathe away from the constant hum of the city.

On their first morning there, Y/N woke up to the smell of coffee and soft music playing. She wandered out to find Aubrey on the deck, wrapped in a flannel blanket with two mugs steaming in her hands. The sun was just rising, casting a soft pink glow over the lake.

Aubrey turned when she heard Y/N approach, her eyes lighting up. “Morning, sleepyhead. Thought you’d like to join me for the sunrise.” She handed Y/N a mug of tea, remembering she didn’t drink coffee.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb slowly above the horizon, casting a shimmering path across the water. It was quiet, almost surreal, and Y/N felt the weight of everything slip away, replaced with the calm of being completely at peace in the moment.

After a while, Aubrey shifted, turning toward Y/N. “You know,” she said softly, “this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Y/N looked at her, her heart swelling at the sincerity in Aubrey’s eyes. “I feel the same way,” she whispered. Then, unable to resist, she leaned in, capturing Aubrey’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

As they pulled away, Aubrey grinned, her eyes shining with something close to wonder. “I don’t care about the noise, Y/N. As long as I have you, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Y/n beamed at her

"So, what are we reading today?" Aubrey asked after a few seconds of comfortable silence

"I thought maybe 'the catcher in the rye, its a classic"

Aubrey nodded before pulling the younger woman into another soft kiss.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other and the quiet beauty of the morning, with their book and hot drinks, feeling as if, just for that moment, they were the only two people in the world.

_____

Just a quick note:

i dont really think itll be a series, maybe a bunch of chapters that might actually work as a full story or at least the same like universe, but im not sure if ill continue to write it regularly or not so just an heads up.

Also im in love with Aubrey plaza.

[willowsnook]

He isn't you

salami, swiss cheese, and white bread please <3

joe burrow x gf!reader

he isn't you

The easiest thing about dating Joe Burrow was that he wasn’t the possessive type. Some girls liked that in a partner, but you found it suffocating. You didn’t need him to mark his territory; your connection was clear without that.

This dynamic was perfect for your busy life as an ESPN reporter. Covering college football meant you were often on the road, but Joe was fully supportive. When you were both home, you made time for each other, and when you weren’t, you checked in often enough.

One quiet morning, you felt Joe wrap his arms around you from behind as you cooked scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mumbled sleepily.

You turned to smile at him, giving him a quick kiss. “Hi, Joey.”

He grabbed coffee for both of you. “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked.

“We have a new guy filling in this week,” you explained. “So, a longer prep session.”

“Someone you know?”

“No, he’s from a smaller affiliate, so we haven’t crossed paths.”

After breakfast, you kissed Joe on the cheek, grabbed your coffee, and headed out the door to the ESPN office. There, you were set to meet the new colleague, Harrison.

Outside, you spotted a man with curly brown hair and green eyes waiting by the door. “Are you Harrison?” you asked, shaking his hand as he smiled warmly.

“Yes, nice to meet you!” he replied cheerfully.

The day flew by. Harrison was easygoing, and you enjoyed discovering you had mutual friends and had even attended rival high schools. That evening, you told Joe all about your day and your new colleague.

“...I’m looking forward to working with him this weekend,” you finished, noticing Joe’s slight frown as he poked at his food.

“Awesome,” he murmured, not meeting your eyes.

“Are you okay?” you asked, sensing his mood shift.

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Was practice hard today?” You asked, taking another bite of your dinner. 

“A little,” he said, subconsciously digging into his shoulder muscle. 

“Let me give you a massage after we clean up then,” you offered and he smirked. “Just to help you relax.”

“I can think of another way you can help me relax,” he flirted, and you rolled your eyes and laughed.

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

The next Monday, Joe was not happy as he scrolled through his Twitter feed, having been tagged in tons of tweets about you and your colleague Harrison. 

“User1: Wow, the chemistry between Y/N and the new guy is unreal. Are we intruding?” “User2: Wonder how Joe Burrow feels watching his girlfriend get ‘rizzed’ on national TV.” “User3: Joe took two Ls this weekend: losing to the Eagles and seeing his girl flirting with her colleague on air.”

Joe knew you hadn’t meant anything by it, but watching those clips felt like a punch to the chest. He decided he’d stay out for the night, texting you that he was still with the team and might crash at Ja’Marr’s. You frowned, confused, knowing he’d been home just an hour earlier. His texts had been scarce all weekend, and his silence stung.

Y/N: Is something wrong? Are you mad at me? JB: It’s fine.

Something was definitely off, but he wasn’t ready to talk. Trying to shake off your worry, you settled in for the night alone.

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

The next morning, you buried yourself in work to distract from Joe’s cold shoulder. Harrison popped by your office, noticing your downcast expression.

“Everything okay?” he asked, taking a seat across from you.

“Joe’s mad at me, but he won’t say why,” you sighed, recounting the strange tension between you and Joe.

Just then, Joe appeared at your door, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Harrison. As you introduced them, Joe’s handshake was noticeably firm, and Harrison shot you a wide-eyed look.

You looked from him to Harrison, and it all was finally clicking in place, which instantly made you giggle. 

You smiled sweetly at Joe. “Oh, I was just telling Harrison that it’d be nice to have him and his partner David over for dinner sometime.”

Joe’s hand went slack, his surprise evident. “Yeah... that’d be great,” he stammered, dropping Harrison’s hand, relief settling over him.

The tension dissolved, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as Joe’s jealousy melted away, leaving him sheepish.

After Harrison left, Joe lingered around you in the office, quieter than usual but clearly wanting to say something. You leaned against the desk, watching him nervously run a hand through his hair.

Finally, he sighed. “Look, I know it’s stupid, but seeing you with him… I couldn’t help it. Watching people online talk about how good you two looked together…” He trailed off, his expression softening as he took your hands in his.

“Joe,” you said gently, squeezing his hands, “I like Harrison as a colleague, and he’s a great guy, but he isn’t you. No one could be.”

He smiled then, a hint of his usual confidence returning as he finally seemed to believe it.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re the one I come home to,” you murmured. “The only one.”

He pulled you in tightly, his voice quiet as he admitted, “I know. I just… needed to hear it.”

With the last bit of tension fading away, you leaned up, pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips. He wasn’t possessive by nature, but every now and then, a reminder didn’t hurt. And maybe you didn’t mind giving him one.

[mrchiipchrome]

Girlfriends?

W.C. - 5.7 k

a/n: wonze kid is backkkkkkkkkk and with a bang.

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

Growing up in Sevilla, life was perfect. Three older brothers that encouraged your footballing ability practically from the second you took your first breath, a set of parents that pushed you to be the very best at everything, and an academy that proved to be the absolute best for your development made for a good childhood.

A quick learner by far, you had already started playing with girls twice your age when you were 10, and by age 12 (and a half) you had already started to train with the senior girls, not old enough to be allowed to play in matches. 

It was a weekly routine you had built up over the years, go train with the senior girls during the weekdays, school work completed during the afternoon, games with the girls your age on fridays, games with the U21s during the sunday afternoon. It was hectic, sure, but you were good, really good.

Some weeks you would have to skip the U21 matches in favor of tournaments with the other youth teams, which in turn gave you perhaps the best gift of your lifetime, a (by now) 5’6 brunette with the most encaptivating greenish eyes and the feistiest demeanor you’ll ever encounter.

Julia Romero, una true madridista.

Her white clad frame had been a constant in your life since you were practically too short to reach the kitchen table, as feisty as she always had been. 

That almost chaotic energy always translated onto the pitch, with creative passes and shots from distance being a regular occurrence in her game. She had your heart captured since the moment you’d first laid eyes on her.

Through the multitude of years you’d come to know each other, you had formed a special partnership both on and off the field, a connection that led to more than a few trophies for the youth national teams. 

A package deal as most would label you two as, playing for teams miles upon miles away from each other. It was funny when they (mostly parents of the other kids) would refer to you as that, a package deal. 

It was even funnier when they’d refer to you as twins, each fiery and competitive in your own rights, but knowing the hidden affections quickly developing, it just felt wrong.

The weekends you were meeting up to play against each other quickly became the highlights of your weeks, waiting patiently for the next opportunity to challenge the other. 

When, at the ripe age of 13, you both got your very own cell phones, communication became ten million times easier and in turn you became ten times more in love with the breakout madrid star. Best in Spain, Y/n/n and Juli. 

Strangely enough though, neither of you clocked the fact that you were both madly, undoubtedly, so in love with each other until that night when you both turned 14.

Julia always liked to boast about the fact that she was 10 minutes older than you, born right before midnight, whilst you were born right after midnight. 

Sitting on the hotel bed in your shared room at the under 21 Spain camp, the only players under the age of 17, you and your best friend obviously got to room together.

Right across from you sat Julia, with her normal mischievous smile, looking deeply into your eyes as the clock ticked down to midnight, anticipation filling her body more than your own. Your knees touch hers ever so slightly, you both sitting crisscrossed so that you’d be able to even fit on the bed in the first place.

“What are you going to wish for?” She asks, eyes wide in suspense, as if the answer had been something she had been waiting for since the dawn of time. Leaning back into the headboard, you look up towards the ceiling, contemplating (but not really at the same time) about what you would wish for as you blew out the lit match only minutes from now.

“Maybe a contract from Barcelona.” You tease, looking down at her unamused face, shrieking when she ‘attacks’ you, jumping onto your body and tickling your sides. “No, no, stop, stop, I won’t, I promise.” You gasp out between fits of laughter, Julia quickly retreating with a satisfied look on her face.

“Mhm, better keep that promise. I can’t stand seeing your little sad face when I beat you.” Laying down beside you, Julia starts the teasing again, the look on her face one of amusement, eyes widening as she notices the arms of the clock on the wall almost at midnight.

Watching her spring up from the bed, your eyes follow her all the way until she stops at her bag, pulling a box of matches out of the front compartment.

Pretending you weren’t just studying her entire being when she turns around, Julia makes her way back to the bed, resuming her position on the bed.

“Sit up lazy.” You roll your eyes at the playful insult slipping from her lips, begrudgingly sitting up and facing the shorter girl. 

She pulls out a match and strikes it against the match board, lighting up in the span of milliseconds before she holds it out closer to you, waiting for you to blow the flame out. It was the next best thing to a cake, with diets and all.

Actually pondering over what you would wish, only one thing comes to mind. 

Closing your eyes, you blow the flame out quickly, only one thing repeating in your mind as you do.

‘All I wish for is you, Julia.’

It puts a small smile on your lips, that much you can’t deny, and as you open your eyes you see the smile is mirrored by the girl across from you, her soft, plump lips stretching into that familiar smile you love oh so much.

“Soooo, what did you wish for?” She asks playfully, smirking at the silly smile painted on your face. 

“I don’t wish and tell Juli, those are the rules.” You make a play on the popular saying, backing away from her slowly, as if she wouldn’t notice. Her eyes narrow at you, like she knew something you didn’t.

“Oh really, that’s how it is?” She moves closer to you on the bed, knees just about touching now as she continues her interrogation, looking up at you through her painted lashes. 

“Mhm, that’s exactly how it is mi amor.” The casual nickname slips out from between your lips as she leans in closer to you, face only centimeters from your own. You see the way her eyes flick down to rest on your lips for just a second, her hands creeping onto your knees carefully, like she didn’t want to startle you.

You copy her, eyes looking down at the soft lips not too far away from yours, wanting nothing other than to just close the gap between you.

“Do it.” The faint whisper comes from the girl across from you, her lips barely parted as she speaks in that low faint tone, her eyes briefly meeting yours as they look up from your lips. Your eyes look back down at her lips, tongue peeking out to wet your lips quickly. “Kiss me.”

You don’t waste another second after that, leaning in and capturing her lips with your own. They were everything you could have hoped for and more, sweet like the candy you had shared before, with just the smallest hint of mango from the lipgloss she had put on earlier in the day. Her lips were soft like pillows and it felt like you were dreaming, in what world could she not be a figment of your imagination.

When she starts to pull away you chase after her lips, one taste of her and you were already hooked on the drug that is Julia Romero. 

“Was that what you wished for?” She asks, her hand pressing against the middle of your chest to almost stop you from catching her lips with yours again.

“Yes, you, all I wished for was you.” Julia smiles with her whole face, looking at you all sweetly like she always did, that love in her eyes stronger than ever. 

“Good, because that’s what I wished for too.” Your expression turns confused, like you couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“You wished for yourself too?” The girl has to keep herself from rolling her eyes at your stupidity, instead laying down on the bed just beside where you’re still sitting up and extending her arms out for you to crawl into.

“You’re a dumbass.” She says, laughing as you bury your face in her neck and sigh loudly, throwing your leg around her hips and pulling her entire body into yours.

“Yeah but I’m your dumbass.” Now that you knew she liked you, you would never let her go. And based on the way she laughed and hummed in agreement, you were pretty sure she liked the idea of that too.

—----------------------

The next few months go surprisingly well, with Julia coming down to visit on the weekends every month and you going up to Madrid two weeks after that. The months neither of you had time to visit, that’s when facetime was used the most. 

It hurt, not being able to see each other every day, but that was simply life. School and training started picking up again, especially as you had finally been moved up to the senior team permanently, playing in the dying minutes of games and even scoring at times.

But you knew that it would pay off, all the time spent on the pitch and away from your girlfriend, as you got to dedicate all the goals you scored to her. When you scored, the first thing you did was kiss the tape you always had around your wrist (from an old injury that still caused some pain), her name hidden beneath a layer of it, before you ran towards the camera at the corner flag to do your half of the duo celebration you’d both come up with years ago.

In reality it was just a handshake, but you did your half of it in front of the camera every time, no matter what, because you knew she was at home doing the other half.

That was until the last game of the 21/22 season, Sevilla v Barcelona. The team hadn’t lost a game the whole season, undefeated in Liga F and you wanted to break their streak. 

Definitely not because a certain someone was in the crowd, waving enthusiastically every time your eyes met as you warmed up. No, it wasn’t her. 

You wanted to impress her, not that you’d ever tell her that, seeing as you’d never hear the end of it if you did. 

Like usual, you sat on the bench for most of the game, exchanging silly faces with your girl, not even batting an eye as Barcelona hit the net one, two, three, four, five times. She was all you could focus on when you sat on the uncomfortable bench, leg bouncing up and down in anticipation for the call to get on the pitch.

“Y/l/n, it’s time, go warm up.” Your coach told you, watching with careful eyes as you started going through the motions of warming up. It was only the 65th minute, so you had plenty of time to make your mark on the game, like you wanted to.

Only a minute or two later you’re standing at the sidelines, looking back to where your girl is sitting for a bit of reassurance, the girl flashing a big smile and two equally enthusiastic thumbs up your way. Taking a big breath in, you breathe out through your mouth, holding your hands up for your teammate to slap as she makes her way off the pitch for you to enter.

“This is surely not what Barcelona have expected from Sevilla, 14 year old superstar in the making Y/n Y/l/n stepping onto the pitch, towering over her grown opponents as she takes her place in the striker position.” The commentators explain to the people watching the game online, looking on as the game restarts, the ball in Barcelona’s half. You can feel the atmosphere in the stadium, the small section of Sevilla fans cheering louder than the Barcelona fans for just a moment as you step on. 

The academy product, scoring against women twice her age most of the time, a superstar from their very own city. They had the right to be proud.

Loudest of all was your girlfriend, standing and cheering for you in one of your old Spain jerseys, as much as she did love you, there was no way that she would ever wear another team’s shirt.

The Barcelona team you were meeting was probably the most difficult team to play against, their skilled midfielders keeping the ball from you and the centerbacks keeping you from ever getting close to their goal. Still, you were nothing if not determined.

Getting the ball back to your feet, you think about all the videos you’d watched and analyzed of the opposing team, how they built up their attacks, how they closed down other teams, everything. All of it is in your head, you know them, you know how they play and you know how to use it to your advantage.

Starting your run through the middle of the pitch, the first player you encounter is Ana-Maria, her style was easy, and it was even easier to tap the ball between her open legs and push around her, continuing your run. 

The next player running towards you is a certain Aitana Bonmatí, undoubtedly one of the best players in the world and a player that’s more difficult to get through, given not only the technical skill she possesses but also the pure physicality of the shorter woman. Switching the ball onto your non-dominant foot, you quickly maneuver it to the other one, flicking the ball up in the air before taking advantage of the height difference to run around her and head the ball back down to your foot. 

Next up was Mapí Leon, a player that wouldn’t hesitate to use brute force to stop you from getting the ball in the goal, still, like Bonmati she was quite short. Running straight at her, like you predicted, she slides in to get the ball, only you’ve already chipped it straight over her outstretched legs, running to the edge of the penalty box. 

The last line of defense, Paños, the one you have the most trouble reading. The goalkeeper rushes out towards you, making herself as big as possible to be able to deflect any shot from your foot. The one thing she doesn’t realize is the fact that you have a knack for curling the ball around the keeper in the most infuriating way possible.

The whole team watches with stunned expressions as the ball travels towards the goal, landing in the bottom corner with a satisfying swish. Two minutes, that’s all it took for you to make your mark on the game, two damn minutes.

Running towards the Sevilla fans on the opposite side of the pitch, you dutifully kiss the tape on your wrist, then tap the badge atop your heart before stopping in front of your girlfriend, holding your hand out to do your celebration.

Moments later, after the whole handshake is done, you wink at her before taking your leave, not forgetting to bow down in front of the screaming fans. Sure, you were still 5-1 down, but you had just scored against the biggest team in the country so you were allowed to celebrate.

Returning to your position, the game restarts and you immediately notice the increased mancoverage on you, you could barely even get the ball before there would be an annoying Barcelona player breathing down your neck.

Using this to your advantage, you distracted the women around you as your teammates built up attacking plays. At the same time, you were still freshly on with loads of energy, leaving the tired players to chase after you as you made runs upon runs.

In the 76th minute you see your teammate run up the wing and you just know she needs a head to meet the ball she plays into the box. Running as fast as you can, you launch yourself up towards the ball, angling it down to the ground just inside the goal with your head, like a bird of sorts.

A brace off the bench against one of the best teams in the world, yeah that’s just something you would do. This time you run towards the cornerflag, your team surrounding you as you get various pats on your head and shoulders. When the team starts to leave to their positions on the field, you decide to do one last thing in front of the furious Barcelona fans. 

You blow a kiss to the crowd, laughing at their overreactions to the simple gesture.

In the 89th minute, you find yourself surrounded by shorter women, all trying to keep you from rising up above them and heading the ball from the corner into the goal. Like the slippery eel you are, you try to run circles around them, trying to confuse them with your position.

When you finally settle between two of their defenders you decide to be a little cheeky, one of your favorite pastime activities.   

“So are all Barca defenders this short? Or have I just struck gold today?” You tease Mapi, who’s elbow meets your ribs harshly, almost making you double over in pain. There wasn’t much muscle protecting your dear ribs yet, or the rest of your body to be fair, so impact was felt to the full extent.

“Are you not meant to be doing your fifth grade homework?” She asks in the same tone as you had before, looking back at you with that oversure expression on her face. You just know that you have to wipe it off her face, with a goal preferably.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing bingo with the other elders? Or can you just not reach the table?” Before Mapi can retort, the ball is played into the box and with athleticism that only Zlatan could rival, you leap up into the air, twisting around so that your heel meets the ball with your back to the goal, a perfect scorpion kick.  Well as perfect as it could be with you ending up on the ground in the goal.

Dying minute bangers, another specialty of yours.

Blowing another kiss, this time towards the Spanish defender standing dumbfounded in front of you, you get up off the floor, running past her to get back to your own half, not without yelling a quick “that one was for you” to the world class defender. All in good fun of course, you wouldn’t do it maliciously, especially not seeing as they were still leading.

The final whistle is blown only moments later, leaving you to collapse onto the pitch in pure exhaustion from the game. Considering the fact that you’d already played a full 90 against a U23 team earlier that week, you were pretty tired.

Wondering silently if you could just take a nap in the middle of the field, you’re interrupted in your daydreaming by a hand in front of your face, a hand leading up to a player in blaugrana. 

“You had a good game kid, next time though, could you not score a hattrick off the bench?” Mapi helps you up and off the ground, shaking your hand properly as you just stand there, a silly smile on your face.

“I can score a double hat trick with a start if that would make you feel any better?” The older defender ruffles your hair quickly at the teasing before she lets you go, sending you on your merry way to wherever it is you went after games.

Trudging across the pitch, you almost fall into your girlfriend’s arms as soon as you get close enough, pretty much falling asleep in the crook of her neck. She giggles sweetly and the sound paints a smile on your face, her whispered complaints of how sweaty you were drowned out by your playful yawns. 

Pulling away from her neck, your eyes meet and your cheeks turn even more red than before, the physical exertion from the match clearly catching up to you. But no kiss was exchanged, you two wanted to keep your blooming relationship to yourselves and away from the public eye, leading to the act of just being best friends continuing out in the open.

Your girlfriend’s eyes shift from your own to something behind you, eyes widening exponentially at what she found.

“What’s up?” You ask Julia, who just continues to stare at something over your shoulder.

“Enemy, 6 o’clock.” Is all she says in response, rolling her eyes when you just look at her confused, placing her hands on either side of your head to turn it back to where she was looking. A smiling Alexia Putellas making her way over to where you’re standing next to your girlfriend is the last thing you were expecting, but that’s exactly what was happening.

“What the fu-” You start before one of the hands placed on the sides of your head lands over your mouth, Julia clearly not wanting you to swear in front of a legend. Licking her palm, Julia snatches her hand back as quickly as she had put it there, wiping her hand on the front of her shirt.

Looking back at her with a smirk, Julia rolls her eyes again before she slaps the back of your head, Alexia having stopped right in front of you, an unreadable expression on her face.

“You played really good today Y/n, impressive for your age, don’t be surprised if you hear from your agent within the coming days.” She smiles before turning on her heel, almost whiplashing you with the quick statement. 

Looking back at the brunette, she meets your gaze with a knowing look in her eyes and a smile stretched across her lips.

“Accept it.” Julia tells you silently, the fond look never disappearing off her face.

“What?” You ask the Real Madrid youth player, not understanding what she meant by that. There wasn’t a world wherein Julia Romero would tell you to join Barcelona.

“If you get a contract offer from them, you have to accept it.” She clarifies, looking you in the eyes deeply, like she was telling you that she was being fully truthful, which she was either way.

“Why?”

“It’s what’s best for your career, I won’t let a little rivalry destroy us. Plus it'll make El Clasico 10 times more fun when I’ll absolutely crush you.” She winks at the end, making you blush once again.

“Oh in your dreams, pretty girl.” Starting to walk back to your locker room, you keep up the conversation with your girl, walking backwards to see her.

“You know you are.” Stumbling over your feet, you fall back onto your butt at the words, the already visible blush on your face growing darker, both at the words but also what you had done.

It’s just like you to score a hattrick against the best team in the world then trip over your own feet walking backwards.

—---------------------------

Just like that, a few days later Barcelona offered you a contract and the rest was history. You moved out of the small house in Sevilla to Barcelona, where you moved into the home of the two overbearing English women. A key part in the 22/23 Champions League winning squad, you scored a goal in the final of the competition, the winning goal that got you the shiny gold medal hanging over your bed, which then led to you being called up to the senior national team and winning a World Cup gold, but that’s a story for another day.

You continued to see Julia on the weekends neither of you had anything to do, getting on a train to Madrid under the guise of having a sleepover with Vicky, meeting up with your girl, spending the night and then going back to Barcelona just in time for Lucy to pick you up from Vicky’s house. Sure it cost you a good 100 euros every time, with the train tickets and the so-called ‘Vicky bribe’, but it was so worth it.

You got a weekend with your girlfriend and Vicky got 20 euros. A win-win.

During the two years you’d lived with the English women, they hadn’t suspected anything, not that you had a girlfriend nor that you went and visited her as often as you possibly could.

Well they didn’t suspect anything until the Clasico, where they had seen you both laughing and smiling all secretly to each other, like something was going on between you and the Real Madrid player.

Coincidentally, that day was also the day when your girlfriend first met your unofficial parents. 

—-------------------------

The first El Clásico you had played against your girl had ended in a 4-1 win to Barcelona, with you scoring a brace and Julia scoring Madrid’s sole goal. She had been moved up to the first team at the start of the 23/24 season and despite her technically being your enemy, you were still over the moon for her.

As soon as the final whistle had been blown, you dropped to the floor like you always did, ready to take an impromptu nap right there and then.

A recognisable giggle sounds from above you, opening one eye to look up at the white clad midfielder standing in front of you with a hand out, you don’t waste a second before taking the hand in your own, pulling the girl down onto the ground instead of pulling yourself up.

“Lia, my sweetheart, what are you doing down on the ground?” You ask her playfully as she slaps your shoulder, sitting up and looking down at you with that captivating smile on her face, rolling her eyes at you like you loved.

“You’re an idiot, you know that.” Nodding along with her words, you mirror her, sitting up and leaning your weight back onto your hands, smiling mischievously her way.

“Yeah, you’ve told me like a gazillion times.” Wifting your arms around as you speak, you don’t notice Lucy and Keira making their way over to you and your ‘friend’.

“Told you what?” Lucy interrupts, looking between you and Julia rapidly, trying to understand the relationship there, friends or something more. 

“Nothing special Lucifer, did you want anything or did you just come to interrupt?” Stifling a laugh at Lucy's expression, you look at your girlfriend, thinking you’d see a smile stretched over her pillowy lips, instead finding what you assume to be a look of dread on her face.

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you stand up from your sitting position and dust yourself off before offering a courteous hand to your secret girlfriend, who takes it and stands up, half hiding behind you.

“Right, Robert, Keira, this is my childhood friend Julia, who unfortunately plays for Real Madrid which means she’ll never win anything ever.” You tease the brunette, like you always did, it was just too easy. Still, you were met with a slap to the back of your head, like usual, before she sticks her hand out to properly introduce herself to your pseudo moms. 

“Julia Romero, nice to meet you both.” The way you’re looking at her definitely exposes you more than it should, but you don’t mind it, the two women in front of you knew nothing about your love life as it was.

“Childhood friends you say? Nothing else…?” Lucy really wasn’t smooth, or subtle for that matter as she tried asking you the question they were both thinking.

“Childhood friends, we’re actually best friends but I didn’t think that was a worthwhile distinction.” You respond sassily, Lucy ruffling your hair before you could even try to stop her, and whilst it was annoying for you, it did put a smile on Julia’s face and that was all that mattered.

“Alright, alright, just wrap it up soon, the bus leaves in 15.” The two leave after that, and suddenly you’re just standing with your girlfriend, all alone. 

“Well, I should get going, my teammates are probably wondering where I am.” Her voice trails off as she points over her shoulder and you smile, raising your eyebrows softly.

“I’ll see you in a couple weeks.” 

As you both make your way back to your respective locker rooms, you’re both oblivious to the bets being placed on what your relationship actually is.

—------------------------------

Champions League final 2024, one of the biggest games of your career, big games that keep piling up as you play for Barcelona. A final, it was a final and Jona had insisted on starting you.

Big breath in, big breath out. It’s fine. You can do this.

Walking out onto the pitch, your eyes immediately search for her, the twinkling green that you love so so much. She waves at you all excited in the old and tattered spain jersey she had insisted on wearing. Breath in, breath out. It’s time.

The first 20 minutes or so are calm, filled with counter attacks and defending against another one of the best teams in the world, it’s just Lyon.

Weaving through defender after defender, not unlike how you had against your current team nearly two years before, your brain is on autopilot, just focusing on getting the ball in the goal no matter what. And that you do, curling the ball around the defenders, watching as it ends up in the top corner of the goal.

Champions League final, yeah right.

Pointing to the brunette in the stands, everyone in the arena understands that the goal was dedicated to her, no one seeing the wink you send her though before you return to restart the game.

The rest is pretty simple, Aitana scoring just before half time and then Alexia scoring only minutes after coming on as a substitute. It all goes so fast, because suddenly the final whistle goes and you’ve won another Champions League.

You won the Champions League. 

You don’t realize it until after you’ve all gotten your medals and done the trophy lift. No, it isn’t until there’s a sprinting Julia Romero heading your way that you actually register it, you won. 

There’s a split second between when you catch her and when you make the decision to kiss her that you can’t help but think about all that has happened since you first got together. Two Champions League finals won, a World Cup victory, a contract from Barcelona, her getting into the senior squad at Real Madrid, her winning various tournaments with the youth teams, her joining you in the senior national team. So much had happened in so little time, and yet she was the best thing of all.

And so, you kiss her. For the first time, you actually kiss her in public, in front of friends and family, but also the millions of people watching from behind their screens. Her legs wrap tightly around your waist, arms tangling around your neck, fingers running through your hair. Your hands settle under her thighs, supporting her body so that she wouldn’t be able to just fall off.

The kiss is just magical, PG enough so that you don’t get yelled at but still some tongue action going on. Her lips are as soft as the day you first kissed her, just as sweet but now there’s a hint of salt, wet tears rolling down her cheeks as she kisses you.

Pulling away, your hands roam up until they settle against the sides of her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that just seem to keep on falling. Her forehead leans against yours, nose nudging yours as she asks for another kiss.

Releasing her legs from their grip around your waist, Julia stands in front of you, her arms threading around your neck again as she brings you down for yet another kiss, this one not as passionate, more like a congratulations kiss. Pulling back, she pecks your lips twice before fully letting you go.

“Why are you crying baby?” Tears were still rolling down her face, no matter how much you tried to wipe them, they kept on coming. 

“I’m just so proud of you, look at how far you’ve come. You won the Champions League.” Smiling at her adorable reasoning, you lean in to kiss her once more, well that is until you’re interrupted, yet again by a certain someone.

“Childhood friends huh? Nothing more? I knew you were together, I could see it.” Turning towards Lucy, you roll your eyes at the statement, clearly she did know a little, but obviously not everything.

“So you know that I actually didn’t sleep over at Vicky’s all those times then? That I was really in Madrid all those times?” You tease, which was probably a bad idea, considering the fact that you definitely were not allowed to go to Madrid over the weekends. “Amor, I’ll see you in a little.” You rush out before you start running, Lucy wasting no time and chasing after you.

A calmer looking Keira comes up to Julia, who’s standing there dumbfounded, and offers her the hand that’s not clutching onto the trophy.

“Welcome to our little family, they do that sometimes, same level of maturity, them two.” Julia shakes her head fondly, looking at the terrified expression you’re wearing as you get chased around the pitch. “They’ll calm down soon, then we can take some pictures together, all of us. You’ll come home with us later, right?” 

And even though Julia knew she’d be teased for the rest of her life, she still stood and posed for photos with you and the CL trophy her rivals had won. 

Photos that later got posted to your instagram with the caption;

My trophy and my wife, nothing better in life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You wake with a start from your dreams of intruder bears and scattering birds. The night’s been no more restful than the one before. Your mind is a whirlwind, mashing together visions of reality and anxieties of tomorrow. 

Another thunk has you sitting up with a huh trapped in your throat. You rub the stitch from between your brows as you groggily shake your head. It’s so early, the windows are grey blue and grim. What the hell is that? 

You get up and go to the window as the noise comes again. Bucky stands over a stack of long boards near the shed. You frown. What is he doing and where did those come from? 

He turns and you give a start. He sees you between the curtains and gives a two fingered salute. You lift your hand stiffly and quickly turn away. You grab a zip sweater and pull it on, hiding in the baggy fabric. You’re all too aware of the brush of your hard nipples against your thin tee. 

You head out through the fog of your unceremonious awakening and open the back door to peer out. Bucky appears from around the side of the house, carrying a stack of half a dozen boards easily. He sets them with the rest and faces you. 

“What’s all this?” You cross your arms, chattering in the brisk morning. 

“You need a fence,” he says. 

His answer is annoying. It’s half an explanation. 

“Okay, and... where exactly did you get all this wood?” 

“Your neighbours recommended a guy; Maurice?” 

“Maurice,” you repeat. The old man doesn’t have much else going on. He’s always happy to deliver. “Right.” 

“Give me something to keep busy,” he shrugs. 

“Makes sense,” you rub your cheek. 

“Coffee in the pot. Should be warm still,” he comes toward you. “Did I wake you up?” 

You shake your head. It doesn’t matter. You weren’t sleeping well. 

“Thanks. You want more?” You point to the mug on the small wooden stool. 

“Good for now,” he assures you. 

You nod and turn away. You stop halfway. You withhold a sigh, “hey, thanks. You don’t have to... do all this.” 

“It should save you having to witness another wrestling match,” he says. 

“Right,” you scoff. 

You go inside and pause on the other side of the door. Did he overhear your conversation with Sam? Is that what he meant? Even if he did, you didn’t say anything bad. You only told Sam that the man he left on your couch is fighting the wild. 

You pour yourself a coffee and drink it alone, grateful for the moment to yourself. You hear the wood clatter outside in a steady rhythm. Just long enough for him to make a trip between the back and front lawn. 

If he’s busy, that means you can be. You’ll get some work done while he’s outside. You have some toast as you get everything set up then sink into your focus. It’s all simple. You have it by rote. You save as much as you can, not trusting your connection to maintain the cloud’s autosave. 

You get up to make another coffee and nearly shriek. You didn’t notice the sudden silence. No wood falling, no footsteps. Bucky stands in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes on you. 

“You looked... intent, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says. 

“Right,” you shake off the fright and go to the counter, “want more coffee?” 

“Sure. If you’re busy, I can take care of it,” he nears you as he speaks. 

“I can handle it. Won’t take me very long.” 

“I don’t mind,” he gets closer and closer. 

“Really, it’ll take five minutes. I need the break--” 

He sidles behind you as you reach for the canister but he’s quicker. He swipes it out of your grasp. You feel him behind you, penning you in as he snatches up the coffee ewer with his other hand. 

“Hey, I’m the one crashing. Trying not to feel useless here,” he insists. 

You grip the counter, suffocated by his closeness. 

“That’s nice, but...” You press your elbow into his side, a soft nudge to say, back up. He doesn’t. “Can you--” 

“How long you been here alone?” He asks, standing strong like a wall behind you. You lean forward, trying to make space. 

“Bucky--” 

He moves aside casually and sets down the coffee and he brings the carafe to the sink and rinses it out. “Kinda eerie, isn’t it? In the city, there’s always noise. Up here, the silence is... dense, don’t you think?” 

“I guess,” you agree quietly as you quickly retreat from the counter. That was strange. He can be a bit... odd but that was very obvious not normal. 

“I had to walk thirty minutes just to get to your neighbour. All those trees too, they’ll catch the sound,” he speaks as he weighs out the coffee grounds. “You ever run through a forest before? And that one’s dark even in the day. If you’re not dodging trees, you gotta make sure there aren’t roots to trip over.” 

You’re quiet as you listen, unsettled. Why is he saying all this? 

“And well, you gotta worry about whatever’s in there to chase you, don’t you? Bears, coyotes... you got wolves around here?” He asks. 

You clear your throat, “I... I think so.” 

“Mm, and they hunt in packs. Mostly. But even one is dangerous.” He fills the water tank as you stare at his back. “If they get you, they go for the shoulder and flanks. Get your strongest tendons. Can’t move your arms, can’t fight. Can’t move your legs, can’t run...” 

“I’ve never seen any though...” you croak. 

“Wolves don’t really chase their prey though, they stalk it. The prey doesn’t even know it’s being hunted. They sneak up so they don’t have to run.” Like he sneaks up? “Take their time.” 

You chew your lip. You look around and listen. It is really quiet. The click of a button makes you wince. 

Bucky turns to you. You blink and quickly turn to your computer. Just a glance and the vision of him is stamped in your head. The tension in his jaw, the glint in his eyes, and that shadow that seems cast by his aura alone. 

You’re pretty sure he’s not talking about real wolves. 

[dorabellingham]

Comeback

warning: none

characters: jude x reader

summary: when after a while he scores the first goal of the season

may contain spelling and translation errors!

The tension was in the air. It was a decisive game in La Liga, and all eyes were on Jude. It had been a while since his last goal, and the silence from the fans regarding his name was starting to weigh on you. You knew that this goalless streak had been bothering your boyfriend, even though he had been trying his best in every training session and match. You saw how dedicated he was, but you knew he was anxious to break this streak. And now, there, in the Real Madrid stadium, you were rooting with all your might for that day to come.

You were sitting in the stands, your eyes fixed on him, with that deep feeling that everything was going to work out this time. Your heart was racing, your hands were cold from nervousness, and you were barely breathing with each of his plays. For you, each move was like a leap, a quick climb to the top of a mountain and then a plunge back to reality. Every moment felt like it was your match too, cheering for him with all your soul.

Then, it happened.

In a spectacular move, Jude found a space between the defenders, received the ball and, without hesitation, kicked it with precision. The ball went straight into the corner of the goal, passing the goalkeeper with a quick and precise movement. The stadium exploded in cheers of joy, and the energy of the crowd seemed to almost bring down the stands, they were so excited. You stood up, your hands covering your mouth in pure shock and euphoria. Your face lit up with a smile that you couldn't control -the smile of someone who had just seen the person they love do something extraordinary.

Jude, with the most radiant expression in the world, ran towards the fans, and when he got close to the stands, he raised his arms, opening them in a gesture that had already become his trademark. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours, and you, without thinking, imitated the gesture, opening your arms in the same pose as his, in a connection that seemed to cross the field and the barriers. It was as if, in that moment, the two of you were one.

The crowd noticed and started to scream even louder, the fans around you applauded the scene, as if they were witnessing a unique and intimate moment between the player and the person who supported him so unconditionally. You couldn't hold back your laughter, infected by the happiness that radiated from Bellingham, and he, from the field, couldn't stop looking at you, also laughing, both of you absolutely overcome by the joy of that moment.

Your eyes shone with pride and admiration, and Jude could feel, even from a distance, how happy you were for him. After a difficult period, he had finally broken that silence on the field, and seeing you there, supporting him, encouraging him and celebrating with him, made it all worthwhile. He felt that he wasn't just playing for him, but for the two of you, for that beautiful story you were building together.

When the game ended, with the victory assured, Jude went to the edge of the field to find you, who was already waiting for him with the sweetest and proudest smile in the world. He pulled you into a tight hug, and you whispered in his ear:

—I knew you could do it, I knew your moment would come.

He laughed, his face pressed against yours, still breathing fast and his heart racing.

—That goal was for you, babe. Always for you!

You caressed his face, your eyes filled with emotion.

—I’m so happy for you, Judie. You have no idea how much.

You stood there, still hugging each other, with the applause of the fans in the background and the rest of the players approaching to celebrate. But for Jude and you, that was a moment that belonged only to the two of you, a shared victory, where the goal, the fans and the noise of the stadium seemed to fade away, leaving only the loving and happy look you shared.

[lovemomhatepolice]

singlemother! reader x rafe cameron [serie]

navigation taglist requests

Rafe Cameron did not expect that he would ever be able to love someone. Return - Rafe Cameron did not expect that he would ever be capable of being loved by SOMEONE. And suddenly in his life, when everything was collapsing even more than usual - she appeared. And for the first time in his life Rafe felt something he had never felt before. He wanted to be as close to her as possible - not just meet for one night and leave or establish a friendship with benefits. He wanted to have her all to himself, and give himself all to her. Oh, how foolish he was about her - for the first time in his life he allowed himself to do that. He lost all possible senses just to get close to her. What he didn't expect, however, was that the woman who had won his heart already had someone in hers who came first. What's next, when the eyes of the entire Outer Banks are on them?

A/N: hey! soon there will be chapters here that will form one serie

REMARKS: - each new chapter will link to the previous ones - chapters will NOT appear systematically (apologies in advance) - chapters from under this masterlist do NOT connect with other one-shots that have appeared or will appear on my account

hope you like it :)