Novels by Sweet Magaret

It became a pattern.Dangerous.Addictive.Impossible to quit.Win the game.Celebrate with the team.Wait until the parking lot cleared out. Then disappear.The showers turned into their spot.Not the main locker-room ones with the bright lights and echoing voices. The smaller one tucked in the back corner—three showerheads, chipped blue tiles, a door that locked if you jiggled the handle just right. Steam hung thick in the air even when no one was running water. The fluorescent bulb overhead flickered once every few minutes like it was tired of staying on. It was quiet. Private. Hidden from the rest of the world.Marcus’s hands were always steady. Ethan’s were always a little restless—fingers twitching against skin, gripping too hard then loosening like he couldn’t decide how much he was allowed to want this.One night after a close win—some away game that ran long and left everyone exhausted—Ethan got there first. He stood under the spray, letting hot water pound against his s

The game was wild.Not as crazy as that Ridgeway mess, but close. Every single basket felt huge. The other team came ready to fight—they didn’t give up easy shots, they guarded hard, and they kept coming back every time the team pulled ahead. It was one of those nights where nobody could relax.Ethan played really well.Marcus played even better.And when they were on the court together? They clicked in a way that made everything look easy.Halfway through the third quarter the score was tied. The gym was loud—people yelling, feet stomping the bleachers, music blasting during timeouts. Ethan wiped sweat off his face with his jersey, caught his breath, and looked over at Marcus during a quick break.Marcus was already looking back—calm on the outside, but his eyes had that focused spark Ethan knew meant he was locked in.Coach drew something simple on his whiteboard: get the ball to Marcus on the side, let him shoot if he’s open, or pass it inside if they close out on him.They ran bac

The gym slowly emptied out. Voices that had been bouncing off the walls all afternoon faded into nothing. Sneakers squeaked one last time down the hallway, then disappeared. The big overhead lights kept humming softly, like they were the only things left that hadn’t gone home yet. Ethan stayed. Obviously. He sat on the bottom bleacher, elbows on his knees, pretending to scroll through his phone even though the screen had gone dark minutes ago. His heart was doing that annoying thing again—beating too hard for no good reason. Marcus didn’t look over right away. He just kept packing his bag at his usual slow pace. Zipping one pocket. Unzipping it again like he’d forgotten something. Folding his sweaty towel with way more care than it deserved. It was so deliberately casual that Ethan almost laughed. The last teammate—Jason, probably—yelled something about grabbing food and let the side door slam shut behind him. Click. Silence dropped over the gym like someone hit mute. Ethan

Something had shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. No thunderclap, no dramatic music swelling in the background like some cheesy rom-com movie. Just a quiet realignment that everyone on the court could feel without needing to name it. The change showed up in the smallest places first. In the way Ethan no longer hesitated when Marcus cut toward the baseline. In the way Marcus no longer second-guessed the angle of his pass when Ethan flashed open on the wing. In the half-second glances they exchanged that carried weight but never lingered long enough to draw attention. Practice that afternoon felt different from the start. Coach blew the whistle and ran them through the same half-court set they’d been butchering for weeks. Normally the play broke down somewhere around the third option—someone (usually Ethan) would try to go solo, someone else would stand flat-footed, and the whole thing would collapse into frustrated shouting. Not today. “Again!” Coach yelled, but the edge in his voice h

The shower room felt smaller than usual.Hotter, too. Steam clung to the air, curling around metal lockers and tile, softening the edges of everything until it felt like the whole space was closing in.Marcus stood there like none of it affected him, towel slung low on his hips, posture relaxed, completely at ease in a way Ethan found… deeply irritating.Also—Impossible not to notice.Ethan’s gaze flicked over him before he could stop himself. The lines of muscle, the definition that came from discipline, from control, from someone who never did anything halfway. They trained together, sure, but this was different. Up close. Unfiltered.Ethan could see how the veins gathered at his hips and more dangerously, the blonde pubic hair peeking just a bit from his towel.Marcus noticed.Of course he did.“You’re staring again,” he said. His voice came out low and lazy, almost amused, like he was commenting on the weather outside.Ethan jerked his gaze upward. Heat flooded his cheeks despite

Marcus showed up the next day like nothing had happened.Same posture. Same controlled, measured steps as he walked onto the court. Same quiet presence that usually settled the space around him, like everything aligned itself the second he stepped in. If anyone else looked at him, they wouldn’t notice anything different. He was composed, focused, exactly what the team expected.Except—something was off.It wasn’t obvious at first. It wasn’t in the way he moved or the way he carried himself. It was smaller than that, buried under layers of control. But it was there, and once Ethan noticed it, he couldn’t unsee it.There was an edge to him.Not anger, not frustration, something sharper and deliberate.“Run it again.”Marcus’s voice cut through the court, and that was when it clicked.It wasn’t louder than usual. If anything, it was still controlled, still steady. But there was something under it now—something tight, something pointed. Like every word had an intention behind it.Ethan fr

The past three months had been a relentless storm, slowly breaking the edges of their life together, like waves on a weak beach. Zhao Kai, ensnared in a vicious legal tangle, had been accused of assaulting a man who later sued for a fat payout. It was all a big misunderstanding, but truth meant little when greed and rivalry fueled the fire. His business adversaries pounced, prolonging the ordeal with every dirty trick in their arsenal. Liu Jian, Zhao Kai's steadfast attorney and lover, buried himself in the fight. He unearthed irrefutable evidence of innocence from witness statements to surveillance footage and even alibis that shattered the lies but the case dragged on for a grueling ninety days, each hearing a fresh blade twisted in their backs. Yang Jun, meanwhile, was drowning in corporate chaos. The company's stock plummeted like a stone in deep water, investors circling like sharks ready to bolt. The marketing teams—1, 2, and 3—were pushed to the brink, rotating shifts to cras

The late afternoon sun filtered through the heavy curtains of Zhao Kai’s bedroom, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor. Zhao Kai lounged on the bed, his sharp features softened by the glow of his iPad as he scrolled through a dense academic paper. The faint hum of city life drifted through the cracked window, a distant counterpoint to the quiet intensity of the room. Liu Jian, restless and sprawled beside him, broke the silence with a provocative grin. “Let me fuck you,” Liu Jian said, his voice low and teasing, eyes glinting with mischief. Zhao Kai’s gaze flicked up from the screen, his dark eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Without a word, he returned to his paper, dismissing Liu Jian’s advance with the casual indifference of someone long accustomed to his antics. “Come on,” Liu Jian pressed, leaning closer, his tone a blend of pout and challenge. “You’ve fucked me plenty of times. Why can’t I have a turn just once?” Zhao Kai sighed, setting th

Zhao Kai stormed into the house, his shoulders taut with the weight of a brutal day, his tie already yanked loose and dangling like a noose around his neck. The air crackled with his pent-up tension—stress warring with a raw, insistent hunger that pulsed through his veins. He tossed his keys onto the counter with a clatter and made a beeline for the master bedroom, his polished dress shoes clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. When he reached the doorway, he paused, his breath catching at the sight of Yang Jun sprawled across the plush gray sofa nestled against the far wall. The man was engrossed in a thick paperback, its spine creased from use, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. A single lamp cast a warm golden glow over him, softening the sharp angles of his face. Yang Jun didn’t look up immediately, but the shift in the air—Zhao Kai’s heavy presence—must have prickled his senses. His eyes flicked upward, narrowing into a scowl as he caught Zhao Kai staring, u

Yang Jun stirred awake, his body sandwiched between two naked alphas—himself included. As he tried to sit up, a guttural growl of pain tore from his throat, and he collapsed back onto the tangled sheets, the mattress dipping under his weight. His back throbbed mercilessly, a relentless ache that pulsed like a second heartbeat, radiating from his spine down to his hips. He clenched his teeth, fury bubbling up inside him. The cause of his misery was still peacefully asleep beside him, their breathing steady and infuriatingly calm. Unable to contain his frustration, Yang Jun lashed out, smacking the nearest body with a sharp, stinging slap. Zhao Kai jolted awake with a groan, the hit landing squarely on his cheek, leaving a faint red mark. Beside him, Liu Jian sat up too, clutching his head where Yang Jun’s hand had connected, his dark hair falling messily over his eyes. “Ow! What the hell, man? Why’d you hit me so fuckin’ hard?” Liu Jian grumbled, his voice rough with sleep and irritat

Yang Jun had just returned to work, his face bright with smiles as he greeted everyone. He hadn't even settled into his chair when Chen Xingxu approached him, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Do you have your international passport up to date?" "Yes, what's going on?" Yang Jun replied, skepticism creeping into his voice. His international passport was one of the things his parents made him renew even though he had actually no plans of ever travelling. "Well, it's our lucky day," Chen Xingxu announced, barely containing his enthusiasm. "You and I have been chosen to go to Hawaii for an ad shoot." Yang Jun groaned internally, feeling the weight of exhaustion already pressing down on him. And so, Yang Jun found himself on an airplane, with Chen Xingxu snoring loudly against his shoulder. Yang Jun cursed Zhao Kai under his breath, who was comfortably nestled in first class while he endured the cramped conditions of economy. Teams were randomly selected from the marketing team, the

“Dad, Mom, I’m back home,” Yang Jun announced as he stepped into the familiar warmth of his parents’ living room. The television blared cheerfully, flashing bright colors from a game show that neither of his parents were truly watching anymore. The low table in front of the couch was littered with sunflower seed shells, an unmistakable sign that his parents had been camped there for hours. The air smelled comforting and lived in, a mix of roasted seeds, detergent, and the faint aroma of simmering soup from the kitchen. “Ah, Jun, you’re back!” Mrs. Yang immediately stood up, her face breaking into a wide smile. She wiped her hands on her apron before pulling him into a brief but tight hug, patting his back like she was making sure he was real. Mr. Yang glanced over briefly from the television, acknowledging his son with a nod before his attention drifted back to the screen. “Why did you suddenly bring all these snacks and groceries?” Mr. Yang asked, finally turning his head properl