markluvrrr - Tumblr blog

markluvrrr · 20 days ago

Text

close friends - lee heeseung, koga yudai ✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪

𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖ ݁

“In which reader can’t hide the lustful feelings she has for her boyfriend’s best friend, and him, instead of getting jealous, decides to share”

Content: +18MDNI fem! reader x heeseung x k, threesome, dom! heeseung x dom! k x sub! reader (although heeseung is more in charge) no mxm action, drinking, cursing, lots of teasing, oral sex (f and m recieving), multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, humiliation, dumbification, objectification, degradation, praising, unprotected sex, double creampie (don’t do this pls), dirty talk, explicit sex, aftercare (so important always!!)

Word count: 15.5k (it’s yudai and heeseung girls i can’t)

Notes: I went so insane with this one so please bare with me lmao, as always please remember everything that happens is consensual !! sorry for the mistakes english isn’t my first language. this one is for my lunéngenes !!

Hate comments will be deleted and blocked, like and reblogs are appreciated !!

Your relationship with Heeseung had always been easy.

From the very beginning, he made things feel simple, like love was something natural, something that didn’t have to hurt to be real. He was warm and steady, all soft hands and sweeter words, the kind of boyfriend that remembered the little things. He always kept your favorite snack in the apartment, knew the exact spot to kiss behind your ear that made you shiver, and held your hand even when no one was watching.

Heeseung didn’t play games, he didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t give you reasons to doubt him, not even once. He never made you feel small.

He spoiled you, completely.

He paid attention to things no one else would, how you always got sleepy after eating, how you liked your wine poured to the halfway point only, how you always looked at yourself in the mirror a little too long when you felt insecure. And he’d counter all of it, instinctively. Wrapping you up in a hoodie, refilling your glass just right, grabbing your chin gently and kissing your pout away like it was his only job.

In bed, he was a dream.

He took his time with you, didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped you. And when you begged for it rougher, meaner, filthier? He gave you that too.

Your pretty boy could turn dark in seconds. He’d pull your hair, make you cry, call you names so cruel your face burned—and he’d fuck you through every single one of your orgasms until you couldn’t remember how to say please anymore. But he always kissed you after, always whispered, “you did so good for me, baby.” He made you feel safe in the filth, loved, even when he was breaking you apart.

He got along with your whole family, watched football matchs with your father and helped your mother bake her signature apple pie, played videogames with your little brother and dollhouse with your little sister. You were sure he was the man of your life, and that you would marry him one day.

You never wanted anyone else.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until K started spending more time around.

K was Heeseung’s best friend, had been for years, even before you were his girlfriend, they grew up together, went to the same college, even shared clothes sometimes. He was around so often it felt normal, his shoes by the door, his half-empty water bottles on the counter, his body draped across your couch like he owned the place. You were so used to his presence, and it never bothered you, not really, he was very sweet with you, always respectful, and you knew how good of a friend he was to your boyfriend.

He was different from Heeseung in every way. Older for a couple of years, taller for a few inches, louder when he laughed, rougher around the edges, casually confident in a way that made your stomach twist. Always teasing, always joking, always so present. Like, everyday. Sometimes he would even go pick you up after work when Heeseung couldn’t because he was at some dinner for his job. He was mostly a gentleman, although obviously sometimes you would hear him talk with Heeseung about the girls he slept with.

He didn’t try to charm you, didn’t even seem to care what you thought of him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You’d watch him from the kitchen sometimes, sweating in a tight shirt after a workout, gulping water like he hadn’t touched it in hours, the sharp lines of his jaw flexing every time he swallowed, his soaked, black hair sticked to his forehead, his plump lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His arms always flexed when he stretched, and he always stretched, veins popping under his skin, low groan leaving his throat.

And sometimes, when he caught your gaze, he’d smirk. Not flirty, not teasing. Just knowing, like he was aware of the way you looked at him, and he didn’t mind. Sometimes he would say “Do i look that bad today?” and you would chuckle, trying to play dumb.

You tried to ignore it, brush it off, blame it on the wine, the hormones, the stupid crushes people weren’t supposed to get once they were in love.

But sometimes, when Heeseung’s fingers were deep inside you, or when his cock was pressing into you just right, you’d close your eyes, and for just a moment, pretend.

You imagined K’s voice, rough and low in your ear. His hands on your hips, holding you still, the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress, deeper and rougher than anyone ever had.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Heeseung, or that he wasn’t enough for you. He really was, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a thought, just a fantasy. Like a lot of people used to have.

Something you’d never say out loud.

Not to anyone.

Heeseung had always been so good at reading people. Even when he was little, he knew when his father had a bad day at work, he knew when his mother was pissed about the noisy neighbours, he even knew when his first girlfriend cheated on him before even finding something weird.

Heeseung had always known.

He didn’t need you to say it, didn’t need to catch you staring, or find messages on your phone, or hear some guilty confession through your tears.

He just knew.

Because he was watching.

From the very beginning, before you even realized it yourself, he’d seen it. That flicker in your eyes when K walked into the room, the way your whole body subtly shifted, back a little straighter, chin tilted, lips just barely parted, thighs clenched together when K leaned over to show you something on his phone.

You never flirted, never crossed a line. You were a good girl, his good girl. But the way you looked at K? that wasn’t nothing.

And Heeseung saw it, every time.

He was an expert in you.

He knew every version of your body, how you moved when you were hungry, when you were tired, when you were horny. How you bit your lip when you were anxious, how your eyes glossed over when you were tipsy and trying not to let it show. He knew when you were lying, when you were daydreaming, when your thighs were clenched under the table because you were thinking about something you shouldn’t.

Heeseung knew you.

So of course, he noticed.

K was around a lot. His best friend, his brother. They’d known each other forever, trusted each other without question, he didn’t even remember a time of his life where K wasn’t teasing him and playfully bantering with him. He trusted him, like a lot, he was the only true friendship he’d ever had, and he knew that K would never do something that would hurt him.

And that’s what made it all the more entertaining.

He watched the way your eyes dropped when K stretched, the way your breath hitched when he muttered something low under his breath, the way your smile slipped into something dazed after a few drinks when K got too close.

And he saw the way he looked at you too. How he would chuckle at the silliest thing you’d say, how he would tease you just to see you blush and push his chest playfully, how his gaze would dropp even just for a small second through your body when you were in a bikini on a hot summer day. He didn’t blame him, you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and K was a man, after all.

So he never said a word.

Most guys would’ve lost their minds, picked a fight, accused you of cheating, thrown K out of the house or pulled you into a jealous, angry fuck just to stake their claim.

But not heeseung.

He found it cute, amusing, even. The way you thought you were hiding it, this quiet, little lust that lived just under your skin. He could see how hard you were trying to be good, how guilty you must’ve felt, how much it was killing you not to give in to it.

And more than anything, that’s what got to him.

The idea that you were holding back, not because you didn’t want it, but because you thought he wouldn’t let you.

Heeseung loved you, like really loved you. But his love wasn’t soft and selfless, not really.

His love was possessive.

He didn’t just want you for himself, he wanted every part of you, every thought, every fantasy. Even the most dirtiest, nastiest ones.

If you were going to want someone else, he wanted to know. He wanted to be there.

And with K? He didn’t mind sharing. That was his ride or die, and if he were ever to do something this nasty, of course he would choose him. It was something about his ego too, to make his best friend who was always so confident and cocky watching how the most beautiful girl ever crumbled beneath him.

He liked the idea of it.

Of watching you come undone between the two of them, overwhelmed, overstimulated, broken down to nothing. He wanted to see your mouth stuffed with K’s cock while you sobbed on his fingers. Wanted to hear you beg one of them to stop while the other kept going. Wanted to see your sweet little brain go blank, ruined completely, used until you didn’t even know which one of them was making you cum anymore.

And god, the aftermath.

He could already picture you, messy, leaking, limp and fucked-out on the sheets while they cleaned you up. You, teary-eyed and dazed, whispering, “thank you.” So grateful, so good.

He didn’t say anything yet, not out loud.

You weren’t ready, he wanted you to squirm a little more.

He wanted to watch you get desperate.

But he was planning.

It was late evening when you unlocked the front door and stepped inside, heels clicking against the hardwood. The apartment was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the glare of the TV screen and the soft blue LEDs lining the shelves. You were tired, hungry, and sleepy, it was a really long day at work, you hated that you had to work on weekends.

Then you heard it.

Laughter and the unmistakable sound of button-mashing filled the air. Manly voices so loud and so familiar. You dropped your bag by the door, sighing as you kicked off your shoes, already half-expecting what you’d see when you rounded the corner into the living room.

There they were.

Heeseung and K sat cross-legged on the floor, controllers in hand, faces lit by the rapid flashes of the screen. The two of them were in the middle of an intense round of something, they didn’t even glance up when you entered. Both of them in comfy clothes, messy hairs, the smell of their perfumes in the air.

You swallowed.

“Told you I’m better,” Heeseung grinned, tapping buttons at lightning speed.

“Only because you cheat,” K fired back, focused, leaning forward as his tongue peeked out in concentration.

“You’re just bad at this,” Heeseung smirked, elbowing him. The two burst into laughter, casual and at ease, just two best friends caught up in a game they’d probably played a hundred times before.

You stood there for a second, watching them, Heeseung’s soft, worn tee hanging off his frame, K in a sleeveless hoodie that showed off his toned arms. It was domestic. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

“I’m home,” you called out finally, stepping into view, a little smile on your lips, while you loosened your ponytail and walked towards them.

Heeseung’s head turned first, his smile wide, his eyes sparkly like they always were when he looked at you.

“Hey, baby,” he said easily, not even pausing the game. “How was work?”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch behind them.

“Hell,” you muttered, already peeling off your jacket. They didn’t respond, too focused on the game, and you rolled your eyes playfully. Boys. “I’m taking a shower. You boys have fun.”

Then K glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “Welcome back, by the way.”

You winked and disappeared down the hall, feeling K’s eyes on you the entire way.

A little while later, the bathroom light flicked off and the soft pat of your bare feet padded into the living room again. You wore a silky little pajama set, tiny shorts barely covering the curve of your ass, and a matching cami with thin straps that did nothing to hide the way the cool air had your nipples poking through.

Heeseung looked up first. His gaze swept over you with familiarity, appreciation, and something playful. His lips curled up in a lazy smile as he leaned back on one hand, watching you make your way around the couch and settle down between them.

But K?

He hesitated—only for a second—but it was enough.

You saw it.

The way K’s jaw clenched. The quick flick of his eyes over your legs, your chest, your exposed skin. The way he tried to focus back on the screen, but his grip on the controller tightened just a little. His mouth opened slightly, like he was going to say something, then thought better of it.

You could feel the heat rolling off him.

Heeseung chuckled quietly. He didn’t say a word, didn’t call him out. Instead, he shifted closer to you on the floor, letting his hand rest on your bare thigh, thumb stroking lazily, like it was second nature.

It was soft. Innocent. But it wasn’t.

You saw the way K’s eyes flicked down to where Heeseung’s fingers moved, lingering. You could feel the tension in the air change, just a little.

Heeseung’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen, like nothing was happening. Like he wasn’t fully aware of the little game he’d just started.

He leaned closer to you, pressing a kiss just below your ear, murmuring a teasing “Missed you, pretty girl,” while his fingers traced the edge of your thigh, just high enough to make a statement.

K didn’t speak, but his knuckles were white around the controller. His gaze was fixed forward, but his breathing had shifted, just a bit.

Heeseung smirked.

He wasn’t mad. Not jealous. Not even remotely.

He was amused.

And from the way his eyes glinted under the low light, you could tell, he was planning something.

Something big.

You had long since disappeared into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft finality, leaving the boys alone under the low light of the TV glow. The air was still warm with your presence, vanilla and something sweeter, something uniquely you lingering in the space.

Heeseung had gone quiet, his controller abandoned somewhere near the coffee table. K sat beside him, back against the couch, arms resting lazily over his knees as he stared at the flickering screen without really watching it.

They’d been talking for hours now, about everything, work, family, sports, and you, of course. Heeseung always yapped about how perfect you were and that he wanted to marry you. K was used to that, he always smiled and said “Don’t make me an uncle yet.” Not jealous, but supporting, like a good friend. But still, when Heeseung talked to him about you in bed, he saw how his breathing changed just a bit, not of awkwardness. Something else.

“You like her, huh?” Heeseung asked suddenly, voice casual, too casual.

K turned his head slowly, caught off guard. His eyes widened, brows frowned as if he couldn’t believe what he just asked.

“What?”

Heeseung smirked. He didn’t look at him right away, just reached over to grab his drink from the side table, took a slow sip, then met his best friend’s eyes.

“Y/N.”

K blinked, his face a mask of disbelief. He reached for his drink too, the air suddenly feeling so heavy.

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“I didn’t ask who she was,” Heeseung said, leaning back against the couch, stretching his legs out. “I asked if you like her.”

K scoffed and looked away, running a hand through his hair, then he scratched his neck.

“Bro.”

Heeseung just hummed, watching him now, really watching. The way K shifted in place, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. The way his eyes had flicked, too quickly, down the hall where your bedroom door was closed.

“You think I don’t see it?” Heeseung asked quietly, his tone lower now, edged with amusement. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her when you think I’m not paying attention?”

K didn’t respond.

“She came out in that little pajama set,” Heeseung continued, like he was telling a story, slow and deliberate, “and your eyes were all over her. You didn’t even try to hide it.”

K shifted again, sitting a little straighter, jaw tight.

“You’re tripping.”

“Am I?” Heeseung grinned, all teeth now, a lazy kind of danger curling at the edges of his lips. He was having so much fun with this. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

That made K glance over, he tilted his head slightly.

“You’re not?”

Heeseung laughed softly. “Why would I be mad?” His voice dropped, gaze dark. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

K blinked.

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re not denying it.” Heeseung leaned closer, elbows resting on his knees, voice hushed now, like it was something private. “I’ve seen the way she reacts to you. She gets all soft and shy around you. Different than with me.”

K’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He didn’t deny that either. Heeseung kept going, his tone turning sly.

“She likes you. Even if she doesn’t say it. Even if she tries to hide it. I see it. And I think you see it too.”

K let out a long breath, raking a hand down his face.

“This is fucking dangerous.”

Heeseung chuckled darkly.

“Yeah. That’s the point.”

There was a long pause. K was quiet now, no longer trying to argue, just sitting there, staring at the blank screen, like his mind had slipped somewhere darker. Somewhere more curious.

“And you’re seriously okay with that?” he asked after a moment. “You want me to—what—fuck around with your girlfriend?”

Heeseung leaned back again, arms spread along the couch, completely relaxed, like he’d thought about this a lot.

“I want to see what happens when we both push her. I want to see how far she’ll let it go. How far we can take it.”

K looked at him, really looked at him, like he was trying to read the real intention behind the words. Lips parted, in shock.

“And if she breaks?” he asked, voice quiet.

“She won’t,” Heeseung said confidently. “Not in a bad way, anyway.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “She’ll love it.”

Another pause.

K was breathing a little heavier now, not quite realizing it. His leg bounced once, the tension showing in small cracks, in the way he kept licking his lips.

Heeseung’s voice dipped lower, velvet-smooth.

“You want to see her like that, don’t you? All cock drunk and needy. Caught between us. Letting us touch her. Use her. Ruin her a little.”

K inhaled sharply, muttering under his breath, “Jesus, man…”

But there was no fight left in his voice.

Heeseung leaned forward again, eyes locked on him.

“Her birthday. We take her out. Tease her. You dance with her first, I’ll come in after. We push. We press. And we see what she does.”

K was quiet, processing. His fingers flexed where they rested on his knees. This was such a bad idea, it could ruin this friendship and your relationship forever.

But he thought about it, he imagined it. How you’d look between them, all broken and crying, how you’d look beneath him.

Then, slowly, like the idea had finally sunk into his skin, he gave a low laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re fucking twisted.”

“And you’re into it.”

K didn’t deny it this time.

The club was alive with the beat of the music, thumping through your chest, the lights flashing in dizzying patterns as you stepped out of the car. Your heels clicked against the pavement, each step carrying you into the night. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cologne, and all eyes seemed to be on you as you made your entrance.

It was your birthday, your night, and you had every intention of owning it. You’d slipped into a sleek, form-fitting black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, just the right amount of daring without being too much. Your hair cascaded in waves, and your makeup was soft but sultry, just enough to make you look irresistible without trying too hard. You were the center of attention, and you loved it.

As you stepped into the club, the pulse of the music surrounded you. People were already gathered around the bar, laughing, chatting, their drinks sloshing in the air as the DJ spun tracks. Your friends crowded around you, congratulating you, complimenting your outfit, but your eyes were scanning the room.

Heeseung should be there anytime.

And you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest when you thought about him. Your boyfriend—the perfect, warm, loving boyfriend who had made sure tonight would be exactly how you wanted it. But even as your mind lingered on him, there was that edge of anticipation. That thought, that craving, for someone else.

It was impossible not to think about him. You had tried to push the thoughts away, tried to focus on your boyfriend, on what you had, but something about K always pulled you in. The way he moved, the way he grinned at you, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, what you wanted. Like he wasn’t just watching from the sidelines, but waiting for you to make the first move.

Your thoughts scattered when you caught sight of them, Heeseung and K, walking through the entrance together, side by side like two halves of the same whole. They were a striking pair. Heeseung in his tailored jacket, casually confident, dark hair falling just right as his gaze swept over the room. And K, a little more laid-back, in a tight shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles in his chest, his smirk cocky as hell as he looked around.

The moment their eyes met yours, you felt a rush of heat flood your body. Heeseung’s smile was soft, full of warmth as he made his way toward you. But K’s gaze? It was different. It was knowing. His eyes dropped down to your dress—just for a second—and then back to your face, where a small, almost teasing smirk danced on his lips.

Heeseung pulled you into a hug, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered something sweet.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he murmured, his hands resting on your hips. You melted into his embrace, your heart swelling at the love he poured into his touch. He was perfect. He always was.

But K? K was something else entirely.

He stepped forward, his body pressing just a little too close when he kissed your cheek. The moment his lips touched your skin, your breath hitched, a shiver running through your body at the heat of his proximity.

“Happy birthday, princess,” K said, his voice low and rich, sending a thrill straight to your core.

You fought the blush creeping up your neck, trying to focus on Heeseung, on him, the boyfriend who had given you everything. But K’s presence lingered like a slow burn, undeniable, exciting. You could feel his eyes on you, even as Heeseung pulled back and started talking to some of your friends.

K didn’t go far. He hovered around you, leaning against the bar, not too far from where you stood. Every so often, his eyes would flick to yours, like he was studying you. Like he was waiting for something.

The tension between the three of you was thick, and you could feel it in your bones.

But you were supposed to be enjoying your night. You’d been waiting for this, for months, and now, it was finally here. So you threw yourself into the party, laughing, dancing, drinking. But even as you swirled your cocktail, your attention kept drifting. It was almost magnetic, this pull between you and Heeseung, between you and K. And no matter how much you tried to ignore it, it was impossible.

The club pulsed with energy as you and your friends slipped further into the night. The drinks kept flowing, shots and cocktails passed around like water, and with every drink, your body felt lighter, more free. Laughter filled the air, mingling with the thumping beat of the music as the crowd swayed and danced under the neon lights.

Your friends were all in high spirits, each of them offering birthday wishes, compliments, and teasing comments about how you were the life of the party. The atmosphere was electric, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let go of the constant buzzing in your head, the one that made you question the simmering tension between you, Heeseung, and K. Tonight was about you.

But, of course, they were still there.

You caught K’s eyes across the room. He was leaning casually against the bar, a drink in his hand, watching you with that signature smirk. The one that always seemed to make your heart race a little faster.

You shook your head, trying to focus, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him. And then, as if on cue, Heeseung wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m tired from training, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and familiar. “You go ahead, dance with your friends.”

You couldn’t help but pout, turning in his arms to face him.

“But I wanted to dance with you,” you whined, eyes sparkling with a playful challenge.

Heeseung smiled, but it was that teasing, knowing grin.

“I’m too tired, babe,” he repeated, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Go have fun. You know I don’t mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, the tip of your tongue brushing over your lips. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” Heeseung said with that same smile, but there was something in his eyes, something darker, almost predatory. “K can go dance with you.”

Your stomach flipped. You’d been thinking about K for most of the night, the heat in your veins already ignited by his presence, and now Heeseung was throwing him into the mix. But even more so, he was asking you to do it.

“Come on, I’m not gonna dance with him,” you said, your voice teasing, but your body responding to the thought anyway. “We’ll have to make it fun later.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, his hands still on your waist as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your neck for just a moment. His breath was hot against your skin.

“We will, baby. But for now—go have some fun. K’s waiting.”

So you sighed, already preparing yourself mentally. You turned to K, who was still leaning against the bar, his eyes never leaving you. There was that damn smirk again, and you knew exactly what was on his mind.

With a slight hesitation, you walked over to K. He grinned as you approached, taking your hand in his.

“Well, I guess you do need a dance partner,” he said, his voice low, the heat behind his words unmistakable. He pulled you onto the dance floor with him, and you fell into the rhythm of the music, the bass vibrating through your chest.

He was shy at first, a gentleman. Just dacing in front of you without really touching anything he shouldn’t. He chuckled as he saw you dancing, raising an eyebrow when one of your friends shoved a shot down your mouth.

K’s hands were on your hips, and you could feel his body heat radiating against yours. His movements were fluid, effortless, as he pulled you closer, guiding you as you danced together. The music was loud, the lights flashing in a rhythm that matched the pulse of your heart.

You tried to push down the thoughts swirling in your head, tried to enjoy the moment, but your body responded instinctively to K’s closeness. The way his touch lingered just a little too long, how his lips brushed against your ear when he leaned down to say something too soft to hear.

You were drunk. Or at least tipsy enough that your body wasn’t listening to your mind anymore.

The club was alive, the bass pumping in your veins, but all you could feel was the weight of the bodies around you.

You and K moved together, the chemistry undeniable. He guided you effortlessly, his grip on your waist firm as you swayed to the beat. Your movements were instinctive, body pushing against his as the music grew more intense. The alcohol buzzed in your bloodstream, making you feel light-headed, the world around you hazy, but it was K’s touch that kept you grounded, his fingers brushing along your sides with every sway.

And then, you felt it.

Heeseung’s presence behind you.

It was subtle at first, just the sensation of his warmth, his body just inches away from yours. But then, there was the undeniable press of his chest against your back, his hands slipping around your waist with his usual possessive confidence. His lips were by your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Heeseung whispered, voice a soft growl that made your body shudder in response. His words were like fuel to the fire building inside you.

You were dancing with K, but Heeseung was there too, his hands pulling you closer as you felt the steady press of his hardening body against your back. It was almost like a game now. The three of you, caught in this mix of heat and need. K’s hands moved lower, gripping your hips, guiding you closer to him, and then you felt it, beneath his jeans, his hard cock brushing against you with every movement. And then Heeseung’s hands, those strong, steady hands, gripped you tighter, forcing you back into him.

You couldn’t tell who was doing what anymore, their bodies pressing into yours from both sides. The movement was primal now, fluid, as you rolled your hips between them, your body grinding, twisting in time with the music, desperate for more. Your breath came faster, chest rising and falling, the tension building to a point where you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. You were sweating, like really sweating, strands of your hair sticking to your face as you lifted your arms and let the music and the heat guide you.

K was grinning now, that cocky, almost wicked smirk on his lips as his hands roamed lower on your body. His touch was demanding, not gentle, the way his fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them just enough so he could press closer. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes flicked to Heeseung told you everything. He wasn’t going to hold back either.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” K murmured in your ear, his words sending another shiver down your spine. You were lost in the feeling of their bodies surrounding you, hot, heavy, and insistent. There was no escape from the heat of them, no way to ignore the way they were practically grinding on you. Every part of you was on fire. Every part of you was aching.

Heeseung chuckled low behind you, his lips brushing against your neck as his hands gripped your hips with more force.

“She’s a little eager, isn’t she?”

K’s response was a quiet laugh, his hands now fully on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he slid his body closer to yours. You felt the pressure of both of their bodies, their hard chests, their toned muscles, pressed up against you. It was all you could do to hold yourself together as you moved between them, the rhythm of the music driving you, driving them.

You could feel K’s hardness pressing against your stomach, his breath hot on your ear as he kept you locked against him. But Heeseung? He was the one making you lose control. His hands were everywhere now, on your thighs, your waist, your chest. He was pulling you back into him, his body molding against yours as he whispered,

“You like this, don’t you?” Heeseung murmured, now dragging his lips down the side of your neck. “Having both of us pressed up on you. Feeling our hands. Our cocks.”

Your knees went weak.

It was a game now. A dangerous, intoxicating game of power, of control, and you were the pawn caught in between them, unable to escape. The way K moved against you was like fire, hot and reckless, every inch of him demanding more, but it was Heeseung who had you completely under his spell. His hands never stopped moving, sliding up your back, pushing you closer to K, making you press harder against him.

You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly your body was on the edge, and you couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything other than the sensation of their bodies on yours, K’s rough grip, Heeseung’s possessive hands, and the growing need inside you. The music pounded in your ears, but it was their bodies, their heat, that consumed you. You felt it, you were already soaked between your legs, your clothed core pulsing in need.

K’s lips brushed against your ear again, his voice a husky whisper. “You’re mine tonight,” he said, and there was something dark in his tone, something that made your heart race. “You know that, right?”

And just when you thought you couldn’t handle any more, Heeseung pulled you even closer, his lips now trailing down your neck as his hands roamed lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder into him. His breath was hot in your ear. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, low and steady. “You’re going to get everything you need. From both of us.”

Your body was on fire. Every inch of you was alive, and you couldn’t decide which touch you wanted more. The way K’s hands moved on your body, the way Heeseung’s lips whispered against your skin, it was too much. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe.

But one thing was certain: you were going to lose yourself in them tonight. And you didn’t care. You didn’t care who was in control, who was leading, who was following. All you cared about was feeling them, letting them have every inch of you.

The ride home was a blur of city lights and lingering touches.

You were nestled in the backseat between them, legs draped over K’s lap, your head resting on Heeseung’s shoulder. The alcohol had warmed your skin and softened your edges, but your mind was still clear. You were aware, of everything. Every glance. Every shift in tone. Every innocent touch that wasn’t really innocent.

By the time they got you inside, your heels were dangling from your fingers and your laugh was lazy and low. You were still tipsy, still happy about your party, but your mind was somewhere still on the dance floor, with the two men that were now walking behind you.

“C’mon, birthday girl,” Heeseung murmured, brushing his hand down your spine as he guided you toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you out of this tight little dress.”

You didn’t protest. Not even a little. You just let him walk you back, K trailing quietly behind with a small smirk on his face like he was already in on the plan. But you were a little gone to even care, you thought maybe he was just gonna say goodbye and leave.

But then, inside of the bedroom, he closed the door behind him.

Your knees weakened, and you glanced at Heeseung, but he just smiled, like telling you, trust me.

So you flopped onto the bed, dress riding up dangerously high on your thighs. Heeseung stood at the edge of the mattress, tilting his head down at you with that look, the one that always made your stomach drop.

“You comfy, baby?” he asked, voice smooth.

You hummed. “Mmm, kinda.”

Heeseung smiled, eyes flicking to K for a second, like they were on the same page of something you were unaware of, and you swallowed, confused for a second not really knowing what the hell was going on.

Heeseung’s voice slid you out of your thought.

“You look a little hot,” he said, fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “Tight clothes. Warm skin. Too many drinks.” He crouched beside the bed, brushing your hair back with practiced ease. “Let’s help you relax.”

You nodded, not really knowing what he meant. But you trusted him, so you bit your lip as he straigthened in front of you. Then his gaze met with K’s again. He grabbed your hand and made you stand up, your legs trembled — already — but he just chuckled, low, deep.

“Help her,” he said simply, voice thick with something unspoken.

You blinked, slowly turning your head toward K, who stepped forward, slow, measured, like he was approaching something fragile. His eyes met yours, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, barely remembered how to breathe.

“Is this ok?” He asked, like already knowing the answer.

You tried to talk, but you were unable to find your voice, so you just nodded, slowly. His hands reached for you, careful and steady, fingers grazing your shoulders as they slid under the straps of your dress.

You shivered at the first touch.

Your skin was on fire.

The pads of his thumbs were warm as they brushed your collarbones, dragging the straps down, inch by agonizing inch. You watched his hands move like you were outside your body, like this couldn’t possibly be happening. K, your boyfriend’s best friend, undressing you with your boyfriend’s permission, with his blessing.

The straps slipped down your arms and your dress followed, slowly peeled from your skin like a secret being unraveled. It pooled at your waist first, then slipped over your hips as K knelt in front of you, hands steady, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check if you were still okay.

You were.

You were buzzing.

The dress fell to the floor, soft fabric brushing your ankles, and you were left in your tiny black lace set, barely-there panties and a matching bra, delicate and sheer. The air felt different on your skin now, cold in contrast to the heat rolling off your body.

You were so exposed. And they were still fully dressed.

But you didn’t want to cover up.

K’s eyes dropped lower, trailing down your body. His breath caught slightly when his gaze hit your thighs, then your chest. Deep, lustful, sparkly eyes making you squirm, that gaze you knew so well now completely wrecked. His hands hovered, still close but not touching.

“So pretty.”

You flushed, teeth sinking into your lip.

Heeseung stood behind you now, hands massaging your shoulders gently.

“She likes hearing that,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Tell her again.”

K leaned down slightly, one hand resting on the mattress beside your thigh.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N,” he repeated, eyes flicking up to yours. “I always thought so.”

Your breath hitched. You were so aware of your body now, of the way your skin buzzed under their eyes, of how seen you felt.

Heeseung’s fingers threaded through your hair from behind, tilting your head so he could murmur against your jaw.

“She’s been thinking about this for a long time. Haven’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, nodding. There was no way to hide it now, there was no reason to do so, you were shaking, hot, for them. For both of them. K’s hands had settled on your thighs now, thumbs stroking circles into the soft flesh as he leaned in just a little closer, breathing in your scent, feeling the heat coming off your body in waves.

“Tell him,” Heeseung whispered. “Tell him how long you’ve wanted him to touch you like this.”

Your face burned. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. It took you a second—longer than it should’ve—but when you finally spoke, your voice was small and breathy and real.

“I… I think about it a lot,” you confessed. “More than I should.”

K exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath. His grip on your thighs tightened just slightly. He smirked as if he’d known this answer for so long, his fingers felt burning against your sensitive skin, anticipation clouding your mind.

“And you don’t have to think anymore,” Heeseung said, dragging his lips along your neck. “You’re getting everything you want tonight.”

Your hands reached out on instinct, one tangling in Heeseung’s shirt behind you, the other curling around K’s wrist in front. You didn’t know who to touch, who to hold onto. It didn’t matter. They were both here, and they weren’t going anywhere.

K leaned forward slowly, his hands gliding up your sides to rest just under your bra. He looked up at you again, one last time, asking permission without a word.

You nodded, biting your lip.

And he peeled it off of you, slow, steady, every inch of exposed skin kissed by the cool air, your nipples tightening the moment they hit the air.

Heeseung hummed behind you, one hand reaching around to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your sensitive skin while his other hand slid down your stomach. Your head was spinning, not from the alcohol, not anymore, but from the heat building between your legs, the tension coiling tight in your gut, the weight of two pairs of eyes worshiping you like you were something sacred.

You felt your body lean forward without thinking, reaching for K’s shoulder to steady yourself, just so you could feel something, anchor yourself. His hand immediately came to rest on your thigh, solid, grounding, dangerous.

Heeseung’s hands slipped lower, brushing your sides, curving in around your waist.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your skin. “You like this?”

You nodded slowly.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you breathed, eyes flicking between both of them.

Heeseung kissed your shoulder.

“It is.”

K’s thumb brushed the inside of your thigh, just a whisper of a touch, but it made you jolt.

“You’re real,” K said softly, voice lower now. “And you’re perfect.”

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, your thighs twitching where his hand rested. You were already overwhelmed, heart pounding heart against your chest, hands shaky and clumsy because you didn’t know what to do.

Heeseung laughed, low and quiet.

“She doesn’t even know what to do with herself.”

“I think she’s just waiting for us to show her,” K murmured, not taking his eyes off you.

You whimpered.

“Lay back for us, baby,” Heeseung murmured.

Your legs felt like jelly, but you obeyed, your body already trained to respond to his voice. You sank slowly into the mattress, your skin prickling against the cool sheets. The room felt too warm and too cold at once, and you were still wearing your soaked panties while the rest of you lay bare, chest rising and falling as their eyes ate you alive.

K stayed at the foot of the bed, just watching, while Heeseung leaned over you, one knee pressing into the mattress beside your hip, his fingers brushing hair out of your face like he wasn’t seconds from ruining you.

“You’re so quiet, sweetheart,” he said with a teasing pout. “Nothing to say?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Just a whimper.

“Yeah,” K muttered, arms crossed now, head tilting. “She’s gone already, huh? We haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

Heeseung chuckled, and his hand slid down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your panties.

“We don’t even have to. She’s already ruined.”

You squirmed under their gaze, hips shifting, thighs pressing together to ease the aching pulse there. But Heeseung tsked, pressing your legs gently apart with one knee.

“Don’t be shy now,” he said. “You were all over us at the club. Remember that?”

“Grinding like a little slut,” K added. “Like she wanted both of us to take her right there on the floor.”

You whimpered, covering your face with your hands. Your skin felt like it was on fire. A wave of shame covered you, too aware, too conscious.

Heeseung clicked his tongue.

“None of that. Hands down.”

You obeyed instantly, blinking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. Your whole face was red, your vision hazy, your lips parted as you tried to look for the air that had left your lungs minutes ago.

“Good girl,” he cooed. Then, he glanced at K. “Come here. Help me with these.”

K stepped forward without hesitation, hooking his fingers into your panties at your hips and pulling them down agonizingly slow. Heeseung leaned back to give him room, watching your expression the whole time. You tried not to squirm. Tried not to breathe too loudly. But when the damp lace peeled away from your core, you couldn’t help the shaky little gasp that escaped your lips.

Your bare pussy was in full display in front of them, and you felt it, soaked, glistening, needy. Their eyes settled between your legs and you almost moaned, they looked like they wanted to devour you.

“Look at that,” K said softly, his voice almost reverent now. “She’s fucking dripping.”

“Messy girl,” Heeseung murmured. “Is that for me, baby? Or him?”

You didn’t know. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t answer. They were looking at you like you were edible, like they were deciding who would bite first. And you had to look away for a second, biting your lip, it was just too much.

“She doesn’t even know,” K smirked, dragging a knuckle slowly up the inside of your thigh, so close. “That’s adorable.”

You cried out, tiny and frustrated, hips bucking just slightly, but they didn’t give in. K’s hand pulled away again. Heeseung leaned down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then higher, then higher, until he was just under your breast, still not giving you enough.

Your skin felt electric. Too tight. Every nerve was screaming. You could feel the throb between your legs with every beat of your heart, hot, swollen, soaked. Your hands gripped the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but there was no relief. Only them.

“You want something, sweetheart?” Heeseung asked, feigning innocence.

You nodded desperately, biting your lip. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All you could do was feel, the aching void where their touch should be.

“Use your words,” K said from between your knees. “Come on. You were so brave before. You gonna go all shy on us now?”

You swallowed hard, chest heaving. You weren’t shy. You were ruined.

“I—I want…”

“What?” Heeseung purred, kissing the side of your breast now, his hand sliding lazily across your ribs, not even pretending to be in a hurry. “You want me to touch you? Or him?”

“Both,” you whispered, the word shaky and soaked with desperation. It was the only thing you could say. The only thing your brain could form. You needed them. Both of them. Everywhere.

They both stilled for a moment. Then smiled.

“Oh, baby,” Heeseung said, voice like a promise, “we’ll give you both. Just not yet.”

You wanted to scream. Your thighs clenched uselessly, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. The air felt thick, heavy with sex and tension, and your body felt weightless, like you were floating just above yourself, trapped in a haze of arousal so sharp it hurt.

K leaned in again, lips brushing the inside of your thigh this time—just once—before pulling away. You sobbed out a breath, half a plea. A single kiss. His breath was hot, his mouth barely there, and then he was gone again.

“She’s so sensitive,” K muttered. “Bet one little lick would break her.”

“I know,” Heeseung grinned. “That’s why we’re not giving it to her yet.”

You whimpered, arching up, thighs shaking. Your whole body twitched. You couldn’t take much more of this. Your heart was racing, skin damp with sweat, muscles shaking. You were so close to something, but they kept you teetering, toes curled over the edge with no way to fall. You moned again, hips lifting off the bed in a futile attempt to chase K’s mouth, Heeseung’s hands, anything.

And Heeseung kissed your mouth, slow and deep, just to shut you up. Slow. Deep. Dominant. His tongue slid against yours, catching the little, broken moans slipping from your lips. He swallowed your sounds like they were his favorite thing. He kissed you like he owned you. And in that moment, you were his. Theirs.

Your thoughts had melted into static. Your whole body was shaking with need.

Then K’s fingers inched just a little closer, brushing over your folds, barely, and your back arched involuntarily.

“She’s leaking,” K murmured, sounding way too calm about it. “It’s fucking hot.”

Heeseung smiled, looking down at you like you were the most delicious thing he’d ever seen.

“You like his hands on you, baby?”

You couldn’t answer. Not with words. Just a desperate nod, lips parted, hips twitching.

K’s hand dragged lower again, this time letting his knuckles brush directly over your slit. Just one slow pass. The contact was still light, barely-there—but it had your whole body jolting like he’d shocked you.

“Shit,” K breathed, licking his lips. “She’s so wet.”

“She’s always this wet,” Heeseung said proudly, dipping his head to finally take your nipple into his mouth, hot and wet, his tongue flicking slow. You gasped, arching into his mouth, and that movement ground your hips up into K’s palm again.

He pressed down just a little this time. Just enough pressure to have your legs shaking.

“Such a good little toy, huh?” Heeseung mumbled around your nipple, his teeth scraping softly. “She just lays here and takes it.”

“She loves it,” K agreed, dragging two fingers up your slit now, slow and intentional, but still not pushing in, still not giving you what you were aching for. “So fucking needy.”

You whimpered, your fingers clutching at the sheets, legs falling further open like your body had given up on pretending it had any shame left. There was none. Not anymore.

K leaned down, breath ghosting against your core now, and his fingers dragged back up, this time pausing to roll over your clit once.

You cried out.

But instead of doing it again, he just smirked.

“Sensitive.”

“Baby’s close and we haven’t even fucked her yet,” Heeseung said, switching to your other breast, leaving the first one wet and flushed. “Think we should make her come like this?”

K hummed.

“No. Not yet.”

“Cruel,” Heeseung chuckled.

“She likes it,” K said, eyes on you again. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded desperately, tears pricking at your lashes now.

“I—I do.”

“Good girl.”

Heeseung lifted his head and kissed you again, hard, tongue exploring into your mouth, catching the tiny moans you couldn’t stop anymore. While he kissed you, K dipped two fingers down again, slowly sliding between your folds, parting you, but still not going inside. Just stroking the slickness, rubbing over your clit in lazy, cruel circles that made your thighs twitch and your hips jerk helplessly up into his hand.

He pulled away again just when you felt the edge rushing up, again.

“No,” you gasped. “Please—”

Your body wasn’t yours anymore. It was theirs. Your thighs pulled open, lips parted, mind fogged over so thickly you couldn’t remember your own name, just the way their hands moved, the heat of their mouths, their voices curling around you like silk and static.

“Look at her,” K said, somewhere between amused and amazed. “Fucking wrecked.”

Heeseung was sitting beside you now, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watched K kneel between your legs again, his fingers glistening with your arousal. They kept doing it. Kept breaking you.

“Touch her again,” Heeseung said softly. “Just like before.”

K obeyed, two fingers sliding up your folds with maddening slowness, stopping right before your entrance. He rubbed your clit in small, steady circles, too slow to satisfy, too perfect to ignore. It was excruciating. It was everything. You sobbed, the tension twisting tighter in your belly, so sharp it almost hurt. Every brush of his fingers felt like electricity, dancing through your nerves, tightening your muscles, building, building, and still—still—not enough.

“There it is,” Heeseung murmured, brushing the hair from your face, his thumb catching the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Poor baby. Thought we’d let you come already?”

You nodded desperately, lips trembling, throat too tight for words. A broken whine slipped out instead, pitiful and raw.

K leaned closer, breath fanning over your drenched heat.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” His voice was low and sinful, thick with amusement. “I can feel it.”

Your hips jerked up, chasing his mouth with desperation you couldn’t control. You needed more. Needed anything.

He chuckled.

Then he stopped.

You screamed, not from pain, not even from surprise, but from the soul-crushing frustration. It felt like your orgasm had been ripped from your body with both hands. Your back arched, hands clutching the sheets like lifelines, trying to force something to stay, to hold on, to push through. But it was gone. Again.

Heeseung caught your jaw gently, turning your face to his. “Shh, baby. Don’t cry. We’ll give it to you.”

“But you have to earn it,” K added from between your legs, his voice calm, unhurried, dark. “Beg.”

“I am—” you hiccupped, your breath stuttering. Your eyes were glassy, lashes sticky with tears. “I am begging.”

Heeseung tilted his head, lips brushing your cheek.

“Not properly.”

You whimpered, completely undone.

“Please, please let me come—I’ll do anything—please, I need it so bad, I c-can’t—”

You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded. Your voice cracked, thick with tears and lust and surrender. You weren’t playing anymore. You needed them. You were soaked, ruined, trembling, your core throbbing with every heartbeat, clenching around nothing. Your thoughts were gone, lost to the ache.

K pressed his fingers back to your clit, just for a second. You gasped, your whole body jolting like you’d been shocked. The edge slammed back into you so fast it made your head spin. But then—again—he pulled away.

You sobbed, body shaking harder now, mouth open and panting, chest rising in shallow breaths.

“Please,” you cried, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m yours—yours—just make me come, please—”

Heeseung groaned softly, and you could see the heat in his eyes. He loved this. Every broken syllable, every whimper, every drop of need you spilled for them.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, thumb brushing another tear from your cheek.

“She’s so fucking cute like this,” K said, dragging his nails lightly along your thigh. “Wrecked and begging.”

You couldn’t stop trembling. Your thighs were slick, trembling open and exposed. Your lips were swollen, aching. Your chest heaved with every breath, and there wasn’t a single thought left in your head. Only sensation. Only need.

“You think she’s ready?” K asked, dragging his fingers slowly down your stomach again, stopping just above where you were soaking the sheets.

Heeseung leaned in, kissed your jaw, your cheek, then finally your mouth, soft and filthy, tongue sliding against yours.

“She’s more than ready,” he whispered. “She’s dying for it.”

You nodded frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “Please—just let me—please—”

They watched you. Not touching. Letting you feel it, that raw, trembling need.

“You hear that, man?” K said, his tone full of that same wicked playfulness. “She’s begging.”

Heeseung smiled darkly. Then finally—finally—he lowered his hand and pressed his fingers to your clit, hard and fast and perfect.

You gasped, the pressure making you twitch, your hips jerking uncontrollably.

Then K’s tongue dragged a long, slow stroke up your entrance, licking up every drop you’d soaked the sheets with. You screamed, thighs closing around his head, hands clawing at the sheets as the pressure snapped back into place, coiling so tight in your belly you thought you’d explode. Heeseung’s fingers rubbed in tight, relentless circles, precise and brutal, every stroke sparking across your nerves like lightning. K’s tongue flattened against your entrance, licking into you deep and slow, before flicking up to swirl around your clit, fast, wet, hot.

And your body—your ruined, aching, hypersensitive body—couldn’t take it.

You broke.

The orgasm slammed into you without warning. Not a wave. Not a build. It was a detonation, a sudden, violent unraveling that ripped through every muscle, every nerve, every thought you had left. You screamed, loud, wrecked, raw, as your back arched clean off the bed, legs locking around K’s shoulders. Your vision blurred, went white at the edges, stars exploding behind your eyes as the climax consumed you completely. Every inch of your skin burned with it, your thighs shaking, your fingers digging into the sheets, your mouth open and gasping as sobs mixed with moans.

It didn’t stop.

Heeseung’s fingers kept working you through it, dragging it out until it hurt, until your body was twitching helplessly, until the pleasure spiraled so high it blurred into pain and back again. K moaned against you, tongue still tasting everything you gave him, still stroking the softest parts of you until your entire body felt like it was buzzing.

“Fuck,” Heeseung breathed, watching you come apart. “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”

“She’s so loud,” K muttered, voice muffled between your thighs. “She came so fucking hard…”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering, body still convulsing in tiny aftershocks as your orgasm slowly, so slowly, began to fade.

Heeseung leaned over you again, brushing his lips against your cheek, your ear.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Took it so well.”

K finally pulled back, and your legs dropped open limply. You were soaked, trembling, boneless, your skin damp with sweat, your throat sore from crying out. You felt like you were floating, detached from your body, your chest rising and falling in rapid little gasps.

You were still trembling when they moved. Your body, spent from that first orgasm, had sunk halfway into the mattress, slick and flushed and utterly wrecked. And yet, somewhere in that dizzy, floating haze, you were still aching for more.

Your thighs twitched weakly. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts. Your eyes, half-lidded and glassy, blinked slowly as you watched Heeseung stand up at the edge of the bed.

He peeled off his shirt first, slowly, deliberately, dragging the fabric up his torso, exposing inch after inch of taut, golden skin. Defined lines of muscle rippled with the motion, his abs tightening as the shirt passed over them. His chest rose and fell evenly, a light sheen of sweat catching the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

You didn’t even realize your mouth had parted.

Then K stood too, pulling off his own shirt in a single motion, and you swore your lungs stopped working.

He was just as cut. Broad chest, sharp waist, shoulders so wide they made your throat dry. His skin was smooth and pale in the low light, collarbones carved, veins just starting to raise on his arms. And the way he looked at you, those sharp eyes dragging over your limp, naked body like he owned you, it made something inside you twist painfully.

“Oh, she’s drooling,” Heeseung said with a slow, cruel smirk. He reached down and cupped your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to him. “You like what you see, baby?”

You tried to answer, but your lips were dry, trembling. A soft, pathetic sound left you instead, half a whimper, half a moan.

“She can’t even talk,” K laughed darkly. “Already so gone, and we haven’t even started.”

Heeseung let go of your chin and reached for the waistband of his jeans, dragging them down over his hips, revealing thick thighs and the obvious bulge straining in his briefs. He stepped out of them slowly, giving you time to look, to take in every inch of him. When he got rid of his boxers, you lost it even though you’d seen him so many times before. He was so thick, so hard, so perfect. His cock was veiny, red tip glistening in precum. Your mouth watered, it had been days since you last tasted him, and you wanted him now.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

And when K followed suit, tugging his own pants down, you made a sound, soft and broken. You felt it in your core, in your throat, in the very center of your chest. Like you couldn’t hold it in. He was even more perfect than you’d imagined. His cock was just a little thicker than Heeseung’s, but so close in size, and so hard too, he stroked himself a few times and you clenched your thighs together again.

Their bodies were unreal, built, hard, warm, male in every way that made your thighs clench and your mouth go dry. Every shift of their muscles made you twitch, every shadow dipping into the contours of their torsos made your breath catch.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide, voice hoarse.

“She’s shaking,” Heeseung said, clearly enjoying every second of your unraveling. “And we haven’t even touched her again.”

K moved closer to the bed, dragging two fingers up your shin, slow and light.

“You ever seen anything like this before, sweetheart?” he asked, voice syrup-smooth and low. Same cockiness as always, but you didn’t care, he was so hot being confident.

You couldn’t answer. Your mind had gone static, short-circuited by the way their skin looked, by the sheer presence of them standing there, cocks hard and heavy, muscles carved like statues and eyes glued to you like prey.

Heeseung sat beside you again, this time fully naked, and cupped one of your breasts in his hand, thumb brushing over the pebbled nipple.

“You’re drooling,” he murmured again, more gently this time. “So fucking cute. You wanna touch us?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your head upright.

K leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Then you’re gonna let us take you. Again. And again. Until that pretty little head of yours forgets everything but us.”

Heeseung leaned close too, his hand still teasing your chest, his lips brushing your jaw. You closed your eyes, leaning at his touch.

“You’re going to be good with K, baby?” He asked as K crawled in the bed and kneeled in front of you, until his thick length was just a few inches away from your flushed face.

You swallowed, and he winked an eye at you, that same smirk in his lips. So you nodded, glancing at Heeseung, who now was grabbing your thighs, spreading you open again, face lowering between your legs and you trembled as his breath crashed with you skin because you were still so sensitive.

Heeseung talked against your skin again, hands brushing your thighs, and you squirmed.

“Suck his dick, baby. Just as good as you do with mine.”

You nodded again, slowly this time, eyes flicking from K’s face down to where he knelt in front of you, his expression unreadable but hungry. You could feel his gaze settle over every inch of you, heavy and hot, like he already knew what was about to happen and was savoring it.

Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs more firmly, holding you open, holding you still. His breath ghosted over your skin and you twitched, still hypersensitive, still trembling from the last time they’d brought you to pieces.

Then, with shaky hands, you wrapped them around K’s length. You stroked him slowly, mostly because you weren’t in your state of mind right now, and he hissed between his teeth, you looked up at him, eyes watering, before stretching your neck just a bit, until your lips met with the tip of his cock. And you liked, slow, wet, dragging your tongue along his member, tasting him, and you almost moaned because — finally—, you’d been thinking about this for such a long time. One of his hands landed in your head, but he didn’t push, yet. You opened your mouth, wrapping your swollen lips around his tip, and you sucked, just a couple of times, salty precum on your tongue. Finally, you relaxed your jaw, he was thick, very thick, so it was hard for you to adjust, but you did anyways, taking him deep until he touched your throat, but you gagged around him, and breathless chuckle let his lips.

Between your legs, Heeseung raised an eyebrow, his fingers brushing your inner thighs, skin soaked because of your recent orgasm, and you twitched, sighing through your nose.

“C’mon, baby, that’s the best you can do? I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint him, mh? Take him deeper, cmon, choke around him.”

You pulled back, chest heaving as you caught your breath, glanced up at K and he was smirking, he raised his chin like telling you, commanding you, to take him deeper. So you sighed again, opening your mouth wide and he grabbed your hair tight before thrusting his hips forward, sliding inside of your mouth with one hard hit, cock all the way down your throat, and you suppressed a gag, tears falling down your cheeks.

“Fuck.” he hissed, not waiting anymore before starting to rock his hips, his thick cock bumping inside of your mouth, the hot flesh on your tongue, saliva falling from the corner of your lips “Such a warm, perfect litte mouth.”

Your throat burned, eyes watering as you adjusted to the rhythm he gave you, rough and unrelenting, like he’d waited forever for this moment. K’s grip in your hair was firm, keeping you steady as he moved, muttering curses under his breath that made your skin prickle with heat.

Your hands dug into the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but there was no escape from the sensation, his pace, his voice, the way Heeseung was still between your legs, watching. Always watching. But he didn’t stay still, no, with a mischievious smirk, he spat, right onto your pulsing core, and you flinched, gagging around K’s cock. You didn’t have time to protest, it was just too much, you were still sensitive, but he didn’t care, he licked long, slow, along your soaked folds, moaning against your pussy, nose brushing your swollen clit, and hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread for him. You whined around K’s length, shutting your eyes feeling your legs tremble.

“Look at her,” K groaned, tilting your face just slightly so Heeseung could see the tears on your cheeks, the dazed shine in your eyes. “She’s taking it so well. Choking on my dick like the dirty bitch she is.”

Heeseung made a sound low in his throat, fingers stroking your pussy, as he moved his tongue in messy circles, his warm tongue making you arch your back,

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, and your stomach flipped at the praise. He lifted his head, face all a mess of your fluids and his spit, and you rocked your hips looking for more pleasure, for more of his tongue against your pulsing pussy. Whining, mouth still full of his best friend’s cock “So sensitive.” Heeseung murmured, voice thick with something close to awe. “She can barely take it.”

“She’s doing fine,” K muttered, his tone rough. “She likes it. Don’t you, baby?”

You tried to nod, but even that felt too much, your body taut like a wire, nerves overstretched and begging for relief. You felt like you were floating, not entirely present, held there only by the heat of their voices and the ache curling low in your belly.

K then started to thrust his hips faster, rougher, deeper, and you moaned around him as your fingers reached for his thighs for balance, because it was just too much, you couldn’t think straigh, not when he was face fucking you this good, not when Heeseung was eating you out like an starved man. Every touch felt like lightning under your skin. You were trembling again, toes curling against the sheets, eyes glassy and unfocused. Your body was heavy with the weight of everything they’d given you—and everything they still held back.

“Fuck, that’s it. Cry around me like the little filthy slut you are.” K’s voice was rough, deep, bathed in lust, his jaw was clenched, his hand gripped tight in your hair, a vein popping from his neck, sweat falling along his forehead, his eyes dark, fixated on you, on your mouth, how you sucked him sloppy and messy.

“She loves her mouth full of a thick cock.” Heeseung chuckled — actually chuckled— against your pussy, wet sounds of his mouth eating you, and then he shoved two fingers between your folds, you cried out, pulling back from K’s cock as you sniffed.

“P-Please— Too much” you thighs were shaking, every beat of your racing heart matching the pulsings of your soaked pussy in Heeseung’s mouth, and he just ignored your pleas, curling his fingers inside of you as his tongue worked messy over your clit.

“You can take it, c’mon. You wanted it so bad before.”

You whimpered, and K grabbed your hair again and shoved himself inside of your mouth once again, you choked, more tears falling from your eyes as you took him so deep the head of his cock was crashing against the back of your throat. He groaned, letting his head fall backwards as his hips rolled onto your face, faster, rougher.

“You like being used, don’t you? You like when we make you feel small.” He thrusted into your mouth erratically, and you moaned again when Heeseung shook his head and eat you out so good, the knot in your lower belly already building again, and you squirmed, overwhelmed, your whole body aching.

“You’re gonna let him ruin your pretty face, baby? Let him cover you, c’mon, do it K, don’t let her waste a single drop.” Heeseung spat right on your clit and you actually tried to scream around K’s cock.

He didn’t wait anymore. His orgasm came with so much force, hips hitting your face tight as he groaned guttural, his cock twitching and throbbing inside of your mouth. He took it out, warm drops of creamy strands falling on your cheeks, your forehead, your mouth. And you took it, like the good girl you were, because you wanted him to know how much you loved his taste.

“You took me so well, you were born for this baby.” K whispered.

But Heeseung kept working on your pussy, mouth full of your fluids and licking fast and messily around your clit as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. So good, so skilled, so deep. And when he gently reached your g-spot, your body couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension snapped, and the world fell out from under you.

Your back arched off the bed, a cry torn from your lips, sharp and helpless. Everything burned—white-hot and blinding—like your body had forgotten how to exist outside of the pleasure. The wave crashed over you, pulling you under, and all you could do was hold on. Wet strands of fluids soaking the sheets, soaking Heeseung’s face, his hair, his arms, it was a mess and you were shaking and gasping for air.

Your heart pounded, your limbs shook, tears clung to your lashes, and through the haze, you felt Heeseung’s hands holding you down, anchoring you. Kissing your hips like you were something holy. Whispering things you couldn’t understand.

“Fuuuuck. That’s so fucking hot.” K’s chest moved up and down as his orgasm still pulsed in his body, and Heeseung circled your clit slow, like wanting to prolong yours, but it was too much, you were aching, overstimulated.

“You came so much for us baby, you soaked me.” He kissed your inner thighs, and you whined.

“T-Too much, it’s too much—”.

“Poor thing can’t tell if she’s begging us to stop or keep going.” K’s hand caressed your hair, and you closed your eyes. You felt Heeseung moving again, but your body was already failing you, unable to move.

You wanted them to keep going, you wanted them to use you until you couldn’t take it anymore. But your body felt already so weak, you couldn’t ever raise your head, your face still covered in K’s cum.

But then you felt him, Heeseung grabbed your waist, manhandling you without any problem because your body felt so light, and you didn’t protest, you let him flip you over, ass lifted as your knees threatened to break, but you just buried your face in the pillows, arching your back creating that curve you knew he loved so much.

“You said you could take it, didn’t you? You begged for it. What happened, sweetheart?” His tone was sweet, but you could almost hear the smirk in his face.

K just laid by your side, back against the head of the bed, you felt his warm fingers on your body, on your back, on your breasts, on your ass, and you glanced up to meet with his hard cock again, he was stroking himself as Heeseung knelt on the bed behind you, hands gripped tight to your hips, helping you keep balance because you were still trembling.

“Why don’t we show K how much fun do we have, mh? Can you take it, baby? You’re already so fucked, but i know you can. Let’s show him who this pussy belongs to.”

You couldn’t talk, you had already forgot every word in your brain, so you just hummed, weak, low, broken. Because even overstimulated, trembling, body already wrecked, you felt how you pussy clenched needy when Heeseung’s cock brushed your folds, and unconsciously rocked your hips towards him.

“There it is, my greedy little whore.”

And then he slammed into you, with one hard, deep thrust, and you screamed, feeling his thick length stretch your sensitive walls, your pussy aching but clenching around him so good.

Every inch of your body was drawn tight with heat, nerves frayed, mind hollowed out by everything they’d done to you. What they kept doing to you, Heeseung’s familiar and perfect cock inside of you, K’s fingers were slow, deliberate, dragging along your sides like he was memorizing the shape of you, while his other hand still moved lazily over his throbbing cock. He was watching you so closely. Watching the way you buckled, the way your breath hitched each time Heeseung moved behind you and crashed his hips with your ass.

And Heeseung, he was nothing but steady hands and low growls, fingers digging into your hips, holding you like he knew you’d fall apart without him. Like he wanted you to. You whimpered when you felt him press against you again, the heat of him thick and unforgiving. Your knees wobbled, the overstimulation building sharp in your spine. Everything was too much, and not enough.

“She’s gone,” K muttered, amused, dragging his thumb across your cheek. “Completely fucked out.”

“Still moving though,” Heeseung answered, voice low against your back. “Still chasing it. Greedy little thing. She’s clenching me so tight.”

Your breath hitched as Heeseung’s hands slid up your waist, grounding you just enough to keep you from floating away. You didn’t know how you were still upright, your arms had long since given out, and your thighs trembled beneath you, overstimulated and slick with heat. Every part of you was humming, nerves exposed like open wires.

And then Heeseung moved, rougher, fully fucking you now. Just enough to make you jolt forward with a gasp, the motion sparking through your spine like electricity, wet sounds of your skins crashing, loud moans leaving your lips and more tears falling down your face.

“F-Fuck!”

You clung to the sheets, chest heaving. K was still in front of you, stroking himself slow and lazy, gaze fixed on your face, your trembling lips, the dazed, glassy look in your eyes.

“She’s barely hanging on,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice thick with something close to awe.

Heeseung laughed under his breath behind you, fingers curling tighter into your hips.

“She loves it like this. Don’t you, baby?” His voice dipped, almost tender. “All dumb and dripping and so, so full.”

You couldn’t respond, not with words. Just a soft, broken whimper as your body arched back into his grip, your skin flushed and oversensitive. You felt like you were vibrating, like the whole world narrowed down to the slow drag of fingertips across your thighs, the press of heat behind you, the thick cock slamming into your g-spot over and over, the low rasp of their voices echoing through the haze. And then Heeseung’s fingers found your clit again, and you sobbed.

“You feel it?” Heeseung murmured, leaning over you, his chest against your back, lips brushing your shoulder. “How close you are again?”

You nodded, tears clinging to your lashes, and he hummed in approval.

“That’s it, princess,�� K said from in front of you, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

And you did.

You let go. Let the pleasure crash over you like a wave, your body shuddering, breath catching, as you tipped over the edge again. Overwhelmed. Overworked. Completely undone in their hands. Your pussy clenched so tight around him and he started rocking his hips erratically, the sound so obscene, the image of K stroking himself in front of your face.

Heeseung didn’t hold back, he fucked into you one last time and came with a long, loud groan, the veins of his neck popping, his head thrown back, his fingers gripped so tight in your hips that it burned. He spilled inside of you, warm, familiar, so good. His cum filled your insides, and you whimpered when he pulled out just to see how it leaked between your folds.

Your body felt weightless, boneless. You collapsed against the sheets, chest pressed to the mattress, cheek turned to the side as your breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. You could still feel every pulse of your release echoing through you, your skin sensitive to even the faintest touch.

Heeseung leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear as he smoothed a hand along your spine.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He kissed your temple, slow and sweet, like he hadn’t just completely ruined you.

You felt the mattress shift as he moved, making space. You tried to lift your head, to figure out what was happening, but you didn’t have to wait long.

K was there, his presence a wall of heat behind you, hands already settling on your hips. You trembled, overwhelmed and desperate all over again.

“She’s shaking,” he said softly, thumbs brushing circles into your skin. “She’s so warm.”

“She’ll take it,” Heeseung replied from beside you, fingers tangling in your hair again. “She always does. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded. Slowly. Willingly.

K leaned over you, one hand bracing beside your head, the other still stroking along your thigh. His mouth hovered near your ear, his breath making your skin pebble.

“Tell me if it’s too much”.

His voice was different now, low and rough, but gentler. And somehow, that made the anticipation even more unbearable. You felt everything, his touch, the shift of his weight behind you, the slow drag of his fingers down your spine, the tension in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second. You were already buzzing, already teetering on the edge again, and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

He flipped you over with so much ease too, as your body was literally floating at this point, and you saw his face, his beautiful face covered in sweat, his hair sticked to his forehead. You just smiled, but so softly, because even that movement was just too much for you. Then K grabbed your thighs, gently, but still tight, pushing them against your chest, spreading you open. You felt your sensitive and overstimulated pussy pulsing again, still leaking Heeseung’s seed. He watched it too, and just smirked.

“So fucking ruined.”

K looked down at you like you were something fragile and filthy all at once, something he wanted to break and treasure at the same time. His chest rose and fell, sheen of sweat catching the low light, and when he leaned forward, your breath caught.

He kissed you, his kiss was different from Heeseung’s. It was dirtier, more primal, needier, messier. Tongue and theeth and spit, and you took it all, moving your lips against his messily because you didn’t even know what your were doing. But his taste was so sweet, his lips so plush, and your pussy clenched again, needy, still.

Your legs were folded high, thighs trembling against your own chest, held there by his strong grip. You felt exposed—utterly undone, and yet so warm beneath his gaze. You could barely meet his eyes when he pulled back.

K’s hands were so big on your legs. Firm. Confident. But he wasn’t rushing. No, he was watching, taking in every inch of you, every tremor, every ragged breath.

“She’s a mess,” Heeseung said from the side, his voice filled with that same smug affection, his fingers tracing circles over your knee. “And she loves it.”

You couldn’t argue. You didn’t want to.

K leaned down, close enough that his breath fanned across your cheek.

“You ready?” he asked softly. “You want more?”

It was ridiculous to nod, your body was already undone, used, spent. But you did. Slowly. Desperately.

He shifted forward, and you braced yourself, your breath catching, hands curling into the sheets, your body thrumming with too much sensation, too much emotion. Every nerve was alive. Every thought was him. Every muscle in your body anticipated the next wave of heat, of pressure, of overwhelming pleasure.

And then he slid inside of you, and you grabbed his arms and digged your nails in his skin, because he was a little thicker than Heeseung, but it felt so good, he stretched your already used walls, and you moaned again, broken, weak. He let out a long groan, shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw, you could feel every vein inside of you.

“So fucking tight and perfect.” His voice was broken too, and he grabbed your hips before thrusting with a strong pace, his cock disappearing inside of your dripping walls, your fluids and Heeseung’s making it so sloppy, but so good.

“She’s that tight even after i used her. She’s fucking perfect.” Heeseung was laying besides you, hands caressing your head like telling you, i’m here.

K’s pace was relentless, but not cruel, just deep, steady, intentional. You couldn’t stop the noise that left you, somewhere between a sob and a moan, as your body rocked with every thrust. You felt so full, every inch of him dragging against your walls, already raw and overstimulated, and yet somehow still aching for more.

Your nails stayed dug into his arms, not even consciously, just gripping, clinging. Your body was fire and static, too much and not enough all at once.

K’s head dropped for a second, forehead pressing into yours as he groaned through gritted teeth.

“God, you feel unreal,” he muttered, his breath mixing with yours. “So warm. So fucking good.”

Your eyes fluttered, your vision blurring, not from tears, not really, just from being so far gone. It was all too much, but you didn’t want it to stop.

You felt Heeseung’s hand still in your hair, soft, grounding, thumb stroking your cheek. His voice was lower now, close to your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Let him feel what I get every night.”

You whimpered, a broken sound, your hips twitching helplessly beneath K’s hands. It was like your body didn’t know how to stop responding, your walls clenching around him like a desperate plea.

K growled low in his throat, hips stuttering for a second.

“She’s pulling me in, Heeseung,” he muttered, almost in disbelief. “She’s so—fuck—she’s milking me.”

You could barely process what they were saying. Everything blurred into heat and pressure and the stretch of him, the way he filled you like he belonged there.

Heeseung tilted your face toward him, kissing your cheek, then your mouth, gentle and filthy at the same time.

“You’re taking him so well. So fucking good for us.”

You tried to say thank you, or more, or maybe just please, but all that came out was a whimper as your body began to shake again, that unbearable, electric pull winding low in your stomach.

K’s pace shifted, growing rougher, not cruel, but urgent, like he was chasing something just as desperately as you were. Your thighs trembled against your chest, the angle making everything feel sharper, deeper. Every time he sank into you, it felt like the air was being stolen from your lungs.

You could feel your body giving out under the pleasure, legs shaking, hands slipping from his arms to the sheets beneath you as your strength began to fail, overwhelmed. Your voice cracked on a moan, high-pitched and broken, because it was too much. Heeseung’s hands came to hold yours, threading your fingers together like he knew. Like he needed to anchor you there, in the middle of it all.

K was watching your face now, eyes low and dark.

“She’s so gone,” he muttered, chest rising and falling fast. “Look at her. Just letting me use her.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, your mind was white noise, your skin buzzing. It was dizzying, this kind of pleasure, and it kept climbing and climbing.

Heeseung turned your face to his again, pressing another kiss to your mouth, slow and deep.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he whispered, voice like syrup. “Gonna let him make you fall apart for us?”

You whimpered, nodded, whimpered again. Your body was tightening, curling into itself with every thrust, every brush of K’s skin on yours. The pressure building was unbearable, like something divine pressing down on your spine, on your lungs, curling through your stomach like heat and static and hunger.

Then, without warning, it snapped.

Your body seized, a scream tearing from your throat as the climax ripped through you, stealing your breath and blinding your vision. Your walls clenched down around K hard enough to make him gasp, his grip on your thighs tightening like a vice.

You heard them both, soft groans, curses, something between awe and desperation, and then K followed, hips jerking once, twice, and then he groaned long and low as he lost control inside you. His seed filling you up, mixing with Heeseung’s, and you sobbed again, so full, so warm.

Your body stayed arched for a moment before collapsing completely, trembling and limp. Heeseung caught you, K cradled your legs, and you just breathed, fast and shallow, lips parted, every nerve still buzzing like it didn’t know how to stop.

They were quiet now, warm hands running across your skin like they were putting you back together.

Your body was still trembling faintly, every muscle loose with exhaustion, your skin sticky with sweat and everything else. The room had gone quiet now, no more panting breaths or choked cries, just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint rustling of sheets.

You felt like you were floating.

Not in that hot, frantic way from before, but in something softer. Slower. Your mind wasn’t spinning anymore, just drifting in the warmth of their touch.

Heeseung moved first. You didn’t even realize he’d slipped out of bed until you felt the edge of the mattress rise slightly. A moment later, the soft weight of a warm towel pressed gently between your legs. You winced a little, flinching from the sensitivity, but then you heard his voice, low, apologetic.

“Sorry, baby. I know you’re sensitive… I’ll be gentle.”

And he was. Every motion was careful, slow. Not clinical, not rushed. Just loving. He didn’t speak much as he cleaned you up, but his eyes never left your face, and his free hand kept stroking your thigh in slow, grounding circles. You realized he was watching you for signs, if you were okay, if you needed anything, if he needed to stop.

K shifted beside you, still catching his breath, but then he was pulling the comforter up around your shoulders, tucking it in gently, like you were something breakable. His hand brushed sweaty strands of hair off your face.

“You ok?” he murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You blinked slowly, and nodded.

They moved around you like gravity didn’t quite apply, touching you gently, reverently. Hands stroking your arms, your hips, your face. Heeseung kissed your shoulder. K pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“You did so good,” Heeseung whispered, climbing into bed beside you again. “So perfect.”

Your throat tightened at that, not from lust, but from something gentler. Something heavier. The praise hit differently now. After everything. You weren’t crying, but your chest ached in that familiar, post-release way. Too many emotions tangled up with the afterglow: love, trust, vulnerability, relief.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. Just reached out, weak fingers curling into Heeseung’s chest, anchoring yourself to him. He was warm. Solid. Safe.

K settled on your other side, his chest pressing to your back. His arm looped around your waist without hesitation, holding you gently but firmly, like he was making sure you knew you weren’t alone.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

You were. Only a little. Not from fear or discomfort, but from the come-down. From the sheer overwhelmingness of it all.

“I got you,” Heeseung murmured. “We got you.”

The words sank into you like warmth through your bones. You closed your eyes, breathing them in. You’d never felt so wrecked and so cherished at once, your body wrung out, your heart full.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

One minute, you were listening to their breathing, lulled by the rise and fall of their chests against yours, K warm and steady behind you, Heeseung’s heartbeat beneath your cheek, and the next, the weight of exhaustion pulled you under completely.

Your breathing evened out. Your lashes fluttered closed. You let go.

K noticed first.

He glanced down, the softest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he saw your lips slightly parted in sleep, your fingers still curled in Heeseung’s shirt. He smoothed a hand down your back one more time, then looked at Heeseung across you.

“I should go,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper. “She’ll wake up and… I don’t want things to be weird.”

Heeseung met his eyes. His fingers were still drawing lazy shapes on your bare shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, just as soft. “She didn’t want you to leave before. She won’t want you to leave now.”

K’s brow furrowed.

“Still, it’s her space—”

Heeseung almost laughed, he just fucked you and now he was overwhelmed by being the third wheel.

“You’re my best friend,” Heeseung interrupted gently. “And she… she cares about you too. Don’t overthink it.”

K hesitated. Then looked down at you again, all soft edges and slow breathing, your body tucked safely between theirs.

“You really think it’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t,” Heeseung said, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep any second.”

K rolled his eyes, but his body relaxed, and he let himself settle again, his arm still resting around your waist. He watched you for a bit longer, watched your lips twitch in sleep, your brows smooth, your chest rise and fall, then exhaled deeply.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Just for tonight.”

Heeseung didn’t answer. He just shifted closer, wrapping both arms around you from the front, brushing a kiss to your forehead. And without thinking much more of it, K pressed one to your temple from behind.

Then the room fell into silence again. Not awkward. Not tense.

Just quiet. Safe.

And somewhere in the middle of the night, your body found its way back into both of theirs—Heeseung’s chest at your front, K’s legs tangled with yours from behind—your heart beating steady between theirs.

The three of you, tucked together in the quietest kind of peace.

Wooof, my first time writing a threesome i hope it’s not too bad :( HOPE y’all love it, i’m so weak for these two men

708 notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 26 days ago

Text

sleepyhead ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁.ᐟ mark

pairing: non-idol!collegestudent!mark x afab!collegestudent!reader

summary: your friend and classmate mark helps you out in class after accidentally sleeping in, but the hint of a scribble in the notes he lends you threatens to rewrite your relationship.

w.c: 7.2k

warnings: mdni 18+, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, it's all fluff with a dash of light angst, reader is oblivious to marks advances, but he's kinda dumb too, idiots in love, mutual pining, kissing, confessions, soft smut, love making literally, oral (f receiving), porn with plot, unprotected sex (dont do this), praising, pet names, soft!dom!top!mark (god i need him), crack/humor, lots of time skips im so sorry, if i forgot anything oh well lmk, i used this idea for a different fandom YEARS AGO, i am too embarrassed to admit what fandom but if you find it and think i'm stealing i am not. promise. reblogs and feedback appreciated ♡ fiction ≠ reality

you yawned big and loud, trying not to give yourself away too much, you kept your limbs from reaching outward. mark, your seatmate, and kind of friend?, gave you an inquisitive look. as if to ask if you were okay. truth be told, it was all rock bottom. papers upon papers, presentations, reading, and a lab took up all of your time this semester. you met Mark at the beginning of the year in your ‘major writings of the european tradition I’. you sat near the front because of your bad vision and the brown haired boy came next to you saying the famous ‘is this seat taken?’ line to which you said no. this left him to plop down in the said seat he pointed at. you studied him hard, clad in a semi-tight shirt and worn jeans, his white tube socks poking out once he sat down. it was hard not to notice the dirty and distressed black converse, probably wearing them every day since he could fit in them. he had a boyish grin when he turned to you and asked about how your day was going, you blushed noticing how handsome he actually is. his bright eyes shown under the fluorescent light as he now asked you about the book you were reading. ‘the picture of dorian gray’ sat atop all of your other books from various classes. it was apparently his favorite book too. his lips curled into the brightest smile, excitingly talking about his other favorite books and authors. it was endearingly cute.

you both shared socials in order to stay in touch in case either of you had questions about the class. you two would talk occasionally, keeping a calm distance. sharing literary memes on instagram, sending book recommendations on tiktok, or texting each other late at night when one couldn’t sleep. you would periodically meet up with him to study, or whenever you were too tired to read whatever was assigned in class, mark would read it for you out loud in the comfort of his apartment. it was easy to consider him a friend. at the end of the semester you told him you signed up for major writings of the european tradition II. he pumped his fist in the air earning small giggles from you due to his overreaction. telling you how happy he was that you’d be in the same class again. that’s where you are now, with mark still sitting next to you, listening to the same boring more advanced lecture. you loved literature and being an english major, but sometimes you don't know how many more reading and analysis’ you can take of the odyssey.

glancing at the clock you sighed, an hour left of class. pain was all you knew at this moment, you underslept last night, working on an essay for a speech writing class, trying to get it all down perfectly in order to impress your professor. you didn’t realize it was well past three in the morning when you finally had finished, all you wanted to do right now was go back to your apartment and nap until your next class in four hours. you drowned out the professor and whatever was being said about odysseus and what he got himself into this time. placing your chin on your closed fist, your vision drifting in and out of blurriness, and before you knew it you fell asleep. you gasped when mark nudged you awaken eyes going wide in surprise making him laugh a little bit.

‘dude, you fell asleep, class is over y/n’ mark said once you looked over at him, still in his seat next to you, almost everyone had already left.

you sighed running your fingers through your already messy hair, ‘ugh, i’m sorry, i didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.’

mark laughed, ‘oh, i can tell’

you scowled at him, earning another laugh from the taller man as you both stood up. at least it was friday, and you’d have the whole weekend to catch up on homework, and sleep. ‘want to go get coffee since you’re such a sleepyhead? need to keep you awake somehow’ mark asked, scratching the back of his neck, nervously rocking back and forth. you smiled at how red his ears were, waiting for your response. when you first met, he would occasionally get nervous around you, to which you never knew why, never thinking of yourself as anything special. but you noticed he got anxious around almost everyone after first meeting people. much like yourself, after a while mark started to get more comfortable with you, becoming more confident, and increasingly charming, however he could never hide the facade he tried to put on when asking to hang out outside of class. he would suddenly become a meek and shy, not the confident, outspoken boy you saw almost every day.

‘yes, that would be perfect’ you answered, ‘caffeine is much needed right now’ mark smiled and led you to the open door of the classroom, motioning you to go through first. it was pretty pathetic when butterflies erupted in your stomach, standards weren’t high for you, obviously, the smallest gesture from mark made you turn to putty. you didn’t have a lot of relationship experience, most of the time boys would lead you on, only to tell you they were never ready for anything. only a few longer relationships would end up in flames, men too toxic for you to continue on any longer. every time, earning a vow from you that you would never talk to another boy ever again. you could tell mark was different from anyone you had ever met, he was genuinely sweet and always helped whenever he could, profusely apologizing when he was too busy to come and help you study. you’ve always liked mark more than you should, it was really hard not to, anytime you ever talked about mark to anyone else, only nice things were discussed. you would never admit to harbored feelings for him, he was lovely to everyone, how could you be any different?

after a while, he started walking in front of you to the coffee shop on campus, stealing glancing at you just to make sure you were still following him, making your heart ache so hard the caffeine you were about to consume would probably kill you. entering the coffee shop turned your tired state into total bliss, a welcome and much needed break. ‘oh! there’s johnny, let’s go sit with him’ mark exclaimed, grabbing your hand and pulling you near the table in the back. before you knew it, a tall man with raven black hair was standing up and greeting you and mark. he was older than you and mark, a senior that your friend had met during his freshman year of college. you had met johnny before, a handful of times, and for brief moments. mark would always talk about his other friends with you. he’d tell you that ‘you just have to meet them’, but whenever the time would come it would be short meetings, a hi and bye.

mark brought out your chair and gestured for you to sit down, saying that he would go order you both coffees, leaving you with johnny. he turned to you and smiled, to which you returned, trying to register what mark had just done for you. god you really need to get higher standards, hard albeit mark being your standard. johnny asked you about school and how you are doing with all of it, you asked him similar questions, watching mark disappear in the line for coffee. you didn’t notice johnny calling your name over and over, only when he had gotten up close and personal in order to get your attention. you jumped slightly after the fifth ‘y/n!’

you quickly looked over at him, calming him down, ‘jesus y/n, where did you go? staring at mark? i know he’s pretty but-’

you cut him off, ‘would you keep your voice down!? i wasn’t staring at mark, i was just thinking…’ it was hard to keep the blush from creeping up and having it wash over you like a tsunami.

johnny gave you a knowing look, ‘... thinking about mark’

you glared at him, ‘can we stop talking about mark, please’ desperate to leave this conversation behind, but speak of the devil and he shall appear.

‘why are we talking about mark?’ you and johnny whipped your heads up in surprise, mark standing there with a grin on his handsome, stupid face. holding two coffee cups in each hand, asking in the third person as to why you were both discussing him while he was away.

‘n-nothing, we were just talking about our english class’ you explained quickly trying to save yourself from embarrassment.

johnny just nodded while mark, handed you your coffee and sat down, joining you both at the table in extreme awkward silence. mark broke the ice, ‘y/n fell asleep in class today’ he smirked and looked your way, catching your reaction of groaning and hiding behind your small coffee cup as you took little sips.

johnny laughed along with mark, wishing that the ground would open you up and swallow you whole, ‘it was so funny, the professor didn’t even notice!’ the older boy laughed along with his friend at your plight to fall asleep so easily in class. ‘you even snored a little bit, oh my god, it was so cute!’ he squealed. CUTE!? your eyes went wide, ignoring the embarrassing part about snoring in class. mark called you cute. johnny turned to give you that knowing look again, this caffeine was definitely going to give you a heart attack. this was going to be a long weekend.

monday morning rolled around, the weekend was spent writing papers, reading epic poetry, and sleeping. and also the occasional mental breakdown when you recall that mark called you cute. sunshine hit your face, and that’s when you figured you couldn’t stay in bed any longer. you rubbed your eyes hard and stretched your body out in bed, dreading the fact that you’ll have to get yourself up and ready to learn about some new epic now that the lesson over the odyssey was over. you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, your bones practically jumping out of your body when you realized you had only an hour left of class. you had overslept and missed the first hour of class, fuck. you hurried to get ready, not giving any mind to your appearance, jeans, and a hoodie would do. you texted mark ‘i overslept ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡), just woke up, i’ll be there soon. my chair still open?’ closing the door to your apartment, you marched out into the warm weather, mentally preparing yourself for the embarrassment you were about to face once you walked into class late. eyes peeled to your phone, the delivered immediately turned into read, mark texted back ‘always, sleepyhead’ you rolled your eyes, too much in a rush to get flustered by the nickname this time, shoving the phone in your pocket you continued walking to the humanities building.

you slipped in through the door in the back, making sure it wouldn’t slam shut, praying to any god who would listen to not get called out. thankfully, your prayers were answered, no one said a thing for the rest of class, only mark who gave you a smile once you sat down. you were lost the entire rest of class, the professor going into depth about the cantos and then switching very rapidly to beowulf then to dante’s inferno. maybe you should’ve stayed home. once class ended, mark started putting everything in his backpack, grabbing his wrist to stop him, he turned towards you with his eyebrows up in question and surprise.

‘can i borrow your notes mark? please? i literally had no idea what was going on since i was late’ you were practically begging at this point, but before you could grow any more desperate, mark chuckled and handed you his notebook for this class that continued to lay on the table.

‘i guess you beat me to it, why do you think i left my notebook out?’ mark smiled and handed you the red, worn out notebook. you let out a thankful sigh, some weight lifting off your shoulders, your standards were fucked by now.

‘thank you so much mark, i really owe you one, i’ll have it back to you by tomorrow.’ you reassured, giving him a genuine, thankful smile.

later that evening, back at your apartment, you took mark’s notebook out from your backpack. you had finished all the work for the classes you did attend today and now it was time to move on to the bane of your existence. opening up his notebook to find the most recent entry, your eyes finally landed on notes about dante’s inferno and whatever gibberish the professor was spewing when you showed up. reading about the layers of hell and how it has to do with the other epic’s was further explained by mark in his notes. flipping the page, your eyes caught something in the corner. taking a closer look, you sat up from the couch and moved towards the light. you gasped upon seeing what was written, erased, and written and erased again over the left side of the page. poorly drawn hearts with the words ‘sleepyhead’ written inside littered the far left corner of mark’s notes. this surely wasn’t about you… could it? you singled out the piece of paper, moving it into the light in order to see through it, double-checking your suspicions. and sure enough, there they were clear as day. it looked as though mark drew them on the paper and had tried his hardest to erase them, yet still somewhat visible, you didn’t have four eyes for nothing after all. ‘fuck’ you cursed out, staring at the faded drawing and words. this was your own personal inferno.

the next day was like no other, barely any sleep and when you woke on time you contemplated not going at all. however, you promised you’d bring mark his cursed notebook back. the very notebook that had been plaguing your mind since you discovered its hidden contents last night. that's what kept you up so late, you couldn’t simply forget about it and let it go. you debated asking him about it, but if it had nothing to do with you, then you’d probably have to change your name, face, and leave the country all together. but after all how many people did he call ‘sleepyhead’… probably 5, max. you had to investigate, test the waters and see what this was truly all about. you had to come up with a plan.

you got up and started walking around your room, getting ready, you put a lot more effort into your outfit, jean shorts and a cute baby t-shirt you think would catch any person’s attention. walking to class, it was brisk, the wind nipping at your arms and legs. you shuddered, bringing your hands up and down in order to try to redistribute your warmth. you finally got to class and the nervousness had taken over your system, totally forgetting about the cold and now terrified to face your friend. your body shook, shuffling to your seat, seeing mark on his phone waiting for class to start. you let out a tense breath, trying to settle your uneasy heart and stomach. you pulled out the chair, startling the boy next to you, his soft hair jumping slightly and moving away from his face, his eyes shining up at you. his mouth curls into a smile, going from ear to ear, it was infectious, you gave him a small smile back despite your stomach churning in the worst way possible.

‘you finally decided to come to class on time’ he joked, poking your shoulder lightly.

you playfully rolled your eyes at him, getting everything out for class ‘i barely even slept last night, i closed my eyes, and then boom my alarm was going off…’

mark’s smile faltered and eventually dropped upon hearing your confession of getting little sleep. ‘by the way,’ you grabbed the wretched notebook from your bag, handing it to mark, ‘here’s your notebook back, the notes really helped, thank you’

mark took it from your hand, ‘it’s no problem, if you need any more you can always ask’

you smiled, and turned towards the front of the class as soon as the professor walked in. putting any thoughts of mark in the back of your mind and bringing forth your plan. every once in a while you could arrive late, it's not like you’d be penalized for missing class, your professor never took notice. it would just be on you if you never showed up and somehow failed the semester. but with marks help, there was no way you could fall that far behind.

over the next couple of days, you and mark would hang out sporadically, studying together or watching movies. after a couple of days, you finally decided it would be time to try and be late to class again. to be fair, you had an essay to start that was due in two days, so staying up and working on it and accidentally sleeping in would be the perfect excuse. silently hoping this wasn’t going to come back and bite you in the ass.

flash forward to the next day: it did. you woke up with only 30 minutes left of class, less than what you originally wanted. thankfully, you did finish the cursed essay at four in the morning, you woke up to your alarm blaring, not even realizing how many times you snoozed it. grabbing your phone from the night stand you stretched and got up, getting changed for class and heading out.

opening up your messages you internally groaned, seeing about five messages from mark reading:

‘dude, where are you??’

‘no way you overslept again( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭’

‘don’t worry sleepyhead, i’m taking notes for you’

‘also, the professor mentioned a project and let us pick partners’

‘i told her you were my partner .. if that’s okay •⩊•’

you squealed into your hoodie sleeve, trying to keep a hold on yourself, but this was too much, the cute aggression getting to you so bad you punched the air. after getting some weird looks you hurried to class, slipping through the big double doors you immediately spotted the brown haired boy, silently cheering that no one was sitting with him you moved towards him and your seat. once you made yourself known to his presence, he gave you a small smile that made your heart crescendo, brought on by the growing feeling of love coming to a climax.

‘hey’ he whispered beside you, keeping his eyes on the professor who continued to lecture.

‘hey’ you answered back.

‘late again?’ he tsked, shaking his head slightly, ‘what am i gonna do with you?’

your hand covered your mouth, trying to hold back a giggle, ‘i stayed up later than i should’ve last night, i had an essay to finish’

‘oh, of course,’ he slide his notebook to you, ‘i got some notes for you about today’s lecture and about the project. we should plan on when to meet up to work on it… the professor has been ranting about plato for the last hour, so you haven’t missed much’

you nodded and grabbed his notebook and slid it into your backpack, trying not to show much nervousness over such a simple gesture. once class ended mark turned to you.

‘i have to meet with johnny, so i’ll catch you later’ you nodded and he smiled, his lopsided lips curling up complimented his boyish charm, making your insides twist and turn. ‘i’ll text you later about the project’

he moved to grab his backpack from the floor, without thinking you grabbed his shoulder softly, he whipped his head around, eyes now wide from the sudden touch, backpack forgotten. ‘uh-h, ha-ave a good day mark’ you said, giving him an innocent smile. his features immediately softened, that tender smile coming back on his lips.

you let go, watching him stand up from his seat, now staring up at his gorgeous face, ‘you too, pillow poet’

the new nickname felt like whiplash, like a 20 car pile up in your heart, every emotion crashing into each other, hard to make it out alive. glued to your seat, you stared at nothing now, the ghost of where mark once stood. you didn’t move until your professor knocked on your desk, promptly telling you to get the hell out.

later that night you had to build up the courage to actually open up mark’s notebook this time, his texts blowing up your phone going left unanswered. your roommate, yeri, had came back from class and asked why the hell you were staring at a closed notebook on the coffee table in the shared living room.

you sighed, ‘its complicated’

she dropped her bag and deadpanned, lips formed into a straight line as she rolled her eyes, ‘its a notebook’

you dropped your head into your hands, admitting defeat, ‘it’s not about the notebook,’ you sighed dramatically, pouting, ‘it’s about what’s inside…’

yeri gave you another eye roll and moved towards you, grabbing the notebook from the coffee table, she opened it and started flipping through the different pages, you looked up after hearing the rustling of pages, ‘it’s just notes!’ she cried.

you groaned and stood up, now facing her. you grabbed the notebook out of her hands, you found the most recent section of notes and scanned the pages, chest beating profusely. you stopped once you finally found what your heart was searching for, half erased hearts with various words inside, you took the page closer to the light on the ceiling.

‘sleepyhead’ ‘cutie’ ‘bedbug’ okay, not that cute, but the sentiment was still present.

yeri, now questioning if you really had lost it or not, grew concerned. ‘what is it?’ she moved closer to you, trying to decipher what it was you were so intently looking at. you grabbed her by the arm and brought her closer to you, nodding up to where you were holding the paper in the light, ‘look’.

‘y/n, what the hell am i looking at? stop being weird, it’s freaking me out’ she pouted and took a closer look.

‘mark…’ you trailed off, ‘i found them last week, i asked to borrow his notes because i was late to class, and he drew all these things and looked like he tried to erase them… i don’t know, oh my god, i sound crazy’ you handed the notebook to her and went to sit on the couch again and grovel.

yeri stood near the light, doing the same thing you were and tried to find what you were talking about, ‘oh’ she said, lowering the notebook and moving over to you, ‘do you think these are about you?’

‘i don’t know, if they were don’t you think he would be trying to hide it better? but how many people does he know that are late to class and oversleep!?’ you cried.

yeri’s eyebrows crease in deep thought, then it hits her, ‘maybe… he wanted you to find them’

‘why couldn’t he just tell me all of this himself?’ you questioned, second-guessing everything.

‘i’ve only met mark a handful of times and let me tell you,’ she placed her hand on your shoulder, ‘he is the most awkward person, ever, this could just be his way of flirting’

you didn’t say anything and continued to stare at your roommate, still standing with mark’s notebook. ‘you should talk to him about it’ she said, you stood up abruptly, eyes going wide.

‘no way dude, i can’t’ you tried justifying yourself but yeri cut you off.

‘ugh’ she groaned, ‘i forgot you are almost as awkward as he is, you like him though, don’t you?’ you gave her a little nod, embarrassed by the sudden interrogation. ‘next time you see him, just ask him about it, the worst thing he can do is say no and you both move on with your life, just a little misunderstanding’

you sighed and nodded again, agreeing to ask him about it so yeri would get off your back. you grabbed your phone, knowing mark had texted you earlier you finally decided to bite the bullet and answer him. four messages from mark went unread:

‘y/n, will you be free tomorrow to work on the project?’

‘y/nnn where did you go, i know you are awake’

‘or are you? smh, damn sleepyhead’ your mind screamed ‘AGAIN WITH THE NICKNAMES’

‘u better not be late tomorrow, i can only take so much european writing without you ( •̀ - •́ )’

you wrote and deleted your message to him about ten times before settling on a basic:

‘sorry mark! i (surprisingly) did not fall asleep, just talking with my roommate, i should be free tomorrow to start the project („• ֊ •„)’

three text bubbles popped up and he immediately texted back

‘gr8, c u tomorrow, get some rest’

the next day was an off day from classes, you and mark had discussed meeting somewhere in the library. but that would hinder you from asking him about his little drawings so you told him to come to your apartment, perfect knowing yeri would not be there. yet, it was as imperfect as perfect could get, the setting would be right, but your thoughts were all over the place. not planning out how this could go, most, if not all of your ‘plans’ were half-assed. you’d just have to wing it this one time.

mark showed up when he said he would, which was exactly a mark thing to do, you were just unprepared. stressing out as the minutes counted down, you opened the door and let him inside, he smiled and walked towards the couch, placing his things on the coffee table. ‘shall we get started?’ mark said, motioning for you to sit down next to him.

‘so, the project is over any story of our choosing, did you have one in mind?’ he asked, turning towards you on the couch. fuck, he was so close, you could feel his hot breath on your cheek, it smelled like mint and coffee.

‘oh yeah, i thought we could do icarus’ you answered, hoping he would agree, the story just hitting a little too close to home right now. in a sense, mark was your sun, and you were icarus, flying a bit too close every time you were near him. getting burned with reaching to conclusions that he actually liked you, getting your hopes up that he felt the same way, hoping to not fall to your death and lose him as a friend if this all was just a misunderstanding.

‘that's a great idea! i think we should be able to get through this project quickly with all the information we can get on the story’ he beamed, and you smiled back, slightly faltering from the nervousness running through your body.

‘are you okay? you seem out of it…’ he asked, more so concerned with you than the project.

you sighed, terrible at keeping your emotions from coming out, mark took notice to your anxious behavior. it was now or never. ‘mark’ you said his name like you both were already in a relationship and about to give him the ‘we need to break up talk’, you could tell he felt the exact same when he started fidgeting beside you. ‘can i ask you about something?’

‘of course, anything’ he answered, voice wavering in concern. you knew he was staring but you couldn’t even bring yourself to look anywhere in his direction, fearing that if you did, you would chicken out. you mentally screamed at yourself to stop and not do anything to jeopardize your friendship with mark. you had to remind yourself ‘the worst he could do is say no’.

‘oh, by the way, i forgot to ask, do you have my notebook?’ you could tell mark was trying to ease the tension, but because of the mention of that damn notebook, it only made it worse.

‘yeah about that…’ you started, having no idea how to ask about this, ‘i uh, wanted to ask you about something i saw in your notebook…’

mark, tilted his head to the side in confusion, ‘like some of the notes i left? i tried to be as thorough as i could…’

you picked at the skin on your fingers, ripping away the flesh in order to try and calm yourself down, ‘erm, no, something else i saw… some, um, drawings…’ you wished for nothing but this couch to swallow you whole and never spit you back out. you couldn’t tell what mark’s reaction was since you refused to look at him, but the silence gave you more answers than what you initially asked.

you peeked to the side, mark now had his head in his hands, rubbing his temple, cheeks dusted pink, you knew you caught him in something. ‘dude… this is so embarrassing’ he laughed. you didn’t say anything in response, just wanting him to continue explaining himself. ‘i thought i erased those, oh my god. how much did you see?’ he asked.

‘i think almost all of them…’ you rubbed the back of your neck, picking at the hair back there.

‘oh’ he said, his mouth turning into a perfect o. ‘that was not the way i wanted to tell you’ mark stated, still acting shy next to you. if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack, it would’ve been endearing.

‘tell me what?’ you whispered, turning away from him so he wouldn’t notice the pink dusting over your cheeks.

mark stared at you, now sitting up and his shoulders straight, ‘that um, that i like you’ he said, ‘i don’t know i got bored in class and doodled in my notes, after i realized how stupid and cheesy it felt i erased them and tried to forget… guess i didn’t erase them hard enough’ he smiled at the memories of it all. ‘i wanted to tell you, but i didn’t know how to go about it, i’m not good at things like this, i don’t know, confessing i guess… i wasn’t sure if you felt the same, so that’s why every time i tried to tell you i liked you, my plans always fell through’

mark grabbed your shoulders and lightly forced you to face him, taken back by surprise your ears grew hot, now staring into his eyes he smiled, ‘but you’re here now and asking about my lovesick doodles, and i want to tell you… that i like you… i like you so much y/n, studying with you and being with you in class and outside of class, you are cute, funny, caring, and you work so hard for your classes i wish i had the will to stay up at ungodly hours to finish any of my essays, we like the same books and we talk about the nerdiest stuff no one else would… i think you’re perfect’. he stopped, his eyes looking into yours trying to search for any reaction, he looked desperate. ‘sorry, i, uh, got a little carried away there’ he cheeks bloomed into a deep red.

‘mark’ you felt wetness pool at the base of your eyes and roll down your cheeks, not even realizing you were crying mark reached out and whipped the tears away with his thumb. ‘i really like you too… that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me i-’ he cut you off, throwing himself onto you in a huge bear hug, making your back crash into the couch due to the weight now on you.

he got up, now hovering over you, he stared deeply into your eyes, ‘y/n… i want us to be a couple or something? whatever you are comfortable with, i want to be able to read you any stupid 100 year old story any time you’ll let me’

your eyes softened, gazing into his it was like a thousand stars shining in the night sky, you could see and feel every emotion he was talking about. pure love. there was no doubt, no sun to scorch your waxed wings, withstanding fear and questioning. with him you could now fly as far as he would take you.

‘oh mark’ you said breathlessly, throwing your arms around his neck, yanking him down so his lips could meet yours. it took a second for him to realize what was happening, but soon enough he was moving his lips in synch with yours. his hand still placed next to your head, holding himself up, as his other one moved to your face to lightly caress your cheek. after a minute or two, you could barely breathe, so you broke the kiss in order to regulate your breathing. you look up at mark, who continued to stare at your lips, ‘mark, you’re the one who is perfect’

this time he initiated the kiss, putting his body weight more on you, his hand now moving to explore your body further, you could tell mark was excited as you could feel his bulge on your thigh. his tongue licked over your lips, silently asking for access, which you granted immediately, letting your tongue slip into his mouth, tasting the mint and coffee that he had previously consumed.

‘mark’ you whispered, lust overclouding your senses, ‘i want you’

mark audibly groaned, your words obviously having a certain effect on him as he pushed his hips into yours making you moan in response. he kissed your lips again, moving onto your neck, sucking brusies into the sensitive skin there. mark got off of you and sat up, removing his shirt to which you followed, throwing the clothing somewhere on the floor. going back into position, mark kissed your chest, grazing your breast that was still covered by your bra. he didn’t mind, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible, that was until you decided to take it off anyways, throwing it somewhere over your shoulder. mark went back to work, sucking on one nipple, while twirling and pinching the other between his fingers, earning moans from you.

mark suddenly stopped, lifting his head to look at you, ‘do you want to go further?’ he asked sincerely.

‘yes, mark, please’ you breathed, curling your fingers around his broad shoulders, lightly bringing him back towards your chest. he chuckled at your eagerness, peppering kisses down your stomach, finally reaching your buttoned up jeans. ‘can i take these off?’ you nodded, he unbuttoned your jeans and yanked them down and off, leaving them on the floor with the rest of the clothes. he could see the wet patch that formed in your underwear, earning a moan from the boy on top of you. mark ghosted over the spot with his finger, making you twitch in response due to the light, yet scandalous action.

he slid your underwear off, leaving them somewhere on the couch. you watched him silently as he stared at your core, looking like a man who had been without water for at least a century. he dove in, licking a strip up your pussy, making you moan out in response. mark continued to lightly suck, adding a finger into the mix. he slowly pushed it inside your opening, wetness gathering at the base of his finger, ‘you taste… it’s perfect… you’re perfect’ he whispered, gazing up into your glossy eyes, overtaken by craving him. he added a second finger, stretching you out. ‘mark…’ you groaned, feeling him hit the sweet spot inside of you made your head spin and insides twist. ‘i’m gonna come…’

‘not yet’ he whispered, he exited your core, earning a whimper from you due to the sudden loss, ‘don’t worry, i’ll take care of you’ he kissed your cheek, standing up from the couch in order to take his own pants off. you could see his member throbbing inside his briefs, you swore you almost started drooling. mark came back down to lay on top of you, kissing you again, more sensibly, softly, slowly. savoring the moment with you, the delicate and gentle touches almost making you cry again from just how sweet he was, how much he showed that he cared about you.

he broke the kiss, you stared into his eyes, caressing his cheek gently, mark melted into your touch, closing his eyes and burying his face closer to your grasp. ‘you are so beautiful’ you stated to him. his skin kissed by the sun, the features adorning his face; making up gorgeous art on a blank canvas that someone like da vinci would be furious not to know of such beauty.

‘do you want to keep going? we don’t have to if you don’t want to, i want to take my time with you, with us…’ he explained.

you cut him off with a peck to his lips, making his smile grow wider, ‘yes, i want to if you do… i feel the same way’ he kissed you, much like you did with him, confirming his feelings yet again.

he slid off his briefs, leaving you both fully naked in each other's presence, since the sun had started to set when mark came over the only light provided was the soft glow of the lamp behind you on the side table, making the sweat that graced his chest shine. ‘if you get uncomfortable please let me know and i’ll stop’ he whispered, you nodded in response, heartbeat picking up due to his kindness. he sighed and carefully lined his member up with your entrance, the shakiness of his hands having him try a couple of times to get it in, you could tell he was nervous.

he slowly pushed inside, giving you ample time to adjust, ‘that’s it’ he breathed in your ear once fully inside, ‘fuck you’re so tight… so perfect’ you moaned at his words, digging so far deep into you and leaving many traces in your mind, words you’d never forget. he readjusts your legs, giving him deep access into your womb, now in a missionary position. mark started moving, slowly thrusting into you at first, you wrapped your legs around his back, trying to keep him as close as possible, which he didn’t seem to mind. his lips moved to yours, the simple kisses shared spoke volumes-no hesitation, the pastel feeling of everything you both never said to each other, lost on fleeting glances in class, heart doodles on paper, and the way he would read to you without argument, buying you coffee, smiling whenever you’d enter the room. the soft kisses subdued any fear you held over this relationship. you loved him.

mark occasionally groaned into your mouth, and in return you moaned, sharing sounds and soft touches over each other's body. ‘you’re taking me so well like you were made for me. fuuck’ he keened at the way you held him inside. he started moving faster, but still acting as careful as ever with you. his hips snapped down on yours, earning strained grunts from you, head spinning as he continued to hit your sweet spot in all the right ways. ‘y/n’ mark moaned, ‘i-i love you’. you cried, the barrier breaking open the flood waters, you silently shed tears into his shoulder, the hot tears running down his arm and chest. ‘i always have, e-ever since i met you’ his trusts started growing erratic, faster, snapping his hips into yours with a force that had you seeing stars. you could barely comprehend any type of language at this point. you were about to reach your breaking point, feeling the heat collect at the bottom of your abdomen, the rope you were holding onto ready to snap.

mark seemed to take notice due to your internal struggle of letting go, mumbling in your ear about a bunch of different phrases. ‘it’s okay baby, you can let go’ and ‘come for me’, it was at the point where he whispered ‘i got you love, i got you’ you felt yourself starting to slip from the rope, letting go and the rope snapped, letting it all out and moaning out marks name, locking your eyes on his. your toes curled, body threatening to collapse in on itself like a black hole with mark at the event horizon, wanting to suck him in.

as you tightened around him, his thrust grew more sporadic, out of rhythm, trying to catch his own release now. with one last thrust, he stilled and emptied into your womb, you could feel how deep he was and the hotness of his come filling you up so perfectly. mark panted, overcoming the mountain of exhaustion after reaching his peak. his forehead fell onto yours as you also tried catching your breath. mark smiled down at you, love filling his eyes, adoration shining in yours. ‘you’ he started, regulating his words to come out more clearly, ‘you are part of my existence, part of myself. you have been in every line i have ever read’

you playfully rolled your eyes, the audacity of this english major, ‘you did not just quote charles dickens while balls deep inside of me’

he laughed, as if that was a queue to pull out, mark left his place inside of you and went to the bathroom, returning with a damp wash cloth in order to clean you up. gently whipping you down, after he threw the towel into the laundry room. mark picked you up and walked you to your room, slowly slipping you into some fresh new clothes, while he put on clothes that yeri kept at the apartment for her boyfriend. surely she wouldn’t mind.

you both climbed into bed, eyelids growing heavy he held you in his arms, head resting against his chest in the quiet darkness, ‘mark’ you said, voice small, he hummed, ‘i love you too’

‘sleep in tomorrow, i’ll still be here’ he answered.

eyes crusted over and limbs numb, that was probably the best sleep of your life. you reached over to marks side of the bed, but it was empty, and you frowned. he said he would be here. you stretched and got up, slowly making your way towards the door, you opened it to an empty living room. you heard a sudden, but low crash of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. you walked slowly, not really knowing what to expect. but alas, speak of the muse, and he shall appear in the lines, your (now) boyfriend, mark, stood in front of the oven with a spatula in hand, flipping a pancake.

in the stillness of the afternoon, you didn’t make your presence yet known, and watched as he worked. the glow of the sun and the kitchen light reflected off of his hair ever so slightly, making it shine, it was as if only you two existed. he turned and smiled like he always did, ‘good morning sleepyhead’

1K notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 26 days ago

Text

altar boy sins

summary: the pastor’s son fucks you in the back room of the church, promising god’s forgiveness while ruining your last shred of purity.

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

genre: smut, religious corruption, dark romance.

warnings: explicit sexual content, anal virginity, church setting, religious guilt, oral (m receiving), squirting, degradation, sacreligious language, coercion under trust, creampie, overstimulation, power imbalance, aftercare (light), public risk, no vaginal penetration.

MDNI 🔞

you had always been the image of virtue. ever since you were little, your life had revolved around the church—every sunday service, every youth retreat, every choir practice and prayer circle. your mother made sure you were dressed modestly, always with your bible tucked in your bag and your heart turned toward god. everyone in town knew your name, whispered it in admiration—such a good girl, they said. so devoted. so pure.

and mark lee... well, he was supposed to be the same. the pastor's son, golden and clean, always sitting in the front pew with his father’s bible open on his lap, eyes closed in pretend prayer. he smiled with soft dimples and spoke in warm, respectful tones that made your mother adore him instantly. she liked to say god had placed him in your path for a reason. and maybe that was true. maybe god had placed him there—to test you.

you hadn’t meant for anything to happen. it started so small, just conversations after service, long looks shared across the chapel, the brush of fingers when you passed him a hymnal. he was gentle at first, careful not to cross a line, but each moment alone with him felt like gravity pulling you closer. and when he kissed you the first time—behind the fellowship hall after bible study—you felt like the world stopped. his lips were warm and soft and sinful.

when you first started sneaking around with mark, things were softer. more innocent. you’d meet behind the church after evening mass, hiding between the tall hedges where no one could see you. he’d press gentle kisses to your lips, hold your hand tightly, whisper sweet nothings against your ear as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

he never rushed you—not at first. he’d just touch you over your clothes, his hands resting respectfully on your waist, sliding up under your blouse only when you let him. and each time you let him go a little further, his praise would melt you. you’re so good for me, baby. so sweet. so perfect.

the first time he touched you under your skirt, you thought your heart would stop. his fingers were warm, slow, exploring the damp heat between your thighs through your panties while he kissed your neck. you were shaking the whole time, clutching his shoulders like a lifeline as he whispered filth in your ear in that low, reverent voice of his.

god made this body just for me, didn’t he? you were meant to be mine.

the day you got on your knees for him was the day something shifted between you.

it was in the church parking lot, late at night, both of you hidden behind the youth ministry van. you’d been making out for too long, your thighs pressed together from the ache building inside you. his cock was hard against his jeans, and when he asked do you wanna try something new, baby?, you nodded without thinking.

he guided your hands to his zipper, helped you pull him out—long, thick, flushed at the tip. your breath caught when you saw it, your mouth already watering.

“just lick it for me,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ears. “just a little. just the tip.”

but it wasn’t just a little. not when you saw how much he wanted it, how his jaw clenched and his hands trembled when your lips wrapped around the head of his cock. you took him deeper, his praises growing filthier with every inch you swallowed. the taste of him was salt and skin, musky and intimate, and you moaned around him without meaning to.

he came down your throat that night, holding your head with both hands, whispering you’re so fucking perfect while you swallowed every drop. and afterward, he kissed you so gently you almost cried.

but still—you never let him go all the way.

you’d told him you were saving yourself for your husband. that you’d only give yourself completely after standing before god, in white, with a ring on your finger.

mark didn’t push. not exactly. but his hands got more confident, his touches more persuasive. and every time he left you trembling, wet, begging quietly into his mouth—he’d whisper:

“god will forgive you. he made you to want me”

now you were here, months later, hidden away in the church’s back room. it was where the choir robes were stored, a little room behind the altar with old wooden shelves and a dusty piano no one used anymore. you weren’t supposed to be here, not alone with a boy, not with him. but your hands were already shaking as he kissed down your neck, one of his palms pressed to the small of your back, keeping you pinned to the edge of the table.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear, “so perfect, baby. you know how crazy you make me?”

you whimpered, fingers curling in the sleeves of his shirt. “mark... we shouldn’t. not here... not like this.”

his hands slid lower, gripping your hips. “why not? no one’s gonna find us. besides... god will forgive us. he always forgives. he sees love in our hearts. don’t you love me?”

you bit your lip, your whole body trembling with guilt and want. “i do... but i want to wait until we’re married. i want to give myself to my husband. i want god to bless it.”

his eyes darkened, not with anger but with something deeper—desire. temptation. “then marry me. i swear i will. you’re the only girl i want. but i want you now... please. just let me have a little more.”

“mark, i can’t...” your voice cracked, shame pooling in your chest. “it’s a sin.”

“he’ll cleanse us,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw, “he knows your heart. you’re doing this out of love. and he knows you’re still pure... if we don’t—if i don’t take you like that.”

you blinked at him, confused. “like what?”

he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. “i’ll still leave your virginity intact,” he murmured, hand slipping down between your thighs, pressing over your clothes, “you’ll still be untouched. we won’t do it the usual way. i’ll just take you here—” he kissed your cheek, “from behind.”

your breath caught.

“it won’t count,” he whispered, voice sweet like a prayer, “you’ll still be a virgin. still god’s perfect girl.”

you hesitated. the weight of every sermon you’d ever heard sat heavy on your shoulders. but his hands were on your body, and his mouth was on your throat, and your skin was burning. and deep down, there was something dark inside you that wanted it. something that pulsed every time he touched you, something that made your knees weak and your mind hazy.

“promise me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “promise me you’ll marry me.”

he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “i promise. i’ll take you to the altar myself.”

and that was all it took.

your heart was pounding in your chest as he turned you around gently, his hands never leaving your body. the room was dim, lit only by the soft amber light that spilled through the stained glass near the door. you could hear your own breathing, shallow and fast, as mark guided you to lean over the wooden table. the old surface creaked under your weight, the air cool against your thighs as he slowly lifted the hem of your white sunday dress.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice husky now, more raw, more real. “so innocent. so ready to sin for me.”

his fingers trailed up the back of your thighs, calloused and warm, until he reached the soft curve of your ass. your panties were white, lace-trimmed—modest, sweet, something your mother had bought for you. but they were soaked through, and mark saw it right away.

“jesus,” he breathed, a smirk forming on his lips. “you’re dripping already, baby.”

you whimpered as he tugged them down, the delicate fabric catching around your knees before sliding all the way to your ankles. your cheeks burned with shame and arousal, both twisting deep in your belly as you felt the cool air kiss your now-bare skin.

“bend down for me,” he whispered, pressing between your shoulders until you were fully bent over the table, your elbows resting on the worn wood, your ass presented to him like an offering.

you felt him drop to his knees behind you, felt his hands spread you open, exposing every trembling inch. he kissed along the inside of your thighs, soft and slow, his tongue flicking dangerously close to where you ached. you gasped when you felt him spit between your cheeks, fingers guiding the wetness to your tight entrance.

“it’ll hurt a little,” he murmured, voice lower now, more dangerous. “but you can take it. you’re a good girl, right? you want to make me feel good?”

you nodded, your eyes closing, your hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white. “yes… i want to be good.”

“then stay just like that for me.”

he stood again, one hand gripping your waist as you heard the rustle of his belt, the soft clink of the buckle as he undid his pants. then his cock was pressing against you, thick and hot, the head teasing at your tightest spot.

you tensed.

“nghh—ahhh, too much—!”

“shh,” he said softly, kissing your shoulder. “relax for me, baby. let me in.”

he pushed slowly at first, and your breath caught in your throat as the stretch began—hot and burning, unfamiliar and intense. tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you whimpered, body trembling as he pushed further, inch by inch.

“m-mark—! it hurts—”

“shh, quiet, baby. you don’t want anyone hearing how much of a filthy little thing you are, do you?” once he was buried inside, he paused, letting you adjust, his fingers caressing your hips, your waist, whispering soft praises against your ear.

you could barely breathe as you felt every inch of him inside you, thick and pulsing, stretching you open in a way that made your entire body tense. your hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that your wrists ached, your forehead pressed against the wood as your mouth hung open, panting through the pressure, through the sting. his hands were firm on your hips, thumbs digging into your skin as he stayed buried inside you, letting you feel the full weight of what you’d just done.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice reverent, almost in awe. “you’re squeezing me so tight. you feel like fucking heaven.”

you whimpered, a mix of pain and pleasure blooming in your belly like a wildfire. his hips rolled just slightly, testing how much you could take, and the slow friction made your knees shake. it wasn’t like anything you’d imagined. it wasn’t sweet or soft—it was raw and thick and full. your body fought to accommodate him, fluttering around the intrusion as he began to move in earnest.

“this is what you wanted. i’m just giving you what that virgin pussy of yours was too scared to handle.”

“mmph—! nghh—ahh—!”

“what was that? you like being stuffed full of my cock? like being my dirty little church whore?”

each thrust came a little deeper, a little harder, his pace increasing as the tightness began to melt into something warmer, wetter. you bit down on your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the sounds spilling from you betrayed how good it started to feel. shame pooled hot in your stomach, because it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. you weren’t supposed to like it.

“look at you,” he groaned, slamming into you harder now, one hand sliding up your back to grab a fistful of your hair. “moaning like a little slut while i fuck your virgin ass. does it feel good, baby? you gonna come for me like this?”

your mouth opened in a raw scream, half agony, half ecstasy, unable to hold back the flood of sound escaping you.

“oh my god, oh my god, it’s stretching me too much—!”

“jesus, you’re so fucking loud—shut up, baby, shut up.” he shoved your face down against the table, hand over your mouth again, his hips snapping harder.

“if anyone hears you, they’ll know how desperate you are to get fucked like this.”

you cried out as he pulled your head back, forcing your spine into a deep arch, making you feel every brutal thrust more sharply. the pain burned, yes, but under it was something more intense—your body trembling as a deep heat began to coil between your legs. your thighs were slick, your clit aching from how empty it felt, untouched but throbbing.

his balls slapped against you with each thrust, obscene sounds echoing in the small, sacred space of the church storage room. the smell of sweat and sex filled the air, mixing with the faint trace of incense that lingered on the choir robes stacked beside you. it was filthy. wrong. holy.

he let go of your hair and reached between your thighs, fingers finding your clit without hesitation. you sobbed as he rubbed fast, circles tight and relentless, and your hips started to jerk back against him on instinct, chasing something you didn’t fully understand.

“you’re gonna come,” he grunted, almost laughing, breath hot against your ear. “you’re gonna come like this, with my cock in your ass, right here in god’s house. fuck, baby... you’re perfect.”

“m-mark—i… i feel like i’m gonna pee—”

your vision blurred as your body locked up, tension snapping all at once in a flash of heat and shame and unbearable pleasure. your orgasm ripped through you like lightning, a violent gush exploding between your legs, spraying down your thighs and onto the floor with a loud, wet sound that shocked even you.

“jesus fucking christ—” he gasped, faltering for the first time as your body clenched around him like a vice, milking him deeper.

mark’s hips stuttered the moment he felt the rush of wetness pour out of you, his breath catching in his throat like he couldn’t believe what just happened. your body was shaking beneath him, trembling and spasming uncontrollably as your release coated your thighs, dripping messily down onto the floor. he pulled back just slightly to look, to see the way you squirted for him, your slick glistening under the dim church light.

“fuck, baby…” he groaned, sounding half-wrecked, half-awestruck. “you just—fuck—i made you do that?”

he grabbed your hips tighter, almost possessively, and slammed back into you, still deep in the grip of his own rising climax. your body was so sensitive now, every thrust making you jolt forward, your muscles twitching from the overstimulation. but he didn’t stop—not yet. he was chasing something now, something hot and desperate.

“you came so fucking hard,” he growled against your neck, his thrusts getting sloppier, deeper. “your little virgin body just squirted all over my cock… and you were so scared of sinning.”

you moaned weakly, your voice raw and broken, drool slipping from your lips as your cheek pressed flat against the table. your body felt like it was floating, skin hot and damp with sweat, your hole still stretched tight around him, sucking him in greedily every time he pulled back.

“mine,” he whispered like a prayer, fucking into you with final, brutal thrusts. “you’re mine. god can’t have you anymore. you belong to me.”

and then he came.

with a deep, guttural moan, mark buried himself inside you one last time and spilled everything into your ass—hot and thick, ropes of cum filling you until you could feel it dripping back out around his cock. his hips jerked as he emptied himself, one hand sliding up to hold your waist while the other rubbed your lower back in shaky, soothing circles.

he stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling against your back, sweat clinging to both your skins. the room was quiet except for the sound of your combined breaths and the faint ticking of an old wall clock above the door.

you blinked slowly, still dazed, still trembling. and for a brief second, you felt completely hollow and completely full at the same time—ruined, marked, and claimed.

he pulled out slowly, and you whimpered at the emptiness, at the sticky warmth leaking down the back of your thighs. your body sagged against the table, weak and used, your legs barely holding you up. you could feel his release slipping from your hole, thick and hot, a constant reminder of what you’d let him do—what you’d begged him to do.

“stay still,” he murmured softly, voice gentler now, almost sweet. he reached for a folded choir robe from the shelf beside him, one of the ones no one ever used, and knelt behind you again. with quiet, careful hands, he cleaned the mess dripping down your thighs, the backs of your knees, and finally between your cheeks. he wiped away the cum from your entrance, his touch slow and reverent, like he was cleaning something sacred.

you flinched slightly, still too sensitive, and he pressed a kiss to your lower back. “i’ve got you,” he whispered. “you were perfect for me.”

when he was done, he helped you step back into your panties, tugging them up gently over your sore, sticky skin. he straightened your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles like he was tucking you back into your illusion of purity. then he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips—slow and soft and careful, like he hadn’t just broken something inside you.

you both stood in silence for a moment, breathing slowly, the air still thick with the scent of sin and sweat.

and then he reached for his bible.

he tucked it under one arm and held out his other hand to you. you took it, fingers lacing with his, still trembling slightly. and together, you walked out of that little storage room, out into the bright white hallway of the church.

the front doors were open. sunlight poured in. a breeze moved through the sanctuary like nothing had happened.

as you stepped into the entryway, mark dipped his fingers into the small bowl of holy water near the door. he touched his forehead, chest, and shoulders, murmuring the sign of the cross with practiced grace. you followed suit, mimicking the motion, your fingers wet and cool against your burning skin.

no one would ever know.

you were still god’s children, still his favorites.

only now, he wasn’t the only one watching you.

984 notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 1 month ago

Text

casual | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x waitress! fem. reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: 8k summary: you wouldn’t normally fall for a guy who left his number on a dinner bill. too bad that guy was mark fucking lee. content warnings: slightly suggestive content (making out), light cursing, food mentioned, parasocial themes, reader works a service job, a very overworked mark lee :(. no explicit smut in this part. a/n: hiii before anyone yells at me—yes, i know this isn’t the haechan fic i’m supposed to be working on (promise i’m still on it!!) but listen… i went to the smtown concert last week and it fully reignited my delusions, so i wrote this as a coping mechanism :P ik we’ve all been out with friends maybe at a restaurant, and thought, “what if my bias walked in right now?” right?? that’s basically the entire premise of this fic. pretty unrealistic but super fun to write & i hope it’s just as fun to read! also no smut… yall know what that means lol if you want a part 2... just say the word. ps: if you’re ever at an italian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get the gnocchi. trust me.

giving up your one free day to cover someone else’s shift wasn’t how you planned to spend saturday. but when your coworker begged with teary eyes and a story about her sick cat, saying no felt impossible.

so instead of sinking into your couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and pride and prejudice on repeat, you were hustling through a saturday night at one of the city’s busiest restaurants.

it was hour six of your shift and you were at that breaking point where one starts fantasizing about quitting—or at least hiding in the walk-in freezer for five peaceful minutes.

any weekend here was a carnage with nonstop orders, zero patience, and customers who thought yelling would grill a steak faster.

but it was finally past eleven which meant the dinner rush had slowed and the only remaining stragglers were either couples too in love to notice the time or office workers too tired to cook at home. just two more hours, you thought to yourself.

“y/n! table four,” your coworker called, rushing past with a stack of empty plates.

you snapped out of your daze and walked over, expecting tired business executives or another couple feeding each other breadsticks. instead, you made eye contact with the two people you least expected to see here.

mark lee and johnny suh were looking right at you.

your heart dropped to your ass. for a second, you actually considered turning around. but even with your brain buffering, you knew you had to keep it together. the last thing you wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

you stopped beside their table, immediately recognizing the other two who had their backs to you as haechan and jungwoo. internally, you were combusting, but externally you prayed your expression didn’t scream that you were seconds from melting into the floor.

“hi, welcome to cecconi’s,” you said, voice steady enough despite your heart hammering your ribs.

when you handed over their menus, your fingers brushed mark’s briefly and you hoped he didn’t notice you flinch. that’s when you noticed the book peeking out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

you recognized the cover instantly— south of the border, west of the sun by murakami.

you cleared your throat, smiling before you could stop yourself. “that’s a good one.”

mark’s eyes followed where you were pointing and his eyebrows shoot up when he realized “wait… you’ve read this?”

you nodded, trying to be casual, as if you hadn’t picked that book apart alone on your bedroom floor at 2 a.m. two months ago. “i’ve read all of his stuff. but this one was a whole different experience.”

“i literally can’t put it down.” mark said, angling his body to yours with excitement. you could see he was tired but the small talk seemed to give him an energy boost.

“right? anything by murakami makes me feel like i’m eavesdropping on my own memories,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“that’s exactly it!” he said, eyes going wide. “i never knew how to put it into words before.” you had to look away before you got caught smiling at how boyish he looked when he got excited.

the other members stared with amused expressions on their faces, so you quickly straightened up and went back into server mode.

“right… uhm, our special tonight is black truffle gnocchi in a garlic cream reduction, topped with parmesan and chive oil. would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“what kind of beers do you have?” johnny asked, leaning back in his seat.

you rattled off the list, stepping in to point them out on the menu. your hand was visibly shaking, but you hoped they’d chalk it up to general social awkwardness and not the fact that your four favorite idols were sitting in front of you.

“just water for me,” mark said softly. despite his smile, you could clearly hear how strained his voice was.

“great, i’ll bring those right out.”

they must’ve come straight from the venue. tonight’s show—the very one you’d missed because of this shift—had ended less than two hours ago. and now they were here, in your section, eating dinner.

you walked to the bar, filled the glasses as requested except for mark’s. for him, you brewed a mug of hot water, dropped in a slice of lemon, a swirl of honey, and a small nub of ginger. it wasn’t even on the menu but something about his tired eyes and strained voice made you move on instinct.

you brought the tray back with all the drinks, placing them down carefully. when you reached mark, you set the mug in front of him.

“i hope this is okay,” you said quietly. “honey-ginger tea. it’s good for your throat.”

mark blinked, taken off guard. “oh… thank you.” he looked down at the mug, then back up at you. “seriously. that’s really thoughtful.”

you just smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “are you guys ready to order?”

they each placed their orders, nothing too extravagant. jungwoo wanted pasta, johnny asked for a steak medium rare, and haechan—after a dramatic five minute debate with himself—settled on the truffle gnocchi. mark went last.

“can i get the steak medium rare? and the mashed potatoes instead of the fries, if that’s okay,” he asked, glancing up again, voice still carrying that soft exhaustion.

“of course,” you said, jotting it down. “i’ll get those in for you.”

you dropped the order slip at the kitchen window, still feeling weirdly out of sync with your body. it didn’t help that you had to keep circling their table to serve other guests. table five had just ordered dessert, the group behind them needed their wine refilled, and your feet barely touched the floor before you were moving again.

still, awareness prickled at the back of your neck whenever you passed their table.

you turned your head slightly, pretending to scan the room. mark was looking right at you but quickly glanced away, suddenly very invested in the tea in front of him.

you hesitated. maybe they needed something?

smoothing your apron, you walked back to their table. your heart thudded way harder than it needed to, but you managed a smile.

“everything okay here?” you asked.

mark cleared his throat, shaking his head as a faint flush crept up his neck. “we’re good. thanks, though.”

johnny’s lips twitched, and haechan was very clearly hiding a smirk behind his glass.

you smiled again, warmth rising in your chest at how shy he looked. “no worries. food should be out soon.”

back behind the bar, you tried to focus. really, you did. but your eyes kept drifting back to their table. thankfully, they seemed too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. every now and then, though, mark’s gaze would flicker your way.

he’s probably just zoning out, you told yourself. or exhausted, probably both. don’t be weird about it.

still… he kept looking. did you have something on your face? was it obvious you recognized them? god, what if he thought the tea was too much?

you groaned softly and buried your face in your hands when no one was looking.

pull it together, y/n. finish the shift. freak out later.

they are pretty quickly and eventually, their table quieted down. it was past midnight now, and the restaurant was finally starting to shut down. you printed their bill, then hesitated, chewing your lip as your pulse ticked higher.

should i?

this was your shot. it was maybe a little silly and borderline embarrassing, but if you didn’t say something now, you’d regret it forever.

before you could second-guess yourself any more, you scribbled a note at the bottom of the receipt:

"hii, hope this isn’t weird but i’m a really big fan. you’re amazing and i hope you enjoyed your meal and that the tea helped. get some rest tonight! :)"

you took a breath, walked back over, and placed it gently in the center of the table.

“here’s your bill,” you said quietly. “no rush, of course.”

mark looked up first. the smile he gave you was a little tired, but genuine.

“thank you,” he said warmly.

you nodded and stepped away, legs wobbling slightly as you disappeared into the back.

it’s done, you told yourself. no going back now.

as you busied yourself cleaning other tables, you watched from the corner of your eye as they got up. haechan said something that made mark laugh quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your stomach flutter helplessly.

then they were gone.

you waited a few extra minutes before heading over just to be sure. as you cleared the plates, you reached for the bill with your heart already racing, though you told yourself not to expect anything.

but when you opened the leather folder, your breath hitched.

they’d left a generous tip—but that wasn’t what caught your eye. there was something written under your message, a response scribbled quickly in neat handwriting:

"thanks for taking care of us tonight. especially the tea! :)"

followed by a number.

your heart kicked so hard you had to brace a hand on the table edge. there was no name at all, just the number. the ink looked a little smudged near the dash like whoever wrote it had closed the presenter in a hurry.

holy shit.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

it was past one when you finally made it home, hair smelling like garlic butter and burnt steak. the city lay quiet, your apartment even quieter, yet your brain refused to join the calm.

with a tired sigh, you tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, fingers still gripping the bill tightly.

you’d reread the message ten times already. the ink was even more smudged now from your fingers, but the number was still clear.

you exhaled loudly, then groaned into a throw pillow.

“what the hell is happening.”

it had to be mark. right? it felt obvious.

then again, maybe another member had simply appreciated the gesture and thanked you on behalf of mark. after all, their handwriting wasn't exactly familiar. you’d seen them a few times on signed albums or online fan letters, but not enough to be certain.

suddenly determined, you sat upright, snapped a quick photo, and zoomed in immediately.

“this is insane,” you muttered.

but that didn’t stop you from opening a tab to search: mark lee handwriting.

this wasn’t your best moment. you were tired, emotionally compromised, and clearly spiraling. still you opened a second tab and went deeper until you were staring at stan twitter handwriting threads for half an hour.

after many more side-by-sides, you sat back and stared at the screen like it could confess to you.

“it looks like his,” you whispered.

just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

the thought alone conjured every embarrassing scenario possible and made you nearly throw your phone across the room. how would you even start that conversation?

“hi, is this mark lee from nct? because i’m lowkey in love with you and i really hope you're the one who left your number at my workplace tonight?”

your heart nearly stopped at the thought. you glanced at the clock again—2:17 a.m.

yeah. no. you needed to lie down. you’d sleep on it. calm down a bit and gain some perspective.

but three days passed.

three whole days. that’s how long you spent agonizing over a single text. you'd written and deleted at least twenty drafts—too casual, too eager, too weird. one even included a joke you cringed at the second you typed it, and deleted just as fast.

he’s probably already back in korea, you reminded yourself while folding napkins at the restaurant on tuesday. fan accounts had posted airport photos before you even got out of bed. mark in a beanie and headphones, eyes puffy with exhaustion.

two more days passed. eventually, courage outweighed dread.

on thursday night, curled up in your pajamas, you stared at the too-bright glow of your phone while netflix asked if you were still watching. just do it, you told yourself. again.

you opened a new message. typed. erased. retyped. your pulse pounded, drowning out mr. darcy’s proposal in the background.

hi! this is y/n, the server from cecconi’s last saturday night. i know you’re probably crazy busy, but i just wanted to say thanks again for coming in. hope you’re resting well :)

friendly. chill. not over the top—right?

you hit send and immediately shoved the phone under your blanket, like that could somehow shield you from the rejection.

an hour passed. then three.

nothing.

you forced yourself to sleep, pretending the tight knot in your chest wasn’t disappointment. the next morning, you checked your phone before even opening both eyes.

still nothing. no read receipt. no message.

it’s fine. they were idols. they were busy. you’d waited too long anyway. the group was back in rehearsals, buried in schedules. who had time to answer a text from a random server in another country?

another day passed. still no reply.

you tried to talk yourself down while making coffee. maybe it wasn’t even his number. maybe it was a manager’s. maybe his phone was off. maybe international sims are weird. maybe—

“why did you wait so long,” you muttered into the couch, face buried in a pillow.

you were just about ready to let it go when your phone buzzed softly against the coffee table.

your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest. you scrambled for it, almost knocking over the entire table in the process.

a new message.

sorry!! things got crazy once we got back to korea. i’m really glad you texted though. and we’re resting (sort of haha). it’s mark btw :)

you stared at the screen.

read it. then read it again. and again.

warmth flooded your chest. you'd been right.

it was him.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain scrambling for something to say. but for the first time in days, all you could do was smile.

you hadn’t realized how easily a single text could flip your whole mood until he replied. you must’ve read that message ten times before you even responded.

somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there.

it started with casual back-and-forths. he’d talk about the tour, and you about your shifts. it quickly turned more personal though like blurry late-night snack pics from his studio, or mirror selfies of your server fits before dinner rushes.

none of it felt forced. but still… what was this?

you’d be wiping down table six or pulling espresso shots for a regular who never tipped, and suddenly your phone would buzz with a text message.

mark: can’t believe you’ve never seen inception…

you: maybe i was busy having friends

he sent back a string of laughing emojis and a photo of his laptop playing it.

mark: you’re watching it with me next time. no excuses.

next time.

you didn’t know what that meant, but it echoed in your head for the rest of the shift.

by the second week, it wasn’t just texts.

sometimes he’d call when your time zones aligned, and you were both free. once while you were folding laundry. another while he walked home from the studio, breath fogging the cold air as he complained about his busted heater.

“i feel like an old man,” he said once, voice scratchy. “my knees hurt”

“you’re twenty-five.”

“and breaking down.”

you laughed until your stomach hurt. he was quiet for a second, then said, “i like your laugh.”

you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

a month later came the first video call.

it was early morning. you were still half-asleep, texting with one eye open, when your screen lit up with a facetime request. you froze.

no makeup. puffy eyes. pimple cream still on your chin. but your fingers accepted the call before your brain could stop you.

he was lying down, hoodie half over his face.

“oh thank god,” he mumbled. “i thought you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“i almost didn’t,” you laughed, pulling the covers up to hide half your face. “you caught me in a vulnerable state.”

his eyes crinkled. “you look cute.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just tucked your face further into the blanket.

after a few hours, the call fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes starting to flutter shut as you both lay in your respective beds.

you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t. you just stayed on the call, watching him sleep.

video calls became routine after that.

at first, they were short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes. he’d call after practice, his hair a mess, face still damp with sweat. the phone would be propped against his water bottle as he peeled off his hoodie and complained about sore calves.

but the calls started stretching longer. sometimes he was lying on a hotel bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, telling you about his comeback preparations. other times, he wandered through whatever city he was in, showing you the neon signs, quiet side streets, and cafés tucked into corners no tourist would ever find.

“i’ll take you here one day,” he said once, camera panning to a ramen shop. “i mean… if you ever visit.”

you didn’t answer right away. just smiled and pretended the idea didn’t stick in your chest like a pebble you couldn’t shake loose.

you started saving little things throughout the day just to tell him later. customer stories, songs that reminded you of him, strange headlines you knew would make him laugh. without realizing it, your brain made notes labeled tell mark this later.

he did the same. he sent you photos of whatever snack he was eating on set, told you about a dream where you both worked in a space bakery, asked what you thought of new songs he was writing. he never sent full demos, just a few seconds here and there—but it still felt intimate.

you started noticing things you hadn’t, even after all your years as a fan. how he bit the soft skin of his knuckles when he was anxious or the fact that he brushed his teeth for 6 minutes (yes, you counted).

neither of you brought up what this was. and maybe that was okay.

still, on some nights, you’d wonder does he text other people like this? has he done this before, video calls, sleepy laughter and quietly sharing his day?

you never asked.

you didn’t want to ruin the quiet magic of it all by needing too much too soon.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

mark eased you into his life bit by bit.

on a random thursday night, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok when your phone buzzed. you smiled automatically when you saw his name and hit accept.

but it wasn’t him when the call connected.

“yo! she’s real!” johnny’s voice boomed through the speaker, far too loud and way too amused.

you blinked. “wait—what?”

the screen shook as mark scrambled to get the phone back. “okay, okay, stop—hyung, give it back!”

“nice to meet you,” jungwoo added brightly in the background. “finally!”

haechan’s face popped into view next. he hovered close to the camera, flashing a crooked grin. “she’s the one, right? the reason he’s always giggling at his phone like a loser.”

they were all speaking in korean, except for johnny—who made sure you caught the gist. you weren’t fluent, but you knew enough to piece it together. their tone said a lot, anyway.

“what did he say?” you asked, laughing nervously.

johnny leaned in. “he said mark’s obsessed with you.”

mark groaned in the background. “don’t translate that.”

“he talks about you,” haechan added in english, still half-hiding behind jungwoo but clearly enjoying himself. “all. the. time.”

you stared at the screen, wide-eyed, face already burning. “oh god—wait, we just—”

“aigoo, she’s cute,” jungwoo said with a grin, nudging haechan’s shoulder. “mark, you’re done for.”

mark finally got his phone back, his flushed face filling the screen. he was breathless from laughing.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “that was… i didn’t mean for that to happen.”

you were still blushing but grinning too. “so you talk about me all the time?”

he covered his face with one hand. “please. don’t start, they won’t let me live this down”

after that night, it became a running thing. sometimes you’d call just to talk to mark and end up ambushed by his members. taeyong once popped into frame with a plate of fruit, offering you a piece through the screen like you could actually take it. “for energy,” he said in halting English, then smiled and wandered off.

chenle appeared a few times asking random questions as if you’d been friends forever, one time he asked “do you like mark as much as he likes you?”

you sputtered something while mark tried (and failed) to shut him up.

renjun showed up once too, squinting at the screen. “so this is the girl,” he said, then walked off dramatically without another word.

it was chaotic, awkward, and constantly embarrassing but it also made your chest ache in the best way. knowing you weren’t some secret he was hiding. you were someone he wanted them to know.

and then one night, a few weeks later, mark called with a different kind of energy.

“guess what?” he said, barely able to sit still.

you blinked at him through the screen. “what?”

“we’re going to the US,” he grinned, and your heart nearly stopped.

“wait, seriously?”

“yeah, for a festival. just one weekend, but i’ll have a couple free days before the flight out. i—” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “i was really hoping i could see you.”

you stared at him, stunned for a second.

“you want to see me?” you asked softly.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i mean, only if you want to, obviously. i just… i’ve been thinking about it for a while. texting and calling is great but,.. i kind of miss being in the same room as you.”

not just the same city, not just in passing. but in the same room with you.

you swallowed past the nerves bubbling up in your chest and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i want that too.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you tried for tickets the second they went live.

you had alarms set, several tabs open, your card ready. but none of it mattered…

they sold out in minutes.

you stared at the screen in disbelief, refreshing the page over and over hoping the outcome would change. it didn’t. your chest tightened with each failed refresh.

you were so close. and now, you had no idea how to tell mark.

you waited a whole day, thinking they’d release more tickets, maybe someone would resell—but the prices were insane, triple what you could afford, and the longer you waited, the more hopeless it felt.

when he finally called you that night, you tried to act normal for about ten seconds before it all came spilling out.

“i didn’t get tickets,” you said, voice cracking before you could stop it. “they sold out so fast and now the only ones left are like impossible. and i know you’re going to be super busy and probably won’t be able to meet up anyway, but i was really looking forward to seeing you perform, and now i don’t even know if i’ll get to see you at all—”

“hey, hey, slow down.” mark’s voice was soft. “breathe, y/n.”

you inhaled shakily, pressing your forehead to your knee, curled up on the couch. “sorry. i just… i really wanted to be there.”

“i know,” he said gently. “and i want you there too.”

you went quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

“but we’ll figure something out, okay?” mark continued. “don’t stress about it too much. just… trust me a little.”

“what do you mean…,” you said slowly, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckled. “nothing. just saying... maybe don’t give up hope yet.”

you narrowed your eyes at your phone. “you’re being cryptic.”

“am i?” he said, way too innocently.

you groaned into your pillow. “don’t do this to me.”

“i’m not doing anything,” he replied. “just... keep the day of the festival open, okay?”

you wanted to press him, but the look in his eyes was too confident. so you nodded slowly, heart still a little heavy but soothed by the warmth in his voice.

the day they landed in the US, you got the call while brushing your teeth.

your phone lit up with his name, and you answered with a mouthful of foam, spitting it out quickly as you mumbled, “hey, did you land?”

“we did,” mark said, voice laced with excitement. “and i have good news.”

your heart jumped. “what?”

“a car’s going to pick you up the day of the show,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my team helped sort it out. we wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

you blinked, wide-eyed, toothbrush still in hand. “wait—what? you—what do you mean? mark—”

“you’re coming to the festival, y/n. you’re not missing this. not if i can help it.”

you clutched your phone, stunned into silence, overwhelmed by how much care he’d tucked into those few words.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupted, voice softer now. “but i wanted to.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you’d never felt more anxious getting ready for anything in your entire life. not for job interviews, not for first dates, nothing compared to the fluttering anxiety buzzing in your chest right now.

it was almost ridiculous how much effort you'd put in. your hair was carefully styled in waves that took you half an hour to do, your makeup was done and redone multiple times until you finally settled on something subtle but pretty. your outfit had taken ages to choose, you didn’t want to look too casual but also didn’t want to make it seem like you were trying too hard. so you settled for a regular black skirt and a white long sleeved top, it was comfortable but not boring. you wanted to look good, even though mark had already seen you at your most tired, sweaty, and disheveled.

the car arrived precisely at the time mark had promised. your heart jumped to your throat when the driver opened the door for you, offering a polite nod.

your hands trembled slightly in your lap the entire ride to the venue. you felt giddy, overwhelmed, and deeply nervous all at once.

but when you finally arrived, the excitement abruptly shifted into self-awareness. several staff members glanced at you warily, some whispering to each other and throwing quick looks your way. suddenly, you felt very out of place, shrinking slightly under their scrutinizing gazes.

“excuse me,” came a sharp voice behind you. you turned around to see a woman approaching, her expression serious, a clipboard held firmly in her hands. “you must be y/n?”

“yes,” you replied nervously.

“there are some documents you'll need to sign,” she informed you.

“documents? like—”

“standard NDAs, confidentiality agreements, liability waivers,” she cut in and handed you a clipboard, flipping briskly through pages filled with dense legal text. “you'll need to sign these before we move forward.”

you stood frozen for a moment, feeling incredibly naive and small as reality hit you like a slap to the face. you’d let yourself get carried away, almost forgetting who exactly mark was—who exactly these people were. they weren't just regular guys; they were idols, celebrities, people with management teams and carefully guarded images.

this was serious and you had somehow underestimated all of it.

the woman noticed your hesitation, her expression softening just a fraction. “it’s standard procedure,” she said, “mark personally asked us to ensure you’re comfortable, but we need to protect everyone involved.”

“okay,” you whispered shakily, taking the pen from her hand. your fingers felt numb as you signed, barely registering the words printed on the paper.

once the woman was satisfied, she took the clipboard back, nodded curtly, and gestured for you to follow her. your heart thundered in your chest as you walked through the busy hallway.

then she stopped in front of a dressing room door, knocking sharply once before opening it slightly. “mark? your guest is here.”

you held your breath as the door slowly swung open, your pulse so loud you could hardly hear anything else.

mark appeared in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as he took you in. suddenly, all the anxiety, paperwork, and awkwardness faded into the background. his expression softened immediately, that familiar warmth returning as his eyes crinkled in a gentl smile.

“hey,” he breathed softly, clearly just as relieved to see you as you were to see him. “you made it.”

mark steps fully into the hallway, blocking the view of the bustling green-room behind him. for half a beat you both just stare, soaking in the fact that you’re finally sharing the same oxygen again instead of pixels on a phone screen.

“wow…” he breathes, cheeks coloring as his eyes scan you. “you look so—” he catches himself, smiles sheepishly, and opens his arms. “can i?”

you nod before your brain supplies coherent language, letting him tug you forward. the hug is quick—he’s hyper-aware of everyone around you—but his hand stays at your elbow afterward, grounding you.

“sorry about the fuss,” he murmurs, voice pitched low so only you can hear.

“it’s okay… just a bit intense.”

“i know.” his thumb sweeps a tiny circle on your sleeve. “but you’re here now. c’mon, the guys are waiting.”

when you walk inside the room is buzzing with energy. there’s stylists zipping garment bags, a makeup artist following jungwoo around to touch up his lips, haechan drumming on a folding table with two half-empty water bottles. the second he spots you, his face splits into a grin.

“look who made it!” he crows, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “mark’s special guest.”

johnny swivels in a chair. “oh, the infamous y/n at last.” he stands, offering a hand that turns into a gentle half-hug when you take it. “nice seeing you again.”

jungwoo waves from a corner, cheeks puffed with gummy bears. “hi! mark’s talked a lot about you,” he says around the candy.

mark groans. “ignore them, they’ve been insufferable since i told them you were coming.”

“insufferable?” haechan clutches his chest theatrically. “hyung, we’re just supporting your relationship!”

you feel your face go nuclear. “it’s not— we’re just—”

“friends,” mark supplies, shooting haechan a warning glance. but the tips of his ears have gone pink, and the little smile tugging at his mouth totally betrays him.

johnny leans closer, whispering, “lies, he’s always grinnung at his phone like a middle schooler whenever you talk.”

you let out a mortified laugh that turns into a squeak when mark nudges johnny away. “we have to be on stage in ten minutes, maybe focus?”

jungwoo claps. “right! you can watch backstage with staff.”

an assistant appears then, handing mark an in-ear pack. he hesitates, then squeezes your hand once before following the others toward wardrobe.

“sorry i gotta get dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “see you in a bit.”

you exhale for the first time since stepping off the car, pulse finally settling as the door swings shut. you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, catching your reflection in a vanity mirror. your cheeks are flushed and there’s a stunned little smile on your lips.

the staff member that escorted you in approaches again, her expression now more polite but still distant as she walks you down a narrow hallway. “you’ll be watching from here,” she explains as you reach a curtained-off section just beside the stage entrance.

the space is just wide enough for a couple of folding chairs, and a monitor showing the stage feed. even through the curtain, you can hear the low rumble of the crowd growing louder by the second—cheers, screams, the crowd chanting “ilichil, we love you!”

you perch at the edge of a chair, feeling entirely out of place and wildly overwhelmed.

what am i even doing here?

this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. you weren’t watching fancams in your pajamas or whispering to your screen during late-night video calls. you were backstage, in their world, and everyone around you belonged to it except you.

you looked down at your outfit again, smoothing invisible wrinkles, suddenly doubting every choice you’d made that morning. your nails, your shoes, even the way you’d done your eyeliner. it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

a soft noise pulls your attention back to the side curtain. one of the stylists slips through, handing off a mic pack to someone just outside your view. you recognize mark’s voice quickly.

he’s laughing at something jungwoo said, but even through the laughter you can hear the edge of nerves in his voice. it makes you feel… less alone in your own.

you peek around the edge of the curtain. they’re all gathered near the wings, adjusting their in-ears and bouncing on their heels to shake out last-minute jitters. mark’s back is turned at first, but then he glances over his shoulder almost like he can feel your eyes on him.

your breath catches when his gaze finds yours. through all the chaos and noise, his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t wave or call out—he just smiles.

he turns back as staff starts to guide them toward the entrance tunnel, and you’re left sitting there with your heart doing an unholy rhythm in your chest.

you hadn’t expected this, the building pressure in your chest, the way your emotions feel too big to hold.

but underneath all of it, layered between the nerves and the noise inside your own head, there’s a flicker of anticipation.

he’s just a few feet away now. he’s about to be on stage, doing what he was born to do, and you’ll be right here, watching not just as a fan anymore.

but as someone who matters to him.

the stage lights cut to black, and the low hum of the backing track pulses through the arena like a heartbeat. from your narrow perch in the wings you can feel the vibration under your soles, a physical reminder that this isn’t a dream.

a lone spotlight slices across the darkness—jungwoo steps into it, and the crowd erupts. the boys fan out behind him in practiced formation.

mark is near the center, head lowered, hand cupped over his earpiece as he settles into position. you’ve watched this opening on countless fancams, but up close everything is magnified: the hiss of their in-ears, the snap of jacket fabric when they turn, the ragged inhale before the first line.

johnny’s deep vocal rolls out, haechan answers with his bright harmony, and suddenly the whole place is singing along..

mark’s part hits next. he steps forward, eyes scanning the sea of faces before flicking to you. it’s only a second, a brush of attention so quick the crowd would never catch it, but it lands like a spark in your lungs. he grins, then pivots into choreography.

you never understood how performers could look both effortless and deadly focused until now. sweat beads at their hairlines within minutes, but they don’t miss a beat. haechan riffs a playful ad-lib, doyoung shoots him a mock glare, johnny laughs into his mic; the crowd screams, drunk on the interaction.

halfway through the set, they perform gold dust as a surprise, the stage lights go yellow. mark moves to the far edge closer to you and delivers his verse straight ahead. but on his last bar he tilts his head, eyes skimming the shadows where you’re standing. his voice drops into that warm, gritty register you know too well from late-night calls, and despite the roar of the arena the moment feels impossibly intimate.

you tuck your hands under your arms, trying to calm the goosebumps, but the sheer thrill of seeing him own that stage while still tossing these tiny pieces of himself your way is overwhelming.

the final song explodes in confetti cannons. the boys hit their last pose, breathing hard, grinning wide. the screams from the audience are deafening; even the backstage staff exchange awed looks.

mark bows with the others, shouting “thank you!” into his mic, but as they turn to exit he catches your gaze one more time. he taps two fingers against his chest, then points subtly toward the hallway where you’re waiting and mouths the words stay right there, i’ll find you.

and you waited exactly where he told you to.

or… at least tried to.

but the moment the boys disappeared off stage, chaos swallowed everything whole. several stagehands rushed past with crates, wires and gear flying in every direction, staff barking orders into walkies while backup dancers and security weaved in and out of the narrow corridors.

you stepped back into the corner, trying not to get trampled, but every second you waited the crowd thickened, people shouting over each other, crew passing by so quickly that you were bumped into more than once. you caught glimpses of the members being swept off into different directions—haechan laughing breathlessly with a towel around his neck, johnny taking a water bottle from someone. but there was no sight of mark.

“you can’t stand here,” someone snaps, grabbing your elbow and steering you quickly away. “please, move along.”

“wait, i was supposed to—” you start, but your protest drowns in the noise as you’re guided through the maze of corridors.

you glance over your shoulder anxiously, panic rising in your throat. mark said he’d find you but you don’t even know where you’re going.

the staff member stops abruptly near a back exit, where a van is parked outside the open door. he gestures hurriedly. “wait in there, please. someone will be with you shortly.”

before you can question it, he’s already vanished back into the building. hesitantly, you climb into the empty van, settling awkwardly on the leather seat. not even a minute later your phone buzzes with a text from mark.

mark: where are you??? backstage is insane, i can’t find you.

you quickly reply: someone moved me to a van near the back entrance?

your heart pounds as minutes stretch into eternity and doubt starts gnawing at you—they will probably film some behind the scenes content now, interviews, livestreams, what if he doesn’t have time to find you before he’s sent away?

but just as anxiety peaks, the van door suddenly slides open. your eyes widen as mark appears, breathing heavily like he ran to reach you, his stage makeup slightly smudged, hair damp and tousled from the performance. he sighs in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing the second he sees you.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes, climbing quickly into the van and closing the door behind him. “i was so worried. everything okay?”

“yeah, it was just really hectic—” you start, but your words fade as he sits beside you, closer than you’ve ever really been. close enough that you can see the faint glitter along his jaw, the sweat glistening at his temples, the warmth in his gaze as it settles fully on your face.

“you were incredible out there,” you say softly. “i’ve never… it’s different seeing it up close.”

his cheeks pink despite the post-performance flush. “i kept looking for you.”

“i noticed,” you admit, smiling.

mark’s gaze drops to your hands twisting in your lap and he reaches out.

“thanks for being here,” he murmurs.

your laugh is a shaky exhale. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“also…the NDA,” he starts quietly. “i didn’t want you to feel like i was cornering you into some weird situation. that’s not what this is.”

“mark, i didn’t think that. i mean—it was overwhelming, yeah, but i get it. you’re…” you gesture helplessly. “you.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no real humor behind it. “i hate it. you know, not being able to just… hang out with you. not having the freedom to do normal things, like… i don’t know—go get coffee or show you the city or tell people about you without it turning into a whole thing.”

“is that what this is? am i…” you hesitate. “something you’d want to tell people about?”

he looks up at you, and there’s not a trace of hesitation when he says, “yes. i think about it all the time.”

you blink, throat suddenly dry.

he leans in slightly. “i just… i didn’t want you to think i was trying to make you sign your silence just so i could keep you a secret. it’s not about hiding you. it’s about protecting something that means a lot to me.”

and there it is. the part he hadn’t said yet.

you mean a lot to him.

your chest tightens with the weight of being chosen in a world that doesn’t make space for this kind of closeness, that demands boundaries, a good image and clean lines drawn in ink. and yet here he is, blurring those lines for you.

“thank you for saying that,” you murmur, voice trembling a little. “i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear it.”

mark reaches across the space then, taking your other hand. “i don’t want this to feel like you’re walking on eggshells because of my life. i want it to feel real.”

your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“it already does,” you whisper.

and when he finally closes the distance between you, pulling you into a quiet, careful hug, it feels so right.

his arms wrap around you and for a second the world outside the van ceases to exist. he’s warm even through his stage jacket, you can feel his heartbeat thudding fast against your cheek. you breathe him in, clean sweat and fabric softener.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t release your hand. his thumb brushes lazy paths over your knuckles.

“i kept picturing this,” he admits quietly. “all week. wondering if it would feel the same in person as it did in my head.”

“and?” you whisper.

“it’s even better,” he says without hesitation.

he shifts slightly, the space between you rapidly shrinking. his gaze flickers briefly down to your lips, and the movement sends your pulse racing.

“mark,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “i—”

his other hand gently finds your cheek, thumb tracing lightly along your skin, tipping your chin up just a fraction. he searches your face, breathing shallow and eyes heavy with something soft and vulnerable.

you lean in instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts warm over your lips—

and then the van door suddenly swings open, a burst of noise and harsh backstage lighting flooding in.

“mark hyung, manager hyung says—oh shit.” haechan freezes halfway inside the doorway. “ohhh, sorry… was i interrupting something?”

mark jerks back, cheeks blazing crimson as his hand quickly leaves your cheek and lands awkwardly in his lap. “dude, are you serious?” he groans, dropping his head with a sigh and muttering a very un-idol-like curse word.

you cover your mouth, laughing breathlessly through the embarrassment even as your pulse continues hammering in your ears.

“sorry, sorry,” haechan says, grinning wickedly, clearly not sorry at all. “but uh, we gotta go. manager hyung’s freaking out. we got an interview, hurry up.”

“yeah. coming.” he searches your face, apology written in his eyes “they’ll herd us to the hotel soon. can you wait a little longer? i want to ride with you after they clear the crowd.”

you nod, trying to ignore the throb of almost-kiss still sparking across your lips. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“give me twenty minutes tops, and then i’m kidnapping you for actual food.”

“bold of you to assume i’d say no.”

as he slips out, you catch the faintest curve of a smile before the door thuds shut and you’re alone again.

thirty minutes later, mark slips back into the van. this time freshly changed, hair still damp but swept under a dark cap.

“sorry that took forever.” he drops into the seat opposite you, knee bouncing with leftover adrenaline. “do you wanna come meet the other members properly before we leave?”

you follow him back through a quieter service corridor to a smaller green room that smells heavily like hair spray. inside, half the members are sprawled on sofas in various states of post-show exhaustion. the energy shifts the second mark ushers you in.

“guys, this is y/n,” he says.

taeyong shoots up first, hand extended. “the legend herself,” he jokes, grinning wide enough to prove he’s still riding his performance high. jaehyun offers a shy wave and drags over a chair so you won’t have to hover. yuta, also walks over and introduces himself politely.

doyoung is the only one who stays seated, arms folded. his eyes flick between you and mark, assessing. it lasts all of three seconds before he notices how relaxed mark looks—those shoulders that usually sit somewhere near his ears are loose, his smile easy. doyoung’s expression softens.

“thanks for cheering him up,” he says quietly, a little sheepish. “he’s been impossible the last few weeks.” the tease lands gentle, and mark flicks a sweat towel at him in retaliation.

the small talk bubbles up easily. the topic shifting from favorite festival moments, to whose in-ears cut out, and the confetti that caught in doyoung’s mouth during a high note. the atmosphere is warm and surprisingly normal, until a manager pops his head in to remind everyone they’ve got early rehearsals tomorrow.

mark steers you quickly back to the van after saying a quick goodbye.

“so…” he ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “food?”

“please,” you groaned, head falling back against the seat. “i’m starving.”

“wanna go to a restaurant?” he offered.

you winced. “too risky.”

he nodded slowly. “true, my hotel’s worse.”

you turned your head to face him. “sasaengs?”

“they wait outside sometimes, follow the vans from the venue” he trailed off, already looking annoyed with the reality of it.

“we could…” you swallow, then barrel through. “we could go to my place? it’s not far, and no one knows where i live. we can order in.”

mark’s head tilts, surprised but already nodding. “are you sure?”

“only if you’re okay hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells like scented candles and stale coffee.”

he smiles brightly. “sounds perfect.”

you rattle off your address to the driver, heart hammering as you drive through the city. mark’s knee bumps yours every time the van hits a pothole, but neither of you moves away.

he glances over. “thank you for trusting me with your space.”

you breathe out a shaky laugh. “thank you for trusting me with… all of this.”

his fingers brush yours on the seat between you. outside, the van slows to a stop at your curb. the driver kills the lights for discretion. thankfully, the street is empty.

you turn to mark, pulse racing for an entirely new reason now. “welcome to my part of the world.”

he grins, tugging his cap lower and reaching for the door handle. “lead the way.”

your apartment is small, cluttered with book stacks and half-burned candles, but it’s yours—and when mark steps in, slipping off his shoes at the door like he’s done it a hundred times, it feels suddenly, impossibly domestic.

“so,” he murmurs, looking around with quiet curiosity. “what’s good for takeout around here?”

you settle on thai food after a chaotic five-minute debate that ends with mark looking up from your couch and going, “okay but do you trust me with your spice tolerance?”

you blink at him. “mark. i watched you cry eating jalapeño chips during that one livestream.”

“they were ghost pepper!” he defends, slightly pouting. “and i didn’t cry, my eyes were just... dry.”

you giggle and the tension that had followed you into the apartment fades with it.

while you wait for the food, he wanders around your space with curiosity. never touching too much, just observing. he stops at your bookcase, smiles at the titles stacked sideways, fingers brushing one of the cracked spines.

“so this is where you’ve been calling from,” he says as he returns to the couch, flopping down beside you. “it’s cozy.”

“that’s code for small, right?”

he tilts his head, grinning softly. “no. cozy means i don’t want to leave.”

you glance over at him, heartbeat spiking in your throat. his hoodie’s a little rumpled from the ride, cap tossed somewhere by your front door, and he’s leaned so close your shoulders brush.

“you’re kind of the only boy who’s ever said that,” you murmur.

“then they’re idiots.”

your lips twitch with a smile. mark leans his head back on the cushion, you get distracted by the cute bump on his nose and the lines of his jaw.

you both fall quiet for a while, your legs stretched out beside his on the couch, ankles knocking occasionally. your body relaxes more than you expect, as if it remembers this feeling from all those calls and imaginary versions of this moment.

when the takeout finally arrives, you both eat cross-legged on the couch, plastic containers open between you, your playlist humming low in the background.

you talk through mouthfuls of noodles about everything and nothing—his weird craving for peaches whenever he’s overseas, your childhood phase of putting ketchup on rice, how you both secretly judge people who don’t rewind movies when they pause.

somewhere between “i really miss my mom’s kimchi stew” and your story about the nightmare customer who demanded gluten-free breadsticks, your shoulders touch. a minute later his arm slips along the back of the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder each time he shifts. your nerves fizz under your skin, but the contact feels safe.

You lean into him. He doesn’t move away.

the conversation slows and when you glance up to make a joke, your nose brushes the edge of his jaw. his breath hitches at this, then a warm hand settles on your knee.

“this feels…” he starts, swallowing. “kinda unreal.”

“yeah.” a whisper—because your voice has gone missing.

his palm lifts to your cheek, thumb soft against your skin. “can I kiss you?”

you’re already nodding.

the first kiss is shy and careful, more smile than pressure. The next slips deeper, mouths moving in a lazy rhythm neither of you rush. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie; his other hand skims your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the quiet drum of his heart.

eventually the couch gets too cramped. mark breaks the kiss with a sheepish laugh. “my back is dying,” he murmurs.

you tug him down the hall to your room, giggling when he nearly trips on a sneaker. he perches on the edge of the bed and you climb into his lap without thinking, legs draped around him. his hands settle on your hips and he sighs.

“i really, really like you,” he says, forehead resting against yours.

“i like you too. a lot.”

he kisses you again. you spend the next half hour like that, trading soft laughs and softer kisses until the adrenaline drains from his limbs. head falls heavy on your shoulder, he mumbles something about the best night of his life…and falls asleep mid-sentence.

You ease him back onto the pillows, kick off your skirt, and curl into the space beneath his arm. One leg hooks over yours; his hand rests at the small of your back, protective even in sleep.

it’s the tenth call that finally wakes him the next morning.

mark groans into your pillow, dragging his phone blindly toward his face. “what…”

a second goes by and then he jolts upright. “shit. shit.”

you blink groggily, one arm reaching out for him. “what’s wrong?”

he’s already stumbling for his shirt which he doesn’t even remember taking off last nigh. “i slept in. i never—fuck, i never sleep in.”

you sit up slowly, watching him try to shove his hat over tousled hair while checking his phone. “i have like ten missed calls.”

he answers the incoming call hurriedly, voice tense and apologetic. “yeah, i’m sorry, i know… i’m on my way now, just got… held up. i’ll explain later.”

he glances down at you then, taking in your messy hair, swollen lips and sleepy eyes, and the look on his face softens just a little.

when he finally hangs up, he rushes back to your side, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i gotta run, but i'll text you as soon as i can. i promise.”

you smile sleepily up at him, already missing the warmth of his body against yours. “go. don’t get in trouble.”

he pauses briefly before leaving. “last night was… perfect. thank you.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you to curl back into your pillow, still feeling the ghost of his touch and the lingering warmth of everything you shared.

900 notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 1 month ago

Text

“SORRY, HEART”

pairing: fwb! mark lee x tutor! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 29k+

synopsis -> sex helps him focus. focus he needs for your tutoring sessions. it was a win-win for mark lee when you proposed to add a stress-relief session to the schedule. the favorite fuckboy and the girl who doesn’t believe in love equals the ultimate friends with benefits set-up. it’s the perfect dream team! but uh oh…it seems like mark has been shot by cupid’s arrow. will mark survive all of your attempts at pushing him away?

warnings -> grab the tissues! (can be used for multiple reasons) pet name unlocked: kitten, so much dialogue, they’re both yappers, mentions of: periods, reader has avoidant-attachment issues, a little toxic, a lot broken, mark is so down bad it hurts me, angst, +18, crude language, fuckboys, a party, alcohol, starts off with a lot of smut! edging!!!, mark whines and whimpers and cries, oral (m+f), he loves eating pussy, nipple-play, fingering, blow-job, sex on the desk, rough sex, soft sex, unprotected sex, reader is on the pill, sensory play, overstimulation, a fake orgasm, mentions of: period sex, masturbation (m).

an -> third installment of the loverboy series is yours! i did so much research for this holy shit (shoutout to quizlet, friends with benefits, prom-pact and ariana grandes: eternal sunshine album). i don’t know anything about advanced music theory or history please i got it all off quizlet. if it’s wrong, do not come for me! important things to note -> you do not have to read stupid cupid or flying kiss to understand this story but 1) mark is the favorite fuckboy. he’s very upfront. tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. 2) jeno and bunny’s story is simultaneously happening 3) jaemin and his gf, angel, are happily together. have fun reading! with love, c.

“i don’t feel it,” your voice bites through the night air, cold and detached.

“i don’t love you.” you add with absolutely no remorse, just the tired truth of someone who stopped believing in happy endings a long time ago.

mark can’t help but think back to how exactly he got here — watching you walk away with the heart you shattered into a million pieces, drowning in the silence, wondering how he ever thought he could be the one to change your mind.

ᓚᘏᗢ one month ago. april 2. wednesday.

mark bursts into the study room like he was being chased, slightly out of breath and as usual, thirty minutes late to your tutoring sessions. you didn’t even bother looking up from your notes.

“you’re late. again.” you said flatly, highlighting a passage in the textbook as if his presence didn’t affect your mood at all. it did. the wasted time makes your irritation grow sharper. it was only three days of the week and he still couldn't show up on time.

“sorry, was busy,” he said, running a hand through his mess of dark hair, lipstick stain on his neck, smelling like cheap perfume and sex.

you arched your eyebrow, “that’s the third time, mark.”

he offers an apologetic smile, dropping into the chair across from you, pulling out his notebook, “i know, i know, she just…took longer to finish.”

you slammed your highlighter down, “just because i’m your friend doesn’t mean you can completely act unprofessional,” you roll your eyes, “this is my time you’re wasting too.”

he looked at you, your signature eyeliner and maroon lips making you look sharper, meaner, ready to pounce at any minute.

a mixture of guilt and fear flickers briefly across his features before he sighed and slumped forward, “y/n, i’m sorry. really. it just helps with the stress you know? clears my head so i can focus.”

“mark,” you leaned in “is your sex life really more important than your three failing classes?,” you remind him of the reason why you were here in the first place. he doesn’t respond and the silence was answer enough. you look at him, brain already calculating ways to solve this problem, until you got to one conclusion — it’s a ridiculous idea but it would be the most effective.

“fine,” you said, tapping your pen against the table, “we can have sex,” you propose.

mark whipped his head towards you like you’ve just grown two heads, “what?!”

you shrugged like it was the most normal suggestion in the world, “i can’t have you missing another session, you need to pass these classes,” you reason. “i have a 100% success rate mark, i’m not letting you ruin that because you need to get your dick wet…so show up earlier, we add a stress relief session then start tutoring right away,” you explain like you’ve been thinking about this the whole week.

mark chuckles, an eyebrow raised. sounds like a pretty great plan to him — too great…actually.

“what’s the catch?,” he asks, eyeing you suspiciously, elbow on the table as he leaned towards you.

“no catch, i just have one rule” you smirk, pointing a finger up. he nods, urging you to go on.

“you can’t sleep with anyone else,” you say simply.

this makes him laugh.

“i don’t go exclusive, y/n.”

“please,” you scoff, “i don’t want to date you mark,” you say clearly, “i just don’t want to catch a disease.”

you were very aware of mark’s title — everyone’s favorite fuckboy, leader of the dream fraternity, co-captain of the university’s basketball team and can play guitar. everyone wants a piece of him. and almost everyone has gotten a piece of him.

“i’m clean!,” he argued, looking offended.

“yeah? for how long?,” you shot back, a teasing smirk on your face.

he exhaled, raking a hand through his hair, “fine…then i get to add a rule too.”

“that’s fair, what’s your rule?,” you ask.

“you can’t fall in love with me.” a smirk on his lips.

this makes you laugh.

“well, isn’t your lucky day, mark lee,” you say with a sly smile, “i don’t believe in love.”

he studied you for a moment, confusion flickering behind his eyes, a subtle memory from freshman year playing in his mind until the smile on his face faded into something quieter, “i’m serious, y/n,” he says with conviction.

you raise a brow, “and i’m serious too mark…the day i fall in love is the day money starts raining from the sky.”

he watches you then lets out a short laugh, “okay, just wanted to be clear,” he nods, a grin creeping in, “so…friends with benefits then?”

“exactly,” you hold your hand, “deal?”

mark laughs before accepting it, sealing the deal with a firm handshake, “deal.”

without warning, you yank him towards you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that steals his breath — it’s quick, sharp, deliberate. before he can respond, before he can even think about deepening it, you’ve already pulled away, a smirk on your lips as you start packing your things in your bag.

“this room’s only reserved for an hour and you just wasted it,” you say over your shoulder.

“my apartment. friday. 6PM. if you’re late we’re going straight to studying.” you warn him before leaving him there feeling like he just won the lottery.

it was the perfect situation for him — he’ll pass his classes and get to have sex without having to do all the extra work of chatting up a girl and trying to impress them just to get in their pants. it hasn’t even started yet and he already felt like a winner.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 4. friday.

mark knocks on your door at exactly 6:00 pm on friday evening. his backpack hung on his shoulder.

“huh…so you can arrive on time,” you tease, leaning on your apartment’s door.

“what can i say? i’m stressed and i need to be relieved,” he shrugs, a childish grin on his lips.

“alright, come on,” you grab his arm, dragging him past your living room and straight to your room.

“so…how do we do this?,” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps inside, standing in your room awkwardly, backpack still on his shoulder. he looks around, noticing your bare walls and how everything seemed to be neat and organized.

“what? sex? aren’t you supposed to be the expert?,” you quip, raising an eyebrow in amusement, snapping his attention back to you.

he rolls his eyes, “well usually, i flirt with the girl first before i get in their pants,” he reasons.

“nu-uh, we don’t have time for that,” you cut in, pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you in your red lacy bra and the tiny black pajama shorts that hung low on your waist.

mark’s eyes widen slightly, glint with amusement, unabashedly checking you out, “dang dude, you’re fucking sexy.”

“is that how you talk to every girl you’re about to have sex with?,” you chuckle.

“that’s how i talk to my friends,” he smirks, earning a snort from you.

“are you gonna take off your clothes or are you just gonna keep gawking?,” you tease, lips curled into a smirk. mark rolls his eyes, finally setting his backpack down by the edge of your bed and removing both his t-shirt and sweats with ease, leaving him in his black boxers, still standing across from you — it was your turn to check him out. he’s lean, more toned than you expected, abs on display, the outline of his cock prominent through his boxers.

“nice,” you mutter, making him raise a brow in amusement. in one smooth motion, you slide down your shorts and unhook your bra, tossing it to the side somewhere as you stood proud and tall, in your red matching panties, not shying away from his gaze.

your confidence (tits) draws him in, stepping forward, closing the distance. both his hands come up immediately, cupping your breasts, thumbs grazing smoothly over your nipples with open fascination. you hitch your breath, the sensation of his fingertips making your pussy clench around nothing.

mark almost can’t believe what’s happening right now, “this is silly,” he breathes out, a light chuckle slipping past his lips, his hands still massaging your boobs.

“my boobs?,” you ask flatly, a little offended.

“no, your boobs are great, dude,” he says quickly, “i meant this situation is silly, i’ve never had sex with a friend before,” he says, still rolling your nipples in between his fingertips.

“you can always back out, we can skip this and go straight to tutoring,” you say, giving him a chance to change his mind.

he lets out a dry chuckle, eyes flicking down between you, “y/n, you’re kidding right? my dick is hard as shit and i’m playing with your boobs…we’re not going straight to fucking tutoring.”

you grin, biting back a laugh, “i’m very aware that you’re playing with my boobs and if you don’t plan on fucking the shit out of me in the next minute, i’m putting my clothes back on,” you warn him.

he doesn’t wait for a second warning. his boxers hit the floor and you follow suit, slipping your underwear to the ground. grabbing a condom out of his wallet, he rolls it on smoothly. then, with no hesitation, he makes his way back to you, lifting you off the ground. mark was a lot stronger than you thought he was, picking you up like you were as light as a feather. your back hits your mattress with a bounce as he hovers over you, eyes dark with intent, that devilish, childish grin sitting on his lips.

then his mouth crashes onto yours in an instant, messy and hungry. the kind of kiss that’s all teeth and heat and no hesitation. you tug on his hair, eliciting a groan from him, urging him closer as your tongue meets, battling for dominance. his hands are everywhere, gripping your thighs, hips, waist like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your skin.

“hurry up mark, you’re on the clock,” you pant, fire curling low in your belly.

“you said fuck the shit out of you right?,” he growls against your throat, voice low, barely restrained.

“if you can,” you tease, challenging him to pick up the pace.

he was tired of the mocking. mark aligns himself against your entrance and with no warning, no gentleness, he slams into you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs — the stretch was delicious, filled with pain from the lack of foreplay, groans bouncing off of each other’s mouths, “fuuck y/n, you feel insane” he grunts as he thrusts with a rhythm that makes the bed squeak.

you wrapped your legs around him, forcing him in even deeper, harder, pussy sucking him perfectly as you calculatingly start clenching impossibly tight for him, “h-holy shit,” he groans, sweat dripping from his temple, “-quit doing that,” mark warns but doesn’t relent his unforgiving pace, chasing the edge like he’s starving for it.

all the while, you just wanted him to get there – the faster he finishes, the faster you can start tutoring. your hands wander throughout his body, leaving goosebumps all throughout his skin until they land on his nipples, you rub him until he was whining and groaning against your mouth, “fuck-mm close,” he manages to say in between his heavy pants, “me too,” you lie.

the pleasure in your stomach was building but you weren’t at all close to the finish line.

“yeah?,” he hisses, thrusts getting messier and messier as he fights back the urge to cum, waiting for you. his lips latch on to your neck, licking and kissing.

you decide to end his torment, “i’m cumming,” you announce, exaggeratedly, forcing yourself to clench around him as much as you can, watching him topple over. he grunts beside your ear, his release finally taking over as he spills into the condom.

“oooh, yeahh,” you moan, faking your orgasm as you push him off of you and into the bed beside you.

mark barely has a moment to catch his breath, chest still heaving from his orgasm, when he turns sharply toward you, narrowing his eyes, “wait…did you just fake it?,” he asks, feeling betrayed.

“uhh, no,” you mutter out, focusing on the ceiling, pretending to catch your breath.

mark shuffles beside you, clearly unconvinced, “that’s not how girls cum, y/n”

“that’s how i cum!,” you argue and mark shakes his head. he wasn’t stupid. he’s been with enough ladies to know that that was a fake orgasm.

he shakes his head, frowning, “no way, i feel like i just used you,” he says, the words leave a sour taste in his mouth — mark never leaves a lady unsatisfied, which is the reason why he kept on showing up late to the past three tutoring sessions. it doesn’t matter how long it takes, he’s not leaving the bed until they are done…until you are done. it’s a point of pride. call it ego or decency but either way, he doesn’t half-ass pleasure. how else do you think he got the title of the favorite?

“it’s fine mark, we need to start our session,” you say, sitting up. but before you could get further, mark tugs you back into the pillows.

your eyes widen in slight shock, “what are you doing?”

“pretty sure friends with benefits means were both benefiting,” he smirks, “i’m not moving on until you cum,” eyes glittering with playful determination, earning an eye roll from you.

“we don’t have time for this,” you scoff, trying to push him away. but he was a lot stronger than you, grabbing your hands and pinning you down the mattress.

“give me ten minutes,” he says, voice low. you look at him amused, “you think you can make me cum in ten minutes?,” you mock, an eyebrow going up.

“just shut up and reap the benefit,” he bites back as he starts trailing kisses down your neck, leaving no room for arguments.

“no hickeys, mark,” you warn him. he ignores you but doesn’t leave a mark anyways, lips trailing lower and lower, stopping for a moment to suck on your nipples, your back arching towards him. he takes a mental note of the way your body immediately responds every time he gets near your breasts.

that familiar pleasure starts to pool in your core again, unmistakable and creeping in fast. and when your hands go lax in his grip, he knew he won this time. he looks up at you with an amused glint in his eyes, hands slowly letting go of your wrists as he let them roam all over your body, mouth still worshipping your breasts, watching your every reaction, taking note of your satisfied little hums, the softs gasps and the way your lips part unconsciously.

he travels lower and lower, tongue leaving a warm, wet path behind. then, he pauses “hmm, what’s this?,” his fingers ghost over the tiny artwork placed on the right side of your hip, just above your underwear line.

“a cat.”

“cute,” he says with a grin, kissing over your tattoo, “why a cat?”

“i don’t know, i was drunk,” you were growing impatient, the frustration was getting to you. you’re pretty sure he’s already used up half of his ten minutes. now’s not the time for small talk.

“hurry up, mark,” you say, taking matters into your own hands and pushing his head lower – exactly where you needed him.

mark chuckles, the warmth of his breath making your thighs twitch, “feisty,” he teases, “the cat is fitting.” you’re ready to fire back with a smart remark but the words get caught in your throat when he slowly licks a strip between your folds.

“mmm, you taste so fucking sweet,” he praises, kitten-licking in between your folds before finally dragging his tongue up to your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud. a moan slips from your lips, all thoughts of tutoring and snarky comebacks dissolve, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his tongue lapping against you.

you haven’t been eaten out in so long, your last and only boyfriend absolutely hated going down on you and the other one night stands you had never seemed like they knew what they were doing – always leaving you to finish what they started.

mark settles comfortably between your thighs, his eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss as he continues sucking, licking, spitting, completely consumed with the kind of hunger that makes it feel like he’s the one being pleasured. your hips instinctively move, grinding against his face as you tried to reach the high that was slowly but surely building inside you, “fuckk mark, f-feels so good,” you whine against his touch.

you feel him smirk against your clit before he slides two fingers in, following the curve of your pussy, learning the way your body molds. his mouth doesn’t stop, still locked onto your sensitive bud, sucking with relentless precision. and as soon as he found that spot, you can't help but shut your eyes in pleasure.

“oh goddd, mark,” you cry out, your body arching off the bed, head flat against your sheets as your fingers made it’s way to his hair, lightly tugging, making sure he stays exactly where he is. he lifts your legs over his shoulders, adjusting his angle, pushing his fingers in deeper as his mouth continues its worship. he eats you out like a man starved, the noises of your juices squelching filling up the room and it felt so, so good.

you can feel the heat rising through your body. mixtures of ragged pants and high-pitched moans tumbling out of your lips helplessly as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside you. then his free hand slides up to your torso, pinching your nipple just enough to tip you over the edge, completely at his mercy, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, im cumming, im cumming,” you gasp, repeating it like a prayer, fingers digging into the sheets until you’re knuckles were white, trying to ground yourself on something. your orgasm completely washes over you, body trembling as you were left gasping for air, jaw slacked, eyes rolled back, toes curled.

mark doesn’t let up, drawing out every aftershock until you’re twitching, overstimulated. you push his head away and only then does he pull back – grinning, breathless, face decorated with your slick.

“now that’s how girl’s cum,” he says proudly, licking his fingers clean, looking smug as hell.

you roll your eyes, trying to snap out of the haze, “you said ten minutes, that was definitely longer.”

“whatever kitten, we still have twenty minutes left of the tutoring session,” he smirks.

“kitten?,” you repeat, confused.

“it’s fitting right?,” he shrugs. you shake your head, reaching for your clothes with a playful scoff, ignoring the way your legs still feel like jelly. twenty minutes was not enough time but you grabbed the flashcards you had meticulously prepared earlier anyway.

“fine…time for music theory,” you say as mark groans dramatically beside you.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 6. sunday.

mark: wyd? come to the dream fraternity party

kitten: can’t. busy.

mark: but i need to relieve stress…

kitten: mark, it’s only been two days.

mark: yeah two days too long 😩

kitten: we’re literally seeing each other tomorrow

mark: why are you blue balling me? 🤕💔

kitten: im not. you can still use your hand! 🤗

mark: it doesn’t feel as good ☹️ not warm enough ☹️

kitten: go heat up a sock and figure it out 🫶

mark: are you sure that rule of yours is final? a really hot girl just walked in and my dick is pointing towards her direction 👀🍆🥵

kitten: go ahead 🙂‍↕️

mark: bro, really???

kitten: yep! but don’t expect to get your dick anywhere near me tomorrow 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

mark: nvm 😑

kitten: see you tomorrow 😇

mark begrudgingly walks up the stairs, ignoring all the girls who were glancing his way. he can’t risk it, the deal had just started and yesterday was too fun to spoil — settling into his sheets, he pumped himself up and down until he was spilling into his hand.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 7. monday.

when mark walked into your apartment, he was ready to pounce, eyes already scanning you like you were his favorite dessert. but he stopped short, confusion flickering across his face – you were wearing layers upon layers, “uhmm, you do know it’s spring right?,” he says.

“i know,” you say, a playful smile on your lips as you lead him towards your bedroom.

“so what’s with all the extra layers?,” he trails behind you, suspicious.

“we’re gonna play a game,” you say simply.

“noo, y/n, the deal was i get here, we have mind blowing sex, then we study,” he groans.

“yeah, well that didn’t work out last time,” you point out, remembering the fact that it took the two of you almost the entire session just to finish, “so i decided, we’re gonna mix the two together,” you finish, a sly smile on your lips.

“what’s the game?,” he narrows his eyes, though he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in him.

“for every question you get right, i take off a piece of clothing,” you say, explaining the rules, “and for every question you get wrong, you remove one of yours.”

he perks up immediately, spark dancing in his eyes. mark loves a good game. loves it even more when he wins — he sits at the edge of your bed, already looking far too cocky for someone who’s about to get mentally grilled. you sat on your computer chair across from him, flashcards in hand and fully clothed.

“alright, i’ll start off easy,” you begin, flipping through the flashcards you barely used during the last session, “what’s a major key with 6 flats?”

he laughs, “please, a G flat.”

“correct,” you nod, peeling off the scarf around your neck and dropping it to the floor. mark smirks. if all of your questions were this easy, you were going to be naked in no time.

“next, what do you do to write an aeolian scale?.”

“you use the natural minor of the note given,” he says with ease, relaxed and confident.

“lucky guess,” you mutter, slowly removing your cardigan.

“i’m not that clueless,” he explains, finding it all amusing. his eyes dropping to the now visible thin tank top you were sporting.

“then why are you failing three of your classes?,” you shot back.

“because the assignments are dumb and i don’t have time to do them, i already know how to apply them in real life,” he shrugs, “why do i need to know all these terms?”

you study him for a second, “mark, you can’t expect to skip steps and magically pass all of your classes,” you say.

“yeah, i’m learning that the hard way,” he pauses, his shoulders tense, the stress catching up to him once again, “now ask the next one so i can suck on your tits,” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, asking the next question anyway, “in scale degrees, major scales, what are the augmented triads?”

“trick question,” he smirks, “there are none.”

“correct,” you smile at him, removing one sock.

“you’re taking off one sock?? that barely counts!,” he groans like a spoiled child.

you shrug innocently, “still clothing.”

he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “okay fine, give me the next one.”

you raise your eyebrow, “what’s a hemiola?”

mark frowns, racking his brain for an answer, “uhhh…”

you grin, tapping your foot.

“something about a repeating melodic phrase representing a theme?,” he asks, head turned like a curious puppy.

“wrong. thats a leitmotif,” you correct him, “shirt’s off, mark lee.” he groans but obeys, tugging it over his head. you do your best not to stare too hard at his abs but he catches you.

“define consonance and give an example,” you grin wickedly.

“seriously?” he asks. “this is cruel.”

“take off your pants if you can’t answer,” you tease him. he mutters under his breath about how unfair this was before his pants come sliding off, leaving him in his boxers.

“what is a long note divided into shorter, usually melodic, values?,” you continue, holding up the next card.

“oh! i know that one, it’s a diminution,” he says proudly. you remove your other sock.

he narrows his eyes, “you’re cheating.”

“nope. you’re just losing,” you tease.

you flash the next card, “alright, what is existing or occurring within the world of a narrative rather than as something external to that world?”

“...i hate you,” he mutters as he gives up on pretending to answer, accepting defeat and sliding off his boxers. his semi hard cock on display.

you laugh, fully dressed except for the missing cardigan and socks, “awee, look at you…all naked and we’re barely halfway.”

mark glares, though there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “this is the most academically humiliating foreplay i’ve ever experienced.”

you laugh, “where is the tenor clef sign located?,”you give him an easy one, knowing that he needs to have motivation to keep going.

“one space above the alto clef,” he says. you hum, pleased, stripping off your leggings, showing off the white lacy underwear you wore just for him. his eyes drop instantly to the undeniable wet spot of your arousal and you part your legs slightly, inviting him, teasing.

“you sick little, kitten,” he swallows, “this is actually turning you on?,” he asks, mildly confused and little turned on.

“what can i say? i love humiliating men,” you smirk, earning an eye roll from him, “what’s a cluster?”

“a chord consisting of at least three adjacent notes of a scale,” he answers, voice low, tense. more determined now to get the answers correct.

“good boy” you purr, lifting the tank top over your head, that little praise makes his mind go absolutely crazy, his cock twitching. your sheer white bra does nothing to hide your hardened nipples and mark fights back the urge to pull you into his lap and fuck you senseless, his boner getting harder within each passing second, restraint visibly cracking.

“define neoclassicism,” you ask, voice steady, brows raised.

mark blinks, then answers slowly, “uhh a general revival or interest in classical cultures and usage of themes and styles from ancient greece and rome?”

you look up at him, impressed, “can’t believe all it takes is wanting to see my tits to get you this focused,” you grin, unclasping your bra and tossing it right into his lap. he catches it midair, eyes instantly zeroing in on your now bare-chest. you roll your chair closer to him, spreading your legs and placing them on either side of him, effectively caging him in. mark’s breath hitches – it was getting real hot in here and he was fully naked.

he reaches for your breast but you slap his hand away, “touch me and the session ends. we’re done.” you warn — having control turns you on more than you care to admit. the way his eyes darken but obeys anyway. the tension practically pulsing between your bodies. he looked so small in between your legs and it makes you want to break him even more.

“hurry up and give me the next one,” he mutters, jaw tight, trying his hardest to keep his hands to himself. it was torture. having a sexy half-naked girl right in front of him and not being able to do anything about it. your breasts were on full display, sitting prettily on your chest, your panties were practically dripping and he wanted nothing more but to taste you. wanted nothing more than to hear you moaning under him once again — you were a cruel vision of pleasure he’s not allowed to touch.

“a phrygian is which degree for the key?”

“uhh fifth?,” he guesses.

“wrong,” you say, lips curling in amusement. he groans, cock twitching.

“a mixolydian is which degree for the key?”

“third!,” he tries this time.

“wrong again,” you say, nearly laughing now. his patience was starting to blur. he’s one wrong answer away from losing his mind and you’re relishing every second of it – enjoying every grunt that passes his lips. his cock twitching so close to your core, making you clench.

“you got them mixed up,” you correct him before asking the next question, “a lydian is which degree for the key?”

he groans. he was barely holding on. he shuts his eyes, pausing, taking a minute to think about it, “...fourth?”

you lean in, voice silk and smoke, “are you asking me or are you telling me, mark lee?”

“i-i’m telling you,” he says, voice shaking with the amount of restraint he was trying to hold on to. you were so close now, heat practically radiating off of you. you smirk up at him, tossing the flashcards to the side and smashing your lips on his. he responds immediately. lips chasing yours, urgently and needy.

“correct,” you whisper in between the kiss. his hands immediately latch under your thighs as he pulls you into his lap. you feel the hot, hard press of his cock against your soaked underwear.

“take these damn panties off,” you murmur against his ear. he grunts as his fingers slide beneath the lace, pulling down the last barrier between you.

“fuuckk, you’re dripping for me,” he praises, dragging his fingers through your slick, rubbing up and down your folds before sliding two deep inside of you, making you moan against his lips. this time, his fingers immediately find that spot that makes your toes curl.

“r-right there, mark…d-don’t stop,” you whine, the tension between you rising as your hips start riding his digits, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling inside you. each thrust sends sparks through your belly, pressure building fast. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast but precise circles that have your head falling back, the grip on his shoulders tightening as you continue to bounce on his fingers. his lips close around your nipples, tongue flicking, sucking furiously, drawing out the high you can’t hold back — your orgasm came crashing down embarrasingly fast, leaving you breathless.

“can’t believe humiliating me got you this fucking soaked,” he smirks, breath hot against your skin, “you’re such a dirty girl, kitten,” he teases, licking his fingers clean. before you can recover, he flips you over with practiced ease, ass up and back arched just the way he likes it. you hear the familiar crinkle of foil as he tears open the condom wrapper, then feel the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance before he slides in, deep, the stretch making your teeth clench — the wait was worth it. you were so wet for him…so warm he almost busted as soon as he entered.

“you’re cumming on my cock this time,” he growls, determined, as he adjusts his member, searching for the angle that makes you scream. as soon as he found it, his fingers dig into your hips, thrusting into you from behind, sharp and relentless, your face pressing down on the sheets as the slap of skin echoes throughout the room.

this new angle hits you perfectly, “f-feels so good,” you manage to gasp, voice shaking with every snap of his hips as your hands continue to grip the sheets for stability, moans growing louder with each movement.

he growls in response as he leans over your back, lips brushing your ear, “this what you wanted, kitten?, to tease me until i snapped?” you can barely form words, nodding helplessly, body jolting forward with the force of each thrust. his hand snakes around to press against your lower belly, holding you still as he drives deeper, harder, making sure that you can’t fake anything this time.

“cum,” he demands, his breath hot against your neck as he starts sucking on your shoulder, “cum all over my cock.”

“fuck mark–i’m so close!,” you cry out, voice cracking under the pleasure, building fast and unforgiving. your knees feel weak beneath you but his grip keeps you grounded, keeps you exactly where he wants you. sweat sticks to both of your bodies now, the heat almost unbearable. then, without warning, he pulls you up, your spine arching as he pressed you against his chest. one arm wraps around you tightly, holding you in place while the other dips between your thighs, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling in perfect sync with the relentless thrust of his hips.

“c’mon, kitten” he breathes against your neck, voice low and rough, “give me another one,” he grunts. you cry out, whimpering, overwhelmed — your release finally taking over as breathless whines of his name slip from your lips.

you came all over his cock, body jerking in his arms, head falling back against his shoulder. mark holds you through it, grinding deep inside, chasing his own release with a sharp muffled groan against your skin. for a moment the room is nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and the faint creak of the mattress, savoring your shared orgasms until he finally pulls out, flopping backwards onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, arm draped over his eyes. you let yourself melt into the pillows, limbs heavy and boneless, chest still rising and falling in the aftermath. he lies beside you, chest glistening with sweat, rising with each breath.

“well,” mark pants, breaking the silence, “if we keep studying like this, i’m definitely passing all of my classes with an A+”

you laugh breathlessly, turning your head to the sound of his voice, “A+ huh? that’s bold of you.”

“please,” he says, cracking one eye open to look at you, “you saw me, I was focused, determined…inspirational,” he exaggerates, a playful smile on his lips.

“you got half of the questions wrong,” you point out, “we’re far away from an A+,” you tease.

he smirks, “fine by me, that just means more tutoring sessions,” he throws you a wink and you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

you kick him out of your apartment as soon you both calm down, mark leaving completely satisfied. this is, by far, the greatest deal he has ever had to make.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 9. wednesday.

you sat cross-legged on the bed, flashcards in hand, watching mark settle into your desk chair with boyish excitement written all over his face. he leaned back, arms draped lazily over the armrests. you weren’t wearing a ridiculous amount of layers today, which meant he was going to be able to fuck you faster than last time.

“so,” you begin, flipping through the stack, “today’s game is a little different.”

his brows lift in curiosity, an eager smile playing at his lips. of course it was. he should’ve known you always came with surprises. always keeping him on his toes.

“for every question you get right,” you say, pausing just for dramatic effect, “i suck your dick.”

mark’s eyes widen a little too fast, the thought of your mouth around his cock so appealing. this was going to be too easy, “you’re joking?,” he breaks into a smug grin.

“i’m not,” you smirk, making your way over to him and sinking to your knees in front of him. you look up, expression all wide eyes and faux innocence. he knows better by now. “but don’t get cocky,” you warn, smirking as you settle between his legs, “i’m not moving if the answer is wrong.”

that wipes the grin off his face, just a little, “i’m not getting any of them wrong.” he came prepared this time, actually paying attention in class and reviewing his notes in order to be able to be rewarded by you.

you chuckle as you tug his sweats down, revealing his already semi hard cock, “no underwear?,” you asked, an amused smile on your face.

“why bother?,” he shrugs, a chuckle leaving his lips. with no warning, your fingers wrap around his member, stroking slowly, giving him a preview of what’s to come — mark immediately groans at your touch, head tipping back slightly at the sensation of your warm hands, cock already twitching in your hand. you looked so tiny around him and he’s already struggling to keep his composure. then your tongue glides along the side of his shaft, slow and deliberate, before swirling around the tip, collecting his leaking precum. the taste lingers on your tongue as you look up at him through your eyelashes. he was too relaxed, too comfortable, eyes focused on you with a smug on his lips. without breaking eye contact, you take the tip of his now fully hard cock into your mouth, sucking gently. it earns a low grunt from deep in his chest, his thighs tensing beneath your hands, but just when he leans into the sensation, you pull away completely, lips slipping off him with a soft pop.

frustration flashes across his face as you casually reach over and grab the stack of flashcards beside you and he’s reminded that this was the game. perhaps, this is not as easy as he thought it was going to be. he sighs in defeat and all you do is wave the flashcard lazily in your hand, eyes glinting with mischief. mark sits up straighter, his dick incredibly hard and throbbing in front of you, twitching with every passing second.

“alright,” you begin, voice sweet, innocent and absolutely lethal, “what is existing within the world of a narrative rather than as something external to that world?,” you repeat the question he got wrong last time.

mark squints, trying to focus, despite the way your fingers are slowly tracing circles on his inner thigh, not quite touching him. “diegetic or source music,” he answers. you raise an eyebrow, impressed, a hum of approval slipping past your lips.

“correct.” before he can smirk, you lean forward again, lips wrapping around him once more, this time a little deeper. his head falls back instantly, a low grown escaping. you suck him in slow and warm, letting the reward sink in and just as he starts to melt, you pull away again with a soft gasp of air, reaching for the next card like nothing happened.

he looks down at you, flustered, chest rising faster, “kitten, you’re insane.”

you flash him a dangerous smile, “define mickey-mousing.”

he doesn’t answer right away, jaw tight, trying to stay focused while his cock stands there, glistening and so so hard. “a film technique that syncs the accompanying music with the actions on screen,” he says, breathing hard.

“look at you, actually paying attention,” you tease before leaning in again, placing a kiss to his tip, taking him once again, just a little deeper, a little wetter. his whole body shudders and he mutters something that sounds like a prayer. you were only three flashcards in. he doesn’t know how much of this edging he could take. he hopes, god, he hopes he knew all the answers. when you let go again, you smile sweetly, tapping the next card against his thigh, making him clench slightly.

“what are the notes of a D major triad?” — “D, F, A,” he manages to say.

“hmm, wrong, those are the notes of D minor triad,” you correct him, leaving his cock neglected as you sit back on your heels, folding your hands in your lap. “no mouth for wrong answers,” you tease as he groans, head falling back dramatically.

“you’re actually evil, kitten.”

you only smile, reaching for another card. he glares at you like a man on the verge of a breakdown, “hurry up, i'm going to die.”

you ignore him, “list all major intervals,” you ask, resting your elbow on his knee like this is the most casual game of flashcards in the world. like his dick wasn’t right in front of your tits — the image has his cock twitching extra hard. he had to get this one correct. he racks his brain for the answers, recalling what he learned in class.

“it’s major second, major third, major sixth and major seventh,” he answers shakily.

your hand curls around the base of his cock again, making him suck in a sharp breath “correct,” you take him in all over again. he exhales hard, threading his fingers into your hair, grounding himself. you’re slower this time, deliberate and precise, letting the praise build in your mouth just like the tension between you. he did give you four correct answers. when his hand tighten a little too hard, you pull off again.

“fucckk, i hate this,” he whines shakily.

“scale the degrees in order,” you smirk.

“tonic, supertonic, mediant, subdominant, dominant, submediant, leading tone,” he answers quickly, determined, voice breathless with need.

“wow…all correct,” you say, a light shock in your tone and a proud smile tugging at your lips. he doesn’t even get a second to bask in it before your mouth is on him again, wet, warm, perfect. he moans, hips twitching up slightly and you let him, just for a second. the reward is intoxicating. and you have half the mind to continue sucking him until he was writhing under your touch. but you pull away once more, wiping your lips with a devilish smile.

“alright, next one,” you say cheerily, like this is all just a friendly trivia night.

mark looks like he might cry.

“why are you doing this to me?,” he gasps.

“don’t act like you don’t like it,” you say, “besides it’s working, you’ve only missed one question so far,” you say proudly.

“yeah, because i’ll literally die if i miss another,” he whines — this went on for a good thirty minutes more. mark only getting a couple wrong, until you were down to your last flashcards and he was teetering at the edge. ready to bust every single time you put your mouth on him but not quite getting there.

his cock is so red, throbbing, leaking to the point it hurts. a couple drops messily on his thigh, a couple on his stomach but never enough to reach his full release. there were tears streaking down his cheeks, his lips quivering. he was absolutely gutted. absolutely vulnerable.

“what’s the natural minor scale pattern?” — “minor diminished major minor minor major major,” he answers, getting the words out as quickly as possible.

this time, instead of wrapping your mouth around him, you reached for the condom you had ready, sitting pretty on your desk, anticipating this moment. his breath hitches as you tear the wrapper open with your teeth, wrapping it on his hard cock, mark practically growling under your touch. you smile sweetly, removing your shorts and crawling into his lap, knees pressing into either side of his hips. the heat of your soaked underwear brushing against his cock makes him hiss through his teeth.

he can’t take it anymore.

“what are the chromatic intervals?” — “minor, diminished and augmented intervals,” he whispers, barely hanging on.

“good boy,” you praise him as he breathes heavily under you. pushing your panties to the side, you lined him against your entrance. his breath catches, fingers finding your hips as you start to sink down onto him, inch by inch, teasing slowness, warm and tight until he’s fully buried inside you. his cock stretched you just right. a strangled moan escapes both of your lips.

“holy shit,” a low, wrecked sound escapes his throat, as he grips your hips tightly, trying his best not to unload right there, “thank you,” he trembles, breathing shakily.

he was obviously not going to last long. and it was so extremely hot. you discard the flashcards as you rolled your hips once, slow and deep, each movement designed to drive him out of his mind. mark’s hands are everywhere now, on your back, thighs, gripping your ass as he helps guide your motion, pushing up into you with desperate need. everytime you drop your hips, he lets out another choked curse, eyes glued to the way your body moves against his. you feel his cock twitch inside you, a telltale sign that he was incredibly close to coming undone.

“you gonna cum for me?,” you whisper against his ear, teeth gently grazing the lobe. he nods frantically, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. he’s never felt this kind of pleasure before, the kind that makes him lose absolutely all sense of logic, just nodding like he was some sort of yes-man.

“-fuucck kitten, yes, d-don’t stop, p-pleasee,” his whines encourage you, dragging your hips in a deep circle that has you both gasping. it doesn’t take long. the tension you’ve built the entire session finally snaps as he groans your name, hands clutching you, hips buckling up hard, coming with a gasp buried into your neck.

you don’t stop bouncing. continuing to fuck yourself into his cock, rubbing your own clit.

“k-kitten, it hurts,” he whines. you block all of his pleas of stops, all of his whimpers, the way he’s fully crying out, fingers gripping his own hair, until your thighs are shaking, orgasm taking over, a loud moan slipping from your lips as you cling to him, both of you gasping, bodies slick and trembling.

you absolutely wrecked him — mark’s vision blacks out for a minute too long. his arms loosely wrapped around you as he tried to catch his breath. hair sticking to his skin. that was the best fucking orgasm he’s ever had and he’s had a lot.

and just like the past two tutoring sessions, mark was out the door as soon as he got dressed and it doesn’t get any better than this.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 11. friday.

mark enters the university’s basketball court, searching for your frame. you’d texted him to meet you here, a lot earlier than the usual tutoring session. the court was empty, echoing slightly and he spots you instantly, sitting on the bleachers with a book in your hand — he wonders what today’s game is, a little worried about the public location you chose.

“hey dude,” he redirects your attention to him, “are we about to indulge in exhibitionism?,” he teases, an eyebrow going up.

you laugh, closing your book. “no mark, we can’t have sex today,” offering him a sheepish smile.

he looks at you like you just delivered the worst news he could ever hear, “is everything okay?,” he asks, taking a seat next to you.

you nod, “everything’s fine, i’m just on my period,” you say casually, turning toward him.

his eyes widen slightly in acknowledgment before a grin breaks out of his face, “you know…,” he leans in, whispering, like you weren’t the only two people in this room right now, “a period only stops a sentence,” he teases.

you roll your eyes, lightly shoving his face away, “nu-uh mark lee, no way,” you say crashing all his dreams of period sex down the drain, a light smile on your lips.

“why not?, i heard somewhere, it helps with all the cramps and stuff,” he continued, still trying to convince you.

“i’m on my second day, everything’s too messy,” you say flatly, dismissing the idea with a wave of your hand. “—anyways that’s not why we’re here,” you rise from the bleachers, grabbing one of the basketballs on the side and tossing it to him.

mark catches it easily, “we’re gonna play basketball?”, he asks, a brow raising.

“yup, i read somewhere that physical activity helps with memory retention, so we’re gonna play a game while i tutor you,” you explain, standing a little below the hoop.

“you can play basketball?,” he asks, clearly amused, as he starts dribbling the ball in front of you.

“i’m no co-captain of the basketball team or anything but i’ve got a few moves,” you reply, stealing the ball from him with a cheeky grin, “and…if you win, you get to choose what we do during the next session.”

his brow raises, a smirk on his face, mind already racing of things he wanted to do to you. he could have you in his lap as he fingers you until you cry for him. he could have you bent over your desk as he fucks into you. he could spend the whole day eating you out. the possibilities were endless.

“alright,” he says, already feeling competitive, “game on.”

mark dribbles lazily as he awaits your question. you narrow your eyes, “the classical era dates are?”

mark answers quickly, “1750-1820,” like it was a piece of cake. he really is getting better at paying attention in class.

“correct. take the shot.” he does and it bounces off the rim, a curse slipping from his lips. you catch the ball with a grin.

“the romantic era dates are?,” you ask, already dribbling towards the other side. mark gets the answers correct again as you ducked under his arm, tossing the ball into the net.

“okay, showoff,” he mutters playfully, jogging to grab the ball. the game goes on for a solid fifteen minutes. the two of you jogging back and forth. you call out questions, dates, composers, and mark fires back with surprisingly accurate answers. it was a good game between friends, a good session between a tutor and her student.

mark was winning now with several points ahead of you. he hasn’t missed a single shot since the first one, while you were just getting lucky every time you made the ball in your net. he can’t help but find it adorable though – the way your face would light up every time you made a shot. the way you would do a mini celebration, a happy little dance. it was so different from your usual serious, focused, studious side. this side of you is loose, giddy, warm and he’s having way more fun than he expected to.

“alright,” you say breathless but still trying to keep up with him, “dates of the modern–”

you don’t get to finish your question. a sudden wave of pain crashes through your abdomen, so sharp it knocks the air right out of you. you double over mid-step, the ball slipping from your hands and bouncing off to the side, a yelp coming slipping from your lips.

“w-what’s wrong?!,” mark practically bolts to your side as you inhale, trying to catch your breath.

“sorry, just a really bad cramp,” you say, shutting your eyes as the pain traveled all throughout your body. he watches you for a second or two, eyes scanning your figure, registering the pain before he closes the distance, crouching in front of you. he has no idea what to do. he’s never dealt with a girl on her period before. his hands hover for a moment before resting gently at your sides, fingertips against your lower abdomen in slow circles.

you flinch, surprised at his touch, “what are you doing?”

“don’t massages help?,” he asks softly, big brown eyes filled with worry. his touch is careful, like he’s afraid of making it worse. you don’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t really help, not with cramps this intense. still, the gesture alone tugs something warm in your chest. so for a moment you just let yourself sink into it, leaning against his chest for support like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your head rests there, tentative at first, then heavier. it’s a moment of vulnerability you haven’t shown anyone for a long time – not since your ex made you feel like needing comfort was a flaw, like softness was a burden.

mark stills when you rest against him, almost like he’s holding his breath. then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms come around you, careful and steady, not sure if any of this is okay. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you, warm and solid, his chin brushing the top of your head as you breathe through the pain. no teasing, no jokes, no snide remarks – just quiet presence.

eventually, you gently pull back, and he feels himself straighten as if waking from a trance. “i think i have to cut the tutoring session short today,” you say apologetically.

“kitten, don’t even worry about that,” he says immediately. the nickname — usually tossed around with a grin, lands softer now. you don’t think too much about it, brushing off the feeling as soon as it came.

slowly, you got up from the floor, pushing through the lingering pain, “i’m gonna go home and die now,” you say with a weak laugh. he chuckles quietly, standing with you.

“i’ll walk you home,” he offers and you turn it down immediately.

“it’s okay, mark,” you make your way back to the bleachers, gathering your things. “i’m a big girl,” you add, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “i can take care of myself,” you shoot him a smile as he follows you out the court.

“you sure?,” he asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s still not convinced.

“yeah,” you say gently, “thank you, though. i'll see you on monday,” you lean up and press a light kiss to his cheek, quick, grateful. then you turn to leave, not waiting for his response.

behind you, he stays still on the court, watching your figure walk away like he’s not quite ready to let the moment end. the kiss on the cheek lingering on his skin.

once he got back to the dream house, mark still can’t help but wonder if you were okay. he’d showered, changed, even tried zoning out to whatever song was playing through his speakers but his thoughts kept circling back to you. the image of you doubling over in pain, your face twisting as you tried to play it off, like it was nothing, kept replaying in his head like a song stuck on loop.

and he hated it – hated seeing you hurt. hated the way you pretended it wasn’t a big deal. hated the way you apologized for needing a break and absolutely hated the way you waved him off, like his concern was too much.

he told himself it was normal. this was normal. he is your friend. it’s normal to be worried about your friends. that’s allowed.

when he walked into the living room and found jaemin sprawled across the couch, glued to his phone and jeno halfway through a protein bar, he didn’t stop to think before blurting out, “what do you do when angel and bunny are on their periods?”

the question dropped like a brick. jaemin blinked, his gaze dropping from his phone to mark, “uhh why?,” he asks, a curious grin on his face.

mark shrugs, flopping down onto the couch “nothing, just curious.”

there was a beat of silence, then jaemin replied, “well, angel’s gonna murder me for saying this but she gets needy…wants me glued to her side the whole time with extra cuddles and kisses…heating pads are a must,” jaemin chuckles, “oh and sex helps too,” he says with a wink.

mark huffed a quiet laugh, “what about bunny?,” he turns to jeno.

jeno choked on his water, “uh–what? bunny and i don’t have sex,” he says flustered.

mark eyes him suspiciously, “yeah, i know. that’s not what i meant,” he says slowly, “i mean she’s your best friend and you’ve known her since forever right, you should know what she’s like on her period?,” he asks, a playful grin on his lips.

“oh..right,” jeno mutters, “uhm she’s the complete opposite, she locks herself in her room like she’s going into hibernation mode, she just texts me with a list of snacks she wants and i leave those at her door and leave,” he explains.

mark chuckled, but it faded quickly. his mind was racing with a million thoughts of how he could make you feel better. what were you like? did you want to be left alone? did you want snacks? cuddles?...is cuddling even allowed?

jaemin tilted his head, studying him. “wait…is this about your girl?”

mark blinked, “she’s not my girl.”

jeno gave him a long, skeptical look.

“she’s really not!,” mark repeated, more defensively this time, “we’re just friends and i care about my friends well being, okay? that’s all,” he convinces himself more than he does them. before they could say anything else, mark stood up, headed for the door.

⟢

when your phone buzzed, you squinted at the notification from your cocoon of blankets, blinking away the throb of cramps that hadn’t quite given up yet.

mark: hi friend

mark: i’m outside

mark: just want to make sure you’re okay lol

you hesitated, considering pretending to be asleep but something in you tugged toward the door. that soft, stubborn part that wanted not to feel alone tonight. curse these hormones. you cracked it open to find him there, hoodie half zipped, a plastic grocery bag in hand.

“hi,” he said, a little breathless, “i brought you some things.”

you opened the door wider, letting him in, “i told you i was okay.”

“i know but as your friend i had to make sure,” he practically shoves the bag in your hand as you inspect what’s inside. the bag was filled with different kinds of snacks, chocolates, candies, and three boxes of heat patches.

you took the heat patches out and raised a brow, “three?”

“listen,” he said, flopping lightly on your couch, “jaemin said they were ‘a must’ and i panicked,” he says casually and you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept up. it’s been a while since the last time you’ve let anyone do anything for you.

“thank you,” you breathe, the words soft and sincere, stripped of your usual teasing edge. the smile you give him isn’t your usual sly smirk either, it’s quieter, gentler and it makes something in mark’s chest flutter unexpectedly. he looks at you a second too long, heartbeat catching like it’s suddenly forgotten how to work properly.

minutes later, the snacks were spread out on your coffee table, a heating patch working its magic under your hoodie and to all the boy’s i've loved before playing on your t.v. mark sits beside you, a careful few inches of space between your bodies. he didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to cheer you up with jokes or distractions. he was just there – steady and warm and quiet.

when the credits roll, he finally speaks, voice low, “you know,” he says, glancing over at you with a soft smile, “for someone who doesn’t believe in love, i wasn’t expecting you to put on a romcom,” he turns his body towards you as you sat end to end on the couch.

you laugh, shifting slightly under the shared blanket, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a tired smile, “please, your favorite movie is spiderman…do you believe he’s real?”

“how do you know spiderman’s my favorite movie?,” he asks, a light smirk on his face.

“sophomore year, film elective class, you were totally geeking, practically bouncing up and down next to me,” you remind him, exaggerating the detail a tiny bit.

mark huffs a laugh and nudges your knee with his, “ok but it’s different…spiderman is a fantasy character.”

“exactly,” you say, your voice softening, “so is love.”

the words aren’t bitter. just…matter-of-fact. like something long accepted and carefully folded away.

mark turns his head toward you, studying your face in the dim glow of the screen. shadows play across your features, softening the hard lines you've spent building — he thinks back to the first time you met during freshman year orientation. you were the first person he’d ever talked to, bouncing up to him in a soft blue sundress and a smile too big for the room. you introduced yourself with sparkles in your eyes, asking him if he believed in soulmates, like that was a completely normal ice breaker. you were glowing then, all wide-eyed and wonder. all heart. spilling stories about your high school boyfriend like love was the most natural thing in the world. he hadn't even told you his name yet, and there you were, already peeling yourself open for him, talks of forever from your pink lips. you were all blush-colored hope and reckless honesty. he remembered thinking you were kind of intense. too trusting. overly romantic. he hadn’t understood the way your whole world seemed to spin on the axis of love.

now, years later, that sparkle has been replaced by a colder fire, a guarded kind of strength he’s grown used to. the kind that keeps everyone at arm’s length. the kind that never let’s anyone close enough to see where it hurts. your smile — once easy and disarming, has taken a brittle edge, still beautiful, but sharpened by something heavy and unspoken. you don't talk about soulmates anymore. you don't talk about love at all, not unless you're tearing it down.

he noticed the change during the last semester of freshman year. people whispered about your breakup, but no one knew the details. just that it ended and something in you shifted. like someone had quietly reached inside and flipped a switch — it became more evident when even the way you dress has changed. your light, gentle dresses were replaced by blacks and deep reds, structured silhouettes that made you look untouchable. strong. sharp. sometimes he wonders if you’re hiding behind those clothes or they just mirror what’s left…he wonders when exactly the world taught you to stop believing in forever.

“what made you say that?,” he asks finally, voice low, careful not to press too hard but needing to understand.

you hesitate, eyes not meeting his just yet. debating whether its safe to give this piece of yourself away. and maybe it was the vulnerability of the night. maybe it was your hormones messing with your brain, like you’ll tell yourself later. but right now, you find yourself answering him.

“it’s just…” you exhale, like the words are caught in your chest, “love doesn’t last. people swear it’s forever and then suddenly, it’s not. one day you’re holding hands and dreaming together, you have a ring on your finger and the next they’re telling you that you’re too much. too needy,” you blink slowly, memories flickering behind your eyes, “that he only loved me because it was easy. and the second it got hard, he left.”

mark stiffens beside you, “you were engaged?,” he asks, surprise threading through his voice.

“shocking, right?,” you force out a dry laugh, bitter around the edges, “i almost fell for the scam.” your voice is steady, each word carefully measured, telling the story without letting it touch you. but your eyes betray you, they've gone distant, unfocused, like you’re watching a memory you wish you could turn off. there’s a smile on your lips but it’s all muscle memory. empty. the kind of smile people put on when they’re used to pretending they're fine.

mark’s jaw tightens. there’s a sharp flare of protectiveness in his chest, something hot and furious aimed at the ghost of a man he’s never met.

you continue, voice barely above a whisper, “so yeah, spider-man, love, same category…fiction.”

the silence that follows is thick, heavy, but mark doesn’t rush to fill it. he sits in it with you, lets it stretch out between the two of you without trying to clean it up. the pain in your voice isn’t loud, but it’s there – woven through your words like thread through fabric. he doesn’t throw some cliche about how the right person will come along. does not insult you with hollow optimism that people usually responded with. he doesn't try to talk you out of your truth or tape over a wound he can't even see the full shape of.

instead he nudges your knee again, gentler this time. a small touch, reassuring.

“i don’t think you’re too much,” he says quietly, the words careful and real, “not even a little.”

you look at him then. you don’t say anything for a while, neither does mark. and he’s not sure if that was something he was even allowed to say. you’ve built so many walls that even kindness feels like trespassing…then, in true fashion, you break the weight with a teasing smile, “who’s your favorite spiderman anyway?,” you ask.

the shift it so perfectly timed, so you, that it makes mark huff a laugh. he knows its your way of giving you both room to breathe again and he's grateful for the shift.

“tobey,” mark says with zero hesitation.

you groan dramatically, hands flying to your face, “no way, everyone who says they’re favorite spiderman is tobey is blinded by nostalgia! his spiderman was a creepy stalker!,” you argue passionately.

you lower your hands just in time to see mark laugh…really laugh. the kind that crinkles his eyes and pulls a genuine sound from his chest and it makes something bloom in yours.

“okay well, who’s yours then?,” he asks playfully. “andrew.”

he scoffs, “nope, his peter parker was great but his spiderman was not ‘spidermanning’ at all!,” he argues back, the made-up word slipping out so confidently it makes your brows lift.

you roll your eyes, a smile on your lips, “i didn’t say i liked him for the spiderman of it all.”

“oh?” he says, eyes gleaming with curiosity, “then what?”

you shrug, slow and teasing, “he’s the prettiest one…and,” you lean in a little closer, mark watching you, “i like looking at pretty things.”

his smile falters for a split second, eyes flicking to your lips.

“do you now?,” he murmured, voice lower now, the space between your faces shrinking by the second.

“mhm,” you mutter and then, without overthinking it, you close the space and kiss him softly, slowly, carefully, like testing the weight of something fragile, unsure if it’s meant to be held at all. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. it’s not like any of the others you’ve shared before – not playful, not messy, not reckless. this one feels like stepping into something unknown.

it doesn’t last long. just a few seconds. just lingers enough to feel real.

when you finally break apart, neither of you speaks right away, just looking in each other’s eyes like you unlocked something dangerous. the stillness lingers, dense and a little too loud.

you're the one to break it, typical you, peeling the weight away with a crooked smile, “i’m still not down for period sex” you tease. he forces himself to laugh, trying to push away the tension that lingered in the air.

“fair enough,” mark says, standing slowly, “you should rest anyway and maybe lay off the tobey slander,” he says.

you laugh softly, leaning your head against the couch cushions as you watch him move around your apartment like he belongs here, “i’m right about him.”

he chuckles, grabbing his phone and keys, “text me if you need anything, seriously. even if it’s just to complain about life,” he says warmly, a small smile visible on his features.

“thanks for tonight, mark,” you say as you get up, stretching your limbs and walking him to your door.

he pauses in the doorway, like he wants to say something else, but instead he just nods, “of course, that’s what friends do.”

and then he leans in again, placing a soft kiss on your temple. his voice is quieter this time, almost tender, “goodnight, kitten.”

you freeze, just for a second, but your response comes automatically, “goodnight, mark”

and with that, he’s gone, the door closing with a soft click. you’re left in the quiet and for the first time in a long time, your apartment doesn’t feel quite so lonely. and still, despite the warmth lingering on your lips, despite the comfort of knowing someone cares, there it is, crawling up your spine and tightening in your chest — fear.

⟢

the walk back to the dream house was quiet. mark’s hoodie sleeves are pushed halfway up his arms but the cool night air doesn’t do much to ease the heat still lingering in his chest. the night loops in his head like an endless record.

the kiss. he’s never been kissed like that. like it was more than two lips touching, chasing the lust.

that kiss was cautious. it had weight. like it had been carved out of something deeper, something neither of you knew how to name. he was sure of it. it’s the way you looked at him, like you completely trusted him, even for just a second. and maybe it didn’t last. maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and bury it under sarcasm and boundaries. but that look…that look is stuck under his skin now.

he exhales slowly, staring down at the sidewalk. his footsteps echoing in the quiet — you were vulnerable tonight. he knows that. he could feel it in the way you curled in on yourself when the cramps got bad, the cracks between your jokes, that look in your eyes when you talked about your ex. mark noticed it all. that’s the problem. because he doesn’t know what the kiss meant or if it even meant anything at all. maybe it was just comfort. a soft, fleeting thing you reached for in the moment. maybe you’ll wake up and decide it wasn’t real. if that’s the case, he’ll happily play along, laugh it off, bury it.

but his chest still feels tight. he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you said love was a fantasy. and you still kissed him that way. like he mattered. like he was more than just your friend, more than just a body in your bed.

his mind is all over the place. thoughts going back and forth. he swallows hard, jaw tightening. all this thinking wasn’t supposed to happen. you were never supposed to mean anything. for god’s sake, he was the one who said that you couldn’t fall in love with him with. he meant it, too. back then, it felt like the safest thing to say. a wall, not just for you but for him, too.

he doesn’t do love. he’s always been good at lines. at keeping things in neat boxes. clean. uncomplicated. no drama. bodies, not hearts. moments with no meaning, only pleasure. he knows how to care just enough to make it feel good and not enough for it to matter. he’s practiced, efficient, detached.

but something about tonight is cracking through that. and he’s not sure he’s ready to face it.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 14. monday.

when mark entered your apartment, he hadn’t known what to expect. he’d spent the entire weekend mentally pacing, replaying friday night over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every breath between you. and then he’d forced himself to stop. to push any thoughts of you away, telling himself it didn’t mean anything.

but still, when you opened the door, his heart thudded in his chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

then you smiled, that same guarded expression, the one that never quite reached your eyes. you looked the same you had last week, composed, cool and out of his reach. he knew right then, that he was right. that moment was fleeting and completely over. erased.

“hey, earth to mark lee, you there?,” you wave your hand in front of him, snapping him out of his daydream.

“yeah, sorry, what was the question?,” he asked, blinking.

“dang dude, you weren’t lying when you said sex helps you focus,” you tease him. today was another no sex session, seeing as you were still on your period.

he chuckles, letting out a groan and burying his face in your pillows, “i can’t belive god gave you periods, this has been the longest week of my life.”

you sat cross-legged on your bed, mark sprawled out beside you, “i told you i can always give you a blowjob.”

his nose scrunches up, peeking at you from the pillow, “no. not after your last blowjob session.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you feigned innocence.

“kitten,” he deadpanned, lifting his head to glare at you, “you edged me so hard, i cried.”

“and?” you grinned, shameless, “didn’t it make the orgasm like 10x better?”

“at what cost, though?,” he asked dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart, “i saw my soul leave my body.”

you laughed, reaching over to poke his side, “but you survived.”

“barely,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, sitting up, facing you now, “you really enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?”

“only when you make it so easy,” you said sweetly, “besides, you didn’t complain that much.”

mark let out a long exaggerated sigh, head tilted towards you, “you’re lucky i like you.”

it slipped out carelessly. there was a beat of silence. the two of you holding your breaths at the words he uttered out.

for a second, neither of you moved. mark cursed himself internally. really? now? after a weekend of telling himself it meant nothing…he says that? out of all the things he could’ve said? he really needed to get better at thinking things out before saying them.

the memory of friday night replays in your mind. the slow kiss, the quiet way you looked at each other, the parts of yourself you weren’t supposed to show. you didn’t know why you let it happen but you did. what you do know is that you crossed a line and you had to make things clear.

you shifted slightly, voice coming out softer than before, “listen, mark…about friday night,” you bring up and you feel him freeze slightly.

“i really am grateful for the snacks and having a friend there but…,” you hesitated, searching for the right words, “i was all up in my period feelings and did some stuff i usually wouldn’t...”

you glanced at him, “if that makes sense?”

“no, i get it,” he said quickly, too quickly. “don’t worry i didn’t read too much into it,” he lies.

“cool,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile, “so…we’ll just forget about it?”

he ignores the way you can’t say the word kiss. he ignores the way he can’t bring himself to say that word either. both of you dancing around the “stuff” that happened.

he looked at you for a beat, then cracked a grin, “forget about what?”

you chuckle, shoving his shoulder and reaching out for your notes, resuming the session like nothing happened. like your heart hadn’t skipped a beat. like his hadn’t just cracked a little more under the pressure of pretending.

before the silence could settle over you, you change the topic, “you know, you kinda remind me of peter parker.”

mark raises an eyebrow, amused, “oh yeah? how?”

you lean back, teasing, “you’re always acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders but somehow manage to crack a joke when it counts.”

this surprises him a little bit. he hadn’t realized how much you could actually see through him during these past tutoring sessions. how close you’d been paying attention. he doesn’t dwell on it, afraid of what other feelings it may unlock.

“i didn’t know i was that dramatic,” he finally says, playing it off with a small laugh.

“you’re not,” you say, meeting his eyes for a brief moment, “but you carry more than you let on.”

mark looks away, lips pressing into a faint line. he wants to keep the mood light, to make another dumb spiderman joke but your words hit a little too close. and that unsettles him more than he cares to admit. he clears his throat, “well, does that make you mj or gwen?,” he flirts.

you smirk, “neither. i'm your guy in the chair.”

mark laughs, eyes crinkling, “you mean like ned?”

“exactly. reliable. sarcastic. smarter than you and absolutely not dying in anyone’s tragic love arc.”

“bold of you to assume,” he says with a grin, shaking his head. you grin back, flipping a page in your notebook. you go back to explaining the notes in front of you and he listens, nodding at the right times.

on the surface, everything settles back into easy rhythm — banter and bullet points. but under all the teasing and laughter, one thing stayed unspoken. neither of you had really forgotten. not even a little.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 16. wednesday.

to say mark was excited was a complete understatement. clearing things up with you absolutely helped, he wasn’t left wondering the maybe’s. he blamed the momentary feeling on that night and it was done. explained. buried deep in a box somewhere.

today was all about his reward and he was absolutely ecstatic. he’d been counting down to this ever since your little basketball game ended in his favor. he knew exactly what he wanted as soon as the proposition was brought up. this was his moment – his perfect payback for that blowjob that ended in tears and torment.

so when you asked him what he wanted and he replied with, “i want to cut tutoring short today and have my way with you,” you had no other option but to oblige.

which is how you ended up here now, seated between his legs, thighs parted, panties long gone. your slick glistened in the warm light of your bedroom, a blindfold wrapped securely around your head – completely open, completely at his mercy. the cloth stays firm over your eyes, heightening every sense. you feel everything. his breath on your shoulder, the heat of his thighs beneath yours, the stillness between touches. you sat there, waiting…then you felt it.

something cool and slender lightly tracing along the inside of your thigh. your breath catches, legs twitching at the unexpected contact, “what is that?”

mark hums thoughtfully, as if considering the question, “just something i found lying around.”

it moves again, gliding upward, skimming where you needed him most. he circles the object around your clit without pressure, ghosting enough to make you clench. you shift your hips, trying to chase the feeling, but he’s already pulling it away.

“mark,” you grit out, jaw tightening.

“shh,” he murmurs, nibbling on your ear, “let me enjoy my reward.” you swallow hard, heat pooling in your stomach. you were sure this torture was going to last forever and you knew he was doing this on purpose. teasing you to the edge, just like you did to him.

the thing, whatever it is, drags lightly over your folds now, collecting wetness as it goes, “so fucking wet and i haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispers beside you, making goosebumps rise throughout your neck. you’re about to snap a snarky remark when his fingers suddenly replace the object, two of them sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness, pressing just enough to build pressure but not nearly enough to satisfy.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers clutching his thigh as your hips jerked. he lets you have his digits, inserting two of his fingers and curling them just where you need him the most but before you can even enjoy it, he pulls back.

you whine as he withdraws, leaving you empty and throbbing, “we’re just starting, kitten,” you hear the smirk in his voice and it’s absolutely annoying — to be vulnerable this way and have no control.

mark brings the mystery object back, the cool tip sliding up your folds again, this time more deliberately. you squirm, desperate for friction. the blindfold has turned your entire body into a nerve – every inch sensitive, every second unbearable. then you feel his hands again, large and warm, settling on your thigh, the other slipping into your shirt and gliding up your torso, fingers leaving a blaze of fire until he reaches your breast.

you inhale sharply when his fingertips ghost over one nipple, already peaked and begging for attention, “you’re always so sensitive here,” his voice cuts through the silence, your breathing becoming heavier and heavier. his thumb brushes over the bud, a whine slipping from your lips. he has you memorized by now. the little ticks that turn you on. which was a lot for mark, considering most of his past sexual partners had only been for one night.

something brushes over your nipple – cool, round, smooth. you’re not sure if its the same object and it’s driving you insane, “what the hell is that?,” you ask, your voice breathless. mark doesn’t answer this time, just littering kisses along your neck, letting the object speak for him. it circles your nipple slowly, deliberately, then he flicks it lightly, sharp enough to make you gasp and arch forward, your head resting against that space between his neck. his free arm comes up to your waist, keeping you locked against him.

“you’re not allowed to squirm yet,” he murmurs near your ear, voice thick with satisfaction. he switched to your other breast, teasing it with that same cold precision. the contrast between your flushed skin and the chill of the object is enough to make your toes curl. you needed more.

you writhe, frustrated, “mark, please,” you beg for something…anything.

“shhh kitten,” he soothes, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, “be patient.”

his mouth returned to your neck, warm and wet, while the mystery object rolled lazily across your breast. your aching cunt left throbbing and dripping. you feel the hard press of his cock through his sweats and still he makes no move to satisfy either of you. he trails lower, teeth grazing your shoulder and just when you think the cold object might return to your nipple, it doesn’t.

instead, his fingers return, sliding down your slick folds. two strokes. three. then gone again.

“mark,” you gasp, body twitching under the restraint of his arm. you can’t think of any other word but his name — so caught up in the thrill of it all.

“you keep saying my name like i’m gonna feel bad,” he says with a chuckle, “i’m just repaying you.” then he brings the cold object down again, dragging it teasingly along your inner thigh before brushing it just over your clit, making you shudder in his hold, as he smirks behind you.

“kitten, you wanna know what i’ve been using?,” he whispers, smug and quiet. you nod quickly, barely able to breathe. he brought it up in front of your face, knowing full well you couldn’t see it and said, clearly amused, “your pen.”

you groan, “there’s no way it feels that good,” you managed to say. he just laughed quietly, brushing your hair back from your face, “the power of a blindfold,” he whispers. you barely had time to process his words before he was shifting behind you, leaving you sitting on your bed alone. a mixture of confusion, excitement and slight fear at the thought of what he has planned.

mark makes his way around, standing at the foot of your bed as he watches, loving the way you had no idea what’s coming to you. his hand makes contact with your shoulder, making you jump slightly as he pushes you down to your sheets, your back making contact with your soft pillows. you sucked in a shaky breath, wonder traveling throughout your body. then he hovers over you, kissing the hollow of your throat as he carefully pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere, exposing your tits to the cool air. he lets his tongue graze, tracing a path down the center of your chest until his lips find your nipple again. you gasped as his mouth closed around it, sucking, warm and wet. the suction paired with the flick of his tongue in a rhythm that made your spine arch.

“fucking perfect,” he muttered against your skin, teeth grazing before he soothed the sting with another kiss. his hand moved to the other breast, thumb circling lazily around the peak, squeezing just enough to make your hips buck.

but he didnt move lower, “you like being edged, don’t you?,” he whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction.

you whimpered, nodding, desperate, frustrated.

“use your words, kitten,” mark demands.

“yes,” you gasped, “please, mark, just–,” your plea broke off into a cry when his mouth trailed lower, down your stomach, leaving goosebumps behind. he stopped just above your mound, breathing you in like you were the only thing in the world.

“you smell like heaven,” he praises. then his hands gripped your thighs, firm and possessive, pulling you open further – his mouth on you in a second, hot, wet and needy. his tongue dragged through your folds slowly, deliberately. one long, teasing lick. then another, circling your clit, keeping you on the edge. you moaned, loud and desperate, your hand flying to his hair instinctively. he groaned at the contact, encouraged. finally, he gave your clit the attention it had been begging for, flicking, sucking, licking until your thighs were trembling.

and just when your stomach starts to clench — he pulls back.

“no–,” you gasped, “don’t stop, please—”

but he had already moved his mouth, licking the inside of your thigh, soothing and tortuous all at once.

“not yet,” he said, voice dark and patient, “you don’t get to come until i say so.”

you could cry from how badly you needed him. he was relentless, bending your body to his rhythm, his pace. his tongue returned, more insistent now, fingers slipping inside you this time, curling just right and every time that heat started to spiral, his mouth would pull away, his rhythm would slow and the wave would slip just out of reach.

it was torture – delicious, devastasting torture.

your breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly. the blindfold making it worse. every sound, every touch, every breath he took, every swipe of his tongue felt magnified. and mark was loving every second of it. the way he had all control under his fingertips.

“you keep sucking in my fingers,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal. “you wanna cum that badly, kitten?”

you nod furiously, broken whimpers slipping past your lips, your pride long gone. then you felt it again. that same, cool rounded object from earlier. your pen.

he dragged the tip of it along your folds, now slick and pulsing from his touch, watching the way your legs twitched with each pass, “bet you’ll never look at this thing the same again,” he whispered near your hip. the pen collects your dripping arousal, “such a mess,” he breathes out, tongue surprisingly latching onto your folds again, sucking your juices. you whimpered as he slides a finger inside you again, slower, deeper, making you feel every second of it.

“you feel how close you are?,” he asked, voice gravelly, dangerous. you nodded frantically, choking on a breath only for him to pull back again.

“mark, please, i’m sorry,” you cry out desperately. wanting so bad to finally be relieved. the edging was too much. your clit was throbbing so painfully and you needed him so badly. he leaves you untouched for a second too long, watching you squirm for him.

then with absolutely no warning, mark slaps his hard cock against your cunt, making you moan out in pleasure. he slides his member up and down your wet folds, teasing your entrance and for a moment you don’t even care that he’s not wearing a condom. his skin felt so fucking good againts yours. you just wanted him inside you. you felt the tip of him nudge against you again. but he didn’t push in. he just stayed there, teasing.

you whined, toes curling into the sheets, body arching up, “please….”

he chuckled, low, quiet, “i love hearing you beg,” he said, his tip brushing over your clit, solid and hot against your slick, “makes it real tempting to give in.”

“i could take you right now, kitten,” he whispered, voice wrecked with restraint, “you’d be so good for me, so ready,” he hums against your skin.

you gasped, barely holding onto your sanity, practically sobbing, “please do it, mark, please i need you,” you were soaked, throbbing, voice breaking with utter desperation — that was all he needed to hear. mark wraps his member and not even a second later he finally thrusts into you, sliding into your hole with ease. your body was so prepared for him, walls completely squeezing around his cock so perfectly, so warm.

he yanks off the blindfold from your face and for a moment the room spins with light and clarity until his brown eyes come into view. your tear-filled eyes meet his and the heat in his steals your breath. he was breathing just as hard as you are. just as worked up. he brings your legs up to your shoulders, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, holding on to him like he was your lifeline. he was in so deeply, his cock hitting that spot over and over again. you were trembling, panting hard, jaw clenching as you fought to keep your eyes open. mark hovered above you, his thrusts unrelenting, his own breath ragged, the heat between you unbearable. you moaned his name like it was the only word you’ve ever learned, your voice dissolving into desperate, broken sounds.

“i’m gonna—mark, i’m gonna…,” your grip on his shoulder tightens, nails digging into his skin.

“—go on kitten,” he growled in your ear, voice thick with hunger, “cum for me.”

that was it. the pleasure tore through you like a wave, your whole body arching as your orgasm finally hit you. hard. jaw going slack, vision blurring, eyes rolling back as you practically saw stars. the way your pussy pulsed around him sent mark over the edge, “fuck kitten, such a good girl,” he managed to say in between breaths, before he was groaning in your neck, spilling into the condom. his movements slowed as he rode it out, then he collapsed gently on top of you, both of you shaking, skin slick and flushed.

you stay there for a moment or two, trying to even your ragged breathing. then…laughter bubbled from your lips. light, uncontrollable, like something cracked open inside you and it sounds like music to his ears.

“what?” his head lifted slightly, brows drawn, cock still inside you.

you giggled again, still catching your breath, “h-holy shit, mark” you gasped, eyes glassy with aftershocks, “i don’t think i’ve ever came that hard before.”

he gave you that crooked, self-satisfied boyish smirk and you almost regret complimenting him. then slowly, he pulled out of you, making your body ache with the sudden absence.

carefully, he brushed the tears from the corner of your eyes, “you okay though? i wasn’t too much?”

your heart tripped in your chest. you hated that it did.

you nodded, keeping it casual, ignoring the way his concern made something twist painfully inside you, “yeah. i’m good.”

he nods, settling beside you as you laid there, still catching your breath, your limbs buzzing, body sore in a satisfying way. mark hadn’t moved much either, his arm casually draped over your thigh, chest rising and falling steadily with you. neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t awkward. it was warm. settled. easy in a way it probably shouldn’t have been. it was too dangerous. you needed to break it.

“i’m hungry,” you said, voice still scratchy.

mark glanced over at you, a brow raised, “i just gave you an orgasm of a lifetime and the first thing on your mind is food?”

you gave him a lazy grin, “we burned a lot of calories from that, we deserve carbs”

he didn’t comment on your use of we. or the way that there was a we now makes his heart skip a beat. but the fact that he liked the sound of a we was far worse. that box he buried somewhere deep inside, suddenly popping up.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, forcing out another laugh.

you reached for your phone on the nightstand, “pizza okay with you?,” and he realizes you’re inviting him to stay. you’re not kicking him out like you usually do after a session.

he pushes it a bit further, wanting to see how far this invitation goes “as long as i get to pick the movie this time.”

you narrowed your eyes at him like he’d stepped on thin ice and he’s afraid he pushed it a little too far, misread the moment, until you say, “and what movie are you picking?”

a smile curved his lips as he grabbed his shirt and sweats off the ground, putting it on, “spiderman. obviously,” he says, already making his way to your living room couch.

you blinked at him then grabbed the first clothes within reach, your shorts from the far corner and his hoodie slung over your desk chair, “which one?,” you called through your room, putting the clothes on.

“there’s only one right answer!”

“andrew’s?,” you teased, walking out of your bedroom. he froze for a second. you, in his hoodie, smiling like that. that same smile from freshman year. his brain short-circuited. you were making this whole forgetting thing really hard.

“hope you don’t mind,” you said with a small laugh, “i have no idea where you threw my shirt,” you chuckle.

“that’s fine,” he replied, maybe a little too fast, “and no not andrew’s”

you snorted, “fine, i’ll order pepperoni and you can fangirl over your web-slinging childhood hero,” you smirk, calling papa john’s.

mark grinned as he turned on the t.v. and started searching for the movie, “hey, that’s spiderman, protector of new york, thank you very much.”

you settled beside him a few minutes later, pizza box on the coffee table, movie playing, quiet jokes exchanged through bites of crust and cheese. somewhere between tobey maguire’s awkward charm and halfway through the pizza box, the space between you disappeared. this time, there was no gap. no careful leaning away. your thighs brushed his and neither of you moved. neither of you said anything. but maybe, just maybe, you both felt it — that same quiet something that had been growing since that friday night. still unspoken. still unnamed.

and mark realizes that he could get used to this.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 18. friday.

the door barely clicked shut before mark had his hands on you – rough, needy, all control. he didn’t waste a second. not a single hello, not a single warning. his mouth crashed into yours, all hunger and heat, urgent and commanding, steering you straight to the bedroom with the kind of focus only frustration could fuel.

“m-mark, what’s wrong?,” you managed to ask, concern laced in your voice.

“need you. now,” he growled, voice low, flat with no room for playfulness. you didn’t even make it to the bed. he spun you, yanked your shorts down, shoved you onto your desk chair. one hand ripping open a condom, the other dragging your panties aside and in one swift motion, he was inside you.

you gasped at the intrusion, fingers gripping your desk table, not at all prepared for him. there was no easing in, no pause. just raw, relentless need. and he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. he had too much to burn off. he thrusted in and out of your hole with a desperate rhythm that had you gasping his name between moans. the sound of skin slapping echoing through your bedroom walls.

“fuuuck, kitten, just what i needed,” he groaned, fingers digging into your hips like he was holding on for life. you were sure his fingerprints would mark your skin. he pulls you back onto him with every snap of his hips, like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough.

“mark, fuck,” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. but he didn’t slow down. he was absolutely locked in, chest heaving, only focused on reaching that high.

“everything’s fucked,” he muttered between gritted teeth, slamming into you hard, “i just needed this…needed you.”

you felt him twitch inside you, pace stuttering for half a second, just enough to send that familiar heat spiraling through your core. the roughness, the force, the way he clung to you like you were the only thing that mattered – it pushed you straight to the edge. your body tensed, a cry spilling from your lips as your orgasm washed over you. you clenched incredibly tight around him and that’s all it took.

“shit, i’m cumming,” he groaned, choking on the sound as he slammed in one last time, hips jerking, fingers still digging into your flesh like he’d break without the contact.

for a moment, all that filled the room was the sound of your breathing – heavy, wrecked, uneven. he stayed there, buried deep, his forehead resting against your back, arms still wrapped around your waist like letting go would make the world crash in again. his breath fanned hot across your skin, heavy and uneven but slowly starting to settle.

you blinked through the haze, heart still racing, legs barely steady beneath you. you turned your head slightly, voice hoarse but gentle, “mark, what was that?”

he didn’t answer at first. just exhaled, slow and ragged. then he pulled out with care, discarding the used condom and pulling his sweatpants back up. his hands steady you as he gently placed your panties back in place. he turned you to face him, guiding you to sit, and then leaned in to press a kiss to your lips – soft, slow and achingly tender. the complete opposite of everything that had come before.

“are you okay?,” you asked, reaching out to cup the side of his face, searching for the answers in his eyes. he allowed himself to lean into your touch. almost like he needed it to breathe, eyes fluttering close for a second.

“jeno got in a fight,” he sighs heavily, voice low, almost defeated.

he sank into his knees in front of you, resting his head in your lap. without thinking, your fingers immediately thread through his hair like they belonged there, like this was normal. his arms wrapped around your waist with quiet desperation, “it got recorded, reached the dean in seconds and i had to go clean it up, make sure we don’t get shut down,” he says tiredly.

you just listen to him, letting him unravel.

“and finals are on monday, i think i’m ready…we’ve been studying really well, my quizzes went okay but it’s also my last chance…if i don’t pass these classes, i'm off the basketball team.”

his arms tightened around your waist like he was bracing himself.

“it’s just been…a lot, everyone thinks i’ve got it all together. they don’t even know i’ve managed to screw it all up…i’m failing my classes, the team…everyone,” his voice broke on the last word, barely more than a whisper.

his eyes shut again, like he couldn’t bear to have anyone see him like this — mark, who was everyone’s favorite. mark, who always made confidence look effortless. mark, who everyone admired, who never looked tired. mark, who was here, on your bedroom floor, falling apart.

and you realized now just how much he’d been carrying and how alone he must have felt doing it. he was a mirror of your own reflection. so you ask him the one question you wished people asked you.

“do you want to talk about it?,” you whispered, thumb softly brushing along his cheek.

his jaw tensed beneath your touch and you thought he might pull away. shove the vulnerability back down and wrap himself in that playful charm he wore so easily when you were sitting across from him at study session or tangled up in the sheets. but instead, his shoulders slumped. he starts, voice low and rough, “i thought i could fix it, just grind harder, push through like i’ve always been able to…but things just kept stacking up. practices, papers and now this thing with the fraternity.”

you’d seen the cracks, of course. you weren’t oblivious. him being late, the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders stay tense no matter how relaxed he tried to seem. but he always played it off and you never pushed.

“i couldn’t tell anyone,” he continued, softer now, “i’m the leader, the co-captain…i'm supposed to know what to do. everyone leans on me, if i fall apart what happens to the rest of them?.” he lets out a bitter, humorless laugh.

“and i couldn’t tell you. you’re already helping me so much with tutoring and the sex and i didn’t want to drag you into my shit. especially since…this thing between is isnt supposed to include this, right?”

you didn’t respond right away because he was right — there were walls between you that needed to stay up. this was supposed to be easy. you were supposed to be each other’s safe option. the ones who didn't come with emotional trauma. the ones who wouldn’t ask for more. the ones who never pried, just notes, flashcards and casual sex without the weight of feelings or expectations.

“we’re still friends mark,” you said gently, “and friends don't let you go through the hard stuff alone.”

your voice was soft, but steady. you offered a small, honest smile and he finally looks up, meeting your eyes, letting himself be seen. he didn’t say anything after that, just looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

you didn’t break the gaze, didn’t try to fill the silence. you just stayed there, fingers still gently curling in his hair. letting him be here. letting him breathe. and he did – his head rested in your lap, arms still loosely wrapped around your waist like he didn’t quite know how to let go. didn’t want to let go. you could feel the weight of him, every little thing he’s been holding in, slowly settling.

no one rushed to define what this moment meant. no one tried to make a joke to cut the lingering tension — it was just quiet. stretching between you full of things unsaid. of a certain kind of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken out loud. and for now, this was enough.

just two people, sitting in their own wreckage, breathing together, pretending they weren’t crossing a line.

eventually, you felt the need to offer him something more than quiet comfort. something normal. something safe.

“what do you say, we skip tutoring session for the day and watch spiderman 2, i can order chinese this time?,” you say, finally breaking the quiet.

his eyes flicked up to yours. there was a pause, like the suggestion took a second to land. then slowly, the tension in his face bagan to ease, a smile tugging on his lips, “and what about finals week?”

“mark you know it, you’ve gotten every single question right our last two sessions,” you reassure him, “there’s not a single doubt in my mind you’re going to pass,” you smirked, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

that pulled a real breath of relief from him, a soft laugh, muffled against your lap, “we’re watching tobey’s spiderman 2, right?”

for the rest of the night, there was no tutoring, no expectations, no pressure. just honey walnut shrimp, fried rice, spider-man swinging through new york city and two people, curled up on the couch, who weren’t quite sure what they were but certain that this comfort, this closeness, was something they wanted.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 20. sunday.

mark: dude

mark: [1 image]

mark: saw this and thought of you

kitten: ???

kitten: mark. that’s just a cat.

mark: she has your eyes!!

kitten: bro 😭😭

kitten: she looks like she’s ready to attack u

mark: exactly

mark: just like you! 😼

kitten: seek help

kitten: and good luck on your finals markkk

kitten: you're gonna kill it

mark: what’s my reward if i pass? 🫣

kitten: freedom from me 🙂‍↕️

kitten: sex with anyone you want! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

kitten: any day you want!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

mark stared at your texts, thumbs hovering over the screen, his grin being wiped off — it was exactly the kind of thing you’d say. playful, detached, safe. like he hasn’t seen the most vulnerable parts of you. like you haven’t seen the worst parts of him.

his stomach churns in a funny way. it didn’t hit him until now that passing his classes also meant your tutoring sessions were over. no more flashcards, no more learning each other’s bodies, no more movie nights and greasy take out foods. no more you.

he set his phone down beside him, letting his head fall back against the pillow. suddenly, the finish line didn’t feel like a victory lap. it felt like a goodbye. and sure, you would still be around, he would still see you in passing, on campus, in random parties – you would still be his friend.

the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. if he was being completely honest, he didn’t want to stop seeing you. he didn’t want this to end just because the excuse to stay had run out. he wanted to be on your couch, watching spiderman. you still had six of them to go. he wanted the greasy takeout, the shared silence, the casual way your leg would brush against his like it didn’t mean everything.

he wanted to keep learning you. your favorite color, your favorite songs, your favorite everything until there was nothing left to learn. and even then, when all the learning is done, he just wanted to be there.

he wanted to be allowed to stay. to be able to wrap his arms around you and not wonder if he’s crossing a line. to show up with all your favorite snacks, and this time he knows what they are. to kiss you and not feel that sick, sinking guilt in his stomach when it meant more to him than it ever should have.

he started typing: what if i don’t want freedom from you?

he stared at it for a second. then deleted it.

typed again: sooo i still get to bother you after finals, right?

he deleted that one too.

mark: haha, nice 👍

he sighed, tossing his phone face-down onto the bed like that would somehow quiet the tightness in his chest.

your phone buzzed again. his response felt off or maybe it was just all in your head. you shook the thoughts away and turned back to your laptop, reviewing for your own classes.

you weren’t going there. you couldn't.

you refuse to be too much again. too needy.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 21. monday.

when mark stepped out of his last class of the day, he found you immediately, leaning against the wall, a drink in your hand, smiling at him.

before he could even think about it, his feet were already moving, carrying him, each step closing in towards you as he pulled you into a hug. his face nestles in the crook of your neck, a quiet sigh of relief slipping past his lips. he just wanted to stay here for a while. wrapped in the calm only you seemed to bring.

you froze, just for a moment. the hug catches you off guard. you’ve never been this touchy in public. you could feel the eyes on you, see a few raised brows in your peripheral vision. still, after a beat or two, you gave in, arms looping around his waist, one hand still gripping the cup of milk tea you got for him.

“it wasn’t that bad, was it?,” you murmured near his ear. he chuckles against your neck, the breath of air tickling before leaning back just enough to look at you, his hands still lingering on your hips like he’d forgotten to let go.

“i’m pretty sure i aced it,” he said, all confidence and charm.

you raise a brow, “so why did you just hug me like the world was ending?”

his smirk flickered, replaced by something quieter, heavier “you said once i passed, this would be over.”

he tried to keep it light, but the words tasted bitter, “figured, i should take what i can while i still can.”

you push away the feeling rising in your throat, glancing down at the drink in your hand, shoving the emotion aside “here, i got this for you, a mini reward.”

he takes it with a soft laugh, fingers brushing against yours, just a moment too long. his eyes stayed on you as he took a sip and something about the way he looks at you makes your chest twist — it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. not in daylight. not out here, in the open, where it could be mistaken for something real.

“people are staring at us,” you murmured, gaze dropping.

he doesn’t even glance around them, “let them.”

you tried to deflect, lips tugging into a smirk “what? and ruin your chances with all your girls?”

but he didn’t laugh. he didn’t play along. didn’t take the out this time.

“maybe i only want one girl.”

the breath caught in your throat. your heart stuttered. you looked up at him, eyes searching, desperate to find some hint of irony, some trace of a grin. anything that would let you write it off.

“hmm,” you force out a chuckle, thin and cracked, “you? mr. i don’t go exclusive,” you teased, your voice barely holding steady.

he smiled, but he didn’t deny it. that was when the panic set in.

“i have to go, i still have a class to get to,” and before he could respond, you were already walking away. you didn’t look back. you couldnt.

mark stayed where he was for a while, just watching your figure get smaller and smaller, drink in his hand, feeling the warmth of your body still clinging to his skin. people moved around him in chatter, footsteps on concrete, but it all blurred.

he meant it — he didn’t just let those words slip for no reason. he’d thought about it all night, maybe longer, and when the words came out, they didn’t surprise him. and it didn’t surprise him either how quiet you went, how fast you looked away, how quickly you pivoted back to safe ground, barely entertaining the thought.

you were the girl who didn’t believe in love. he knew that. and you could continue pretending that this was nothing. you could continue to shove it down with a joke, whatever you needed to do to keep him at arm’s length.

but he was done playing along. he wasn’t going to pretend anymore.

he wanted you to have all his mondays, wednesdays and fridays. even the tuesdays and thursdays. and every last goddamn saturdays and sundays. if you’d let him.

⟢

mark’s words echoes in your ears, clear and sharp and impossible to shake as you lay in your bed, wide awake.

you replay the moment in your head, over and over. the way he held you like you were something to hold onto. the way his fingers didn’t let go right away.

the way your heart betrayed you.

you hated how easy it would be to believe him. to want more. to hope. again.

but love had already burned you. already ruined you. it hollowed you out, left you scattered in pieces you barely recognized. you gave and gave until there was nothing left to give and even then, you still tried to be enough. you made yourself smaller, more manageable, easier to love. and you hated it. hated who you became when love took over – clingy, dependent, pathetic, insecure.

the kind of person who lost herself in someone else’s orbit and called it devotion. the kind of person who mistook being needed for being desired. the kind of person who became the version they needed until the real you felt like a distant memory.

it took everything to rebuild yourself from the wreckage love left behind. you had to learn how to be alone again. how to stop apologizing for needing anything at all. you had to teach yourself to exist without someone else’s hands holding you together.

you swore to yourself you’d never be that girl again.

but here you are, heart stuttering at a single sentence from a boy who was never supposed to matter this much. all your careful walls cracking, your breath catching, body already leaning toward him like muscle memory.

and even after all the warning signs going off in your head, every scar whispering don’t, you can’t help but want him.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 23. wednesday.

there was a knock on your door. you didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who it was.

you consider not opening it. pretend you weren’t home. an internal conflict going on between your mind and your heart. one half of you aching for him, the other half gripping onto the remaining boundary you had left.

you sigh, dragging your feet across the door, fingers hesitating on the knob.

“kitten, i know you’re there, the light is on,” mark’s voice announces through the other door. the nickname didn’t feel harmless anymore. it felt like a hand reaching through a door you were trying desperately to seal shut. a reminder of the closeness you’d let happen. the thing you swore wouldn’t need again.

“i brought food,” he added, tone lighter this time. like this could be another normal night of movies and food and silence where feelings should go.

you hated how much you wanted it. hated how you unlocked the door and pulled it open, meeting the brown warm eyes that was so dangerous. he was in one of his hoodies that always looked too comfortable, takeout in his arms with an expression that you couldn’t quite read. or maybe you didn’t want to.

“i thought we could watch spider-man 3, it’s the last tobey one,” he said, raising the food like it was some sort of offering.

you stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in and he walked in like he always did. like he belonged here, in your space. he removed his shoes, placed everything on the coffee table, sat on his side of the couch like everything was normal. like nothing happened. like those words didn’t leave his mouth and had you stuck on him ever since. like he hadn’t said something too big for this setup you had.

and you let him. you followed the script too. you dimmed the lights, grabbed the blanket from the side of the couch and pulled it over both of your legs, hit play on the movie.

for a while, neither of you said a word. until the movie reached a lull and you realized not a single joke has been said between you. you sneak a look at him only to find he was already looking at you.

“why are you looking at me like that?,” you whisper into the night air.

“like what?,” he deflected, smile barely there.

you raise a brow, giving him a pointed look, but your heart is already thudding, “like that,” you murmur.

mark’s smile fades into something quieter. something real. his eyes didn’t leave yours, “maybe i’m just trying to memorize you,” he said softly, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for days. it was quiet and honest. and it wrecked you.

your chest tightened. heat crept up your neck, blooming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the good kind. it was panic, nostalgia, longing, everything you’d spent years trying to outrun. you blinked fast, trying to swallow the ache, the confusion, the hope. you couldn’t hold his gaze.

then his hand moved, gentle, almost afraid, thumb brushing over your thigh, “does this really have to end after finals?,” he asked. his voice wasn’t playful. there was something almost broken in it. something that wanted more.

you look down at his hand. it’s warm. steady.

you forced your voice into something light, something distant, “what do you mean mark?,” you play dumb, “you can still come over, we can still hang out and watch movies.”

“you know that’s not what i mean, y/n,” his voice cut clean through you. he looked at you like you held the whole world and you hated it. because you’ve seen that look in someone else’s eyes before and you remember how that story ended.

“i want you.” he said. he’s always been upfront, the kind of guy who goes for exactly what he wants. honest. no confusion. he wasn’t going to stop that just because what he wanted now was a little different than usual.

“—not just the movie nights. i want to be able to kiss you without wondering if i’m crossing the line. i want to hold your hand. i don’t want to have to leave.”

you could hear it in his voice, that he meant every word. that he was laying himself bare. your lungs were full of things you’ve never said. fears you never voiced.

“do you want me because you want me,” you whispered, “or because you need me?”

the room went still. mark blinked, caught off guard. his face twisted in confusion. he didn’t understand the question. “what’s the difference?”

you nodded once, slowly, even though he didn’t get it. especially because he didn’t get it. that was all the confirmation you needed. the quiet confirmation of every fear you've been carrying. your thoughts spiraled, fast and breathless – he saw you as the person who kept him from falling apart, not the person who could be loved on her own terms. you didn’t want to be a need. you wanted to be a choice. wanted to be loved for your fire, your flaws, your silence, your mess. all of it.

you pulled the blanket off, stood up, walked toward the kitchen under the disguise of grabbing water but you really just needed the distance, needed to breathe.

behind you, mark didn’t move. the space where you’d just been now empty and echoing. the movie played on, some forgotten scene washing the walls in flickering color, fading into the background. all he could hear was the question that you’d asked. the silence that followed after he said the wrong thing. the way you walked away like you were holding yourself together with a string.

he stood slowly, following you into the kitchen, footsteps soft like he was afraid he’d scare you off if he made too much noise. you were standing there, back to him.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, careful.

when you didn’t respond, he continued, “i don’t need you like a fix,” he stepped closer, gently, slowly. and then, he lets his confessions stumble into the night air. all of the words he’d been dying to tell you.

“i want you like—,” his voice broke slightly, “like i want to wake up with you next to me, i want to know your favorite things, i want your sarcasm, your bad jokes, i want to be the one you call when your day’s gone to shit or when someone tells you a funny story and you just have to share it with someone, i want all the parts you hide. that’s what i meant.”

he was so close now. you closed your eyes and it terrifies you how much you wanted that too.

“i’ve been through this before, mark,” you said, barely above a whisper, “i gave someone everything and he only loved me because he needed me, because it was easy at first. not the real me. not the mess. not the scared, guarded, overthinking, too-much me.”

mark stepped closer until there was barely space between you.

“y/n, i’m not him,” he says, voice full of conviction, “let me prove it. if it takes time, i’ll wait. if you need space, i’ll give it. but please stop acting like none of this is real, stop acting like this was all just tutoring and sex. don’t shut me out because someone else couldn’t handle you. because i can. i want to.”

you stared at the floor. every wall you’d built over the years was trembling in your chest, all of them threatening to collapse and you were desperately trying to keep them together. he was saying everything you’d ever needed someone to say. yet you can’t find it in yourself to believe him.

your fear was louder than your hope.

“i need space,” you breathed. it was all you could manage. your voice almost gave out on the last word.

mark stilled, his throat bobbed as he swallowed. then he stepped back. just once. and said, gently, “okay.”

he didn’t try to kiss you or hold you or close the space between you with anything physical. and that, more than anything, told you this wasn’t about need.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 25. friday.

the knock came again. you hadn’t expected it, your heart climbing straight into your throat.

you hadn’t spoken since that night. you told him you needed space and to his credit, he gave it. though as soon as he left you wanted him back. you couldn’t even understand your own emotions anymore.

he didn’t call. didn't text and even though it’s only been two days — the silence had been deafening.

your hand hovered near the doorknob again, just like it had before. like you were caught in a loop.

“y/n?,” his voice was softer this time. not playful, not teasing, just quiet and raw, “i…i got my results.”

you closed your eyes, just listening to his voice and the way he was able to shut down all the other voices in your head.

“i haven’t checked it yet,” he added after a beat, “i didn’t want to do it alone.”

something in you cracked and you opened the door. mark stood there, phone in hand, eyes tired and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept well in days. he didn’t step in this time. he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. you didn’t say anything. just stepped aside, letting him in. he walked in slowly, like he was afraid he might wake something fragile in the room. you followed him to the couch, sat next to him, close enough to touch but not touching.

he sat with his phone in his palm, screen still black, staring at it.

“just open it,” you said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

he turned to you, eyes searching, “i can’t do it,” he says, handing you the phone “you open it for me.”

you grab it from him, clicking the school’s app and reloading the screen, waiting for the results. the second felt too long, mark’s legs anxiously bouncing, you looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t read and his throat catches.

then in one second, your grin grew wider, “you passed!,” you cheered, laughter bubbling from your lips. he hasn’t realized how much he missed that sound until now. the past few days have definitely been an emotional turmoil.

mark blinked, “i..i did?,”

you nodded, laughing again, eyes shining, “you did, mark! look,” you say, shoving the phone in his face.

for a beat, he just stared at you, like he didn’t quite believe it. then it all hit him at once, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally exhaled. relief, pride, disbelief all crashing into his chest in one wave.

and before he could stop himself he pulled you into his lap in a mini victory, both of you laughing, excited, happy. his arms wrapped around you tight, burying his face into your shoulder like this was the only place he ever wanted to be. you hug him just as tight, now straddling him, arms curled around him as you both bask in his victory, your laughter’s harmonizing in the air.

after a few seconds, your body relaxed into his and for the first time in days, it felt easy again, natural. like muscle memory. like this was where you both belonged.

“i knew you could do it,” you murmured near his ear, voice soft. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding onto your side like didn’t want to let go yet.

and maybe it was the adrenaline in your system. maybe it was the look on his face. or maybe it was the way his hands lingered on your waist. but you didn’t think.

you leaned in and kissed him.

it was gentle, like asking a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to. he kissed you back with no hesitation, no second guessing. just the feeling of your lips in his, warm and certain.

mark’s hand cup your jaw like you were something breakable and important all at once. there was a slight tremble in his touch, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him this close. terrified that one wrong move would send you running.

the kiss wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t rushed. it was everything that hadn’t been said, missing each other in a way neither of you had admitted.

your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you steady. your body swayed forward without permission, knowing what it wanted before your mind could catch up. his forehead dropped to yours and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“i missed you,” you whispered, voice shaking. his eyes fluttered shut at the words, something raw flickering across his features. he kissed you again, slow and intentional. like he needed you to feel every unsaid thing he did not know how to say.

the kiss deepened, soft lips parting, breath mingling. his hand moved down, tracing your spine as he pulled you closer and every inch of your body hummed with anticipation. you tugged on his black shirt, tugging it over his head. you helped each other undress with quiet urgency, fingertips brushing skin, lips reconnecting in between.

mark grabs your thighs, gently lifting you up and turning you over to lay you down on the couch. he hovered over you, eyes dragging slowly down the length of your body, memorizing every line, every curve.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, brushing your hair from your forehead.

your throat tightened.

he trailed kisses over your jaw, your neck, the slope of your shoulder, your breasts. every kiss feeling like a promise. his hands were everywhere, trailing over your waist, the dip of your hip, down your thigh, slow and warm and reverent. he took his time. worshipped every inch like he didn't want to miss a second of this.

he knew exactly where to touch you. knew the spots that ignited that fire in your stomach. he pushes your panties to the side and when his mouth finally found the place between your legs, you gasped, back arching. he groaned at the sound, at the taste of you, gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him. he watched your every reaction, paid attention to all of your sinful moans like it was his favorite song. his tongue moved, licking and circling and sucking until you were gasping his name, eyes fluttering shut, legs shaking around his shoulders.

your fingers laced through his, grabbing onto him like he was the last thing keeping you there. and when you came, it hit hard, head thrown back, toes curling. he stayed right there, drawing it out, licking through every wave. he kissed his way back up your body, slow and open mouthed until you pulled him back to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“mark,” you whispered, breathless, “bedroom.”

you didn’t have to say it again. mark grabbed your thighs, picking you up with ease, his bare chest warm against yours, legs wrapped around him, heartbeat thudding in rhythm with your own as he carried you to your bedroom. the air between you is charged and fragile in a way it had never been before. as soon as your back hit the mattress, you pulled him down to meet you. lips meeting again. but it wasn’t like the other times. there was no reckless rush, no frantic need. this kiss was deeper. slower. like he wanted to taste every part of you that had been out of reach until now.

his weight settled over you, grounding, familiar but all too different. he kissed you like he was afraid this might be the last time. touching you like he was memorizing you all over again, not your body, he already knew that – but you.

the way you sighed when his fingers brushed over your hips. the way your breath hitched when his lips settled over that sensitive spot below your ear. the way your hands roamed over his back, curling at the base of his spine like you didn’t know how to keep him close enough.

then suddenly, he stopped. bracing himself on his forearms, forehead pressed to yours, “wait,” he murmured, breathing hard, like it physically hurt to not be touching you.

you blinked, disoriented by the sudden break in heat as he curses under his breath, “i-i didn’t bring a condom…i didn’t expect to–,”

“i-i should have some,” you turned quickly, reaching for the drawer of your nightstand only to find your box of condoms empty.

you looked at him. he looked at you. a beat of silence passing in between you.

his hand found yours, warm brown eyes boring into yours, “we don’t have to.”

“do you want me?,” your voice cracked a little and that’s when you realized your throat was tight, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“of course i do, kitten,” he said, placing a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist, “but i want you, not just this.”

“i want you, too,” you whisper like you were sharing a secret. his breath hitched. whole body stilling. you saw the moment he gave in, the exact second his restraint cracked.

“i-i’ll pull out,�� he mumbled, still trying to be careful.

“i’m on the pill mark,” you said softly, “you can stay inside.” something in him faltered, his breath hitched, eyes darkening. he kissed you again, slower than before, more tentative, like he needed to make sure you meant it.

he lines himself up against your core, giving you one last look for confirmation and when you nod, granting him permission, he finally gave in to what you both wanted. he slid into you slowly, carefully, his forehead pressed to yours, breaths tangling. you felt the tremble in his arms, the shudder that worked through him as he sank fully into you – making you feel full, whole, complete.

you both stilled, letting the moment settle.

you’d done this before. countless times. fast, rough, unspoken. but it had never felt like this. this felt like new territory. this felt like falling.

this wasn’t about sex. this was about every word you’d left unsaid.

your hands roamed up his back, fingernails grazing over the muscles there and his body responded to every touch, arching into you slightly. you could feel every vein on his cock, every twitch, every pulse. he moved slowly, deeper than he had before, watching your face for every flicker of reaction.

mark’s hand came up to brush the hair from your cheek, as he littered kisses from your cheekbones, along your jaw, every inch of skin he could find, “i was made for you” he whispered.

your chest ached, eyes burned. you didn’t know what to do with those words so instead you pulled him closer and kissed him hard. desperate to shut him up. to shut yourself up. to make the ache go away. every movement was slow, sensual, too vulnerable. every inch of your skin between you whispering i missed you, don’t leave again, please feel what i’m feeling.

his hand laced with yours, fingers locking tight, fitting together like two connecting pieces of a puzzle. it was all too much. the way he stayed close, nose brushing your cheek. the way he murmured your name under his breath like it was the only word he knew.

you whispered his name when that coil in your stomach started to tighten, the pressure ready to be released, tension curling through your body. he kissed your temple, your cheekbone, your mouth, over and over again as you came undone beneath him. your legs trembled, breath hitched, back arching as he talked you through it, murmuring praises in your ear.

he followed soon after, body shuddering against yours as he gave in, marking your walls, a grunt of your name spilling from his lips. and even then, he didn’t let go of your hand. he stayed inside you long after, face buried in the curve of your neck, body heavy over yours in the best way. neither of you said anything, just basking in the warmth of each other’s bodies.

you’ve never felt fuller. the feeling of skin on skin. of a truth too big to name yet.

and when he pulled out, you felt the loss of him like a jolt. your body throbbed, empty and aching. he reached for the tissues on your bedside table, gently wiping away the mess you two made.

you swallowed hard, “mark-”

his eyes searched yours, desperate and open and unguarded in a way you’d never seen before. he was just as scared as you. scared that you would push him away again, “please,” he begs, “don’t make me leave.”

“i don’t know how to do this,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t know how to accept this.” you couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word. that one word lingering in both of your tongues.

mark’s face softened, something inside him cracking at your words. he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, “we can figure it out,” he says, “but we don’t have to figure it all out tonight…for tonight let's just…stay here.”

your eyes stung. he wasn’t asking for promises. he wasn’t demanding answers. he was just asking you not to run. not yet. you nodded and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. neither of you said anything after that. he shifted beside you, pulling you into his arms, your body curling naturally into the space against his chest. one of his hands wrapped around your back, the other held your hand like he was scared you would just disappear.

you laid there, wrapped in him, your heart a mess of silence and scars. listening to the beat of his heart. trying to believe this could be real.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered into his skin.

“you already do,” he murmured, raw and honest, brushing his lips to your hair.

“i’m sorry.”

“there’s nothing to be sorry for, kitten. i’d rather be hurt with you than feel nothing without you,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. your eyes fluttered closed at that, too tired to hold everything in your chest. too afraid of what would happen when morning came. but for right now, in this moment, you let yourself stay.

and somewhere between his breathing and the ache in your chest, you fell asleep in his arms, tangled up in a mess of limbs, heartbreak and that word you both can’t say.

ᓚᘏᗢ april 26. saturday.

mark woke up to the soft morning light filtering in through your bedroom window, stretching across the sheets like a quiet whisper. the space beside him cold. his hand reached out before his eyes even opened, instinctively searching for you, but the space was empty, only leaving behind the shape of your figure.

his brows furrowed as he sat up slowly, blanket slipping off his chest. the room felt too still. like the warmth had left with you. he got up, heart tightening as his bare feet hits the floor, pulling on his sweats as he stepped into your living room — empty.

no note. no text. no sound of the shower. just silence. the kind of silence that presses on your ribs and makes everything feel heavier than it should.

mark exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. this wasn’t new – this disappearing act of yours, distant and cold. but it hurt more today. especially after last night. after they way you kissed him like you meant it. the way you held him like you wanted him. the way you made love to him like you loved him.

he sat down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. the victory of passing his finals felt like a faded memory now. and maybe you were just getting breakfast? maybe you were getting coffee? maybe you went out for a quick walk? but deep down, he knew better.

because when someone leaves without saying goodbye, it’s never just about getting coffee – it’s about fear. about retreat. about trying to stuff last night back into that box. a box where it doesn’t fit anymore.

he didn’t know what would happen next but he made you a promise and he’s determined to keep it. even if you never let him this close again. even if this was the last night he’d get to love you the way he wanted to. but he wouldn’t push. he wouldn’t beg. he wouldn’t ask you to feel more than you were ready to. he knew your walls were built from heartbreak and survival and he would never try to tear them down.

but he’ll show up — quietly, steadily, solid where you expected everyone to vanish. he wouldn’t ask for anything in return. not your love, not your certainty, not even your presence. just the chance to exist nearby. just the permission to care.

you didn’t have to earn his love by loving him back.

and if someday you turned around and realized you didn’t want to be alone anymore. he’d be here, welcoming you with open arms.

⟢

you hadn’t meant to leave like that. not really.

you told yourself it was just a short walk. just some air. just to clear your head before the morning got too loud and the reality of your actions settled in too deep.

your lips still felt the ghost of his. your skin still hummed with the way he touched you like he knew you — not just the version you showed him on movie nights and tutoring sessions, but the messy, terrified, too much version you’d spent years trying to hide. he kissed you like he wasn’t afraid of her. and that pushed you further down your fears.

you didn’t know if you were allowed to believe in it. so you left. not to hurt him. never too hurt him. but to protect yourself. protect him from you. to build the distance before you both could fall all the way in.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face when you told him he passed — a mixture of excitement and bittersweet emotion clearly on display. the way he hugged you like you were home. and then, god, you kissed him. and for the first time in forever, kissing someone didn’t feel like an escape. you swallowed hard. you were so afraid of these emotions. of needing him.

you went back home when the sun was down, mark nowhere to be seen, except for a note left on your coffee table, written in mark’s handwriting:

“call me if you need me.”

just simple words that made your chest ache.

if. not when.

he wasn’t expecting you to need him. wasn’t asking you to lose yourself again, to shrink, to bleed out the softest parts of you just to keep him. he wasn’t trying to save you or fix you or unravel you for the sake of making you his.

he left you a choice, control fully in your hands. a door, cracked open.

if you need me.

not a condition. not a plea. just kindness wrapped in restraint. not loud or overwhelming. not all-consuming. just patient. just quiet. just there.

ᓚᘏᗢ one week later. may 3. saturday.

you never contacted him. you didn’t know how to face him.

some days, you’d go home to take-out waiting for you by the door, still warm, like he’d just left. there were messages left in your phone. messages that you read over and over again, finger hovering above the keyboard. a reminder that mark was still there. that he still cares.

you just didn’t know what to do with that.

“c’mon y/n, come to the party at the wayv frat tonight,” your best friend, yeri, says through the phone, her voice bright and pleading.

“yeri, i don’t really feel like partying,” you sigh, voice low and dull.

“y/n, you can’t push us away too, we’re your friends,” she says more firmly now.

you told her all about it a couple nights ago, over the fried chicken mark left at your doorstep, the soju in your fridge and a loose tongue that couldn’t keep your pain in any longer.

you spilled everything. what happened with mark, how it started, how it ended and yeri almost killed you with your own pillow. you can still hear her voice now, going through every stage of disbelief like it was a full-blown performance.

she went from, “are you kidding me?! mark lee?!,”followed by a dramatic gasp and a mischievous smirk, “was he good?? was he big?,” then came the pause, wide eyes, jaw dropping surprise “he said he only wanted one girl!!?? THE mark lee?? wanting one girl???,” and then her voice cracked, eyes misting as she whispered, “he wanted to know your favorite things?!?!” like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

and then she strangled you with your own pillow when you got to the end of the story.

she was very much #teammark at the moment.

she was tired of your self sabotaging, your walls, your stubbornness — the way you rejected affection like it was poison. the way you flinched from being needed. from being loved. she understood it came from a place in your past. she never dismissed that pain. but she firmly reminded you that you can’t let your past haunt you forever. that the echoes of what hurt you, the ghosts that whisper you’re unlovable or unsafe, should not define the life you’re living now. she gave you an entire pep talk talking about how you can’t keep holding someone with one hand while the other is clinging to everything that once went wrong. and maybe the love in front of you isn’t perfect, maybe it’s messy and complicated and terrifying but it’s here and it’s real and it could be everything only if you let it.

“look,” yeri cuts through your train of thought,, “mina, doyeon, and ningning will be there too, okay, “you’re the only one that's going to be missing.”

you hesitate.

“he probably won’t even be there,” she adds quickly, “the dream frat most likely has their own party going on tonight.”

you don’t believe her. especially since you knew the dream frat was still under observance from that fight jeno threw.

“i don’t know…,” you say.

“c’mon,” she says, softer this time, “it’s the end of finals, we deserve to let loose and have fun,” she tries, one more time.

you exhale slowly, already halfway convinced.

“...fine.” you mutter, earning a bubbly scream from the other side.

⟢

the music is loud the moment you step through the door, laughter spilling down the hallways, the scent of cheap beer and fruity vape lingering in the air. you’re already regretting the black dress hugging your body, the heels, and the fact that you let yeri talk you into this.

“shots first!,” she yells over the music, dragging you toward the room. you spot familiar faces, mina waving from across the room, doyeon chatting up a pretty girl, ningning locked in an intense game of beer pong with a guy in sunglasses — it’s all the usual chaos. familiar. almost comforting.

you let the noise wash over you, grateful for the distraction until yeri stiffens beside you. you know before you even turn. he’s here — mark lee, leaning casually against the wall across the room, red cup in hand. he’s mid-conversation with a boy you knew, xiaojun – music major, member of the wayv fraternity, also a guy you tutored.

he was laughing, looking relaxed until he saw you.

and everything stops.

almost like you were the only two in the room.

his smile falters. eyes lock with yours. like he didn’t expect you to be here. doesn’t know what to do now that you’re both standing in the same room again.

you forget how to breathe for a second.

“y/n…,” yeri starts, but you shake your head, breaking away from his gaze.

“i’m fine.” you’re not.

but that’s what you tell her, forcing a smile, “let’s get those shots,” you manage to say as you and yeri slip into the kitchen. looking for something to drink. preferably something strong.

⟢

he hadn’t planned on staying long. he hasn’t really been in the mood for parties this whole week. it was too loud, too crowded, too many people and none of them were you.

but chenle, haechan and jisung kept dragging him out night after night, insisting he just needed to “get back out there.”

it hasn’t worked — he wasn’t interested in anyone else, no matter how pretty his friends say they were. all he could think about was you.

he sees you in the spiderman figurines he had in his room. he sees you in the half-eaten pizza box that the boys had ordered, where he could practically hear your laugh. he sees you in his notes. in every damn song that plays. in the stray cat that kept curling up on their lawn. the basketball court. the library. every corner he found himself in is a memory of you.

and sex has been different since that night. not after what you’d shared. not after what it felt like to be wanted like that, to want like that. he didn’t even know if he could go back to casual anymore, especially after feeling intimacy that intense.

so yeah, the plan was simple, he was gonna show up for a bit, make his rounds, say hi to his friends then dip. lock himself up in his room. back to waiting for your call.

he didn’t expect to see you but there you were, walking through the crowd.

and he wished he looked a little better. put a little more effort into his outfit. but truth to be told, he didn't think he had anyone to impress. his light stubble has grown in. he was only in a plain white shirt and black jeans. he didn't even bother styling his hair.

one second, he’s laughing at something xiaojun said, the next the breath gets knocked out of him — you walked in like you didn’t want to be there but still looking so effortlessly beautiful. the walls you’ve been hiding behind standing tall all around you.

every instinct tells him to go to you but his feet stay planted, the grip on his cup tightening.

“dude,” xiaojun says, mid-sentence, eyebrows raising, “are you even listening to me?”

mark doesn’t answer, he watches your eyes sweep the room and then land on him.

everything else disappears.

he doesn’t even hear the music anymore. the crowd becomes nothing more than a blur of faceless shapes, none of them worth noticing.

you still have that look in your eyes. that haunted, guarded look he’s seen too many times. the one that says i want to let you in, but i can’t afford to be hurt again.

you break the contact first, of course you do. he can’t help but continue to stare.

“okay,” xiaojun says suddenly, setting down his drink. “that’s it. i’m introducing you.”

mark’s head snaps toward him, “wait, what?”

“don’t know what happened to you, man but you’ve clearly lost your game,” his friend shrugs, already grabbing mark by the sleeve, “i got this. stop being a pussy, i’ll be your wingman.”

mark resists, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, planting his feet, “no…xiaojun, wait, you don’t understand–”

“she’s super chill,” xiaojun interrupts confidently, “smart as hell, kind of terrifying at first glance but definitely nice. i got you, don’t worry.”

“xiaojun…seriously–” mark hisses, digging his heels in, heart pounding in panic now, “we already…we know each other.”

but xiaojun didn’t hear him. too excited. too focused at playing matchmaker and hauling him toward the kitchen. “you can thank me later,” he grins, “just let me cook.”

mark’s stomach sinks. his hands are clammy. he’s seconds away from bolting. and then you turn around, cup in hand, mid-sip, just as xiaojun barrels into the kitchen with mark reluctantly in tow.

“y/n!,” xiaojun calls cheerfully. mark looks like he’s been dragged into hell itself, his eyes sending you an apology and you can’t help the way your brows lift.

“oh my god,” you whisper under your breath, choking on your drink and mark has to physically stop himself from reaching out to check if you are okay. you curse the fact that you let yeri leave you alone just a few seconds ago.

xiaojun beams, “i want you to meet my friend! this is mark. mark this is y/n..she used to tutor me back in the day. super scary, very smart,” you can’t help but raise a brow at his description, “anyway, you two should totally talk,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

mark gives you a look like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. his voice comes out tight, strained, like it hurts to speak, “hey.”

you glance at mark. he glances at you. and somehow, without saying anything, you both decide to play along.

“nice to meet you,” you say coolly, extending a hand like you haven’t seen every inch of him in moments you’re trying very hard to forget.

mark straightens up, his face schooled into a neutral smile. he takes your hand and his touch lingers just a little too long, bringing up feelings you tried so hard to push away, “same here.”

xiaojun beams, totally buying it, “see? told you i got you,” he whispers, making you quip a brow.

mark doesn’t look away from you, “so…you used to tutor xiaojun?”

you nod, keeping your expression composed, “yeah, freshman year. he was failing basic algebra.”

xiaojun gasps in mock offence, “i had a C-”

“which is failing,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

mark chuckles under his breath, eyes crinkling, “sounds like you were a tough tutor.”

“that depends on who i’m tutoring,” you say, like you didn’t spend the past month tutoring him.

xiaojun claps his hands together, clearly pleased with himself, “this is going great. i’m so good at at this. i should charge people.”

“oh yeah,” mark says, playing along, nodding solemnly. “you should definitely monetize your matchmaking business.”

“maybe i will!,” xiaojun grins, painstakingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension thickening between you two, “anyway, i’m gonna go and leave you two alone. you guys get to know each other. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!,” he winks and disappears back into the party.

and just like that, the mask drops. the space between you crackling.

mark raises an eyebrow, “nice to meet you, huh?”

you shrug, “you started it.”

he smirks faintly, “you didn’t have to shake my hand like we were at a networking event.”

“well, you didn’t have to look so charmed by it,” you shoot back and for a second it all feels too normal. just two friends caught in their playful banter.

⟢

ᓚᘏᗢ now.

“it’s good to see you,” he says, a little quieter now, smirk fading just slightly. you falter at that but instead of running, instead of deflecting, you hold his gaze.

“so,” you say, attempting a half-smile, “do you come here often, mark?”

he chuckles but the sound fades quickly. the amusement doesn’t last in his eyes. you were doing it again. masking your feelings behind a joke. trying to find an out. trying to stall the inevitable — and he stopped playing this game a long time ago. has stopped holding back.

“you didn’t call.”

your smile drops, “mark–,”

“that night,” he cuts in softly, but there’s something raw under his voice now, “i woke up and you were gone.”

the kitchen feels smaller. the party noise beyond the door fades to a muffled hum.

“i didn’t know what to say,” you murmur, voice almost lost under the thump of bass in the other room.

“you didn’t have to say anything,” he says, “i just wanted you to stay.”

you look away but mark steps forward. not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him.

“i kept checking my phone,” he goes on, “every morning when i wake up, every night before i go to bed. i watched you read my messages and i thought maybe you just needed time.”

“—i waited,” he continues, voice shaking now, “i left food by your door, i didn’t even care if you didn’t text back, i just wanted you to know i’m still here.”

you press your lips together, holding everything in.

“i didn’t want that night to end,” he goes on, quieter now, “and maybe i was stupid for thinking you felt the same way but–”

he breathes in, eyes locking onto yours. you try to tell him to stop but your voice betrays you. and mark could no longer hold back the words he’s been wanting to say.

“i fell in love with you.”

your heart stutters. that one phrase making you want to run.

“and i’m still in love with you,” he finishes, like a final breath. like he’s cutting himself open and bleeding honesty, the words slamming into your chest.

“we only had two rules, mark,” you managed to whisper, voice quiet and broken.

mark takes a shaky step closer, heart in his throat, “tell me you don’t feel it then,” he said quietly. his voice wasn’t angry, just tired, broken, desperate.

“look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me…that you don’t feel anything when i look at you like this and i’ll stop. i’ll leave you alone.”

you freeze. you didn’t answer right away. because you did feel it — you felt it in your chest, in your stomach, in the way the world always seemed to go a little quieter when he was around. you feel it in the ache that never went away after that night. you feel it in the way he says your name like it’s something holy. but that truth was too dangerous. too real.

so you hardened your voice, you shove it so far down you almost believe the lie yourself.

“i don’t feel it.”

you looked him dead in the eye, even though it nearly broke you. mark’s face falls but you don’t stop there. you lift your chin, meeting his gaze and finally twisting the knife in both of you.

“i don’t love you.”

his face didn’t crumble. didn’t twist in pain. he just stilled – silent, hollow stillness. the words knocking the breath from his lungs in one brutal blow. his eyes search your face like he’s trying to find a hole in your armor – something to tell him you don’t mean it.

you walked away, leaving him in the kitchen and disappearing into the crowd before he can see the way your hand trembles. before he can see the way your heart is breaking too. every step away from him felt heavier than the last. your throat felt like it was strangling your heartbeat. every breath scraped your ribs like regret trying to crawl out of your chest.

you told yourself not to look back. not to care. this is for the better. he deserves someone better. someone who knew what they wanted. someone who can give him the love he has to give without flinching.

you did the right thing. for the both of you.

you ignore your friend’s calls. focused only on trying to get as far away from this place as possible. and yet, as you passed through the living room, something ridiculous stopped you cold — someone was messing with a money gun. dozens of dollar bills floating all around you, spinning through the air like confetti in slow motion. you scoffed before you could stop yourself, bitter and breathless at the irony.

you pushed forward anyway, trying to control your tears, making your way through the bodies and out into the front lawn. you manage to make it a couple feet away.

but then…fingers, warm and gentle, wrapped around your wrist, turning you towards his tear-filled eyes as he caught up to you, breathless.

“what are you so afraid of?” mark asked, eyes wide, wild with a mixture of hope and desperation.

“what is it that terrifies you so much you’d rather lie to my face than admit what we have?”

his words cracked something open inside you. that was it. the last of your resolve breaking apart. your defenses collapsed.

“you, mark!,” your voice broke, full of too many emotions you could no longer control, “i’m afraid of you!”

he blinked, startled. you didn’t let the silence catch up.

“i’m afraid of what you make me feel,” you said, voice unraveling.

“i’m afraid because i’m in love with you too. and i don’t want to be!”

the tears came fast and hot but you no longer cared about the strong front you’ve been trying to keep up.

“—because the last time i fell in love, it destroyed me. i gave everything to someone who promised they’d stay and they left. and i had to build myself back up from nothing and i swore i’d never let myself feel like that again.”

mark took a slow step closer. like he was approaching something sacred.

“i don’t want to become her again,” you choked out, “the girl who wakes up wondering if today is the day everything falls apart. the one who clings too tightly. the one who ruins everything because she wants too much.”

“you’re not her anymore,” he said softly, like he was holding your heart in his hands., “you’re stronger now. you know who you are. and if things fall apart,” his voice cracked, his own tears falling, “i’ll still be there, i’m not going to leave you.”

you shook your head, tears falling freely, “you don't know that! what if i mess it up? what if i’m too much?”

“then i’ll stay anyway,” he said, voice trembling with conviction, “i’ll stay and remind you every single time that you're not too much. that you’re worth loving.”

you looked up at him, ready to break again but his words make you freeze, “and i’m scared too.”

mark swallowed hard.

“i’ve never been in love before,” he said. “not like this. not even close and i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m scared i’ll say the wrong thing. that i’ll mess this up. that i’ll love you too much or not enough or in the wrong way”

he let out a shaky breath, gaze locked on yours.

“but i’m willing to learn. i'm willing to fall. because i'm scared of losing you the most and i’d rather be scared with you than go my whole life without you in it…without trying.”

his eyes bored into yours, wide and unguarded, filled with that same fear you’d been carrying. you realized then that you weren't so different. just two souls wanting to love and be loved, both terrified of what it might cost.

and if he was brave enough to jump, you weren’t going to let him fall alone — with that, the last wall inside you crumbled and you reached for him.

mark pulls you into his arms like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. there, under the stars and distant music, you clung to him, allowing yourself to want him. your chest heaved against his, tears soaking into his t-shirt. and still, he held you tighter.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice hoarse, “i’m just…i’m so scared.”

“i know,” he murmured back, “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he rocked you gently like your pain had a rhythm only he understood. he didn’t know what else to do but hold you.

eventually your tears slowed. your breathing evened out. your fingers loosened from their desperate grip. you stayed in his arms a moment longer, heart pressed into his chest. committing it to memory like it was a song you never wanted to forget.

then you pull back, just enough to look up at him. your lashes were damp, eyes still glassy, “i meant it,” you said, barely above a whisper, “i love you.”

his eyes searched yours, not for doubt, but for the truth. and when he found it, unguarded, soft, scared, real, his hold on your waist tightens just a tiny bit like he couldn’t believe this was real and not something he’d dreamed up in all the nights he spent missing you.

mark leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you don’t. his lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, then deeper, steadier, like exhaling after holding his breath for years. you kissed him back like it was the only thing you knew how to do — your heart had spent so long trying to run away from this very feeling and now it was collapsing into it with both arms wide open.

no more running. just you and him and the promise of something real. not something that had an expiration date marked by final exams and end of sessions.

he smiled against your lips. you pulled away, the smallest, tearful laugh catching in your throat.

“so…what do we do now?,” you asked, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, though your voice was still soft. still fragile from everything it had admitted. and your eyes only had room for his reflection.

mark raised a hand, thumb gently brushing a tear from your cheek, “well,” he said, his voice low and full of warmth, “i would love to take you out on a date.”

and this time, when you smiled…it felt like the beginning.

ᓚᘏᗢ the next day.

mark knocks at your door at exactly 6:00P.M. a little more dressed up than usual, his face freshly shaved, hair styled perfectly, a bouquet of white roses behind his back.

you open the door and his breath catches. the red dress you're wearing stops just above your knees, hugging your curves in all the right places. its bold and subtle all at once, elegant neckline, bare shoulders.

you see the shift in his expression instantly, eyes widening, lips parting slightly.

“kitten,” he breathes out, recovering just enough to let a smirk tug on his lips “are you trying to cancel our date?”

your brows furrow in amusement, “what?”

he lets out a soft laugh, eyes still tracing the length of you. “how do you expect me to not want to have my hands all over you until this is off?” he says, a hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you gently against him, already losing his inner battle.

a playful smirk appears on your lips, “hey, buy a girl dinner first,” you say, pressing your palm to his chest to push him back, just a little.

he chuckles, deep and warm, eyes twinkling as he finally brings the bouquet around “for you, kitten.”

you take the flowers with a soft, surprised smile “these are beautiful mark, thank you,” you say quietly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, just a quick one, before slipping back into your apartment. he stays at the door, watching as you make yourself into the kitchen, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. you rummage through your drawers for the vase you rarely use, dusting it off before filling it with water. carefully, you begin arranging the flowers on your coffee table. mark steps inside, closing the door behind him. his arms wrapping around your waist in a back hug.

“you ready?,” he murmurs, a kiss brushing the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

“mhm,” you smile, reaching down to pat his hand before lacing your fingers with his. his grip is warm, sure. he leads you to the door, locking it behind you as you both step out of your apartment.

“this is kinda weird,” he chuckles as you walk towards his car.

“what? holding my hand,” you say, about to pull your hand away only for his grip to tighten.

“i didn’t say it was bad,” he says quickly, pulling you closer, “i’ve just never held hands with my girlfriend before.”

you chuckle, some things never change.

“oh, i didn’t know i was your girlfriend now?,” you smirk, teasing, a brow raising.

his smile instantly drops, “please say sike,” he mutters, suddenly serious. you burst into laughter and the tension in his shoulder melts. he watches you in awe, like your laugh could break every bone in his body and he’d still ask to hear it again. a smile taking over his features.

“sike,” you say sweetly just as he pokes your side, making you jump. he opens the passenger door for you with a smug look and you slide inside, cheeks warm, heart racing.

mark planned the most romantic, classic first date imaginable. like something ripped right out of a movie montage. candlelight dinner, soft jazz humming in the background and a corner table in a quiet, upscale restaurant where the lighting was dim and golden, casting everything in a dreamy glow. the flicker of the candle between you danced in his eyes, making him look warmer, softer than usual. the low murmur of other diners fading into the background. he pulled out your chair for you like a real gentleman. you ordered your food, sat across from each other, feet brushing beneath the table, half accidental, half deliberated. it was playful and sweet. he smiled every time it happened like he was trying to make you blush without saying a word. and it worked — you couldn’t remember the last time a date felt this intentional, this thoughtfully put together. like someone had wanted to impress you.

“wow, you really did your research, huh?,” you tease him, eyebrows raised, an amused smirk tugging at your lips.

“only the best for my girl,” he winks. you rolled your eyes at the line but the flutter in your chest betrayed you.

the food arrived and for a while you just existed in the moment. complimenting the dishes, laughing about how his plate looked fancier but yours tasted better. he slid a perfectly sliced piece of steak onto your plate without you asking and you absentmindedly twirled a forkful of pasta and held it out to him like it was second nature. like it was something you’ve been doing for years.

then halfway through the meal, mark leans in a little. his elbow resting on the table, chin in hand like he couldn’t help but watch you.

“i don’t know enough about you,” he says suddenly.

you looked up, caught mid-chew and more caught off-guard, “you’ve literally seen me naked, i think you’re doing fine.”

mark laughed — that warm, boyish sound that always cracked you open a little more than you liked to admit. he leaned back slightly, shaking his head, “yeah but i mean know you. like the little things. the stuff people forget to ask but matters more than they think.”

you blinked, slowly setting your fork down, “ok…what do you want to know?”

he lights up like a kid on christmas day, “what’s your favorite color?”

“really, mark?” you laughed, because of all the things he could’ve asked, it was a question as simple as that.

“hey! it’s important especially since i want to buy you gifts,” he shrugs, taking a bite out of his (your) pasta.

you rolled your eyes, smiling anyway “okay. pink.”

mark blinked, surprised. he never would’ve guessed. “pink?”

“mhm,” you said, spearing a bite of the salad in between you, “not like neon pink though but soft pink.”

“didn’t see that coming,” he said grinning. “but it kinda fits…you act all tough but you’re secretly a softie.”

you narrowed your eyes, “careful.”

“just saying,” he chuckled, reaching for his drink.

“alright,” you said, pointing your fork at him, “your turn, favorite color?”

“blue.”

you tilted your head, chewing thoughtfully, a playful grin on your face, “blue because it’s the color of the sky?”

he grinned, “that was the reason…at first,” he said, voice softening, “then you walked up to me, wearing a soft blue sundress during freshman year and the reason changed.”

your fork froze halfway to your mouth. for a second, the air felt heavier, quieter, like the words had rearranged the molecules around you. your eyes widen a little, lips parting as your expression falters between surprise and amusement.

“you remembered what i was wearing?,” you ask in pure disbelief.

“how could i forget?,” he shrugs like he didn’t just confess something that would stay with you for the rest of your life.

“wait…are you saying you’ve had a crush on me since freshman year?,” you asked, your tone teasing.

mark rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning, “i may have had a tiny crush on you back then,” he admits. the smile on your face growing with every second.

the rest of your evening unfolded like a dream you didn’t want to wake from. full of quiet laughter, sharing of favorites and the reason behind them. every answer was like turning a page, revealing another layer neither of you had taken time to read before. between conversation, his hand would find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there. he’d brush your knuckles with his thumb, every movement gentle, deliberate. and every now and then, he’d lean over and kiss you. soft, unhurried kisses that made your skin hum and your stomach flip.

by the time you slid back into his car, the air between you was warm and charged, not with tension but with something more open, more vulnerable. he let you have the aux, learning your favorite songs on the ride back. both of you singing along, sometimes out of tune, sometimes laughing too hard. his hand was in yours the whole drive home. you kissed at stop lights. playful pecks that turned into lingering moments. the city moved around you, but you both felt disconnected. stuck in your own world with a population of two.

when he finally pulled up to your place, you were still laughing about something stupid he’d said. and then it got quiet. the kind of the quiet that meant something more. mark walked you to your door, hand still wrapped around yours like he couldn’t let go.

“tonight was really fun,” you said softly , your arm looped around his neck, fingers playing absentmindedly with his hair.

“yeah?,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple, lingering there for a beat, “would you say i’m you know…boyfriend material?,” he teased, smirking against your skin.

you huffed a laugh, playfully nudging him with your shoulder, “that was so bad.”

he tilts his head to look at your properly, the mischief fading into something gentler, more sincere, “i had the best time.”

you met his gaze, leaning up to kiss him – slow and sweet. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss for a heartbeat before you pulled back, breathless but smiling.

“goodnight, mark,” you whispered, not quite ready for the night to end.

“goodnight kitten,” he said just as softly.

you slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. but your skin still buzzed with his touch, lips still tingling with the memory of his kiss. you leaned against the door, eyes closed, heart racing as the entire night replays in your mind.

outside, mark stares at your door, already missing your presence. he started to bring his fist up for a knock, but then the door opened. again.

he blinked, startled.

you were standing there, eyes already locked on his. you didn’t say a word. neither did he.

because in the next second, he crossed the threshold and kissed you – hard, fast and real. all the restraint of the evening gave way to need. he kicked the door shut behind him, hand blindly finding the lock as his other arm wound around your waist.

you make the familiar steps to your bedroom, lips never leaving his, a quiet gasp escaping you when he lifted you slightly, walking you backward until your knees hit the bed.

and when you made love, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. it was slow, tender. his hands memorized you all over again. his lips marked every inch of your skin. you whispered his name like it meant something new now. he held you like he never wanted to stop.

the morning came and you were still there, wrapped tightly around his arms. body molded perfectly against his like you were always meant to fit there. fingers interlaced like your hands had made a silent promise sometime in the night to never part. mark could see the pink and purple marks blooming where his lips and hands had wandered. he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest — you looked peaceful, like all the weight you usually carried had melted away in the dark, if only for a little while. and in that quiet moment, with the world still hushed around you, he knows that it’s all worth it.

and if he had to do it all over again – the mistakes, the heartache, the waiting. he would. every single time, without hesitation, if it always leads him back to this. back to you. the only thing he’s ever been sure of.

ᓚᘏᗢ

loving mark made you realize that love didn’t have to be a fantasy. it wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows and happily ever afters. but it also wasn’t terrible, screaming at each other at 3am, being left behind on the kitchen floor, crying your eyes out.

it didn’t happen overnight either. there was still fear lingering in the back of your head. but this time you don’t let it take control. this time you don’t let it overpower.

because love with mark is staying, even when you were scared. especially when you were scared. it was comfort and safety. the kind that wrapped around your heart and told you it was okay to let your guard down. it was peace. the kind that didn’t demand you to be anything other than what you were. it was someone showing up at your apartment with your favorite snacks, settling in beside you on the couch while a romcom played and cramps left you curled under a blanket. no pressure to talk. just presence. it’s laughing at terrible jokes until your stomach hurt. arguing about which spiderman was the best. agreeing to disagree, even if you were clearly right. it was fighting over which greasy takeout to get and pretending to be annoyed when he ordered your favorite anyway. it was celebrating the happy moments, the sad moments and everything in between. it’s sticking around when things got hard. still choosing each other when the weight of the world made everything feel heavy. it was learning each other and unlearning old patterns. being patient. building something new, one honest conversation at a time. it was asking, “do you want advice or do you just want me to listen?” it was hearing the answer and respecting it.

it wasn’t about fixing each other or needing someone to fill a space inside you. it was about wanting to be there. it was about choosing to stay again and again and again.

𓏲 the end.

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: mark x kitten coded -> video one, video two, video three

an: and 3/7 is done! i hit the 1000 text block limit thing on here and it was awful. it’s not my fault they’re both yappers and i write way too much when mark is involved! i hope i was still able to convey the tension and longing in those long ass paragraphs >.< …. anyways, this was supposed to end the moment she walked away but i couldn’t do it! i had to give mark a happy ending, he deserves it!. kitten was so hard to write like why am i writing a character with past trauma and real, raw, emotions that are hitting too close to home… this is supposed to be a fun, silly rom-com. but i hope you liked her! i hope you liked them. thank you for reading! <3

VOTE HERE FOR THE NEXT STORY

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

love tags : @bluedbliss @yesohhsehun @tynlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @2sungie @euphormiia @ptv-hades @imnotrosiee @remgeolli

#kaida’s favs

2K notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 1 month ago

Text

this is (not) easy. (m.l)

PAIRING: mark lee x reader GENRE: fwb, f2l, crack humour, fluff, smut, angst WORD COUNT: 13.2k

SYNOPSIS: getting into a friends with benefits situation with your all time best friend was so (not) easy

CONTENT WARNINGS: explicit content, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, sofa sex, doggy, creampies, big dick mark as always (he gets cocky bc his cock is big), a lot of crack humour, kissing, make-outs, sorta slow burn, heavily implied jaemin x reader moments, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed

[AN]: a thank you gift for being patient with me while i take some time off, and also a thank you gift for the follower milestone. you guys are insane.. i love you.

“Wait, you what?” You screech incredulously, not caring about the loudness of your tone as you abruptly straighten up in your seat, the legs squeaking against the wooden flooring of the library. Other students with their heads shoved in books and laptop screens peek over to shush you angrily, one warning you about the volume of your voice but you pay them no attention as you’re staring wide eyed at Mark who sits across from you sheepishly.

Mark Lee—one of the hot throbs living on campus, the smartest and kindest guy in class, and the biggest marvel freak has been your bestest friend for the past few years, having met in the middle of a school’s basketball court where fourteen-year-old Mark had tried to shoot some hoops to impress his newfound friends, only for the ball to come flying straight at your face and leaving you with a swollen eyeball and a busted up nose.

Mark was unbelievably apologetic, buying jellies and ripping up flowers from potted plants to give to you, begging for your forgiveness over and over again until you socked him in the face, giving him a hefty nosebleed and a bruised cheek. A toothy grin was spread across your cheeks as you had taken the gifts out of his hands, a happy ‘now we’re even!’ leaving your lips as you had ripped open the packet, offering a jelly, offering your friendship.

The two of you became inseparable and if someone saw one of you, they knew that the other would be trailing along behind them. You were two peas in a pod, the dynamic duo. You were so joined at the hip that when you both enrolled for college, you tried signing up for a dorm on campus, wanting to be roommates.

It didn’t happen much to both of your dismay. Mark ended up rooming with one of his friends, Jaemin, while you got stuck with some girl you didn’t even know but had become acquainted with over a short period of time.

Still, you and Mark never strayed far from each other even with your roommates lingering around. Mark slept over at your place from time to time and vice versa, you’re certain that he even has a drawer for himself in your dresser filled with spare shirts, sweatpants and underwear. A lot of your mutual friends found it suspicious how you two could be so close with nothing going on, complaining how neither of you could be just friends even though it was the truth. You are just friends, you’re best friends.

“I’m just saying you’re complaining about not hooking up with someone for a few days while I haven’t slept with someone for, like, a month” Mark repeats to you with flushed cheeks, adjusting the black cap on his head with one hand while other skilfully flips a pen around his fingers, bottom lip jutting out. “Times are hard, dude. I got assignments coming out of my ass—”

“There’s no way you haven’t hooked up with someone recently” You hiss between teeth, refusing to believe a word that comes out of his mouth when he’s talking about such nonsense. A student from the table next to yours turns around in their seat in annoyance to look at you, pressing their finger aggressively against their lips to tell you to quiet down and you scoff, throwing them the middle finger with your own irritancy and annoyance.

“Can you not?” Mark scolds you as he wraps his hand around your own, squeezing in warning as he pushes it back down to the table and sends the student an apologetic smile, and as always, it works like a charm as they shyly smile back and return back to their book. It makes you scoff again and Mark is quick to look at you, “I’m telling you the truth, you know”

“Bullshit” You murmur, sending him a glare. “That girl from my study group was over at your dorm last weekend—I saw her snapchat stories”

“Dude, we’re in the same study group. She came over for some of my notes and stayed longer because Jaemin offered her an ounce of his ‘premium weed’” Mark explains, putting emphasis around the word ‘premium weed’ which has you snorting, knowing that there was nothing premium about Jaemin’s stash. “She eventually ended up sleeping over and fucking Jeno anyways”

Your face contorts into a look of confusion at that, “What? Jeno isn’t even your roommate?”

“I know,” Mark grimaces. “Jaemin’s sheets are still in the dryer”

“Oh…” You pause, humming as the realisation finally hits you. “So that’s why Jaemin didn’t have any sheets on his bed when I came over on Monday”

“Yea—wait, you came over Monday?” Mark’s head snaps towards you, eyes narrowing in on you as he jabs his pen in your direction. “Did you fuck in my bed?!

“No, of course not” You scoff, deeply offended by his accusation and Mark lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing his shoulders as he leans back into his chair. “We actually fucked on the sofa—”

“Are you fucking kidding m—”

“That’s besides the point!!” You cut him off before he can grill into you, silencing him as you raise your hand in front of his face as he tries to retaliate again. “You haven’t fucked anyone in a month, Mark. That’s… that’s blasphemy!!”

Mark deadpans, “I’m pretty sure that’s not blasphemy”

“Whatever, you know what I mean” You discard it, shoving your books and pens as far away from you as you possibly could, no longer interested in studying the endless amount of words on that page now that you’ve discovered your best friend hasn’t gotten laid in so long. You sit comfortably in your chair as you fully face him, tucking your legs beneath you. “I can’t believe you fucked someone in a month…”

“You’re telling me” Mark huffs, deciding to push away his studies too for the time being as he rubs at his face in frustration, groaning beneath his palms. You console him with a frown, rubbing his shoulder in pity and Mark drops his hands to his lap, looking over at you with a glare. “I can’t believe you didn’t believe me, dude… why would I lie about something like that?!”

“I don’t know—you fuck more than I do, of course I’m not gonna believe a word you say when you tell me something like that!!” You’re quick to defend yourself, both you and Mark knowing you’re speaking the truth.

Mark does fuck more than you. His boyish charm and adorable face doesn’t hide the fact that his body count is currently sitting in its twenties and that his online bank statements show how many packs of condoms he’s buying weekly, and maybe a few plan B’s lingering there somewhere for extra precaution. He was always on the safe side which didn’t surprise you, he was nowhere ready to be extremely stupid and possibly impregnate someone, especially a stranger.

“Dude… you didn’t have to say it out loud like that…” Mark mutters under his breath, cheeks dusting a slight pink as another student turns around in their seat to glare at the pair of you and comically widens her eyes as she meets Mark’s, shyly tucking her hair behind her ears with a kind smile that Mark reciprocates. You scoff at her reaction and lean back in your seat just as Mark’s attention is brought back to you. “Are we done with this conversation? I’d like to change the topic from my non-existent sex life to something more appealing”

“Fine… you still going to Johnny’s later?”

“Nah, he’s got some important family thing to go to so we’re hanging another time” Mark sighs softly, taking the cap off of his head to run his fingers through his hair before adjusting it back on. “You cool if I came over with you?”

“Sure” You grin, already shoving your books into your tote bag, eager to leave the library as soon as you possibly can. Mark snorts in amusement but follows closely behind as he shoves his own belongings into his backpack and rests the strap on his shoulder. You turn your head to see the girl still staring over at Mark and you smirk, slamming one hand on the desk in front of her to get her attention before jabbing your thumb in Mark’s direction. “If you want his number, I can give it to you. He’s been stuck in a dry spell recently so—”

Mark’s fingers curl around your elbow, dragging you away from the traumatised girl with a huff, “Move”

“I’ve been thinking about something…” You begin after a few hefty hours of studying and bingeing out on food, dropping your chopsticks in the empty ramen cup and pushing it to the side. Mark sits beside you on the sofa, his own ramen cup in hand as he stares at his laptop screen, taking in the words that need to be remembered for his class.

Mark gives you a pointed look as he slurps his ramen, “That doesn’t sound good”

“Wow, hilarious” You deadpan with a roll of your eyes as he chuckles under his breath, turning his head back to the laptop screen. “Anyway—and hear me out before you say some dumbass shit—I’ve been thinking about something that relates to that little problem we both have, and I may have just thought of a way to fix it”

“Why are you still hung up on this?” Mark whines between mouthfuls. “I don’t want to be reminded that I’m not having sex, dude—"

“Ah!” You hold up your hand to shush him and he goes cross eyed to stare at your palm. “I said hear me out”

“Okay”

“Great! Okay, so, me and you are the best of friends, right? Like, we always help each other out and—”

“Where is this going?”

“Hear. Me. Out” You warn once more and Mark sighs, nodding his head to let you continue. “We always help each other out, right? And there’s no awkwardness between us at all which makes us close. Do you remember that time we had to make-out in front of Sejun so he would stop awkwardly hitting on me? And that time I pretended to be your girlfriend so Rina would get the hint that you didn’t want to fuck her anymore?”

“That didn’t exactly work out because we slept with them a few days after it happened—”

“That’s not the point” You say as you frustratingly rub at your temples. “The point is that we always help each other out, no matter what the situation is because we’re best friends. So, as best friends, I think we should help each other out with our little situation”

“And how can we help each other out”

“By fucking each other” The second those words leave your lips, Mark chokes on his ramen, fist banging against his chest as he coughs, eyes watery and face red and it has you cackling, wishing you had your phone nearby to take a picture. Mark takes deep breaths as he finally consumes air, reaching down to grab his bottle of water that rests beside the leg of the sofa, gulping it down almost immediately. “You’re so dramatic”

“And you’re crazy!!” Mark shoots back, water droplets falling from his chin as he looks at you with wide eyes. “Do you realise what you just said?”

You grin, “Perfectly!”

“We’re not fucking each other, it’ll be too weird” You instantly find offense to that, your jaw dropping and Mark rolls his eyes. “We’re best friends. Best friends don’t do that type of shit—Stop looking at me like that!”

You huff, turning your head away from him childishly, “I’m just trying to help us out. I don’t think it’ll be weird, people have done weirder”

“Do you know how many friendships have been ruined because they fucked?” Mark questions you and you take a moment to ponder, wincing as you can easily name a few from the top of your head. “Exactly. As much as I find you attractive, I’m not going to ruin our friendship. We’ve been best friends for too long”

Your head slowly whirls back to Mark who’s already staring at you and you smile, flirtily batting your eyelashes at him, “You think I’m attractive?”

“You’re unbelievable, jesus fucking chri—” Mark cuts himself off, rubbing his forehead as he exhales deeply due to his frustration. You beam at the thought of getting under his skin, but you roll your eyes and reach over to press your foot into his side to bring his attention back to you.

Mark looks over at you with a deadpan expression and you grin softly, tilting your head to the side as you admire the view. You’ve always found Mark attractive even if it was in a friendly way, and you’d be lying if you said that sleeping with him has never crossed your mind, but that’s because you’re nosy and want to see what all the fuss is about when you continuously hear the girls gush about what he’s like in bed.

Some say he’s pretty giving, tending to their needs in all ways possible while others say he comes across as needy and desperate, begging for his cock to be sucked. It piques your interest immensely… Maybe it was wrong of you to think that way about someone you know so well, but you’re human after all, sometimes you can’t help the way you think.

“Look…” You speak first. “What I said was just a suggestion, okay? If you don’t want to do it then that’s fine—”

“How do you know that it won’t ruin our friendship?” Mark cuts you off and your eyebrows raise in surprise at the question. “We’ve been friends for, like, nine years or something, dude… I don’t know about you but I don’t want to throw that all away because we messed up and decided to fuck each other just because we’re horny”

“We’re not going to get into anything serious” You tell him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Sure, we’re probably going to be in some type of friends with benefits situation but we’re not going to include any of that ‘official’ or ‘exclusive’ bullshit. We just fuck each other for a release when we can’t find it anywhere else, it’s as simple as that. No complications”

“So…” Mark purses his lips in deep thought. “We can still fuck other people?”

You scoff, “Of course. You think I’d drop Jaemin for you that easily?”

“Fuck you”

Your lips curl into a smirk, “I’m hoping you would”

Mark stares at you before chuckling, shaking his head as his tongue pokes at his cheek. The little act spurs you on but you remain seating, wanting Mark to make the first move if he was game in fucking you to help relieve the stress you’re both feeling, maybe Mark more than you considering you fucked Jaemin a few days ago, but you were desperate to be filled again.

You watch Mark ponder for a moment, his bottom lip jutting down deep in thought, brows pulling together as he thinks about the pros and cons. His hands come up to pull the cap off of his head, his hair messily falling in front of his eyes and your thighs press together at the thought of seeing it between your legs with your fingers tangled through the locks. You snort at how deluded you sound.

“What time does your roommate come back tonight?” Mark questions you, his low voice bringing you out of your thoughts and your body buzzes with excitement, reaching over to snag your phone off of the coffee table to check the time and you grin wildly when you realise she won’t be home for another three hours. You inform him immediately and he nods, “Cool. Good to know”

“So?” You press, chucking your phone back onto the coffee table as you look at him expectedly. “What’s it going to be?”

“No titles—”

“None at all”

“We can still fuck whoever we want—”

“Even the neighbours”

“And most importantly…” Mark pauses with a deep sigh, leaning closer to you and holding up his hand with his pinky finger outstretched. “We’re still best friends”

“It’ll be like nothing ever changed” You say softly with a smile, raising your own hand to curl your pinky finger around his own, squeezing tightly. It’s silent between you both for a while and you can clearly see the cogs turning inside Mark’s head as he thinks about his next move, yet you’re the one that takes the initiative.

You rip your hand away from his to throw your arms around his shoulders, dragging him towards you to plant your lips on his in a heated kiss. You’re surprised at how fast Mark responds as his palms come up to cup your cheeks, tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper as his tongue moulds with yours.

The few drunken kisses you’ve shared with Mark to help each other out of situations is nothing like the kiss you’re experiencing now and it catches you extremely off guard. You almost expected him to allow you to take control of the situation and lead him through, but with the way Mark’s pushing you down to the sofa and crawling in between your open legs with his lips still attached to yours, you’re stumped.

“Wait” You stop him, pressing your hand against his shoulder to push him back and Mark moves away with puckered lips, his fingers hovering above the waistband of your shorts which causes you to snort, “Why are we doing this on the sofa when there’s a perfectly good bed in my room?”

Mark glares down at you, “That didn’t stop you and Jaemin fucking on my sofa”

“Actually, there was no sheets on Jaemin’s bed, so—”

“Think of this as payback” Mark smiles at you sweetly and you snarl, knocking your knee against his side with force and he laughs through clenched teeth, “Besides, you’ve probably fucked a lot of people on this sofa…. Do you really care?”

“Are you implying that I’m a slut”

“Yeah”

“God, that’s so hot of you”

Mark snorts out a laugh and leans down to reconnect your lips as his hands pull your shorts and underwear down your legs, carelessly throwing them somewhere to the side and you hiss at the cold air that hits, yearning for warmth.

Mark’s lips trail down your throat and to the collar of your shirt, heading south to where your thighs shake in anticipation, watching as he shifts down to lay between your legs, hands pushing against your knees to spread you apart further.

Your hand reaches down to pull the cap off of his head, revealing his messy hair beneath and you toss it over the sofa, caring so little about where it lands as you thread your fingers through his locks, trying to tug him closer but he barely budges, staring up at you with his brows laced together.

“Hurry” You whine.

“Are you always this impatient?”

“Of course” You look at him like he’s stupid. “We’re both doing this for a reason and it’s to cum, not to take our sweet little time and—Oh fuck!”

“You talk too much” He drags his tongue through your folds, the pink muscle swirling around your clit and your body jerks, a gasp flying past your lips as you dig your fingers further into his hair, the feeling of his tongue wiggling between your folds and licking upwards to flick over your clit before his fingers tease at your entrance.

Your body goes slack against the sofa cushions as he eases his two digits inside the warmth of your walls, curling his fingers upwards as his lips wrap around your sensitive bud and you whine, tugging on his hair a little harder which causes him to groan, the vibrations causing goosebumps to rise to your skin.

You’re in shock at how well Mark uses his tongue and fingers against you. You’ve heard stories from your girl friends and Mark himself, but you didn’t realise he was this good and it completely caught you off track, unable to control the noises that rip from your chest when he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your pussy while his tongue continues to work wonders on your clit.

“Mark” You say his name with a moan, thighs twitching and closing in around his head and you feel him smile against your cunt, causing you to squeeze around his head in warning, “Stop it”

“You gonna cum already?” He asks as he lifts his head, mouth glistening with your arousal and his fingers hitting the spot that has your toes curling and back arching against the cushions. “You can cum, if you want. Let it go”

“You’re so cocky” You chuckle, but your amusement slips away and is overcome by pleasure as he pumps his fingers a few more times, the tightening band in your stomach snapping as you cum all over his hand, gasping through high pitched whines and trying to control the convulsing movement of your body.

“That’s it” Mark hums, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. “There you go…”

“Oh my god” You choke out, your hand falling limp on his shoulder as it drops from his hair, your fingers twitching over the material. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Me eating you out” He answers simply with smugness in his tone, popping his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean and your mouth drops in shock at the action. “You good?”

“Yeah, good” You nod dumbly, completely astonished at how nonchalant Mark is, watching as he tugs his jeans and boxers down his legs awkwardly when he sits up, your eyes immediately zoning in on his cock that slaps against his stomach once freed from its confinements.

Truthfully, you’ve seen Mark naked as he’s so comfortable stripping in front of you without any thought. But, you’ve never seen Mark hard and the sight alone is enough to have your mouth watering in anticipation. Your best friend is huge.

“Okay” Mark speaks to himself, shuffling forwards on his knees and hooking his hands under the back of yours to pull you closer, his thumbs caressing your skin. “You ready? You know there’s no turning back from this, right?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be” You grin, wiggling against him excitedly. “Give me what you got, baby!”

“Don’t call me that, dude” Mark tuts, shaking his head as he slowly slides his cock into you. Your eyes slowly start to widen at the stretch, the burn obvious in your thighs and your hand flies down to his in hopes to slow down his movements despite him going as slow as he possibly could.

You breathe steadily through your nose, lips pressed together tightly as you wince at the uncomfortable ache that spreads, your pussy squeezing down on him as if you were trying to prevent him from entering any further.

“Ow” You mutter beneath your breath, twisting your hips to try and get comfortable and relax but you wince at the movement you make, causing Mark to raise his head from where you’re connected to look into your eyes, his own pooling with concern.

“You alright?”

“Mhm” You hum with a curt nod. “Nothing of that significant size has been up there before, you know? I’m just… feeling uncomfortable, that’s all”

His lips curl into a grin, “You calling my dick big?”

You give him a hardened glare, “Not as big as your fucking head”

Mark laughs loudly, his hand laying flat across your lower tummy as he adjusts himself in between your legs, head ducking down to watch himself carefully push into you once more but the second your legs tense up, he sighs apologetically and strokes your tummy as he slides out of you and you whine at the feeling of emptiness, looking at him with a pout.

“Hold on…” He tells you softly, gently grabbing your waist to help flip you over on all fours, his hands sliding around your back and pressing down slightly, arching it to hold you in place as you feel his cock prod at your entrance. “This should feel better. But tell me if it still hurts, okay? I don’t want to hurt you anymore”

“Just—” You grit your teeth together. “Just fuck me, Mark”

“Okay” Mark whispers as he eases himself into you again at a slow pace and you gasp, your fingers gripping the arm of the sofa, your head dropping to rest on the cushions as you try to control your breathing. The new position was definitely better than the last, but you can still feel him stretch you out to fit you around his cock. “Is my dick really that big?”

“Are you asking because you’re concerned or because you want me to boost your ego?”

Mark smiles, “Maybe both”

You don’t even get a chance to retaliate as Mark begins to fill you up completely, his hips pressing against your ass and you whine at how full you feel, unable to think properly as he pulls his cock out, leaving the tip nestled in your cunt before thrusting back in.

He curses loudly behind you, fingers digging into your hips as he rocks his hips into you, his powerful thrusts sending your body jerking forwards. You squeeze around his cock and he moans, his pace speeding up and you can’t help but fuck yourself back onto him, whining and panting at the pleasure that swirls in the pit of your tummy.

The sound of skin slapping against skin is enough to have your eyes rolling back, the lewd sounds driving you even closer to the edge along with his rapid thrusts and continuous cursing. You’re positive you can hear him mumble about how ‘fucking tight your pussy’ is. You would’ve never guessed he was into such dirty talk, Mark continues to amaze you.

Your pussy swallows around his length when you feel his hand sneak beneath your body to reach between your fingers, the pads of his fingers rubbing diligent circles on your clit and you mewl, your own hand coming down to latch around his wrist.

“Sh...shit” You slur, drool seeping past the corner of your lips. “So good—Fuck, don’t stop—s’good”

“I’m not gonna stop” You hear Mark whisper and you could feel the tears build up in your eyes as Mark leans over your body, holding himself up with one hand on the arm of the sofa, his other playing with your clit as he quickens his thrusts, his cock hitting deeper than before that it has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your body tenses up as his cock ploughs into your cunt, repeatedly hitting that spot over and over before your second orgasm of the night hits you violently.

Your screams are muffled by your own hand, walls pulsating around his cock as you cum, struggling to hold up your weight as your body falls limp on the sofa, pleasure buzzing through your veins and sending your mind whirling as Mark fucks you through it to reach his own high, moving his hand from your clit to rest on your lower back, arching your ass up to fuck you deeper.

“Where do you want me to cum?” He pants, his thumb stroking the top of your ass cheeks. “Fuck, tell me where I can cum”

“Anywhere you want” You garble your words, turning your head to the side to look at him, noticing how his eyes widen slightly.

“Anywhere?” Mark repeats as he slows his hips and you nod, yelping in shock when he pulls out of you completely and flips your body around once more, staring at him in surprise as he crawls up your body, resting his one hand on your cheek and pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. “Here?”

Instead of giving him a verbal answer, you open wide and Mark grins, pushing the head of his cock into your mouth and sighing as your lips close around him, letting you suckle on his tip as he cums in long spurts down your throat, brows lacing together in pleasure and moaning softly as your tongue presses against his slit, drinking up everything he gives to you.

It’s silent between you both as Mark removes himself from above you, opting to crash down in the limited space between your body and the sofa, running his fingers through his sweaty hair as he breathes heavily.

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what had just happened, staring between Mark’s naked lower half and yours before you abruptly sit up, rolling onto your knees as you stare down at him incredulously.

“Dude!” You screech, punching his shoulder with such force that has him wincing.

“Ow! Jesus Chri—”

“What the fuck?! Why did you tell me you were that good?” You immediately cut him off, not allowing him to speak as you shake your head. “We should’ve done this years ago!!”

Mark rolls his eyes in annoyance despite the grin that spreads across his lips as he throws his arm over his face, “Shut up”

“Okay, so, let me repeat that—” Renjun pauses to chew and swallow his sandwich, pointing between you and Mark on the opposite side of the table “—you two decided to fuck each other last night because neither of you have fucked someone in a long time and now you’ve made some sort of deal that when you can’t find release elsewhere, you’ll go to each other?”

“Yeah”

“What the fuck?!” Renjun exclaims, looking at you both as if you’ve grown an extra head before abruptly turning to Donghyuck and Jaemin who sit silently together, watching everything unfold. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything?!”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be” Donghyuck shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he turns to look at you with his brows laced together, “Although, I’m kind of offended you didn’t ask me to fuck you”

You grimace, “It makes me queasy thinking about where your dick has been”

“When was the last time you got tested, Hyuck?” Mark teases, a slight smirk curling at the end of his lips as he leans back into his chair, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. Donghyuck rolls his eyes and retaliates by throwing him the middle finger to which Mark laughs at.

“And you’re okay with this?” Renjun questions Jaemin who slowly nods as he rolls a blunt beneath the table, lips pursed in concentration.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He grumbles, lifting his eyes to Renjun and raises a brow before looking back down to his lap. “Besides, sometimes I get so faded that I can’t even get my dick up. She needs good dick and I can’t give it to her when I’m that out of it”

You gasp in awe, reaching out to pinch his cheek, “You are so thoughtful!”

“So I’m the only sane person that thinks this is a stupid idea?” Renjun shakes his head in disbelief, biting into his sandwich with a sigh. His eyes widen, a piece of lettuce hanging from his mouth as he erratically pats his pockets, “Where’s Jeno? Somebody text Jeno”

“You know damn well Jeno isn’t going to give a shit” Donghyuck cackles. “Pretty sure he fucked his best girl friend last year”

“Yeah? And where is she now?” Renjun looks at you all for an answer and you frown, sinking into your seat with your arms crossed over your chest, “Exactly!!”

“Come on, dude, it’s not like that…” Mark tries to explain. “We talked about it. We’re not doing any of that exclusive or official stuff, we’re not making it weird”

“Meaning we can still fuck whoever we want” You add on, turning to look at Jaemin with a pretty smile and he looks back at you with a smirk, dropping his left eye into a flirtatious wink before resuming back in rolling his joint.

“So, what I’m hearing is—” Donghyuck pauses, leaning his elbows on his table and resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he bats his eyelashes at you, “There’s still a chance for you to fuck me?”

“I have more of a chance of getting fucked than you, Hyuck” Jeno’s voice interrupts from behind and you whiz around in your seat, grinning as you see Jeno nearing towards your table with his jacket in one hand and his books in the other.

He greets you all with a smile, placing his belongings down on the table before grabbing an empty chair from another, scraping the metal across the floor as he drags it to place beside Mark, slapping his hand down on his shoulder in greeting as he sits.

“Anyway, what are we talking about?”

“Mark and Y/N fucked” Renjun immediately jumps into it and you sigh, throwing your head back in frustration as Mark laughs beside you. “And they’re going to continue to fuck whenever they have no one else to, so—”

“Cool”

Renjun stares at Jeno incredulously. “That’s not cool!! You’re all helpless, every single one of you”

Jeno pulls a face, “You know, it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be—”

“That’s what I said~” Donghyuck sings.

“—and besides, they’re grown adults, they can do whatever they want” Jeno’s words make your brows raise with little surprise, watching as he flips open his book and grabs the pen that rests behind his ear, tugging off the cap with his teeth before looking at you, “I’m surprised it took you this long to actually hook-up, I thought it would’ve happened months ago”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just means I thought you two would’ve fucked months ago” Jeno smiles and shrugs innocently, blowing the cap out of his mouth and catching it with his hand before he begins scribbling on the pages and you roll your eyes, craning your neck over your shoulder to look at Mark who shrugs his own shoulders, not fully understanding the meaning of Jeno’s words but chooses not to dwell on it any longer as he reaches for his drink, sipping through the straw as he gives his attention to Donghyuck who angles his phone in his direction to show him something that you could barely see.

Renjun shakes his head in disbelief, shoving the last remaining bite of his sandwich into his mouth and grabbing his own book out of his backpack to take notes alongside Jeno before comically raising his head up to point his pen at you and Mark.

“Also, I don’t want to hear any complaining from either of you when this whole ‘friends with benefits relationship’ bullshit ends up going to literal shit” Renjun warns before slowly turning the pen to point it as himself, “Because I will laugh in your face and simply say, ‘I told you so’”

A scoff leaves your lips as Mark speaks up, “Relax, dude, everything is going to be fine. And besides, it could just be a one time thing… It might not even happen again” Mark eyes you, “Right?”

Your lips curl into a smile as you lean your elbows on the table, chin resting on the palm of your hand as you give him a short nod, “Right”

“Mark, Mark, Mark” You moan out his name repeatedly, back arching off of your bed and gripping the pillows behind your head, mouth open wide as Mark’s fingers pump in and out of your pussy, waves of slick splashing onto the sheets below and his boxers. He laughs as you shove your face into your arm, body trembling and whines slipping past your lips from the overwhelming sensation of him fucking you with his fingers.

Your legs clamp shut around his hand but he’s already prying you back open with his other, holding them down to the bed as his fingers curl up into the sweet spot that has you trembling through your orgasm, almost bringing yourself to tears at the pressure in the pit of your tummy.

“There we go…” Mark hums, milking you for every drop you can give. You quiver and gasp as Mark comes to a stop, grinning as he pulls his fingers away from your cunt and you mewl, struggling to raise your foot and kick him in his side but he captures your ankle in his grasp, drawing circles with his fingertips. “You good?”

“You good” You mock with a scoff, arms flopping to your sides as you take a deep breath, ignoring the way Mark laughs again. “I felt like I was going crazy... that was intense”

“Thank you” Mark cheeses, eyes beaming as he slips off of your bed. “You need to change your sheets though”

“So gentlemanly of you to offer to help” You mutter sarcastically under your breath with a tut, standing up from the bed and your knees buckle beneath you, causing you to reach out and grab onto a surface to steady yourself, throwing your middle finger up in Mark’s direction as he snickers.

He tells you to go shower while he takes care of the sheets and you immediately oblige, patting his arm in a quick thank you as you wobble out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, eager to clean yourself up after previous activities.

You take a little longer than usual to shower, taking your time to scrub your body clean and even wash your hair, not even caring about what Mark could be doing inside your home as he waits for you, but you pause your routine as you begin to think about your relationship with Mark.

You’ve been hooking up for almost three weeks, showing up at each other's place whenever you’re in need of sex and getting the deed done before hanging out, getting a bite to eat or even watching something on the TV. You still sleep with Jaemin, you’ve even fucked Jaemin and Mark on the same day. Mark doesn’t care, and personally neither do you, but you start to recall the amount of times you have chosen Mark over Jaemin, and it was a lot.

You and Mark fuck whenever you have no one else to go to, yet given the choices… you still choose Mark.

“Dude!” Mark bangs his fist on the bathroom door, yanking you out of your thoughts, “I need to piss, hurry up!”

“Just come in!” You yell back at him, frowning as you face the stream of water to let the soap run off your body as you mumble, “It’s not like you haven’t barged in before”

You hear the door yank open behind the shower curtain and you poke your head around just in time for Mark to unzip his pants to relieve himself, his head tilting back with a sigh. His eyes meet yours and his brows pull together, giving you an odd look.

“What?”

“Can I ask you a question?” He blinks before giving you a nod, “Are you still fucking other people?”

“Yeah” That answer relieves you a bit. “I was with Arin last weekend”

“Okay, I have another question”

“Why are you—”

“I’m asking the questions” You cut him off and he chuckles, nodding for you to continue as he zips up his pants and washes his hands. “Has Arin, or any other girl, been available on the same day that I’ve asked you to come over?”

“Um…” Mark ponders for a moment, his bottom lip poking out in deep thought as he dries his hands on the towel. “Yeah, I think so”

“And who did you choose to go to?”

“You” It shocks you at how fast he answers and you grip the shower curtain for support, the slippery floor of the shower almost making you tumble. He chose you too. Is that wrong? You’re uncertain and it makes you feel a little uneasy. Surely there must be a reasonable explanation to why you choose each other instead of fucking the other available people. “Why are you asking me that anyways?”

“Curious” You say as you close the curtain shut to block him out and continue showering, ignoring the way he’s laughing and muttering beneath his breath how funny you are. “Wait, I have another question—”

“Ask me when you’re done showering”

“Why?” Your voice turns sultry as you begin to smirk, “Is knowing that I’m naked behind this flimsy shower curtain turning you on?”

Mark doesn’t answer, instead his arm shoots out from behind the curtain, hand curling around the tap to turn the temperature of the water, laughing like a maniac as he hears you scream from the cold water that splashes on your skin.

You hated birthdays.

Realistically, you hated your birthday. You hated knowing you’re getting older every year, desperately wanting to go back to the ages where all you worried about was not making a fool of yourself in front of someone you crushed on or not knowing the biggest high school gossip about who was seeing who behind whoever's back. Now, at your growing age, all you worry about is failing college and not being able to get a good job to provide a future for yourself.

You wish nobody knew it was your birthday, but having such close friends who knew you better than you knew yourself, it wasn’t going to be easy, and you nearly spun around and darted out of campus when you saw Donghyuck twirling a gift bag in hand with helium balloons that spelled out ‘birthday girl’ in big, bold letters tied to his wrist.

“Oh! There she is!”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“Happy birthday!” Donghyuck yells loudly when you reach their circle, letting your backpack drop to the grass beside Jaemin who looks up at you with a dopey smile. Donghyuck shoves the gift bag into your lap when you finally sit down, huffing at the weight of the bag. “I bought you something!!”

“We told him not to” Jeno tells you, a cigarette hanging between his lips as he looks at you through his bangs, “But as always, Donghyuck doesn’t listen”

“And I never will” Donghyuck chirps, untying the string of the balloons from around his wrist to tie them around yours instead, ignoring the dark look you give him as he smiles cheekily at you, “Look inside. It’s all the essentials you need, pretty”

“I swear to god, If you—”

“Shh” He presses his fingers against your lips. “Less talking, more looking”

You roll your eyes, whacking his hand away from your face before peering into the bag, a soft laugh leaving your lips when you first see two bottles of your favourite alcoholic beverage and a few chocolates, but you immediately deadpan when you see a pack of condoms and a plan B box sandwiched between the pair, staring back at you.

Jaemin peers over your shoulder to drop a premade joint and a few gummies into the bag for later but makes a funny noise when he sees the condom pack, dipping his hand inside the bag to pull it out, throwing it back at Donghyuck who fumbles to catch it.

“Hey—”

“She doesn’t use condoms”

Donghyuck gapes, slowly turning his head towards you with his eyes wide as he leans forward, his nose brushing against yours as he speaks lowly, “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?”

“Positive” You giggle and pat his cheek as he whines in defeat, slumping back into his own space. “Thank you for the gifts, but please… you know I hate celebrating my birthday. And were the balloons really necessary too? Did you have to make it more obvious?”

“But the balloons are pretty” Donghyuck frowns, tugging on the string.

“She doesn’t like balloons, dude”

Your head whizzes around so quickly that you’re positive you could hear it crack at the speed, grinning wildly when you see Mark standing behind you looking at your balloons in disgust, and your brows raise in surprise when you see Arin beside him. You greet her with a wave and she reciprocates, wishing you a quiet happy birthday which you thank her for and you gesture them both to join you in your circle but Arin shakes her head with an apology, announcing that she has to meet up with someone else.

You watch as she places her hand on Mark’s bicep and asks if they can meet up later but Mark shakes his head, telling her that he already has plans and her face deflates before nodding in understanding, bidding him and the rest of you goodbye before leaving.

Mark lets out a huff as he drops down to the grass, stretching out his legs and knocking his foot against yours, mouthing you a quick happy birthday and you smile in gratitude.

“Arin seems to be hanging out with you a lot recently” Jeno points out, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing out the smoke in Renjun’s direction, causing him to cough and swat the smoke away with the book he’s got his face buried in. “You like her?”

Mark shakes his head, “No. She was just asking me if I wanted to come over this weekend”

“Are you?”

“Nah” Mark mindlessly starts plucking the grass, avoiding everyone's eyes as they zone in on him. “I don’t have time, got some assignments to finish for my classes”

Hearing him say he hasn’t got the time sparks interest in you and you begin to wonder if Mark would end up asking you for some well needed release. It excites you, especially when you realise you haven’t been under or on top of him in a few days and you press your thighs together at the thought of possibly being dicked down sooner rather than later.

It’s a birthday gift, you think to yourself when you try to give an excuse to why you’re so needy to be fucked by Mark. It’s just a birthday gift. Yet, you have Jaemin right beside you, someone who’s easily available and someone who used to be frequent in giving you the best birthday sex.

You could ask Jaemin to come over tonight, but why isn’t the question being asked? Why does it feel like you’re stopping yourself from asking something so simple and easy? Perhaps you’re so used to sleeping with Mark that it doesn’t even occur to you to ask someone else anymore. Jaemin doesn’t seem to be bothered, maybe because he’s been getting his fix elsewhere too, so why does it bother you?

A soft call of your name brings you out of your thoughts and you turn your head towards the source, seeing Mark looking back at you with a kind smile. He shuffles further into the circle to get closer to you, voice dipping low as he speaks.

“Come home with me later? I have something for you”

“What is it?” You ask back, excitement filling your voice. Even though you weren’t a big fan of celebrating your birthday and receiving gifts, there was no doubt in your mind that Mark was probably one of the best people to receive gifts from, knowing he usually goes above and beyond to give you the most memorable birthday. You smile when you remember the three-day spa voucher he gave you last year when he had taken you away for the weekend.

It was the most breath-taking cabin you have ever been to, the sunset above the lake still photographed in your memory. The sight was beautiful, and you were grateful to have seen it with your best friend.

“You’ll find out” Mark tells you with a smile, refusing to give you a hint of any sort as he turns his attention to Renjun to engage in a conversation and you pout, shoulders slumping in defeat and Donghyuck knocks his arm against yours, voice dipping low as he whispers in your ear.

“That plan B will come in handy after all—OUCH!”

“This is fucking ridiculous” You giggle as you’re blindly walked in Mark’s apartment, his hands covering your eyes to prevent you from seeing anything even though you tried to peek through the gaps between his fingers. Mark’s chest rumbles against your back as he laughs, waiting for you to toe off your shoes at the entrance before leading you further into the apartment.

You have the layout completely mapped out in your head from the amount of times you’ve been at his place, already knowing that he’s bringing you into the kitchen just by the cold marbling that you feel beneath your feet.

You almost trip as Mark plants you down on a chair and he whispers a countdown in your ears before he removes his hands from your face. Your vision is blurry for a moment and you try to adjust to your surroundings with a few blinks, your jaw dropping in awe as the splotches begin to disperse, allowing you to see what’s in front of you.

“Are you kidding me?” You whisper softly in astonishment at the gifts that are presented in front of you on the table. You spot a few of your favourite scented candles stacked on top of each other, a bottle of perfume that you were 100% sure that was sitting in your wishlist on an online store you were browsing a few days prior and a miniature bag with the logo of your favourite jewellery store.

You feel overwhelmed, the urge to cry becoming harder to keep at bay as your eyes water and sting, throat tightening over how thoughtful Mark had been. You turn your head towards him with your bottom lip quivering and Mark snickers, pulling a party hat from god knows where and comes closer to you

“You asshole” You insult jokingly, using the sleeves of your shirt to wipe at your eyes, hoping that the tears wouldn’t dare fall as Mark secures the pointed hat on top of your head. You point to it, “Isn’t this a little cheesy?”

Mark rolls his eyes, snapping the elastic bad against your chin for extra measure and you hiss at the slight sting it causes, punching his arm in retaliation but he pays no mind, smiling to himself as he faces his back to you as he pulls open the refrigerator door to pick up a white squared box. He balances it on the palm of his hand with ease, using his foot to kick the refrigerator door shut as he makes his way back to you.

You’re grinning widely at the thought of what could be inside the box even though you’ve already guessed its cake, rubbing your hands together excitingly as Mark places it on the counter and gently slides it over to you, the box still in his grasp as it stops in front of you, drumming his fingers on the cardboard.

Sensing your eagerness, Mark lifts the lid off of the box and the excitement on your face drops almost instantly, turning blank as you peek inside to see the miniature watermelon themed cake staring back at you. You raise your head at Mark who’s already grinning at you, tongue poking at his cheek as he opens up a drawer to retrieve two plastic forks, twiddling them between his fingers.

You deadpan, “Are you sure we’re not celebrating your birthday right now?”

“Shut up, you like watermelon just as much as I do” Mark scoffs, handing you one of the plastic forks and you take it out of his grasp with a smile. You go to take a piece but Mark makes a weird noise, causing you to freeze mid cut. “Wait—dude—jesus, let me take a photo first”

You roll your eyes but happily oblige as Mark fishes his phone out of his pocket and angles it towards you. You pose, pointing to the cake with a wide grin, almost blinded by the flash when Mark takes the picture and you immediately rub at your eyes, trying to get rid of the blotches with a few creative curse words that make Mark laugh.

He quickly takes this opportunity to slide beside you and holds his phone high to take a selfie of you both. You poke out your tongue, using your free hand to make bunny ears behind Mark’s head who grins and uses his own free hand to grip your cheeks and squeeze to force you into pulling a weird face.

Before you have the chance to complain, you gasp in shock when you feel the coldness of the cake’s frosting touch your cheek and the shutter of the camera goes off when Mark takes another photo, capturing you mid chaos as you dig your fingers into the side of the cake to smush a piece against his cheek, grinning evilly as the green frosting covers his skin.

“Alright, I deserved that” Mark sighs with a light laugh, making sure his phone is tucked away and out of the icing zone. “Makes a good blackmail photo though, don’t you think?”

“If that goes anywhere, I will kill you”

“You already know that's going on my Instagram, baby~” Mark teases you and you scoff jokingly, shaking your head as you reach for the napkins that are laying on the side, trying your best to wipe away the frosting before it drops and stains your clothing.

Mark manages to clean himself easily but notices you struggling, deciding to help you out as he picks up another napkin and takes a hold of your chin, facing you towards him as he gently taps at your cheek, careful not to rub too hard at your skin.

You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity and you grow silent, watching as he cleans you up. The concentrated look on his face causes your stomach to whirl and chest feel warm, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in on the area he needs to clean, tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

“Mark…” You call out his name softly to grab his attention and he pauses, staring right at you. He seems to notice how close you both are too as he takes in the limited space between you both, slowly taking his hand away from your face but he stops himself with a quiet noise, bringing his hand back to finish his job.

“Happy birthday, dude” Mark whispers to you as he finally wipes the frosting off of your cheeks, smiling down at you with adoration swirling in his eyes.

Your breathing stops for a moment at the affectionate gaze, unsure of what to say or what to do with him looking at you the way he is. Your hands move up to take the birthday hat off of your head, dropping it to the side carelessly as you curl your arms around his shoulders, pushing up onto your tiptoes to embrace him.

Mark’s arms slither around your waist, holding you close to his chest as he hugs you back, burying his face in the crevice of your neck and exhaling deeply.

“I’m so thankful” You mutter, squeezing him tight as the emotions within you struggle to be contained. “Truly, Mark. I’m grateful too… Thank you for making this birthday special again”

“It’s not over yet, you know” You hear him mumble. You go to pull back, to ask him what more he could possibly give you to top everything else but he’s already bending his knees, arms falling down to lock around your thighs and throwing you over his shoulder with a huff, smacking his hand roughly against your ass as he carries your giggly self to the bedroom.

Friday nights will always be your favourite nights to let loose and party: dressing up in your prettiest outfit that makes you feel confident, decorating your body with the shiniest jewellery you own and drinking the most intoxicating drink you could find while mingling with your friends.

Talking with your girls face to face after a week of classes had unfailingly lifted your mood, catching up with all the gossip you missed or briefly discussed over the phone, adding your own two cents into a situation which they eagerly agree with a nod their heads, tapping their cups to yours before taking a sip.

“Speaking of unusual relationships—” Sakura, one of your dearest friends, speaks up as she turns to look at you with a grin. “—girl, how’s it going with you and Mark? Things turned weird yet?”

“Nope” You shake your head, buzzing happily. “We’re fine. The whole hooking up with your best friend culture isn’t as complicated as everyone makes it out to be. Everyone gets dramatic about that shit”

Sua lets out a heavy sigh, nursing her drink in her hand. “I don’t know how you do it… I couldn’t imagine hooking up with Yeonjun. I mean, he’s attractive, but we’ve seen and know too much about each other to get physical on an intimate level. Props to you”

Heejin looks at you. “Do you still fuck Jaemin?”

“On occasion” You admit. “But honestly, I’ve been so wrapped in assignments—”

“And Mark”

You give Sakura a smirk, “—that I haven’t really had time to call up Jaemin and ask to fuck. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’s been busy smoking and selling weed for extra cash”

“What about Mark? Is he still fucking around?”

You pause at that, lips pursing deep in thought before you shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked recently”

Sua gestures over your shoulder, “Looks like you’re about to find out the answer”

You crane your neck to follow the direction she’s pointing in, noticing Mark standing near a back wall with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with Arin who’s smiling and nodding to each word he’s speaking to her.

Feeling your eyes on him, Mark looks up to capture your gaze, raising his drink in greeting and you grin, lifting your own cup and watching as he resumes back in conversation.

You take in his appearance with interest: a baggy white shirt paired with some loose fitted pants and doc martens you’re certain he stole from Donghyuck. A silver chain hangs from his neck and a cap sits backwards on the top of his head, you stifle a laugh at how much of a fuckboy he looks but you must admit, he looks good.

“Subtle with the lovey dovey eyes, sweetheart” Sakura teases, nudging your shoulder to bring your attention back to her and you laugh, tipping your head back to finish the contents of your drink. “He looks good though, so I don’t blame you”

“When was the last time you fucked Mark?” You aim your question towards Heejin who shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t remember” She smacks her lips together. “Definitely more than two months, that’s for sure… No disrespect to you but god I miss his cock. How he walks around with that thing completely baffles me”

Sua's eyes widen. “Is Mark’s cock big?”

“Yes” You and Heejin answer instantly, causing you both to laugh and high five each other. You drone out the complaints Sua makes about wanting to fuck someone with a huge cock and how Yeonjun always recommends her people that are both shitty in bed and lack personality, too focused on looking around the room to find a clear path to get more drinks, dismissing yourself from the girls for a moment as you spot Jeno and Jaemin pouring vodka into each others cups.

You bound over to your boys, throwing your arms around their shoulders and startling them both with your presence, but Jaemin lazily smiles when he sees it's you and presses a chaste kiss to your temple as Jeno pats the back of your head in greeting, offering to fill your cup up which you happily give him.

“Where have you been?” Jaemin asks you, taking your hand in his and whirls you around, whistling lowkey as he takes in your dress. “You look pretty”

“Catching up with my girls because I spend way too much time with you guys” You explain, but cheesily grin at the compliment he gives you on your outfit and bow. Jeno hands you your drink back and you thank him, taking a quick sip as your eyes glance around the room. “Where’s the rest of the guys anyway?”

“Donghyuck’s trying to get laid and Renjun’s around here somewhere chatting up a girl from his classes” Jeno informs, gulping down his drink with ease. “Mark’s been talking with Arin for the past hour—sweet girl is trying to make her move”

“Why aren’t you trying to show off your charms tonight?”

Jeno stares at you suggestively, smirking behind the rim of his cup. “Why would I when I got you and Jaemin right here?”

Your tongue pokes at your cheek, struggling to fight the urge not to smile. “Not funny. It was a one time thing, Lee… You were only there because Jaemin felt guilty he couldn’t last long enough to make me cum”

“Still had you screaming on my dick though” Jeno teases, gently knocking his fingers against your cheeks as you laugh. “And don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone. Pretty sure if I tell Donghyuck I actually did get to fuck you before him, he’d end up losing his mind”

You ponder it for a moment, “It would be kind of funny though”

“What would be funny?”

“Donghyuck!” You squeal as he appears beside Jeno, staring at you all with a confused look but grins when you throw yourself in his arms to hug him tightly, swaying you both back and forth. “I thought you were trying to get laid?”

“I was” Donghyuck sighs, pulling away from the hug but keeping an arm wrapped around your middle. “But she had a boyfriend and he’s, like, six foot something and I didn’t feel like getting my ass handed back to me by slenderman himself”

You pout, pinching his cheek. “What a shame. The dry spell continues”

Donghyuck leans into your touch, batting his eyelashes prettily at you with a smirk. “You can change that for me if you want”

“In your dreams”

Donghyuck sighs jokingly, dropping his head low as his shoulders sag. “Guess I’ll keep on dreaming then. You sound even prettier when you’re moaning my name there—”

“What’s going on?”

The sound of Mark’s voice speaking up behind you causes you to whiz around quickly, beaming as your eyes meet his but it falters slightly when you notice the fake smile he’s sporting, wanting to turn the question around and ask him what’s going on.

But you didn’t want to bring attention to the subject, knowing it’ll make Mark uncomfortable putting him on the spot despite him continuously being open with the others. It’s not something to speak publicly about if it’s serious.

You touch his arm and give him a comforting squeeze to which he seems to relax, using your grip on him to tug you into his side and for Donghyuck’s arm to slip from your waist.

“The usual. Donghyuck trying to get her into his bed” Jeno fills him in, fishing a strawberry flavoured vape out of his pocket to take a drag and Jaemin retches at the smell, wafting it away with his hand. “How’s Arin?”

“Fine” Mark quips, licking at his lips as he turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here? Just me and you”

Donghyuck immediately takes offence to that, “What about us? We all came here together, man!”

“I’m taking her home to fuck her, Hyuck” Mark deadpans, giving him an unamused look while your tummy swirls with excitement. “Do you want to watch?”

“Well—”

“I was kidding”

You’re in complete bliss with Mark hovering above you, your back arched, bare chest pressed to his as he nips and licks at your neck, his hips lazily grinding into yours, cock hitting deeper than he’s ever been.

The pace is slow, something that you’re not used to when it comes to Mark, but you don’t find the voice within yourself to complain, fingers winding through his hair with cries spilling from your lips, legs hooking over his waist.

He’s grunting in the crevice of your neck with each deep thrust, one hand caressing the side of your face while the other rests beside your head, stopping himself from laying his entire body weight on you.

You’re whining from the loss of contact when he moves his head away, missing the feeling of his teeth on your skin and looking up at him pleadingly but he’s frozen staring down at you, despite his hips thrusting automatically into you.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty” You barely hear him mumble and your heart pounds in your chest at the compliment, body feeling a little more heated and warm.

“Mark—”

He cuts off your words by planting his lips on yours with the most sweetest and soft kiss, and you melt into the touch, fingers untangling from his hair to cup his cheeks in your palms, gasping through the kiss as Mark’s cock slowly pulls out of your pussy before pushing back in, causing electricity to shoot up your spine.

The band in your tummy tightens with each slow but powerful thrust he gives you, thighs quivering around his frame, unable to keep up with his kisses as your mouth falls open with short gasps and whines, white specs flickering in your vision as you feel yourself inching closer and closer over the edge.

“Cum” Mark whispers, breath fanning over your face. “Do it. Cum on my cock”

You wail as the band snaps, orgasm crashing down on you violently. Your body convulses, pussy squeezing around his cock, keeping him buried deep which has him moaning, his own hips stuttering as he cums. You feel him pulsing inside, painting your walls white as he fills you up.

Mark’s head slumps down on your shoulder as you try to catch your breath, cringing and wincing as you feel him slowly moves his hips back to pull his cock out of your sensitive pussy, your hand falling from his face to drop down to your centre, gathering his cum that pools out on your fingers.

“I’m sorry” Mark mumbles against your skin. “I’m sorry, I—shit, I should’ve asked if I could, you know—” Mark raises his hand to make a jerking off motion which causes you to snort. “—I got too overwhelmed. I’m sorry”

“It’s kinda cute that you’re apologising” You admit, gently pushing him off of your body to sit upright. “But you don’t need to apologise. This isn’t the first time you came in me, Mark”

“I know” Mark runs his fingers through his sweaty bangs. “I usually ask though”

“Mark. It’s fine” You reassure him, placing your palm on his bicep. “I’ll forgive you if you help clean me up though”

Mark smiles softly as he slips off of the bed, disappearing out of the room for a moment and returning with a wet towel. He sits between your legs as he gently cleans up the mess, gently dabbing around your sensitive areas and whispering apologies after apologies every time you hiss at the contact, thighs closing around his hand which he carefully pries open to resume his job.

You watch in silence as he cleans you up and you frown at the troubled look you see on his face, not used to seeing Mark being so closed up with his feelings and emotions. Mark hasn’t been open with you in a few weeks, he hasn’t come to you and asked for your reassurance or help. It makes you feel a little bit defeated.

Something was different, and you struggled to pinpoint what it was.

The questions lay on the tip of your tongue, desperate to be asked and even more desperate to get the answers you’ve been craving. Your relationship with Mark has changed since the proposition you’ve made about sleeping together, but he was still your best friend.

“What’s going on?” You finally ask. Mark freezes, hand clutching the wet towel in his grasp tightly. “And don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re being truthful or not—”

“What am I to you?” Mark questions and you're a little stunned at your question being answered with his own question. He takes his hand away as you blink at him, feeling confused. “Even with all, like, this going on… what am I to you?”

“You’re my best friend?”

Mark seems to frown deeply at that, “So nothing has changed? At all? Even with us sleeping together? I’m still your best friend?”

“I—of course!” You’re baffled, assuming that with the way Mark is speaking about yours and his situation that he was worried that you’d have negative feelings towards him. You’re eager to reassure him, to let him know that everything is okay. “Mark, you’ll always be my best friend. We promised nothing would change. I’m keeping that promise”

Mark closes his eyes as his shoulders sink, “Dude, I—” He drops his head with a sigh. “I can’t do this anymore”

“Do what?” You ask quietly, bringing your knees up to your chest.

“This” He gestures between the two of you. “I just—I can’t. Not anymore. I can’t continue sleeping with you”

“Oh” You swallow thickly, a little surprised. “Why?”

“Things have changed” His voice is quieter now and it makes your heart crumble at the tone. Does he hate you? “I can’t continue whatever this is and be your best friend. It has to stop, it—” Mark sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “It can’t go on, I’m sorry”

“It’s okay” You mumble as your chin rests on your knees, hugging your legs closer to your chest to cover your modesty. You refuse to look at him now, finding interest in the sheets below you both as your throat tightens at the thought of him hating you so much that he can’t do anything with you no more. “I’m sorry too, by the way. I don’t know what I did you make you hate me, but I—”

“Wait, what?”

“—I’m just sorry. Especially if I came across too strong and for putting you in such a position” You’re babbling your words now, unable to control yourself due to the overwhelmed feeling that washes over you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry”

“Wait. I don’t—”

“Let’s just not tell the others, okay?” You raise your head to meet his eyes this time. He’s looking straight at you, confusion and disbelief swimming in his irises but you ignore it, chewing the inner skin of your cheek. “Mostly Renjun. I don’t really want to hear him laugh in our faces and give us the whole ‘I told you so’ speech he threatened us with at the start”

Mark calls out your name softly and reaches out to touch you but you’re already climbing off of the bed, looking for your underwear and dress that was thrown across the room due to prior activities.

You’re too embarrassed to continue the conversation, to ask him what exactly you did to make him grow to hate you. Truthfully, you didn’t really want to dwell on it too much, the pain of losing someone like Mark already making your heart ache.

You just wanted to go home—to be in the comfort of your own bed and curse yourself out, and probably cry to the point you might forget everything that just happened. You are feeling a little teary, but you wouldn’t dare to cry in front of Mark right now.

“I’ll, uh, see you around” You mutter, shoving the heels onto your feet, casting one final look his way. “I’m sorry”

It's been almost two weeks since your last encounter with Mark.

You shouldn’t be avoiding him like you are. It’s childish. But you can’t force yourself to face someone who used to be your best friend and now hates you.

Maybe you should’ve waited a few more minutes, to give him time to explain the entire situation and how he was feeling but you were selfish, you didn’t want to hear him explain in detail what you had done to make him change his feelings towards you.

You miss him. Of course you miss him. He’s been your best friend for years—your other half, more like. There was no you without Mark and vice versa. You weren’t exactly sure on how you could continue functioning with Mark by your side, as dramatic as it sounds, but you’ve always been dramatic.

The other boys have been blowing up your phone—courtesy of you ignoring them too, not wanting to hear Renjun rub it in your face on how the ‘friends with benefits bullshit’ you had with Mark did actually go to shit. And you didn’t want to hear the others continuously question what had happened and what had changed.

Even your roommate, someone who keeps herself out of your business and hardly ever bothers you, had cornered you one morning at breakfast, asking why you looked so glum and why the ‘shirtless Canadian fuckboy’ wasn’t joining you both.

You’re not the type to let anyone know your worries, but you’re surprised when you find yourself explaining to your roomie what happened.

She gave you a deadpanned look, calling you stupid for not staying behind and listening despite you voicing that you couldn’t bear to listen to why his feelings had suddenly turned negative towards you. Your face twisted and turned, offended at her harsh words but you allowed yourself to let her talk and not jump in even though you desperately wanted to.

“You’re jumped to your own conclusion” She told you when she was clearly up the dishes. “You know, for two close best friends who talk to each other every second of the day, you sure have some serious miscommunication issues”

So that’s what leads you to now: you sitting alone in the living room with your phone in hand, staring down at yours and Mark’s chat room with your thumb between your teeth, biting down on the skin anxiously as you try to figure out how to start a conversation, to let him know you will listen.

you: i think we need to talk.

mark: i’m almost at ur house anyway i had to go get something

you: ???? u coming over

mark: yeah mark: i was going to make u listen to me mark: its important dude.

You snort at his last message, sending a quick thumbs up emoji before throwing your phone to the side, awaiting his arrival. You catch your leg nervously bobbing in the corner of your vision and your brows furrow, placing your hand down on your knee and squeezing tight. As if that will stop you from feeling nervous.

You’re about to hear the reason why Mark’s feelings had changed for you so negatively, nothing can prepare you for it. Bite the bullet. Take it like a champ.

The rapid knock on the door rips you out of your thoughts, slowly turning your head with a confused look plastered across your face. Was that Mark? Mark never knocks—he freely walks in like it’s his own place usually, always makes himself at home.

You push yourself up from the sofa and make your way towards the door, peeping through the hole to see Mark’s form, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip with his hands behind his back, swaying back and forth nervously. You grow even more confused and concerned, unlocking the door and pulling it open to face him fully.

“Why did you kno—”

“Hate you?!” He cuts you off with a shout, immediately startling you with his tone. His eyes are wide as he stares at you, full of disbelief. “Hate you, I—jesus christ—how could I hate you?! Dude, I’d never hate you… god, you’re so frustrating sometimes”

Your lips quirk upwards, “Nice to see you too”

“I don’t hate you, at all… When I said to you that things have changed, I didn’t mean anything bad by it… it’s actually quite the opposite…” Mark trails off and before you can get the chance to ask him to explain what he means, your breath hitches at the back of your throat as he pulls his hands from behind his back: a bag of jellies in one and a handful of ripped up flowers in the other. Your heart thumps rapidly. “I’m going to tell you something and I just—I need you to listen”

You barely whisper, “Okay”

“Being in this friends with benefits relationship with you was not as easy as I thought it was going to be” Mark tells you, his honesty making you pull your attention away from the things in his hands to his eyes. “We promised each other that we’re not going to involve any of that official or exclusive title bullshit to make it complicated for us… yet here I am standing in front of you right now with the same jellies and flowers in my hand from when we first met about to confess my fucking feelings to you, I’m so—”

“You’re rambling” You cut him off quietly, a smile creeping onto your lips.

“Right, yeah, of course I am” Mark laughs with a shake of his head, awkwardly scratching his neck before he straightens out, keeping his eyes on yours. “I fell for you. I think I sort of realised it on your birthday but I didn’t want to say anything just in case I wasn’t really thinking straight… but when we were at that party and I saw the guys flirting with you, I realised how much I actually do like you and that it wasn’t my dick talking”

You snort as you repeat, “Dick talking”

“Shut up” He smiles at you, his own laugh fleeting past his lips. “I’m in love with you, dude. And I totally get it if you want to reject me because of how weirdly this turned out but, uh, I would like to continue seeing you if I could be your... boyfriend”

You’re too busy repeating his confession in your head to notice that Mark is waiting for an answer, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he bites down nervously, visibly shaking for excitement or the fact that he just confessed his entire feelings—you weren’t sure.

The silence from you kills Mark, and his face drops when you step forward to quietly take the flowers and the jellies out of his hand and step back inside the house. His shoulders slump in defeat, taking your non verbal response as a rejection to his proposal of him being your boyfriend and he goes to turn around, to get the fuck off of your doorstep and hope that the intense embarrassment that he feels coursing through his veins is enough to make him disappear quickly.

But he freezes mid escape when he hears the rustling of you ripping open the pack of jellies, turning his head to see you looking at him with the most gentlest smile. He watches, chest erupting with warmth as you reach your arm out, angling the treat in his direction and a grin spreads across his face, unable to control the giggles that leave him.

You’re giving him a jelly, you’re giving him a relationship.

©𝗠𝗥𝗞𝗜𝗦

7K notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 1 month ago

Text

graphic | mark lee

pairing: mark lee x afab reader

word count: 6.6K

summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you've even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, comic book store employee!mark, retail employee!reader, really cute and fluffy until it's not, public sex (public space but no one is there), unprotected piv (DONT DO THIS), mark throws u around like a lil play thing, oral (fem recieving), fingering, use of a petname (baby), lmk if i forgot anything!

author's note: this one took forever yall i know its been a while! been going thru some shit irl but things are settling and i was deadset on finishing this bc it's so cute :'-) thank u to T and @hausofmingi for being my beta readers ( ˘ ³˘)♡

working at a mall can be really tiring, but it’s not so bad when you have a crush.

you’ve been working at a retail store at your local mall for a few months now. it’s boring, there’s too many people on the weekends, and you have the worst hours. you found yourself working open to close for far too many shifts. but at the end of the day, at least it keeps the bills paid.

on slow days during the week, you’re always sat at the register, scrolling through your phone or twiddling your thumbs, counting down the seconds til closing time. sometimes you would even stare off into space, watching people pass by all day long.

you went to work always knowing exactly how the day would go; set up shop, maybe help some customers, and do fucking nothing for 8 to 10 hours. maybe a wave to the employees at the stores surrounding you, but sadly, that was usually the most interesting part of your day. you became accustomed to the monotony though, watching the same employees open up their shops next to yours.

the store directly across from yours is a comic book store. you know the few people that worked there, usually just saying “good morning” and going on with your day. you swear, you have this store memorized, knowing when the employees take their breaks, who’s working, what they’re working on that day. you didn’t really mean to, but when all you have to do is daydream, you kinda picked up on the routine there.

so when you arrive in the morning for yet another brutal open-to-close shift, you expect to just roll up the security shutters and sit back at the register all day. but there’s something different today; or rather, someone different.

sitting at the register at the comic book store is a man you’ve never seen before. his hair is perfectly messy and his glasses framed his eyes, which are focused on reading a comic. he’s working all by himself, which is surprising to you since you’re certain he’s new. you catch yourself staring and try to brush it off. he’s a new guy, so what?

you try your best to go about your day as normal, but you can’t help stealing glances over at the man at the store across from you. he has a captivating energy, and it makes you want to know more about him. he seems charismatic, being friendly with customers and earning smiles, then resuming his doodling once they leave. you notice that when he looks really focused, he bites the corner of his lip gently.

you gotta stop staring, or he will definitely notice. you decide to actually work on something for once, organizing the stock and straightening the shelves. soon enough, closing time creeps up on you. you do all of your closing duties and grab your things from the back. you close the security shutters, looking behind you quickly to see that the man is doing the same. he notices your gaze, so you kindly wave at him. instead of a wave back, blush forms on his face with a shy smile. and with that, he walks away.

the interaction was unreadable. he seemed to be so extroverted with customers, having no issue having casual conversations with them. why is he getting all shy now?

you started to pick up on the new routine at the comic book store. from what you could tell, the man worked similar hours to you, often opening and closing too. he rarely worked with anyone else, so the majority of the time you glanced over, he was reading comics, manga, or doodling in his notepad.

you never really got into comic books like that, and only dabbled with reading manga, but the growing interest in this man made you curious about learning more on what he was reading. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check out the selection? perhaps get some recommendations? you just finished a short shift today so now was the perfect opportunity.

after grabbing your things and saying goodbye to your coworker, you make your way over to the comic book store. you approach the man, who’s sitting at the register as usual, reading. you see his name tag on his chest; a cute red pin with a spider-man drawing next to his name, “mark.”

“hi,” you say, pulling his attention away from reading.

“oh, hi,” he says, placing his comic down. “sorry, i didn’t see you come in.”

“it’s okay,” you reply, looking around at the goodies at the register. “i was wondering if you have any recommendations for a beginner at reading comics?”

“oh for sure,” he says, eyes lighting up. “marvel has tons of great ones. you could start with an ironman one, or maybe captain america? i personally like spider-man, but i’m definitely biased.”

“i’ll try spider-man,” you say after a beat.

mark gives you a nod with a warm smile before leaving the register to grab your comic. he searches through the spider-man section until he finds the first issue. he returns to the register, ringing you up.

“i think you’ll like it, it’s really good,” mark says, handing your receipt to you.

“i’m definitely looking forward to see what all the hype is about,” you chuckle. the conversation pauses for moment, clearly indicating that the interaction is pretty much over with. but you don’t want the conversation to end there, so you find something to keep talking about. “you’re new here, aren’t you? like you just started working here?”

“yeah, sort of,” he says, sitting back in his seat at the register. “i used to work here a while ago and i just came back ‘cause they needed someone.”

“oh nice,” you reply. “welcome back i guess?”

“haha, i guess,” he smiles, rubbing his hand on his neck. “it’s chill here, but it gets kinda boring.”

“tell me about it,” you chuckle. “it’s so slow during the week. i usually have nothing to do.”

“yeah, i just read or draw to pass the time,” mark says, pointing at his notepad on the counter.

“you like to draw?” you ask, curious.

“yeah,” he places a hand on the notepad, grabbing it. you can tell he’s getting shy again. “it’s just doodles.”

“you’ll have to show me some of those ‘doodles’ sometime,” you say with a sweet smile. you check your phone for the time. it’s getting closer to dinnertime and you’re starved. “i guess i’ll get out of here.”

“okay,” he stands again. “well, let me know what you think of the comic.”

“i will,” you say, turning to leave, then flipping back to look at him. “mark, right?”

he nods, asking for your name as well. he beams at you. “it’s nice to meet you. see you tomorrow?”

“see you tomorrow,” you say with a wave, walking out.

for the next week, you find yourself aching to talk to mark again. you read the comic he gave you, and it provided a little bit of insight into him… that he’s a bit of a nerd. definitely not a bad thing. it’s actually really endearing to you, knowing his life basically revolves around superheroes, free time and work alike. that he probably draws little comics in his notepad, and has sweet dreams about being superhuman. why is that so fucking cute?

you have a reason to talk to him again, of course: the next issue of spider-man. the problem is building up the courage again, which is ridiculous because he’s just a guy. a nerdy one at that, and you know that he would be putty in your hands if you really wanted him to be. but the longing you developed for him during those long hours of your shift, seeing him across the way, looking so cute in his round glasses… it’s making you nervous in a way that is difficult to explain.

you’ve been putting off going back to his store at this point. wouldn’t someone that wanted to get into superhero comics come back for the next edition? why aren’t you using your excuse to talk to him? not only that, but he even said he wanted you to come tell him what you thought of the comic. you’re just overthinking things.

you have another short shift one day, and decide today is the day. you gather your things and walk to the neighboring store, feeling the familiar butterflies you felt the first time you approached mark at the register. he’s drawing this time, crouched down and focused. he hears you walk in, lifting his head to meet your eyes. maybe you’re crazy, but it looks like his eyes light up.

“hey,” he says, closing the notepad in front of him. you present the spider-man comic to him, and he flashes a smile at you. “what’d you think?”

you chuckle, holding the comic close to your chest. “it was good, but too short. there’s another issue, right?” you joke, hoping it lands.

he lets out a giggle, “yeah, there definitely is. i’ll grab the next one for you.”

he walks over to a section near the front of the store, flipping through the excess of papers before he finds the 2nd issue. “if you liked that one, you’ll like this one even more.” he returns to the register with the issue, placing it on the counter for you.

“duel to the death with the vulture?” you read from the page. “i haven’t seen any of the movies recently so correct me if i’m wrong, but i don’t remember there being a vulture.”

“oh yeah, he’s in one of the later movies actually,” mark starts. “but you got a long way to go til you finally meet one of the iconic villians like the green goblin, or even the love interests gwen stacy or mary jane. it’ll be so worth the wait though.”

“how much do i owe you?” you ask, already pulling out your wallet.

“you can borrow it if you want,” he says.

“but this one belongs to the store, won’t you get in trouble?” you ask.

“just bring it back and it’s like it never happened,” he whispers, faking a shhh at you. “let’s just say it’s mall employee perk.”

you smile and accept it.

your new routine feels like a nice change of pace. every second of every day used to drag by, and yet at the same time, when you got home, everything that happened was so unbelievably boring that it all felt like a blur. nothing really significant happened to you. but something about trying something new, learning about a brand new niche interest, and even developing a crush… it’s finally something exciting.

you looked forward to the next time you got a new issue. not just that, but the next time you got to talk to mark. he has this charm about him that piqued your interest. it feels so easy to talk to him, as if you’ve already known each other for a long time and it isn’t just a budding friendship. you’d find yourself stopping by the comic book store a few times a week, anticipating the next comic and the underlying tension between you and mark.

like today, when you finally got off of work after a long shift. you were able to close up shop quickly and now you’re walking over to the comic book store, attempting to run in before mark locked up.

“hey, is it cool if i get the next issue real quick?” you ask, popping your head in the store.

“yeah, one sec,” he says, looking up from counting the cash in the register. “lemme just finish closing up the register.”

“are you implying that you’re gonna let me borrow another comic?” you ask, a flirty tone floating beneath.

“well of course,” he says, swiftly closing the cash drawer. “unless you want to start collecting, which by the way, SUPER expensive.”

“i think i’ll stick to being a casual reader for now,” you joke, approaching mark at the register.

“i don’t know, you might change your mind after this one,” he says, grabbing a comic from his bag. he holds it out to you, you grabbing it with your fingers briefly brushing past his. the motion makes you feel a little dizzy, and you can feel heat rising to your cheeks.

you shake your head, realizing this one doesn’t belong to the store. “wait, is this your own personal comic?”

“yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he says, half focusing as he’s writing something on a sticky note at the counter. “i brought it in so you can borrow it.” you can see the corner of his mouth turning up, as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“you didn’t have to do that—”

“i wanted to,” he says, lifting his head up to hand you the sticky note he was writing on. “just treat it with care.”

you take the note, which is pale blue with a cartoon spider-man in the corner. in the middle of the note is a scrawled out phone number. you look up to see mark rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“if you want to tell me what you think?” he says, almost like a question.

“or maybe when i get bored during my shift?” you ask, chuckling.

“i’d like that a lot actually,” he smiles, his previous nervousness quickly washing away.

“you’ll regret it though,” you say, sticking the note on the front page of the comic. “because i get bored here a lot.”

“don’t worry,” mark laughs, shaking his head. “i don’t think i’ll get sick of you anytime soon.”

you finally reached issue #14 of spider-man, the one mark is lending to you. you grab it out of your bag at the beginning of your shift, sitting back in your chair behind the register and getting comfortable. you realize what it’s about and immediately text mark.

sent 10:17 am omg wait i didn’t realize this issue is the first appearance of the green goblin

you look across the way, seeing mark pick up his phone and smiling.

sent 10:18 am mark: oh yeah, he’s fuckin sick mark: you’re gonna love it

you click your phone off with a soft sigh, flipping back to your comic. you go about your shift switching from helping customers and checking them out, and reading. every once and a while, you’ll message mark with your comments and he would always reply with enthusiasm.

the end of your shift approaches quickly, and soon enough you’re closing the security shutters. you look behind you to see mark locking the doors and then doing the same. he must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he turns and flashes his famous smile to you. you walk over to him with the comic in hand.

“you were right,” you say, handing it him. “green goblin is super sick.”

“i told you,” he says, reaching for it, and your hands momentarily touching like last time. he gets flustered. “uh, i can give you the next one tomorrow if you’re working.”

“i am, yeah,” you reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “i am so curious though—when the hell does gwen stacy show up?”

“oh,” he giggles to himself. “you’re like, halfway there to finally seeing her.”

“i didn’t realize how extensive this series is,” you chuckle. “not that i’m complaining. i’m actually surprised by how much i like it.”

“i’m glad,” he says sweetly. “well, just come by tomorrow and i’ll give you the next issue.”

“i will.”

the following weeks, you became overtaken by superhero comics and stupid-fucking-adorable mark. you would read an issue of spider-man at work, and text mark with your reactions to certain scenes. at first you thought it might be annoying to him, but he actually seemed to encourage it, asking for your opinions on the characters and storyline.

it doesn’t help that every time you see mark, you get butterflies in your stomach. and it seemed to only be getting worse; you keep finding yourself smiling when his name pops up on your phone. you wake up excited to go to work, because you know you’ll probably have another interaction with him. sometimes, mark would even catch you staring at him and give a little nod with a smile. but what made things exponentially worse was when you catch him gazing at you too, catching you off guard but making a smile spread across your lips. you are smitten, and if anyone else was concerned, mark is probably smitten too. the issue is getting him to finally take the hint and making a real move on you.

he may get a little flustered around you, but he’s not exactly shy. after all, he did give you his number unprompted. but after weeks of going back and forth strictly talking about comics and work, you started to lose hope. you just want him. he must want you back just as bad.

after another closing shift, you watch the mall-goers pass by and file out of the building. the mall is basically empty now, most of the neighboring stores already closed and employees leaving for the day. you had to stay a little bit late, cleaning up a huge mess in the store from some rude customers. you thought you would have time to stop by to see mark, but with the amount of things you have to put away, your chances are looking slim.

you shuffle around the store, placing items back on the shelves and organizing the tables of merchandise. you eyes shift over to the comic book store, expecting to see it dark and locked up. but it isn’t; mark is still in there, half the lights still on, with him unboxing comics from their latest shipment. you already knew it was restock day for them (god you have way too much free time), but you didn’t realize how many boxes they got in.

you open the front door of your store, whisper-yelling through the security shutters. “mark!”

mark’s head turns to look at you and flashes a grin at you. “yo, you’re still here too?”

you nod, leaning on the glass door. you hold up a few of the displaced items in your hands. “go-backs,” you shrug.

he points at the pile of boxes in front of him, “restock. we got a lot of shit in early for christmas.”

“don’t say christmas please, i don’t want to think about it yet,” you say with a laugh.

you turn away to get back to work, putting all the merchandise back to their assigned spots. you don’t know what the hell got into people today; messing up all your organization you’ve done and putting things in all the wrong places. it didn’t help that you had to deal with some assholes with returns today too. you always theorize it’s from a full moon or mercury retrograde or something; those things must be the reason people start acting up.

after about an hour of cleaning, you finish up and can finally call it a day. you close up shop and turn to see mark still working on stocking at his store. you approach the security gate of the store, with its front door still propped open.

“i still need my next issue by the way,” you say to mark, who stands from his crouching position in front of an open box. he walks up to the gate and pushes it up, just enough for you to come through. you look hesitant.

“come in, it’s okay,” he says, motioning you in. you duck under the security gate, slipping into the store. “how was your day? looks like you had a lot to do.”

“yeah, the store was a mess,” you say, following him to the register. “i’ve never had to stay so late after close.”

“it’s only gonna get worse the closer it gets to christmas,” mark says while weaving around the boxes with you.

“what did i say about christmas?” you joke, nudging his shoulder softly.

“sorry, sorry,” he laugh, putting his hands up. you wait patiently for him as he kneels behind the register, looking for your comic. he pops back up with a stumped look on his face. “i swear i thought i put it up here to give to you but i can’t find it. i’m gonna go check the back.”

he starts walking to the back room, and looks back at you. “feel free to sit if you want. our stockroom is a wreck, this might take a sec.”

you nod to him, squeezing past the tower of boxes to sit in the chair at the register. it feels kinda funny to sit back here, like you’re seeing the store from a different perspective, from mark’s perspective. you look around behind the counter, seeing the little notes and cute super-hero knick knacks gathered around.

there’s a mini batman funko pop positioned in the corner, with a sticky note placed under his feet reading “no drinks at the register.” you look over to see a large iced coffee with mark’s name in sharpie. well, we all bend the rules a bit. his name tag is placed on the counter by a stack of comics. you grab it to take a closer look. it’s a plastic red pin with a white pop-art bubble. in the corner is a small piece of paper stuck on it, attached with office tape. on the paper is a spider-man doodle, made with red and blue marker and pen ink.

you’re sure this must’ve been drawn by mark. you have yet to see any of his drawings (despite your prying), so maybe seeing this one up close will give you a sneak peek into his style. it’s a little messy, with scratchy lines and colors bleeding outside the borders. despite that, it has a distinct style that you’re fond of. it’s not perfect, let alone does it look like the super-heroes you’ve been reading in your comics. but it has a quality to it that feels less polished and flat. it has character. the messiness makes it feel more… real.

you set his name tag down, placing it back next to the large stack of comics. these must be his go-backs. he’s been so wrapped up with his shipment he probably hasn’t had time to put them away. you think maybe it would be nice to help a bit. he’s been nice enough to let you borrow comics from the store, and you’re just waiting around after all.

you pick up the stack of comics, situating them into your arms, when you look down and see that under the stack is mark’s notepad. it’s not closed like you’re used to seeing it, opened to a clean white page with a drawing covering up a majority of it. it’s in a comic book style, you’re not surprised. but it has the same quality that his name tag doodle does; scrawly and messy, with no real precise lines. the colors are splashed across the page, with blotches of scribbled colored marker decorating it. then realize what it is—who it is.

it’s you.

the whole image captures you and a little bit of your surroundings. positioned at your normal spot at the register, you’re looking down at a comic with your fingers playing with the ends of your hair. but it has a dream-like feel to it, with the pages of the comic illuminating your face as if a source of power is emanating from it. and then the best part: the wings. placed behind your shoulders are pair of feathered wings, outstretched in a sketched black ink. it’s beautiful.

it’s beautiful and it’s you. mark drew you.

“yo, sorry that took so long,” mark says while emerging from the back, eyes still focused on the comic in his hands. “i finally found it, but dude i had to do some digging—”

mark’s words are cut short when he notices you holding his notepad, comics that were placed atop abandoned on the counter by you. he visibly gulps.

“mark…” you start, not moving your eyes from the drawing. “what’s this?” without a response for a few moments, you tear your eyes away to see mark with blush on his cheeks, mouth open but unable to let any words out. “did you… did you draw me?”

“look, it gets really slow during the day, i just did a little sketch to pass time—”

“mark, this isn’t just a sketch,” you say, looking back down at the notepad. “this is amazing.”

“y-you like it?” mark says, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“of course i like it,” you say.

“you don’t think it’s weird that i drew you without telling you?” mark asks, nervousness radiating from him.

“i don’t think it’s weird at all,” you say. “i actually love it. i like that you drew me as a superhero too, and one with wings at that.”

mark stays quiet, looking at his feet and probably overthinking everything right now. you look back up at him, tension building in your stomach as you ask what you already know the answer to. “you like me, don’t you?”

mark lifts his head to meet your eyes. he bites his lip anxiously as he nods slowly.

a streak of courage overtakes you as you grab his arm to pull him closer, him tripping over his own feet and crashing into your chest. you’re leaned against the counter, with mark’s arm behind you and hand placed flat on the surface. your faces are close, and you can feel his breath. his eyes are glued onto your lips, and he swallows thickly.

“mark, just kiss me,” you mumble, aching for him.

he wastes no time, leaning in to slot his lips between yours. he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you as close as he can. you melt into him, goosebumps floating across your skin in all-consuming desire. you move your hand to hold his cheek, thumb swiping on his smooth skin and fingers tangled in his soft, messy hair.

he pulls away, breath still shaky. “i’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long…” he trails off before leaning in and kissing you again, this time with more passion. he swipes his tongue between your lips, with you willingly accepting him. his hands trail up and down your sides, then finally places a firm grip on your waist and lifting you to sit on the counter. he slots between your legs, his body pressed close to yours. your fingers card through his hair, earning a sweet hum from him.

his hands trail down to your ass, pushing you closer against him to where you feel the bulge forming in his jeans. he can’t even hold back his moan, it being muffled by your lips. he pulls away again, this time kissing from your cheek down to your neck. he sucks at the expanse of skin while he caresses the other side of your throat. you let out a soft hum in pleasure, savoring every bite and lick—

“fuck, you sound so hot too,” he says in between kisses. he moves a hand down to your breast, kneading it roughly. you throw your head back, soaking in the pleasure from just his hands alone. his beautiful fucking hands, the ones that drew you. his lips feel so good on you, but his hands feel even better. it’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment for eternity and he doesn’t want to let you go. almost as if holding you, touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. it doesn’t feel real to you either; that mark, the cute boy you’ve had a crush on for weeks and weeks is kissing you, holding you, and yearning for you all the same.

you feel so wrapped up in the moment that you almost forget that you’re in public. sure, there’s no one left in the mall and the only people left are probably mall security, but the risk of being seen is still there. it just feels too good to stop.

“mark,” you say, giving in to the anxiety. “are we really doing this? right here, right now?”

he pulls back to look at you, still holding you close. “it’s just us here, and if it’s okay with you, i don’t think i can wait any longer.”

“i don’t think i can either,” you respond.

suddenly mark is ripping your clothes off, all while pulling you both behind one of the comic display cases. it’s your turn to take his clothes off, and you’re yanking his jacket off and pulling up his graphic tee and discarding them both on the floor. the exchange is a jumbled mess of constant touching of skin and clothes flying in every direction, a true testament to how desperate you both want each other. he’s kissing you all the while, taking every opportunity to peck at you between the tugging of clothes.

he leans you against the display bookshelf full of comics, completely unbothered when an issue or two falls off. your hand travels down into this jeans, feeling him hard and pulsing against your palm. you stroke his length slowly, focusing most of the stimulation on his dripping head. he lifts one of your legs slightly to get better access to you under your skirt, then looks at you as if he’s asking for permission.

you nod your head profusely before leaning in to kiss him deeply. it doesn’t last long, because suddenly he’s pushing inside you and you’re gasping at the stretch—

“you’re so—fuck—so fucking tight,” he hisses, attempting to push in as slowly as he can. your mouth is fully agape in bliss as he finally bottoms out, reaching deep inside of you. he catches your eyes, lust filled in his own as he slowly starts to move.

he’s slow at first, knowing that his size is stretching you out to the point where it’s nearly painful. but it feels so fucking good, his cock dragging in and out of your tight walls. you can tell he wants to pick up the pace, with his breath shuddering with each stroke. you take the opportunity to kiss him again, wanting to taste his soft lips as he gradually begins to pound into you.

he’s groaning against your lips, and your moans are muffled against his. you’re trying to salvage any sort of public decency by holding back your sounds the best you can. it’s when he grabs your legs and lifts you to press you against the display shelf that you realize that that shred of awareness of your surroundings is about to be long fucking gone.

he’s holding you up by gripping your ass, pistoning into you at a pace that you can only describe as brutal. it’s no use trying to stifle your moans anymore, with him hitting your cervix over and over and making you see stars at each stroke—

“mark, it feels so fucking good,” you can only whine out to him, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter, tugging at his hair—

“you feel so fucking good, jesus,” he groans against your neck, heaving breaths tickling at your throat.

his pace is wild, but the force in which he’s pounding into you begins to cause the comic books around you to tumble off the shelves, creating a pile at mark’s feet. he doesn’t seem to care though. that is, until a comic book falls from a shelf above you and hits him on the head.

“ah!” he exclaims, realizing what happened. he stops his movements to look at you, holding back a smile.

you can’t hold back your laugh, giggling profusely at the ridiculousness of the situation. he laughs too, shaking his head and letting out a sigh.

“this is crazy,” he says, resting his forehead on yours.

“i know,” you reply, still giggling. with one last laugh, he leans in and kisses you tenderly, smile still formed on his lips. you melt into him, ruffling your fingers through his hair as he begins to pick back up the roll of his hips into you.

it feels like a sweet moment, the fact that you can be doing such a scandalous act and still giggle with him. the tenderness doesn’t last for long, however, when he hits that perfect spot inside you that forces you to release a sharp moan.

“mark, oh my god,” you whimper, attempting to roll your hips down onto him. “keep doing that, please—”

“fuuuck,” he groans, feeling your core clenching around his length. “you take me so well, baby.”

all you can do now is nod, whimpering and whining on him. you can’t believe that this man that has always been so endearing, so kind and lovable has this completely different side to him that you’re only now getting to experience. it brings a different sort of intrigue to him; that he’s more than just a cute boy that works at a mall. he’s complex. he’s a fucking man. he’s a fucking. sex. god.

his breathing starts to become irregular, and his pace is back to merciless. his groans, fuck, his moaning. he’s bouncing you on his cock in the perfect way to where your moans are matching his. you can feel his dick pulsing inside you—

“i’m gonna cum,” he can only breathe out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “can i?”

“yes mark, please,” you whine, tugging at the ends of his hair. all the while you’re clenching around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to his release.

with a low groan, his hips stutter and you feel his seed spilling into you, completely filling you up. the rocking of his hips stall, and he’s finally letting you down and kissing you sweetly, caressing your cheek with his hand.

“god, you are fucking perfect,” he whispers to you. you let out a giggle, leaning your forehead against his. “hey, i’m not done with you yet.”

he quickly moves you to the glass display counter, lifting you to sit you on it. he pushes your thighs open, lifting your skirt up to get a better look at you. he looks enamored, like he’s starving and the only thing to appease his hunger is by having you on his mouth.

he dives in, licking a stripe up your core with a groan. he repeats this action, as if he’s savoring every drop of your essence mixed with his release that’s slowly dripping out of you—

“so fucking hot,” he hums, releasing a hand from your thigh to tease at your entrance.

“mark, please,” you beg. “stop teasing—”

he attaches his mouth to your clit, swirling his tongue around in smooth, controlled circles. your hands fly to his head, body already twitching from stimulation. his finger is still prodding at your hole, wanting to enter but not just yet. he instead continues to ravage at your sensitive bud, intentional movements making your head spin. he knows what he’s doing and he knows he’s good, especially with the shaking of your thighs and high pitched moans escaping your lips egging him on.

he looks up at you, flattening his tongue out and doing long, drawn out licks. the eye contact is insane, the lust filled in them only making it that much hotter. he’s enjoying every second of this, seeing you shake and begging him to keep going. he loves the taste of you too, so sweet and almost addictive. he could die like this.

his teasing finger finally starts to deepen inside you, slowly at first. he can feel every pulse of your core around his finger, and it’s so hot that he can feel himself getting hard again. and you’re so wet, oh my god, so fucking wet. your arousal is dripping down his chin and his hand, making a sticky mess. when you start to roll your hips onto his face, he swears he’s in heaven.

he inserts another finger, feeling that tightness grip around them. it’s only getting more erratic now, clenching around him with each grind of your hips. he curls his fingers to prod at that sensitive spot, causing you to moan out his name—

“mark, don’t stop,” you whine, looking down at him basically making out with your pussy.

he continues the same movements, repeatedly hitting your g spot and swirling his dripping tongue on your clit. your back arches and legs unintentionally close around his head, making him push them back open with his free hand.

and then he starts humming against you. the vibrations send a shock wave through your body, that mixed with his fingers, his tongue, his hand gripping tightly against your thigh… it feels so intense and so so good. you cum on his tongue, with him desperately holding your hips down and he helps you ride out your high. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, and you have to grab his head and lift it.

“oh my god,” you gasp, slowly coming down.

he smirks up at you with arousal-coated lips. “yeah, oh my god.” he stands up, immediately going to kiss you and you accepting him, wrapping your arms around him. he pulls away and leans his head against yours.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” he says, sighing out an exasperated laugh.

“i know, what the fuck, right?” you giggle.

“are you- are you doing anything right now?” he asks. “like, do you wanna get food or something?”

“are you asking me on a date?” you ask teasingly.

“don’t tell me you decided you’re creeped out by the drawing now,” he laughs.

“yeah. suuuper creeped out,” you joke, leaning in for another kiss. you hear a noise behind you, and look out through the security shutters to see a mall security guard passing by, scrolling through his phone.

“looks like he just missed the show,” mark says, causing you both to try and hold back your fit of giggles.

a/n: thank u guys for reading! i rly enjoyed this one hehe :-) please leave feedback as i'm new to writing, and reblog to support me! it motivates me to write more!

✰taglist✰ @skz1-4-3 @oddracha @luvbit3z @tunafishyfishylike @seomisaho @haizbby @hoeforalbedo @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna

add me to the taglist!

3K notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 1 month ago

Text

double dose | njm + lmk

plug!fwb!jaemin x f!reader x plug!fwb!mark

summary: maybe sleeping with one plug when you might be in love with your other wasn’t your best idea. you think you love jaemin, but you know you love fucking mark. you might have bitten off more than you can chew dealing with both, especially when they find out.

wc: 8.4k

warnings under the cut! 18+ mdni

cw: smut, angst, fluff, pwp, 3some (no mxm), jealous!switchy!jaemin + instigator!dom!mark, non-idol!au, weed use, high sex, explicit protected/unprotected pinv sex, multiple sex scenes, oral (giving/receiving), fingering, spitting, voyeurism, rough sex, overstim, shotgunning, choking, some slapping, mating press, nipple play, squirting, dirty talk, one-sided?pining, degradation, possessiveness, names: sunshine, baby, pretty girl, slut

you’re breathing hard, seeing stars, and feeling him everywhere. your eyes flutter up at the man above you, his hooded red eyes locked on yours, lips pulled into his familiar dopey grin as his hips meet yours over and over.

nights with jaemin always go like this. smoke sessions turn into more, and high thoughts come to life.

“fuck baby, feels so fucking good,” jaemin drawls out, leaning down to meet your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. he groans as you clench around him, your eyes shutting tightly as you reach your peak. you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been at it, feeling like it was ages ago that you lit up the first joint of the night.

“give it to nana, c’mon, angel,” he murmurs, readjusting to plant his hold on your hips, eyes moving down to focus on the way you take him in. “pussy was made for me, so fucking perfect, you’re so pretty. and only for me,” his voice and speed pick up, fingers digging into your hips.

“right?” he breaks from his trance to look back at your face, wanting to hear your answer.

you can’t even register what he’s saying anymore, each thrust reaching so deep into you. you can only chant his name and choruses of “yes, yes, yes.”

the pressure built in your stomach snaps, and you feel your composure crumble, cumming around him with a loud shriek, walls pulsing around him.

“f-fuck,” he hisses, hips stuttering as he moves down, intending to meet your lips once more.

with the last bit of your strength, however, you pull yourself to his chest, avoiding his lips by burying your face in his neck as you ride out your high.

he seems to pay no mind, now unable to hold back, gritting his teeth as he anchors his arms around you tightly, finally spilling into the condom. his hips continue to move, and after he’s ridden out his own climax, he collapses with you into the bed.

the feeling of being wrapped in his arms lying in the fluffy comforters of his bed is the perfect recipe for a come down, and you feel yourself start to drift to sleep. your eyes close, and you hear jaemin’s low voice, snuggling into you as he peppers kisses on your cheek.

“did so good for me, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs between kisses, and you hum before sleep envelops you completely.

you wake up the following morning, groggy with your high from the night before lingering just slightly. you’re in one of jaemin’s hoodies, and can’t bring yourself to get out of bed yet.

you hear a faint humming from the kitchen, and you can picture it all so vividly.

mornings with jaemin always go like this. waking up cleaned up and to him cooking in his cat apron and boxers, fluffy pancakes laid in front of you as he spoils you rotten.

you let out a sigh, pushing yourself from his pillowy sheets to get up and gather your clothes. as tempting as it is, you’ve decided to do your best to stop falling into this routine you’ve built.

jaemin is your main plug, and you’ve known him for a good while now. he’s always been attractive to you, and he’s never hid his own interest, either. nothing crazy ever happened until you showed up one day having left your wallet at your apartment. he offered another way to pay, and you haven’t spent a dime on weed since.

he’s always so sweet, sweeter than the pancakes he makes the mornings after blowing your back out, but too sweet for someone who you could only label as a fuck buddy. he’s sweet, but never serious.

in the most, and maybe only, serious conversation you’ve had with him, jaemin made it very clear when you started sleeping together that there were no strings attached. he just wasn’t in the right place for a relationship and you agreed back then.

but a no-sleepover rule turned into weekly sleepovers and more, and not seeing each other aside from hook ups and smoke sessions turned into grocery stops and even meeting some of each other’s friends.

yet you didn’t dare bring up the dreaded “what are we?” conversation in fear he’d call it off completely, his deeply unserious nature making it feel like he could slip from your hands at any moment.

as time passed, deep down, you know you may have developed feelings for him— he’s made it hard not to with the way he treats you, but you aren’t sure if you’re the only recipient of his sweetness, and that chips away at you.

you change back into your clothes and exit his room with your stuff.

“good morning, sunshine!” jaemin greets once he catches sight of you. he raises an eyebrow, confused that you look like you’re ready to go.

“i came up with a new whipped cream recipe, i put it on the side in case you don’t like it,” he explains, two dishes set up on his dining room table.

“oh, and i have someone coming over tonight, but you can take your time,” he comments nonchalantly. you fight the urge to ask who, but you build your resolve to enforce the distance.

“i actually have to head out. i’ve got a few errands to run,” you smile as best you can, but jaemin frowns.

“errands? do you need me to go with y—”

“no—i’m okay. thanks, though,” you interrupt, trying your best not to meet his eyes. “and sorry you went through the trouble,” you add, motioning to his pancakes.

he’s quiet for a second, undoubtedly trying to read you, but he moves wordlessly and grabs one of the plates, turning to his kitchen.

“don’t apologize. here, at least take this to go,” he insists, and before you can even object, he’s whisked a set of pancakes and cream into a container, wrapping it up in a bag before giving it to you.

“let me know how you like the cream, i’m experimenting.” he smiles gently, but it’s hard to meet his with your own.

“i will, thank you, jaemin.” the way you say his name is far too cold, but neither of you address it.

he walks you to the door and gives you a quick peck, another regular occurrence you know is far too intimate for a supposed friends with benefits situation. you can’t help but wonder—can he even treat someone else like this?

are you his only one? a voice in your head tells you no.

you say your goodbyes and head out the door, walking briskly down the hall. you enter the elevator and lean back against its walls once the doors close, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

a familiar ringtone interrupts your thoughts, and you pull out your phone to see a message from a contact you haven’t seen in a while.

as much as you want him to be, jaemin isn’t the only one for you either.

m: wyd tn?

it’s a simple text, but you know exactly what it implies. you think for a bit before responding, taking your time on your walk back home. you could use a distraction, and you know the person on the other side of this message could be just that.

you: mmm maybe getting smoked out?

m: beat me to it

m: come over, got smth new for you to try

you never thought you’d be hopping from one plug’s house almost directly to another, but after devouring the pancakes jaemin made and a long nap at your own place, you find yourself faced with a grinning mark lee.

you had met him through a mutual friend when you ran out of weed while jaemin was out of town, and you were absolutely floored at how attractive he was.

he offered to smoke you out the first time you met him, and it was only a matter of time before you ended up in his bed. smoke and sex—that’s all there was to this connection. when mark said no strings attached, he meant it.

that’s what you like about him.

you don’t see him often, but when you do, it’s always a good time. you take your usual spot on his bed, and he pulls out one of his many pipes and a small glass jar.

“here, smell this,” he holds up the opened jar to you, and you get a whiff of the pungent buds. “good? it’s a new hybrid i picked up. might start selling.”

it doesn’t smell much different from what you’re used to, but flower before it burns is always pleasant to you. he gets to grinding and packing right away, and a comfortable silence settles between you two as he takes the first hit.

he offers you the pipe and lighter, and you carefully relight the ground leaves, breathing in the smoke. after quite a few, you’re on cloud 9, and mark seems to be on the same boat.

the tension you were feeling has dissipated noticeably, and you can’t help but feel that this was the right decision for you. you needed to be out of the house, or you’d be running right back to jaemin’s.

jaemin.

jaemin who has someone else at his place right now, maybe doing everything he does with you.

jaemin who was in mark’s position not too long ago.

you try to rid your thoughts of his face, his name, his voice, him.

as if he can read your mind, mark motions for you to scoot closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. “one more?” he asks, and you nod.

with a rough hand on your lower back, he guides you to straddle him, seating you over him as he grabs his pipe. he takes a long pull, setting it to the side before his hands snake back to your waist.

you lean down to him, lips hovering over his before one hand comes to the back of your neck. he blows the smoke into your waiting mouth before melding your lips together.

you start to grind your hips into his, and all you can think about is how good it all feels, finally registering just how high you are. you never realize it until you get that wave of lightness in your head and body, having lost track of how many hits you took while lost in thought.

your brain is mush, and you can’t stay focused. part of you is glad you can’t think right now, honed in on the way mark’s hands and lips roam all over and in you, clothes tossed carelessly from the bed.

one thing you’ve come to know is that while sex with jaemin borders love-making, mark fucks.

and fucked is exactly how you find yourself, mark pressing your head into his pillows, ass up as he slams into you from behind. his hands shift to a bruising grip on your hips, pushing down so that your back stays arched just how he likes it.

“f-fuck.. fuck, that’s it.” strings of curses and groans leave his mouth at the feeling of you wrapped around him, his own mind void of anything but your plush walls, drool threatening to drip from his mouth at the addicting feeling as he hits you over and over in that spot that makes you squeal.

“how’s this pussy so tight? fuck, fuck, sucking me in like crazy..” mark’s a talker, and it’s always nasty. never the heart wrenching sweet nothings that jaemin has for you.

you’re pulled from your daze, realizing your other plug has been on your mind the entire time, despite this being a supposed distraction. with your eyes shut tightly, your mind drifts, and you start to picture his pretty smile, his voice in your ear, the way jaemin feels wrapped in your innermost walls.

in the process, you unconsciously clench around mark, at which he hisses.

his hips pick up the pace, speed bruising as his pelvis meets you from behind, a hand coming down to grab a fistful of your ass. he squeezes hard, rubbing over its expanse. teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, he admires the smooth skin before slapping it, hard.

you yelp in surprise at the sharp sting as you’re brought back to the man inside of you.

the sensation has you clenching even tighter around him, and he chuckles darkly at that “baby likes that? know you like it rough, the way i fuck this cunt.”

you’re lightheaded from the lack of air, the stinging, and the way he pounds you deeper and deeper into his sheets. he slaps your ass another time, and again, your cries and pulsing increasing at each one.

you do like it. in fact you think you love it—the way pain always melts into pleasure with mark. you don’t even feel yourself push your body back in his hands, wanting to feel more.

you can’t see him, but his eyes take in your wiggling hips, glued to the way his cock moves in and out of you, addicted to the way broken moans leave you at each stroke. he lifts a leg, planting his foot into the bed, fucking into you even harder in this new position at a spot that has you seeing stars.

you can only wail into his sheets, tears and drool soaking his pillows, feeling your stomach start to tighten. your muffled cries get louder and louder, and mark knows your body well enough to know you’re close.

“yeah— just like that. c’mon, cum on this dick baby, cum for me. milk me dry, pretty..” it’s all too much, and his words and last few thrusts have your eyes rolling back. in a flash, you’re cumming with a loud shriek as your body releases all of its energy, crying as mark pounds you through it.

he’s quick to follow, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he pushes his way through your walls gripping down on him. a deep groan bursts from his chest as his hips stutter, and he pulls out quickly and jerks himself furiously over your ass, admiring the way his release paints your skin.

his hold on you releases and your hips fall, strength completely gone from your body. the fatigue and weed coursing through your veins threaten to glue you to his sheets for the night.

mark rolls over beside you, eyes closed as he murmurs something along the lines of “so fucking good.” almost immediately he descends into soft snores, tangling up in his sheets.

you don’t usually stay over, just staying in bed until you’re ready to go. mark has always offered as a courtesy, but you know it’s better this way. maybe it’s a part of you unconsciously saving that for jaemin that sends you home each time, no matter how spent you are.

yet mark’s offer is extremely tempting in this moment, your body feeling so heavy with this new strain you smoked and the aftermath of his work on you.

one night couldn’t hurt. you give into your brain fog and find yourself drifting to sleep, letting your eyes close and breathing relax.

you’re so close, but a buzzing from your phone on mark’s bedside table alerts you. you’re almost too tired to answer, but you reach for the device anyways.

immediately, you regret checking it, your screen glaring only to display the very person you’ve been trying to get out of your head. what happened to having someone over?

you internally debate answering it, especially since mark’s knocked out next to you. but once again your judgement is clouded by your overstimulated mind.

you tap the green answer button.

“hi there, beautiful,” his voice rings through the speaker into your ear, and oh, how the sound of his voice sends chills through your entire being.

“hi..” you reply sluggishly.

“sleepy? i know you just left, but i was gonna ask if you’d come over.” his voice also sounds a bit tired, but there’s humor to his tone. you want to ask what happened to his company, but you hold back.

“mhm, smoked a bit and heading to sleep soon,” you reply, hoping it’ll end at that. you’d say you regret coming to mark’s first, but again you don’t know what, or who, jaemin was doing tonight. and with the way you know your legs will be wobbling in the morning, there’s nothing to regret.

“oh? what was on the menu?” he asks, interest piqued of course at the mention of weed.

“something new...” you yawn out, but you’re met with silence on the other line. something immediately feels off. “jaemin?”

“new? i don’t remember stocking anything new recently.. you know you don’t need to buy overpriced shit somewhere else, just let me know what you want and i’ll find it.” he chides. his voice is playful, but with a serious undertone, and you quickly realize your mistake.

“um—” warm arms slither around your waist before you can respond, and you feel hot breath fan over your ear, giving you goosebumps.

“sorry pretty, can you keep it down a bit? been a long day today..” mark murmurs into your ear, voice deep and hoarse. in a second he’s back to his soft snoring, now wrapped around you as if nothing happened.

there’s no doubt in your mind that jaemin heard that. the silence following that is so heavy, and your mind races as you try to think of how to follow up.

“who was that?” jaemin’s voice finally comes through the phone, devoid of any emotion. you’ve never heard his voice like this, and you genuinely can’t think of anything to say.

“um—sorry jaemin, gotta go. goodnight,” you reply in a rush, cutting off any further conversation with an abrupt end to the call.

mark groans as you unwrap yourself from his arms, redressing as quickly as you can, limbs a bit uncoordinated with the high still running through you and the effects of mark blowing your back out.

you call a cab home, and only once you’re finally in the comfort of your own bed do you allow yourself to fully process what just happened.

it’s not like you were doing anything wrong, so why did it feel that way? jaemin had no obligation to know who else you spent time with, just as you had none for him.

you just never thought of the possibility of the two plugs crossing paths in any way.

regardless, it shouldn’t be a big deal. yet the feeling in your gut remains, and you know why, even if you won’t admit it.

your heart sinks, scared at what jaemin’s reaction might be. scared that he’ll care, confusing you even further, or worse, that he won’t care.

either way, you don’t know if you could take it.

you haven’t heard from jaemin in two weeks. he didn’t contact you after you hung up on him like you thought he would, and when you finally mustered up the courage to reach out to him, you were left unanswered.

it doesn’t help that mark is out of town for a little while, too, mentioning a trip with some of his close friends. it’s just the cherry on top of your frustration, and you only reach out once, not wanting to put yourself in a position to be rejected again.

you know it can’t be helped, but you really are going through it.

when it reaches week 3 without seeing either of your plugs, you conclude this is good for you. it’s a solid time to reflect—no confusion, no distraction, just you and your thoughts.

you even took a break from smoking for a bit. you found that you’d spiral thinking about your predicament everytime you were high, so you decided it was time for a tolerance break anyway. with a clearer mind, you come to a conclusion.

you can’t deny it—you have feelings for jaemin that run deeper than they seem, and you need to bring an end to the ambiguity of your relationship.

yes, mark blows your mind every time you’re in his bed, but it’s not like jaemin necessarily lacks in any way in that department, either. he has potential. you’ll miss it, but you probably could live without fucking mark.

you’d go back to him for one more taste to see if you actually believe that, but you’re trying to stop complicating things for yourself.

if it turns out that it’s not in the cards with jaemin, as sad as you’ll be, at least you can get that closure to move on and you can hit up mark without that funky feeling in your gut.

just as you resolve to contact the object of your affections, message partially typed out on your phone, a buzzing of your phone startles you.

he has impeccable timing as always, jaemin’s name reading clearly on your screen. you take a deep breath, calming yourself best as you can.

“hello?”

“hi angel,” his voice is just as sweet as you remember, and some stress leaves your body at that. half of you feared he’d be as stoic as he was the last time you had spoken. “it’s been a while, how are you?”

you have so many questions for him—where he’s been the past few weeks, why he never responded to your message, why he’s acting normal. yet you don’t ask any of that, nor do you answer his question.

“can i come see you?” is what instead leaves you.

“i was about to ask the same thing,” he responds, voice just a bit more serious. “come over?”

the entire commute to his place, you resolve your mind to be honest with jaemin, even if it means things won’t be the same. you need that clarity.

he meets you at the door as he always does, and the second his door opens, the faint smell of weed hits your nose. you haven’t smoked with him in a while, and you feel a bit of sadness rise at that.

jaemin is pleasant, but he initiates no physical contact—a stark contrast to his usual clingy self. that’s a good thing for you in this moment, but you can’t help but crave his touch. there’s a slight tension you sense behind his usual smile, and you brace yourself for the conversation to come.

nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you when you walk into his living room.

“hey there, pretty girl.”

everything in you screams that this has to be a dream, but your blood runs cold at the very real mark lee sitting on jaemin’s couch, leaned back comfortably with a calm smirk on his face. he has a blunt in one hand and his other waves its fingers at you in greeting. “surprised?”

to say you’re dumbfounded is an understatement, and when you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

you look between mark and jaemin, who also has a calm expression on his face. “i heard you knew my buddy here.” he moves to sit down next to mark, patting the space between them. “take a seat?”

you haven’t had a single bit of weed in at least a week, but this whole thing feels like a fever dream you’d have on a bad trip. your feet stay planted where you are and you shake your head. jaemin shakes his head too and gets back up, leading you by the waist to guide you between them.

“h-how do you two know each other?” you finally ask. all conversation plans you had in your head were tossed out the window the second you saw mark.

he speaks up first, offering the blunt up to your lips. “relax, pretty, you’re not in trouble.” your eyes move from him to the blunt, and he nods assuringly. you let him hold it for you as you take a decent drag from it. you need something to calm you down.

mark takes one last hit as well before passing it over you to jaemin, who puts it out after taking a couple on his own.

“remember how i said i was on a trip with some close friends?” your heart sinks. there’s no way. “jaem here is one of ‘em. got him into dealing and everything, too.” jaemin nods in agreement.

“known this guy for years, and we’ve always had a lot in common, even among all of our other friends,” jaemin explains, sliding a hand from your knee up to your thigh, squeezing lightly. “didn’t think we’d have you, too.”

he looks into your eyes, calling your name softly with an unwavering gaze. “be honest. is mark the only other one?”

his expression is so serious, and when you nod yes, jaemin leans down to plant a deep kiss on your lips. the kiss is tender as always, but his hand on the back of your neck presses you into him even more. he finally pulls back, face set in determination.

“good, because after this you’re all mine,” he declares, no hint of a joke in his voice. your mouth drops, and you can’t help but be confused.

“what?”

jaemin is dead serious, but mark laughs. “he came to me with his love issues on the trip and imagine my surprise when we found out we were both seeing you?” mark chuckles as he tries to explain, recalling how it all went down.

“he was mad as fuuuck, i've never seen the guy so heated,” mark teases, and jaemin shoots him a glare. “but he chilled out when i asked if you guys were exclusive or anything.” a heavy sigh sounds beside you at that last part.

“and that’s where i went wrong in all of this..” jaemin grimaces, and looking at his upset expression, you’re still confused as to what exactly is going on.

is it all actually working out, just in a way you hadn’t expected? you need answers.

“jaem, weren’t you all about no relationships? it was all casual, right?” you question, and he interlaces his fingers with yours, eyebrows furrowed and a tiny pout on his lips.

“i’m sorry, baby. i should’ve said something sooner. i thought i was starting to get it across with my actions, but i should’ve been clear.. i do have feelings for you.” he brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly.

“after this, i’m gonna make you mine. i’ll let mark have you one more time, but after— no more games, i’m serious.” disbelief runs through you at his words, and you glance back at mark. he simply shrugs.

“i mean, my door’s open in case you wanna ditch this guy, still no strings attached. it’s all up to you.” you’re glad more than ever that things were only ever complicated with jaemin; mark’s always made it easy for you.

your heart soars as you now process that jaemin does feel the same way as you do. while you’re a bit upset at him for not telling you sooner, it all works out.

yeah, you’re in love with jaemin, but you also love the way mark fucks you. you couldn’t have discovered that if you were with jaemin earlier.

now that the confusion is gone, arousal and excitement hit you—everything you want is falling into your lap. you get to have the two of them together, and after all of this jaemin is your lover?

sure you told yourself you could give up mark, but the universe is giving you one last taste and you could not be more grateful. it’s been a while since you’ve been short of a dick appointment, squeezing your thighs together subconsciously from the past 3 weeks of deprivation.

“ohohhh, someone’s feeling it,” hands slide around your waist, mark turning fully to you. he pulls your back into his chest, and his hands start to ride your shirt up, mouth coming down to your ear and neck.

“gonna miss this pussy so bad, but hey, at least i get a goodbye present, right?” you can feel mark’s hot breath as he chuckles.

jaemin rolls his eyes, but comes to join you, squeezing in between your legs to meld his mouth with yours. he kisses you fiercely, with more passion than you ever think he has before, pushing you harder into mark’s chest.

mark’s hands slip under your shirt completely and push up your bra, bringing his fingers up to your tits, tracing lightly over your nipples in a way that has you shuddering in his hold. he pinches your nipples suddenly, making you yelp into jaemin’s mouth.

jaemin pulls back, frowning at the man behind you. “be gentle, dude.” mark raises an eyebrow at him.

“you know this one can take it, right?” mark snickers, grabbing the bottom of your shirt to pull it and your bra off of you.

he continues his actions on your chest pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. your yelps turn into moans at the way his hold tightens just a bit harder than usual.

jaemin just tsk’s at him, moving instead to kiss down your neck and chest, traveling down to lay open mouthed kisses on your exposed stomach. he backs up a bit, hooking his fingers through your waistband to drag your shorts and underwear off.

he tosses them to the side, settling back between your legs. his hands come down to your core, one hand spreading your lips as he runs his fingers through your folds.

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into it, your legs starting to tremble ever so slightly at the stimulation. he keeps your legs spread, and you wiggle your hips into his wandering fingers. jaemin likes to take his time, and it always feels good, but you crave more.

jaemin moves down, suckling into your thighs as he pushes them up to gain access to your waiting pussy. when his mouth finally meets your core, you moan out, feeling his tongue explore your folds, drawing figure 8’s into your clit with his slick muscle. your hips continue to squirm unconsciously, and mark lets out a quiet chuckle at the sight.

“y’know your angel’s gonna come running back to my door if that’s all you can do.” jaemin’s movements pause at the challenge, his fingers digging your thighs tighter. he makes eye contact with mark, but instead of getting mad like you think he will, he meets mark’s smirk with his own.

“why don’t you show me how it’s done, then?” his proposition stirs feelings in your stomach, and mark obliges immediately, the two men tugging you up to your feet to make your way to jaemin’s bedroom.

you’ve been in his room many times before, but the pure lust radiating off of your companions has everything feeling so new. both men strip themselves of their own clothes. “jaem, go sit on the bed,” mark instructs, and to your surpise, jaemin sits on his bed against his headboard with no rebuttal.

“suck his dick, pretty girl.” you take in this dominant side of mark, even more commanding and in control than when its just the two of you. and you like it. “you love him, don’t you? don’t you want your nana to feel good?”

jaemin’s cock stands tall and heavy in his hand, stroking up and down expectantly as he waits for you. mark’s right, you do want him to feel good, and as if in a trance, you follow mark’s words, settling between jaemin’s legs. you lean down taking his member into your into your hands, stroking at him lightly.

you let out a drop of spit onto jaemin’s tip, and he swears its the hottest thing he’s ever seen. you take him into your mouth as far in as you can stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth with your hands. mark watches with a darkening glare.

“you can do better than that and you know it,” mark’s voice resonates behind you, and without a second to spare a rough hand pushes you down further on jaemin’s cock. you gag as it hits the back of your throat. “take him like the champ you are, baby.”

“f-fuck!” jaemin reacts with a choked groan, too turned on by the way your throat constricts around his head, the way you just take him. mark grabs one of jaemin’s hands, placing it on top of your head, encouraging him to guide you as your head bobs up and down.

“you take this, and i’ll show you how this cunt likes to be eaten.” jaemin swallows, only being able to nod as you continue your work on him with his hands now guiding you. satisfied at his lessons, mark moves back, moving your hips up to expose your glistening core. he licks his lips, making eye contact with jaemin one last time before diving into your folds.

you cry out, mouth separating from jaemin as mark eats you out like a mad man, mouthing at your pussy, tongue dipping into your entrance as he rubs at your clit harshly. even if jaemin can’t see exactly what’s happening from his side, the effect is apparent, your head falling to his lap as your legs tremble from the pleasure.

to see you so fucked out on another man’s tongue awakens something in him.

he feels a rush in his head, heat rising to the back of his neck. his hands go back to your head, grip firm, guiding you back to his member.

you look up at him with teary eyes as you open your mouth back up, tongue ghosting over his head as you try to stay focused with mark eating you out like he’s starved.

jaemin pushes your mouth back down on his cock, and you take him inch by inch, a mix of gagging noises and moans leaving you as you try and breathe through your nose. his hips start to move in turn with his pushes, his member hitting your throat even harder.

mark lets out a delighted noise at that, separating his mouth for a second as he starts to finger at your entrance. “someone’s getting the hang of it,” he teases another finger, feeling each knuckle of his long digits slide in alongside the other. “just clenched around my tongue like fucking crazy. told ya.”

jaemin just nods, not wanting to acknowledge how mark knows a side of your body and tastes that he doesn’t. his eyes stay trained on you—even if he doesn’t know, he’ll just have to learn.

you, on the other hand, are just basking in the stimulation, feeling your stomach tighten as mark’s tongue returns to your hole, his fingers rubbing harsher into your clit at this point.

the feeling of mark’s mouth on you, and jaemin in your mouth is far too much for you, but you love it. mark’s fingers stop rubbing your clit, instead slapping in time with his mouth.

the sting has you cumming hard, sputtering over jaemin’s cock as he still holds your head in his hands. mark’s tongue doesn’t leave you, continuing to eat you with fervor, your trembling legs starting to go numb from the pleasure. you continue to let jaemin use your mouth, breathing as best you can.

it doesn’t take long for mark to bring you to your peak again, nerves flared and tears starting to fall from your eyes. jaemin swipes at your tears, shuddering at the sight.

“let go.”

his head snaps up to mark, confused and irritated at the interruption. “what?”

“i said, let go,” the man behind you repeats. “we're gonna fuck, and you’re gonna watch,” mark states bluntly.

jaemin purses his lips together, his hold on you slackening as his cock slips out of your mouth. you take in as much air as you can, heaving as you catch your breath from the back to back orgasms.

jaemin should be fuming at the way mark is bossing him around like some little bitch. should be irritated that he’s not even letting you finish him off. should be pissed that mark’s staking a claim like you’re his.

but he’s not angry, not one bit, his cock only swelling even more.

his breath catches, and he can’t even formulate a sentence in return, only nodding.

mark yanks your slumped form up by the hips, settling behind you to slap his neglected cock on your ass, dragging his head up and down your dripping slit.

jaemin just watches, swallowing the lump in his throat, baited breath as mark grins.

“this is how you do it.”

before he even finishes his sentence, he enters you in one fell swoop, bottoming out to the hilt. your head shoots up, crying out as he draws his hips back, pounding back deeply once, then again, building up speed as he grips your hips hard enough to leave reminders for days to come.

“sh-shit, your baby likes it rough, y’know?” he draws you up against him, your back meeting his chest as he continues his bruising pace, wrapping one hand around your abdomen.

“someone’s gotta fuck you how you like if i’m not around.” his other hand trails up and around your neck, pressing his fingers into the sides of it lightly. “right, pretty girl?”

your mind doesn’t even register that mark’s talking to you, going slightly lightheaded from his fingers around your throat and cock ravaging you. his fingers tighten slightly as his lips meet your ear. “right?” you pulse around him, tears running down your face and his hand.

he knows you’re not going to respond, eyes moving back up to his forgotten friend. only jaemin can’t meet his eyes, his pupils dilated and trained on the tears running down your face, your fucked out expression—the way mark just uses you.

in the time he’s known you, jaemin’s never wanted to make you sad, never wanted to treat you like you were less than. he always kept things lighthearted, nothing ever serious enough to bring you to tears.

but in this moment, he understands— you’re just as beautiful wrecked, and you want to be.

you take in air as mark releases your throat, only to shove his fingers into your dripping mouth. “take it, baby, take it for me,” the power in his thrusts hasn’t faltered in the slightest, hips pounding with the intent to make it hurt, cock rutting into your deepest parts. “and keep your eyes on your lover boy over there.”

your eyes come into focus on the man in front of you, taking in the sight of him. his teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them before as he grips his cock, red and angry wrapped in his veiny hand. his gaze is locked on yours, and you just know the jaemin you’ll be getting after mark is done is gonna be one you’ve never met before.

mark feels you tightening around him, pulsing and squeezing, knowing that you’re getting closer and closer. he’s feeling it a bit more than usual with an audience, and he knows that he’s not going to last long either.

“y-yeah, fuck, cum for me like the little slut you are—” the second it leaves his mouth, you feel a rush all at once before everything snaps, falling apart on his cock and biting down on his fingers. “and keep those fucking—” his hips punctuate each word, “—eyes. on. him.”

he continues to fuck into you through it, chasing his own high through your walls gripping down on him. “gonna fill this pussy up, fill it ‘til its fucking full.”

his thrusts grow shallower until his hips finally stutter, ropes coating your walls. he opens his mouth just as he hits his peak, biting down on your shoulder with a groan that rips through his chest.

he’s never marked you nor cum inside before, but the combination of the warmth and pain shoots through you, sending chills that could set you off all over again.

mark’s hips finally still, and he releases his grip on you, allowing you to fall forward. he pulls out admiring the way his cum drips from your entrance. he lifts his head up to address his silent friend, cocking his head to the side. “think you can do it?”

“fuck you.”

filled with a burning in his chest he’s never quite felt before, jaemin shoots up, pushing mark aside and flipping you onto your back. his eyes rake over you as he moves between your legs, stopping at your spent, swollen pussy dripping with mark’s cum. for the first time since you entered his bed, he addresses you.

“messy fucking girl,” he mumbles lowly, but it still reaches your ears, and you clench around nothing, more of mark’s cum spilling out of you. he slaps his member on top of your slit, coating his head in your mixture of juices. you gasp as he slides right in all at once with no warning, just as mark did earlier.

remembering the sight he sat through painfully, he draws his hips out, hitting into you deeply, harder than mark started, wanting to remind you that he’s more than capable of giving you what you want, too.

“one dick wasn’t good enough for you?” with a tightening grip, he lifts your hips up, using his strength to move you back and forth to meet his harsh thrusts. “had to go fucking running to the next best guy like a fucking slut?” he feels the way you clench around him at that, testing the waters after seeing how mark’s words affected you.

“wanna act like one? i’ll treat you like one,” he growls, dropping your hips to the bed and pushing your legs up by the back of your knees. he lifts himself up over you to slam himself into you, and in this new position, he reaches further than he ever has, than mark ever has, than anyone ever has.

“open up, baby.” you comply immediately, and he lowers his head slightly, letting a fat wad of saliva land on your tongue. “swallow.”

you do just that, throat sore from both your never ending cries and activities of the night. every nerve in your body flares with overstimulation, but you love it. it’s everything you want and more, and all you can do is lie there and take it as jaemin pounds into you so hard you’re seeing stars.

“shit,” you hear from beside you, and you barely are able to turn your head, seeing mark furiously tugging at his own cock, rejuvenated at the sight before him. jaemin looks over at him, too, again filled with the burning sensation at mark’s presence. he grits his teeth, directing his attention back to you.

“you should’ve just asked, baby, then we could’ve avoided all of this..” he scolds, nails digging into your calves. “but no, had to, fuck—run off to one of my best friends,” he sneers, and his ridicule hits you right in the stomach.

“i d-didn’t know!”

he just shakes his head. “i know, but listen carefully, okay, baby?” the tender jaemin you’re used to peeks out, but in a second he’s gone, holding your gaze as he says each word with emphasis. he slows his thrusts down to a torturous pace, and you do your best to listen.

“i’m the one you love and i’m the one who loves you. mark can fuck you all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re mine.” you cling onto every word that leaves his mouth, nodding desperately, heart lurching at his claim over you.

“yes, jaemin, yes, yes— i’m yours, i’m yours, jaemin,” you cry, genuinely meaning it. you are his, and you always have been, and now that you know he actually wants you to be, you can let it all go. his hips pick back up, pistoning into you, and a familiar feeling in your stomach starts to stir.

you pulse nonstop around him, feeling your vision going hazy, jaemin pressing himself as deeply as he can into you, hitting you over and over again in a spot that has you screaming. your cries get louder and higher, an intense pressure building up in your gut.

“w-wait, wait jaem—!” you plea, voice desperate. they fall on deaf ears, and the pressure explodes, forcing jaemin from your core, juices coating his pelvis and abdomen.

“fuck!” the sensation and sight is almost too much for jaemin to continue, hissing as he forces his way back into your walls, thrusting and rubbing your clit furiously to bring you both to your climax.

you’re sobbing and seeing white as you’re brought to and through it, and with a broken groan, he cums, fluids spilling into your already weeping hole.

he sits back, allowing your body to finally rest from its bent position, the two of you gasping for air. jaemin, still connected to you, leans down to kiss you roughly, your tired bodies melting back together, mouths eventually slowing, yet still moving over each other’s like magnets despite both of your lack of air.

you’re interrupted by the sound of a lighter flicking, and jaemin finally pulls out and separates from you to look back at his forgotten friend. “dude, what the fuck?”

mark has his underwear back on, sitting on a beanbag in the corner of jaemin’s room with one of his bongs in hand, lighter flicking at the bowl. mark proceeds to take a rip from the bong, taking in a heavy drag of smoke before blowing it out, the smell of weed creeping back into the room.

“want some?” he asks, clueless grin back on his face. jaemin thinks he can’t be serious, but after what you just experienced? a hit could fix everything.

“i do,” you mumble out, jaemin’s head snapping back to you. he looks at you with the same incredulous look, thinking there are other things at hand to be addressed. but he’s too tired to think, so he shrugs. why the fuck not?

jaemin slides an oversized shirt on you as mark returns to the bed. he passes you the bong, after which you pass it to jaemin, the 3 of you wordless as you recover from what was the best fucking of your life, and theirs, too, you assume. jaemin grabs some water from a mini fridge in his room, the 3 of you passing that around as well.

you don’t know how much time passes, but you all float higher with each round. it’s mark who breaks the silence, a role he’s seemed to claim over the course of this night.

“i know you guys are together together now, but… what was it?” he stops to remember, mischievous smile on his face. “oh yeah, ‘mark can fuck you all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re mine,’ is what i recall you saying, mr. na.” he raises his eyebrows in expectation.

jaemin looks at him in almost disbelief at the proposition before recalling that he did say that. and if he’s being honest, he meant it at the time.

in the end, he liked seeing this all go down more than he’d like to acknowledge, and a part of him liked being seen as well.

“don’t act like i didn’t see that fucking look in your eyes while i was balls deep,” mark laughs, seemingly reading his friend’s mind. “i don’t needa be on your dates or some shit like that, but call me if you ever need a repeat of tonight.”

jaemin looks to you to gauge your opinion, and while shy, you explain your thoughts honestly. since you had the choice, why not?

“i do love only you, jaem,” you assure, glancing back at mark. “but tonight was a little too good to not have ever again.” he just shrugs, directing it back to jaemin with a nod of his head.

jaemin hates to admit it, but he agrees. there was something different in the air tonight, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in doing it again. but you’re all way too high and fucked out to talk about it now, and you look like you’re gonna pass out any second.

he pulls you up on your shaky legs, holding you as he guides you out towards his bathroom. “we’ll text you,” jaemin states bluntly.

you beam up at him, and he looks back at you with the tenderness you’ve always known from him, only now you know it’s only yours.

he leans down to kiss you once again, not separating as he pulls you into the bathroom.

mark cleans himself up and gathers his clothes, chuckling to himself as he replays the events of the night in his own mind.

he grins at the sound of skin on skin echoing over the shower spray, tapping his fingers on the bathroom door on his way out.

“i’ll be waiting!”

a/n: if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! i fear this is actually the smuttiest thing i've ever written (i'm usually a tender fluffy love making kinda writer) that markmin live did this to me LOL side note, i feel like usually mark and jaemin's positions would be switched (lover boy vs. playful instigator) but i'm kind of living for this switched dynamic.. also this is completely separate from my other markmin plug!au's :') shout out bae @wispyxjae as always for beta-ing this filth <3

proud of myself for actually getting this done yay for 2 releases in 1 month!!! <3

feedback and shares are always always always appreciated, thank you for the support always!

-coco *\(^o^)/*

3K notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 1 month ago

Text

hit me up (please!) x l. mrk

# currently playing: party 4 u, tumblr girls, party sng >pairing. stripper! f reader x rich boy! mark >summary. Mark was meant to be just another client, a fleeting moment in a sea of rich guys who think they can buy whatever they want. But he keeps coming back, requesting only you, treating you differently—like you’re more than just a body. >genre. smut, angst (loosely inspired by Anora) >words. 8.1k >tags. fingering, reader uses she/her pronouns, penetration, praising, swearing, mark being a total simp, explicit smut (riding, praise, overstimulation, unprotected sex, oral both ways), drug usage, mutual pining, emotional repression, pole dance, 18+ minors dni! >a/n. everything is kind of fast paced in their relationship but its kind of how the Anora movie was

"You think he's coming again tonight?"

You roll your eyes, smoothing down the fabric of your miniskirt as you finish adjusting your makeup, already too familiar with the question.

"God, Chaewon, why do you care so much?"

She’s leaning against the bathroom counter, her hair perfectly tucked in a ponytail, holding her phone in one hand, pulling on a pair of heels with the other. You can see the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Not like I care care,” she says, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “just wanna know if you bagged that already.”

You let out a dry laugh, glossing your lips one last time before snapping the compact shut.

“Oh babes trust me, he’s far gone. Like, carved-my-name-into-his-brain type of gone” You blow her a kiss over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your lips. You leave the room, heels clicking down the hallway as the music from the floor gets louder. Tonight looks promising. The energy’s right, your outfit’s fire, and you already spotted at least three wallets worth your time.

But then your brain starts bugging.

Mark Lee. That conversation with Chaewon is stuck in your head. Is he coming again tonight, or is he done with you? Was it just a few nights of him playing around before heading back to his rich, perfect life?

You didn’t think much of him at first. Just another client, another rich boy paying for the fantasy. But after that third night, something shifted. It wasn’t just about the money or the quick pleasure. When Mark looked at you—especially when he was sober—it was different. He saw you. Really saw you, like he wanted to understand you beyond just the moment. And the fact that he kept asking for you? That was new.

It’s been a week now, and you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just another quick fling. But then again, that’s what you tell yourself every time, and it always ends the same.

You try to ignore the feeling. This wasn’t supposed to be more than a couple nights of fun. No feelings, no strings. But the way he treats you, how he listens, how he looks at you—it’s messing with your head. You shouldn't let your mind go this further.

You shake your head, pushing the thoughts away.

A man in a navy suit is smiling at you from one of the booths, drink in hand, the kind of guy who probably thinks flashing his Rolex is foreplay. You square your shoulders, smooth down your outfit, and slip on your best flirty smile—the one that gets them to talk too much and tip even more. “Couldn’t stop staring,” he says, flashing teeth that are almost too white. “You always this stunning?”

You tilt your head and laugh, soft and practiced. “Only when someone’s watching.”

He eats it up, like they always do.

You sit by his side and let your fingers trail lightly over his wrist as you ask him his name—John, of course it is—and listen to him drone on about his job, his car, some deal he closed. You make the appropriate noises, smile when he brags, and throw in a few compliments that sound genuine even though you're already bored out of your mind.

He starts getting bolder—his hand casually sliding up your thigh, his mouth brushing the curve of your neck.

You offer a soft laugh, the kind that keeps them hooked without promising a damn thing. You're already planning how to wrap this up when you hear heels clicking against the floor.

“Y/N,” one of the floor managers calls out “VIP Room 3. Your usual.” So he came.

You bite back a smile as you walk down the hall, fingers grazing the wall like you’re not thinking about him. But you are. You always do when he’s around.

The door’s slightly ajar when you arrive, the low hum of music spilling softly from inside. You pause for a moment—composure in place, heart steady—then push it open and step inside.

And there he is.

Mark Lee, stretched out on the leather couch like sin dressed in Boucheron. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, rings catching the dim light, a glass in his other hand he hasn’t touched. You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, throwing him that signature smirk. "You’re starting to look like a regular, baby."

Mark’s eyes light up, and without missing a beat, he pats his lap with a dramatic flourish, his grin widening. "Well, what can I say? I just can’t stay away from you."

You roll your eyes, but it's a playful move as you slide onto his lap with ease, one leg on either side of him. The action is effortless, comfortable—a habit by now. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"You sure know how to make an entrance, huh?" you tease, adjusting yourself slightly, your body a little too close to his. You can feel his breath hitch for a second, but he doesn't flinch. Mark doesn’t flinch for anything.

He laughs, clearly unbothered, but there's that mischievous glint in his eyes. "What can I say? I like the view."

You chuckle softly, leaning in close, your lips almost brushing his ear. "Guess I’m just that good, huh?" You feel his arms tighten around you, but he doesn't say a word.

"Always," he mutters, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a quiet laugh, settling more comfortably into his lap “You’re starting to make me feel like I’m your favorite,” you tease, your voice soft and almost too sweet.

You let your lips brush against his neck, planting little kisses that have him stiffening underneath you. You can feel his pulse quicken, the tension in his body rising with every light kiss you place.

Mark’s breath hitches, and he laughs nervously, his hands tightening around your waist. “You know you are,” he admits, his voice cracking slightly. You can’t help but smile to yourself. You’ve got him right where you want him.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Do I?” you tease, voice dripping with playfulness. “So that’s why’s your dick already hard the second I sit on your lap?” He laughs a little as you pull back with a grin and slowly rise from his lap, feeling his hands linger on your waist for a second too long before falling away. His eyes follow you, dark and hungry, and you know he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

You don’t say anything. Just step away, smooth and poised, until you’re standing in front of the pole set just a few feet from the couch. You glance over your shoulder, just to make sure he’s watching—and of course he is, already leaning forward, lips parted, like he’s forgotten how to sit still.

Your hand glides up the pole, fingers curling around it as you pivot gracefully on your heel. You start slow—hips swaying in time with the music, your movements fluid, unhurried. You let the rhythm guide you as you raise one leg, wrapping it around the pole and lifting yourself just enough to spin, your hair brushing your shoulders, your miniskirt slipping higher with every turn.

Mark exhales something low and shaky—maybe a curse, maybe your name. “Fuck,” he breathes, like he doesn’t even realize he’s said it. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You slide down with purpose, thighs tight around the metal, chest arching forward like you’re offering him a secret. Every movement is confident—designed to entrance, to tease, to show him exactly what he’s craving but can’t quite touch.

You laugh—not seductive, not calculated, just… amused. A burst of real laughter slipping out before you can help it. He’s so gone, so utterly enthralled, it’s almost ridiculous.

You saunter back to him, slower now, less performance and more instinct, and settle into his lap like it’s your favorite place to be. You cradle his face, eyes sparkling as you lean in.

“You’re so easy,” you whisper against his lips, half-teasing, half-awed. He grabs your face, desperate, and crashes his mouth onto yours. It steals the breath from your lungs—not just the kiss, but the way he needs it. Like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

You reach down, fingers lightly brushing against the bulge in his pants, the contact enough to make his breath hitch again.

Mark stumbles over his words, his usual coolness slipping just a little. He chuckles nervously, his hands fumbling at his pockets. “Can you blame me?” he mutters, still trying to play it off with a goofy grin.

With a quick motion, he pulls a tiny plastic bag from his pocket, holding it up between two fingers like it’s nothing. “Wanna bump before we get… more comfortable?” he asks, that same crooked grin playing on his lips as his voice dips low, barely holding steady.

You raise an eyebrow, amused, watching as he taps a little onto the back of his hand—like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “You sure that’s gonna calm you down?”

“No need for calming,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I just wanna enjoy this to the fullest, baby.” You watch as he brings his hand up, sniffs it quick with practiced ease. His eyes flutter for a second, then land back on you—glassy, a little more intense.

He holds the baggie out toward you, eyebrows raised in silent offer.

You smirk, taking the tiniest bit on the pad of your thumb before leaning back slightly and doing your own bump. It burns just enough to remind you it's real, your head tilting back as the familiar rush kicks in.

Then, softer—without losing that steady confidence—he lifts his hand to your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin like he’s been dying to touch you that way all night. It’s not rushed, not clumsy. Just deliberate.

“You look gorgeous tonight,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

It makes you pause, just for a second. Because he always says shit like that, and maybe it’s part of the game, but it still makes your chest feel weird. Warm.

Still, you recover quick, leaning into his hand with a smirk.

“Better than yesterday, hm?” you murmur, tilting your head as you roll your hips ever so slightly against him, like you’re testing his reaction, like you already know the answer. Your lips are close to his ear now, your breath warm against his skin.

Mark exhales a little laugh, but his grip on your waist tightens just enough to tell you how much he's feeling it.

“You keep leveling up or something?” he says, voice low, a little breathless. “’Cause I swear you looked like heaven last night, and now I’m like—” he gestures vaguely, eyes dragging over you like he’s never seen anything prettier, “—fully losing my mind.”

You giggle, biting your lip. “What should I do with you tonight?” you ask, your voice dipping into a playful, almost whiny tone as your hips grind just slightly, deliberately against the hard length straining in his pants.

Mark swallows hard, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he breathes out a quiet, “Shit…”

He looks at you, his gaze dark and intense. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You smirk, leaning in close, your lips just inches from his, whispering in his mouth with a teasing tone, “Mmm… should I suck it first? Or maybe you’d wanna fuck my tits instead?”

You laugh, the sound playful and flirty, as you start unbuckling his pants. Mark tilts his head back, letting out a laugh of his own, although a little more dry this time.

You tug open his belt, your fingers quick but teasing. The second his cock springs free and your hand wraps around him, he gasps.

"God, babe," he says, voice dipping, a little breathless now.

You sink to your knees slowly, keeping your eyes on him like it’s a challenge. Your fingers stroke along his length, your grip firm but smooth, and when you lean in, your tongue flicks against the tip first—just enough to make him jolt.

Then you drag your tongue down the underside in one long, steady lick. His cock twitches in your hand and you smirk to yourself, already a little addicted to how responsive he is. Every tiny shift in his breath fuels you.

You glance up through your lashes. He’s staring down at you, completely undone already—eyes heavy, jaw clenched, one hand flexing like he’s not sure whether to grab your hair or hold on to his sanity.

You take him into your mouth, slowly, letting the stretch happen naturally. He's thick—more than you’re used to—and you feel the tight pull in your jaw, but you push through it, letting him in deeper bit by bit.

A low groan escapes his throat. "Shit. You're the best I’ve ever had, Y/N."

The words make your stomach twist in the best way, heat rushing between your legs. You start moving—head bobbing, hand working in sync, your moans soft but deliberate, sending little vibrations through him.

It doesn't take long for Mark to lose control. He’s not the type to play the long game.

"Fuck, baby—hold still," he mutters, voice rough as his hands find your hair. He pushes deeper, his hips starting to thrust into your mouth, faster now, more desperate. You do your best to take it, breathing through your nose, tears pricking at your eyes.

Your free hand slips between your legs without thinking. You're soaked and needy, the pressure you apply to your clit makes you moan again, louder this time.

"You're so hot," he groans. "Watching you like this—fuck. I'm close."

He pulses in your mouth, his rhythm faltering. With three final deep thrusts he is coming in your mouth.

"Take it all. Don’t stop. You’re so fucking good, baby."

You swallow every drop, letting it linger for a moment before licking your lips. The taste, the weight of what just happened—it leaves you feeling powerful. Your hands remain on his thighs as you look up at him. He’s blissed out, eyes unfocused, chest rising and falling like he just remembered how to breathe.

You crawl back into his lap, slower this time, deliberately. You want him to feel every second of the shift. His eyes follow you, dazed, but when your body presses against his again, something in him sharpens. He grips your waist, then your hair, dragging you into a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. You kiss him back, matching his fire.

His lips begin to slow, soften. Like he suddenly remembers it’s you—not just someone making him feel good, but the girl who's been driving him insane in the best way. And now that you’re in his lap, tasting him, letting him kiss you like this—he doesn’t want to rush it. He wants to savor every second. You nip his bottom lip suddenly, and he gasps into your mouth.

You take advantage of it, slipping your tongue in. The way his body jerks, the quiet groan he lets out when your hips shift slightly—it tells you everything. You feel him harden against you again, and it makes you grin against his lips.

You pull back just enough to whisper, playful but knowing, “Hard again?”

Mark laughs breathlessly, eyes flicking down between your bodies before meeting yours again. “Can’t help it, baby… I want to fuck your pussy.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head like you’re weighing your options. But deep down? You already know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

“Mmm... you know that’s an extra,” you say, voice teasing.

He blinks, thrown off just enough to make you grin. “How much?”

You hum, dragging it out, pretending to think—when in truth, you’re just enjoying the way he watches you like he can’t look anywhere else. “Like… two grand?” you murmur, teasing, light on the surface. But your eyes stay steady. You want to see what he does with that.

He doesn’t even flinch.

“You could ask me to give you anything,” he says, low and serious, “and I would.”

It knocks the air out of you more than you expect. The way he says it—not cocky, not playful. Certain. Like he already has.

You laugh, but it comes out a little breathier than intended, like you’re trying to soften what just shifted between you. You trail your fingers slowly across his chest, circling patterns there, grounding yourself in the motion.

“Are you catching feelings for me, Markie Poo?” you ask, mockingly sweet. But there’s an edge to it. A quiet little tremor. You don’t even look up when you say it—you’re scared to see it in his face, in case it’s a lie.

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t brush it off.

“I might,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I did.”

You go still on top of him.

For a second, all the teasing, the breathy laughs, the way your hips had been slowly shifting on his lap—it all pauses.

You meet his gaze. Not with a smirk this time. Just eyes wide, something vulnerable flickering underneath the lashes. You weren’t expecting him to say it. Not like that. Not mean it.

He notices.

Mark’s hand comes up slowly, brushing hair away from your face, like he’s scared to mess up the moment. Scared you’ll run.

“You okay?” he asks, so quiet it almost doesn’t feel like him. Not the same guy who just had you on your knees five minutes ago.

You nod, but it’s small. Not confident. Your fingers still linger on his chest, like they’re holding onto something real.

“I just…” You trail off, not sure what the hell you’re about to admit. “I don’t usually let it get this far.”

He exhales through his nose. Not annoyed—more like he gets it. Too well.

“Me neither,” he murmurs. Then adds, almost like he can’t help himself, “But with you, it’s hard to stop.”

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “You always say shit like that when your dick’s hard.”

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. He just looks at you.

That silence stretches longer than you’re ready for. Long enough to make your heart pound in your chest, for all the wrong reasons.

“…Are you being for real?” you ask, softer this time. Not teasing anymore.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize every little flicker of doubt in it.

And that makes it worse—because you don’t want to believe it. You really don’t. Because what if it’s just the heat of the moment? What if it’s just talk?

What if you let yourself believe that a guy like him could want someone like you for real—and you're wrong?

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek, suddenly hyper-aware of your position on his lap, how your thighs are still pressed around him like you haven’t been guarding your heart this whole time.

His fingers tilt your chin back toward him.

“I’m not saying it because I’m horny,” he says, voice steady now, eyes locked onto yours. “I’m saying it because I mean it. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the second we met.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re so full. So full of feeling you don’t know what to do with. It floods your chest, presses behind your ribs, makes your vision blur a little. You feel like you might pass out if you don’t do something. So you kiss him.

Hard. Desperate. Like you’re clinging to something before it slips away.

And he doesn’t pull back. He kisses you just as deeply, like he feels it too.

His lips soften. His hands settle gently on your waist. And just as the panic starts to settle into something warmer, he leans back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“Let’s go to my place,” he whispers.

When you step into Mark’s penthouse, it hits you. The cold luxury of it all—the marble floors, the sleek furniture, the view that’s just too perfect. It’s the kind of place where you don’t know whether you should feel out of place or like you’ve just stepped into a dream.

Mark doesn’t say anything. He just watches you as you take it all in, a soft smile tugging at his lips. There’s something in the way he looks at you—like he’s expecting something but doesn’t know what it is. Like he’s trying to figure you out, just as much as you’re trying to figure him out.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, his voice low and casual, but there’s a quiet edge to it. Like he’s already imagining what’s going to happen next.

You take a few steps deeper into the space, your fingers grazing the edge of a polished glass table, before turning to face him. The air between you is heavy now. The tension that was simmering back in the car is thick, almost suffocating.

He doesn’t move toward you immediately. Instead, he watches you, the silence hanging in the air, as if waiting for you to make the first move. His eyes never leave you, and you can feel the heat in his gaze, like he’s seeing you in a way no one else has.

You can’t help but feel small in this massive, empty space, but at the same time, seen in a way that makes your heart race.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” you ask, voice a little shaky despite yourself. It’s playful, but there’s a hint of something else underneath.

Mark steps closer, his expression softening. "No. But I like the view from here."

And then, just like that, he closes the distance, his hand brushing lightly against your arm before cupping your face. His lips find yours again, softer now, a little slower. This time, it’s not about the rush, not about the heat—it’s more. You can feel it in the way he holds you, the way he kisses you like he actually wants to.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. There's something in his eyes—still dark, still wanting, but softer now. Like he's looking at you and not just your body. Like he wants to remember this version of you, right here.

“Come on,” he says quietly, taking your hand.

He leads you across the wide open space of his penthouse, past furniture you’re sure has been in magazines, and to your surprise, he presses a button on the wall. A soft ding follows, and then the sleek, glass-paneled elevator opens.

You blink. “You have an elevator… to the second floor?”

He glances at you with a small smirk. “Why walk?”

You scoff, but he’s already pulling you inside. The doors glide shut behind you, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in that quiet, humming little box. You’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his hand still wrapped around yours. Of how close he’s standing. Of the fact that this man lives in a world you don’t fully understand—and somehow, for tonight, he wants you in it.

“I still think this is ridiculous,” you murmur.

He leans down, mouth close to your ear. “You haven’t seen my bed yet.” He laughs, the sound low and teasing, like he’s enjoying watching you squirm.

The elevator dings again, doors sliding open into a hallway that looks like something out of a design catalog. You don’t get long to admire it, though—he tugs you forward, and your heart skips a beat at the anticipation flooding your chest.

He opens the door to his room, and just like the rest of the place, it’s effortlessly beautiful. Wide windows, thick curtains half-drawn, soft lighting, too many pillows, and a bed that could probably sleep six comfortably.

He steps closer, hands gentle at first—almost reverent—as he leans in and presses his lips to your neck. Slow. Warm. He’s not rushing, just… taking his time. You feel his breath fan over your skin before his mouth moves again, dragging lower, nipping just above your collarbone. It sends a shiver through your body, even though you’re already so wet it’s kind of embarrassing.

You suck in a breath, tilting your head to give him more access—but it’s not enough. Not anymore.

Your body is pulsing, needy from earlier, from the taste of him on your tongue, from the look in his eyes when he told you he might have caught feelings. Maybe you did too. Maybe you’re just high on him.

You slip away from his hands, walking backward toward the bed. He watches you, mouth parted slightly, chest rising and falling a little faster now.

You reach the edge of the mattress, and something sparks inside you—an ache, a thrill. You turn around deliberately, keeping your eyes on him over your shoulder. Then, with a smirk, you reach out and push him lightly—he lets you, falling back onto the bed with a low grunt, his palms braced behind him.

You climb onto the mattress after him, straddling his hips without hesitation. He lets out a breath like he’s trying not to lose it, eyes locked on yours.

“This is my favorite position,” you say, your voice low and playful, dragging your fingers up his chest, slow enough to make him twitch under you.

“I can see that,” he replies with a breathy laugh, eyes flicking down your body like he’s committing it to memory. His hands come up to your waist, thumbs slipping under the fabric of your top as he sits up slightly, pulling it off you in one smooth motion. He stares for a second—like he’s stunned—and then leans forward to kiss the space between your breasts, murmuring something that sounds like fuck, you’re unreal against your skin.

You let him take his time undressing you, piece by piece, but your fingers aren’t so patient. You tug at his shirt until he lifts his arms, letting you peel it off him, revealing the kind of body that makes you feel things you probably shouldn’t. He grins when he sees the look on your face—like he knows what he’s doing to you. And he does.

He lies back again, and you shift your hips on top of him, slow enough to tease, just enough friction to make both of you exhale sharply. One of his hands slides up your thigh, gripping tightly like he needs to anchor himself.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters.

“Good,” you say, leaning down to kiss him—harder this time, more heat than sweetness now.

You roll your hips again, and he groans into your mouth. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel too much. But it’s happening anyway, crawling under your skin and into your chest. He kicks off his pants with a little bit of urgency now, the teasing giving way to need. You can feel how hard he is through his boxers when you settle your hips back down, grinding into him, slow and deliberate. His breath stutters.

“F-fuck—wait,” he gasps, the sound caught somewhere between a moan and a warning. His hands grab your waist, but they don’t stop you.

You lift yourself just enough to slide his boxers down, letting him spring free. You pause, meeting his eyes, then spit into your hand, wrapping your fingers around him just once before lining him up with you.

And then you sink down.

Your breath catches sharply—no, you gasp—because it’s sudden and deep and full. Your body trembles as you take him in, stretching around him, holding him, and it’s all so much you have to stop and just feel. His hands tighten on your hips like he’s trying not to lose it.

“Sh-shit—you’re gonna make me come so fast if you don’t take it easy,” he groans, voice thick and strained.

You press your palms to his chest, grounding yourself, and begin to move. Slowly at first. Just rocking, rolling your hips into him with each movement like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him inside you. Every grind drags another breath from his throat, and every breath makes your skin buzz.

Your head drops back. His name is a whisper on your lips. You start bouncing on him, desperate for more friction, more depth, more him. The way he watches you—jaw tight, eyes glazed—only drives you faster. But then he shifts, and suddenly he’s the one taking control.

His hands slide up to your chest, mouth finding your skin like he needs to devour you. He kisses, licks, and sucks at your breasts like a man starved, one hand sliding down between your bodies to find your clit. The second he starts rubbing tight circles over it, your hips jolt, a moan ripping from your throat before you can stop it.

You throw your head back, overwhelmed. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped moving until you feel his grip tighten on your hips—and then he starts thrusting up into you.

Hard.

Fast.

Relentless.

“You’re so hot, baby,” he moans, voice raw and almost reverent. “No one’s ever been like you. ” He pants, his breath ragged against your skin.

You try to respond, but all you can do is cry out as he slams into the spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“Not even close, I swear.” he growls, and you swear he loses himself completely then. He locks his grip on your hips and starts using your body like he owns it, like he needs it. Each thrust knocks the breath out of your lungs.

“Mark! Oh—my—GOD!”

He keeps hitting it. Over and over. You clutch at his chest, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself as pleasure rips through you like a tidal wave.

You love when he loses himself in pleasure and takes it all out on you. When every thrust, every breathless groan, feels like a confession—that he wants you, that he needs you. “I’m— I’m close,” you gasp, voice shaking, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word you know.

And Mark loses it.

His hips start hitting you in a deeper, slower rhythm—steady and controlled—like he’s drilling the feeling into your bones. Not frantic. Focused. Every thrust deliberate, like he’s trying to imprint himself inside you.

“Come, baby. Come with me, please,” he pants, voice thick, as he reaches between you and starts rubbing your clit with those rough, perfect fingers.

You cry out, your body jolting as the pressure breaks, your orgasm ripping through you so hard you scream. You tighten around him, pulse after pulse, and it’s too much—he curses low and sharp, hips stuttering as he spills inside you.

“Fuuuck, baby—so good…” he groans, still moving inside you, fucking you through every aftershock, like he doesn’t want it to end.

Your body eventually collapses forward, too full, too wrung out to speak. Your chest rises and falls against his, heart pounding like a drum you can’t silence.

He watches you. Grinning.

“I bet you taste so good right now,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger. Then he shifts you gently, easing you onto your back

You seriously can't believe him, and you don't think you can come again either. As much as you'd love to. "Mark..." you whisper, almost breathless. "I don't think I can again."

He just smiles, low and knowing. "Oh, you totally can," he murmurs, brushing his lips against your skin. "Aren’t you my best girl?"

He eases your legs apart again, slowly, reverently, until he's right where he wants to be. His mouth finds your inner thigh, warm and steady, and you gasp.

You're overwhelmed—your body trembling with too much—and instinctively, you try to close your legs. But he doesn’t let you.

He's not rough, but he's locked you in. His arms are strong around your thighs, holding you in place, anchoring you to the mattress like it’s the only way to keep you from floating away.

You have no choice but to exhale, to let go, and take everything he's giving you.

He keeps trailing kisses along your thighs, slow and deliberate, getting closer and closer to that maddeningly sensitive spot. Just when you think he’ll finally touch you, he pauses and blows a gentle breath against your heat.

You moan, body twitching in response, and he smirks like he planned it.

“Don’t do that,” you gasp, brows drawn together in desperate protest.

He laughs, low and amused. “Sorry, babe,” he says, clearly not sorry at all.

And then he stops playing.

With one long, unbroken stroke of his tongue, he drags it along your folds, and your entire body arches in response.

“Mark—ah! Wait–t—” you cry out, the words tumbling as your hips twitch and your walls clench involuntarily, traitorous and desperate despite your voice’s protest.

But of course, that only spurs him on.

His hands hold you firm, and he dips his tongue into you, slow at first, then with more purpose, sliding in and out while he moans against you like he’s tasting something forbidden—and loving every second of it. The wet, messy sounds, the heat of his mouth, the tension building again far too fast. He slides his tongue in again—deep and slow—and it has you seeing stars. No thoughts, no words, just feeling. Just him.

Your back arches, your fingers grip the sheets. You’re gone, breath stuttering, body already twitching.

Then his mouth moves up, tongue dragging through your folds until it finds your clit—and then he starts making out with it. Messy, filthy, focused. Your hips jerk, a gasp rips out of you, and that’s when he slips two fingers inside you, slow but deep. You’re a mess already.

He groans against you, sucking at your clit while curling his fingers just right.

Then he pulls back for a second, licking his lips—your slick glistening on them. His eyes are heavy, hungry, locked on yours like he’s already thinking about going back for more.

“Fuck, you taste so good, baby. I could stay here forever.”

He smirks a little, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and honestly? That image alone—you swear you could’ve come just from that.

But then he’s back at it. His fingers start moving faster, deeper, hitting that exact spot inside you like he’s memorized it. His mouth is locked on your clit, tongue working in tight circles like he’s obsessed with the way you sound when you break.

You start gasping, your breath all over the place.

He knows you’re close. He always knows.

And when you come, it’s not gentle. You cry out, legs shaking, chest heaving. He keeps going, dragging it out, mouth and hands locked on you like he’s chasing every last tremor.

You don’t even remember how loud you were. You're just lying there, totally ruined—and he’s still between your legs savoring every last drop.

When he's done, he moves up to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his lips. It’s so intoxicating that you can’t help but deepen the kiss, pulling him closer. Every sensation is a blur of heat and closeness, your breaths mingling as if you’re both trying to hold on to this moment forever.

But then, he pulls back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His pupils are wide, black holes full of something intense, something deeper than just desire. His hair’s a mess, and the way he looks at you—the way you see him—makes your heart skip a beat. He’s never looked this beautiful, this... real, in your eyes.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, surrounded by the warmth of the room, the silence between your heavy breaths. And then, he says it, his voice low but sincere:

“We should get married.”

The words hit you like a shockwave, and for a moment, everything stops. You freeze, the reality of the situation setting in. Marriage? You blink, unsure of how to react. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

Is he for real?

You try to steady your breath, but your mind is racing. Do I love him? you wonder, but then another thought immediately follows: Or is this just the fantasy of it all? The rush of the moment, the heat, the sex? Your head is spinning with confusion. You've never been serious with anyone before, and everything is moving way too fast.

For a second, it’s hard to tell where the intensity of the night ends and your real feelings begin. Maybe you are in love with him... or maybe it’s just the way he makes you feel, the way your body craves him, the way everything feels so perfect in this bubble you’ve created together.

The weight of the silence between you becomes unbearable. You open your mouth, but no words come out. You want to say something, anything, but the uncertainty makes it hard to form the right words.

"Mark, come on," you finally manage to say, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong. Forced. Nervous. "We just... we just had sex."

The words sound so shallow, like you’re minimizing everything that’s happened between you. You wish you could take them back, but it’s too late now. It’s out there.

And that’s when you realize—the silence that follows your words isn’t just awkward. It’s telling. You can feel him pulling back, just a little. Maybe it’s the way you deflected him, maybe it’s the way your words didn’t match the emotions in your eyes. Either way, it hurts him, and it hurts you too, because you know deep down that you feel something for him. Something more than just attraction. But you're scared. Scared of what this all means, scared of the vulnerability of admitting it.

His smile falters, and you can see it. You see the hurt flash in his eyes, even if he tries to hide it. And in that moment, you know that your silence, your hesitation—it speaks louder than anything else

His smile falters, and you see it. You see the flicker of hurt in his eyes, even though he tries to hide it behind something soft—something almost too gentle.

And your silence, your hesitation—it says everything he needed to hear. It cuts through the moment like a blade.

“Okay,” Mark says, barely above a whisper. He presses a kiss to your cheek—sweet, careful, like he’s tucking the moment away—and then he turns over and pulls the blanket up like he didn’t just say the craziest shit you’ve ever heard.

Just like that, he closes his eyes.

And now you’re lying there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling with your heart in your throat. You can't sleep. You can't stop thinking. And worse, you can’t bring yourself to talk to him about it again—not after how you responded. Not after that half-laugh, that dumb line about sex, that silence.

You feel like the moment slipped right through your fingers.

That night, you didn’t sleep—at all. Your head was a storm. At some point, you felt Mark shift beside you. Heard him sit up. You pretended to be asleep. A few minutes later, there was the sound of stumbling. Keys. The door clicking shut.

He left.

You waited—maybe for a text, a knock, something. But nothing came. Eventually, you got dressed and left too. The days that followed passed in a blur. Mark didn’t text. Didn’t show up at the club. Didn’t come back.

It was like he disappeared.

And maybe you could’ve lived with that, if it hadn’t been for how real it all felt. When you talked to Chaewon and she just said, “I told you not to fall,” something in you cracked. Because now it just felt like everything he said was a lie.

Why didn’t he come back for you? Why didn’t he chase you?

You hated that it was all fake. But more than that—you hated it because you believed him. You wanted to say yes. The words were right there. But you panicked. You froze. Your nerves got the best of you, and now he’s gone.

After days of spiraling, of staring at the same four walls, of nearly crashing from your own thoughts, you decided to do the only thing that ever made sense when the world fell apart. You threw a party.

Not just for the thrill—not just to feel something other than this ache sitting in your chest. You threw it with a purpose, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

You threw it hoping Mark would show up.

Because if there’s one thing you know about him, it’s that he’s always been a great partier. Always shows up where the music’s loud, where the lights are low, where the drinks flow like water and the night stretches long and loose. So maybe, just maybe, if you made the night big enough, loud enough, tempting enough—he’d come.

You’re already dressed when the music starts downstairs, the bass leaking up through the floor. Not that you’re rushing or anything. You’ve been ready for a while. The same black dress—the one from the first night you met him. Not because you’re trying to recreate anything. That’d be pathetic. But you wore it without thinking and then realized what you were doing halfway through your makeup.

It still fits the same. Tight around the ribs, thin straps, that slit up the leg that makes people stare when you walk away. It’s nothing new. You’ve worn worse for less. But tonight, the fabric feels heavier somehow. Like it knows too much.

Your phone’s been sitting on the counter, screen dark. No texts. No calls. You tap it anyway, scroll just to scroll. Then you put it face-down like it’s the one being dramatic.

Chaewon’s the first one through the door. Loud, glossy, dragging a couple girls behind her and carrying a bottle like it’s an extension of her arm.

“Damn, you went all out,” she says, glancing around. “What’s the occasion again?”

“Just felt like it.” You shrug.

“Sure. And I just felt like shaving my legs today.” She tosses her hair over one shoulder, lips curved in that signature smirk of hers

You roll your eyes and take the bottle from her. It’s tequila. Of course it is. She’s already talking to someone else by the time you pour the first shot.

People start pouring in after that. Familiar faces. Club regulars. A few strangers you don’t remember inviting but apparently someone knew someone. Music gets louder. Lights get dimmer. Someone’s vaping near the window and someone else’s already crying in the hallway about their ex.

You try to enjoy the night.

You really do. You lean against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, smile curved onto your lips like it belongs there. You know it doesn’t. But people are watching, and you’re the host, so you play the part.

Wonbin finds you somewhere between your third drink and your first fake laugh of the night. He’s easy to look at, smooth-talking in that polished, harmless kind of way. The type girls like you are supposed to entertain. So you do.

“You always throw parties like this?” he asks, eyes scanning the glowing pink balloons on the ceiling, the bodies moving to the beat in the living room.

“Only when I’m trying to forget someone,” you say, not missing a beat, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you wiggle your eyebrows.

Wonbin laughs, tilting his head. “Dangerous answer. Should I be flattered or worried?”

You smile, biting the edge of your straw. “A little of both.”

He leans closer. Not enough to cross a line, just enough for his cologne to mix with the smell of vodka and smoke clinging to your skin. “What did he do?”

You shrug, pretending not to care. “It’s not what he did. It’s what I didn’t.”

Wonbin watches you for a beat, like he’s trying to read between your lashes. You let him look. Let him think there’s something he can understand about you.

The music shifts—louder, heavier. Someone yells from the living room, laughter bursts near the speakers. You glance toward the door again.

Nothing.

“Still hoping he shows up?” Wonbin asks, voice low. “Was I that obvious?” You exhale softly through your nose, eyes flicking toward the entrance again before settling on your drink.

He gives you a soft smile. “Only because every time you do look at me, your eyes are somewhere else.”

You sigh, leaning your head back against the cabinets behind you. The cool marble bites at your lower back through the fabric of your dress. “I hate this,” you whisper. “What? The waiting?” He studies you for a moment, his gaze soft but unwavering “No,” you say, eyes locking onto his. “The not knowing if that was it for us.”

You realize you're spilling too much on Wonbin, who doesn’t deserve it. He’s always been kind, never crossing boundaries, but you can tell he likes you. And maybe that makes this feel worse, like you’re dumping all your feelings on someone who actually cares, even if he doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of it. Wonbin opens his mouth, maybe to comfort you, maybe to challenge you, but your attention’s already gone.

There. By the hallway entrance. Black hair. Lean build. Same gait. Same fucking aura.

It has to be him.

Your drink slips from your hand onto the counter. You don’t notice the spill.

“Sorry—I think I saw someone,” you mutter, barely glancing at Wonbin before pushing past him.

“Wait—” he starts, but you’re already gone.

You cut through the crowd, the scent of sweat and perfume clinging to your dress as bodies brush past. Someone grabs your arm, someone else calls your name—but you don’t stop. You’re locked in, tunnel-vision, heartbeat climbing.

You reach him.

You grab his elbow. “Mark?”

He turns.

Not him.

Just a guy with confused eyes and a drink in hand, already stepping back.

“Uh… sorry?”

You feel your stomach sink all the way to your knees. “Shit. My bad. I thought you were someone else.”

He gives you an awkward half-smile, nods, disappears into the crowd.

And you just stand there. Empty glass in hand. Makeup perfect. Hair done. Dressed in the memory of someone who didn’t show up.

You need to breathe.

It hits you all at once—your chest feels tight, like the air inside the house has thickened, like the glitter and perfume and sweat have conspired to trap you in some kind of syrupy, humiliating fog. You stumble toward the backyard, heels clicking on tile, then grass, until the door clicks shut behind you and all that noise becomes a dull hum.

You pull a cigarette from your purse with shaky fingers. Light it. First inhale is rough—burns a little, settles hot in your throat. You don’t even like smoking, not really. But tonight isn’t about what you like. It’s about surviving the quiet between songs, the slow seconds between glimpses of black hair.

You exhale.

The night is soft and cool, a little sticky. You hear someone laughing inside, probably at nothing. Your thumb rubs the hem of your dress—his favorite, the one from the night you met. Your legs were across his lap by 1:30 a.m. that night. You barely even remember what you said. Just how he looked at you like he’d never seen anything so perfect.

Now he won’t even look at all.

You bring the cigarette to your lips again, but something flashes in the corner of your eye.

Your phone. Screen blinking in the dark.

mark: cool party :) mark: waiting for me?

946 notes · View notes