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markluvrrr · 11 days ago

Text

1999. l.mk

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ husband!mark, assassin au, romance, enemies to lovers

wc. 10k

warnings. violence, suggestive, lots of fighting, they literally spend half the fic tryna kill eachother idk, mention of alcohol, guns, angst, heavily inspired by +82 pressin and mr and mrs smith (2005)

synopsis. after accidentally nearly killing another assassin, you both get assigned the task of taking eachother out. but what happens when the assassin you’re after turns out to be a lot closer to you than you had ever expected? do you ignore your feelings? or do you listen to your heart, risking both of your lives in the process.

notes — hiii!! i rlly enjoyed writing this it was sooo much fun. i sorta got this idea after seeing the mv for +82 pressin and ive been wanting to write something based on mr and mrs smith for a whileee so it sorta worked perfectly in my head. i hope u enjoy!!! (p.s. thank u @sungbites for being my writing motivation hehe love u)

it’s a night like all the rest, darkness falling through the window like a shadow with nowhere to go: lost, helpless. you’ve always liked night-time, enjoyed the tranquility of the silent hours as thoughts pass through your mind with no clear destination. you lie there, a moment of peace stilling within you as you slowly begin to fall into slumber.

your peace is cut short, all tranquility lost when a voice from beside you arises. ‘babe, can you turn off the light please?’

you roll your eyes in a secretive protest before turning to face your husband, a smile now plastered on your face.

‘of course, honey.’

you hate mark. every single moment of every day, you spend each waking hour questioning yourself of why you ever married him. whether in detestation or disgust, you hate him. but your marriage isn't based on love or hate, so you do what you must: you hide it, conceal your hate behind joyful smiles and the blissful art of routine. after all, you’re good at keeping secrets.

abruptly, he rolls back over to face away from you and you do the same.

‘goodnight, babe.’ he murmurs.

‘goodnight.’

you don’t acknowledge each other again, drifting to sleep in nothing but your own mind.

a night like all the rest.

each morning is always the same: wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30, wave off your husband as he leaves for work at 8, always accompanied by a quick kiss as he walks through the door, and each morning you suppress your hatred just as much as the last. this morning was no different.

as you sit at the dining table, your breakfast laid out before you, you both eat in silence. this is how it’s always been, this marriage, days of simple routine and empty discussion. you don’t know anything about him, not really. yes, you know where he grew up, what movies he likes, what his favourite kind of bread is, but you don’t know what goes on in his mind. evidently, you're okay with that, because it means that he doesn’t need to know what goes on in yours. it’s a marriage of mutuality, an understanding that your life is your life, and weirdly neither of you question it. neither of you question if the love is fake, or if it just isn’t there at all.

however, there’s one, tiny detail which you know you’ll never share with him, a side of your life untouched, undisturbed. on the outside, you’re the symbol of a perfect housewife, compliant, clean and kept, staying home during the day whilst he’s out at work, tidying the furniture and cooking up dinner by the time he gets home. that’s all he sees, thats all he knows. but what he doesn’t know, is that you’re none of that, not a single bit.

after finishing your breakfast and placing down your cutlery, you look up at your husband.

‘delicious, sweetheart, just like always.’ he says, reaching for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. he always did sound patronising when he compliments your cooking, but you give him the benefit of the doubt; its the only thing, besides your looks, that he can compliment you for. it's the only talent you show him.

you feign a smile in response, ‘i know just how you like it.’

‘you do.’ he grins back.

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act, pretending like you’re in a happy marriage, and you wonder how much longer he can do the same. but you have to, you’ve done it for the past four years, you can suffer the restriction of a few more.

all for the sake of concealment.

mark gets up from his seat at the table, ‘i had better go, baby, i can't be late; we had this huge data crash at work last night, and there’s lots to fix.’

‘of course, honey. i'll make your favourite for you tonight.’ you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek as you hand him his jacket, waving him out the door.

its tiring, the act of deception. you watch as his car reverses off of the drive of your house before driving around the corner. you wait a few moments, making sure he really is and truly gone out of your sight. or more importantly, you're out of his.

and once you are, your real day begins.

untying the apron around your waist, you walk steadily and with purpose, climbing the stairs and walking into the room which you call your closet. only it's not only a closet, not really.

pulling back a few items of clothing, you expose the keypay at the back of the room, pressing in the passcode.

0417. the date you got married.

the lock springs open, giving you access to your secret, and highly personal safe.

as always, laid inside are two items of significant importance.

your work phone, and a gun.

you pocket the gun before picking up the phone and selecting the first number in your phone book.

‘agency.’

you hold the phone to your ear, it doesn’t even ring once before the other end picks up; they expect your call, just as they do each morning.

‘i am now alone, will be there in 15.’ you speak, before hanging up and placing the phone in your other back pocket.

the agency is a grand, foreboding building, dark shadows cascading between its outer walls and falling over its glass panels like a shroud. you walk inside, scanning your keycard through the main entrance before making your way to the front desk.

‘yn lee.’ you recite your name. ‘im clocking in.’

the receptionist nods. ‘mrs K wants to see you in her office.’

‘what for?’ you ask.

the receptionist shrugs, implying that whatever your boss wants you for is confidential, and therefore, important.

after a quick journey to the 10th floor via the elevator, you make your way through the white lined corridor, the shiny black marble at your feet causing each step to echo, bouncing off every wall as you step further and further towards the door looming ahead of you.

you knock the door twice before she calls for you to come inside, which you do so quickly, closing it behind you.

she motions for you to sit down, her short, black and perfectly cut hair framing her face and emphasising the gap between her neck and the shoulders of her pristine, grey suit.

you sit, looking at the woman in the desk in front of you as she speaks.

‘it’s an interesting life you lead, agent lee.’ she says, head tilting to the side.

presuming she’s talking about the faux relationship with your husband, you respond quickly. ‘i’d get lonely in that house by myself.’

‘that’s not what i'm implying.’

oh?

she speaks again, standing from her desk as she does so.

‘this job; you’ve been a level 2 agent with us for four years, and despite countless attempts at recruiting you for level 1, you’ve always declined. why is that?’

you take a moment to ponder her question, to truly decipher what she's asking of you.

‘i'm comfortable.’ you reply.

‘nothing about this job is comfortable.’

she’s right. your job is to kill. being a level 1 just means you have to do it alone, estranged from working in groups, harder jobs and more secretive clients. you stay silent as she continues.

‘the reason i wanted you here, mrs lee, is because our agency has discovered an almost identical rival agency in the market. same jobs, same asking price and same level agents. what i mean, in short, is that we now have competition, and that doesn’t happen by coincidence.’

‘you think someone’s leaking intel to a rival agency?’

‘not think, know.’ the red of her lips twist into a scorn of seriousness, as if shes trying to intimidate you.

‘and you think i have something to do with it?’ you ask, disbelief briefly cascading over your thoughts.

she sits back down behind her desk, reaching for a drawer and shuffling through files and files of paper.

‘quite the contrary.’ she replies, and you look at her in confusion before she continues. ‘actually, you're one of the few that i know don't have something to do with it.’

finishing her sentence, she slides an envelope across the desk, nodding for you to take it.

she gets back up from her desk, looking you directly in your eyes, a shift of tone in the air around you.

‘once i've left the room, you’re going to open the envelope, mrs lee. i have two armed gunmen outside the door, under my command, waiting for you to leave. think of it as a little test of what that envelope contains. and, agent lee?’

you don't say a word, looking back at her to continue.

‘this time, i'm not asking.’

her smile is sickening. but you have no time to reproach her before she's out of the room, leaving you with nothing but the cold envelope in your hands and the ever-impending threat of death which falls over you.

after your limited amount of time, frozen in your seat, alone in your bosses office, your mind finally goes back to the envelope in your hand. you open it, pulling out the contents inside. your mind is a state of anger; in your hand lies two pieces of paper, one, a picture of a man in his late 50’s, a cool, silver moustache lining his lip, and one, a letter, addressed directly to you.

agent 1270.

with this letter, i have enclosed a portrait of your first job as a level 1 agent. configurations confirmed him a regular gambler at the artemis casino on 34th street. don’t fuck this up. if you do, i won't hesitate to get rid of you; we have a lot on the line.

p.s. my gunmen are inpatient.

moments after you even get a chance to finish the last word of the letter, two men in black suits burst through the door of the office. you roll under the desk, pocketing both items as gunshots ring out around you.

‘shit.’ you hiss, reaching for the gun in your back pocket. with no time to waste, you emerge from the side of the desk, aiming your gun at the head of the man furthest to you, using your momentum to swing your heel swiftly into the closest man's chest as your first bullet flies through the air. with one man down and the other one winded on the floor, you take your opportunity, walking up to him as he struggles to breathe.

you kick the gun out of his hand.

‘why is she doing this? why make me a level 1 agent?’ you ask, the gun pointed towards the man below you.

he gasps for air, shaking his head. with nothing but raw frustration and pent up hatred at the woman forcing you to do this, you pull the trigger.

anger boils within you, years of working for the agency and never have you stooped so low as to have been forced to kill one of your own. she’s testing you, seeing what you can do, and you’re going to find out why.

you find your way to elevator, pressing the button for the 5th floor. checking your freshly ironed suit for any specks of blood or evidence of your previous fight, you step out of the elevator. you’re instantly met with the level 1 offices, people in suits everywhere, some sat at desks and some engaging with conversation. everyone notices you, but noone says a word. its a very private industry, the industry of assassination, no questions are asked and none are answered.

you walk over to what looks like the main desk of the floor and the woman checks you in, showing you swiftly to your new office. the walls are a pristine white, with a glass desk and an illumination of light that's almost blinding. you set down the documents from K’s letter, examining the mans face. you don't know who he is, you never do, and it’s in your best interest not to care. all that matters is getting the job done, and under current circumstances, it matters more than ever. since, unlike before, it's not only the hidden identity from your husband that's on the line, but as is your life.

you’re not sat at your desk for long, K’s threat looming over you.

you check your watch. 3.14pm, exactly 14 minutes since the artemis casino opened its doors for the evening. tonight, you’ll make sure that someone will never leave them.

after being assigned your own personal assistant, who you've learned to know as agent 4916, you request only three items for your plan to work smoothly and quickly. a dark red satin dress, a vial of poison and it’s respective antidote - not that you expect it to go wrong, but you can never assume the best in a job like yours. even so, you've never once failed a mission, and you were not about to take the risk of failing on the only mission where you don’t give yourself a backup plan; that’s what the knife strapped to your thigh is for.

you thank your assistant with a nod as you step into the taxi you ordered, covering your shoulders with a thick fur coat you acquired secretly from the evidence room.

‘where are y’ headed?’ the taxi man asks, puffing an exhale of cigarette smoke out of the window.

‘artemis casino, please.’

the man grins, ‘you a golddigger, huh?’

you roll your eyes, ‘im married.’ men like this disgust you, always assuming the worst of women. if only he knew.

‘what does he do?’ he asks. it’s at this where your confidence is knocked; you can't exactly say ‘i dont know.’..

so instead you pause, waiting until the car comes to a halt outside the front of the casino before stepping out, replying back with a sly yet dismissive response as you pass him his money through the front window.

‘none of your business.’

the casino is a lot busier than you had hoped, groups of old men and rich couples sauntering amongst the tables. there’s an indistinct mumble of voices, layering perfectly over the chime of jazz music, not enough to drown it out, but just enough to make you listen out for the instruments.

you keep your mind fixated on the picture of the man you're looking for, but as you wander around, a sharp eye scanning all the faces, you spot him, sitting and smiling cruelly in a circle around a poker table. you label this as a perfect opportunity; there’s nothing like the emotion of overconfidence to blind a man's senses.

walking over, you lean a hand on the back of his chair.

‘that’s interesting.’ you say as you peak over his shoulder at his cards.

you catch his attention as he looks up at you.

you continue, ‘i won’t expose you,’ you giggle, feigning emotion comes natural to you now, ‘don’t worry.’ continuing your act, you walk off and head straight over to the bar.

just as you planned, he walks after you.

‘what are you playing at?’ he asks. you ignore him.

the bartender looks at you expectantly, waiting for your order.

‘vodka. neat.’ the bartender nods but the man beside you turns to you in disgust.

you laugh at his reaction before catching the bartender's attention, ‘make that two.’ you say.

the man speaks up. ‘wai-’

‘unless.. this man can't handle his drink?’

he stops talking.

after a moment of silence the bartender brings you your drinks.

you stand up, your drink in hand. you’ve done this many times before and each is as flawless as the last.

you walk around him, slowly, and as if unplanned, you trip, your drink flying straight across his blazer, soaking its expensive lining with the sweet stickiness of the clear liquid.

he stands up, a suppressed rage emerging from within him.

‘oops,’ you say innocently, ‘here, have mine.’

he nods in reply. ‘leave it on the side.’ he says, before storming off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

perfect.

it's then that you set the final action of your plan into place, it's then that you slip the poison into his drink.

not wanting to be with him when the poison takes action, you hurry yourself out of view, climbing to the second balcony floor and placing yourself with perfect vision of the bar you were just at, the drink sitting there, a note you placed reading ‘bottoms up, pussy. i'll be watching’, tucked under the glass in attempts to urge him on.

you watch for a minute, then two, and when it gets to the third, you begin to grow anxious.

but it’s not the extent of time that makes your worry flutter; it's the sudden man sitting at the bar, at the exact seat where the glass is placed.

the wrong man.

you can’t see the stranger's face, only the sharp outline of his back as he slumps over the drink, reading the note you placed under it.

you watch intently as he looks around, his face still under too much shadow to properly decipher his features. the shine of his all black suit glimmers from the point of his shoulders as he reaches for the drink. your stomach drops.

shit.

you stand up in vigour as his lips touch the glass.

you were about to kill the wrong man.

you were about to kill yourself.

clenching your jaw with an abandonment of your mission, you stealthily follow the man from the bar as he clutches his stomach, breathing heavily as he swings himself into a bathroom cubicle. you stand outside the door, listening to his laboured breaths and the sudden bang as his body slumps over the toilet bowl. you can’t see him, but you decide suddenly that you can’t let him die, you can’t fuck up this job and kill the wrong guy, you’d look like a fool.

you slide the antidote under the door of the cubicle with your foot, hearing a breathless, pained whisper of ‘the fuck?’ from the other side, but you don't stick around to exchange pleasantries, not when you nearly killed the man.

you turn to leave, but just as you take a step towards the main door of the bathroom, something on the floor catches your eye, something that the man had dropped in his haste to reach the cubicle.

a business card.

you pick it up, slowly peeling it from the floor.

your face grows stern.

dread envelopes you. your legs grow weak, feeling as it tries to weigh you down.

on one side is a logo you know all too well, the rival agency your boss had warned you about.

on the other side, one word and one number.

agent 1999.

the man you had nearly killed was another assassin.

an assassin from a rival agency.

and he had just fucked up your job.

you’ve been sat at your dinner table in silence for the last ten minutes and mark hasn’t come home yet. part of you is relieved, not having to uphold your character as his wife under all the stress that you're under after failing your mission. however, there’s a part of you that’s waiting for him, the abruption in your daily routine throwing you off, despite how much you hate him.

that’s when you hear the front door click shut, mark coming through to the dining room.

‘honey? what are you doing awake?’ he asks, setting down his briefcase, the tie to match his brown, tartan suit loose around his neck, top button undone. he looks dishevelled, whatever had made him late had ruined him.

you stand up, rubbing your eyes out of exhaustion. ‘you can’t just come home late like this.’

‘im sorry, baby. a lot happened at work, okay?’ he says, walking up to you. he leans forward to catch your eye contact. ‘some idiot sent me the wrong file and the whole network crashed.’

you nod, pushing in the dining table chair as you prepare to leave the room and go to bed.

‘goodnight, yn.’

‘goodnight.’

you can’t help but feel that something is off.

like usual, you wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30 and wave your husband off as he leaves for work. each morning is the same, a list of routined actions you perform, a pretend life you wish you could lead. only this morning, you fear it could be your last.

as you tread down the white hall of the 10th floor of the agency, eventually standing at your bosses door in anticipation, you knock.

she calls you in and you shut the door behind you. there she sits, black bob swaying above her shoulders and thin, red lips pressed into a straight line of discontent. the bullet holes on the desk from yesterday still remain, a reminder of what your boss had promised would happen to you if you had failed to complete the job.

not only had you done that very thing but to make matters even worse, you had also accidentally held an attempt of assassination on a man from the rival agency.

‘good morning, agent lee.’ her voice is stern, deep.

you nod, taking a seat.

‘you know why you're here? yes?’

you nod, not daring to say a word.

‘then i believe you understand the vitality of the situation we are now in because of your mistake.’

again, you nod.

‘words, mrs lee.’ her voice raises, causing you to sit up in your seat.

‘yes.’

she nods, crossing one leg over the other. ‘good. then you shall be pleased to know that i'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself.’

your mind is going a million miles an hour, thoughts racing each other in a swirl of confusion. the perplexion must have been evident on your face as K begins to explain. ‘the agent that intercepted your mission is agent 1999 of the sparta agency. we have reason to believe that he is the source feeding our information to his agency, that’s how he knew you were going to be there.’

it all makes so much sense yet none at all. why would a random stranger pick up an unattended drink at a casino and drink it? unless..

a thought sparks in your mind. ‘you think he drank the vial on purpose?’

a small grin peaks at the corner of K’s upper lip before she continues. ‘he gambled that whoever was on the mission would have had an antidote on them. sparta agency aren’t to be messed with, agent lee, they will use any means to intercept our missions, and with this intel they are our biggest liability.’ she rises from her seat, walking to move over to her wall-panel window, scouring the view that lays beyond it. ‘after this, whoever agent 1999 is will most likely be given the task to kill you; they can’t risk the fact that you might know what he looks like.’

her back is still facing you as you reply. ‘but i don't know what he looks like, i didn’t see his face.’

she turns in your direction, a smirk which you haven’t seen before now plastering her features. ‘and he didn't see yours either. that’s why i'm giving you the task of taking him out, it’s a race of who can find and kill who first, if he’s smart, he’ll always be where you are, it only makes your job easier.’

to take out a criminal is one thing, but to take out a highly skilled assassin is another. you stay silent, conflict in your mind overwhelming you. you love your agency, and you love your job, but you fear that this task is nothing but fated suicide.

K steps back to behind her desk, sitting again to face you as she speaks. ‘if you do this, mrs lee, you would have regained my approval.’ she shuffles through the files on her desk, looking up at you through her brow at her next words. ‘not just anyone can take out two of my men with just a pistol and two bullets. i'm trusting you with this. you have 24 hours to complete the job.’

you check your watch, it’s 10:45 am.

12 hours.

12 hours to take out a high class, heavily skilled assassin.

she really was testing you.

you waste absolutely no time deciding what you’re going to do, rushing to your office and calling for your assistant.

‘give me whereabouts on agent 1999 of the sparta agency, i want all the information you can find.’ you say, and she nods before scurrying out the room.

you’ve never questioned a kill before, knowing nothing but their faces, merciless in all aspects. but there’s something incredibly ironic about this one, something that you’ve never had to deal with before.

he’s just like you.

your assistant returns and you sort through the printed files until you find his personal profile. like the rest of your jobs, you expect to see his face, printed in the top corner, usually a CCTV picture or a mugshot if you're lucky. but much to your surprise, you’re faced with nothing but a grey square, a question mark placed in the middle, almost mocking your lack of knowledge.

you look up at your assistant, a brow raised.

‘there’s no record of what he looks like. not a trace.’ she says.

you nod, a forced sense of acceptance. this man knows what he’s doing.

continuing to search the files, one catches your attention: his previous kills.

671.

‘he uses a revolver..’ you murmur to yourself.

this fact, this small, minor detail, changes everything; revolvers are exceptionally loud guns. meaning almost each and every one of his kills would have been done in private, in basements, elevators.

if you want to lure him in, get him somewhere he will follow, you need to find somewhere private, somewhere you can confront him one on one.

that’s when the perfect idea hits you.

you grab your car keys from your desk drawer, pocketing them in the inner pocket of your blazer. a motel, somewhere far enough from the city but somewhere close enough that he will follow you there.

you’re just hoping that, right now, he’s sat outside your agency waiting for you to leave, waiting to follow you home.

but you’re not going home. not today.

your suspicions are correct when you reach the border of the city, a blacked out mercedes maintaining its speed a few cars behind you. you know it’s him, agent 1999, you don’t need to see his face to be sure.

you pull up to the first motel you see, the lack of cars in the parking lot signalling a perfect place for the job you're about to undertake.

before he can swing into the motel behind you, you step out the car, sprinting to the reception.

you push open the door in eagerness, rushing to the front desk. the receptionist looks up upon hearing the bell on the door ring at your arrival.

‘one night. please.’ you say before sliding a $100 bill across the desk. ‘keep the change.’

the receptionist looks at you in disbelief as she hands you a key with the number 8 engraved on it.

you waste no time, rushing round the corner to the stairwell. it’s just as you make it past the line of sight that you hear the reception bell ring, that agent 1999 has come through the front door.

your curiosity is screaming at you to peek around the corner, to find out who this man is that you’ve been given the task of killing before he kills you. but you refrain, your urge to survive overwhelming you as you begin to climb the stairs, past room 6, past room 7 and past room 8. instead, you go to room 9, placing a gamble that it’s that room that the receptionist will assign him.

you don’t move, don’t waver from your stance outside his door.

not even as you hear the door to the stairwell open, not even as you hear the slow, antagonising echo of his footsteps.

not even as he comes around the corner.

fear.

not the kind that paralyses you, but the kind that makes you regret. that’s what you feel when you see him, that’s what you feel when you look down the barrel of his gun: fear.

but it’s not the gun that scares you.

it’s who's holding it.

the assassin you’ve been hired to kill, the man who's been hunting you down, is none other than the man you had least expected it to be.

your husband..

you lock eyes with him, but you see none of his usual warmth, his usual empathy. all you see is the eyes of the man trying to kill you.

‘mark.’ you breath, raising your gun at him, a mirror of his pose.

slightly, ever so slightly, you see him flinch as you say his name. he’s holding back.

‘babe.’ he says, sarcasm lining his tone. ‘why aren’t you at home?’

a smile of annoyance lines your lips, eyes rolling. ‘could ask the same of you.’

you’re ever so aware of the guns you have pointed at each other. his eyes never leaving yours, he speaks again. ‘i have important business to attend to.’

of course you do, you think to yourself.

its a pity you never liked him, never got to know him. atleast now, you understand why.

‘as do i.’

suddenly, gunshots blast through the air.

amidst the confusion and fear of who shot who, you run to the door labelled ‘8’, turning the key and quickly running inside. but your attempts to shut mark out are quickly abandoned when he swiftly places his foot between the closing door and it’s frame.

you jump back, reaching in your back pocket for the small knife you stashed earlier, hiding around the corner of the room. he kicks the door open, standing in the doorway, gun still in hand. he walks in slowly, treading lightly as he scans the room with his aim.

but just as he gets into the room, you stop him, grabbing his arms from behind him and twisting the gun out of his hand.

he attempts to kick you off his back, mind increasingly aware of the knife you have placed to his throat.

hesitantly, he turns, putting his hands up.

once you’re face to face, you take no time in tackling him. he grunts, the wind knocking right out of him as he hits the floor.

straddling his waist, both of your faces are emotionless, void of any of the pretend love you were used to maintaining.

‘did you know?’ he grunts, breathless, eyes glancing slightly at the blade you have pressed to his throat. ‘did you know it was me?’

you push the knife closer to his skin and he winces.

‘answer me, yn.’ his voice is hoarse, struggling to speak.

you take a deep breath, deciding to tell him the truth.

‘no.’ you say, but curiosity peaks in you again, and this time, you’re taking no chances at missing out. ‘did you?’

his jaw clenches.

with a sudden sense of energy, he kicks you, causing you to fall on top of him, your knife going slack in your hand as he knocks it to the side. he flips you both over in the process so that he’s now above you, taking a hold of both of your wrists.

‘no,’ he says, anger lining his words. ‘well,’ he chuckles, ‘i knew one thing.’

you furrow your brows.

he continues, ‘you’ve always hated me. i’ve always been able to see it in your eyes. you detest the thought of ever marrying me.’

you go to speak, but before you can reply, he cuts you off.

‘i wouldn’t worry, it’s a mutual feeling.’

with that, you reciprocate his anger. all those years of marriage, of putting up with a man you hate in order to give yourself a sense of security, all of it, has come down to this. pushing him off of you, you crawl to his revolver, laid out across the other side of the room.

your hands gain purchase to it, lifting it up to point at him.

your finger rests on the trigger. he’s in perfect shot. there’s no one around, you would complete your mission and regain your boss's trust back. but somehow, something stops you.

as you look into his eyes, the deep brown hue of his pupils looking at you in disgust and anger, you snap.

you just can’t do it.

because whilst his eyes may be looking at you in a new light, it’s those same eyes you have grown accustomed to seeing everyday. nearly every other set of eyes you see, looking back at you, you only get to see once before they’re closed forever, no one being granted the experience of ever viewing them again. but his, you’ve always known that, no matter what, you’d see them at the end of the day, that you’d wake up to them after every nightmare.

you just don’t think that you could let them go.

that you could let him go.

he notices your hesitation, a hint of a smile now making it’s way to his features.

‘you can’t do it, can you?’

you stay silent, finger still hovering over the trigger.

‘over five-hundred kills and now you’re hesitating.’ he taunts.

you stay still, shaking with anger. ‘you’ve done your research.’

‘had to make sure i knew what i was dealing with. although, nothing could have prepared me for this.’ he laughs, as if this whole situation is funny to him.

‘okay then,’ you say, lowering the gun. turning it in your palm, extending the handle out towards him. ‘kill me.’

he looks at you, a stern expression on his face, as he takes the gun from your hand.

but what he’s not expecting is for you to put your palm to his shoulder, making him sit himself down on the bed as you climb to straddle his lap.

he looks up at you, a mix of hatred and annoyance lining his features. slowly, you take his left wrist, guiding his hand to hold the small of your back. his eyes travel to the curve of your waist before looking back up. even slower, you take his right wrist, the one holding the gun, moving it so that the barrel presses firmly against your temple.

you let go of his wrists, the index finger of his left hand drawing circles on your skin, something he used to do years ago, in the age where you used to cuddle up to each other to watch movies. then, you accepted it because you had to make eachother think you loved the other. now, he’s doing it because he knows you don’t.

his face is close enough to yours now that you see the golden specks of his eyes as he looks at you, they swim in the pool of colour, drowning in the light that reflects off of them.

gun still pressed to your temple, mark lets out a deep breath. ‘you really want this?’ he whispers.

barely there, you nod, eyes falling to his lips.

he chuckles, hand at your waist now tracing its way up to the back of your neck.

his eyes flutter as he leans in. it's smooth, gentle but so incredibly angry as he kisses you. in all the years of your marriage, you’ve never kissed mark like this, never shown him enough emotion to be able to connect this deeply with him. your mind soars into a place of nothingness, beyond your world of killing and death, but it’s quickly brought back when you hear a sudden click from the pressure at your temple.

the gun.

you pull away, marks face a look of irritation as his eyes travel between the empty gun and you.

he had tried to distract you.

he had tried to kill you.

you slap the gun out of his hand before climbing off of him, dashing for the half open door.

you hear his footsteps clamber after you, chasing you down the motel hall. sprinting down the stairs, knowing he’s behind you, you keep running and running and running.

but it's not the fear of death that's urging you on, it’s the fear of knowing you didn’t have it in you to kill him.

and he did.

you didn’t go home to cook dinner that night, the image of his eyes on you scarring your memory, the feeling of his lips invading your mind.

instead, you go home with nothing but one intention.

this time you’re not going to let him distract you. this time you’re not going to let him leave.

his eyes were not going to stop you.

driving down your street, an invigorating anger consumes you. a resurgence of betrayal floods your actions as you press down on the gas pedal as though your life depends on it. all because now it’s evident that if you don't kill him, he will kill you.

pulling your car sharply around the corner and onto your driveway, you step out the car, pistol in either hand. you scan the building with your eyes, the warm exterior of your house now a cold shell, a place for death.

someone, tonight, is going to die here, and you will not let it be you.

as you creep around the house towards the back door, silence swarming you, you see a sudden flicker of light from the kitchen.

there he is, usual home comfort clothing, usual messy hair. to him, you’re not a threat; he’s seen it first hand, witnessed your hesitation.

but not anymore, not after he had tried to kill you. you won’t let him take your life away from you anymore than he already has.

you slowly walk towards the back door, twisting the handle to pop it open, but just as you do, the kitchen light switches off. the entire house turns to black.

he knows you’re here.

you walk inside, past your immaculate kitchen, past the stairwell. but it’s when you get to the living room that you hear a shuffle amongst the furniture.

and you’re right next to the light switch.

you reach your hand towards the switch, inches away from turning the light on before a hand clasps around your wrists. you twist, shooting blindly at the figure behind you, an attempt to defend yourself.

‘nice try, honey.’ you hear his voice whisper from beside you.

you turn again, trying to gain an idea of where he is, but before your eyes can focus, a rally of gunshots explode at the wall beside you. unfortunately for mark, he misses, similarly blinded by the darkness surrounding you, but fortunately for you, the fire of his revolver illuminates from the barrel, signaling exactly where he’s positioned from across the room.

moving before you can even think, you run towards him, launching yourself in his direction. you meet the hardness of his shoulder as you knock you both onto the floor, rolling away from each other. you attempt to regain your balance on your feet, but a sound from across the room stops you in your tracks: the chilling swipe of a knife being drawn from the kitchen drawer.

mark has never deviated from his selected weapon before.

he is desperate.

still unable to see each other, you speak out as you eventually stand up.

‘have you ever considered couple’s therapy, sweetie?’ you taunt, hoping a joke would distract him as you crawl across the room to find one of your pistols.

he laughs in reply, ‘with you, or the fake wife i’ve been married to for four years?’

‘i have no idea what you're talking about.’ your voice is sweet, an innocent persona you’ve been willing to upkeep.

his voice sounds closer, raspier. ‘you know, i always wondered why you hated me.’ he says, the sound of his words circling you as you freeze. ‘i thought, maybe you knew what i did for a living, that you despised me for it.’ he stops walking. ‘but now i know that you really do just hate me.’

with that, he lunges in your direction, circulating his arms around you from behind, knife held firmly against the front of your neck. you feel his breath on your cheek, hear his heartbeat.

and it’s racing.

‘you won’t do it.’ you say, fear consuming you.

you feel his lips twitch into a smile from beside you.

‘you’re naive, baby.’

‘then do it.’

there’s a moment of stillness, mark’s breath halting, his heart still pounding.

the pressure at your throat lingers, but it doesn’t increase.

instead, it’s the silence that speaks volumes.

the knife drops to the floor, clattering at your feet, his arms still enveloping you.

he turns your body by your shoulders, and the stillness of the room allows your eyes to focus.

there he is, hair dishevelled as he looks down on you. it’s almost impossible to tell, but amongst the flood of darkness you think you see a hint of a smile in his eyes.

he looks down at the floor, his arms falling to his sides.

‘im sorry, yn.’ he says.

you furrow your brows in confusion.

‘wh-’

but before you could ask what he means, you feel the warm embrace of his arms around you, head falling into his chest as he pulls you towards him, a hand running through your hair.

you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other's comfort, memories of the start of your marriage flooding back to you.

it’s now that you realise the extent of your fear, it's now that you realise what you really feel.

it’s not mark’s eyes that reel you in, not the warm brown or the golden specks that you urge to drift away with, no, it’s just him.

the man you have despised for all these years, for this entire marriage, is the man you don’t.

before you could have it in your heart to figure out why, a high pitched screech blurs around you, a whistle you both know all too well.

‘yn!’ mark pleads, pulling your wrist towards him as he ducks behind the wine cabinet, its bronze structure serving as the perfect shield as he holds your body towards him.

you don’t know why, but you trust his embrace.

as if perfectly timed, the hot surge of the explosion traces your skin as the kitchen falls to ruin, the cabinet protecting you both from the heat of the blast. it’s only a small explosion, erupting only a meter within itself, but your heart pounds at the nature of it.

you look up at mark as you pull away from each other.

‘that wasn’t me-’ you begin, but a shock in mark’s eyes stop you from talking.

you turn, facing the direction of the explosion.

emerging within the rubble of your kitchen wall, is a figure.

the smoke conceals them, hiding the details of their features from you.

but as the second figure emerges from the dust, you recognise their silhouette almost immediately.

agent K. your boss.

‘fuck.’ mark mumbles to himself as he holds an eye contact with the first person so extreme that it has you questioning. meanwhile, you do all you can to avoid K’s glare, feeling her eyes burn into your skull.

both yours and marks.

K and the man you don’t recognise both stand in what’s left of your kitchen, eyes trained on the proximity of you and the man beside you.

you don’t dare to speak first.

‘agent 1270. agent 1999.’ K begins, breaking the silence.

you check your watch, fear and terror consuming you as you read the steady pace of the clock hands.

10:44 pm.

it’s been exactly 11 hours and 59 minutes.

you’re completely and utterly fucked.

K continues, ‘there's a little someone i would like you to meet.’

after her cue, two men in black walk towards you, dragging a half limp man between them, black cloth over his head as they place him on his knees ahead of you.

after receiving a nod from K, one of the two men reach for his hood, lifting it off his head and revealing the terrifyingly familiar face of the man it belongs to.

he smiles, his silver moustache smiling with him.

it’s him, the man you were supposed to poison when you had accidently poisoned mark instead.

mark clenches his jaw beside you, hands digging in his pockets as he glares at the man in front of him.

and suddenly it all pieces together.

your mind draws back to your conversation with your boss.

‘it’s a race of who can find and kill who first.’

that is what she told you when she gave you the task of killing mark, that is why she gave you the job.

because he was set to kill you too.

you were set to take out eachother.

‘this was your plan all along.’ you say, eyes flickering between K and the stranger beside her, completely ignoring the man as he gets dragged away again out of sight. ‘this is what you’d hoped for. you knew, this whole time, what you wanted.’

mark looks at you, and you can see the pieces falling together in his head.

K looks angry, livid even, but it only adds fuel to your flame, so you continue.

‘there was never a rivalry between our agencies, was there?’ you ask, not waiting for the answer; you already know what it will be. ‘there was never any competition.’

K’s anger slowly morphs into a smug look of distaste as she begins to speak, slowly walking towards you.

‘mrs lee, do you really think i would have assigned you such a task? you, an inexperienced solo assassin set to murder a gambler at a casino?’ her eyes search yours. ‘it was all under the plan i had constructed. i instructed you to slip poison into the gentlemans drink, under oath that if you fucked up i would get rid of you, and agent H here,’ she points at marks boss beside her, ‘was to instruct agent 1999 to take a sip of the drink, reasoning it as an interception of rival plans and promising him an antidote he wasn’t going to receive. killing both of you in the process.’ you feel the anger in mark shift beside you. ‘what we didn’t expect, however, was for you to give it to him yourself. so, by all due means, we had to improvise. if we couldn’t take you out, then you would have to take out each other.’

by this point, K is directly in front of you, the scent of her navy suit filling the air around you with an aroma of sweet spice.

but as you look into her eyes, you decide that, really, you’re not scared of her.

you peek at mark beside you, his attention elsewhere, trained on his boss as he remains across the other side of the room, a smug look on his face.

mark speaks up. ‘why? why go through all that trouble to kill us?’ he says, directly aimed at his boss.

agent H comes forward, until eventually, he is side by side with agent K.

your boss smiles, ‘because marriage is a dangerous sport, agent 1999.’

your heart thumps in your chest, your skin crawls.

she knew.

she knew everything.

‘a distraction.’ she sneers, ‘a liability.’

you don’t say anything, you can’t.

‘and though you liked to pretend you hated it, mrs lee, i knew, truly, deep down, there was a vow more important to you than any job you could have been given.’

the silence is deafening, scorching the air around you.

but its not K that finishes the sentence, it's the voice of the man beside you, the voice of the reason behind all of this.

he’s breathless, but the words are laced with nothing but raw honesty as he whispers them, a realisation sparking from within him.

and now he’s finally aware.

‘till death do us part.’

it’s only after those words are uttered that the whole world breaks loose.

shots erupt from wall to wall, glass smashing around you as you follow mark, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

you both burst out the door, his hand letting loose of yours so that you can sprint your way over to mark’s car.

‘get in!’ he yells at you from the driver's seat, but your mind betrays you, a plan of strategy forming in your wits.

‘hang on.’ you yell back at him and with little time to spare, mark rolls his eyes.

he rolls down the window. ‘we don’t really have time for this, yn.’ mark grunts through his teeth, anger enticing him to just drive off without you, to let you die. but he can’t, not like this.

you ignore him, legs close to giving in as you run to the keypad on the gate to your driveway. urging mark to drive through, you press in the numbers, closing the gate before climbing over, jumping into his car on the other side.

‘go, go, go.’ you yell, gunfire belting off the metal of the cars exterior and you shut the door.

skidding the car round the exit of the street, the rubber of the tyres producing a thick layer of smoke behind you, mark calls over to you, ‘what did you d-’

but before he could finish his sentence, your entire house explodes in a massacre of flames.

you grin at him in succession, ‘self destruction code.’

he laughs back at you, ‘you’re crazy.’

‘i know.’

as you begin to gain speed on the highway, mark sliding the car skillfully between the cars around you, you start to notice three other cars doing the same behind you, gaining speed, and the familiar black tint of each window signalling who they belong to.

‘shit, they’re after us.’ you wince, mark looking in the rearview mirror and cursing at the sight. but before he can suggest anything, he peeks over at you, watching as you reach under the seat and find yourself a set of machine guns.

noticing his questioning look, you turn to him, ‘what? that’s where they are in my car, so i could only guess.’ you shrug.

he laughs, in awe at this new version of his wife, ‘i think i can get used to this side of you.’

‘you’d better.’ you reply, before reaching up at the sunroof and pulling it across, making a gap for you to emerge out of. manoeuvring yourself so that you're kneeling on the centre console of the car, you push your upper body out the top of the car, aiming the gun at the cars chasing after you.

beginning to fire your guns, aiming for the cars’ tyres and successfully stalling one of the drivers, you seem to start to lose your balance.

‘mark!’ you call.

‘you okay, baby?’ he yells back, noticing your struggle.

you roll your eyes. ‘you’re driving like a coward’

‘you’re kidding, right?’

you look down at him, peeking your head back through the sunroof. ‘let me drive.’

he sighs in acceptance before you reach your legs over to his side of the car, swapping places with him.

but mark has better ideas.

‘open the trunk.’ he demands, picking up both machine guns from the passenger seat and climbing to the back.

you press the button, the trunk opening up and giving mark a full view of the cars behind him.

you speed up the car, weaving through the traffic in an attempt to divert their bullets.

‘it’s too busy, babe, i can’t aim like this.’ he yells back to you.

‘hang on.’ you call as you speed past cars until you find a junction in the road. you turn the car, slipping across it and nearly flipping the car in the process.

‘holy shit.’ mark yells, clinging onto the handle on the car roof.

you laugh, ‘sorry.’

now with a clear aim of the cars behind you, mark crawls on the backseat, shooting desperately after them.

you begin to grow eager, listening as mark wastes all the bullets you have at your disposal. that’s when an idea begins to form in your head, an impossible yet incredibly daring plan.

amidst all the chaos, you call for him again. ‘mark!’

‘yeah?’ he says, ducking behind the seats to avoid the other cars’ oncoming gunfire, panting in exhaustion.

‘you got any explosives?’

mark’s head tilts, ‘under your seat. why?’

you reach under your seat, grabbing the grenade and passing it back to mark.

‘i need you to open the left door at the back.’ you yell, and he does so, other hand holding on by the seat belt to keep himself upright.

you continue, ‘when i tell you to, throw it out that door.’

‘shit, okay.’ he replies, leaning back against the seat, wincing in pain at the strength to keep himself going.

noticing a straight length of road up ahead, you ready your hand on the car’s parking brake. when you gain enough speed, you quickly turn the steering wheel to the left, forcing the car to a stop in the process. in a whirl of gravity, the car spins on its side as the cars behind you are forced to stop. it's then that you call for mark to throw the explosive.

a bright white light erupts from beside you, a hot breeze brushing past your skin.

the cars go up in flames, both of your bosses inside them.

it's over.

everything is over.

after a few moments of tranquility, mark is already outside the car, pulling you from the driver's seat and bringing you to your feet.

‘you okay?’ he turns to you, eyes searching yours in a second of sincerity that you’ve never seen from him before.

it’s cruel, the way he looks at you, as though nothing has changed, as though you're still that same innocent wife you once were. the thick atmosphere of reality struggles to set in between you as you look back at the damage you’ve made.

both physical and not.

‘they’re gone’ you whisper, ‘it’s all gone.’

he feels everything you feel, he always has, every thought, every emotion, all of it. so he does what he knows he also needs the most, as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you in warmth. he knows you're hurting, and for once in his life, he has the power to stop it.

side by side, you walk. not a word is uttered, not a thought exchanged. you don’t need to, you both understand. it’s bittersweet, but yet terribly foreboding, so you don’t say a word.

you had managed to find yourselves in a nearby town, not a care where you had ended up, home no longer a fortified place, destroyed and abandoned. you stand, complete yet broken, at the front of the town's local church, looking up at the grand design of its wooden doors.

it’s as if you both had gravitated here by some external form of fate, woven into your lives, repeated like a mantra, forcing back to you everything you had seemed to have forgotten. that’s how you find yourselves where you are now, feet facing each other as you stand at the altar at the front of the church hall, the echo of the stone walls reflecting your silence.

for once in your life, you look into his eyes knowing that they’re his.

‘till death do us part.’ you whisper, and you know K was right; you do mean it.

he smiles back at you, dimples showing.

‘till death do us part.’

mark looks at you, really looks at you, a softness in his features and a new found sincerity in his heart.

it was at that exact moment that you realised why you had hated marrying mark lee.

it was attachment: something so incredibly forbidden yet increasingly enticing. all you wanted, all you really wanted, was to love in honesty, but it wasn’t mark that you wanted to love.

it was agent 1999.

two weeks later

the room is plastered in an ugly hue of grey, carpet stained and window forcing a breeze to flow through the curtains. mark sits beside you, listening to the question of the woman before you.

‘so, what made you both want to come here for couples therapy?’

mark turns to you, a smirk lining his lips. you smile, trying to conceal your laugh.

‘i guess you could say we kept a few secrets. isn’t that right, mark?’

he looks at you, eyes wide and heart full.

‘something like that.’

944 notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 11 days ago

Text

IT'S DEFINITELY NOT A BIRD!

superman!kim jaehee x f!reader

A routine drive quickly turns into something much stranger when a mysterious object zooms past your truck, leaving you questioning reality during the days to come.

• genre, warnings: pg i think, project partners to lovers, fluff, a few crimes, an almost pretty bad fall, sort of canon for superman...ish?, highschool au, sort of a 00s au, mp3 player mention, smallville but not kansas

• word count: 3.3k

• author's note: tysm @sungbeam for hosting this collab! and ty @nevsky for reading getting me on the writing grind. mwah!

MONDAY—

THE TRUCK RUMBLES UNDER YOUR HANDS. You loosely grip the steering wheel, the straight, open road doesn't give you much reason to steer the old pile of junk. You hum to the newest song downloaded to your MP3 player, the bright blue neverending sky above the rows and rows of farmland cause you to squint slightly. Few and far between, skinny sapling trees shade your eyes momentarily, but you’re used to the sun. It’s been a few months since you officially got your driver's license and started driving yourself to school. Better than the school bus, at any rate.

ZOOM!

With a force that feels like it’s tipped your car, something whizzes past your driver’s side window.

You let out a scream right as the truck lands back on all four tires. “What the hell!?”

The object flies away faster than eyes can see, a sort of… brown, no, grey…? Whatever, it was a blur, and it freaked you the hell out. Do birds get that big out in the country? Hawks or maybe Eagles? Are there vultures nearby? As far as you can tell, it must’ve been some massive bird. You pull out the one earbud hanging limply from your ear, wanting to be sharp in case something else puts you in a literal tailspin. The rest of the car ride goes uneventfully, if slowly, almost risking a Monday morning detention for tardiness. You go about the rest of your morning, hauling the materials for the journalism club to your locker from your trusty ol’ truck and mostly forgetting about your avian scare.

•

The locker beside you slams shut, the force making your teeth shake.

“What’s up, loser?” A bright bleached blonde greets you, cartoonishly chewing on bubblegum in a steamed and pressed cheerleader’s uniform.

“Uh… Hi?”

“What do you have there, nerd shit?”

“Do I… know you…?”

“Ugh, whatever…” She sashays away, hair flipping behind her.

You pull a face; it hadn’t even hit 9 in the morning, and you already felt tired. You shake your head and head to your first class.

You walk into the class and sit at your usual middle-row spot by the window. An empty seat sat next to you since the start of the semester, around two weeks ago.

The teacher stands up as a boy you don't recognize walks into the room, his thick, heavy glasses peeking out from under his grey hoodie. “Young man, hood, please,” Mr. Lee says gruffly.

“Oh, sorry,” his says softly as he tips his head back and pulls his hood away from his face, still turned towards Mr. Lee.

“Go find a seat; there's one over there.”

You cross your fingers under the table, one hand propping up your face that you turn purposefully towards the window. You hear his book bag hit the floor and him sitting down beside you.

He clears his throat. “Hi.”

You turn your head towards his bookbag at first, which is made of old brown leather, looking up to meet his eyes you exclaim, “ Hi.”

He looks at you expectantly, and you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly as his gaze remains steady on you. You feel the slight tingle of familiarity; you’ve seen him before.

“It’s me… Daeyoung, you know? From summer camp?”

“Oh… Oh! My god! Yeah, you were at the nurse’s like all the time!” You remember the last night of camp when everyone was hanging out by the lake.

He was with some of the younger campers, jeans rolled above his knees. You had noticed it was the first time you had seen him without his glasses.

He chuckles, pushing his glasses up, his head down sheepishly, “I didn't know you went here. Did you just transfer recently or...?”

“Nope, been here the whole time! I guess we just never crossed paths?”

He considers it, nodding.

“What about you? Skipping this class the past two weeks or?” You echo his earlier question.

“I was, uh… sick! Pretty bad, fever and stuff,” he says stiffly.

“Oh man, that sucks, hope you can catch up with homework!”

“Thanks!”

Mr. Lee claps loudly at the front of the class announcing a group project, a collective groan passes through the class while he says to pair up with the person next to you.

“Hey pardner!” You turn to Daeyoung, tipping your imaginary cowboy hat.

He laughs, tipping his back at you.

Mr. Lee explains over the low rumble of the classroom that each group has to pick an animal and research every ancestor and evolutionary split that formed the animal as it's known now, and that points will be given for information, creativity, and presentation so there's no slacking off.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks you, pulling out a notebook and a pen.

“How about a bird?”

He glances at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. Pushing up his glasses again, he replies, “Yeah, sure, a bird.”

WEDNESDAY—

A CROP DUSTER FLIES AT THE VERY CORNER OF YOUR VISION. You drive up the packed dirt driveway of the Kim household, materials for the group project tucked under the glovebox in front of your passenger seat. You see Daeyoung walk out onto the porch, waving with one arm.

You crank down your window with considerable effort just to ask, “Hey! Where do I park?”

He gestures widely, “Anywhere is fine!”

You give him a thumbs up and pull to park beside the farmhouse. You hop out, and before you can get to the other side to pull out the materials Daeyoung does for you, wow, he got there pretty fast.

“I called. Did you hear me ring?” you ask, feeling your pockets for your flip phone.

“The house phone? No, I think it's acting up again…” He sighs.

You walk inside the house together, you're greeted by a million florals in a million mediums, lace, fabric, stained glass, and real fresh bouquets litter the front room. You can see the dining room and kitchen through a set of glass panelled doors from where you're standing by the front door, the middle panels of twin lilies curved towards each other like a love heart. The whole house was old-fashioned and looked straight out of Anne of Green Gables.

“Wow.”

He chuckles, “Ma loves flowers!”

You nod, turning to him, “So… where do we sit?”

He walks further into the house, and you follow. He pushes open one of the glass doors and leads you to sit at the circular table in what you assume is a breakfast nook. The window box just outside the open window is full of herbs that blow a pleasant scent into the room, which is made up of the open kitchen separated from the breakfast nook and kitchen by an archway to one side and the bar style counter to the other, a door opposite the round table to somewhere unknown.

“Take a seat,” he gestures to the wraparound bench behind the table.

“What’s behind the door?”

“Oh, that's Ma’s sewing room. It used to be the laundry, but we renovated it.”

You nod, sitting down on the bench right by the wall. Daeyoung sits on a stool across from you and sets the plastic bag of materials on the table.

“We have around an hour until my parents come home, but you can stay longer if you don't mind working with them in the house.”

“Oh, yeah, I don't mind! It's cool that your parents are cool with this!”

“I'm pretty sure if you’re here past that hour, Ma will make you stay for dinner,” he jokes.

“I don't mind!” You reply lightheartedly.

When you start drafting your project, Daeyoung pulls out a few books on dinosaur evolution from the local library that seem relevant enough. The two of you get along well, not butting heads when presenting ideas and fairly distributing the workload. Time doesn't exactly fly, but it goes by, and before you know it, you can hear the sound of a car in the driveway. You’re startled when you hear the front door open, eyes darting to Daeyoung as he turns in his chair to glance at the living room.

“I didn't realize it'd been an hour,” he says, stretching his arms above his head.

“Yeah…” you reply meekly.

He turns back towards you. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, kind of nervous-” You're cut off by Daeyoung’s mother walking into the room. She’s a bit older than you expected, with more salt than pepper in her hair and a broad, open, welcoming face.

“Hello, dear, you must be Daeyoung's little friend! How are you?” Mrs Kim asks, arms outstretched in a hug as she approaches the table.

“Good!” you chirp, engulfed in a hug.

“Good! How are you getting along with our Daeyoung?” She said, releasing you from her hug and holding your hands in hers.

“Uh… Pretty well! He’s got really great handwriting.”

She chuckles, “Well, I’ll get the pot on the stove! You’re staying for dinner, of course!”

Daeyoung interjects, “Ma, she might be—”

“No, it’s okay! I can totally stay for dinner!”

He looks at you, embarrassed. “You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to, I mean it.”

“Well, you heard her, she's staying for dinner,” Mr Kim calls out, walking into the room with two huge paper bags that are almost overflowing with groceries, “You kids better get back to work now.”

You nod, and everyone gets to their separate activities. The afternoon stretches languidly into the evening in the bustling house, the scent of pastry and savoury filling lifting your heads from your work like bloodhounds with their noses high and ears perked. Mrs Kim sets the pie down on the counter, and for a moment, you swear the steam comes up in swirls and squiggles, but as soon as you blink, it’s gone. It smells divine; the longer you work, the more you feel yourself almost floating over to the cherry pie, so stout and cozy. The meal is a feast of pie and a roast, warm and filling not just with the food but with the company and conversation. It passes in a blink of an eye, and suddenly youre at the end of the night with a container of leftovers to bring home standing in the doorway of the sewing room as Mrs Kim rifles through a box to give you a jacket she hadn’t used in years and felt was too pretty to go to waste.

“Dear, do you mind moving that box?”

You oblige, placing the box in the opposite corner of the room as she pulls out a beautiful cream peacoat with shiny dark wooden buttons, stitching in red embroidery thread.

GASP!

“It’s lovely!”

“Here, let’s get it on you!”

She eases the jacket over your shoulder, the sleeves stopping just past your elbow. You continue to thank her, and she assures you it is really no trouble. As you’re about to leave the room, the fabric in the sewing machine catches your eye, a deep blue winking and twinkling at you like the stars reflected on an ocean.

“That fabric is beautiful, Mrs Kim!”

“Isn’t it? Tough though, I’ve broken a whole hay bale of needles working on it!” She laughs, looking at it wistfully.

“Where did you get it?”

She glances at you for the briefest moment, “I really can’t recall, what a shame.”

You hum sympathetically, “I hope the project turns out all right!”

“Thank you, dear.”

THURSDAY—

“YOU LEFT THIS AT MY HOUSE.” Daeyoung hands you your worn pencil box, sliding it across the table towards you.

You had pushed your desks together as the class time had been allotted for your group project. The posterboard was laid out on the table, and where the glue was drying down it warped in little ridges.

“Thank you. I had a great time with your family, by the way!”

“They had a great time too, they told me to invite you over again sometime,” he pushes his glasses up, looking at the wilting corner of the image pasted on the board he says jokingly, “They love hosting, I don’t give them much oppurtunity to!”

“Tell your mom I said thanks again for hosting me. I’d love to come over again.”

“Sure, she seems to really like you!”

“I mean, she gave me this sweet jacket.” You hold your arms ajar to show off the buttons that gleam at the cuffs. “I love it!”

“You look nice— I mean, it looks great on you!”

“Shucks, thanks!”

“Yeah, I think she wore it in her 20s? I saw some old photos of her and Pa, I know they always wanted a daughter because Ma loves making dresses and passing down her old things and all.” he rambles.

“Your pops wanted a daughter, too?”

“Well, I think he wanted to see Ma happy mainly, and the old man thinks a daughter would be easier to spoil. I think it’s just that I was never going to let them spend more money on me, even if I was a girl!”

“Aww, it’s really sweet that you’re grateful for your parents!”

“Yeah, I mean, they didn’t have to raise me, you know,” he says absentmindedly, his finger on his chin.

You tilt your head.

I mean, sure, you supposed no parent did, but it was a bit of an odd statement, “I guess?”

“Oh, that must sound weird. I’m adopted.” He says frankly, “They found me, uh… abandoned in the barn and decided to keep me, so it was very much an unnecessary labor of love.”

You hadn’t expected the confession, and you weren’t sure how to react. “That’s neat?”

He laughs, “Yeah, I think so!”

“Oh! No— I just meant that, you know— it’s nice! It’s sweet that they did that!” You groan in embarrassment. “You know what I mean!”

He laughs even harder. “I do!”

You grasp his hand, and in earnest, you say while avoiding his eyes with your head down. “I think it’s heartwarming and so lovely that you love your folks. I really think that's cool and, uh, super!”

You can feel your cheeks grow warm; as you look up, you swear an aura of pink and white light surrounds him, his free hand gripping the edge of his glasses, his eyes wide with surprise behind them. His cheeks are crosshatched with red lines, the reflection of light in his glasses in the shape of love hearts, you swear you can hear a romantic, lilting piano tune playing from afar. You feel dizzy, not sure if any of this is real—

CRASH!

A bomb goes off behind you, or at least, what sounds like it. Before you can even turn your head, the glass panes crowd with curious teenagers; Daeyoung pulls you by the clutched hands, wriggling past them to see a smashed and fractured grand piano lying square in front of the classroom window. Someone cracks the window open, and you lurch forward, torso halfway out of the room, looking up to see two boys with spikey gelled hair looking back at you from the roof. One of them brandishes a camera, the flash on, pointed straight down. They laugh with their mouths wide open like the toy monkeys that have clattering teeth.

You gasp, squeezing Daeyoung’s hand. “Oh my god!”

You turn to face each other at the same time, you tell him. “Some boys pushed it off the roof!”

“Rascals!” Mr Lee yells from far behind the crowd.

He stomps out of the room and nearly takes the door down as he slams it.

Daeyoung begins to laugh, pulling you back in. You laugh along at the hilarity and insanity of the moment, you can hear Mr Lee yelling from the hallway and the heavy thudding footsteps of running as you do.

SUNDAY—

YOU WHISTLE AS YOU WALK ALONG YOUR GARDEN PATH. Your boots hit the soft dirt, and you swing a metal bucket of grain in one hand on your way to the chicken coop to give them their mid-day feed. The flock of hens gathers by the wire and clucks merrily as you approach, no doubt awaiting their meal.

“Hello, girls!”

You unlatch the door and step in, they swarm your feet in an attempt to curry favor. You giggle and begin to throw the mixed grains around the coop, watching them disperse as soon as the bits hit the ground. You keep going until nearly half the bucket is gone.

Satisfied with your work, you announce to the happy chickens, “Well, ladies! I bid you adieu!”

Your phone rings in the pocket at the center of your chest as you’re wearing your big, stained, farm work overalls. It buzzes as you fish for it, finally managing to pull it out and flip it open.

“Ahoy, who is it?” you say, pinching the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Daeyoung!”

“Hi!” You practically sing, “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check in,” he hesitates, “...on the project!”

“Oh, right.” Your face falls a bit. “Yeah, I have it all packed up in my car, so I won’t forget it tomorrow!”

“That’s good! Uh… well, uh… Ma... she, wanted me to ask about the container! Yeah, the container for the leftovers?”

“Oh! Yeah, I washed it, and it’s on my counter right now.” You pause, a lightbulb flashes on above you, “I could… send it over now, if that's okay?”

“Oh! Now?” he says, sounding shocked. “Yeah, oh my god, yeah, that’s totally fine!”

“Cool!”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll hang up now!”

“Sure, yeah! See you soon!”

“See you!”

You fold your phone with a crisp ‘clack’ and sigh with relief as you hold it high above you. You squeal, jumping in circles, the grain in the bucket sloshing and spilling as you cheer.

“What is with all that hollerin’!” Your mother calls out from in the house.

“Won the lotto!” You say, racing past her and up to your room.

You dash back out of your room and into the bathroom, struggling to fix your hair and see your reflection in the mirror. You give yourself a once-over in your fresh outfit of Mrs Kim's gorgeous jacket, a pink gingham tank top, and a pair of white denim shorts and smile. Running out of the house with the container and phone in hand, you practically speed your way to the Kim house. The drive goes agonizingly slow despite how hard you were stamping on the gas pedal, your eyes slide off the scenery like water droplets on a greased surface.

A flash of smoke puffs up beside you as you drive on the bridge. What the hell is that? A Forest fire? Burning trash? You stop the car, and as excited as you are, you can’t help but worry about that, fire is no good in a farming town. You hop out of your truck, skipping over to the railing on the edge of the bridge. You crane your neck to see what’s going on, and when you still can’t make out what’s going on, you push further onto the fence. Once your feet are practically off the ground, you see the gel-haired punks burning something awful. They seem to spot you and yell, throwing something in your direction. You yelp in shock—

WHOOSH!

You’re falling! You scream like your lungs are about to give out, bracing for impact. Then suddenly, with a small thud but no more than a bruise, you feel the wind cut your face. You see the same shimmering blue fabric as from Mrs Kim’s sewing machine, a big logo staring you in the face. You look up and see… Daeyoung?

"Daeyoung!?"

He groans, "Hi..."

"You're flying!"

"Well, technically, we're flying..." he murmurs, avoiding your eyes.

"What is going on!"

He sets you down on the sidewalk next to your haphazardly parked truck, "You fell!"

"So you... Flew to save me!?" You say, aghast, "Is that a cape?"

He moves to touch his glasses, realizing mid way his face is bare. This is the second time you've seen him without his glasses, and he sure doesn't look like he needs them.

"Can I tell you when we get home?" He asks, wringing his hands.

You sigh, opening the passenger side door and clearing the seat, "Get in" you demand.

"Yes, ma'am."

• end note: happy april fools guys! this is my first fic on this acc eeeee!!! i hope you enjoy it!! vvvv nervy...

©coffeebymofy, do not copy, repost, translate, or otherwise alter

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markluvrrr · 11 days ago

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me when he giggles nonstop and start stuttering and moaning and gets super awkward and and and

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markluvrrr · 11 days ago

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HOLOCENE ─── mark lee. ﹙ 이마트 ﹚

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ spiderman! mark × spider-woman! reader (sugar!y/n as i like to call her)

SUMMARY 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ some love stories are grand enough to wage wars over, some fleeting enough to never be traced. theirs was a flicker in the static not even they could fully grasp.

in which, they accidentally become the blueprint for a relationship that scales beyond just one universe.

NOTES 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ guess who finally watched across the spiderverse (yes, i'm two years late, sue me.) but this was all i could think about as soon as the movie was over!! i'm planning to make this into a drabble series ... who wants more spidermark × sugar!y/n au headcanons?! 🙋🏽‍♀️

The platform hums with a living, impossible energy. It never really stops moving—there’s always a buzz, a flicker of something too fast to track. The air smells like steel and ozone. Everything glimmers faintly blue with warm golden light chasing through panels in the walls.

Miles steps off the portal plate with Gwen at his side, shoulders drawn up in that half-nervous, half-excited way he always gets when he’s trying to look confident.

The architecture around them spirals upward in a dizzying mix of glass, wires, and suspended platforms that seem to hang in midair with no visible support. Every corner is filled with movement. Spider variants swing, sprint, crawl, teleport, or phase past. A few wave. One is upside down eating a burrito. Of course.

It’s insane.

"You always look like such a tourist when we come here," Gwen says from beside him, tone fondly mocking as she rips off her mask.

Miles gets that know-it-all tone, fiddling with the straps of his backpack, “Because I am one. You know, technically. Still don’t have a permanent pass.”

She rolls her eyes, delivering a soft punch to his arm. “You think they materialize out of thin air? Tech department's working on it. Meanwhile, I want to introduce you to someone."

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Last time you said that, I ended up in a wild goose chase. The goose being me.”

She lets out a scandalized gasp, eyes narrowed. "I get no trust around here."

They pass by a familiar face leaning against a wall, fidgeting with what looks like the guts of an Archimedes' sphere, boots crossed at the ankles. He nods at them, tosses a lazy salute. “'Sup.”

Miles still doesn't know what to make of the walking paradox that is Hobie Brown but he salutes back regardless.

They head toward a quieter wing—one of the upper levels, lined with clear-glass corridors and an airy overlook of the inner sanctum. Gwen says she wants to introduce him to some of the ‘cooler seniors,’ and he isn’t sure what that means until they turn the corner and see them.

She sits cross-legged on the railing of the overlook, dangerously casual for someone suspended several stories in the air. Her suit is off-white with iridescent accents, some sort of silk-threaded armor that shimmers pink and gold in the light. It’s halfway unzipped down to a black tank top, showing that she’s been off-duty for a while. But the white lab coat is somehow the most curious thing about her get-up.

"Y/n! Down here!" Gwen calls out, trying to catch her attention.

A smile splits her face when she notices Gwen, then turns curious when her gaze lands on him.

She hops down easily and walks toward them with that bounce in her step that says she’s got the socializing thing all figured out. Not exactly a strength provided by the mutant gene. Her voice is syrupy and bright when she reaches them, pulling Gwen into a sideways hug, “There’s my favourite spiderling! And... you must be the new kid.”

“Miles,” he says, holding his hand toward her. “Miles Morales.”

She takes it readily, “Oh, wait. Brooklyn?”

He grins. “Born and raised.”

Y/n offers a nod in acknowledgement, beaming. “Y/n L/n. Spider-Woman from Earth-5210. That makes us kind of neighbors across universes. You're the kid from 1610, yeah?”

Miles blinks. “You know my—uh—timeline. How?”

“Kid, you’re like a legend around here. Not everyone can go head to head with O'Hara on their first field trip.”

"But that didn’t stop Y/n from trying anyway." A new voice chimes in. Behind them, someone descends the railing, avoiding overhead wires and loose steps like it’s second nature.

He’s in full suit still, a sleek navy blue and silver with deep burgundy webs that pulse faintly under the hall’s glow. His mask is in his hand, revealing tousled black hair and a soft, sleepy gaze like he’s just woken up from a nap he doesn’t remember taking.

There’s something comforting about him, Miles notices, like he could melt into the corners of a room and still hold its center.

Gwen waves excitedly. "Mark, hey! Fancy seeing you here. How'd the presentation go?”

His voice is soft when he speaks, and laced with an accent. “Yeah, uh—almost showed the class all the pictures of Mayday this one keeps sending me instead", thumbing towards Y/n. "But I'll pass. Maybe."

“She's adorable. I regret nothing,” Y/n chirps.

Mark huffs, "Nah, of course not." He seems to have just noticed Miles standing in the periphery, not knowing what to do with his hands, feeling more and more as though he’s imposing. "Hey, dude. Miles, right? Congrats on surviving the force of nature that is Miguel. That makes two of us."

At that, the teen perks up, "You too?" Before the absurdity of their train of thoughts catches up and they end up in a fit of laughter.

Mark offers him a fist bump, still smiling, “Nice to finally meet you. I'm Mark Lee.”

“Spider-Man, obviously,” Y/n adds slyly. “He’s one of the super smart ones. Worked on the first gizmos and the Go-Home machine.”

"The what now?" Miles snorts.

"The thing that yeeted you into Earth-42, remember?" Gwen supplies with a grimace, crossing her arms. "Still don't like that name."

Mark scratches the back of his neck, face scrunching up into a wince. “That’s... yeah. Not the best impression, now that I think about it.”

"Definitely not," the rest chorus.

As they sit and talk, Miles finds himself oddly relaxed, drawn into the rhythm of conversation. He and Y/n bond rather quickly over their similar upbringing, exchanging hole-in-the-wall restaurant recommendations and subway nightmare stories.

She has that energy—sunshine in sneakers. The kind of person who’d be friends with everybody at school, but would still share half her sandwich with you if she saw you sitting alone.

Mark and Gwen are lost in their own chatter, something about Temporal Anchors and upgrades. But the entire time he keeps sneaking glances at Y/n, even offering to run to the cafeteria when she mentions having missed lunch. Between the four of them, they devour the surprisingly decent enchiladas he comes back with.

“So wait,” Miles asks during a lull when Y/n leans on Mark, looking like a satisfied cat stretching over him. “Are you two...?”

Mark looks over, eyebrow arched in question.

“I mean—you know—” Miles gestures vaguely.

Y/n tilts her head innocently. “Two what?”

Gwen whispers not-so-quietly, “They’re dating.”

Nail in the coffin. “I knew it!”

Mark chuckles while Y/n clicks her tongue in faux condescension. “What gave us away?”

Miles fails to bite back a smug look. "Aside from the fact that you bicker like my Ma and Dad? Man, ya'll are like glowing, looking at each other."

“It’s the lab coat,” Mark says dryly.

Y/n jumps up to twirl around as Gwen snickers. “Yeah, he’s got a thing for brainiacs.”

“So how do you guys do it?” Miles asks, tone hushed like he’s asking about the secrets of the universe. Which, he might as well have been. “How does it even work? How do you meet?”

Y/n laughs. “Interdimensional relationships? Honey, it's an art form.”

Mark adds, voice warm, “We met when we were eighteen, fresh out of a reality-breaking catastrophe. There was a collapse in one of the crossover corridors, or where it first began. Spit me out in her dimension.”

“He was so quiet. I thought he hated my guts for like an entire week.”

“I just didn’t know how to talk to someone who glow-punched a monster through a wall.”

“That was a baby monster.”

“A thirty-foot baby monster. But yeah, a couple years down the lane, well in our time anyway, Miguel came up with the idea of a Spider Society and we ran into each other again.”

"And the rest is history," Y/n finishes with jazz hands for the theatrics.

They share a glance—perfected over years of familiarity. Watching them feels like witnessing something sacred, to be admired, so out of reach. Miles ducks his head, casting a sidelong glance at Gwen. Beside him, she has gone quiet, having that faraway look in her eyes.

"Um", Miles clears his throat, swallowing the lump in his throat. "And everyone is cool with it?"

The older Spiders share another knowing glance, before Mark says, "He who shall not be named threatened us with exile when he found out."

"Mm-mm, not a good sport, that one," Y/n shrugs. "But over time we earned some flexibility. The more we knew about this place, the harder it was to get rid of us, you know?"

Y/n had always loved the early evenings in Brooklyn. The sky is doused in orange and pale lavender, the sun caught just between the crevices of high-rises and the skeletal silhouettes of half-built apartment blocks. It’s warm but not stuffy, and the breeze that lifts through the fire escapes smells faintly of halal cart spices and exhaust fumes. Home.

The rickety window on the fifth floor of her tenement slides open with a little extra effort as she drops down to the carpeted floor, numbness creeping into her arms. Guns brought into fistfights never end in anything good, and when it happens under her watch, it weighs heavy on her conscience.

A whiny 'meow' tears through the empty living room, the notification ringer. Lifting her head off her knees, she fishes the buzzing phone out of her pocket, a gaudy contraption with a small antenna protruding from it.

Red and blue paint chips off the edges—it’s been half a decade since it came to life, the first ever Dimensional Interface for Automated Linking. D.I.A.L., for short.

[marker]: reached home?

The quick smile that creeps up to her face is unmistakable.

[sugar]: yep! even snagged some donuts from peter pan ;) care to join me for a feast?

The three bubbles pop up over the console before another message comes through, taking a whole minute instead of a second. Just your regular inter-universe network issues. Neither of them has any plans for upgrades, though. Like the saying goes, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.'

[marker]: let me guess, the guy at the register gave you a 'few' extras? :<

[sugar]: jealousy looks great on u, pretty boy

[marker]: hmm... portal’s open

The moment the soft chime of warping reality and the golden storm of whatever exists in the in-between fades, the crisp night air wraps around her. Neon signs glimmer in soft technicolor, casting hazy reflections on rain-slicked pavement. Where Brooklyn roars with sirens, subway rumbles, and shouted conversations on stoop corners, Vancouver murmurs—rain tapping against awnings, bicycles whisking by, the occasional bark of laughter outside a cozy rooftop café.

Y/n sits perched on the edge of a rooftop across the street from the UBC dorms, legs dangling over the side, her mask pulled halfway. Behind her, the metal access door groans open, followed by soft, deliberate footsteps.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey.” Mark settles beside her without saying anything at first, dropping his backpack between them with a gentle thud. He’s already changed out of his Spider suit, the cuffs of a flannel rolled up over his forearms. His hair is a little damp, probably from a shower.

She grins. “You always smell like vanilla cake.”

Mark blinks at her, mock confused. “I wonder why that is. It's like my girlfriend could be allergic to my old shampoo or something.”

"Hey," Y/n whines dramatically, overdoing the impression of a shiver, "You know peppermint makes my nose all itchy." She opens the baby blue box of sugary offerings, handing Mark the one with the least frosting. “Here. A treat a day keeps the grumpiness away.”

He leans forward and takes the donut from her, brushing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth before taking a bite. “Mmm,” he says with an exaggerated chew. “Perks of dating the prettiest friendly neighborhood Spidey, I assume?"

She bumps his shoulder, laughing, but they both know her ears are ruby red. And for a moment, it’s like the world slows around them—the city-lights dull under the beat of her heart.

This is them. Not the web-slinging vigilantes contributing to upholding the balance of the universe, nor the slightly broke and majorly sleep-deprived college students. Just Y/N and Mark.

“You know,” she says after a pause, “I'm starting to get why Gwen can't go without mentioning Miles four times a day. He’s a sweetheart. Kinda reminds me of you when we first met.”

“Oh?” Mark leans back on his palms, turning to glance at her with a dopey smile. “Was I sweet?”

Y/n squints at him teasingly. “You were awkward. And a little cocky. But yeah, sweet too.”

He huffs under his breath, eyes fixed on the horizon now. “Feels like forever ago.”

She hums. “Two universes apart and a whole heap of dimensional crises later…”

“...and you still choose stealing my fries over ordering them yourself,” he finishes in a deadpan.

“Dude, that's practically tradition!”

They both snicker before the quiet settles in again, and Y/n finds herself watching Mark. His profile has always been her favorite—sharp nose, high cheekbones, lips quirked into a placating smile, and the soft tilt to his eyes when he’s deep in thought. There’s something about Mark in these fleeting moments that always hits her chest in that brimming, aching kind of way. Like her heart is trying to memorize everything before it becomes nothing.

“You ever think about what happens after?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t look taken aback. If anything, it’s like Mark has been anticipating this. “After what?”

“All of this. Next year, we'll go from campus zombies to workplace zombies. Add patrol and full-time jobs into the mix, and...” she trails off, imitating an explosion with her hands.

Mark doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at his hands, then at her, his gaze patient.

“Yeah,” he says. “All the time.”

She shifts, tucking a leg up onto the ledge, arms wrapped around her knee. “Sometimes it freaks me out. Like—we’ve already beat so many odds just to get here, and now real life’s about to come crashing in again.”

“Isn’t that kind of what being Spider people taught us though?” Mark says after a beat. “Real life doesn’t wait. You either hold on tight, or get dragged along anyway.”

Y/n smiles faintly, staring up at the twinkling skyline. “That was way too corny. You’re such a nerd.”

“Yeah, but I’m your nerd.”

She leans back, her head against his shoulder as he supports both their weights. “Then promise you’ll still be my nerd when we’re like— fifty, and I’m barely awake from hospital shifts and you’re off doing whatever's in your mad scientist to-do list.”

Mark laughs, the sound dancing with the gentle breeze. “I’ll be there, hanging outside your apartment window. You’ll open it and go, ‘Mark, it’s 3AM, what are you doing here?’”

“And you’ll say?”

He tilts his head to rest against hers. “I brought you half the Tim Horton’s menu and that Dawn of the Dead DVD you're obsessed with because heaven forbid you do anything normal.”

Y/n closes her eyes, her smile stitched with something quiet and longing. “God, I love you.”

His arm slides around her waist, fingers gentle against the hem of her hoodie, settling upon the hybrid of carbon fiber and spandex that is her suit. “Mm, love you so much.”

They sit like that, suspended between their two worlds, stealing time like they always do. The sky keeps changing. The wind picks up. Somewhere across the city, sirens blare. But they’ve learned in the time spent swinging between towers and time, that the world can wait for Spider-Man, but the 'now' will never return.

So they remain, clinging onto the present for dear life, because who has enough milliseconds to worry about the future?

©PISTAMUNE, 2025

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markluvrrr · 12 days ago

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mark lee boyfriend texts

warnings and authors notes: suggestive (18+, mdni) and i can’t think of anything else. this is very self indulgent i cant lie 😭😭 i love mark. also ignore how the times don’t match up please

#mark lee #nct mark #mark nct #mark #nct 127 #nct dream #mark boyfriend au #mark x reader #mark fake texts #mark smau #mark smut #mark lee boyfriend au #mark lee x reader #mark lee fake texts #mark lee smau #mark lee smut #fake texts #nct

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markluvrrr · 14 days ago

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⭑ mark is exhausted...

it was 4 a.m. when he finally opened the door to the apartment you both called home.

the silence of the hour clung to him like a second skin, thick and heavy. his head throbbed with a relentless ache—each pulse a reminder of the exhaustion clawing at his bones, the stress lingering like smoke after a fire. he didn’t even have the strength to sigh.

mark kicked off his shoes with sluggish movements, peeled off his oversized hoodie—the one that swallowed him whole, hood casting shadows over his face—and let it fall to the floor without care. every step toward the living room felt like dragging a mountain. finally, he collapsed onto the sofa, letting the familiar comfort of home wrap around him like a warm blanket, soft and forgiving.

then he heard it—soft thuds upstairs, hesitant footsteps padding across the floor. and then there you were, appearing at the bottom of the staircase, bathed in the faintest light.

“mark?” you whispered, voice barely above a breath, laced with sleep and uncertainty.

but it was enough. just the sound of your voice shattered something in him—something heavy and aching—and in its place, a smile bloomed, unbidden but so desperately needed.

“it’s me, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with exhaustion, slurred like a lullaby too tired to sing.

you didn’t hesitate. you came to him like you always did—soft, sure, unwavering.

as you stepped into the light, mark felt something inside him swell. you were the embodiment of comfort—hair tousled from sleep, eyes half-lidded, wearing one of his old cotton shirts that hung loosely over your frame. the hem lifted just enough to reveal the gentle swell of your belly. his children. his future.

it was all so real—so heartbreakingly domestic—and it filled every corner of his weary soul with warmth.

he opened his arms and you melted into him without question. your arms circled his neck; his wrapped tightly around your waist, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck like a man seeking shelter from a storm.

he exhaled—long, slow, trembling—as your fingers combed through the nape of his hair, grounding him.

“sometimes i feel like i’m working so much... but it’s never enough. i feel like i should be doing more. better,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, laced with quiet desperation.

you didn’t speak right away. you just held him tighter, letting him breathe.

“you always do good, mark,” you finally said, voice tender but firm. “you overthink it. you don’t even see how incredible you already are. you get it right the first time more often than not—and still, you carry the weight like you’re failing.”

he let out a soft, bitter laugh, more tired than amused.

“yeah… maybe. it was supposed to be my passion,” he confessed, words thick with emotion. “but lately, it just feels numb. like i’m losing it... and i’m scared…”

you felt the tremor in his voice, and your heart cracked in two.

you knew what this meant to him. from the beginning, music wasn’t just something he loved—it was his soul, his heartbeat. he wanted to give the world pieces of himself in every melody, every lyric. he dreamed of healing people through his sound. and now that very dream was starting to feel like a cage.

you cupped his face gently, lifting his chin so he’d look at you. your thumbs brushed across the hollows under his eyes—eyes that used to shine with fire, now dulled by exhaustion. his face looked so worn, like the world had drained the color out of him. but to you, he was still everything.

“you are doing your best. i know it, because that’s who you are,” you said softly. “everything you touch—you pour your soul into it. and i know this album is no different. it’s your heart. your love. your story.”

you leaned in, brushing your nose against his, the way you always did when he needed reminding he was loved.

“and trust me… the three of us? we couldn’t be prouder of you.”

and with those words, something broke in him. gently.

his hands slipped from your waist to your belly, fingers spreading as if trying to cradle your entire world in his palms. tears shimmered in his eyes, and one slipped free, tracing a line down his cheek.

he never imagined this—this life. a family. a home. a love like this.

he never thought someone could be so patient, so understanding, so willing to stand by him despite the chaos of his life. but you did. you stayed. you loved him without conditions.

“i just wanna be the best for you…” he said quietly, voice shaking. he looked up into your eyes, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe permission to fall apart.

“honestly, i don’t care about anything else. as long as you’re proud of me, as long as you still love me like this… i’ll be okay.”

and then he melted in your hands again��those same hands that had held him through every high and low. gentle. safe. his home.

“and i always will be, mark,” you whispered, pulling him to your chest. you kissed the top of his head, holding him as he wrapped his arms around your belly, the lives you created together. “i love you. so much.”

he’s strong because of your love. because you never let him forget who he is, even when he starts to lose sight of it himself. and now, you’re giving him something even more powerful to live for—your twins. your future.

“i love you even more,” he whispered, barely holding back the tears now.

and then came a quiet stream of thank yous, one after the other. he meant every single one. because you weren’t just the person he loved—you were the reason he kept going.

you were his anchor. his warmth. his heart.

his everything.

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 molo celebration never endssss!!!! sorry for the angst guys... but... what he said.... it made my eyes wet :(

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markluvrrr · 14 days ago

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random texts with bf!mark.

notes — trying to break my almost 2 month no post streak with this so i can slowly ease back into this posting lifestyle #attemptedcomebackseason

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markluvrrr · 14 days ago

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grow old with you | l.mk

"i want to carry you around when your arthritis is bad"

💿now playing: grow old with you by major league

❯ summary: Mark never really thought much about the future—until he met you. And now, you’re sort of, kind of, changing all of his plans….

❯ pairings: mark x gender neutral!reader

❯ genre: fluff, domestic!au

❯ words: 0.7k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, a marriage proposal, literally just mark having an inner monologue about you being his future.

an: i rewatched the wedding singer today and remembered this song exists…also paige writing fluff??? someone check my temperature…

Mark never really gave much thought about the future—he was a live in the present, focus on the now kind of guy. In his mind, people spent way too much time chasing what could be and ended up missing out on what is.

And yet…

As he watches you from the sofa, your laughter bubbling out at some scene from the movie he let you choose, lips twitching in amusement, he can’t help it—he thinks about the future and what could be. What he could be—for you.

He’d never thought that way about a partner before. But with you, everything was different. You felt like an extension of him, so effortlessly woven into every corner of his mind that there was this constant pull. The thoughts he never used to entertain, now taking up permanent space in his mind.

He pictures it so clearly sometimes, it almost scares him—soft mornings and quiet evenings. Your head resting on his shoulder, a cluttered house filled with the comfort of a million family photos. You’d still get to choose the movies at night, and he’d still pretend not to mind. Then, like always, you’d fall asleep against him, and he’d carry you to bed, careful and slow, because you’d never quite lose that habit he loves so much.

He can’t help it. Ever since he fell in love with you, he’s spent every living moment thinking about all the ways he could make you smile when you’re sad, all the meals he wants to cook for you, all the quiet, domestic things that come with forever.

And he wouldn’t mind—not one bit. Because he’d do anything to make you happy. Anything to make sure you feel just how deeply he loves you, how much he needs you. He’d give you his coat just to keep you warm, run to the pharmacy if you so much as sniffle. He wants to watch you laugh until your stomach hurts, get tipsy at dinner, and then carry you to bed when you’ve had one too many glasses of wine. He wants to kiss you when you’re grumpy, and kiss you when you’re happy.

Hell, he’d even promise to do the dishes every night from now until forever, if that’s what it took to keep you.

And maybe it’s that thought—that dizzying, soul-deep want—that has him blurting out: “Marry me.”

Your eyes snap from the screen to him, wide and stunned. Your boyfriend doesn’t look nervous. His lips aren’t twitching, his ears aren’t red—he’s not joking.

“W–what?” you breathe, like the word knocked the air out of you.

“Marry me,” he repeats.

And Mark knows it’s not the best proposal in the world—not even close to anything you actually deserve. No ring, no speech, no grand romantic gesture. Just him, blurting it out on a random evening with a movie playing in the background. Because that live-in-the-moment personality of his doesn’t come with a filter.

You stare at him, still stunned, your heart thudding and your cheeks flushed. You can’t help but blink once, twice, and then—“Are you serious? You... want me to marry you?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t waver.

“Yes, Y/N, I want you to marry me.”

Your mouth is dry, and you’re barely breathing as you blink again. Your heart stumbles in your chest, and you ask the only thing your dazed brain can manage: “Why?”

“Why?” he echoes, a little breathless himself, like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He shifts on the couch, eyes locked on yours, and exhales slowly. “Because I can’t imagine a future where you’re not in it.”

You shake your head, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “You don’t think about the future.”

That makes him scoff. Then a crooked smile tugs at his lips.

“Okay, how about this?” he says, leaning in slightly. “Every time I close my eyes, you’re there. When I try to stop thinking, I can’t—because it’s you. It’s always you, Y/N. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your fucking face is etched into my mind so deep, I swear I see you even when I blink.”

“Mark—”

“I’ve never been able to picture the future because I hadn’t met you yet,” he continues. “But now that I have? I want all of it. Everything. Coming home to you. Grocery runs. Bills. Sunday laundry. The quiet. The kisses. The fights. I want the whole damn lot, as long as it’s you I’m doing it with.”

He pauses, breath catching in his throat.

“So yeah... I’m serious. I want to marry you.”

And he means it. Because somewhere along the way, without even realising it, Mark stopped just loving the now and started wanting the always.

He wants to grow old with you.

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markluvrrr · 17 days ago

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i'll peel all your tangerines ★ mark lee.

tags. fluff, drabble. childhood friends to lovers. 390 words.

inspired by when life gives you tangerines. i also imagined this mark while writing...

"oh my god, you follow me everywhere!"

from elementary school, all the way to university — mark lee follows you everywhere. it started with playing in the same sandbox. now you're both adults in university, yet he's still here. always.

"wanted to have lunch with you," he says. you could even hear the pout in his tone.

"you're such a loser."

you sigh, shutting your book and placing it on the grass beside you. you're sitting behind the ncit library building, where maple trees veil over every spot. you lean against the branch, mark mirroring your action. he's still pouting.

still, he unwraps two bento boxes — of course, he brought two. well aware of your skipping-lunch-tendency. mark picks the shrimps off your box only to peel them and place them back into yours. he then peels a tangerine, popping one slice into your mouth.

with your mouth full you utter,

"are you going to follow me until i'm all grey and wrinkly?"

"if you'd let me."

oh. you couldn't stop your eyes that trail towards his lips, gaze lingering. a hue of pink spreads across your cheeks, to which mark takes notice.

"why are you all red?"

you pat your cheeks with your hands, "i'm always this red!"

"no you're not."

he inches towards you, bringing a palm towards your forehead. "are you getting sick? is your dorm room too cold?"

immediately, you shake your head, avoiding eye contact. but mark isn't mark if he doesn't constantly worry about you.

"what's wrong, yn?"

"i..." you mutter. "wanna kiss you..."

ahhhh. mark's blinking, processing your words. shame fills you, as you mentally curse yourself for saying the words out loud. now the poor guy in front of you is short-circuiting.

"you don't have to —"

mark's lips crashes against yours. it's clumsy, nervous, and it tastes like tangerines. but you kiss back anyway, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

it's perfect. he's perfect.

when you pull away, his eyes are glazed over, affection swimming in his brown hues. he caresses your cheeks with the tenderness only he's ever given you.

"this is so stupid but," he whispers, "i'll peel all your tangerines until we're grey and wrinkly. if you'd let me."

you chuckle,

"and i'll eat them all."

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markluvrrr · 17 days ago

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➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility.

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both.

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that just you can’t quite itch yourself, barely sated by these comments.

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession.

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight.

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon.

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get.

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university.

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well.

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession.

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch.

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain.

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place.

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day.

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find.

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now.

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars.

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing.

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it.

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down.

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera.

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy.

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy.

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more.

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!”

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might.

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone.

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain?

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route.

You always do.

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request.

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall.

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others.

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation.

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home.

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > <

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing.

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball.

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box.

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.”

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table.

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay.

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.

“Need to charge my phone!”

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back.

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months.

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins.

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word.

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore.

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh.

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head.

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him.

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it.

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher.

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start.

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out.

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now.

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down.

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together.

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him.

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!”

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop.

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.”

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site.

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue.

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air.

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly.

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind.

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out.

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous.

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again.

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked?

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this.

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth.

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up.

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more.

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare.

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible.

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped.

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust.

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm.

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly.

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage.

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips.

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you.

“I’m still gonna stream.” The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums.

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his.

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape.

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.”

You blink.

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss.

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee.

“Okay.” You grin at him.

2K notes · View notes

markluvrrr · 18 days ago

Text

playing with fire

pairing: mark!haechan x fem. reader genre: college au, smut, rivals to fwbs wc: 12k+ summary: mark and haechan can't stand each other's guts, but they want the same girl... and maybe she wants them both, too. content warnings: unprotected sex, threesome, oral (f+m receiving), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, sex tape, jealousy, marking, hand job, fingering, multiple orgasms (like a lot!!), double penetration, a little bit of mahae action (couldn’t help myself), orgasm denial, aftercare. a/n: all i’m gonna say is that this was completely self-indulgent. i just haven't been the same since 82+ pressin came out and this is the result. i don’t think i’ve ever written so much smut for a single fic before omg. it's rlly a lot i apologize in advance. ps: stream 82+ pressin, 1999 and the aoty aka the firstfruit.

all your life, people let you get away with things. maybe it was your soft face, your sweet smile, or the way you tilted your head when you lied. they thought you were innocent.

but anyone who actually knew you, knew better.

you were full of fire, tucked neatly into a deceptively small frame. and by fire, you meant you were horny. always had been. sex wasn’t your entire personality, you just liked it—frequently and with whoever could keep up. so when two gorgeous boys started fighting over you, you didn’t think twice. even if those boys hated each other’s guts.

you were just stepping into the cafeteria when a low whistle caught your attention. you glanced over your shoulder and saw haechan strolling in.

you rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at the corners.

“can’t stay away from me, huh?” you said when he finally caught up, his arm sliding over your shoulders easily.

“you know i can’t, pretty” he murmured, voice close enough to your ear to make you shiver. “you coming over tonight?”

you fold your arms across your chest, purposefully pressing your cleavage together. his eyes dropped right on cue. you knew he loved this shirt. or rather... he loved your tits in this shirt.

“i was there last night, hae. i can’t play favorites, it makes the other boys in my roster jealous,” you said sweetly, brushing a kiss to his cheek and stepping ahead.

“there’s no roster,” he said with a cocky grin, catching up easily. “i know that.”

“oh, don’t be so sure.” you waved at someone in the distance. haechan’s head turned just in time to catch mark lee smiling at you from across the room.

his face soured immediately. “mark lee? really?” he scoffed. “you can do better than that idiot.”

you looked at him, catching the slight twitch in his jaw. you smirked. their little rivalry was so amusing to you.

“remind me again why you hate him so much?” you ask as you drop into your seat. haechan slid in beside you, tugging your chair closer without effort.

“because he’s a manipulative dickhead who pretends to be some righteous good guy,” he muttered, fingers playing with the strap of your tank top.

“so... like half your friends?” you arched a brow.

“why are we even talking about him? let’s talk about us” he groaned, leaning in to kiss you but you dodged, making his lips brush your neck instead.

“since when is there an us?” you laughed, pushing him off half-heartedly.

“since you let me fuck you against every surface in my dorm,” he said smugly.

“don’t think that makes you special,” you replied, patting his chest.

your hand lingered there a second longer, reminding you how toned he actually was. easy to forget with that sweet face and mouthy attitude.

“i’m definitely your favorite though,” haechan grinned, leaning in again and this time, you let him kiss you. his mouth moving slowly but greedily against yours.

across the room, mark was stabbing his lunch violently. his plastic knife bent halfway through his sandwich.

“okay, you’re scaring me,” jaemin said, side-eyeing him. “who’re you trying to murder with your eyes?”

“no one,” mark muttered, dragging his eyes away.

jaemin followed his gaze and snorted. “ohhh, is that your girl?”

“she’s not my girl,” mark grunted. “we’ve just been… talking.”

“yeah? well, looks like that’s all you’re gonna be doing,” chenle chuckled next to him, biting into his sandwich.

“fuck off” mark said, chucking a crumpled napkin at chenle’s face.

“i’m pretty sure she was with jay last semester,” jaemin added, watching mark’s reaction with barely concealed amusement.

“and wonbin,” chenle said through a mouthful of food.

mark’s jaw ticked. “what exactly are you guys trying to say?”

“relax,” chenle raised both hands, smirking. “we’re just saying she’s clearly not into exclusivity.”

“whatever,” mark muttered, pushing his chair back. “like i said, we’re just talking.”

“uh-huh, sure” jaemin said with a knowing grin. “play with fire if you want… just don’t act surprised when you get burned.”

┈─★

mark couldn’t stop thinking about what the guys had said. it wasn’t even like he wanted anything serious with you. but still, the way you clung to haechan, only to turn around and flirt with him like your eyes hadn’t just been heart-shaped for the biggest dumbass on earth… yeah, it was starting to piss him off.

he was stewing in that frustration, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary on the way to the store, when he spotted your car on the side of the road.

he pulled up behind you without thinking.

your face lit up the second you saw him. you were sweaty and flushed from the heat, but still so damn pretty it made something sharp twist in his chest.

“mark!” you said his name with so much relief he had to glance away, suddenly shy.

“hey,” he said, climbing out of the car. “need help?”

“please… i don’t know what happened. it just died on me” you pouted, arms crossed under your chest. “i barely made it off the road."

mark blinked, trying not to focus on your lips—the same lips that had kissed all over his neck last week at that party.

“okay, let’s take a look,” he muttered, walking over to the hood you’d already popped open.

he leaned over the car and tried to focus, to remember what he even knew about engines. he wasn’t a mechanic, but he knew enough not to look stupid in front of you.

you stood beside him, your shoulder kept brushing against his arm every time you leaned in to “check” what he was doing.

“you think it’s serious?” you asked, biting your lip .

mark glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “hard to tell. your battery might’ve just died.”

“ugh, great,” you groaned dramatically, flopping against the side of the car. “this day already sucked.”

“you’re lucky i was driving by,” he said, wiping his palms on his shorts. “you could’ve been stuck here for a while.”

you smiled at him sweetly, reaching for his hair and playing with it. “thank you for rescuing me, my knight in shining armor.”

mark froze for half a second.

“don’t do that,” he said quietly, eyes still focused under the hood.

“do what?” your voice was all fake innocence, and when he finally looked at you properly, you were leaning back just enough for your shirt to ride up and show the barest strip of your waist.

“you know what” he muttered.

you tilted your head, teasing. “we’re just talking, mark.”

he exhaled sharply. “yeah, well... i’ve had enough of that.”

you blinked at him, not catching the double entendre fast enough. before you could say anything, he stepped closer. not touching you but close enough that his chest brushed yours.

“you keep looking at me like that, saying things like that and then you go and let haechan put his tongue down your throat in front of everyone,” he said, voice low and raspy. “and don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”

you stared at him, heat curling in your stomach.

“i wasn't gonna say that”

mark gave you a dry laugh, shaking his head. “then stop playing with me.”

you smiled, slow and wicked. “maybe i want both of you.”

mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips as he licked his own, and for a moment, you thought he might actually kiss you right then and there—hot, frustrated, angry.

instead, he took a step back.

“your battery’s dead,” he said, eyes still burning. “i’ll get mine and jump it.”

and just like that, he walked back to his car, leaving you breathless and grinning like a devil in the sun.

he popped the hood of his car and grabbed the jumper cables, avoiding your eyes the whole time. you watched him work with brows furrowed, arms flexing every time he connected something or reached for a clamp. he was mad.

and you loved it.

“okay, try turning it on now,” he called out, stepping aside.

you slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine coughed before finally coming back to life.

“yay!” you grinned, hopping out. “mark, you’re a lifesaver.”

“don’t mention it,” he said, closing your hood.

you stepped out and leaned against the car again. “what would i do without you?”

he walked over slowly, wiping his hands on his shorts. “probably flash your pouty lips at some other poor guy and get him to do it for you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you calling me manipulative?”

“if the shoe fits.”

you took a step toward him. “you didn’t seem to mind when i was kissing you last week.”

“didn’t say i minded,” he said, voice low again. “but i’m not interested in being one of your toys.”

“aw,” you pouted the way you knew he couldn't resist. “but you play so well.”

mark’s mouth twitched.

“get in your car,” he said instead, walking away again.

“got tired of me already?” you called after him, teasing.

“no. i’m telling you to leave before i do something i’ll regret.”

you didn’t move. “like what?”

mark stopped and sighed, you giggled to yourself thinking you’d successfully managed to frustrate him. but then suddenly he turned back and stopped right in front of you, so close that your back was nearly pressed against the car.

“like remind you exactly what you’d be missing if you pick haechan,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips.

you swallowed a smirk. this was so much more interesting than you thought it’d be.

you tried to lean into him, but he immediately backed up.

“drive safe,” he said, heading to his own car without looking back.

you stood there, heart racing, staring after him and thinking how you’d get both of them alone in a room without them trying to rip each other’s throats.

┈─★

you figured if you were ever going to bring up your little fantasy to life, mark needed to be wrapped around your finger first. haechan would be easy to convince—he was practically already halfway there. one breathy moan from you and he’d be on his knees.

mark, on the other hand… he needed more work. not because he wasn’t into you, but because he had that whole gentleman with a moral compass thing going on. sweet. respectful. frustratingly hard to seduce without making it feel like you were the one being played.

in other words, you had to lock in.

so instead of texting or sliding into his dms like usual, you started showing up where you knew he’d be. but this turned out to be more difficult since the guy was literally everywhere and nowhere at once. you found out from a mutual friend that he worked two jobs, volunteered for three different campus orgs, was part of the baseball team and somehow still managed to keep a spotless GPA.

you went to every place he frequented, including the music store where he part-timed at, but he wasn’t there, “you just missed him” the other workers said.

you almost gave up for the day until something caught your eye past the chainlink fence by the baseball field. someone was pitching solo.

and there he was, mark lee in all his sweaty glory.

“hey there, slugger,” you called out, leaning your arms on the fence as he straightened up and turned around, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. it lifted just enough to show the cut of his abs.

he blinked at you in confusion for a second before recognition hit and his mouth tugged into a crooked little smile. “yo… what are you doing here?”

“you looked lonely,” you said, pushing the gate open and walking toward him, “mind if i keep you company?”

he shifted, catching the ball in his glove, clearly trying to be nonchalant but his eyes didn’t lie—they dragged over you like he hadn’t seen a girl in weeks. you were wearing a tank top you knew made your tits look phenomenal, and you were sure he noticed.

“sure,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’m just messing around, anyway.”

“well, i like messing around,” you replied, tone smooth as honey, letting the double meaning land.

mark chuckled nervously. he was flustered, a cute little blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. you were definitely getting to him.

“you want a turn?” he asked, gesturing to the bat.

you raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “are we still talking baseball?”

his lips twitched. “depends… what are you talking about?”

you reached for the bat, letting your hand graze his fingers. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

“you ever even held one of these before?”

you took it, pretending to examine it seriously. “i mean, i’ve seen a league of their own like… twice.”

mark laughed, the sound bright and easy. “that’s a start.”

he showed you how to stand and the proper way to hold the bat, stepping in behind you with a respectful distance—no unnecessary touching or cheap moves. you could feel his warmth at your back, his voice in your ear as he adjusted your grip.

“okay, just swing through when the ball comes in. don’t overthink it.”

“easy for you to say, coach.” you glanced over your shoulder and caught his eyes on yours.

for a second, neither of you moved. you realized how pretty his eyes were from this close, they were round and bright looking at you.

then he stepped back and toward the pitching mound with a sheepish little smile.

“alright, give it a shot.”

your first swing was absolutely tragic.

mark laughed again, clapping once. “okay, that was adorable but we should review the basics.”

the next twenty minutes passed like that—him showing you how to swing properly, you pretending to take it seriously just to mess with him. you both ended up out of breath from laughing more than anything else. and by the end of it, you were glowing in the sun, hair a mess, tank top slightly clinging to your skin.

“okay, okay,” you finally said, wiping sweat from your brow, “i need a break.”

mark nodded, picking up the scattered balls. “dugout’s over there. i’ll grab us some water.”

you ducked into the dugout, the shade instantly soothing your sun-warmed skin. your legs were a little shaky from all the running around, but your heart wasn’t only thudding because of the exercise. you watched mark jog over to the cooler, shirt sticking to his back, his hair damp and curling at the edges. he looked so good it was unfair.

he came back with two bottles of water and handed you one, settling beside you on the bench. his thigh brushed against yours briefly before he shifted away to give you some space.

“not bad out there,” he said, twisting open his bottle. “your form’s a little weak, but you’ve got potential.”

“mm, and here i was trying to impress you,” you said, sipping. “guess i’ll have to try harder.”

he huffed a soft laugh and glanced sideways at you. “you’re doing fine, just… need a little discipline.”

“are you volunteering for the job?” you tilted your head.

mark stayed silent for a second. he was watching the field now, fingers drumming lightly on the bottle in his hand. “i know what you're doing”

you raised a brow. “oh yeah?”

“you don’t need someone messing around with your head. or your body. you deserve more than some dumb fling.”

you leaned back on your hands, letting your knees fall slightly open, enough to test him. “you ever think maybe i don’t want more?”

his jaw tensed. he didn’t look at you right away, he was trying really hard to keep his eyes anywhere but your legs. “you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you said simply. “you think i don’t know what i want?”

he finally looked at you and the way his eyes moved over your face—it wasn’t lust. it was frustration. like he wanted to do something but had spent his whole life learning to hold back.

you leaned in, your voice softer now. “you keep talking like i’m some sweet girl who needs protecting, mark. but i don’t want that from you.”

he swallowed hard. “what do you want, then?”

you smiled, slow and a little dangerous. “i want you to stop pretending like you don’t want this too.”

he blinked, then he exhaled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“this is a bad idea,” he murmured.

“maybe,” you said, leaning just a little closer. “but i promise it’ll feel good”

mark didn’t answer but his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there. he looked like he was working through every possible reason to pull away, but none were winning.

“you should probably leave,” he said after a beat, voice rough. “before i forget how to be a good guy.”

you leaned in so your leg was now on top of his. “i’m not asking you to be a good guy, mark.”

he closed his eyes and shook his head. “don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“because if i touch you like i want to,” his eyes opened again, darker now. “i won’t be able to stop.”

“good,” you said, voice low. “i don’t want you to.”

he turned toward you, one hand gripping the bench behind you.

“you’re not making this easy,” he said.

“i know, but you can trust me”

his gaze flicked to your lips again. then your neck. then back to your eyes.

“you’re serious?”

you nodded, slow. “you think i’d be here if i wasn’t?”

mark let out a breath through his nose. “fuck.”

you watched his knuckles flex on the bench, how he was clearly using every ounce of willpower to stay still. his shoulders were angled toward you now. his jaw was tight, eyes darting like he was thinking ten steps ahead and still getting stuck on you.

you reached out, brushing your fingers over his forearm. “if you’re gonna kiss me, just do it already.”

he didn’t move right away but when he did, it was careful. one hand slid behind your neck, thumb brushing just under your ear as he leaned in. his lips touched yours softly.

but you didn’t want soft.

you pushed in, lips parting just enough to deepen the kiss, and that was when his restraint cracked. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the bench. he kissed you harder this time, all that tension finally bleeding through.

you smiled against his mouth, whispering, “see? doesn’t that feel better than being good?”

his answer was a low groan against your lips, his hand slid up, fingertips grazing the bare skin where your top had ridden up. he paused there, like he was waiting for you to stop him.

you didn’t.

instead, you moved into him, straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. his breath hitched the moment your hips settled against his, and that tiny reaction was all the confirmation you needed. he wanted this as much as you did. even if part of him was still trying to talk himself out of it.

“touch me more,” you said, tilting your head to nip at his jaw.

his hands finally slid under your shirt, splaying across your back, pulling you flush against him. your body molded to his like it had always belonged there, and his lips found yours again.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned low in his throat. his hips bucked up before he could stop himself, and your breath caught when you felt how hard he already was under you.

his hands moved lower over your ass, gripping tight as he shifted you against him again. it was getting hotter in the dugout, clothes sticking to skin, breaths growing uneven. your lips were swollen, your thighs shaking just slightly from the tension. he kissed down your neck, tongue brushing a spot that made your spine arch.

“fuck,” he whispered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “you drive me crazy.”

you rolled your hips again and mark’s head dropped back with a groan. his hands moved higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the band of your bra before hesitating.

you tugged your shirt up a little more for him, eyes locked on his. “you don’t have to ask.”

his gaze flicked up to yours and then he pulled your shirt off in one smooth motion, his mouth going straight to your collarbone, trailing heat down your neck. one of his hands cradled the back of your head while the other held your waist steady as you started grinding down against him again, both of you breathing harder now.

his fingers found the clasp of your bra behind you, fumbling only once before it came loose. the second it did, his mouth was on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your chest as your hips rolled harder.

you dipped your head, kissed the top of his ear, and whispered, “mark.”

it came out breathy, almost reverent. the sound of his name from your lips snapped whatever restraint he had left. his hands gripped your thighs, and in one quick movement, he stood—lifting you effortlessly as you clung to him, legs tightening around his waist.

your back hit the dugout wall with a soft thud, and he was on you again. teeth grazing your neck now, nipping and licking and kissing like he wanted to mark every inch of your skin.

you gasped, hips rolling against the hard press of him through his jeans. he hissed through his teeth, grinding back.

“mark, more please.” you moaned, eyes locked on his.

he growled something filthy and wrecked and then his hands were tugging at your waistband, fingers slipping beneath to palm the curve of your ass again, rougher this time. you arched into him, head tipping back as he pressed hot kisses along your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.

your shorts ended up somewhere on the floor along with your shirt. and mark—sweet, tortured, trying-to-be-good mark—was rutting against you like he’d lost his damn mind.

“tell me what you want,” he said into your skin, breath hot and shaky.

you leaned in, lips at his ear. “everything.”

he groaned like the word punched him in the gut. his hand teased over the edge of your panties, fingers just barely brushing where you were soaked for him. he inhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, and you could feel his restraint fracturing all over again.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “we shouldn't be doing this here.”

he barely registered the sound of your breathless laugh before you dropped to your knees, eyes locked on his as your hands slid up his thighs. he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“let me give you what you need,” you murmured, undoing the button on his jeans with practiced ease.

“fuck,” mark breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers brushed over him through the fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it looked like it hurt. you smiled seeing his reaction as you traced the outline of his cock.

he looked like he wanted to say something—some last-minute plea for control—but then you tugged his boxers down and wrapped your hand around him.

his knees nearly buckled.

you leaned in, lips brushing the flushed tip, tongue teasing just enough to make him choke on a groan. he gripped the edge of the dugout bench behind him to keep himself from falling over.

“shit—fuck, baby, please—” his voice cracked as you took him in deeper, mouth hot and wet and so fucking perfect. his hand found your hair, fingers trembling as he tried to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth.

you wanted him to lose it. wanted him unhinged.

you bobbed your head slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your tongue, your lips, the way your throat clenched around him. when you moaned, his hips jerked and he cried out.

“jesus, i’m not—fuck, i’m not gonna last.”

you pulled off with a slick pop. “it’s okay, cum for me markie.”

before you could take him backs into your mouth again, he hauled you up, lips crashing into yours roughly. his hands found your ass again, lifting you onto the bench like you weighed nothing. your panties were gone in seconds and then he was pressed against you, panting against your mouth.

“you’re sure?” he whispered, voice shredded

you stared into his eyes, wrapped your legs around his waist, and said, “mark. fuck me already.”

not a second after, he was slamming into you with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust. the air was knocked from your lungs, nails scraping down his back as your bodies locked together in the filthiest kind of synchronicity.

his rhythm was brutal from the start, hips crashing into yours like he’d waited years for this. like every time he'd looked at you, every time he’d jerked off with your name on his lips, had been leading to this exact moment.

“you feel so fucking good,” he panted against your neck. “i can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, you’re perfect.”

you were both sweating, panting, lost in each other. the dugout echoed with obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and your moans mixing with his broken groans.

“i’m close,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. “tell me where you want it. please, baby—tell me.”

your fingers gripped his jaw, lips brushing his. “inside. fill me up.”

he moaned your name—screamed it, even—as he came, body shaking, strong arms locked around you. he held you through every wave, and didn’t stop fucking you until you came seconds after.

when it was over, when your bodies were spent and trembling, he collapsed against you, breathing hard, mouth still pressed to your neck.

“that was fucking amazing,” he whispered, laughing breathlessly.

you kissed the side of his head and smiled, knowing that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

┈─★

the rest of your week was spent with mark, who– slowly and against his better judgment– was developing a full-blown addiction to you.

but you couldn’t neglect the other half of your fantasy.

which is why you were now outside haechan’s dorm. he’d been ignoring your messages for days, which wasnt like him at all. and you were almost sure it had to do with how often you'd been with mark lately.

you walked in without knocking and found him in front of his pc, hand stuffed into his sweats, fist working himself slow to some filthy porn on the screen.

he didn’t even notice you walking in at first due to his headphones. but he must've felt you behind him because he jolted, yanked his hand out, and scrambled to close the tab like you hadn’t already seen everything.

he spun around in his chair, cheeks flaming, trying to hide the clear tent in his pants.

“ever heard of knocking?” his voice came out annoyed but strained.

you crossed your arms, amused. “is this what you’ve been ignoring me for? gooning in your room all day?”

he didn’t answer, just looked anywhere but at you.

you stepped in closer and looped your arms around his neck.

“don’t be mad,” you whispered, brushing your lips close to his ear. “i came here because i missed you.”

“really?” he finally muttered, still not looking at you. “what happened to your new boy toy?”

“don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said with a little smile. “mark’s not the first guy i’ve been with since our arrangement. i thought you were fine with that.”

he scoffed. “yeah, well… the other guys weren’t fucking idiots.” his eyes finally flicked to yours, dark and sharp. “plus, i doubt he makes you feel as good as i do.”

“then do something about it,” you whispered, dragging your nails along the nape of his neck. “remind me why i started fucking you in the first place.”

his hands were on you in a flash.

he grabbed your waist and hauled you onto his lap. the second you straddled him, he bit your bottom lip before kissing you deep.

“you want a reminder?” he growled “fine, but you’re gonna take what i give you”

you ground down against him and felt how hard he still was. this wasn’t some casual rebound fuck to him—this was territory. there was rage and lust and twisted affection in every move he made.

his fingers tugged your shirt up, mouth trailing fire along your neck, teeth scraping and marking.

“bet he doesn’t know how to touch you like this,” he murmured, slipping a hand under your waistband and cupping your already wet pussy. “bet he doesn’t even know what you like.”

“he’s learning,” you teased, smirking just to provoke him.

he scoffed and shoved your panties aside, pushing two fingers into you at once, hard enough to make your hips jerk.

“not like this,” he whispered darkly. “he can’t make you this wet with just his fingers, can he?”

you gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he curled his fingers deeper.

“god, you’re such a little slut for attention,” he chuckled “running to him just because he’s nice? is that what you want? a nice little boy?”

you could barely breathe now, body rocking into his hand with every word.

“you don’t want nice,” he hissed. “you want me. you want the one who knows how to break you and put you back together with a single fuck.”

your moan came out broken and sharp, your hips grinding down faster now. he was watching you fall apart, biting his lip like it was the only thing keeping him from slamming you down on the floor and reminding the entire dorm who you belonged to.

“say it,” he demanded. “say i’m the one you want. say his name doesn’t mean shit to you when you’re dripping for me like this.”

“you are,” you choked out. “you’re the only one i want, hae.”

he shoved his chair back with a grunt, stood with you still wrapped around him, and carried you to the bed. dropping you onto the mattress with a promise in his eyes, already yanking his sweats down.

“gonna fuck you so hard you forget what his voice even sounds like,” he muttered.

and from the look in his eyes—you knew he meant it.

he crawled over you, and with a quick peck to your lips, he slid his cock into you. you were so familiar with his size after so many fucks that it didn't take long for you to adjust and for him to start moving.

he switched your positions quickly, knowing how much you liked riding him. his mouth was on your chest, spit-slick and possessive, and his hips snapped up in a brutal rhythm from below you. he’d been talking the entire time— filthy words laced with jealousy and obsession.

“so fucking wet for me,” he groaned into your skin. “he could never get you like this.”

you moaned louder at that, clenching around him.

haechan reached over without breaking his rhythm, grabbing your phone from the desk behind him. you barely noticed at first, lost in the sensation of him buried so deep inside you, but then you heard the soft ding.

he pointed the camera down, letting it capture the view between your thighs, where you were split open and soaked, riding his cock like your life depended on it.

“what are you doing?” you gasped, half-laughing, half-panting.

“just making something for your little boyfriend,” haechan said with a smirk, his voice syrup-thick and mean. “he probably wants to know what you’ve been up to.”

he angled the camera to get your face, your tits, your hips grinding down as he fucked up into you. his hand slid up your stomach, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make your pulse jump under his thumb.

“look at the camera, baby,” he purred. “let’s show mark how you really beg.”

you bit your lip but obeyed, dragging your gaze to the lens. your expression was wrecked—eyes glassy, mouth open, cheeks flushed.

“that’s it,” he growled, snapping his hips up even harder. “show him who you belong to.”

the hand not holding the phone slid down your spine, grabbed your ass, and slammed you down onto him with a force that made the bed frame groan.

“you hear that, mark?” haechan muttered into the mic, his voice suddenly colder. “this is what your little good girl sounds like when someone actually knows how to use her.”

you whimpered shamelessly, as his cock dragged right against that spot inside you that made your vision spark white.

“she’s squeezing me like she’s never been fucked before,” haechan kept going, still holding the phone. “you ever get her like this, huh? you ever make her cum just from your cock and a few mean words?”

he thrust into you hard and deep, so deep you cried out, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders.

“oh, that’s so much better,” he grunted, pulling back and slamming in again. “bet he doesn’t hit that spot, hm? bet he doesn’t know how deep you like it.”

you moaned loudly, the sound echoing against the dorm walls. he held the phone steady with one hand and gripped your jaw with the other, turning your face to the lens.

“tell him who makes you cum.”

you gasped. “haechan—fuck—you, you do—”

he grinned like the devil.

“good girl.”

the sound of skin slapping, the way your body arched into every thrust, the sweet, broken whines he pulled out of you—it was all being captured. and he made sure of it. shifting the angle, filming your tits bouncing, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your lips mouthing please, more without even realizing it.

“gonna send this to him,” he muttered darkly, “maybe i’ll wait ‘til he’s all alone at night, thinking about you and then—bam.” he snapped his hips harder, making you gasp. “he’ll see you stuffed full of my cock.”

you clenched around him and he hissed.

“yeah, you like that. you love being filmed, dirty little thing.”

you were shaking now, pleasure boiling up in your gut as he kept fucking into you with brutal precision. all while recording you. all while imagining mark’s face when he saw you like this.

your thighs were already trembling from how many times you’d rolled your hips over him, the coil in your lower stomach drawn so tight you could scream.

haechan’s hands gripped your waist, keeping you just barely in rhythm as you rode him, the slow drag of his cock inside you leaving you teetering at the edge. your hands braced against his chest, fingernails digging into his sweaty skin. you were so close you could taste it.

“that’s it,” he murmured, voice gone low and raspy. “fuck yourself on me. let mark see how desperate you get.”

“haechan—fuck, please—i’m gonna cum—”

suddenly, his hands snapped up to your hips and stopped you. his cock still twitching inside you but he wasn't moving anymore.

“no, you’re not,” he said, eyes dark. “not yet.”

your head fell forward, lips parted in disbelief. “what?”

he leaned in closer, lips brushing your throat. “you wanna cum?” he asked, and you nodded, hips instinctively trying to grind down again.

he didn’t let you.

“then beg for it. look into the camera and beg for me.”

you shuddered. his voice wasn’t teasing anymore. it was burning hot with jealousy and the need to have control over you.

“tell mark you’re not allowed to come unless i say so. tell him you’re mine.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, and then turned your head to the camera. your voice shook as you whispered, “please… please let me come. i need it. i can’t take it, hae, i—”

his hand slid up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging gently so your neck arched. he bit along your jaw, voice low and sharp against your ear.

“say it like you mean it. say it loud. i want him to hear what a needy little slut you turn into when you don’t get what you want.”

you swallowed, lips trembling. “please…please, hae, i’ll do anything…just let me come—”

“nah,” he muttered, tightening his grip and slamming up into you once. once. just enough to make you cry out and chase the friction, but not enough to give you what you needed.

“you don’t get to cum until i say so. and i’m not saying shit until you look into that camera and tell mark whose cock you fucking love.”

your body was on fire, everything inside you begging for release, but you obeyed. because your orgasm lived in his hands now.

“it’s yours,” you gasped, eyes flicking to the lens. “it’s always been yours. not his. he can’t fuck me like you do.” you lied.

“mmm, now that’s the energy,” he grinned, hand trailing down between your legs to barely graze your clit. “feel that? you want it, don’t you?”

“yes, yes, please—i need it—”

“you’ll take every fucking inch, keep grinding that soaked little pussy on me slow, and i’ll think about letting you come.”

you did as he said. he made you ride him in slow, teasing circles. every drag was torturous, your body screaming for a release you weren’t allowed to have. tears prickled in your lashes, your mouth open in a string of whispered begs.

“look how perfect you are when you’re desperate,” he murmured, finally rubbing slow circles over your clit. “this is what he needs to see. you fucking breaking apart on my cock.”

you whimpered something incoherent, your entire body trembling when he finally granted it.

“cum for me, baby. show him what he’ll never fucking have.”

you shattered instantly, mouth open in a silent scream, grinding down on him with a rhythm you couldn’t even control anymore. and he filmed all of it. the high-pitched moans, the tears, the way you collapsed against his chest completely undone. and when his orgasm hit soon after, he captured his cum dripping out of your used cunt.

when your breathing slowed and your thighs stopped shaking, he clicked off the recording and kissed your temple.

“that should keep him up at night.”

┈─★

the next time you saw mark, it was at a party hosted by one of the student organizations. haechan was there too, for your pleasure, and you knew tonight was going to be the night you finally brought your twisted fantasy to life.

the plan was simple. get both of them to your apartment.

and it was all going well until haechan yanked you into the bathroom, and before you could even think, you were on your knees, taking him in your mouth.

by the time you left the bathroom, your makeup was a mess. the lipstick smeared across your face was a dead giveaway of what youd been doing. haechan went off to get a drink, and you quietly retreated to the living room, sitting in front of a mirror to fix your face.

mark was talking to his friends across the room, but his eyes never left you. he hadn’t spoken to you in a week after receiving the video. he was pissed, sure, but it wasn’t as though he was surprised. he knew you had some kind of relationship with haechan. but to film it and send it to him? that shit crossed a line.

what bothered him most was that he couldn’t bring himself to delete the video. every night, he ended up jerking off to it, his mind filled with the image of you begging for that jerk’s cock.

he noticed haechan walk by, nodding to a few people along the way. when their eyes met, he smirked and started walking toward him.

mark’s lip curled into a scowl as the younger boy stopped in front of him, leaning casually against the wall.

“what’s up, lee?” haechan’s voice was light, almost too fucking smug. he slapped mark’s back with exaggerated force. jaemin and chenle exchanged glances and walked off when they caught the tension.

“did you get my video?” haechan asked, his eyes still glinting behind his cup, the stupid little grin never fading.

“i did,” mark replied coldly. his voice was almost a growl, thick with disgust. “what kind of man records a lady during sex?”

haechan chuckled. “if you watched the video, you’d know she was very much into it.”

mark’s jaw clenched “whatever. you don’t fucking deserve her,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.

“and you do?” haechan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “please, she’s not into the whole gentleman act.”

mark’s smirk was all teeth now “then why does she keep coming back to me?”

haechan’s eyes narrowed, but the grin never left his face. “her lip gloss is still all over my cock, so i’d say there’s really no competition here…”

mark’s hand shot out, slapping the drink from haechan’s grip. he grabbed the younger boy by the collar, yanking him in close. everyone around them hushed and someone muttered oh shit.

that’s when you stood up and pushed your way through the crowd. when you reached them, you shoved them apart with a force that surprised even you.

“what do you two think you’re doing?”

your voice cut through the room like a whip—sharp enough to make a few of the partygoers flinch. mark’s fist was still clenched in haechan’s shirt, and haechan didn’t look even the slightest bit bothered. in fact, the smug bastard looked like he was thriving in the chaos, like he’d been waiting for this moment all goddamn week.

mark let go first, reluctantly, his eyes still locked on haechan’s. “he started it,” he muttered like a sulking schoolboy who’d just been caught throwing punches behind the gym.

“bullshit,” haechan scoffed, brushing off where mark had touched him. “he’s just mad he’s not the one you were sucking off ten minutes ago.”

you grabbed mark’s wrist before he could swing. “enough.” you looked at both of them. “you’re both acting like idiots. are we seriously doing this now? at a party?”

“he's talking about you like you’re some kind of trophy.” mark growled.

haechan scoffed. “oh, please”

you could feel the eyes of half the party watching the drama with beers in hand. you tilted your head, walking up between them.

“you two are being childish.”

mark’s eyes dipped down to your lips, shiny from the fresh coat of gloss. a hint of it still smeared down your chin as a confirmation of everything haechan just said. he hated that no matter how pissed he was, he still wanted to grab you, shove you against the wall, and remind you how good he could make you feel.

“so, how about you stop wasting time on this pathetic pissing contest…” you continued, circling behind them slowly, “and come dance with me.”

you walked straight toward the dance floor, the bass vibrating through your heels and into your spine. you didn’t even turn to see if they were behind you. you already knew they were.

you stepped into the crowd, backlit by strobes, and then turned around slowly, one hand held out toward mark. his brows knit together at first, unsure. then he stepped in, hand sliding into yours.

your other hand reached for haechan, and that cocky smile curled across his lips before he grabbed your waist instead, pulling himself flush against your side.

“what’s this, baby?” haechan murmured against your ear.

you just smiled and rolled your hips into him at the rhythm of the music.

mark stood closer now, his chest brushing yours with every beat. his hands hovered like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch, until you guided one to your hip.

you tipped your head up and kissed him first. your fingers fisted in his shirt as your lips dragged across his—tongue sliding against his until he forgot why he was mad in the first place.

but then you pulled away and turned, grabbing haechan by the jaw and kissing him too. open-mouthed. filthy.

you felt mark tense behind you. you could almost hear his breath hitch as he watched.

but you didn’t stop.

your hand reached behind you, pulling mark closer until he was pressed against your back. your lips were still on haechan’s when your other arm looped around mark’s neck, forcing them both into your orbit.

in the chaos, in the rhythm and push and pull of bodies, your head tilted just enough to make room, and their mouths brushed.

they didn’t even realize at first. your body was between them, but it was hard to see whose hands were where, whose breath was in whose lungs. they were kissing each other before they even registered it. and when they did?

there was a second of stunned silence between them, and they both froze.

“fuck,” haechan muttered.

mark stared at him like something short-circuited behind his eyes. and then he kissed him again, rougher this time.

you looked at them with a victorious smile on your lips.

when they pulled away, lips swollen and chests heaving, you saw the look on both their faces—equal parts frustration and lust. and you knew… this was the moment you had been waiting for.

you didn’t even wait for the song to end.

your hand shot out, fingers latching onto the front of mark’s jacket, then you grabbed haechan’s wrist and tugged them both forward.

“we’re leaving,” you said, voice low but commanding.

mark looked like he wanted to argue but you didn’t give him the chance.

you turned on your heel and walked out.

and like the two moths they were, they followed the flame.

┈─★

your apartment door slammed shut behind them, the tension snapping into something feral the second the lock clicked.

“you—” mark started, but you cut him off with a kiss. filthy, fast, and impatient. his hands went straight to your waist, pressing you back against the wall as his mouth opened under yours. he tasted like alcohol and haechan.

the later boy soon stepped behind you.

his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin, and his mouth was right by your ear. “so you really want both of us, huh?” he whispered, “you’re that fucking greedy.”

you reached back blindly, curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled away from mark.

“i want to figure out who deserves me more.”

haechan shoved mark backward—not hard, but enough to reclaim space. and mark let it happen for a second, jaw tight, watching as haechan spun you to face him and kissed you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth.

but then mark was there again. his hands on your hips, his chest flush with your back, and this time, he kissed haechan.

really kissed him. it wasn’t an accident or in heat-of-the-moment.

mark leaned around you, lips capturing haechan’s mid-moan, his fingers curling into your waistband as their mouths crashed. it was clumsy at first and then it turned hungry.

the three of you moved together, a mess of hands and mouths and breathless gasps. clothing peeled away between kisses, bodies pressing against each other with no room left for shame. by the time you hit the couch, you were half-naked and drenched in anticipation.

you shoved mark down first, straddling his lap, grinding against him as haechan knelt beside you.

“who gets to fuck you first?” haechan asked, his voice hoarse and teasing.

you smiled, biting your lip as you looked down at mark.

mark's breath hitched beneath you, his eyes flicked up and then down to where your soaked panties were rubbing against the thick outline of his cock through his jeans.

"fuck," he muttered, head tipping back against the couch as you rolled your hips again, just to watch him squirm.

haechan had one hand running up your thigh, the other palming the bulge in mark’s jeans with a wicked little grin. his own erection poking through his boxers

"you're both hard already," you whispered, your voice sweet and venomous. you leaned forward, brushing your lips against mark's ear. "and i haven’t even gotten naked yet."

"then fucking do it," mark growled.

"ask nicer," you cooed.

haechan laughed, low and breathy. then he kissed your inner thigh, right above where the fabric was sticking to your soaked cunt, and said, "i’ll ask for him—take it off, baby."

you stood up and pulled your shirt over your head. no bra. both of their eyes dropped to your chest in an almost comical way. you hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down. by the time you were naked, both boys looked like they were seconds from breaking.

you dropped to your knees between them and unzipped mark’s jeans first, pulling his cock free and stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist the way you knew made his eyes roll back. he groaned, head falling forward to watch you.

then, without warning, you leaned sideways and took haechan into your mouth instead.

mark cursed under his breath. haechan let out a deep, shaky breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair. you sucked him slow, wet, deep, letting the mess coat your lips as you kept stroking mark at the same time.

“you’re unreal,” haechan gasped, hips twitching. “fucking slut.”

you pulled off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you like watching, mark?" you asked, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes as you jerked them both off side by side. "you like seeing how good i take his cock?"

mark's nostrils flared. then his hand was in your hair too, tugging you toward him, and you let him push into your mouth—let him fuck into your throat until you gagged, until your eyes watered, until his cock was slick with spit.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice ragged.

haechan reached over and grabbed mark’s jaw, turning his face toward him to kiss him.

their mouths crashed messily. they kissed like they hated each other for how much they wanted this.

you sat back, breathless, watching their lips collide with yours on both their cocks, and you moaned—because this was it. this was your fantasy.

they broke apart with a gasp, and you grinned.

"let’s go to my room," you said.

but you barely made it down the hall before haechan spun you around and pressed you to the wall, his mouth crashing into yours. he kissed like he wanted to bruise you. hands groping, lips biting, tongue deep and fast and hungry.

mark’s hand was already sliding up under your thigh, lifting your leg so he could step in behind you. his breath ghosted over your neck, and his voice was a low growl against your skin.

“you like letting him touch you like that?” he asked, pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel exactly what he meant. “you gonna let me fuck you after he’s had his way with you?”

you moaned, letting your head fall back onto mark’s shoulder as haechan’s hand slid down your front and cupped your pussy, two fingers slipping through the mess between your legs.

“she’s soaked,” haechan smirked. “god, you’re such a filthy little thing.”

“fucking ours,” mark said, and even haechan didn’t argue with that.

they walked you to the bed like wolves with prey between their teeth. when you climbed onto the mattress, you didn’t even get time to settle because mark grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and spreading you wide.

haechan knelt in front of you, his cock already leaking. “open that pretty mouth again, baby.”

you did. obedient, dripping, desperate.

mark’s fingers slid into you from behind as haechan pushed into your mouth. your moan vibrated around his cock, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting deeper. mark’s pace picked up, his fingers curling just right—fucking you open, getting you ready.

"you’re gonna take us both,” mark said, and it wasn’t a question.

he lined up behind you just as haechan pulled back, breath ragged, stroking himself as he watched your ass push back toward mark instinctively. mark slid in slowly, inch by inch until you were full.

"fuck—" mark’s voice cracked. "you feel s’good."

haechan grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “look at me while he fucks you,” he said, voice thick with lust. “wanna see your face when you cum all over his cock”

mark started thrusting harder, faster. your hands clawed at the sheets, moans falling from your lips in broken little gasps as your body rocked between them. haechan was watching every twitch of your face mesmerized.

and then he kissed you again, teeth dragging your lower lip before he shoved his cock back into your mouth.

it was obscene.

mark pounding into you, cock hitting the deepest spot inside your gummy walls, while you choked around haechan’s cock, spit dripping down your chin and onto the sheets. both of them moaning and touching you like they didn’t care if they left bruises so long as you kept begging for more.

“fuck—” haechan’s voice cracked, hips twitching as your mouth kept taking him, sloppy and hungry. “gonna cum on your tongue, baby. don’t even think about stopping. take it. take it.”

behind you, mark’s breath was a rough growl against your ear, his grip digging harshly into your hips as he drove into you desperately.

“you feel this?” he hissed, voice shaking. “tight little cunt, soaked and squeezing the fuck out of me. you like being used like this, don’t you?”

you moaned so hard it came out as a choke around haechan’s cock, spit and precum leaking from the corners of your mouth.

your orgasm ripped through you like a scream you couldn’t voice, your thighs shaking, core clenching so hard around mark he nearly lost it.

“fuckfuckfuck—” he groaned, ramming into you until his hips stuttered and he came deep inside you, cursing through gritted teeth as you milked every drop from him.

haechan didn’t stop. even after mark collapsed forward against your back, he kept thrusting into your mouth, hips slapping your cheeks as he muttered incoherently, “fucking angel like this… ruined slut… fuck—”

your eyes rolled back, drool spilling past your lips as he came with a loud moan. his cum flooded your mouth so fast you gagged on it. he didn’t even pull out right away but just held your head there, watching your throat work as you tried to swallow around the mess.

mark looked down, chest still heaving. “jesus,” he muttered, watching the cum drip off your chin, pooling under you. “she looks fucking destroyed.”

your body collapsed face-down across the sheets, arms trembling, legs still spread and twitching. your skin burned from the heat of them, from their hands, their mouths. and still—they weren’t done.

mark sat up slowly, eyes locked on the cum leaking down your thighs. he reached down without a word, dragged two fingers through it, and spread it back up into you.

“don’t waste it,” he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. “not after you begged for it.”

haechan was still in front of you, watching the whole thing with a lazy grin. he leaned in, wiped the mess from your chin with his thumb, and smeared it back across your lips. “open.”

you did.

he shoved his thumb in, and you sucked weakly.

“god, look at you,” he whispered, thumb still in your mouth. “so fucking pretty like this. dumb and dripping with our cum.”

mark pushed in two fingers next, fucking it deeper into the mess between your thighs. “she’s still clenching,” he said. “greedy even now.”

you whimpered into haechan’s hand, your thighs shaking again. the overstimulation was biting at the edges of your spine like static.

“she can take another,” haechan said. “can’t you, sweetheart?”

you didn’t reply fast enough so mark grabbed your jaw and turned your head. “you want us to stop?”

you blinked, dazed.

“…no.”

“then say it.”

“don’t stop,” you whispered. “please…”

haechan was behind you before you could think, spreading your ass with both hands like he was admiring a ruined piece of art. he bent down, spit pooling from his mouth and landing right on your hole before he dragged two fingers through the mess of mark’s cum still leaking out of you.

“look at this,” he muttered, spreading you wider, thumb rubbing slow circles. “she’s dripping with you, mark. you gonna let me fuck her like that?”

mark didn’t answer. he just sat back with his legs spread, cock half-hard and twitching back to life as he watched you squirm.

“she said not to stop,” mark said finally, voice like gravel and heat. “so don’t.”

haechan lined himself up and slid in slowly until you were choking on your own moan, fingers clawing the sheets again. your body was trembling from the overstimulation but he didn’t care. not even a little. he gripped your hips and started fucking you in hard, rough strokes that made the whole bed creak.

“every sound you make is fucking delicious,” he grunted. “i'm gonna hear you when i jack off for a week straight.”

you cried out, and mark moved toward your head, grabbing your chin and lifting it.

“open your mouth,” he said.

you did and he spit into it. it hit your tongue, thick and warm, and he didn’t even wait for you to swallow before he slid his cock between your lips.

“don’t you dare stop sucking.”

your throat was sore from taking haechan earlier and your pussy was raw from how hard you’d already been fucked—but none of that mattered. not when they were both moaning. not when mark was muttering how pretty you looked drooling around his cock. not when haechan was rutting into you like he had something to prove.

“she’s not even thinking anymore,” haechan gasped. “just moaning and crying for us—fuck, she’s perfect.”

you didn’t realize your second orgasm was coming until it hit you harder and meaner than the previous one, tearing through your overstimulated nerves until your body convulsed and your throat released a garbled cry around mark’s cock.

mark came first this time, groaning as he pulled out just in time to jerk himself off all over your face until his cum painted your cheeks, your lips, your tongue.

“look at you,” he breathed. “fuck.”

haechan came right after, buried to the hilt inside you, hips stuttering as he flooded you again. his cum mixing with mark’s cum.

you were twitching against mark’s thighs, completely fucked out.

but they didn’t even leave you alone then.

mark pulled you up so you were fully on top of his chest, and ran a thumb over your ruined lips while his other hand slid between your thighs again, fingers stroking the mess they’d made.

“you’re not done,” he whispered.

haechan leaned in from behind, kissing your neck, biting your shoulder. “we’re gonna clean you up from the inside.”

your limbs trembled, your thighs were soaked, your throat ached but your moans still came out soft and needy, like begging had become your first language.

mark’s hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping back inside you with zero mercy. your pussy twitched around him, hypersensitive, every motion making your whole body flinch—but fuck if it didn’t feel good.

“you’re gonna cum again,” he said, more command than promise. “and again. and again. until we say you’re done.”

haechan moved on top of you, curling around you like a possessive snake.

“you hear that, baby?” he whispered “you wanted both of us… this is what that means.”

his hand snuck between your thighs, meeting mark’s fingers. two sets of fingers working inside you, scissoring, curling, fucking you through the wreckage of your last orgasm and dragging you right into the next.

you were crying now, quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as your body betrayed how good it felt. your hips rocking against their hands, head thrown against mark’s shoulder.

“good fucking girl,” mark breathed, watching your face with that reverent hunger. “look at her, haechan. she’s crying and still begging for more.”

“she’s ours,” haechan said simply, dragging his tongue along your neck, tasting the salt of your tears. “no one else gets her like this.”

and then—as if coordinated—they both moved faster.

your moans cracked into a sob, and you grabbed for mark’s arms as you came again. hard. your body shaking against his, your vision going white around the edges.

“one more,” mark muttered, watching your pussy clench and flutter around his fingers. “you can give us one more, can’t you?”

“she can,” haechan said, now sucking a bruise into your shoulder. “she’s such a good little toy.”

you couldn’t even speak. just gasps, sobs, a whimper of please—though none of you were really sure if it meant please stop or please keep going.

“we’ll stop when you can’t remember your name,” mark whispered, fingers still deep inside you.

he pulled his fingers out of you with one last deep curl, just to watch the way your hips jerked from the sudden loss.

haechan crawled down, hand on your thighs, pressing you into the mattress as he dropped to his stomach in front of your core

"be still," he licked his lips and then his tongue was on you.

licking up everything—all of it—his spit mixing with their cum, slow and messy, like he was trying to taste every second of what they'd done to you. he groaned against your cunt, burying his face between your legs as you sobbed, so overstimulated you couldn’t decide whether you were moaning or crying.

mark brushed your hair out of your face with a hand that was far too gentle for how he’d just destroyed you. he leaned down, kissed your tear-slick cheek, and whispered, “you’re doing so good, baby. letting us use you like this.”

his voice dropped lower, mouth brushing your ear now. “you’re ours. you know that, right? nothing left for anyone else. ”

you nodded. your throat too raw, and lips too bruised to speak.

“she’s clenching again,” haechan called from between your thighs, laughing, breath hot against you. “she’s about to fucking cum on my tongue.”

and fuck—you did.

your whole body jolted violently, and mark had to kiss you to keep you from screaming out. you cried into his mouth, so wet, so wrecked, and still grinding back against haechan’s mouth.

“fuck,” haechan groaned, pulling back just enough to kiss the inside of your thigh. “you taste like a dream.”

“i need to fuck you again” mark said, shifting back behind you. “slow this time. deep. so you remember my cock after tonight.”

haechan didn’t argue.

he just moved, lips dragging up your thighs as mark pulled your hips back up.

he slid into you again and you whimpered.

"breathe, baby," he whispered. "you're okay. i've got you."

haechan curled up in front of you, kissing your mouth now, slow and messy. his hand found your throat and he squeezed softly.

you looked up at him, saw his gaze flicker over your shoulder to where mark was moving behind you. and fuck if that look wasn’t hungry.

"you two gonna keep pretending this isn’t about more than me?" you whispered, voice raw but daring. “you’ve been dying to touch each other. do it.”

mark froze, cock still buried deep. haechan didn’t blink.

you rolled your hips enough to make mark gasp—and then you turned your head and said it again.

“touch him.”

haechan’s hand slid down slowly, fingers ghosting over your thigh first… then lower… until he reached between your legs and brushed mark’s cock where it was buried inside you.

"fuck," mark grunted, voice cracking slightly.

haechan smirked, leaned over your shoulder and whispered in mark’s ears, “do you like it, lee?”

he curled his fingers around mark’s cock, still moving in and out of you, and started stroking him. touching you and him in the same stroke. mark groaned into your skin, grip on your hips tightening.

“don’t stop,” mark gasped, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. “fuck—don’t stop.”

you moaned too, completely overwhelmed now watching the two of them break for each other.

"who knew you were this needy?" haechan taunted.

"shut up" mark groaned, hips faltering.

haechan leaned forward again, brushing his lips against mark’s jaw.

“shut me up,” he said, soft and dangerous.

mark hesitated for a second and then their mouths crashed together.

it was brutal and desperate. they kissed over your back like they were fighting for dominance, like they were starving for it.

mark kept fucking into you as they kissed, pace getting rougher now, hips snapping with every gasp. haechan kept stroking you both, his fingers moving between your clit and mark’s cock, never giving either of you a break.

haechan broke the kiss first, panting, lips swollen. “she’s gonna come again,” he muttered, fingers rubbing harder. “fuck, she’s squeezing you so tight.”

“i’m close, too” mark groaned “i’m gonna—”

you came first, clenching around both haechan’s hand and mark’s cock. your whole body spasming as the orgasm slammed through you.

mark came soon after with a gasp, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you again. he only pulled out

haechan didn’t stop touching you. didn’t stop kissing mark. until he’d wrung every drop out of both of you.

it was quiet for a moment.

both boys still half-tangled with you, one on either side. haechan’s mouth trailed down your body, licking over bruises he’d left earlier, until he settled between your thighs again. he kissed your inner thigh, then the other, lips dragging against sensitive skin, breathing in the scent of your ruined cunt like it was perfume.

“she’s still fucking soaked,” he muttered. “how are you still this wet?”

“because she knows what’s coming,” mark said, taking your hand and guiding it to his mouth. he kissed your fingers. then your wrist. then up your arm, slow and careful.

then he sat up and lifted your upper body into his lap, turning you around and cradling you against his chest as haechan started licking long, slow strokes up your pussy again.

your legs trembled, your hands dug into mark’s thighs. you weren’t just being eaten out, you were being devoured.

“you’re gonna take us both this time,” mark grunted into your ear. “not one at a time. both.”

haechan looked up, eyes gleaming.

“ever been filled in both holes, baby?”

your breath hitched. you couldn’t speak but your body said yes.

mark shifted behind you again, this time lining himself up lower. haechan moved between your legs, stroking himself slow, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds.

“you ready?” haechan asked, breath hot against your mouth.

you nodded.

and then they were both pushing in at the same time.

one in your pussy, one in your ass.

and fuck—you lost your mind.

your mouth dropped open in a scream you didn’t even hear. you were full in the truest, filthiest sense of the word.

they groaned in unison, both of them stilling once they were fully buried inside you.

“holy fuck,” mark gasped. “she’s so tight like this—”

“don’t move yet,” haechan hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “fuck. she’s milking us.”

but you did move. you rolled your hips, whimpering, desperate for more friction. and then they started thrusting.

together.

deep, slow, alternating, syncing like they were choreographing the destruction of your sanity.

your body jolted between them with every stroke. you were moaning, begging, babbling things you couldn’t understand. their hands were all over you—mark’s on your breasts, haechan’s on your throat, their mouths kissing every inch of you they could reach.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” mark growled. “us… fucking you together.”

“she was made to take us like this.” haechan breathed, watching your eyes roll back.

you didn’t just come this time. you broke. sobbing and clenching down on both of them as your orgasm hit like a bus. they didn’t even stop, they fucked you through it, fucked you through the twitching and the tears and the oversensitive spasms until you were just a mess of yesyesyes and pleasepleaseplease.

they came together. mark first, biting your shoulder, thrusts deep and hard. then haechan, with a strangled moan, spilling inside you with one final snap of his hips.

you didn’t know how long you were out—could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. the world felt muted. like your body had been peeled open and left raw in the best way. your limbs wouldn’t move right. your skin was still tingling. your chest rising slowly like every breath was relearned.

mark was the first to move. he didn’t speak, just rolled you onto your side gently, cradling your body lgently. he reached for the sheets, wiped between your thighs with careful strokes, even as your legs twitched and your whole body flinched at the contact.

“you alive?” mark asked softly.

you hummed. barely.

“good,” haechan said. “because imagine explaining this to the paramedics.” he kissed your shoulder, tongue dragging over the sweat there.

you laughed—more like a broken giggle—and they both chuckled too.

mark leaned in, brushed your hair back from your face. “you okay?”

you nodded, and when you whispered “yeah,” he kissed your temple.

“you need water, or—?”

“i need to feel you again,” you said.

he blinked, then smiled fondly.

haechan slid a hand up your stomach, resting between your breasts. “she’s addicted,” he whispered, and you could feel the grin in his voice. “she’s not even cleaned up and she’s already asking for more.”

you turned your head slightly. “so stop teasing me and touch me.”

mark’s fingers were already trailing back down your side. “not to fuck you again,” he said, “not yet.”

he looked at you softly, but serious. “we’re gonna clean you up.”

haechan slipped out of bed and disappeared for a second, then came back with a warm cloth. mark took it, and the two of them cleaned your body. wiping gently between your legs, kissing the insides of your knees. haechans tongue licked along your hip just because he wanted to.

“look at this mess,” he murmured, dragging the cloth through the mixture of their cum and yours. “we fucked you so good. you’re still dripping.”

you whimpered.

mark kissed your thigh. “we’ll fill you up again,” he promised. “after you rest. after we take care of you.”

“and when you wake up,” haechan added, crawling up beside you, “you’re getting marked again, so no one even thinks about touching you.”

┈─★

the first thing you felt the next morning was heat. not the kind that fades when the blankets shift. no, this was body heat. the weight of someone’s thigh tangled with yours. the press of a chest at your back. the warm exhale of breath across your neck.

your eyes blinked open slowly.

and both of them were still in your bed.

mark was behind you, arm slung over your waist, breath warm against your shoulder. haechan was in the front, legs tangled with yours and one hand resting against the underside of your breast like he’d fallen asleep mid-grope.

mark stirred first, pressing a slow kiss to the back of your shoulder. “morning,” he mumbled, voice deep and sleep-rough.

you hummed. “you stayed.”

“of course,” he said like it was obvious.

haechan groaned, stretching. his hand slid higher and squeezed your tit without even opening his eyes. “if i’d left, i would’ve had to jerk off in the dorm thinking about this,” he muttered. “no thanks.”

you laughed softly, body curling between them. “are you always this charming in the morning?”

mark chuckled. “only when we wake up next to a gorgeous girl.”

“mm,” haechan hummed, finally opening his eyes. “speaking of…”

he pushed the blanket back and looked you over like he was unwrapping a gift.

“what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what.

mark leaned up on one elbow, gaze sweeping from your face to the marks on your neck, down to the faint bruises on your hips. his hand brushed them lightly, almost in awe.

“we did a number on you,” he murmured.

“yeah,” you said, voice light. “you gonna apologize?”

they both smirked.

“no,” haechan said, already moving to kiss down your chest. “we’re gonna do it again.”

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