#mark imagines

 Last night’s party is still hanging around in his skull like a bad song he can’t skip. Every step feels like it’s happening underwater — students rushing, bikes clattering, the faint smell of coffee — but Mark barely notices

 “—and then he—ugh, I can’t even—” she huffs, flopping her arm dramatically against her tote bag.

 “Mm,” Mark mumbles, focusing on nothing in particular, willing the throbbing to ease.

 Out of the corner of his eye, movement. Someone rushing. Head down. Bag bouncing. Textbook late-for-class energy.

 “Giselle!” a voice calls, sharp but friendly.

 Mark freezes. Head still fuzzy. He glances over—and it clicks.

 Y/N. Shit. What the actual fuck. No way.

 His chest stutters in a way that’s both familiar and alarming. Two years ago. One night. One too many drinks. Memories creeping in before his brain has a chance to protest.

 Giselle, oblivious, smiles warmly. “Oh! Y/N, hey!”

 Mark blinks, still stunned.

 “Mark,” she says, gesturing to him, “this is Y/N. We…uh, go to the same Pilates class.”

 Simple. Casual. Like nothing else exists.

 You raise an eyebrow, calm, clear recognition. “We actually know each other,” you say lightly, voice teasing but neutral. “Small world, huh?”

 Mark’s throat goes dry. Words stick. Coffee threatens to slosh. His hangover doesn’t help. He wants to say something witty, something—anything—but his brain refuses to cooperate.

 You glance at your phone, already in motion. “Sorry, I’m actually so late. Catch you later Gi!” You pause for a moment. “Good to see you.” That last bit is directed at him and all Mark can do is bob his head like an idiot.

 “See you tomorrow!” Giselle exclaims, her chirpy voice penetrating his throbbing skull.

 You dart off without another word, back straight, long strides taking you in the opposite direction from the library.

 Mark stands frozen for a second, watching the familiar sway of your shoulders disappear down the path, stomach twisting, headache forgotten.

 Giselle nudges him. “You good?”

 Mark snaps back, clutching his backpack strap like a lifeline. “Yeah…yeah, fine,” he mutters, voice rough. But inside? His heart refuses to behave.

 This must be some kind of joke.

 “Dude.” Mark’s voice comes out in a whisper. As though he’s wary of people hearing.

 Giselle takes an inquisitive look at him. “Why are your eyes so big?”

 Great, now he looks insane.

 “How do you know her?” Mark asks, completely ignoring Giselle’s valid question. He needs to know.

 “I literally just said Pilates?”

 “Oh…right.” He keeps walking and Giselle quickly follows. Her expression nothing short of baffled.

 “Umm. What am I missing here?” She speaks in a rushed manner as she tries to keep up with Mark’s quick strides. Who is he even running from?

 “Nothing.” Mark deflates as he quickens his step. The library couldn’t feel any further.

 “Oi, spaz!” Giselle grabs onto Marks elbow. “Slow down and fess up.”

 Her demands get through to him. He halts his pace and turns to face his friend properly for the first time since you walked away from them. With a heavy sigh he accepts that even the slight attempt of hiding something from her, would be futile.

 “We slept together first week of uni.” The words come out so jumbled, he’d be surprised if Giselle caught them.

 “Pardon?”

 “We fucked. Two years ago.” He rephrases. Slower this time.

 “Sorry. What?” The question more of an indication of shock than a demand of clarification.

 “Ever heard of sex?” He tries sarcastically.

 “Uh-huh.” Giselle’s frown almost resembles an animated character’s.

 “I’ve had it. With her.” He points a thumb towards the direction you earlier walked off to and he can’t help but feel amused at Giselle’s flabbergasted reaction.

 “How-”

 “A party. Fresher’s week. C’mon dude, switch on please.” He’s embarrassed. Maybe even slightly irritated that his reckless escapades from freshers’ week have become such a big matter of attention.

 “Okay. Sorry, I just- I pictured it and now I need someone to reset me.” Giselle pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes closing as if trying to erase the picture from her brain.

 Marks rolls his eyes at his friend’s exaggerated gag. “I could flick your big fat head.”

 “Okay, okay. So…” She trails expectantly, completely dismissing his irritation.

 Mark doesn’t really know what more he can say. He’s elaborated enough.

 “Yeah..?” He gestures his hand for her to continue.

 “Well, what happened after the…you know.” Giselle’s eyebrows shoot up suggestively.

 “The sex?” Mark points out on purpose and snorts a laugh when his friend scrunches up her nose in disgust. He might as well make her feel as uncomfortable as he is.

 “Yeah, that.” Giselle nods, the pained expression still on her face.

 “I haven’t seen her since. Well, hadn’t.” He admits simply. It’s the truth.

 “Shit, so you quite literally just fucked.” It’s a statement but it comes out more like a question.

 “Pretty much.” Mark shrugs, struggling to keep an unbothered front. “She sneaked out in the morning and I just never saw her again.”

 “You didn’t get her number or…?”

 “I mean, I didn’t really get the chance. Plus…” He pauses to think. Or more like reminisce.

 It was his first night out on campus, and you? You were the first person he noticed when he stepped foot in that house party. The first girl he brought back to his tiny, undecorated dorm at the time.

 He didn’t really expect anything more than what he got. That’s what he approached you for initially. But he also didn’t expect you to disappear without so much of word after the night you had together.

 Mark still thinks about it sometimes. Not because it was magical or anything of the sort. If anything, his performance could easily be described as bang out average.

 What he really thinks about is how you two stayed up for hours. Naked. Talking, kissing, fucking then talking and kissing, then fucking again. He thinks about how he felt so comfortable. So at peace but also confused at the same time. How you’d only known him for a few hours but still trusted him enough to fall asleep on his chest, in that small first-year dorm bed.

 Mark, never having been the naive type, he knew he couldn’t just date the first girl he met at the first party he went to on campus, but spending days typing your first name in his instagram search bar definitely wasn’t on his bingo card. Not only that, but unintentionally searching for you at pubs, bars, parties, uni corridors for weeks? Yeah, that certainly wasn’t on his bingo card.

 “Plus, it wasn’t anything serious.” He concludes, sounding almost defensive.

 “Aww, Markie poo. Did she break your heart?” Giselle pouts performatively.

 “Tsk.” Mark kisses his teeth in annoyance, adamantly refusing to succumb to her mocking, as he resumes his quick steps. Giselle, of course, unfortunately for him, isn’t one to let things go. So she matches his pace.

 “Oh, come on. I’m just playing-

 “Wait. So, if you’re, like, friends,” Mark abruptly turns, index accusingly pointing at her, his steps coming to a halt again and Giselle exhales in relief. “How come you’ve never mentioned her?”

 “I literally met her a month ago. She was on a year abroad last year.” Ah. Well, that certainly explains a lot.

 “Damn, that’s cool.” He utters in surprise, as though he was hoping you were some kind of loser who was hiding out in a library. Meanwhile, you were out in god knows what country, doing god knows what and god knows who.

 “Damn, you falling back in love already?” Giselle coos annoyingly and Mark starts walking again, dismissive of her teasing. “Wait! I’m sorry! At least tell me if the sex was good. Oh my god, is she like the best you’ve ever had? Is that why you’re hung up on her?”

 “You’re a nuisance.” He mutters grumpily.

 “Awh, really? I mean I could invite her to Chenle’s on Saturday but if I’m such a nuisance then I guess I won’t bother-

 “Wait. Actually?” Mark’s head snaps toward his friend a lot quicker than he can comprehend, sounding too hopeful and probably a little pathetic, and Giselle’s sinister grin makes him realise his slip up.

 Damn it.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Mark’s patience started to waver about two days ago. Now it’s close to non-existent.

 There’s no way you’re not toying with him. You’re everywhere. Wherever he goes. The library? Tick. The park? Tick. The main building cafeteria? Tick. The psychology building cafeteria? Tick. His favourite café? Tick.

 How can someone go from not existing to occupying every corner of this plane earth?

 He’d gotten accustomed to not worrying about bumping into you, but now he’s always wary. Always alert. He’s even started putting more effort in his outfits, just in case you see him. Even though, he’s pretty sure you never notice him. At least not like he notices you.

 And however wary he is, he still feels taken aback each time he comes across your presence.

 And now, Mark is annoyed. Because he simply can’t enjoy his Saturday night like he always does.

He can’t get absolutely plastered with his friends like he always does to forget about deadlines and assignments. Because what if you’re here, at this very party? Yeah, Giselle did invite you and of course, you gave a very vague response — something along the lines of ‘yeah, that sounds like fun’ — and of course, you’re allowed to do as you please, but what if you turn up out of nowhere while Mark is blackout drunk? What if he embarrasses himself in front of you? Or worse, what if his big gob utters something stupid? God forbid.

 And so, he takes it easy tonight. Small sips. Slowly consuming whatever his cup contains. He thinks it’s vodka with some kind of tropical mixer. Not really his cup of tea, but he settled anyway.

 “What sort of pace is this?” Chenle asks, sounding almost offended.

 “Huh?” Mark looks up from his cup, one hand swirling the liquid in his cup, the other splayed on the back of the sofa behind Chenle’s shoulders.

 “Your drinking pace is embarrassing.” The younger boy explains. “We got no practice on Monday, so the whole two-day hangover excuse ain’t gonna save you this time.”

 “I got other commitments too, you know.” Mark side eyes his friend. “Basketball isn’t my only worry, I’m in final year.”

 “Blah blah blah. Don’t give me that shit, you’re acing all your exams. Pretty sure you’re on for a first class.” Chenle babbles loudly, definitely tipsy by now and Mark can’t help but wrap his arm around his friend’s shoulders, playfully trapping him in a headlock. Chenle doesn’t even fight him off, comfortably resting his head on Mark’s shoulder.

 “Since when do you worry so much about me, huh?” Mark teases, squeezing Chenle into his side.

 “Since when are you so affectionate?” Chenle questions suspiciously.

 “I thought you said being a little gay for your bros is acceptable.” Mark defends, referring to the time they spooned while having a drunk, deep meaningful conversation about their childhood trauma and then fell asleep.

 “Don’t remind me. I’ll get hard.”

 “Get off me.” Mark shoves a giggling Chenle away, squishing him against a random girl sat next to them. And just like that, in the midst of apologising, Chenle’s already compromised attention span works in Mark’s favour, because a few minutes later, the younger boy is entrapped in a flirty conversation with the girl that laughs a little too loud at his bad jokes.

 Thankfully, Mark’s gaze catches Giselle’s, who’s stood by the kitchen counter. She excitedly waves him over, holding a shot of clear liquid in each hand and he can’t help but scrunch his nose in disgust. The tilt of her head along with the disappointed expression on her face does enough to convince him.

 Fuck it. One shot won’t hurt. He’s a big boy.

 He spills a bit of his drink as he squeezes through the swamp of people that occupies the living room. Pitbull blares through the speakers and Mark realises that shot is definitely needed. He’s too sober for this chaos, so he rushes for the kitchen.

 “Honestly, how the fuck does Chenle get girls so-

 Mark is pretty sure the colour drains from his face the second he steps in the kitchen vicinity. There you are. Again. Like his fucking shadow. Haunting him. Only this time you’re mid-laugh, perched up on the counter, a filled shot glass in your hand and Mark realises that he’s walked right into Giselle’s trap.

 “Hey, loser.” Giselle interrupts his trance, casually shoving the spare shot glass in his free hand. “Here. Do a shot with us.”

 “Umm. Yeah, okay.” Mark doesn’t have the time to ponder his actions. As though he’s on autopilot, the second you and Giselle down your shots, he tips his head back, doing the same. He doesn’t even flinch at the burn, probably in need of it and the second his eyes land on yours, Giselle starts violently coughing.

 “Jesus.” He mutters, quickly grabbing an empty glass from the counter, filling it with tap water before passing it to his struggling friend. “Down it, you idiot.”

 And Giselle starts doing just that, but before she can finish the contents of the glass, she’s covering her mouth in panic. Mark steps closer, and the second he touches her shoulder in concern, she’s running out of the kitchen and down the hallway where the bathroom is.

 Fucking brilliant.

 “Do you think she needs help?” Your voice penetrates his ears, urging him to turn around and face you. As always, taken aback by your presence.

 “I- um- nah. Nah don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” Mark tries to sound reassuring, but his voice has a slight tremble to it. Get a grip, dude.

 “I can go check up on her if-

 “Honestly, she’ll be fine. The woman can never stomach shots. Trust me.” His words are rushed. Partly because he’s telling the truth, and partly because he refuses to miss the opportunity of whatever this is.

 “Are you two together then?”

 “What? No.” He shakes his head so fast his neck slightly cramps. “No, we’re not. Just friends. We live together.”

 He relaxes a little when you nod. A tight lipped smile adorns your pretty face and for the first time in what feels like forever, Mark finally gets the chance to take you in.

 Here you are, again. Right in front of him. So close. Looking at him. As pretty as he remembers you. Albeit looking different in a way, still carrying the same calm aura.

 “What?” You ask softly, smile a little lopsided.

 “Nothing. Just — don’t worry.” He shakes his head again, eyes drifting down to his hands, twirling his drink in his cup again to distract himself from his fast heartbeat. “It’s weird.”

 “I like weird.” You’re still smiling when he meets your eyes again.

 His eyebrows raise a little when you pat the spot next to you, silently asking him to join you on the counter as more people crowd the kitchen.

 His shoulder brushes yours briefly when he hoists himself up, the warmth hard to miss. He does his best to steady his breathing but feels like he’s miserably falling when he breathes in your sweet perfume. “I dunno. Just weird seeing you. Feels like I’m seeing a ghost. Kind of.”

 God, that sounds so lame. He almost winces in pain.

 “Wait, how do we know each other again? I know we do, but I’m having trouble placing you.” You say in genuine wonderment and Mark feels his heart drop to his stomach. He miserably prays that you’re playing a horrible prank on him, but your perplexed eyes tell him otherwise.

 “You don’t re- we- um- freshers week? C’mon. Surely you remember.” He tries subtly, hoping he won’t have to spell it out for you.

 You shake your head in denial. “I honestly have no clue what you’re on about.”

 Fuck. You have actually forgotten. Were you that drunk or was that night so insignificant to you?

 This is fucking horrifying. A nightmare he's hoping he can wake up from. “Yo, seriously?”

 “Remind me?” You suggest lightheartedly, with the most innocent smile. “I have the worst memory, I’m sorry.”

 What the actual fuck.

 “Wha- you actually don’t remember? Like no recollection whatsoever?” He checks one more time, hating that he sounds so desperate. He really finds it hard to believe that you’ve forgotten a night he remembers so vividly. A night he often has to lock up in the back of his mind.

 You snort, a short laugh escaping as your face shows nothing but amusement. “You’re really gullible, you know.”

 Jail. You belong in jail for that. He’s suing you for emotional damage.

 He scoffs loudly, hating that he almost fell for it.

You laugh a little louder this time and he can’t help the little smile that curls on his lips. “You fucking- are you having me on?”

 “Sorry, it was just too easy.”

 “Dude.” He whines, hiding his face in his hands. “That is actually vile behaviour. You’re going to hell.”

 “For being too funny?” Your comical expression would have normally pissed him off if you weren’t this captivating.

 He doesn’t have a comeback. He just stares straight ahead, jaw clenching to retain a smile, hands struggling not to squish the plastic cup in them and he almost flinches when your foot kicks his. Intentional, playful, soft as ever.

 “Of course, I remember.” Your gaze burning his side profile is so difficult to ignore. So he succumbs. Head turning to face you, eyes finding yours. “Kinda hard to forget.”

 “Really? That bad?” He jokes, although, he’s worried he might be right.

 You breathe out a cute laugh, eyes dropping to your fumbling hands, fingers playing with the rip on your jeans. “I’m not insulting your performance, Mark Lee.”

 He’s positive he’s blushing. His face and neck feel hot, hands are sweating and he’s very aware of your proximity. The music is loud enough for you to lean closer to speak.

 “What are you insulting then?”

 “I could be praising you know.” You side eye him for a reaction he refuses to offer. “Unless you’re not into that anymore.”

 He can’t help the shocked laugh that escapes his throat. How can someone be so forward? Bringing up a kink of his you clocked back then? Outrageous. Uncalled for. And honestly? Kind of sexy.

 “Well, this is embarrassing.” Mark nervously downs the remainder of his drink in a big gulp at a failed attempt to cool down as he’s pretty sure steam is coming out of his ears that don’t fail to pick up at the loud snort you let out.

 “See? I remember a lot more than you think.” You tap your temple with your index finger. A harmless gesture, which Mark finds inexplicably attractive.

 “Why hard to forget?” He redirects the subject, refusing to have a nervous breakdown before he finds out what’s important.

 You seem skeptical, as though you’re assessing your words before you utter them and Mark’s nerves resurface. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you now.”

 “What?” He presses impatiently.

 Did he get you pregnant or something? Oh god, is that why you disappeared? Does he currently have a two-year old child running about?

 “Okay, don’t make it a big deal.”

 “Shit. Do I have a kid?” He accidentally thinks out loud.

 “What? No, Mark, what the- no!” Your loud laugh helps him relax a little and he can’t help but notice the way you lightly shove him by the shoulder as you throw your head back. At least one of you is amused. “I was just gonna say— that it was my first time.”

 Oh.

 OH.

 “Huh?” It comes out louder than intended. He can’t help it. You’re definitely lying. “As in you never— before that?“

 “Yes.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes.”

 “Shit.” He can feel his eyes widening to the max as he looks around in shock. “I’m sorry.”

 “What for?” You’re clearly holding back a laugh and Mark feels like he desperately needs air. Or a whole bottle of vodka. Yeah, that would do.

 “I don’t know.” He panics. “I just— I mean, your first time is— you know, important. It should mean something. No?”

 You narrow your eyes at him for a second and Mark decides he’s going to die. Here, tonight, in Chenle’s fancy kitchen. “First of all. That couldn’t be more of a stereotype. Second of all. Who said it didn’t mean anything?”

 “I mean, it was pretty obvious it didn’t.” The words roll out like waterfall.

 “What?”

 “How much could it have meant if you just…left?” That seems to shut you up, your eyes wider than before, mouth slightly open. “Without a word.” He adds. He had to say it. After all this time, he finally gets to complain about something that bothered him long enough and he feels relief. A weight lifted off his shoulders.

 He expects you to argue. To defend yourself, and the little nod you give, somewhat shocks him.

 “Fair point.” Your attention returns to the rip on your thigh, your fingers pulling at the loose threads.

 “I didn’t do anything weird, right? Like, I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable in any way, or…?” He can’t help but worry that maybe it was all too much for you, considering you hadn’t been with anyone else prior to that. Maybe that’s why you quietly escaped in the morning?

 “No. Not at all.” You quickly shake your head with a sweet smile. “If anything, I don’t think it could have been any better.”

 Mark feels relief wash over him, his limbs instantly relaxing. He nods with a satisfied pout on his face but inside he’s proudly gloating.

 “Well, I’m glad I—ummm, you know.” He realises that whatever he’s about to say, could easily be misconstrued.

 “You’re glad you took my v-card?” You ask with an amused frown and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Mostly at his stupidity, but also at your relentless teasing.

 “No.” He gives you a pointed look. “Just glad I didn’t ruin it for you.”

 Your fond smile makes him feel warm. In a good way this time.

 “Can I ask you something?” He blurts out, curiosity getting the better of him. You simply give him a small nod as you take a small sip of your drink. “How come you didn’t say anything? Not that you had to obviously. I just feel like I would have been more careful if you had.”

 “That’s exactly why I didn’t.” Your purse your lips in thought. “I would have. But, with you, I figured it was unnecessary.”

 “Oh, sorry, was I a little too vanilla for you?” He complains sarcastically.

 “I’m not gonna give you feedback.” You retort with a grin and Mark swears your cheeks weren’t as flushed a minute ago.

 “I didn’t ask you to.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

 It could be his delusion, but Mark feels tension brewing, and he wonders if it’s just him. Maybe it’s the alcohol finally catching up to him, but your silence betrays something he can’t quite decipher.

 “Was it not obvious then?” You interrupt his inner thoughts, the question simple, easy to answer, but Mark’s brain short circuits for a moment.

 “I mean, I wasn’t that experienced myself.” He clears his throat once. “I just thought we were both shy. Clearly that’s not the case for you anymore.”

 “That a problem?”

 “Nah. It’s been what? Two years? And you’ve spent a year in a foreign country. I’d be surprised if you were the exact same person.” He explains and he circles the rim of his cup slowly, suddenly a little bashful, but content at the same time.

 “What about you? You think you’re still shy?” You slowly reach over, hand gently wrapping around his wrist gently before you bring his hand to your lap. Mark is about to question your actions but your fingers delicately untying the knot of his bracelet make him hold back his protest.

 “At times.” He responds as he watches you fix the knot carefully.

 And when you’re done and he’s about to remove his hand, your hold tightens, preventing him. His breathing stutters and so does his pulse. The heat of your skin on his, too much for him to handle, but he still obliges, letting his hand rest limp on your thigh, palm facing up, unable to properly touch you, but still enough for his brain to remember things. To remember how he touched you that night. How you touched him.

 “What about now? Feeling shy?” You don’t meet his gaze when he looks at you, your eyes still on his hand as your thumb traces his pulse point. Goosebumps litter his skin, the tiny twitch of your lips telling him you’ve noticed.

 “I don’t know. Do I seem shy?” Answering with a question is the only way his brain can muster.

 “Hmm.” You finally eye him, carefully inspecting his face, and he feels exposed. “Maybe a little. I kinda think that’s part of your charm, though.”

 His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “My charm?”

 “Mhm.”

 “You think I’m charming?” He can’t conceal the stupid smile that erupts on his face. Weak man. Maybe he does have a praise kink.

 “You managed to get me in your bed. I’m not that easy.” You say with a casual shrug. Too casual. And Mark has to look away. If he could, he’d run away, but your damn hand is still wrapped around his arm, locking him down. It’s your fault he can’t escape and definitely not the fact that he doesn’t want to ever pull away from your touch.

 “Dude, are you, like, flirting with m—“

 “Do you wanna come back to mine?” Again, you’re too casual. No ounce of hesitation, just plain expectation.

 “Now?” It’s the only word he can come up with.

 “I mean, at some point tonight would be ideal, yes.” Your smirk irritates him. He wants to kiss it off your face. Maybe he can if he agrees to go back with you.

 Should he?

 “You want me to fuck you again?” He only realises he’s said the lewd words out loud by the widening of your eyes. Why does he always end up putting his foot in his mouth?

 “To put it plainly, yeah, I guess I want you to fuck me again.” You say with the most demure smile.

  The contrast scares him. You scare him. He should have been wise and ran for the hills the second he laid eyes on you two years ago.

 “I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He rushes to apologise but you cut him off with a squeeze around his wrist.

 “Yay or nay?” You ask, a hint of impatience in your tone that makes Mark bite his lip to hide a smile. You’ve got one eyebrow raised, expression almost offended at the delay in his reply.

 He quickly hops off the counter, empty cup forgotten on the surface, the skin on the arm you were touching only seconds ago, already tingling. But he’s made his decision.

 You seem taken aback, the crease between your eyebrows betraying your confusion. And if Mark were to take a guess, he could say there’s a trace of disappointment in your eyes.

 You’re about to hop off the counter when he cages you in. Almost in panic at the thought of you walking away from him. Your ass is on the edge of the surface and he can’t help but smile at the way you quickly grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself.

 “Where you off to?” He asks quietly, only for you to hear. His hands settling on each side on you on the counter as he steps closer.

 “Nowhere.” You match his tone, legs parting, allowing him to take up the space between them as your hands trail down to his chest. Your touch soft on his jumper, but he can still feel the weight of it.

 He’s positive you can feel his insane heart trying to jump out of his rib cage. He doesn’t mind. Not when he gets to have you this close and feel the heat radiating off your body.

 “Do you think about it?” His voice comes out in a whisper but he knows you hear him. “That night?”

 “Sometimes.” You admit. Eyes anywhere but on his; avoidant.

 “Are you embarrassed?” He leans down a little, levelling with you and you smile bashfully as you finally meet his gaze.

 “More like flustered.” Your hands travel down to his stomach as your knees squeeze him in and he moves even closer, his torso flush against yours.

 “Tell me. What do you think about?” He whispers, his lips brushing against the bridge of your nose as your hands slowly slide lower, until your fingers hook into his belt loops.

 “Not here.” Your breath hits his chin and he desperately wants to lean in, but he refrains, enjoying your squirming a little too much.

 “Why not?” He tilts his head, your lips just millimetres away. His hands decide to move on their own, finding their way to your waist as you inhale deeply. “Whatever it is, I’ve probably already thought about it.”

  Your cocky expression annoys him. “Do I often occupy your mind?”

 “You used to.” He admits openly as he delicately strokes along your ribs, thumbs smoothing over the undersides of your bra, your thin top making the touch more intense.

 You smile smugly as you let your fingers slip under the hem of his hoodie, finding the bare skin of his lower abdomen and he hates that the simplest of touches affects him so much. It’s all effortless. Just a trace of a finger has him weak in the knees, his breath unstable, lips aching to be on yours.

 “Mark?” You lean closer, your forehead dropping on his shoulder as you exhale a trembling breath.

 “Hm?” He traces his knuckles up and down your spine, his other hand splaying on your lower back, where your skin is uncovered.

 “I’m so wet right now, it’s fucking embarrassing.”

 “Jesus.” He whispers, lips touching your ear and he feels your shudder as his hand slithers in your hair, lightly tugging to get you to look at him.

 Your hands clutch at his belt, not really initiating anything, just holding. It’s enough for his blood to rush where it shouldn’t, heart pounding. Your hooded eyes don’t help either, and if it weren’t for the people occupying the kitchen, he’d be bending you over this counter right this second. The scandalous thought very unlike him.

 “There’s a spare room here. I stay in it sometimes after basketball practice.” He suggests carefully, not really possessing the patience to go back to either of your apartments. Fuck being in an uber with a hard on.

 You seem skeptical for a moment. “You ever fucked anyone in it?”

 “No.” He answers quickly. “I don’t really do one ni—“

 “Okay, yeah.” You nod, teeth trapping your bottom lip as you not-so-subtly stare at his mouth.

 He knows what you want. He wants the same thing. But when he kisses you, it’s going to be private. No people staring or interrupting.

 So he pulls away. Your shaky exhale makes him smile proudly. He made you nervous.

 “Come.” He takes your hand in his when you’re back on your feet and he feels giddy at how easily you comply, how you follow him, naturally clinging onto his arm as he guides you through the crowd.

 You squeeze on his bicep with the hand that’s not in his to get his attention and he slightly leans down to hear you over the music. You point your chin over to the occupied sofa, cheeky smile taking over your face as you take in the sight of a perfectly healthy Giselle, laughing her lungs out at something Chenle is so passionately rambling on about.

 Mark shakes his head with a smile, but mentally makes a note to later grill his friend about the totally fake throwing up incident. He doesn’t even say anything, just keeps walking down the hallway, where both bedrooms are.

 When you both enter the neat spare room, he shuts the door behind him and sighs at the loud crowd and music becoming nothing but a background noise.

 “Is this Chenle guy rich or something?” You ask curiously as you look around, inspecting the spacious room.

 Mark lets out a quick laugh, eyes following you around, observing you. “Yeah. His parents are loaded. Pretty sure his dad owns this whole building.”

 You nod with an approving pout and all Mark can think is how adorable you look as you fumble with the bedside lamp, trying to figure out how it works. The second it illuminates, you let out an exaggerated gasp, your eyes widening and Mark doesn’t know what takes over him but he flicks the main lights off, surprising both of you.

 He leans back on the door, resting his weight there, hands at the small of his back as he patiently waits for your next move.

 “Smooth.” You comment with a small grin as you place the small lamp back in its spot.

 He just shrugs, mirroring your expression as you slowly retrace your steps, walking back towards him. It’s difficult for him not to blush as you get closer and closer; his heart threatening to beat out of his chest again and again and he awkwardly lifts a hand to rub against his jawline. His eyes rake over you unintentionally, taking in the outfit you’ve got on tonight. It’s simple; an off-shoulder crop top and light-washed baggy jeans. Pretty. Easy to remove.

 He feels hot at the thought of undressing you. What if he’s too clumsy? What if your earrings get tangled in your top? What if he accidentally pulls your hair?

 “Are you just gonna stand there?” You speak tentatively, as though you’re enjoying the silence. You seem a lot more composed and calm than him. Not like someone who not too long ago uttered the words ‘I’m so wet right now. It’s fucking embarrassing’, but then again, maybe you’re always like this. Fluctuating.

 “Where do you want me?” He asks, not intending for the words to sound sexual, but somehow, they do, and he has to close his eyes for a moment. Composure slowly slipping away.

 “To be honest, you look pretty good just like this” You halt in front of him, but still out of reach. “But for tonight’s purposes, ideally, I’d want you on the bed.” Fuck. “Unless you have any other ideas.”

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 “Dude.” He exhales a pained laugh, hand covering his eyes in frustration. You simply just giggle at his misery.

 Without him seeing, your hands are suddenly on him; one touching his chest, the other peeling his hand away from his face, forcing him to look at you. And he’s definitely not complaining. Before he has time to take in your pretty face, your palm is engulfing the back of his neck, pulling him down to your level.

 He’s not sure who finally closes the gap, his mind too occupied with the softness of your lips and the way they slot with his. So effortlessly. Deja vu is inevitable when your arms wrap around his neck, holding him closer, and his limbs suddenly come back to life; the sliver of skin between your top and jeans so soft under his touch and so are your hands trailing from his hair down to the sides of his neck.

 The kiss is slow, sensual, almost romantic and the little noise of satisfaction you let out goes straight to his already hardening cock. The way you kiss him, contrasts the demeanour you've held up until now. You’re going along with the pace he sets. You’re not leading and he wonders if it’s deliberate. Can he just do however he pleases with you or will you eventually take the upper hand?

 He decides it’s worth a try by slipping a hand into your hair, tilting your head to the side so he can easily slip his tongue into your eager mouth and he’s rewarded with a low moan of yours, your lips parting for him, allowing him to taste you properly as you lazily glide your tongue with his.

He moves on autopilot, slowly walking you backwards. One hand still in your hair, the other hovering above your ass, keeping you close.

 “Shoes—mph—off.” He mumbles against your lips before you obscenely lick into his mouth and he can’t hold back the grunt that escapes his throat.

 It all becomes messy so quickly. His hands clumsily unbutton your jeans as you rush to kick your shoes off without breaking the kiss, both of you gasping and laughing as you stumble over your feet. You’ve somehow managed to turn the situation around and he only realises when the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

His back hits the covers with a push from you and within seconds, you’re straddling his thighs; bare legs on either side of him as you go back to kissing him. He surprises himself with the noise he lets out when both his hands grope your ass. Not just because it’s your ass he’s touching, but mainly because of the lack of underwear, and he’d love to comment on your hastiness but at this point he doesn’t really care. As long as he’s got you naked and in bed, he’s a content man.

 “Take your top off.” He instructs in a whisper, and you oblige without a question, sitting up in a heartbeat and removing the last piece of clothing you’ve got on. No bra underneath and he mentally thanks the heavens. “Fuck.”

 His hands caress your thighs absentmindedly as he takes in the sight above him. There’s something about the fact that you’re fully naked, while he’s not removed a single article of clothing. And you’re not rushing him either, patiently letting him enjoy the view, hands on his chest, ass directly above the very prominent bulge in his jeans. You seem comfortable in your nakedness and that turns him on even more, cock twitching in its confines.

 “C’mon. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Your voice is sultry, patience clearly wearing thin as his hands remain on your thighs and he abruptly sits up, crashing his mouth onto yours. One hand holds the back of your neck as the other slips between your bodies, shamelessly cupping your entire pussy, the heel of his palm rubbing against your undeniably swollen clit.

 “Fuck, you’re…” He’s not able to form a complete sentence, interrupted by the loud moan you let out against his lips.

 “I told you. It’s embarrassing.” Your fingers thread in his hair, desperately pulling, driving him insane.

 “It’s fucking hot.” He’s corrects, completely enamoured with the way your body responds to him. You’re literally grinding on his hand, seeking relief, kissing him like a starved woman, spit coating both of your lips as he sucks on your tongue, earning a cute whine from you.

 “Feel like I’m dripping on your jeans.” You complain, breathing harshly as the pads of his fingers slide between your drenched folds, spreading your arousal, making a mess between your legs.

 “Cause you are.” He whispers with a smug grin.

 He purposely avoids your clit, in the mood to tease you as his lips drag from your jaw down to the base of your neck. His tongue makes contact with your sweaty skin, tasting salt, your scent engulfing him as his hold on your hair tightens, pulling your head back to gain full access to your sensitive skin.

 “Please, I really need you to fuck me.” You murmur weakly, the hoarseness of your voice causing his heart to quicken and his cock to throb painfully.

 He’s so fucked. Beyond salvation. And you’re so fucking needy. But he doesn’t want to give into you just yet. It’s his turn to torment you a little.

 “In a bit.” He dismisses your pleas with another suck on your neck, your crazy pulse delicious on his tongue.

 “Mark—“

 “Shh. You can wait a little longer.” Two of his fingers tease your entrance, slowly circling, dipping shallowly before slipping out and repeating the action.

 He almost feels bad when your body starts trembling, so he snakes his arm around your middle, holding you as close as possible. Your messy kisses on his neck are cut short the second his fingers ease into you, following the curve of your cunt until they’re knuckles-deep. And when he curls them slightly, your walls tighten and so do your arms around his neck, face burying in his neck as he starts to slowly pump in and out, making sure to repeatedly hit that spot that made you tremble.

 “This feel good?” He whispers against your shoulder, arm tightening around you, the pads of his fingers almost reaching your side boob.

 “Yeah.” You sigh, sounding wrecked already and that urges him to quicken the pace. He starts jackhammering his fingers into you, cunt greedily sucking them inside, your slick dripping down his wrist, smearing on his jeans and the sleeve of his jumper. The filthy thought of never washing his clothes again crosses his unhinged mind.

 You’re both sweating unimaginably, and now he wishes he’d at least taken a layer off, but he pays no mind to that as your body tenses. “You close?”

 “Yeah. Don't stop.” Your nails dig into the skin of his nape, most likely leaving crescent moons and he desperately needs you to come before he combusts in his trousers.

 He starts slamming the heel of his hand into your clit, making sure you’re being stimulated to the max and your whiny exhale reassures him. “Cum.”

 And you do. Body tensing up for a moment before you start trembling against him, the secure arm around you helping you stay upright as you gasp for air.

 “Oh my god.” Your hips buck up, pussy spasming violently around his fingers as he fucks you through it all.

 “You’re okay.” His knuckles caressing your spine, attempting to calm you down as your body gradually goes limp on him.

 “I think I just saw god.” You mumble half-conscious, causing Mark to let out a little laugh.

 “Did you say hi?” He steals a little kiss off your cheek as he slowly pulls his fingers out. Your shudder makes him smile fondly and he lets his fingers lazily caress your slit, before they gently circle your swollen bundle of nerves.

 “You’ve definitely been in at least one relationship since l last saw you.” The statement catches him off guard, and he pulls back a little to look at you.

 “What makes you say that?”

 You blink lazily, sweat dripping down the sides of your face. “You found my g-spot. Real fucking quick as well.”

 “I need a girlfriend for that?”

 “Well, someone’s taught you.” Your smile is teasing and so is the light touch of your fingers on his jaw.

 “Situationships, I guess. No girlfriend though.” He takes in your expression, heart beating a little quicker at your silence. “Red flag?”

 You give him a sweet smile. “I just came. All your flags are bright green right now”

 He mirrors your expression as he leans in, silently asking for a kiss, which you easily give, slowly dragging your swollen lips against his.

 “Wanna keep going?” He speaks softly, praying for an affirmative response.

 “Yes, please.”

 He moans at your words, hands trailing up your sides until they’re cupping your tits, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. The whine you let out as he pinches your nipples, spurs him on, and he squeezes the supple flesh a little harder.

 “Can I just fuck you? Please? I promise I’ll go down on you later.” The begging tone his voice carries almost makes him cringe. Pitiful.

 You let out a yelp when he flips you over, your back on the mattress now, and he can’t help but notice the way your tits bounce a little as well as the slippery mess between your spread thighs.

 “Yeah, no more foreplay.” You sit up as he stands between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed. “And take that stupid jumper off right now.”

 He chuckles lightly at your frustration but obliges anyway. His jumper and t-shirt are off in one go and he quickly kicks his shoes off as you start unbuckling his belt, lust-clouded eyes gazing up at him.

 “Don’t look at me like that.” He rasps as his hands join yours, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping.

 “Like what?” Your seductive tone clouds his head and the kisses you start leaving down his happy trail make his hands shake.

 You don’t give him time to answer, immediately shoving both his boxers along with his trousers down, deeming him incapable of thinking properly. Your warm exhale hits him straight where it hurts, his throbbing length twitching the second you wrap a hand around the base.

 “Get on your all fours.” He instructs, tone purposely devoid of any warmth. He’s had enough of your games now. But still, his hands engulf each side of your face, thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. “Or I just cum on your face and we call it a night. Up to you.”

 Your smirk is sinister as you scoot up the bed until your head hits the pillows and you swiftly turn on your front, knees spread wide, supporting your lower half as you arch your back like a pro, tits squishing against the mattress.

 “Holy shit.” He exhales in awe.

 You’re on full display. Ass up in the air, cunt staring right through his soul, inviting him in, and who is he to decline such an invite? As though the mental breakdown he’s experiencing isn’t enough, you shamelessly slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sliding through your dripping folds.

 “Markie, please. It hurts.” You briefly look over your shoulder with a performative pout, shamelessly putting on a show for him.

 “What the fuck.” He’s lost for words, standing there butt naked, staring at your fingers circling your clit before they slowly trail up, catching at your clenching hole and easily slipping in.

 You’re an evil evil woman. He decides right there and then. And the moment you start fucking yourself, he sees red, any resolve left, completely forgotten.

 He’s on his knees behind you within seconds. Hand ripping your fingers away before shoving your face against the pillows by the back go your head. His cock slips inside easily, walls vacuuming him in and he doesn’t wait for you to adjust; his free hand grabbing your waist as he starts slamming into you.

 “You’re fucking filthy, you know that?” He grunts through your high pitched moaning. “Been torturing me since day one.”

 Your muffled voice sounds like a song he’s been trying to find for a long time and he’s finally succeeded.

 “M—markie,” You sound like you’re crying and he loves it. “Fuck, it's so good.”

 “Shut up.” His thrusts become more intense, balls harshly slapping against your pussy, the wet sounds of your walls suctioning around him each time he pulls out, sending him into a frenzy. “I bet this is what you wanted—fuck—to piss me off. Huh?”

 “N-no — I just wanted you.” You mumble in your delirious state, and of course, it goes straight to his head.

His eyes focus on the way his cock slips in and out of your sopping hole. A white ring of slick has already formed at his base and he’s afraid he might finish sooner than expected.

 So he buries himself to the hilt to take a much needed moment. His head dips back in ecstasy, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he tries his best to compose himself and when he looks back down, your droopy eyes are already on him, neck twisted as you stare over your shoulder, face half-hidden.

 You look nothing short of ethereal. Your skin glowing in sweat, back still arched beautifully, eyes glistening with want and unshed tears as they roll back briefly the second Mark experimentally grinds a little too deep.

 “Mark?” Your voice is broken, his name sounding like a prayer.

 “Hm?” He leans down, nose nuzzling against yous jaw as he keeps grinding his hips slowly, relishing in the mewls you let out.

 “Want you close.” You whisper into the pillow, a little whimper adorning the end of your sentence. Your desperation breaks him.

 “I’m here.” He reassures you with a sweet kiss on your cheek. “D’you wanna change positions?”

 Your tiny nod pulls at his heartstrings in a way that’s foreign to him. He’s always been gentle by nature, soft spoken, sensitive. But this is untouched territory.

 “Alright,” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder as he pulls out. Gentle hand patting your thigh. "C’mon, turn around."

 With rushed movements, you eagerly flop on your back and his hips find home between your parted legs, the soft skin of your inner thighs dragging against his sides, making him shudder as he slowly slips back into you with a choked moan.

 “You can still be rough. Just wanted to touch you.” You admit bashfully, eyes blinking up at him, eyebrows tensing as he bottoms out with a loud squelch.

 Your hand delicately brushes the hair off his drenched forehead, your fingers threading through the strands and the clenching and unclenching of your velvety walls cause his eyes to flutter closed —the intense feeling of contentment clogging his brain up.

It’s unholy. The effect you have on him. It’s fucked. It makes no sense to him. He barely knows you, yet he welcomes everything you give him. Gives into everything you ask for, like it’s some sort of ritual. Something predetermined. A done deal with the universe. Like he’d burn in hell if he resisted.

 “Do you actually want me to be rough?” He searches your face for a sign, but he only finds conflict.

 “I dunno. I’m confused.”

 “About what?” He carefully settles his weight on top of you, arm by your head, free hand caressing your ribs delicately, barely cupping the underside of your breast.

 “I um—I liked it just now. How you were. But I kind of just—“ You sigh in frustration, hips slowly raising for some friction.

 “Want it slow?” He matches your rhythm, grinding into you, going as deep as he can as he awaits for a verbal response. He doesn’t need it. Your bent legs spreading even further is enough confirmation, but he wants to hear it anyway. “You know I don’t mind vanilla.”

 His joke lands. Your breathy laugh, hard to ignore as it hits warm on his shoulder.

 “Don’t make jokes right now.” You scold with a little whine.

 “Why not?” He gives you a chaste kiss before setting a slow pace; deep languid thrusts, his fingers fisting the pillow by your head as he tries to hold back from giving into the sensation of your warm, gummy walls enveloping his sensitive cock.

 “You’re literally balls deep inside me.” Your hands pull his face closer, connecting your lips again, small pants mingling as you kiss him as slow as he’s fucking you.

 “Whatever.” He mumbles dreamily in your mouth, palm finally engulfing your boob, gently squeezing the soft flesh and he involuntarily delivers a harsher thrust. “Shit, sorry.”

 It’s not his fault. Your pussy tightening every time he does something new, has him reeling, losing the little control he’s got over his actions.

 “No, keep going, it feels good.” You kiss him harder, holding both of his cheeks desperately as he quickens his movements a little, hips lightly slapping against yours, the lewd, squelching sounds of sex, loud enough to echo alongside your wet kisses and intense breathing. “Fuck—Mark—you—oh shit—right there.”

 “Yeah?” He pants, unrestrained.

 It’s pathetic. Beyond pitiful how your incoherent but praiseful words turn him into a whiny mess. He feels dizzy, and he’s pretty sure he’s drooling on your lips as his jaw goes slack, tongue slipping out a tiny bit, attempting to taste you in the hazy mess. His eyes roll back in raw bliss as your nails scratch down his back, arms trembling on either side of your head.

 He feels helpless.

Your legs lock around his hips, only allowing him to pull a tiny fraction of his cock out before thrusting back in; quick short pumps seeming to do the trick for you both.

 “Shit. You gonna cum?” He asks in awe. Your suffocating walls and trembling breaths a clear sign, but he still asks, needing to hear you as he looks down, taking in your flushed body. Your bouncing tits, a sight for sore eyes.

 “Mhm.” You nod quickly, eyebrows tensing in a cute frown before your face nestles in his shoulder, your hot breath hitting his damp skin as he starts scattering a dewy mess of kisses up and down your neck. “Oh my god, I'm-”

 “I know, I know.” He gasps as he puts extra effort in keeping up the same rhythm as your cunt squeezes him, his impending orgasm clouding his brain.

 You go completely quiet for a few moments, before becoming a trembling mess beneath him and he knows you’ve reached your peak. He relentlessly pushes past the tight grip your walls have around him, desperate to keep your pleasure going as he starts fucking you harder through it, the cry you let out against his shoulder, a reward to his efforts.

 “Shit—I’m close.” He feels lightheaded, breathing laboured as he tries to hold on for a little longer.

 “You have to pull out.” You utter in panic, a thread of sensibility still holding onto one of you at least.

 “Yeah, I will.” He rasps, hand grabbing onto your thigh, fingers digging. “If you fucking let me.”

 “Shit, sorry.” You mumble in realisation.

 You quickly unwrap your legs from his waist, the tremble in them still noticeable as he sits up a little, delivering three more stuttering pumps before dragging his sensitive cock out with a grunt, his release immediately spilling all over your pussy, a spurt landing on your inner thigh, a few on your tummy, while some of it drips on the comforter. He pumps himself empty, until he’s got nothing more to give.

 You hold him close when he collapses on top of you with a tired huff, not even caring about the mess between your bodies.

 It’s quiet for a few moments. Just muffled music and heavy breathing. Just your hands combing through his damp hair. Just his cheek squished up against your chest. Just his fingers tracing random patterns on your ribcage.

 It’s only when his index accidentally brushes against your sensitive nipple that you whine, breaking the silence and causing him to breathe out a small laugh.

 “My bad.”

 “You’re good.” You pet his head gently. “Dude.”

 He snorts at your mocking tone. A little surprised at how not awkward this feels.

 “My guy.” He says casually, still a little out of breath, but joining the silly joking session regardless, and your chest vibrates under him in a giggle that makes him feel giddy.

 “You got a really peachy ass you know.” Your unexpected comment makes him raise his head to look at you in question.

 “Thanks, I guess?” His eyebrows furrow in a funny expression as his hand sneaks beneath your weight, playfully squeezing your asscheek, forcing a cute screech out of you. “I prefer yours.”

 “Ah, of course. An ass man.” You state with a playful roll of your eyes. He likes it.

 “Hmm, I dunno. I like your boobs just as much.” He drops his gaze to your chest in a very unsubtle manner. Intentional. An action which, of course, earns him whack in the head. “Yo, that hurt!”

 “Stop being a guy.”

 “I am a guy!”

 “And for that, you’re suffering.” Your tone is sweet and so is your smile, but there’s an edge hidden.

 “I’m actually having a pretty good time right now.” He retorts, making sure to add some smugness in his voice, though, it’s become abundantly clear that you’re not one to back down. Your free hand sneaks down his back, nails harshly digging into the muscle of his ass, making him yelp in pain. “Ow! Watch it with the claws.”

 “I’m actually having a pretty good time right now.” You imitate his tone, mocking him.

 “What kind of twisted way of flirting is this?” He hides his face between your boobs, nuzzling against the soft skin of your sternum as he allows his arms to circle around you, the gentle thump of your heart easing his nerves.

 “Who says I’m flirting?”

 Mark is aware of how oblivious he can be when it comes to girls, but he also knows a thing or two. And it’s the way your fingers scratch the back of his scalp soothingly that betrays you. Maybe even the goosebumps on your chest, just under the spot he kissed a few seconds ago. Or maybe it’s your legs tightening around him, holding him right where he wants to be. Could be the slight twitch of your hips under him as he moves to get more comfortable. Can it be the whimper you accidentally let slip when his lips start kissing across your chest?

 “My bad, my bad.” He murmurs as he presses a wet smooch just millimetres off your clearly hardened nipple. “I must be losing the plot.” He continues, sarcasm intentional, and so is the light flick of his tongue against the erect bud. “You’re not flirting.” His words sound mindless, but he’s definitely aware of what he’s doing to you. And he’s loving your cute little squirms as his release from earlier smears between your lower halves. “You’re just being a brat, as per.”

 “Don’t remember you being this annoying.” You complain breathlessly, back arching as you chase his tongue when he pulls back a little.

 “Mm, things change.” He feels himself getting hard again, but he ignores it. He’s got other plans. Teasing you seems to have become his priority and you don’t seem to mind either. “I don’t remember you being this needy.”

 “Fuck you.” There’s not an ounce of a malice laced with your tone.

 A deep moan escapes your chest the second his lips wrap around your wet nipple, sucking lazily as his tongue licks obscenely. He releases it with a lewd pop before letting the tip of his wet muscle flick, forcing louder sounds out of you.

 He hopes the remaining people in Chenle’s living room can hear you, discretion the last thing on his mind.

 He lifts his body a little, creating space for his hand to slip between your legs. The wet mess even worse now, but perfect nonetheless, and he doesn’t hover this time. Two of his digits find your clit in no time, circling the same way his tongue circles your abused nipple. Slow. Gentle.

 He can tell you’re still sensitive, overstimulated. But he wants more. Needs more. So he takes it. And you give it.

 It’s sloppy, the mixture of both your essences making everything slippery and he feels the subtle pulse of your bud under the pads of his fingers as he rubs with a little more precision; your laboured breaths nothing but an encouragement. His mouth hangs open against your chest, lips dragging aimlessly, your skin covered in his spit and he can’t help but moan lowly when you tug at his hair a little too hard.

 He really needs to feel you unravel again. The desire might as well be engraved in him by now.

 “Can I go down on you?” He looks up, gauging your reaction and you’re nothing but hooded eyes and flushed cheeks.

 “If you feel like tasting your own cum, go for it.” You respond casually, a lazy smirk forming on your lips.

 “I’m an introvert, Y/N, not a fucking prude.” He mumbles carelessly as he descends kisses down your body, no hesitation behind his actions when he reaches parts painted in his release. He just licks it all up, like he’s done it a million times. And Mark realises he actually never has. Sure, he’s kissed girls right after they’ve given him head, but eating his own cum off someone’s skin is something he’s never explored before.

 He greedily makes out with your pussy the second he settles between your thighs, tongue gliding gently up and down your slit, dipping a little when it reaches your entrance, your taste combined with his own, intoxicating him. The more he teases, the whinier you get.

 You get so restless he has no choice but to wrap his arms around your thighs to hold you down — one hand splaying just above your pubic bone to ground you, the other just settling for your thigh — and when his fingers pull the hood of your clip up, just a tiny bit, revealing the cute nub, he sucks. Hard. Then he flicks. Mercilessly. And he keeps interchanging between the two, letting your sounds guide him. Hard sucks and vigorous flicks just where you ache the most. He doesn’t need to do much more.

 Within a few minutes—maybe two, maybe three—he feels the quaking of your legs, hears the intensifying cries, relishes in the hard tugs on his hair and when you’re cumming on his tongue, just like he wanted you to, he’s moaning with you, helping you ride the high for as long as possible.

 “Fuck, s—stop.” You beg helplessly when it gets too much and he delivers one last kiss on your swollen bud before climbing up your body again.

 Your tongue is in his mouth, tangling with his before he can process what’s just happened, arms wrapping securely around his neck, as though he would escape otherwise. You flagrantly lick in his mouth, tasting everything like you need it. And maybe you do. He doubts you need it as much as he does though.

 You don’t seem to have a care in the world that his chin is smearing your combines fluids on yours. It’s dirty. Filthier than anything he’s ever experienced. And he feels corrupt. You simply have corrupted him. Ruined him without even trying, like it’s some daily routine of yours. And he’s gobbling it all up like a much needed fix.

 He needs air. Needs to breathe. But all he seems to be able to do is kiss you again and again and again, until you release him.

 “Do you think we’ll have to wash the bed covers?” You ask with a sincere look of curiosity, albeit out of breath.

 It takes a second for the random question to register due to his hazy state, but when it does, Mark can’t help but let out a weak laugh.

 “I think we might have to buy new ones.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──  

It takes you a second to realise why you feel so warm when you wake up. At first, you assume it’s the sun slipping through the curtains and hitting the skin of your back where the covers have fallen off.

 But then you shift slightly. Your eyes flutter open, looking for the real source of heat.

 Mark.

 He’s on his side, facing you, his face tucked gently against your bare chest like he drifted there without thinking. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, heavy and warm, hand resting at the small of your back. Not gripping. Just there. Like holding you is something he does without effort — even unconscious. Like even in a deep slumber he’s decided you’re something to hold onto.

 You stay still. Still taking it all in.

 He looks unfair like this.

 Sleep has softened every sharp edge he usually carries. His brows, normally expressive and quick to knit together, are smooth now. His lashes rest against his cheeks — longer than they have any right to be — casting faint shadows in the morning light. His lips are slightly parted, relaxed, the corners tilted just enough to make him look younger. Gentler.

 Pretty.

 The word slips into your mind before you can stop it.

 There’s something almost innocent about him like this. No teasing smirk. No knowing glances. Just warm skin and steady breathing and a boy who trusted you enough to fall asleep pressed this close.

 The faint stubble along his chin brushes against you when he shifts, softer than it looks. You trace it lightly with your fingertips, watching the way his mouth moves in response — a tiny unconscious reaction. His nose nudges closer, breath fanning against your skin. It tickles a little.

 Your heart speeds up.

 You hate that it does. Why would it?

 You hate that it isn’t just physical. That it isn’t just leftover heat from last night. It’s something else. Something quieter and far more dangerous. It’s odd. The way your chest feels tight just looking at him. The way you’re memorising the exact shape of his lips, the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek in the sunlight.

 He’s too handsome first thing in the morning. Too warm. Too real.

 Your pulse thuds harder than you’d like, and you swallow, trying to steady yourself.

 This isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s too simple for it to feel like this. You’ve slept with the guy twice over the course of two years for crying out loud.

 His fingers flex faintly on your skin, tightening for a brief second before settling again. Even asleep, he pulls you a fraction closer, like he’s afraid you might slip away. Just like you did last time.

 Your heart betrays you again.

 You brush his hair back gently, letting your fingers linger in the softness. He stirs at the touch, lashes fluttering before slowly lifting. His gaze is unfocused at first, hazy with sleep, and then it lands on you.

 He freezes.

 You watch awareness dawn in real time — the slight widening of his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. A faint flush creeps up his neck.

 “Hi,” he murmurs, voice rough and small in the quiet room.

 It’s so shy, it almost doesn’t sound like the guy from last night.

 You don’t answer. You just keep looking at him, taking in the softness that hasn’t fully faded yet.

 His lips press together briefly before he adds, quieter, almost unsure, “Still here?”

 The way he says it makes something in you constrict.

 Before you can respond, he ducks his face back into your chest, hiding like he regrets letting you see that vulnerable edge. His arm slides a little tighter around your waist, pulling you in closer. You feel the warmth of his cheek against you — and then, softly, almost absentmindedly, he presses a small kiss on the skin between your breasts before settling there again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 You should say something. Make a lighthearted comment. A joke. Something. Anything.

 You don’t.

 Instead, you tilt his face up gently, fingers brushing along his jaw. He looks startled for a split second, brows lifting slightly.

 And then you do something that you shouldn’t feel that comfortable doing. You kiss him.

 It’s soft. Slow. Not teasing. Just your lips pressing against his like you couldn’t not do it.

 He makes the tiniest sound of surprise against your mouth — a quiet, breathy little noise that’s so embarrassingly cute. His hand flexes at your waist like he forgot what to do with it.

 But he kisses you back.

 Careful at first. Shy. Still waking up into it. Then a little surer, lips moving softly against yours, warm and unhurried.

 When you pull back just enough to breathe, he’s looking at you differently. Still flushed. Still flustered.

 Still holding you close.

 “You can’t just do that,” he mumbles, even though his thumb is tracing absent patterns against your waist now.

 And your heart, traitor that it is, keeps beating too fast.

 “Do what?” you whisper back, close enough that your lips almost brush his when you speak.

 He hesitates. You feel it — the flicker of nerves beneath the warmth. His gaze drops to your mouth like he’s debating something with himself.

 It doesn’t take him too long to decide, it seems. His lips are on yours in not time again.

 Not shy this time. Not startled.

 Just slow. Sensual.

 His hand tightens slightly at your waist, fingertips pressing into your skin as if to anchor himself. It all starts soft — just the gentle press of his lips to yours — but there’s intention behind it now. A quiet hunger that wasn’t there seconds ago.

 You feel the shift immediately. The undeniable throbbing between your legs. Your breathing matching his quickened one.

 His mouth moves more deliberately, head tilting to deepen the kiss, nose brushing lightly against your cheek as his tongue grazes your bottom lip, asking for permission you instantly give. Mouth parting for him without a thought, too excited to taste him. The faint rasp of his stubble grazes your skin when he adjusts closer, and you can’t help the small inhale that slips out of you.

 He hears it, of course. You feel the corner of his mouth lift against yours before he kisses you deeper.

 Your fingers slide into his hair again, nails barely grazing his scalp, and he exhales into your mouth — warm, shaky, almost reverent. His arm around your waist pulls you flush against him, his thigh pressing between yours, the warmth of him suddenly impossible to ignore when his skin drags against your sensitive and already wet cunt.

 The sound of it — soft breaths, fabric shifting, the quiet press of skin on skin — fills the room and it all feels… different compared to last night. Unrushed.

 Like he’s not trying to impress you. Not trying to prove anything.

 Just kissing you because he wants to.

 Your heart pounds harder than you like. Harder than it makes sense. You barely know him outside of dim lights and late-night tension and shared heat — and yet the way he’s touching you now, feels careful. Thoughtful. Like he’s memorising the shape of you through his hands.

 No one’s kissed you like this.

 Not like they could do it for hours. Not like it could become routine.

 His hand slides slightly higher along your spine, slow enough to make you aware of every inch it travels. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, leaning into him, hips shifting unconsciously closer, grinding, looking for release against the muscle of his thigh.

 He makes that soft sound again — the small, surprised hum you’re starting to recognise — but this time it’s deeper. Less startled. More affected.

 The kiss grows wetter, heavier, until breathing becomes necessary. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, lips parted, eyes darker now as they take in your lips. You can only imagine what they look like, judging from his swollen, glistening ones.

 The innocence of it all has disappeared as his hand travels down your back, settling when it’s reached your ass, kneading softly. Once. Twice. And then just resting there. Intentional and comfortable.

 Dangerously comfortable.

 You realise, with a slow creeping clarity, how easy this would be. To wake up like this again.

 To fall back into this again. Into him.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──  

Next time you sleep with Mark, it’s in your bed. The one after that, is in his bed. And the one after that, in your bed again. And the one after that is memorable because he makes you cum in any position you can think of. The time after that, he’s rougher than he’s ever been; manhandling you like it’s his job, fucking you so hard, pain mixing with pleasure, your tears blinding you, your cries deafening you, until his hand is around your throat, shutting you up.

 It gets to a point where the nights (and mornings) you’ve spent together, blur into one. It all easily becomes a habit. Calling him, texting him, meeting with him between classes. It’s all normal. Like it would be with a close friend.

 For you at least. You’re not really sure how he feels, but the fact that he’s never complained, comforts you in a way. Other times, it makes you doubt everything. You try not to dwell on those thoughts.

 Random hang-out sessions, that turn into lazy movie nights, become a frequent occurrence between the two of you.

 Much like right now.

 “What the hell?” You exclaim all aggravated, sitting up a little from your lying position on the sofa. Your feet shift on Mark’s lap and you can’t see his hand under the blanket, but you feel its warmth around your calf, through the cotton of your sock. It’s comforting. “Is that it?”

 Mark chuckles lightly.

 “I mean, yeah.” He shrugs casually as he pops a piece of pop corn in his mouth. “Thoughts?”

 “I’m fucking sad.”

 “Aww, dude, why?” He sits up a little too, getting more comfortable so he can look at you better as the credits keep rolling. “They said they’ll meet again.”

 “Yeah, but we don’t actually see that.” You complain loudly, making him chuckle again. At least one of you is entertained.

 “That’s the whole point.” He squeezes your calf once. “It all ends before sunrise for them, hence the title, but they get to experience so much in just one night that they don’t really need to know if they’ll actually meet again.”

 “Is that why it’s your favourite movie? You’re into the whole soppy, enigmatic love trope?” You tease with a smirk, loving his flustered reactions a little too much.

 The cute roll of his eyes makes you smile wider, without realising.

 “I guess we’re not watching the second one then.” He says with a playful pout and you can’t help the excited yelp you let out.

 “There’s a second one?”

 His eyes widen a little at your excitement, tiny amused smile taking place on his face. “And a third one. But I’ve never seen it.”

 “Well, we have to watch them.” You catch yourself moving closer. His hand slips higher on your leg, just below your knee, the warmth seeping through your comfy sweatpants.

 “Oh, we have to?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, making your heart skip a beat at his subtle way of teasing you.

 “Yes, we.” You say stubbornly, refusing to let him have his way. “You’re the one who suggested this ridiculously sad shit.”

 He stares at you for a moment, in thought as he spreads his legs a little, letting your own dangle between them, bent knees hooked over his thigh. You instinctively move even closer, one of your arms stretching behind his shoulders, against the back of the sofa, as your free hand starts playing with one of his hoodie strings.

 The familiar scent of his after shave mixed with a hint of detergent engulfs you. It’s distinct. The kind that could traumatise you if things ever went south with him.

 “Did you not like it then?” His voice comes out quite this time.

 You purposely avoid eye contact, though, you can feel his gaze on you, and you have to actively force yourself to not focus on the way his hand caresses your inner thigh. It’s nothing but innocent, but that does something to you. It feels domestic. Absentminded.

 “No, I did.” Your eyes are still on your finger twirling the string on his chest. “Just hoped for a happier ending is all.”

 “Hmm, you can’t always have a happy ending, though.” He says skeptically and for some reason the words sit heavy in your chest.

 You ignore the unpleasant feeling and force your eyes onto his. “When did you become so wise?”

 “Tsk, I’ve always been wise.” His cute nose scrunches a tiny bit as his eyes narrow in a challenge.

 You try your best to mirror his expression as you tickle his chin with your index finger. “Sure, you have.”

 Your teasing gets interrupted quickly. A giggle erupts from you as he playfully tries to bite your finger off. His pearly whites making an appearance; a silly imitation of a cat making you act all giddy.

 He’s too cute for his own good.

 And so you give into the urge to drop a very sweet kiss on his cheek. Your hand cradles his jaw as he tries to pretend an escape.

 When you pull away, you have to bite your lip to hide your smile, your cheeks hurting.

 He looks away, attempting to hide his own smile from you, tongue poking the inside of the cheek you just smooched a little too loudly.

 “You’re still so shy with me.” You observe quietly and his frown makes you let out another giggle.

 “No, I’m not.” He pouts adorably.

 “It’s okay.” You lean closer as he sulks. Another kiss on his cheek, this time a tiny bit closer to the corner of his lips. “I like it.”

 “Do you really think I’m shy with you?” He searches for a reaction in your eyes as he wraps a hand around your wrist, urging you to wrap your arms around his neck.

 You give in too easily. It’s too difficult not to with his face so close to yours.

 “Not always.” You admit, as you start playing with the hair at his nape. “You’re shy, like, maybe fifty percent of the time.”

 “Fifty?!” He shrieks with an offended tone. “Dude, that’s still high.”

 “And I still like it.” You scold, arms tightening slightly around him as his hands rest on your thighs, still draped across his lap.

 “You just like being a pain in my ass.” He states with a knowing smirk, and you can’t even deny it.

 “See? You’re not shy now.” You deflect, enjoying the back and forth dynamic you have going on with him.

 “Stop flirting.” He scolds, hand squeezing your thigh softly.

 “Mm, no.” You cradle the back of his neck gently with one hand as your other arm drapes casually around his shoulders.

 “No?”

 “No.”

 “Just like that?”

 You simply nod. “Just like that.”

 He nods back with an approving pout. “Fair.”

 The second he leans in for a kiss, a dull pain in your lower abdomen reminds you of your state and you panic.

 “You can’t stay tonight.” You blurt out. The surprise evident on his face as he pulls back.

 “Umm, okay?” His confusion pulls at the strings in your heart. “Is something wrong? Like, did I—“

 “No.” You interrupt him, before he can make things even more awkward. Arm still around him. “I’m just on my period. So, we can’t…you know.”

 Realisation downs on him. Eyebrows raising slightly, lips parting. “Oh.” He nods once. “Right.”

 “Mmhm.” You give him an awkward, tight smile.

 You could have cancelled tonight. Should have. But you hadn’t seen him in almost a week due to a stupid essay you had to focus on. And you hate to admit it even to yourself, but you missed him. A little more than you a friend misses a friend. But that’s another story.

 “Are you feeling okay?” He asks a little too casually, but still concerned.

 The way he sneaks an arm around your middle, is too smooth. It’s with effort that you manage to maintain your composure as he pulls you closer into his side, his hand resting on your lower back. Gentle and reassuring.

 Your heart does something weird at the intimate gesture. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s the third day, so, it’s not too bad.”

 He nods understandingly. “Okay, well…I don’t know if I’m being too slow, but why exactly can’t I stay?”

 The question definitely catches you off guard, but you manage to stay grounded. “I mean, you can. You’re welcome to. We’re just not having sex.”

 “Yeah, fuck that, I’m off.” He moves to playfully shrug you off, but laughs at the way you childishly whine, refusing to move, stubbornly clinging onto him. He settles back with a huff and you bashfully hide your face in his shoulder. “Y/N, I obviously don’t care. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

 His voice is too soft. Too sweet.

 You exhale loudly, feigning annoyance. “Fine. Stay then.”

 “Ugh. Fine, I will.” You feel the delicate nudge of his nose against your forehead and, inevitably, you look up at him, still tucked safely in his side with your legs comfortably resting on top of his spread ones. “So, like, is kissing out of the question too?”

 You snort at the silly question. “No. Kissing’s allowed.”

 You’ve realised over time that you have a soft spot for his cheeky side. It’s rare that Mark Lee drops his serious stance, but you’ve managed to break through a few times now and each one of those has felt like a special reward.

 His lips find yours for the first time tonight. The hand cradling your jaw shouldn’t feel that good on your skin and the arm around your waist shouldn’t feel as safe as it does. But you savour everything, matching his slow pace.

 The kiss becomes less innocent with each drag of his lips against yours, but you can’t bring your self to pull away. Blame the raging hormones, blame the way he’s holding you so close, blame the universe.

 You need him to keep kissing you.

 The whiny sound you unintentionally let out, betrays said need, but Mark doesn’t seem phased at all. If anything, he deepens the kiss. More intent behind his touches.

 “Come here.” He mumbles against your lips as he tries to manoeuvre you, and you quickly oblige, throwing a leg over him, straddling his thighs without a second thought.

 He doesn’t seem to approve of your hovering as he shamelessly pushes you down by the hips, encouraging you to properly sit on him. And you do.

 He lets out a delicious sound, which you hungrily swallow as your crotch meets his. Hard length familiarly nestling between your thighs, nudging against your needy clit, and you’re glad you opted for a tampon instead of a pad earlier.

 “Are you comfortable?” He asks, pulling away slightly, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.

 “Yeah.” You nod as you allow your hands to rest on either side of his neck.

 “Is there anywhere I’m not allowed to touch?”

 You smile at the cryptic question. He’s clearly testing the waters, while trying to be respectful of any boundaries. You can see right through him.

 “My boobs are a little sore still, so be gentle.”

 He nods. “Anything else?”

 Your breath hitches as his fingers sneakily slip under the waistband of your sweatpants, eyes silently asking for permission.

 You give him a chaste kiss. “You can’t finger me, if that’s what you mean.”

 “Not exactly what I meant, no.” He murmurs as his hands completely slip inside your bottoms, cupping your ass over your underwear, deliberately urging you to drag your hips against his, fingers slightly digging into the flesh of your bum.

 He devours your lips in another kiss. Heated, but lazy. Slower than ever.

 Your tongues gliding languidly makes you unintentionally grind a little harder, allowing your sensitive clit to drag against his clothed cock and you feel your underwear slipping between your folds messily. He’s got you all wet and needy when he really shouldn’t.

 “Fuck, I really want you naked.” He whispers in your mouth, hands travelling up your back, taking the hem of your baggy t-shirt with them.

 There’s nothing else to do other than give him what he wants. So you reluctantly break the kiss, letting him remove your top before you rush to do the same for him.

 Your sports bra is gone in no time, both your top and his hoodie are somewhere on the living room floor and the second your tits are free, he’s got both his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, biceps flexing deliciously. Your nipples feel extra sensitive as they rub on his skin; breasts squished against his warm chest, the sensation comforting and arousing at the same time, you can’t help the sigh you let out against his lips.

 “Don’t really know where we’re going with this.” You speak all muffled as he eagerly tries to lick into your mouth, lips a little uncoordinated but you love it.

 You’re more than aware of the double meaning your words carry, and the hesitation in his eyes when he pulls away, tells you he is too. You both seem to ignore the complicated side of the statement.

 “I can still make you feel good, no?” His fingers splay in between your shoulder blades as his eyes inspect your face, lingering on your spit-kissed lips for a little too long.

 He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls you by the back of your neck, his mouth finding yours in another wet kiss, lips parted wide as tastes you with a quiet hum, and you feel more wetness seeping out of you, drenching your panties.

 A buck of your hips forces a moan out of both of you as your hands bury in his hair, gripping tight, searching for an anchor. You lean your head back with a soft exhale when he starts leaving wet kisses along your jaw, down to your neck. He licks, sucks, bites your flushed skin, tongue swirling on each mark he leaves behind, turning you on more than ever.

 This is so fucking inconvenient.

 He takes you by surprise when he licks a stripe from between your tits to your collarbones, painting your skin with his saliva.

 “Ah, shit.” You tighten your hold on his hair and he lets out a little grunt that vibrates against your sternum, his quick breaths hitting your damp skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your nipples harden uncomfortably, asking for attention and he must notice as his hand cups one of your breasts, gently massaging the underside.

His lips find the raised peak, kissing around it, teasing you, forcing needy sounds out of you, and when he softly sucks it in his mouth, tongue swirling, you can’t help but grind down harder with a loud whine.

 “Careful.” You whisper weakly when his tongue flicks a little too hard, making you jolt.

 “Sorry.” He apologises with a sweet kiss between the space of your tits, and for a few moments, he gives all his attention to your slightly swollen mounds. Licking and sucking, carefully massaging them in his palms until you pull a little too hard at his hair, singling that it’s too much for you.

 You force him to lean back as you trap him between your body and the back of the sofa. The sound he makes when you wrap a hand around his throat, exhilarates you, and you give into another make out session as you let your fingers lightly press on his pulse points, loving the effect you have on him.

 You’re completely lost in his kisses and the way his firm chest feels on yours. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time and you really just don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just try to relax on top of him, arms loosely wrapping around his neck as you relish in the wet smacking sounds of your lips.

 It’s his hand that sneaks between your crotches that urges you to pull away, but he holds you there, his other hand on the back of your head.

 “Can I try something?” He mutters as his fingers slowly start undoing the knot at the front of your waistband. “Stop me if it’s weird.”

 Fuck Mark lee and his persuasiveness. “Okay.”

 You probably shouldn’t. It’s too intimate. Too vulnerable. And you normally wouldn’t let anyone else, but when Mark slips his hand past the front of your waistband, you let him.

 He’s careful. No rushed movements as he holds you close, lips brushing yours as he gauges your reaction and your mouth parts against his when you feel the warmth of his palm, engulfing the seat of your underwear. He rubs lightly over the drenched fabric until his fingers find your clit, pressing a little harder, evoking a half desperate half surprised sound out of you.

 You self-consciously wonder if he felt the thin string of your tampon when his fingers brushed past your entrance, but whether he did or not, he doesn’t really let on.

 He starts rubbing you in slow tiny circles, the gentle friction making you breathe harder, fingers shaking in his messy strands.

 “Can I touch you properly or is that a bit too far?” He must sense your contemplation as his fingers come to a brief halt. “I’ll stay here.” His fingers press on your clit, signalling what he means. “Won’t go anywhere else.”

 You pull back a smidge, the need to look at his face getting the better of you. His pleading eyes, full of adoration, overwhelm you and you cowardly hide your face in his neck, arms wrapping tighter around his shoulders.

 “What if I bleed all over your hand?” You whine dramatically. The thought of that actually happening, too embarrassing.

 He breathes out an amused laugh. “I’ll live.”

 “Yeah, well, I won’t.” You joke halfheartedly, but inhale sharply when he presses against the swollen bud again.

 “At least you’ll die happy.” He giggles at the warning bite you leave on his shoulder, playfully shrugging you away, but his arm around your middle holds you close. “You wanna cum. I wanna help. So let me.”

 “Fuck sake.” You sigh in defeat, forehead dropping against his shoulder. “If you touch anywhere other than—“

 “I won’t. Promise.” He seals it with an intimate kiss on your shoulder, making you shiver.

 “Okay.”

 He slips his hand inside the front of your cotton panties, quickly finding your pulsing bud and you instantly melt against him with a relieved whimper, the skin on skin contact already feeling a million times better. His two fingers send you reeling, making you moan in his neck, your jaw slackening when he speeds up a little, rubbing harder, more precise circles on the bundle of nerves. His hold around you tightens when you start slightly shaking on his lap and you feel dizzy when he starts flicking from side to side, bringing you closer and closer to a dangerous high.

 It’s addictive. The way he touches you, holds you, breathes on you like he’s the one being pleasured. It’s all out of this world. Too good. Too mind-numbing.

 “Mmph—f-fuck—right there.” You beg, all out of breath and flustered. His fingers keep brushing a spot on your clit, too sensitive, the pleasure so intense, you can barely handle it.

 “Yeah? Feels good?” His breathy tone adds to the hot sensation between your legs, your toes and fingers tingling as your eyes inevitably roll back.

 “So good, Markie.”

 He grunts when your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulder. “Fuck, baby. Wanna see you cum.”

 “Oh my god.” You whisper with a tremble, mouth ajar against his shoulder, your saliva smearing on his skin as you struggle to breathe, to keep a little bit of your sanity intact. “Mark. Ffffuck.”

 Your release crashes into you with force.  A muffled shriek erupts from your throat, resonating in the silence of the living room. You sound broken as he keeps rubbing fast and hard. Until your whole body shakes in ecstasy. Until the overstimulation is too much to endure.

 Your walls are spasming so hard you’re worried they might accidentally squeeze the tampon out, and you have to grab his wrist in panic, forcing him to stop his torturous ministrations on your abused clit.

 You slump forward. Body completely spent. Weight dropping on him in surrender as your brain floats somewhere unknown.

 The gentle scratch of his blunt nails against your scalp, helps bring you somewhat back to the surface.

 “Fuck, that felt—” You pant, struggling to form anything coherent. Your throat feels dry when you swallow.

 “Intense?” He finishes your incomplete thought for you.

 He has a tendency of doing that. Understanding you better than you can understand yourself sometimes. Unveiling thoughts and feelings you didn’t know you were capable of carrying.

 You don’t like it. The grip he has on you — you feel it most when he's not even touching you. When he's not even with you.

And it’s too intimate. More than you can handle.

 You often feel scrutinised under his gaze. Especially in raw, unfiltered moments like this. It never feels transactional. Whatever you have with Mark. It’s never just about fleeting pleasure. There’s always something underlying but undeniable at the same time.

 Something undoubtedly there, but difficult to define in your head.

 Something you wonder if his complex mind has been able to translate into words you always fail to find.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

and that was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“then stay just like that for me.”

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

you tensed.

“nghh—ahhh, too much—!”

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

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

“m-mark—! it hurts—”

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

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

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

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

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

“mmph—! nghh—ahh—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then he came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then he reached for his bible.

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

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

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

no one would ever know.

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

there would be times where he would pick up on something that you weren’t sure you yourself knew. “you’re doing that thing when you’re upset! oh come on babe” he whined out, dropping his head in your lap as you two cuddled on the couch. you snorted and raised your brows, “i do not have a thing when i’m upset! you’re so dramatic” you teased, running your hand through his hair. he raised his head and looked at you closer, “you do, you do this thing with your eyes.. cmon it’s so noticeable” he said, making you furrow your brows. you shook your head and sighed. “stop making that joke though! my labubus are adorable” you groaned and mark only smiled, sitting up softly to position himself closer to your cheek, “whatever you want” he mumbled, kissing your cheek then your face all over. 

private but never secret. both you and mark were quite open people, so when the two of you started dating there was a mutual agreement to not make your relationship too public where everyone knew about you two. just public enough that everyone knew you were his and he was yours. it remained that way as you two spent more and more time together. occasionally when you would be out with friends, you two would hold your hands underneath the table, your intertwined hands in marks lap as he rubbed circles on the front of your hand. sometimes when you were walking in public, his hand would rest on the small of your back, signifying that he was still close by and right with you. neither of you were ever big on pda so that wasn’t an issue either. despite all these things, everyone just knew the way you looked at one another, grazed hands, and smiled at each other, that you two were together. 

gifts when you least expect it. it wouldn’t ever be a special occasion, but randomly mark would come home with a gift for you. it ranges from a trinket he saw at the convenience store or a necklace so expensive that it could buy a mansion. marks heart was very big, he was a very charitable man but to him, spending money on you wasn’t charitable but rather one of his rights that he had a privilege of doing as your boyfriend. 

you heard the apartment door open and close, signifying that mark had come home after his day out. “hey baby” he sighed, the smile in his voice clear as he made his way to the couch where you sat. you looked up at him from your laptop and smiled, scooting to make room for him. “have fun?” you said, watching as he sat down next to you. he nodded, kissing your cheek. he took a small box out of his jackets inner pocket, looking to you. you already knew and smiled softly, “you didn’t have to, you know that?” you watched him, the biggest smile on his face as he opened the box, revealing a ring with small gems. “yeah but, i wanted to” he mumbled, slipping the ring onto your finger, looking back up to you. “thank you” you mumbled, looking into his eyes. “anything for you” he mumbled back, leaning into you peck your lips. 

quiet nights. there would be days where both you and mark arrive home overstimulated and tired from the day both of you had. for you it would be work and for mark it would be the endless hours he spends in the recording studio. in those nights, the two of you would lead a very quiet night. you silently cooking dinner as mark kept you company, helping you whenever you needed it. he would clean up the kitchen and dishes afterwards as you run a bath for the both of you. the bath would be quiet as well, marks bare chest against your back as he rubs your arms, pecking light kisses against your shoulder. the night would end with the two of you in bed, limbs intertwined as he runs his hand through your hair, getting lost in you. 

“love you” mark mumbles, pressing a kiss on the top of your head as you moved closer to him, your head laying on his chest. “love you too” you mumble back, his soft snores lulling you to sleep. 

laughing at your dumb jokes. you could admit that you weren’t the funniest person ever and mark knew that sometimes you did feel insecure when no one laughs at your jokes. so when the two of you are out with your friends and you say a joke, he laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. mark has a very contagious laugh so this makes everyone else laugh as well. you know that sometimes he just laughs because he doesn’t want you to feel alone but that makes it better because he cares about you so much to notice the little things. 

never wanting to be apart. mark and his closest friends would plan a trip atleast once every 3 month but it was always overnight and at least for one weekend. obviously he wouldn’t want to bring you around because his other friends wouldn’t bring their girlfriends since it was strictly only them. when this time came around he would constantly be texting you about anything since he hated being apart from you. you thought it was cute because you missed him as well but he was just so adorable. 

my love: they’re sending me chenle and jeno to the supermarket i can’t believe this  my love: i can’t even cook baby what do i do 

you: just help chenle get what he needs he’ll probably be cooking  you: or you guys could call jaemin

my love: wait ur right  my love: i miss u so bad baby  my love: they’re making me drive maybe i should just abandon them and drive back to town  my love: they can just uber 

you: babe don’t do that TT you: i miss you more my love  you: the cat we feed on the way home also misses u lots 

my love: :(((( my love: the resort place is really nice .. should i ask renjun to send me the link to the airbnb

you: why? if he booked it then you guys can just book again through him 

my love: baby come on my love: my girl deserves to be taken out and spoiled all the time 

you: focus on getting groceries idiot……. 

my love: we WILL bookmark it  my love: hope work is good, missing u so much 

you: work is work babe you: i miss u more  you: but i wouldn’t be opposed to the vacay 

my love: YESS  my love: don’t work too hard baby  my love: gotta go now, love u  my love: call tn? 

you: ofc and i won’t, love you more

my love: <333

hating when you cry. mark didn’t cry often, you weren’t sure when the last time you saw him cry but he always feels the urge whenever you cry. mark loves hard so when he sees you crying as if the world is falling apart to him his world is falling apart. it’s not like you cried often but he knew you were the type of person to pent things up and letting it all out so when that did happen it was a little messy. he wipes your tears away from your face and holds you close to him, letting you cry it out. he knows you need it so he never tries to stop it but instead silently gives you his comfort. 

writing poetry for you. there would be times where the two of you would be sitting next to each other doing your own respective work. in those times mark would slip you a small piece of paper, smiling as he watched you read it. he made music and at times he would be writing lyrics but sometimes he got too caught up in you and wrote small poems for you to cherish and adore as he does you. those poems could be on slips of paper or post it notes he leaves around the apartment but it reminds you that his love is everywhere for you to see. 

soft sweet kisses. marks love was sweet and warm, just for you. his kisses also followed that same feeling. he wouldn’t kiss you in public because he knew you didn’t like that but when the two of you are alone whether it be in the car or back at your shared apartment, his kisses were frequent. it could be a soft peck against your lips just for a quick goodbye or a slow and sweet kiss that spoke more than words ever could. he would hold you by your waist, soft lips moving against yours, smiling softly. those kisses leave your cheeks flushed and heart beating at a rapid pace. for some reason those kisses meant so much more to you than any words he muttered to you.

taglist : @kisseudoll @hyuckworld @lqfiles @ronniee-26 @aerifim @17ericas @polarisjisung @sunghoonsgfreal @ayukas @snwydoie @remtrack (bold cannot be tagged)

dream taglist

Mark Lee. That conversation with Chaewon is stuck in your head. Is he coming again tonight, or is he done with you? Was it just a few nights of him playing around before heading back to his rich, perfect life?

You didn’t think much of him at first. Just another client, another rich boy paying for the fantasy. But after that third night, something shifted. It wasn’t just about the money or the quick pleasure. When Mark looked at you—especially when he was sober—it was different. He saw you. Really saw you, like he wanted to understand you beyond just the moment. And the fact that he kept asking for you? That was new.

It’s been a week now, and you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just another quick fling. But then again, that’s what you tell yourself every time, and it always ends the same.

You try to ignore the feeling. This wasn’t supposed to be more than a couple nights of fun. No feelings, no strings. But the way he treats you, how he listens, how he looks at you—it’s messing with your head. You shouldn't let your mind go this further. 

You shake your head, pushing the thoughts away. 

A man in a navy suit is smiling at you from one of the booths, drink in hand, the kind of guy who probably thinks flashing his Rolex is foreplay. You square your shoulders, smooth down your outfit, and slip on your best flirty smile—the one that gets them to talk too much and tip even more. “Couldn’t stop staring,” he says, flashing teeth that are almost too white. “You always this stunning?”

You tilt your head and laugh, soft and practiced. “Only when someone’s watching.”

He eats it up, like they always do.

You sit by his side and let your fingers trail lightly over his wrist as you ask him his name—John, of course it is—and listen to him drone on about his job, his car, some deal he closed. You make the appropriate noises, smile when he brags, and throw in a few compliments that sound genuine even though you're already bored out of your mind.

He starts getting bolder—his hand casually sliding up your thigh, his mouth brushing the curve of your neck. 

You offer a soft laugh, the kind that keeps them hooked without promising a damn thing. You're already planning how to wrap this up when you hear heels clicking against the floor.

“Y/N,” one of the floor managers calls out “VIP Room 3. Your usual.” So he came.

You bite back a smile as you walk down the hall, fingers grazing the wall like you’re not thinking about him. But you are. You always do when he’s around.

The door’s slightly ajar when you arrive, the low hum of music spilling softly from inside. You pause for a moment—composure in place, heart steady—then push it open and step inside.

And there he is.

Mark Lee, stretched out on the leather couch like sin dressed in Boucheron. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, rings catching the dim light, a glass in his other hand he hasn’t touched. You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, throwing him that signature smirk. "You’re starting to look like a regular, baby."

Mark’s eyes light up, and without missing a beat, he pats his lap with a dramatic flourish, his grin widening. "Well, what can I say? I just can’t stay away from you."

You roll your eyes, but it's a playful move as you slide onto his lap with ease, one leg on either side of him. The action is effortless, comfortable—a habit by now. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"You sure know how to make an entrance, huh?" you tease, adjusting yourself slightly, your body a little too close to his. You can feel his breath hitch for a second, but he doesn't flinch. Mark doesn’t flinch for anything.

He laughs, clearly unbothered, but there's that mischievous glint in his eyes. "What can I say? I like the view."

You chuckle softly, leaning in close, your lips almost brushing his ear. "Guess I’m just that good, huh?" You feel his arms tighten around you, but he doesn't say a word.

"Always," he mutters, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a quiet laugh, settling more comfortably into his lap  “You’re starting to make me feel like I’m your favorite,” you tease, your voice soft and almost too sweet. 

You let your lips brush against his neck, planting little kisses that have him stiffening underneath you. You can feel his pulse quicken, the tension in his body rising with every light kiss you place.

Mark’s breath hitches, and he laughs nervously, his hands tightening around your waist. “You know you are,” he admits, his voice cracking slightly. You can’t help but smile to yourself. You’ve got him right where you want him.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Do I?” you tease, voice dripping with playfulness. “So that’s why’s your dick already hard the second I sit on your lap?” He laughs a little as you pull back with a grin and slowly rise from his lap, feeling his hands linger on your waist for a second too long before falling away. His eyes follow you, dark and hungry, and you know he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

You don’t say anything. Just step away, smooth and poised, until you’re standing in front of the pole set just a few feet from the couch. You glance over your shoulder, just to make sure he’s watching—and of course he is, already leaning forward, lips parted, like he’s forgotten how to sit still.

Your hand glides up the pole, fingers curling around it as you pivot gracefully on your heel. You start slow—hips swaying in time with the music, your movements fluid, unhurried. You let the rhythm guide you as you raise one leg, wrapping it around the pole and lifting yourself just enough to spin, your hair brushing your shoulders, your miniskirt slipping higher with every turn.

Mark exhales something low and shaky—maybe a curse, maybe your name. “Fuck,” he breathes, like he doesn’t even realize he’s said it. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You slide down with purpose, thighs tight around the metal, chest arching forward like you’re offering him a secret. Every movement is confident—designed to entrance, to tease, to show him exactly what he’s craving but can’t quite touch.

You laugh—not seductive, not calculated, just… amused. A burst of real laughter slipping out before you can help it. He’s so gone, so utterly enthralled, it’s almost ridiculous.

You saunter back to him, slower now, less performance and more instinct, and settle into his lap like it’s your favorite place to be. You cradle his face, eyes sparkling as you lean in.

“You’re so easy,” you whisper against his lips, half-teasing, half-awed. He grabs your face, desperate, and crashes his mouth onto yours. It steals the breath from your lungs—not just the kiss, but the way he needs it. Like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

You reach down, fingers lightly brushing against the bulge in his pants, the contact enough to make his breath hitch again.

Mark stumbles over his words, his usual coolness slipping just a little. He chuckles nervously, his hands fumbling at his pockets. “Can you blame me?” he mutters, still trying to play it off with a goofy grin. 

With a quick motion, he pulls a tiny plastic bag from his pocket, holding it up between two fingers like it’s nothing. “Wanna bump before we get… more comfortable?” he asks, that same crooked grin playing on his lips as his voice dips low, barely holding steady.

You raise an eyebrow, amused, watching as he taps a little onto the back of his hand—like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “You sure that’s gonna calm you down?”

“No need for calming,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I just wanna enjoy this to the fullest, baby.” You watch as he brings his hand up, sniffs it quick with practiced ease. His eyes flutter for a second, then land back on you—glassy, a little more intense.

He holds the baggie out toward you, eyebrows raised in silent offer.

You smirk, taking the tiniest bit on the pad of your thumb before leaning back slightly and doing your own bump. It burns just enough to remind you it's real, your head tilting back as the familiar rush kicks in.

Then, softer—without losing that steady confidence—he lifts his hand to your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin like he’s been dying to touch you that way all night. It’s not rushed, not clumsy. Just deliberate.

“You look gorgeous tonight,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

It makes you pause, just for a second. Because he always says shit like that, and maybe it’s part of the game, but it still makes your chest feel weird. Warm.

Still, you recover quick, leaning into his hand with a smirk.

“Better than yesterday, hm?” you murmur, tilting your head as you roll your hips ever so slightly against him, like you’re testing his reaction, like you already know the answer. Your lips are close to his ear now, your breath warm against his skin.

Mark exhales a little laugh, but his grip on your waist tightens just enough to tell you how much he's feeling it.

“You keep leveling up or something?” he says, voice low, a little breathless. “’Cause I swear you looked like heaven last night, and now I’m like—” he gestures vaguely, eyes dragging over you like he’s never seen anything prettier, “—fully losing my mind.”

You giggle, biting your lip. “What should I do with you tonight?” you ask, your voice dipping into a playful, almost whiny tone as your hips grind just slightly, deliberately against the hard length straining in his pants.

Mark swallows hard, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he breathes out a quiet, “Shit…”

He looks at you, his gaze dark and intense. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You smirk, leaning in close, your lips just inches from his, whispering in his mouth with a teasing tone, “Mmm… should I suck it first? Or maybe you’d wanna fuck my tits instead?”

 You laugh, the sound playful and flirty, as you start unbuckling his pants. Mark tilts his head back, letting out a laugh of his own, although a little more dry this time.

You tug open his belt, your fingers quick but teasing. The second his cock springs free and your hand wraps around him, he gasps.

"God, babe," he says, voice dipping, a little breathless now.

You sink to your knees slowly, keeping your eyes on him like it’s a challenge. Your fingers stroke along his length, your grip firm but smooth, and when you lean in, your tongue flicks against the tip first—just enough to make him jolt.

Then you drag your tongue down the underside in one long, steady lick. His cock twitches in your hand and you smirk to yourself, already a little addicted to how responsive he is. Every tiny shift in his breath fuels you.

You glance up through your lashes. He’s staring down at you, completely undone already—eyes heavy, jaw clenched, one hand flexing like he’s not sure whether to grab your hair or hold on to his sanity.

You take him into your mouth, slowly, letting the stretch happen naturally. He's thick—more than you’re used to—and you feel the tight pull in your jaw, but you push through it, letting him in deeper bit by bit.

A low groan escapes his throat. "Shit. You're the best I’ve ever had, Y/N."

The words make your stomach twist in the best way, heat rushing between your legs. You start moving—head bobbing, hand working in sync, your moans soft but deliberate, sending little vibrations through him.

It doesn't take long for Mark to lose control. He’s not the type to play the long game. 

"Fuck, baby—hold still," he mutters, voice rough as his hands find your hair. He pushes deeper, his hips starting to thrust into your mouth, faster now, more desperate. You do your best to take it, breathing through your nose, tears pricking at your eyes.

Your free hand slips between your legs without thinking. You're soaked and needy, the pressure you apply to your clit makes you moan again, louder this time.

"You're so hot," he groans. "Watching you like this—fuck. I'm close."

He pulses in your mouth, his rhythm faltering. With three final deep thrusts he is coming in your mouth.

"Take it all. Don’t stop. You’re so fucking good, baby."

You swallow every drop, letting it linger for a moment before licking your lips. The taste, the weight of what just happened—it leaves you feeling powerful. Your hands remain on his thighs as you look up at him. He’s blissed out, eyes unfocused, chest rising and falling like he just remembered how to breathe.

You crawl back into his lap, slower this time, deliberately. You want him to feel every second of the shift. His eyes follow you, dazed, but when your body presses against his again, something in him sharpens. He grips your waist, then your hair, dragging you into a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. You kiss him back, matching his fire.

His lips begin to slow, soften. Like he suddenly remembers it’s you—not just someone making him feel good, but the girl who's been driving him insane in the best way. And now that you’re in his lap, tasting him, letting him kiss you like this—he doesn’t want to rush it. He wants to savor every second. You nip his bottom lip suddenly, and he gasps into your mouth.

You take advantage of it, slipping your tongue in. The way his body jerks, the quiet groan he lets out when your hips shift slightly—it tells you everything. You feel him harden against you again, and it makes you grin against his lips.

You pull back just enough to whisper, playful but knowing, “Hard again?”

Mark laughs breathlessly, eyes flicking down between your bodies before meeting yours again. “Can’t help it, baby… I want to fuck your pussy.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head like you’re weighing your options. But deep down? You already know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

“Mmm... you know that’s an extra,” you say, voice teasing.

He blinks, thrown off just enough to make you grin. “How much?”

You hum, dragging it out, pretending to think—when in truth, you’re just enjoying the way he watches you like he can’t look anywhere else. “Like… two grand?” you murmur, teasing, light on the surface. But your eyes stay steady. You want to see what he does with that.

He doesn’t even flinch.

“You could ask me to give you anything,” he says, low and serious, “and I would.”

It knocks the air out of you more than you expect. The way he says it—not cocky, not playful. Certain. Like he already has.

You laugh, but it comes out a little breathier than intended, like you’re trying to soften what just shifted between you. You trail your fingers slowly across his chest, circling patterns there, grounding yourself in the motion.

“Are you catching feelings for me, Markie Poo?” you ask, mockingly sweet. But there’s an edge to it. A quiet little tremor. You don’t even look up when you say it—you’re scared to see it in his face, in case it’s a lie.

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t brush it off.

“I might,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I did.”

You go still on top of him.

For a second, all the teasing, the breathy laughs, the way your hips had been slowly shifting on his lap—it all pauses.

You meet his gaze. Not with a smirk this time. Just eyes wide, something vulnerable flickering underneath the lashes. You weren’t expecting him to say it. Not like that. Not mean it.

He notices.

Mark’s hand comes up slowly, brushing hair away from your face, like he’s scared to mess up the moment. Scared you’ll run.

“You okay?” he asks, so quiet it almost doesn’t feel like him. Not the same guy who just had you on your knees five minutes ago.

You nod, but it’s small. Not confident. Your fingers still linger on his chest, like they’re holding onto something real. 

“I just…” You trail off, not sure what the hell you’re about to admit. “I don’t usually let it get this far.”

He exhales through his nose. Not annoyed—more like he gets it. Too well.

“Me neither,” he murmurs. Then adds, almost like he can’t help himself, “But with you, it’s hard to stop.”

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “You always say shit like that when your dick’s hard.”

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. He just looks at you.

That silence stretches longer than you’re ready for. Long enough to make your heart pound in your chest, for all the wrong reasons.

“…Are you being for real?” you ask, softer this time. Not teasing anymore.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize every little flicker of doubt in it.

And that makes it worse—because you don’t want to believe it. You really don’t. Because what if it’s just the heat of the moment? What if it’s just talk?

What if you let yourself believe that a guy like him could want someone like you for real—and you're wrong?

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek, suddenly hyper-aware of your position on his lap, how your thighs are still pressed around him like you haven’t been guarding your heart this whole time.

His fingers tilt your chin back toward him.

“I’m not saying it because I’m horny,” he says, voice steady now, eyes locked onto yours. “I’m saying it because I mean it. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the second we met.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re so full. So full of feeling you don’t know what to do with. It floods your chest, presses behind your ribs, makes your vision blur a little. You feel like you might pass out if you don’t do something. So you kiss him.

Hard. Desperate. Like you’re clinging to something before it slips away.

And he doesn’t pull back. He kisses you just as deeply, like he feels it too.

His lips soften. His hands settle gently on your waist. And just as the panic starts to settle into something warmer, he leans back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“Let’s go to my place,” he whispers.

When you step into Mark’s penthouse, it hits you. The cold luxury of it all—the marble floors, the sleek furniture, the view that’s just too perfect. It’s the kind of place where you don’t know whether you should feel out of place or like you’ve just stepped into a dream.

Mark doesn’t say anything. He just watches you as you take it all in, a soft smile tugging at his lips. There’s something in the way he looks at you—like he’s expecting something but doesn’t know what it is. Like he’s trying to figure you out, just as much as you’re trying to figure him out.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, his voice low and casual, but there’s a quiet edge to it. Like he’s already imagining what’s going to happen next.

You take a few steps deeper into the space, your fingers grazing the edge of a polished glass table, before turning to face him. The air between you is heavy now. The tension that was simmering back in the car is thick, almost suffocating.

He doesn’t move toward you immediately. Instead, he watches you, the silence hanging in the air, as if waiting for you to make the first move. His eyes never leave you, and you can feel the heat in his gaze, like he’s seeing you in a way no one else has.

You can’t help but feel small in this massive, empty space, but at the same time, seen in a way that makes your heart race.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” you ask, voice a little shaky despite yourself. It’s playful, but there’s a hint of something else underneath.

Mark steps closer, his expression softening. "No. But I like the view from here."

And then, just like that, he closes the distance, his hand brushing lightly against your arm before cupping your face. His lips find yours again, softer now, a little slower. This time, it’s not about the rush, not about the heat—it’s more. You can feel it in the way he holds you, the way he kisses you like he actually wants to.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. There's something in his eyes—still dark, still wanting, but softer now. Like he's looking at you and not just your body. Like he wants to remember this version of you, right here.

“Come on,” he says quietly, taking your hand.

He leads you across the wide open space of his penthouse, past furniture you’re sure has been in magazines, and to your surprise, he presses a button on the wall. A soft ding follows, and then the sleek, glass-paneled elevator opens.

You blink. “You have an elevator… to the second floor?”

He glances at you with a small smirk. “Why walk?”

You scoff, but he’s already pulling you inside. The doors glide shut behind you, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in that quiet, humming little box. You’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his hand still wrapped around yours. Of how close he’s standing. Of the fact that this man lives in a world you don’t fully understand—and somehow, for tonight, he wants you in it.

“I still think this is ridiculous,” you murmur.

He leans down, mouth close to your ear. “You haven’t seen my bed yet.” He laughs, the sound low and teasing, like he’s enjoying watching you squirm.

The elevator dings again, doors sliding open into a hallway that looks like something out of a design catalog. You don’t get long to admire it, though—he tugs you forward, and your heart skips a beat at the anticipation flooding your chest.

He opens the door to his room, and just like the rest of the place, it’s effortlessly beautiful. Wide windows, thick curtains half-drawn, soft lighting, too many pillows, and a bed that could probably sleep six comfortably.

He steps closer, hands gentle at first—almost reverent—as he leans in and presses his lips to your neck. Slow. Warm. He’s not rushing, just… taking his time. You feel his breath fan over your skin before his mouth moves again, dragging lower, nipping just above your collarbone. It sends a shiver through your body, even though you’re already so wet it’s kind of embarrassing.

You suck in a breath, tilting your head to give him more access—but it’s not enough. Not anymore.

Your body is pulsing, needy from earlier, from the taste of him on your tongue, from the look in his eyes when he told you he might have caught feelings. Maybe you did too. Maybe you’re just high on him.

You slip away from his hands, walking backward toward the bed. He watches you, mouth parted slightly, chest rising and falling a little faster now.

You reach the edge of the mattress, and something sparks inside you—an ache, a thrill. You turn around deliberately, keeping your eyes on him over your shoulder. Then, with a smirk, you reach out and push him lightly—he lets you, falling back onto the bed with a low grunt, his palms braced behind him.

You climb onto the mattress after him, straddling his hips without hesitation. He lets out a breath like he’s trying not to lose it, eyes locked on yours.

“This is my favorite position,” you say, your voice low and playful, dragging your fingers up his chest, slow enough to make him twitch under you.

“I can see that,” he replies with a breathy laugh, eyes flicking down your body like he’s committing it to memory. His hands come up to your waist, thumbs slipping under the fabric of your top as he sits up slightly, pulling it off you in one smooth motion. He stares for a second—like he’s stunned—and then leans forward to kiss the space between your breasts, murmuring something that sounds like fuck, you’re unreal against your skin.

You let him take his time undressing you, piece by piece, but your fingers aren’t so patient. You tug at his shirt until he lifts his arms, letting you peel it off him, revealing the kind of body that makes you feel things you probably shouldn’t. He grins when he sees the look on your face—like he knows what he’s doing to you. And he does.

He lies back again, and you shift your hips on top of him, slow enough to tease, just enough friction to make both of you exhale sharply. One of his hands slides up your thigh, gripping tightly like he needs to anchor himself.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters.

“Good,” you say, leaning down to kiss him—harder this time, more heat than sweetness now.

You roll your hips again, and he groans into your mouth. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to feel too much. But it’s happening anyway, crawling under your skin and into your chest. He kicks off his pants with a little bit of urgency now, the teasing giving way to need. You can feel how hard he is through his boxers when you settle your hips back down, grinding into him, slow and deliberate. His breath stutters.

“F-fuck—wait,” he gasps, the sound caught somewhere between a moan and a warning. His hands grab your waist, but they don’t stop you.

You lift yourself just enough to slide his boxers down, letting him spring free. You pause, meeting his eyes, then spit into your hand, wrapping your fingers around him just once before lining him up with you.

And then you sink down.

Your breath catches sharply—no, you gasp—because it’s sudden and deep and full. Your body trembles as you take him in, stretching around him, holding him, and it’s all so much you have to stop and just feel. His hands tighten on your hips like he’s trying not to lose it.

“Sh-shit—you’re gonna make me come so fast if you don’t take it easy,” he groans, voice thick and strained.

You press your palms to his chest, grounding yourself, and begin to move. Slowly at first. Just rocking, rolling your hips into him with each movement like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him inside you. Every grind drags another breath from his throat, and every breath makes your skin buzz.

Your head drops back. His name is a whisper on your lips. You start bouncing on him, desperate for more friction, more depth, more him. The way he watches you—jaw tight, eyes glazed—only drives you faster. But then he shifts, and suddenly he’s the one taking control.

His hands slide up to your chest, mouth finding your skin like he needs to devour you. He kisses, licks, and sucks at your breasts like a man starved, one hand sliding down between your bodies to find your clit. The second he starts rubbing tight circles over it, your hips jolt, a moan ripping from your throat before you can stop it.

You throw your head back, overwhelmed. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped moving until you feel his grip tighten on your hips—and then he starts thrusting up into you.

Hard.

Fast.

Relentless.

“You’re so hot, baby,” he moans, voice raw and almost reverent. “No one’s ever been like you. ” He pants, his breath ragged against your skin. 

You try to respond, but all you can do is cry out as he slams into the spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“Not even close, I swear.” he growls, and you swear he loses himself completely then. He locks his grip on your hips and starts using your body like he owns it, like he needs it. Each thrust knocks the breath out of your lungs.

“Mark! Oh—my—GOD!”

He keeps hitting it. Over and over. You clutch at his chest, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself as pleasure rips through you like a tidal wave.

You love when he loses himself in pleasure and takes it all out on you. When every thrust, every breathless groan, feels like a confession—that he wants you, that he needs you. “I’m— I’m close,” you gasp, voice shaking, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word you know.

And Mark loses it.

His hips start hitting you in a deeper, slower rhythm—steady and controlled—like he’s drilling the feeling into your bones. Not frantic. Focused. Every thrust deliberate, like he’s trying to imprint himself inside you.

“Come, baby. Come with me, please,” he pants, voice thick, as he reaches between you and starts rubbing your clit with those rough, perfect fingers.

You cry out, your body jolting as the pressure breaks, your orgasm ripping through you so hard you scream. You tighten around him, pulse after pulse, and it’s too much—he curses low and sharp, hips stuttering as he spills inside you.

“Fuuuck, baby—so good…” he groans, still moving inside you, fucking you through every aftershock, like he doesn’t want it to end.

Your body eventually collapses forward, too full, too wrung out to speak. Your chest rises and falls against his, heart pounding like a drum you can’t silence.

He watches you. Grinning.

“I bet you taste so good right now,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger. Then he shifts you gently, easing you onto your back

You seriously can't believe him, and you don't think you can come again either. As much as you'd love to. "Mark..." you whisper, almost breathless. "I don't think I can again."

He just smiles, low and knowing. "Oh, you totally can," he murmurs, brushing his lips against your skin. "Aren’t you my best girl?"

He eases your legs apart again, slowly, reverently, until he's right where he wants to be. His mouth finds your inner thigh, warm and steady, and you gasp.

You're overwhelmed—your body trembling with too much—and instinctively, you try to close your legs. But he doesn’t let you.

He's not rough, but he's locked you in. His arms are strong around your thighs, holding you in place, anchoring you to the mattress like it’s the only way to keep you from floating away. 

You have no choice but to exhale, to let go, and take everything he's giving you. 

He keeps trailing kisses along your thighs, slow and deliberate, getting closer and closer to that maddeningly sensitive spot. Just when you think he’ll finally touch you, he pauses and blows a gentle breath against your heat.

You moan, body twitching in response, and he smirks like he planned it.

“Don’t do that,” you gasp, brows drawn together in desperate protest.

He laughs, low and amused. “Sorry, babe,” he says, clearly not sorry at all.

And then he stops playing.

With one long, unbroken stroke of his tongue, he drags it along your folds, and your entire body arches in response.

“Mark—ah! Wait–t—” you cry out, the words tumbling as your hips twitch and your walls clench involuntarily, traitorous and desperate despite your voice’s protest.

But of course, that only spurs him on.

His hands hold you firm, and he dips his tongue into you, slow at first, then with more purpose, sliding in and out while he moans against you like he’s tasting something forbidden—and loving every second of it. The wet, messy sounds, the heat of his mouth, the tension building again far too fast. He slides his tongue in again—deep and slow—and it has you seeing stars. No thoughts, no words, just feeling. Just him.

Your back arches, your fingers grip the sheets. You’re gone, breath stuttering, body already twitching.

Then his mouth moves up, tongue dragging through your folds until it finds your clit—and then he starts making out with it. Messy, filthy, focused. Your hips jerk, a gasp rips out of you, and that’s when he slips two fingers inside you, slow but deep. You’re a mess already.

He groans against you, sucking at your clit while curling his fingers just right.

Then he pulls back for a second, licking his lips—your slick glistening on them. His eyes are heavy, hungry, locked on yours like he’s already thinking about going back for more.

“Fuck, you taste so good, baby. I could stay here forever.”

He smirks a little, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and honestly? That image alone—you swear you could’ve come just from that.

But then he’s back at it. His fingers start moving faster, deeper, hitting that exact spot inside you like he’s memorized it. His mouth is locked on your clit, tongue working in tight circles like he’s obsessed with the way you sound when you break.

You start gasping, your breath all over the place.

He knows you’re close. He always knows.

And when you come, it’s not gentle. You cry out, legs shaking, chest heaving. He keeps going, dragging it out, mouth and hands locked on you like he’s chasing every last tremor.

You don’t even remember how loud you were. You're just lying there, totally ruined—and he’s still between your legs savoring every last drop. 

When he's done, he moves up to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his lips. It’s so intoxicating that you can’t help but deepen the kiss, pulling him closer. Every sensation is a blur of heat and closeness, your breaths mingling as if you’re both trying to hold on to this moment forever.

But then, he pulls back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His pupils are wide, black holes full of something intense, something deeper than just desire. His hair’s a mess, and the way he looks at you—the way you see him—makes your heart skip a beat. He’s never looked this beautiful, this... real, in your eyes.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, surrounded by the warmth of the room, the silence between your heavy breaths. And then, he says it, his voice low but sincere:

 “We should get married.”

The words hit you like a shockwave, and for a moment, everything stops. You freeze, the reality of the situation setting in. Marriage? You blink, unsure of how to react. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

Is he for real?

You try to steady your breath, but your mind is racing. Do I love him? you wonder, but then another thought immediately follows: Or is this just the fantasy of it all? The rush of the moment, the heat, the sex? Your head is spinning with confusion. You've never been serious with anyone before, and everything is moving way too fast.

For a second, it’s hard to tell where the intensity of the night ends and your real feelings begin. Maybe you are in love with him... or maybe it’s just the way he makes you feel, the way your body craves him, the way everything feels so perfect in this bubble you’ve created together.

The weight of the silence between you becomes unbearable. You open your mouth, but no words come out. You want to say something, anything, but the uncertainty makes it hard to form the right words.

"Mark, come on," you finally manage to say, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong. Forced. Nervous. "We just... we just had sex."

The words sound so shallow, like you’re minimizing everything that’s happened between you. You wish you could take them back, but it’s too late now. It’s out there.

And that’s when you realize—the silence that follows your words isn’t just awkward. It’s telling. You can feel him pulling back, just a little. Maybe it’s the way you deflected him, maybe it’s the way your words didn’t match the emotions in your eyes. Either way, it hurts him, and it hurts you too, because you know deep down that you feel something for him. Something more than just attraction. But you're scared. Scared of what this all means, scared of the vulnerability of admitting it.

His smile falters, and you can see it. You see the hurt flash in his eyes, even if he tries to hide it. And in that moment, you know that your silence, your hesitation—it speaks louder than anything else

His smile falters, and you see it. You see the flicker of hurt in his eyes, even though he tries to hide it behind something soft—something almost too gentle.

And your silence, your hesitation—it says everything he needed to hear. It cuts through the moment like a blade.

“Okay,” Mark says, barely above a whisper. He presses a kiss to your cheek—sweet, careful, like he’s tucking the moment away—and then he turns over and pulls the blanket up like he didn’t just say the craziest shit you’ve ever heard.

Just like that, he closes his eyes.

And now you’re lying there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling with your heart in your throat. You can't sleep. You can't stop thinking. And worse, you can’t bring yourself to talk to him about it again—not after how you responded. Not after that half-laugh, that dumb line about sex, that silence.

You feel like the moment slipped right through your fingers.

That night, you didn’t sleep—at all. Your head was a storm. At some point, you felt Mark shift beside you. Heard him sit up. You pretended to be asleep. A few minutes later, there was the sound of stumbling. Keys. The door clicking shut.

He left.

You waited—maybe for a text, a knock, something. But nothing came. Eventually, you got dressed and left too. The days that followed passed in a blur. Mark didn’t text. Didn’t show up at the club. Didn’t come back.

It was like he disappeared.

And maybe you could’ve lived with that, if it hadn’t been for how real it all felt. When you talked to Chaewon and she just said, “I told you not to fall,” something in you cracked. Because now it just felt like everything he said was a lie.

Why didn’t he come back for you? Why didn’t he chase you?

You hated that it was all fake. But more than that—you hated it because you believed him. You wanted to say yes. The words were right there. But you panicked. You froze. Your nerves got the best of you, and now he’s gone.

After days of spiraling, of staring at the same four walls, of nearly crashing from your own thoughts, you decided to do the only thing that ever made sense when the world fell apart. You threw a party.

Not just for the thrill—not just to feel something other than this ache sitting in your chest. You threw it with a purpose, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

You threw it hoping Mark would show up.

Because if there’s one thing you know about him, it’s that he’s always been a great partier. Always shows up where the music’s loud, where the lights are low, where the drinks flow like water and the night stretches long and loose. So maybe, just maybe, if you made the night big enough, loud enough, tempting enough—he’d come.

You’re already dressed when the music starts downstairs, the bass leaking up through the floor. Not that you’re rushing or anything. You’ve been ready for a while. The same black dress—the one from the first night you met him. Not because you’re trying to recreate anything. That’d be pathetic. But you wore it without thinking and then realized what you were doing halfway through your makeup.

It still fits the same. Tight around the ribs, thin straps, that slit up the leg that makes people stare when you walk away. It’s nothing new. You’ve worn worse for less. But tonight, the fabric feels heavier somehow. Like it knows too much.

Your phone’s been sitting on the counter, screen dark. No texts. No calls. You tap it anyway, scroll just to scroll. Then you put it face-down like it’s the one being dramatic.

Chaewon’s the first one through the door. Loud, glossy, dragging a couple girls behind her and carrying a bottle like it’s an extension of her arm.

“Damn, you went all out,” she says, glancing around. “What’s the occasion again?”

“Just felt like it.” You shrug.

“Sure. And I just felt like shaving my legs today.” She tosses her hair over one shoulder, lips curved in that signature smirk of hers

You roll your eyes and take the bottle from her. It’s tequila. Of course it is. She’s already talking to someone else by the time you pour the first shot.

People start pouring in after that. Familiar faces. Club regulars. A few strangers you don’t remember inviting but apparently someone knew someone. Music gets louder. Lights get dimmer. Someone’s vaping near the window and someone else’s already crying in the hallway about their ex.

You try to enjoy the night.

You really do. You lean against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, smile curved onto your lips like it belongs there. You know it doesn’t. But people are watching, and you’re the host, so you play the part.

Wonbin finds you somewhere between your third drink and your first fake laugh of the night. He’s easy to look at, smooth-talking in that polished, harmless kind of way. The type girls like you are supposed to entertain. So you do.

“You always throw parties like this?” he asks, eyes scanning the glowing pink balloons on the ceiling, the bodies moving to the beat in the living room.

“Only when I’m trying to forget someone,” you say, not missing a beat, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you wiggle your eyebrows.

Wonbin laughs, tilting his head. “Dangerous answer. Should I be flattered or worried?”

You smile, biting the edge of your straw. “A little of both.”

He leans closer. Not enough to cross a line, just enough for his cologne to mix with the smell of vodka and smoke clinging to your skin. “What did he do?”

You shrug, pretending not to care. “It’s not what he did. It’s what I didn’t.”

Wonbin watches you for a beat, like he’s trying to read between your lashes. You let him look. Let him think there’s something he can understand about you.

The music shifts—louder, heavier. Someone yells from the living room, laughter bursts near the speakers. You glance toward the door again.

Nothing.

“Still hoping he shows up?” Wonbin asks, voice low. “Was I that obvious?” You exhale softly through your nose, eyes flicking toward the entrance again before settling on your drink. 

He gives you a soft smile. “Only because every time you do look at me, your eyes are somewhere else.”

You sigh, leaning your head back against the cabinets behind you. The cool marble bites at your lower back through the fabric of your dress. “I hate this,” you whisper. “What? The waiting?” He studies you for a moment, his gaze soft but unwavering “No,” you say, eyes locking onto his. “The not knowing if that was it for us.”

You realize you're spilling too much on Wonbin, who doesn’t deserve it. He’s always been kind, never crossing boundaries, but you can tell he likes you. And maybe that makes this feel worse, like you’re dumping all your feelings on someone who actually cares, even if he doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of it. Wonbin opens his mouth, maybe to comfort you, maybe to challenge you, but your attention’s already gone.

There. By the hallway entrance. Black hair. Lean build. Same gait. Same fucking aura.

It has to be him.

Your drink slips from your hand onto the counter. You don’t notice the spill.

“Sorry—I think I saw someone,” you mutter, barely glancing at Wonbin before pushing past him.

“Wait—” he starts, but you’re already gone.

You cut through the crowd, the scent of sweat and perfume clinging to your dress as bodies brush past. Someone grabs your arm, someone else calls your name—but you don’t stop. You’re locked in, tunnel-vision, heartbeat climbing.

You reach him.

You grab his elbow. “Mark?”

He turns.

Not him.

Just a guy with confused eyes and a drink in hand, already stepping back.

“Uh… sorry?”

You feel your stomach sink all the way to your knees. “Shit. My bad. I thought you were someone else.”

He gives you an awkward half-smile, nods, disappears into the crowd.

And you just stand there. Empty glass in hand. Makeup perfect. Hair done. Dressed in the memory of someone who didn’t show up.

You need to breathe.

It hits you all at once—your chest feels tight, like the air inside the house has thickened, like the glitter and perfume and sweat have conspired to trap you in some kind of syrupy, humiliating fog. You stumble toward the backyard, heels clicking on tile, then grass, until the door clicks shut behind you and all that noise becomes a dull hum.

You pull a cigarette from your purse with shaky fingers. Light it. First inhale is rough—burns a little, settles hot in your throat. You don’t even like smoking, not really. But tonight isn’t about what you like. It’s about surviving the quiet between songs, the slow seconds between glimpses of black hair.

You exhale.

The night is soft and cool, a little sticky. You hear someone laughing inside, probably at nothing. Your thumb rubs the hem of your dress—his favorite, the one from the night you met. Your legs were across his lap by 1:30 a.m. that night. You barely even remember what you said. Just how he looked at you like he’d never seen anything so perfect.

Now he won’t even look at all.

You bring the cigarette to your lips again, but something flashes in the corner of your eye.

Your phone. Screen blinking in the dark.

﹙ぉ﹚renjun.

FACE SITTING⎯ he lives for the weight of you, the warmth and wetness of your pussy smothering his face. nothing compares to the feeling of your thighs trembling against his cheeks, your scent filling his lungs as he devours you. and when you hover, hesitant, he growls in frustration. “sit,” he demands, pulling you down with strong hands. “don’t hold back. ride me like you mean it.” the pleasure of being used by you leaves him drunk with desire.

BREAST PLAY⎯ your breasts are his sanctuary — soft, perfect, utterly addictive. he could spend hours touching, squeezing, and tasting. but when you tease him — dragging your breasts over the sensitive tip of his cock — it drives him to madness. his resolve crumbles as he cums hard and fast, groaning your name while his release paints your skin. the sight of you covered in him? pure heaven.

THIGH JOB⎯ when the need overtakes him, he doesn’t wait. you could be cooking or working — it doesn’t matter. he slips between your thighs, cock slick with precum as he thrusts desperately. “don’t move,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, gripping your hips. the squeeze of your thighs, the soft praise you whisper into his ear, your fingers running through his hair — it all pushes him to the edge. he cums hard, trembling as your words echo in his mind: “my good boy.”

CUM PLAY⎯ despite his usual preference for clean, controlled passion, the sight of his cum mixed with your sweat-covered skin awakens something primal. he smears it across your chest, your stomach — his breath hitching as he admires his handiwork. sometimes, he captures the moment with a discreet photo, though he’ll never admit how much he treasures them. tasting you both, however? that’s no secret.

MUTUAL MASTURBATION⎯ it’s a shared race to the finish line. his fingers pump inside you, matching the rhythm of your hand wrapped around him. the room fills with ragged moans, the heat between you spiraling out of control. the thrill of cumming together — trembling, overstimulated, desperate — is intoxicating. he’ll keep going until you’re both wrecked, craving every last second of shared ecstasy.

﹙ぉ﹚jeno.

SIZE KINK⎯ the contrast between his sheer strength and your smaller frame drives him wild. nothing makes his cock harder than the sight of you fitting so perfectly in his arms, so easy to toss around. he loves keeping you perched on his lap — whether you’re simply relaxing or grinding against him for relief. but his favorite is standing sex. lifting you effortlessly, holding you up as he pounds into you, flexing just to feel the way your body melts, dripping with want.

BELLY BULGE KINK⎯ every inch of him stretches you to your limit. no matter how often you’ve taken him, you always need time to adjust. his large hands tease and prepare you with agonizing patience — long fingers stroking your insides, his tongue working you open until you’re shaking. and then, finally, he slides inside, filling you so deeply that the bulge in your tummy becomes his undoing. the sight of it makes his eyes darken and his hips snap harder, spilling deep inside with each thrust.

MORNING SEX⎯ he lives for waking up to you. the heat of your body wrapped around him, the way your lips close around his cock — it’s his idea of heaven. sleepy hands grip your hips as you ride him, your warmth pulling him into a blissful haze. mornings without your touch feel incomplete; he claims it’s the only way to guarantee a good day, and his slow, lazy thrusts show just how sweet he plans to make yours.

BREEDING KINK⎯ he daydreams of you pregnant far more than he’d admit. his eyes linger on your stomach during sex — not just because of the bulge from his cock but from imagining it round and full with his baby. every thrust is deliberate, a silent promise of filling you with more. and when you moan daddy, it’s over. his hips lose rhythm, his control snaps, and he’s fucking you with abandon, all purpose and no restraint.

OVERSTIMULATION⎯ he can’t stop. you’re so soft, so wet, so intoxicating that he keeps pushing, even after you’ve come. his fingers curl inside you, coaxing more pleasure from your trembling body. your cries make him harder, his breath ragged as he feels your walls flutter around him. when you coat his hand in your release, he’s a mess — groaning, needy, tasting you like a man possessed, determined to have every drop again and again.

﹙ぉ﹚haechan.

MARKING⎯ he wears your marks with pride, turning every mirror into a shrine of your love. hickeys, scratches, and bite marks — they all make his heart race. he traces each with a grin, and when they start to fade, he’s immediately begging for more. “claim me,” he whispers, desperate for your touch. nothing makes him happier than knowing he’s yours — his body, your canvas.

DEGRADING⎯ “you’re pathetic,” you sneer, and he shivers. he’s a slut — your slut — and he needs to be reminded. he loves the sting of your words, the humiliation of your hands slapping his face or his cock. when he’s whining for mercy, tears pricking his eyes, he’s in bliss. he doesn’t want you to be gentle. he wants you to use him, ruin him, leave him begging for more.

DIRTY TALK⎯ his tongue is wicked — sharp, teasing, utterly filthy. he knows how to make you melt with just a few words. before it starts, he whispers sweet nothings, luring you in. then comes the switch: vivid, lewd promises of what he’ll do — bouncing you on his cock until you’re babbling nonsense, stuffing your pretty mouth full while your cunt clenches around him. his hand snakes up your thigh, fingers pressing, pinching, pulling until your head falls back, his words turning into pure sin.

CUM PLAY⎯ he’s obsessed with the mess — your slick on his skin, his seed marking you from head to toe. when jealousy burns, it’s worse. he covers every inch of your body, smearing it into your skin, reminding himself — and you — who you belong to. he doesn’t need proof, but he craves it. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with possession, as his cum drips down your thighs.

FACE SITTING⎯ he’s addicted to your pussy. it doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter when — he needs you on his face. hovering is not an option. “don’t hold back,” he growls. “fucking sit.” he dives in like a man starved, tongue relentless, hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you down harder. your arousal coats his face, and he loves it. the wetter, the better. suffocate him. ruin him. just don’t dare deny him.

﹙ぉ﹚jaemin.

DOLLIFICATION⎯ he loves turning you into his perfect little doll. hands gentle but deliberate as he styles your hair, fastens delicate accessories, and selects the softest, most seductive lingerie. he even adds a touch of blush to your cheeks, taking his time to admire his work — a masterpiece of prettiness before the chaos. but by the end? you’re a beautiful mess. smeared lipstick stains his chest, mascara streaks your cheeks, and your innocence is completely ruined. that’s his favorite part: breaking his delicate doll after crafting her to perfection.

BREEDING KINK⎯ jaemin’s love for the idea of being a father isn’t just a fantasy — it’s an obsession. the moment you tossed the condoms and stopped the pills, it unlocked a new level of hunger in him. every thrust is purposeful, every orgasm focused on filling you with his seed. he watches with dark, hungry eyes as his cum drips from your swollen cunt, mesmerized as he pushes it back inside, determined to keep you full. “how will you get pregnant if it keeps slipping out, baby?” he groans, already fucking you again.

DUMBIFICATION⎯ the way you go blank for him — eyes glassy, mouth parted, words reduced to babbled nonsense — makes him smirk with pride. his cock turns you into a perfect, pliant mess, your mind too far gone to form thoughts. he murmurs depraved things, cooing softly as drool trickles from the corner of your mouth. “my sweet, dumb girl,” he praises, kissing you as you fall apart, fully lost in him.

MANHANDLING⎯ you’re too delicate to handle yourself — at least, that’s how jaemin sees it. shifting positions? not your job. that’s what he’s here for. he lifts, twists, and bends you exactly how he wants, effortlessly maneuvering your pliant body. you love it, and so does he. you’re his to move, to control, to mold — and he takes full advantage, whispering how weak and perfect you are as he fills you to the brim.

RECORDING⎯ a camera roll full of you, his greatest treasure. every arch of your back, every moan, every needy cry — he’s captured them all. each orgasm is immortalized, every sex tape carefully curated for his private viewing. he replays them when he’s away, hand gripping his cock, desperate to relive every moment. “smile for me, baby,” he grins, phone in hand, knowing exactly how pretty you look when you’re cumming just for him.

CORRUPTION KINK⎯ he’s the reason you know how to touch, how to kiss, how to suck — and he loves it. teaching you was the greatest thrill of his life, and the thought of corrupting you over and over again still makes his blood rush. “you don’t know how, do you?” he teases, eyes dark. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll teach you.”

﹙ぉ﹚chenle.

DADDY KINK⎯ the soft, breathy way you call him daddy wrecks him completely. the sweet innocence in your voice, the way you cling to him like he’s your last salvation — it feeds his ego and his darkest desires. he knows he’s the one ruining you, yet you say it like he’s your savior. and deep down, the idea of really being a father someday only makes it hotter.

BREEDING KINK⎯ chenle is determined to make you his — completely, irrevocably his. every time he fills you up, he dreams of the day you’ll carry his baby. he’s long since discarded the condoms, and you’ve caught him more than once browsing baby products online. when he’s fucking you, his mind is already decorating the nursery. “we’ll need another,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “one won’t be enough if they don’t look like you.”

DIRTY TALK⎯ the sound of your honeyed whispers — the filth you pour into his ear while your hands roam his body — it makes him dizzy. your need, your shameless craving for him, leaves him breathless. you cling to him, desperate and feral, telling him exactly what you want. his voice grows rough, words tumbling from his lips as he promises to ruin you, to give you everything.

DEGRADING⎯ you’re his princess — his perfect, precious girl. but sometimes, you push too far, teasing him until his control snaps. in those moments, you’re no longer his sweet love — you’re his slut. his to punish, to take, to wreck. “you’re mine,” he growls, voice sharp as his hand marks your skin.

EXHIBITIONISM⎯ possessiveness burns hot in his veins. your pretty moans are for his ears alone, your body belongs to his eyes only. but sometimes, proving that you’re his requires an audience. if someone watches, hears, knows exactly who owns you? he makes sure it’s unforgettable — pounding into you, marking you with every thrust, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind.

﹙ぉ﹚jisung.

SIZE KINK⎯ he didn’t know how much it would turn him on until he saw the way his hands dwarf yours. you’re so small, so soft, and he’s so big. your tiny fingers barely wrap around his cock, your body stretches perfectly beneath him, and your mouth struggles to take him. it’s intoxicating — the contrast, the vulnerability, the way you whimper when he fills you to the hilt.

BELLY BULGE KINK⎯ “look at that,” he whispers, pride swelling as he presses his palm against the outline of his cock in your tummy. he pushes gently, relishing the way your body reacts, eyes rolling back as pressure intensifies the stretch. he drags it out, slow thrusts keeping you full as you beg for more, too wrecked to think of anything but how deeply he’s buried inside you.

ICE PLAY⎯ the moment ice touches your heated skin, your shiver sends a thrill straight to his core. you gasp, squirm, and cling to him, vulnerable and exposed, and he lives for it. the contrast between the cold and your warm body drives him wild — a game of sensation that leaves you trembling and begging for his touch.

DRY HUMPING⎯ he’s addicted to how desperate you get, grinding against him like you can’t help yourself. he watches, smirking, as you ride his thigh or rut against his lap, chasing pleasure even through layers of fabric. public places are his favorite — subtle thrusts, barely restrained moans, your panties damp as he whispers how pathetic and needy you are.

SEXTING⎯ the first time made him blush so hard he could barely breathe. now? he’s a master of it. teasing you through the phone, describing every filthy thing he wants to do, sending pictures that make you squirm. it’s become a game, a wicked build-up to the nights when you’re finally together, messy and breathless from all the waiting.

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the student lounge was buzzing with laughter and chatter, the sounds of friends catching up and making plans for the upcoming 3-day weekend. mark sat at a corner table with his group of friends, jeno, donghyuck, and jisung. but his gaze and attention kept drifting to you. you were seated at a nearby table with your own group of friends. you were always effortlessly surrounded by people, your laugh ringing in his ears like his favorite song. mark had always admired how easily you lit up every room you entered, how everyone seemed drawn to your warmth and energy. and how-

“earth to mark,” jeno’s voice broke him from his thoughts, and Mark blinked, seeing his friends hand waving in front of his face. he looked up at his friend with a forced smile.

“huh? oh, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, fixing the hat on his head, trying to look more engaged but failing.

jisung raised an eyebrow, noticing the direction mark was looking. “you good, man?” he asked, his voice casual but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

nodding quickly, mark then shifted in his seat. “yeah, i’m fine. just… trying to focus, you know?” He waved his hand brushing them off, though his eyes couldn’t help but flick back to you for a moment.

donghyuck catches where his eyes dart, and a knowing look forms on his face. “you sure? you’ve been staring at her all afternoon,” donghyuck added with a grin.

mark immediately blushed, feeling heat rush to his face. “what? no! i wasn’t staring,” he protested a little too quickly, tugging his hat lower to hide his face. “i just—uh, i’m just lost in thought.” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

jeno smirked. “uh-huh, sure. if you say so. but you’ve been acting kinda weird lately. you sure there’s nothing going on?”

mark swallowed hard, his heart racing at the thought of you. He had always admired you from a distance, but you were popular, way out of his league. his friends knew about his little crush on you, but he didn’t think they understood the full extent of it. he wasn’t even sure you saw him as more than a mere friend.

“i-idon’t know,” mark muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “it’s just… she’s always so surrounded by people, you know? she’s pretty much got everyone’s attention all the time.”

jeno leaned back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “she’s definitely got yours” his comment earning a laugh from the other two.

mark’s face flushed deeper, and he slumped in his seat. “no guys, seriously,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “she’s just… i don’t know. she’s popular, and i’m just… me.”

“yeah, well, ‘just you’ is exactly why you’ve got a shot,” donghyuck said, his voice light but encouraging. “you think she doesn’t notice? she does. she’s not blind, mark.”

“exactly,” jisung added, leaning back in his chair. “you’ve been acting like a nervous mess every time she’s around. maybe it’s time you do something about it, yeah?”

mark shot a small glance toward your table, his heart skipping a beat as you caught his eye for a second. he quickly adverted his gaze, pretending to be interested in something in front of him.

jeno chuckled and patted him on the back. “mark, you’ve got this. you just have to take a chance. she’s not some unreachable goddess. if you really like her, go for it. stop hiding behind your ‘I’m fine’ act.”

mark gave him a small, unsure smile. “maybe. i’ll think about it,”

but deep down, mark was terrified. he could never imagine you looking at him the way he looked at you. you were popular, funny, and effortlessly charming. he was… well, just mark.

as you laughed from across the room, mark’s heart gave an involuntary flutter. maybe his friends were right—maybe it was time to stand up and stop pretending he didn’t want more. more than to just watch you from afar. but for now, he stayed where he was, silently watching, unsure if he’d ever have the courage to tell you how he truly felt.

—

classes were now over, and small groups of people were in the large theater, helping set up for valentine's day. your school was hosting a valentine's day fundraiser, where the campus would raise money for local charities. this year's theme 'music for the heart'- likewise, the main attraction was the music appreciation raffle.

you were there of course, running the “song dedication booth” where students could pay a small fee to have a song dedicated to someone during the open mic. you decorated the booth yourself: choosing some white fairy lights to outline the sign, with red heart balloons all around, and of course some cut out music notes that you had done earlier.

“okay, so you want ‘can’t take my eyes off you’ for your girlfriend? great choice,” you said with a smile, writing the request onto the list. “she’ll love it.”

mark watched you from the edge of the stage, where he was tuning his guitar for his performance later. he could hear your cheerful voice as you talked with students, helping them pick the perfect songs. the way you talked about music, your passion shining through every suggestion and question, made his chest tighten.

“she’s really into this,” jisung remarked from behind the drum kit, glancing between mark and you. “you’re playing tonight, right? finally gonna make your move?”

mark glanced over at his friends—jeno adjusting his bass strap and dongkyuck pretending to help. he quickly averted his gaze, nervously strumming his guitar. “i don’t know,” he muttered. “she’s got so much going on. she’s busy.” he made excuses.

donghyuck rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “she’s running a music related booth, mark. if there’s ever a chance to make conversation, it’s right now.”

hesitant, he glanced back at you as you laughed with another student. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” he said quietly.

“dude, she smiles at you differently than anyone else,” jeno chimed in. “i don’t think you realize how obvious you are. she’s into you too, but you can’t wait forever.”

the idea of putting himself out there, of confessing how he felt in front of everyone, made his palms sweat. he just couldn’t.

“why not dedicate your song to her?” jisung spoke up, his voice softer

mark’s heart pounded knowing that his song was already dedicated to you, having thought about it for weeks beforehand. he was going to perform ‘just the way you are’ by bruno mars.

mark glanced up, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw you looking his way, the fairy lights illuminated your features in the best way as you gave him a small, bright smile. he awkwardly waved back, his stomach flipping as you returned your attention to the students walking your way.

“smooth,” donghyuck muttered, biting back a laugh.

“shut up,” mark mumbled, his face heating up.

—

the lights in the theater dimmed, and the crowd hushed as mark stepped onto the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulder. you stood near the back of the room, watching as he adjusted the mic, his hands trembling slightly. you felt a smile creeping to your face.

“this one’s for someone special,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

your best friend, winter nudged your shoulder and you glared at her with a laugh. she always teased you about your slight crush on the boy.

as the familiar chords of “just the way you are” filled the room, your heart skipped a beat. mark’s voice was soft yet filled with emotion, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

when he sang, “her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they’re not shining,” you felt your cheeks flush. feeling like you were looking too much into it, you shook your head slightly and glanced down at your shoes.

by the final verse, everyone was entranced by his voice. when the song ended, the applause broke the spell, but mark’s gaze lingered on yours, his lips curving into a shy smile.

—

the rest of the fundraiser went extremely well. the crowd winding down and now you found yourself starting to pack up your things at you booth.

“hey,” a voice interrupted, making you glance up.

It was a guy from one of your classes, holding a small bouquet of roses in his hands. he looked nervous but determined as he stepped closer to your booth.

“oh, hi!” you greeted warmly, taking a pause from packing up.

mark saw it from across the student center—the way the guy nervously walked up to you, clutching a small bouquet of flowers, his face tinged pink, your kind but still friendly smile. frozen in place, his chest tightened. he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he didn’t need to. the way the guy was smiling at you and the way you politely smiled back made it clear what was happening. but you were his girl. even if that guy didn’t know it yet.

of course someone else would ask you out. he knew it was going to happen at some point, always surrounded by people who admired you. and mark? he’d spent months hiding his feelings, thinking you’d never look at him that way.

but now as he sees the guy walk away from you-missing the slight frown on his face-he can’t stop his own two feet from moving towards you. his mind was racing. did you say yes? were you off limits now? labeled as someone else’s girl?

as he approached, you were gathering the last few things from your booth. you noticed him and looked up.

“oh, mark?” you asked tilting your head, still with bright eyes.

“hey,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing as his voice cracked slightly. “i, uh… i saw you talking to that guy just now.”

you raised an eyebrow, catching the uncertainty in his tone. “huh? oh yeah, he was just—”

“did you—did you say yes?” the words spilling out before he could stop them, and he winced as soon as he realized how frantic his voice sounded.

you blinked in surprise. “what?”

“to, uh… whatever he asked you…” mark said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushing. he was getting more and more choked up by the second. “i mean, obviously it’s fine if you did..it’s probably none of my business and- he seemed nice. i just…” he trailed off, his words stringing along as he avoided your gaze.

you stared at him for a moment before realizing what he was getting at. a soft laugh escaped your lips, and mark’s eyes darted to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what’s funny?”

“no, i didn’t say yes,” you said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i told him i wasn’t interested.” you said looking up, your grin still lingering on your face.

mark felt relief wash over him as a small smile tugged at his lips. however, disbelief still clouded his mind. “you..didn't?”

shaking your head you spoke. “nope,” your smile was warm yet teasing as you say his rosy cheeks darken a little. “i think i’d rather wait for someone i actually want to say yes to,”

mark just blinked, not knowing how to react. what did that mean? could you be talking about him? or was it someone else? why would you-

“mark,” you called out, breaking him from his thoughts. “if..you have something to say, now would be the time,” you said softly, stepping a little closer.

“well, i-i have been wanting to say something for a while now,” he started, taking a breath. “i like you a lot, like- a lot..but i just didn’t think i had a chance..”

your smile widened feeling a small heat rise to your cheeks too. “you always had a chance mark,”

relief mixed with disbelief washed over him. you felt the same way the whole time? he let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing. “so, does this mean i can ask you out now?”

“i think you just did,” you teased, your fingers fiddling together, as your heart beat a little faster.

mark grinned, his confidence growing. he reached out for your hand, still shaking but sure. “well, then… will you be my valentine?” he wanted to ask ‘will you be my girl?’ but this would do for now-slow steps, he told himself.

“i’d love to,” you replied, your eyes sparkling as you smiled at him.

“y/n! can you come here for a sec?” winter called for you from the studio room. she apologized later once she found out was was happening, but you brushed it off saying it was okay.

you looked to mark and stepped closer. you softly pressed your lips to his cheekbone and pulled away slowly. “come find me later?”

he nods with a hum, too star struck by you to form a sentence, or even a word. you smiled and walked off, now knowing that you finally had the guy you wanted. and mark walked back to his guitar to his teasing friends with a dopey, cheesy smile knowing that you were his girl.

and in that moment, mark felt that every doubt, every little hesitation, had been worth it.

—

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ