#mark nct

PAIRING ⋮ youtuber!mark x youtuber!fem!reader

CAST ⋮ all of nct dream, hyunjin from loossemble, taerae from zerobaseone, sofia from katseye, and riku from nct wish

GENRE ⋮ est. relationship, influencer au, social media au, soft launch, fluff, very chronically online humor

WARNINGS ⋮ sensitive online people, drinking, profanity, death threats, kys/kms jokes, random cameos from all the neos, more tba

STATUS ⋮ hiatus

TAGLIST 1 & 2 ⋮ both open, perma tl will also be tagged so feel free to join here. just send a reply here or ask !!

A/N ⋮ haihai my first smau on here kinda nervy..... im gonna try to update this everyday but i wont promise anything also this is gonna be maybe 10 to 15 chapters so its not gonna be very long :p still very excited to write it I HOPE U GUYS TUNE IN!!!

profiles ━ 3 girls and 2 gays | we 7llin

chapters

1) yn isn’t a lesbian?

2) Mark lee care me

3) another taerae lie

4) gomen oomf chan

5) god take me and all my oomfs

6) spawn of satan

7) fuck you and your dog

more tba ..

© all rights to sungbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

You have to admit, Jungwoo’s assessment of Mark was pretty spot on. The guy had been visibly anxious as you’d entered the theater, and now, in the heat of the film, he has his hoodie pulled all the way up to nearly block his eyes as he watches with terror. It radiates off of him, and as a kinesiology major with a family history of demon hunting, you’re pretty well-versed in sensing these kinds of negative emotions.

You hate to be that person who kind of revels in the person next to you being scared of the movie, especially when this whole zombie thing is pretty mundane and overdone as far as you’re concerned. Peaking at Mark in the periphery of your vision, you do your best not to laugh when the audience jumps, and when Mark tugs his hoodie even higher, blocking his eyes, you fight the need to sigh.

As the climax of the film erupts into chaos, you turn to look at Mark, and what you see makes your heart lurch, your skin heating. Mark’s eyes are no longer their normal chocolate brown; instead, they are a fiery red, and you know almost immediately what that means.

Your instincts tell you he’s a demon. Sure, he could be a vampire, but you’ve seen him in the sun, and vampires are rare at universities and schools, no matter what Twilight wants people to think.

Werewolves usually have golden eyes, unless they’re alphas, and the man next to you is definitely not an alpha. 

No. This unassuming, cutie boy English major is a demon, of that, you are almost certain.

Your muscles tense, your body wanting to spring into action, but your mind makes you stop. Sure, he has red eyes, but does this scenario really make that much sense? Most demons are cocky assholes; they definitely don’t shyly isolate themselves and hide their eyes at horror films.

Something isn’t adding up, and you need to find out what it is before you do anything drastic.

The movie ends, the lights turn on, and you force your body to relax as you turn to look at Mark.

“That was fun,” he tells you, but you can see his smile isn't genuine. “So… should we walk home?”

You’re part of a sorority in the same way he is part of a frat, so you live fairly close to each other. You have your hunter weapon hidden in the back of your jeans, so you’re not worried that this scardy cat demon is going to pull a quick one on you while you walk home.

The two of you exit the on-campus movie theater, heading toward the Greek Village, which is only a short distance away.

“So, uh, zombie films,” Mark says, trying to strike up a conversation.

“It was kind of bleh,” you remark. 

“Yeah, bleh,” Mark echoes, pretending he wasn’t hiding with fear the entire movie.

It’s as if the universe wants to call his bluff, because the wind picks up, and the trees next to the path creek eerily, making Mark jump. He latches onto your arm like a terrified kitten, staring into the darkness as if he expects a zombie to appear.

“You know, you can cut the whole ‘I’m a scared English major’ act,” you sigh.

“Huh?” Mark blinks at you.

“I saw your eyes in the movie theater,” you point out. 

“No, you didn’t,” Mark argues. “My eyes were covered for most of the movie.”

“Fuck you,” you tell him, ripping your arm away from his grasp and pulling out your dagger, “you’re a demon!”

Mark takes two large steps back, his eyes widening, hands coming up to protect himself. “Whoa! Okay, fine, twist my arm, I’m a demon!”

“What the fuck are you doing parading around as an English major fratboy?” you ask, wanting to make sense of the odd puzzle that has been dropped into your lap.

“Funny story, actually,” Mark winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “You see… I’m a bad demon. And I don’t mean bad as in evil, I mean bad as in… bad. Like. I suck at it. I can hardly use my powers. I was banished from Hell because I’m so shit at what I do. I don’t like hurting people or seeing people in pain, and I actually kind of love Shakespeare and all things human, and-”

“Jesus, I get the picture,” you sigh, lowering your knife. “You’re a failure at the very thing you were created for.” 

“I mean, if you want to be rude about it,” Mark says quietly. 

“So you don’t kill people?”

“I killed one like a thousand years ago, and it sucks and still haunts me.”

“You don’t do devilish things?”

“I mean, sometimes if Jungwoo is annoying me too much, I cook really smelly food and it fills our room and then he has to leave.”

You stare at him blankly. “Fuck it. I’m letting you go. But a few of my cousins are in my sorority, and we come from a family of demon hunters. If you want to stay alive, or whatever it is that you demons do, don’t be fucking stupid, okay? No red eye bullshit, like… seriously, learn to control your eyes or something, dude.”

Mark blinks, registering what you’ve just said. “So… I’m guessing no second date?”

You laugh. “Not in your wildest dreams, you fucking dork."

Two:

It’s been two weeks since your odd run-in with the demon-not-demon English major who calls himself Mark Lee. And for some reason, you can’t get him out of your mind.

You were taught from a young age that demons don’t have any redeemable qualities, that the satanic apple doesn’t fall too far from the satanic tree- but Mark? He doesn’t fit that assessment at all.

If his brethren are from the tree of evil, Mark is a weak branch from a willow; no wonder he had been cast out of Hell.

You’ve been meaning to bump into Mark, so when you see him walking back toward the frat, you hurry to catch up. “Hey!” you call, grabbing his attention.

Mark’s eyes widen, and he walks even faster, making you groan as you increase your pace.

“Dork!” you say, louder this time.

The bad demon stops, releasing a deep sigh. “What?”

“Listen, my sorority is planning to attend your frat’s Halloween party this week, and three of my cousins will be there.”

“Okay? So?”

“So… unless you want one of them to discover what you are, you have to like… I don’t know, cover your stupid face or something.”

Mark stares at you for a moment. “You’re bullying me,” he says finally.

“I’m making sure you stay alive, loser,” you snap back. “I don’t even know why I bothered.”

Mark releases a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll dress up as a ghost. Put a sheet over my stupid face, and I won’t let your cousins kill me. Happy now?”

You can only laugh. “Sure.” 

Three:

When you get to the frat party, the first thing you do is look for Mark. It only takes a few minutes for you to notice a man in a white sheet, and you breathe a sigh of relief. So the Dork had followed your instructions and covered his face, more importantly, his uncontrollable demon eyes.

Trying to relax, you head to get a drink. Parties aren’t necessarily your thing. With so many years of being taught to watch your surroundings for danger, it takes a bit of booze to calm you down in situations like this one. 

But even as you finish one beer and move onto a second, your demon slayer senses are tingling, and out of the corner of your eye, you catch a man with a real pumpkin on his head. It’s a bit of an odd costume- but you decide to brush it off… only, the man seems to be following you around the party.

You keep track of where he is, and after five minutes of him tracing your steps, you decide you’re not just being paranoid. With a sigh, you leave the busy living room turned dance floor and find one of the quieter bathrooms down the hall by the bedrooms. 

Hiding behind the door there, you wait for the pumpkin head man, and when he pushes into the small space, you pounce. Your muscles tense, training kicking in as you throw the man against the wall, holding him there by the back of his neck. 

“Why are you following me?!” you demand.

“Whoa, slow down!” he says, words muffled by the massive pumpkin over his head. “It’s me! Mark!” 

You pause, staring at him, then you release his neck, stepping back so the bad demon can turn to face you.

“Why are you inside a pumpkin?” you ask. “I told you to be a ghost!”

“Well, you see, Taeyong is frat president, and he wanted to be a ghost, so it’s not like I could go as the same thing…” His head is bowed in shame, and you’d bet your knife that his skin is pink under the stupid pumpkin head.

“Okay,” you sigh. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re following me around.”

“Um…” Mark’s head bows even further. “You’re going to think I’m so stupid.”

A groan escapes you. “What did you do now?”

“So… I put the pumpkin head on, and now I can’t take it off.”

“Okay.”

“And, well, I’m thirsty, and need help getting it off my head.”

“And why did you need me to help and not a frat brother?” you question.

“Because they’d laugh at me.”

“I’m laughing at you,” you point out.

“Yeah, but, I don’t know… you have that big knife, maybe that would help get this thing off?”

You open your mouth to respond, but that’s when you hear the voices of your cousins, and your heart lurches into your throat. “Shit, Mark! The stall!” 

You shove him into the enclosed space, slipping in after him and shutting the door. The two of you are pressed tightly together, and the massive pumpkin on his head doesn’t make the situation any easier.

“What’s going on?” he whispers.

“Shut up!” you tell him, listening hard.

The bathroom door opens, and one of your cousins calls your name, but you remain quiet, and a short while later, the door shuts again. You wait an extra minute, then sigh, pushing out of the stall with anger.

“I didn’t want my cousins to see you,” you tell him.

“So… you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?” he asks.

“No, it’s just, I don’t want to draw attention to you,” you declare.

It’s as if you can sense Mark smiling when he says, “Guess you do kind of care about me.” 

“I don’t,” you snap back. “You’re just not worth their time, or mine.”

Mark cocks his head at you. “You’re bullying me again.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” you scoff.

“It’s just… well, I’m so used to being bullied, as a weak demon and all, so bullying is pretty familiar, and also… I don’t know, maybe a weird, twisted, love language of mine.”

You gawk at him for a solid three seconds. “Jesus Christ, lover boy, let’s go to your room, get this stupid pumpkin off your stupid head, throw a towel over your face, and then I can go back to the party.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You grab Mark’s hand, dragging him from the bathroom. He guides you to his room on the top floor, and once there, you lock the door behind you.

With a sigh, you turn to the pumpkin man. “Okay, how are we going to get this off of you?”

“Well, I think it’s catching on my nose?” he suggests. “When I put it on, it squished my nose a little, but now I can’t take it off.”

“Sit down,” you instruct, pulling out your knife. “You’re going to have to be very still. I don’t want to accidentally cut you.”

Mark follows your instructions, sitting on the bed where you join him. He grabs the pumpkin and holds it down and away from his neck, giving you space.

“I could also just smash your head into the wall,” you joke, “that would probably break it.”

“Bullying me!” Mark insists, but he’s laughing with you.

You shake your head at this bad demon. He’s endearing, and you hate that.

You hate that something about him feels familiar, and oddly enough, kind of safe.

Relationships have always been tricky in the past; you’ll always have to hide the demon slayer part of your life away from partners, but with Mark, you don’t have to do that. Your family has also been hard on any boyfriends you’ve had… You guess that’s the one thing that will be worse, but then again, they don’t have to ever know Mark is a demon-

You take a breath, trying to focus on where you’re cutting a notch out of the pumpkin. You can’t believe you’re thinking about Mark in this kind of context. There’s no way you could ever date the dork, could you?

“So… why did you even agree to a blind date situation with me?” you ask.

“Well,” Mark coughs. “Jungwoo said you’re smart, and strong, and I guess that’s my type.”

“Smart and strong could mean demon hunter though, it’s a bit of a risk, isn’t it?” you point out.

The demon shrugs. “Then I guess I die. 

You pause. “You don’t care about dying?”

“I mean… it would suck to die without turning in my midterm paper, I spent like, seventy-two hours on it, and I’m super proud of you, but, you know, whatever.”

God, he’s too endearing. “Do you have anything else to live for?”

Mark thinks about it. “The Wuthering Heights movie is coming out soon. That would be cool to see, but remakes of classics are never that good. Like, Margot Robbie in the trailer is wearing a corset, but there’s no undergarment, and the historical accuracy is a bit of a low point for me.”

You shake your head. “You’re such a dork.”

You finish cutting, and the chunk of pumpkin comes away easily, and together, you and Mark lift it off his head.

His cheeks are flushed, he’s a little covered in pumpkin guts, but he’s still such a cutie pie. With his big ass head covered, you’d partly forgotten that he’s adorable.

“So, uh…” Mark swallows thickly. “I should go shower quickly.”

“Okay,” you sigh, putting away your knife.

“Will you be here when I get back?” There’s hope in his eyes, and he’s even cuter because of it. 

“Maybe,” you say finally, but it seems enough for Mark, who flashes you a weak smile, then stands. 

He grabs a towel and exits, closing the door behind him while you relax against his bed. Mark’s side of the room is full of books, and you wonder if he’s read all of them. You pick one up, and realize he’s reading Macbeth. You’re not an English major, but you think you remember this one has some pretty interesting themes about evil.

You wonder how deeply Mark has thought about his existence, and when you notice a copy of Frankenstein, you realize maybe it’s something he’s still grappling with.

In some ways, you can empathize with him. You were born into a demon hunter family; it was never something you would have chosen for yourself. Unlike Mark, however, you’ve never been cast out. You attempt to be the golden child, to tether yourself to that version of normalcy, while longing for a different life.

Mark is living a life uncontrolled by his upbringing, by the purpose forced upon him in his early years of creation.

You wonder how it feels for him to be free in a way you can only imagine being. 

You continue to think about it until Mark returns, and you see the way he jumps a little when he opens the door and finds you still sitting in his bed. 

“Oh,” he smiles, running his towel through his wet hair, “you’re still here.”

“Well, I had to make sure one of my cousins didn’t kill you or something.”

Mark’s grin only widens, and he’s so cute, all freshly showered and boyish. 

“I think you like me,” he notes. 

“You’re a demon, I tolerate you… At best,” you retort.

“Whatever you say,” Mark grins, sitting next to you on the bed. He looks around, eyes narrowing on the books by his bed. “Oh, you were looking at what I’m reading.”

“Maybe.”

Mark laughs. “You’re so secretive.”

“And you’re not?”

“Nope, ask me anything,” Mark tells you.

You take a breath. “Was it hard to leave your family? The other demons, I mean.”

“At first,” Mark admits. “In a weird way, they were protection. They were what I knew. Being cast to Earth was a learning process, and it took time, but I realized pretty quickly that being on my own was better than being with people who wanted to control me and make me into something I’m not.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, looking down. 

“Are you okay? I’m sorry if that was maybe too truthful-”

“No,” you shake your head. “It was the truth, and it’s what I needed to hear.”

“What about you?” he questions. “Is something going on?”

“Just… you see, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a demon hunter.”

“What? But you’re amazing at it!” Mark insists. “You have the scary knife and everything!”

You find yourself laughing at his attempt to cheer you up. “My heart isn’t in it.”

“Could have fooled me,” Mark grins. “You’re super scary- intimidating, I mean, I mean… like, you know, you’re a powerful woman.”

“I can be powerful and not be a demon hunter,” you point out.

“Yeah, of course, that wasn’t what I was trying to say.” His skin is flushing pink with embarrassment again, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Mark, can I be selfish for a moment?” you ask.

He blinks at you, his lips parting. It’s clear he’s confused and wants to probe you for more information, but instead, he just nods. “Yeah, of course.”

You reach up to touch his cheek, trying to search for any sign of the demon that is apparently Mark Lee. But all you see is the cute, shy, dorky English major.

You lean in, and Mark mirrors the motion, his eyes flickering closed as your lips meet. It’s a soft kiss, but it sends shivers through your body as you shift closer, wanting more. Your hand moves from his cheek to his hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss, groaning softly.

Mark matches your enthusiasm, his hands grabbing at you, and you quickly adjust, moving so you can straddle the man on his bed as his palms softly find your waist, his fingers grabbing at the small of your back. 

It takes everything in your power to pull away, breathing heavily and looking down at him.

Mark’s looking at you with stars in his eyes. “You do like me,” he says quietly, a small smile on his lips.

“I guess so,” you muse.

“Can we… You know, continue to be selfish… together?” Mark asks hopefully.

Somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of your mind, the hunter inside of you is telling you no, but your entire body is screaming a resounding yes that has your heart racing in your chest.

“Yeah,” you nod, licking your lips. “We can be selfish.”

Even with the green light, Mark waits for you to make the first move, but when your lips press to his, he relaxes again, releasing a groan of pleasure.

You can’t help but begin to swivel your hips, grinding down on him in the hopes that you can work more sounds out of the pretty demon. 

It’s all too easy to get him moaning, and when your lips move to tease his ear, his breath catches. “Sweet spot?” you muse, licking the soft patch of skin below his ear.

“Feels so good,” Mark whimpers, fingers digging into your hips.

“You’re too easy,” you laugh, enjoying the feeling of power radiating through you.

You have Mark Lee wrapped around your finger, and there’s something very enticing about that. Bad demon or not, he’s still a soul from Hell, and that’s not something to be joked with.

Mark surprises you though, even with his somewhat meek mannerisms, he’s strong, and with one push, he has you on the bed while he takes the top position.

“I want to be selfish,” Mark tells you, grabbing your jeans and tugging them down your legs.

You know where this is headed, and you can’t help but be a little surprised. Mark Lee has a thing for eating girls out? He’s definitely a dichotomy, and you’re excited to continue to figure him out, to peel back all these different layers-

Mark has left your panties on, and your patience is thin, so you remove the thong, tossing it at the man who sinks to his knees at the foot of the bed.

He licks his lips, breathing heavily already.

“Don’t hold back,” you tell him, relaxing against the mattress in sweet anticipation.

“If there’s one thing I don’t hold back at, it’s uh, this,” Mark responds, his ears flaring red at the admission that he’s a pussy fiend. 

Part of you really doesn’t believe he’s going to be some magical cunnilingus wizard, so when Mark brings his mouth to your core and dives in with unabashed enthusiasm, you’re definitely shocked. A yelp escapes you, your hands reaching for his hair as his own fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you steady while his tongue laps at your core.

Each lick, each suck, each maneuver- is perfection, and all you can do is throw your head back and enjoy it as Mark draws you closer and closer to the edge with a speed that no man before him could ever hope to rival. 

And he’s groaning too- groaning like a horny teenager as he eats you out until your toes curl. God, you can’t even decide what to focus on, the feeling of his fingers digging into your thighs, his tongue pushing deep into your core, or the sounds of pleasure escaping him from being bestowed the honour of eating you out.

Because that’s what it feels like, in some odd way. It feels like Mark is worshipping you, and finding his own pleasure in the worship.

“I’m close,” you tell him, shifting against the mattress. 

He doesn’t let up for even a moment, in fact, Mark ravages your pussy even harder, making your toes curl to the point that it’s almost painful, your whole body teetering on the precipice-

Mark releases another groan of pleasure, and the cord in your stomach snaps, your orgasm slamming into you like a tsunami.

You gasp loudly, your back arching, eyes clenching shut as the waves surge through you, taking over every one of your senses and throwing your mind into a whirlwind of stimulus that makes you feel brain dead yet electrified at the same time.

He eats you through your high, until you’re a shivering mess, and only then does Mark relent, sitting back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just-” you swallow thickly. “Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?”

“Well,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing pink. “I was a worshipper of Aphrodite back in the day.”

You blink at him in shock. “She exists?”

“You’re talking to a demon,” Mark laughs. “Gods exist, but they don’t come down to Earth much anymore.”

“So you were a worshiper of Aphrodite, aka, she taught you to eat pussy like an absolute champ.”

“She pittied me, like I said, I like strong women, and luckily, they tend to like me too.”

“I don’t pity you,” you tell him.  

“I think you do, a bit, but I’m okay with that.” Mark takes off his t-shirt and you do the same, getting naked while you think through his words.

You suppose he’s right. Being a ‘bad demon’ and all, you do kind of pity him. But you vow to change that. One day, you’ll see him as just a normal person. It’s not like he has demon powers or a black soul- he’s just… a dorky english major. Sure, his soul is that of a demon from Hell, but he does walk like a demon, or kill like a demon, so… yes, maybe you can learn to see him as a human.

“You still want to do this?” Mark asks as he goes to push his jeans down.

“Yes,” you tell him. “We said we’d be selfish, so let’s be selfish.”

“Do we need protection?” Mark questions.

“Can you get me pregnant?” you respond.

“Oh, right, yeah, no I can’t, that’s just, uh, a question I ask, since most girls don’t know I’m a demon.” 

“Do you get laid a lot, Mark?” you laugh.

“Enough,” he insists, clearly not wanting to be viewed as some pussy who can’t get laid.

“You’re cute,” you assure him, opening your legs and allowing him to join you in your nudity on his bed. You brush some of his hair out of his eyes, looking up at him. 

“And you’re beautiful,” he retorts, leaning down to press his lips against your softly.

The kiss turns heated fast, and you wrap your legs around his hips, forcing him to grind against you. His cock is pretty big, all things considered, and you find yourself groaning desperately, eager to have him inside of you.

Your hand slips between your bodies, stroking him and angling him toward your core while he releases moans of his own.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, nibbling at his ear and gently tugging his hair with your free hand.

“Yeah,” Mark swallows thickly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He’s such an endearing, dorky demon, and your pussy is wet from this entire situation. It’s almost too easy for him to push inside of you, making you both gasp as he fills you for the very first time.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

“Oh my God,” Mark retorts, resting his forehead against yours as you both take a moment to adjust. “Okay, fuck, if it’s too fast-”

“Just fuck me,” you tell him again, grabbing the back of his neck to draw his mouth to yours.

You kiss him desperately as he begins to move, fucking into you faster and faster, finding a pace that has you both groaning like whores against each other’s lips.

Mark might not have most of his demon powers, but it’s clear he’s got at least some of the strength and speed you’ve heard about. He fucks you ruthlessly, in the best way possible, and part of what makes it so good, is the fact that you hadn’t expected this.

Despite his past history of worship, part of you had still expected your meek english major. But no, you suppose the only time you’re seeing this demon side of him is in bed, and you’re actually entirely okay with that.

Mark’s groans have you feeling light headed, and as much as you’re enjoying being the bottom, it’s not entirely in your nature to be the submissive, especially not if it’s Mark on top.

You can tell he’s getting close already, and you break the kiss with a bite at his lip, making him jump in shock.

“My turn on top,” you tell him, pushing at his chest.

Mark eagerly relinquishes his top position, laying against his bed while you straddle him again. You grab the base of his cock, lining it up with your core and sinking down while you both groan.

His hands are on your hips, and he’s looking up at you with stars in your eyes as you begin to ride him, enjoying the feeling of your demon hunter worn muscles finally being put to use.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mark tells you, groaning as you ride him faster.

You can only moan in response, grabbing one of his hands to bring it to your breast, loving the way he tentatively begins to play with your nipple.

“I’m close again,” you tell him, reaching down to rub your own clit as you ride his cock, loving how deep he is inside of you.

“I could cum with you,” he suggests, his own muscles tensing with effort as he tries not to shoot his load inside of you prematurely.

You let out a deep breath, nodding. “Let’s cum together,” you agree.

It feels as if you’re truly connected, he starts to move, thrusting up to meet you. Every motion works together, a seamless push pull, a united effort to have the pleasure build and build-

Finally, you’re at the precipice again, and you gaze down at Mark, who looks as desperate as you feel. 

“Cum for me,” you tell him, feeling power surge through you as you both snap, orgasms taking over and all under your own command.

You try to continue riding him, your hips jerking with effort as the pleasure erupts through you, but finally, Mark grabs you, tugging your upper body down against his own chest. His desperate lips find your own, and he kisses you like a man who is madly in love, both of you enjoying the tail ends of your highs.

You’re both gasping, still making out even though your orgasms have subsided.

Something about this feels so right, yet, in the back of your mind, you’re aware that it should feel wrong. You suppose you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it, for now, all you want to do is enjoy this bad demon, and enjoy him, you will. 

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🔮 preview. “Foreplay isn’t vanilla,” Mark states, pulling away from your throat and rolling his eyes as he rubs your core harder through your jeans. “You’re bullying me.”

cw/ tw. . Unprotected sex, oral, blowjob, pussy eating, foreplay, dirty talk, praise, squirting, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm witholding?, power play, simp turned rough Mark, hint at using demon strength powers, multiple reader orgasms, etc…  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 starring. Mark x afab!Reader

bonus

It had taken some time, but eventually, you’d realized you couldn’t hide Mark forever. Things had gotten heated between the two of you, and living in proximity to nosy cousins makes secrets difficult.

After many nights spent going over backstories with Mark, and making sure he has control over his demonic eyes, you’d introduced him to your cousins, and to your amazement, none of them had picked up on his true nature.

To be fair, if you’d never seen Mark slip up during the horror movie, you would have been none the wiser to his more nefarious state of being either. So that was one issue crossed off. Your immediate family would be more of an issue.

But that too, had come to pass, with surprising ease. Sure, your family hadn’t been happy when you’d told them you wanted to distance yourself from demon hunting, but they’d been so caught up in your ‘career change,’ that none of them had stopped to think about your new English Major boyfriend and how he might play some part in this turn of events.

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@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

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@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@meowniee - @learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @sourkimchi - @stellaoo

And thank you to those who interacted with the teaser :)

@leleszn - @bobathi - @limi7less - @goyangenero

johnny

bf!johnny ♡ﾟ who walks with you through a quiet park, fingers brushing until you finally hold hands. he points at a squirrel and laughs at your exaggerated squeal. dude he looks like doyoung tho

bf!johnny ♡ﾟwho at a small café, steals a bite of your pastry and winks. don’t mind sharing with me, right? he teases. you roll your eyes, but can’t hide your smile. even surrounded by tourists, it feels like you’re alone together.

bf!johnny ♡ﾟwho when you’re in the living room, scrolling on your phone sneaks up behind you and smacks your ass lightly. john you gasp, spinning around. he grins, hands resting on your waist, leaning close. can’t help it he whispers, giving a teasing little tug. you roll your eyes, but the warmth in his grin makes you melt anyway.

bf!johnny ♡ﾟwho carries you around with him at all his million hobbies. he grabs your hand and tugs you into a mini-golf inside course, grinning like a kid. you have to see my perfect swing he says. you miss completely, and he just laughs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. don’t worry… i love seeing you try.

yuta

bf!yuta ♡ﾟwho at a tiny, cozy restaurant tucked in a quiet street in his hometown, he picks at a bite of his food and suddenly holds a piece out to you. try this he whispers, smiling as you roll your eyes and take it.

bf!yuta ♡ﾟwho always obeys your little requests. you sigh from the couch hey, can you grab me the water bottle? he moves instantly, handing it to you gently not even saying a word

bf!yuta ♡ﾟwho even on video calls, isn’t shy to send you kisses through the phone: you giggle as he puckers his lips, leaning toward the camera. for you baby he murmurs, and you blow one back, grinning as he pretends to catch it

bf!yuta ♡ﾟwho wants to hide from everyone when you, mark, and jungwoo call him yuta oppa! in public on purpose. he hides behind you, but you keep teasing him no but, yuta oppa should pay for dinner and he cant help but not completely disliking it (its usual coming from mark tho)

doyoung

bf!doyoung ♡ﾟwho when they are all choosing their roommates at the airbnb, (and as usual he is the last one to be chosen) rolls his eyes whenever you tease him, picking anyone but him. though everyone can see the smile he tries to hide. you call his name just to annoy him and he answers every time without fail what you grin nothing, you say, and he just shakes his head.

bf!doyoung ♡ﾟwho swears he hates pda but always ends up being the one reaching for your hand first, brushing your hair behind your ear and fixing your scarf when it’s cold.

bf!doyoung ♡ﾟwho sends you voice notes before bed, half asleep with that soft, deeper night voice. sometimes he just rambles about his day, sometimes he sings a little just for you. goodnight… don’t stay up too late he mumbles at the end.

bf!doyoung ♡ﾟwho gets dramatic whenever you get even a tiny scratch. why weren’t you more careful? he scolds while dabbing ointment on your hand like a medic. when you laugh, he sighs, quieter now, just… stay still, like all day, okay? you are always so energetic and he sighs as he hated it

jaehyun

bf!jaehyun ♡ﾟwho keeps random polaroids or photo booth scans of you in his wallet. some cute, some horrible, some so blurry they look like ghosts but he refuses to throw any away. they’re memories he says simply.

bf!jaehyun ♡ﾟwho steals your chapstick and swears he doesn’t, even though you catch him every time tossing into your bag. i don’t know what you’re talking about he lies, lips already glossy and healthy again.

bf!jaehyun ♡ﾟwho just feel so safe around you and keeps falling asleep on you. during movies. on long car rides. literally mid conversation. head on your lap, arms around your waist, gone. the members walk in like, again?? hyung seriously?? and they try to take off his earpods but you just smile and brush his hair back, quietly protecting his peace.

bf!jaehyun ♡ﾟwho presses the elevator button for you before you even ask. opens jars. carries your bags. ties your hoodie strings in a bow just to see you roll your eyes. he’s a gentleman without thinking about it. like his love is made of little actions rather than words.

bf!jaehyun ♡ﾟwho genuinely believes jenga can solve any conflict. argument about where to eat? jenga and the winner picks. who’s doing dishes? the loser of jenga (jungwoo hates it because he always loses) you’re mad at him because he was late again? baby… jenga and if he wins you're not allowed to be mad at him anymore . the members come over? he’s already stacking the blocks.

jungwoo

bf!jungwoo ♡ﾟwho hugs you from behind all the time. cooking? back hug. brushing your teeth? back hug. looking for something in your bag? back hug. he just really likes having his arms around you, chin settled on your shoulder like you belong to him.

bf!jungwoo ♡ﾟwho loves taking pictures of you. laughing, eating, sleeping in the car. when you ask him why, he just shrugs you’re cute all the time

bf!jungwoo ♡ﾟwho sends you 46 messages in a row about some random thing he saw. a cat wearing a sweater. a heart-shaped cloud. a video of puppies. PLS BABY ITS SOOO US *+ two poodles petting each other video*

bf!jungwoo ♡ﾟwho can’t fall asleep unless he’s touching you. hand in yours, arm over your waist, forehead against your shoulder. he tosses and turns until he finds you, then instantly relaxes like you’re his safe place.

mark

bf!mark ♡ﾟwho laughs at literally everything you say, not politely, but full on laughing with his whole body. why are you so funny?? he asks between giggles, like he genuinely can’t understand how you exist do you even know you exist?

bf!mark ♡ﾟwho double checks if you ate today. every day. did you actually eat or are you lying to me? what did you eat? no, snacks don’t count he says it while tying your shoelaces or zipping up your jacket because somehow he’s boyfriend and mom friend at the same time.

bf!mark♡ﾟ who writes your name on random things. his notebooks. his water bottle. the corner of his lyrics sheet. he is just so in love with you in every way possible

bf!mark ♡ﾟ who is unintentionally jealous. he doesn’t get mad, he just gets quiet and just look at you and your body reactions when jaehyun is helping you with how to play traditional korean game go and getting a bit closer to you

haechan

bf!haechan ♡ﾟ who steals bites of your food every chance he gets. you’re mid bite, and suddenly he’s taking a fry, grinning like it’s the best prank ever. when you fake scowl, he laughs so hard he almost chokes why?

bf!haechan ♡ﾟ who makes you race him to do literally anything first one to the couch gets the blanket! even if it’s dumb, he acts like it’s life or death. you’re giggling while running, and he’s grinning ear to ear

bf!haechan ♡ﾟ who mimics you just to see your reaction. you do something tiny like the way you sip your coffee, and suddenly he’s doing it back ove exaggerated and ridiculous. you glare but he’s laughing so hard it’s impossible to stay mad

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.