#mark smut

Closing the door to your apartment behind you, quietly, twisting the knob to not make a single sound, you tip toed toward the kitchen table and set your purse down. Then your keys. Then, you jumped again.

“Fu-huck!”

His whine echoed from his room, out into the tiny hallway, into the kitchen, and up your skirt. Twisting your knees, squeezing your thighs together, you bit down on your bottom lip and cursed the fact you hadn’t gotten laid in months.

Having Mark for a roommate didn’t help.

Not when he sounded like that.

Pressing your hands into the wood, you sucked down a deep breath and shook it off. He was a male within a few feets radius of you, you didn’t want him, especially not right now, at the start of this week when you wanted anything and everything that walked. Just earlier on your walk home a street vendor complimented your legs, a catcall really, but you very well could’ve spun around and shown them to him up close. 

You didn’t want Mark. You were ovulating and overstimulated and sensitive. And he’s an attractive guy, you’ve told him that before, he knows it, everyone thinks he's sexy.

His bedroom door swung open and your stomach dropped past your knees. He wore grey sweats only, and his headphones lived around his neck, his hair a mess from where they once sat on his head. 

Games. Gaming. Gamer. He was playing games. 

Not fucking someone into his mattress. Though it was hard to tell the difference, he sucked air harshly through his teeth just the same, no matter the activity.

Not that you listened. Or paid attention. Or touched yourself when you knew he had his hand wrapped around his cock thinking his sounds were muffled by the low beat of his nighttime playlist full of underground this guy eats, trust me rappers.

“Hey,” he smiled at you, a flash of perfect teeth with a boyish curl of his lips, “Thought I heard you come in.”

“Hi,” you sighed, standing up straight, composing yourself. Your eyes dropped to his toned middle, his perfectly sculpted chest, the silver chain hanging around his neck…

He swaggered for the fridge, coming closer to you, bodies separated by the table in the middle of the kitchen. The expanse of his back, just as honey, just as broad, just as built as his front, as his everything else. Mark wasn’t a big guy, but jesus god almighty did everything on him fit together in perfect harmony. 

“How was work?” he asked, pulling a water bottle from a shelf, knobby fingers wrapping around the plastic. Arm flexing as he twisted off the cap and brought the spout to his lips, he turned to you and watched you while he drank. 

A slight furrow of his brows beneath his undone hair, a pout in his lips, especially after he pulled the bottle away, the wide innocence in his eyes he wears as a facade, a trick, a ploy, because beneath that purity…

“Did you hear me?”

His smile settled into a smirk.

“Hm?” you hummed, and you watched him drag his eyes up and down your body. Glancing down at yourself you felt your cheeks flush of all color. 

Bent over the table like you were, your knees had turned in. Thighs squeezing together, you practically trembled. Embarrassing. Humiliating really. Emitting a horniness reading absolutely off the charts, he could tell.

“Uh, yeah,” your voice almost squeaked. Pushing off the table you brushed your hands together and scooped up your things. “Work was… good.”

Mark leaned against a counter, his abs flexing ever so slightly. He crossed an arm over his chest and sipped his water, eyes narrowing.

“You’re lying,” he said, tongue darting between his lips, pointing at you with the bottle. Eyes glancing to his glistening lips, you withheld a whimper and shook your head.

You’ve got to get out of here.

“Not lying,” you said with the smallest of giggles, forcing some sort of smile onto your face. “I gotta shower.” 

Starting for your bedroom that lived at the end of the hall, adjacent to Marks, his laugh paralyzed you. Sarcastic, knowing, sadistic. It bled into your ears, melted over your skin, and you despised what it did to your heart. 

“You had your proposal today,” he started, pushing off the counter with his backside, padding over to the hall where you stood begging the bathroom to come closer to you so you wouldn’t have to withstand his presence any longer. “The big one. Your boss would be there, all the guys who think they have big dicks that own the company… Right?”

Turning slowly, very, very slowly, meeting his slightly confused expression, you nodded

“Riiiight,” he sang, voice going low and gravelly. A chill ran down your spine, one you’re hoping he didn’t notice. “I’ve listened to you all month. You’ve been dreading today, ‘cause you knew they weren’t gonna go for your team. They chose that asshole with the money, didn’t they?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, and he tipped his chin up, looking down at you. The ache between your thighs, the heat beneath your skin, grew tenfold under his stare. 

You could reach out, grab him, fall onto the floor, yank down his sweatpants, slip your panties aside and sink onto him. It wasn’t even about him, you think, maybe. He’s a guy. A man who chronically oozed sex appeal, who caught the eye of everyone walking down the city streets. He’d be something hot, and hard, to fill yourself with, to relieve yourself upon, getting you through this week so you didn’t have to succumb to your vibrator or your own fingers…

He licked his lips again, the tip of his tongue sliding along his bottom lip dangerously slow. 

Back and forth… back and forth… back and- 

“You still with me?” he asked within a breath, almost a whisper, pulling you out of a trance.

You needed to leave. 

Gulping, you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Shook him out of your head. Him and his hot, shirtless self with his grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you knew he wasn’t wearing anything beneath them because the definition between his hips, down his pelvis winked at you. 

“I’m fine.” Snapping your eyes open, you glared at him. “You’re right. Bad day. Thanks so much for reminding me.” You spun on your heels and stormed down the hall, stepping into your bedroom. He attempted to follow, arms shooting out at his side, eyes going wide, all signs of playing wiped from his cheeks.

“Hey, wait, I didn’t mean to do that, I was only trying to-“

You slammed your door shut.

In his face.

Mark Lee was not allowed in your bedroom, not right now. And probably not anytime in the near future. And then some.

This week sucked. A goddamned reminder that you had the worlds sexiest roommate and couldn’t do a thing about it. That the crush you’ve tried to swallow away for a year now was very much still real, very much still hanging over your head, something you can’t seem to escape. Not when your body quite literally begged you to reproduce with him.

Sighing, eyes falling shut, you threw your head back against the door.

Why Mark Lee???

Why your roommate you’ve grown tumultuously close to, closer than anyone else to you at this point in your life???

The Mark Lee who brings home girls some weekends, who goes out to party with friends he met in college, who works remotely, rarely has to leave the apartment, so he’s always here, always saying hi to you, always quick to greet you and bid you a good day when you leave in the morning…

Criminal really, how domestic it all seemed. How some days he’ll hint toward it, completely destroying weeks of suppression you worked oh so hard to build, only to now have to do it all over again.

You promised yourself you wouldn't get to this point.

That living with someone as attractive as Mark would work.

Guys and girls can be friends, you and Mark, you'd beat the stereotype.

Maybe it was time to move out.

Pushing off of your door to peel your top layers off, leaving a shirt and your skirt on to move to the bathroom with, you pulled pins from your hair and slumped onto your bed to pull your socks off.

Glancing about the space, your cozy bedroom you put together yourself, with Mark's help, he really etched himself into every part of your life. 

A hoodie of his laid over the back of a chair, a pair of his sunglasses sat on top of your dresser, some of the earrings in your jewelry box were his... For gods sake, you shared the same shampoo and soap.

Digging your hands through your hair, splaying yourself backwards on your bed, you reached for your laptop and pulled it over your stomach. Opening it, you punched Apartments.com in to the search bar and let available places in your area, nearby work, pop up.

Scrolling for about a minute, eyeing the monthly rent in comparison to location and appearance, you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned. 

Now was not the time.

Tossing your laptop to your mattress, not bothering to log out or shut it, you snatched your towel and disappeared into the bathroom, allowing the hot water to wash away work stress, ovulating thoughts, and feelings.

Wrapping yourself in your towel, tucking it in so it stayed put, you smoothed lotion over your exposed skin, up your neck, down your chest, around your arms. Making note of where your necklace and earrings were on the counter that you'd have to come back for, you picked up your clothes, flipped off the light, and peeked out into the hallway for any sign of Mark.

Years you've lived here, and yet the act of running from the shower to your bedroom performed like some sort of humiliation ritual. 

Not for Mark, of course. He'd wander around in his towel for hours.

The apartment was quiet. No games, no whines, no Mark.

Maybe he left.

Stepping out of the bathroom, leaving the door cracked, you took two giant strides toward your door and spun inside swiftly, turning the knob as you closed your door, just in case he was still here somewhere.

"What are you looking at these for?"

Jumping a mile, grabbing onto the top of your towel, you whirled around with a gasp. 

He was sitting on your bed with your laptop on his legs that were folded under him.

"Mark!" 

He glanced up at you, his brows furrowed and focused, paying no mind to how your cheeks flushed and your body still dripped. "When were you planning on moving?"

"I wasn't, I-I was just-"

Looking down at the screen, he squinted at something. "Looking for apartments in this building."

Stepping toward your bed, you held up a finger. "Everywhere, not just this building."

He scoffed, his lips perking into the tiniest of smirks. "So, you admit it. You're moving out." The way he looked at you...

Both hands held onto your towel, pressing to your chest for your own sanity and composure. 

You were naked.

He was on your bed, half naked.

"I wasn't planning on it," you sighed, eyes wide, hoping to tide him over with your words so that he'd leave and you could continue your search, or, at least put some clothes on. "You saw me when I came in here, I was stressed, so it was the first thing I thought of to do to help my nerves, I guess, I-"

Setting the laptop aside, he rose to his feet, head cocking to the right. All of his accessories were gone, it was just him, his sweats, and that silver chain around his neck.

"How is a new apartment gonna help relieve your stress at work?" he asked, taking small steps toward you. His frame stood bigger than your own. More clothed than you, taller than you, you sunk backward, your body pressing against your door. "I did see you, you were..." His eyes flickered to your lips. "Upset."

Five inches separated you.

"Mark," you whispered, and he looked at you. "It's just a bad day."

"Is it?" he asked, closing two more inches, eyeing your parted lips as your breath hitched. 

Gulping, you nodded, holding onto the cotton that covered you even tighter. "Bad day."

Narrowing his eyes, you could feel his warm breath trickling over your skin still damp from the shower. "So, you thought a new apartment would cure that bad day?" He didn't let you answer, cutting you off before you started. "Why don't you just tell me what you really need, sweetheart," he whispered, closing the gap between you, pressing himself against you, "And we can stop playing fucking games.”

His hands pressed against the wood of the door, his arms caging you in. Chest to chest, his nose nudged yours and he smirked as your eyes fluttered shut.

Intoxicating. 

Every siren in your head shot off.

His warmth, his presence, his smell, his words, his lips.

"Look at me," he murmured, and you obeyed, meeting his proud smile. "Good girl," he cooed, nudging your nose with his. Your knees trembled. He let a soft laugh loose. "Yeah, you like that. I knew it."

"Knew it?" you breathed, your heart pounding between your lungs.

Mark licked his lips and popped his brows. "I hear you too, sweetheart." His lips ghosted yours, smiling as your face screwed up in disbelief. "Oh, yeah," he sang, "You're filthy. How many toys you got in that drawer over there? Wanna play?"

Writhing, pressing your legs together, your core slick already, you whined and shook your head. "Mark."

Parting his lips, softening his face, he pouted. "Oh, babe, you're not in trouble." Taking a hand to your chin, he danced his thumb over your cheek, swooning as you melted into his touch. "I'm teasing," he whispered, taking in how you stared up at him, unable to look at anything else since he said look at me.

Swallowing thickly, you took shallow breaths, your mind tuning to the sound of his voice. Mark pinched your cheek gently, his brows steadying over his deep brown eyes. The way you stared at him, like he hung the stars and held the answer to all of your problems...

"I know what you need," he said just above a whisper, his fingers drawing over your skin gently, dancing down your neck. "As soon as you walked in the door, I could tell." His finger hooked below your chin, lifting it more, your doe eyes deepening. "Fuck," he whispered. "I'll leave you alone, okay, you can get into that drawer-"

He stepped away from you, and you reached for him, hands grabbing onto his bare biceps.

"Mark-"

Your towel slipped.

He didn't look.

His entire being softened.

Waiting.

His eyes never left yours.

Sucking in a shaky breath, he pushed out, "Yeah?"

Clenching your jaw, you gave him the tiniest nod of your head, and he groaned.

"Tell me," he whispered. The feeling of your fingers digging into his skin made his lashes flutter. "Say the words," he shook his head, "Or, you get nothing."

Steadying your breath, breaking through the part of you that longed for him to just give in and swallow you whole, you said, “I need you.”

It was all he needed.

Pushing you up against the door, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other slipping down your body, Mark opened his mouth and pressed his lip to your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin as your arms hooked around his neck. Rocking with him, letting his weight push you to where he wanted you to be, you followed, body lax, under his control.

His fingers slipped between your legs, dragging through your folds, pressing to your clit. Moaning against your neck, grinding himself into you at the sound of your own whimper, he lifted his head and touched his forehead to yours.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your lips, heavy yet slowly, his tongue poking through to meet with yours, “You’ve been pent up all day, haven’t you?”

“Three days,” you gasped, clinging to him, the massage of his fingers making you tremble.

His tongue dragged over your lips. “Three days?” Pressing wet kisses to your cheek, he muttered, “You’ve been this horny for three days?” Pulling away from you briefly, watching you writhe with every twist of his fingers, every brush of his thumb over your clit, he started to smile. The hand around your neck tightened, pressing into the sides.

“Mark,” you moaned, and the sound he made lit a spark in your belly.

Screwing your eyes shut, you thrashed against the door, knees going weak as he slid two into you, his thumb in a steady rhythm over your bud. Grinding into his hand, throwing your hips in a circle, his smile fell into a smirk.

“You want it bad,” he muttered, dipping down to nip at your neck. “What can I do to you, baby?”

Feeling your belly tighten every time you became aware that this was Mark doing this to you, touching you, making your toes curl, you couldn’t find it within yourself to hold back. Shame was lost on you.

Clawing at his back, gasping for air, a moaning mess, you babbled, “Anything, anything, y-you can do anything, I don’t… Fuck… Mark.”

“Good fucking girl,” he cooed, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth before his lips were latched to you once more. Pumping his fingers into you, curling them towards him, you shook. Bending at the knees, he pressed hot kisses down your chest, grabbing a handful on the way down, his fingers teasing your nipples. Searing his lips down your middle, over your belly button and below, he pulled his fingers from you on his knees and looked up at you. “You’re beautiful.”

Heaving breaths, your cheeks warmed. Covering your face with your hands, you managed to finally crack some sort of giggle. “Stop,” you whispered.

“Come here,” he breathed, gripping your hips, tugging your lower half toward him. Guiding one leg over his shoulder, he smoothed that hand up the back of your thigh, giving your ass a squeeze with a moan. Dragging his thumb through your slick, he curved his lips into the perfect ‘o’ and gazed up at you as he blew cool air over your core. 

Sucking air in through your teeth, jolting away from him, one hand flew down to lace through his hair, giving him the harshest tug. Proud of himself, he beamed up at you and let his tongue roll through his parted lips. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, voice an octave lower than usual. He didn’t fight against your hold, but you could feel him start to try to. Letting him go, his smile wiped away. “No, hang on to me.”

“I didn’t wanna-”

He gripped your hip, his other hand sliding up your middle to grab a handful of tit. “Hang on to me,” he said through his teeth, nudging himself into your core, his nose pushing on your clit, his tongue sliding into your hole.

Both of your hands knit into his hair, holding onto him for balance as he held you up on one foot.

Lapping at you, his tongue swirling and twisting, the pressure in your belly growing tenfold, you cried out for him and allowed yourself to fall against him, all your composure gone. Mark pressed his fingers into your curves, pinched and toyed with your nipple while he moaned into your pussy soaking his face. Bobbing his head, tongue going flat, he moved with you, your hips circling on his face, riding wherever the pleasure wanted you to go.

Vision blurry, body on fire, you tugged at his hair but it wasn’t enough. You tried to reach down for him, but he wouldn’t move. You wanted to see him, to hold him, hold onto him, kiss him–

“Mark,” you whimpered, trying to pull him off of you. “Mark, please.”

Parting from you once, sucking in a breath, chest heaving, he gazed up at you with lust stricken eyes, his lips and cheeks a mess. “Wanna make you cum,” he groaned, soothing you with a circle of his hand on your thigh, “Doing so good, baby, please?”

“No,” you cried out, pulling him to his feet.

He let you. 

Gently placing you back on the ground, holding you up, he pressed himself to you and cupped your jaw. You gave him a kiss, one small, one soft, one tasting like you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, giggling as he pulled a hand up to wipe his face clean, he kissed you again, longer this time, your breaths in sync, like the beating of your hearts.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “You okay?”

Nodding, gazing at him, you licked your lips and gave him the quietest whine.

His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, his eyes flickering to it, and with the gentlest whisper, he asked, “Your bed or mine?”

“Stay here,” you breathed, and he smiled.

Taking his hands to your waist, he pulled you up, wrapping you around his front. Stolen kisses on the way there, a few strides backward toward your bed, he tipped over as you giggled and laid you down on your mattress. Tongue escaping, nasty kisses pushed to your neck, Mark pushed his sweats to the floor and climbed over you, his knees pushing yours open.

Taking both hands to your jaw, he tipped your head backward and coerced your lips open with his thumbs, holding them there. His cheeks sucked in, as his length prodded at your entrance, he pursed his lips and let a ball of spit drip onto your tongue. Moans trapped in the back of your throat, you arched against him. 

Mark, eyes dark as ever, bobbed his head and stuck his thumb in your mouth, spreading his spit on your tongue. “I knew it,” he teased, “Again.” As if you were going to be able to question him, he looked you in the eyes and whispered, “Nasty.”

Eyes rolling, you wiggled your hips, the feeling of his tip not enough. Wrapping your lips around his thumb, giving him a harsh suck, you swore the devil flashed in his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he grumbled, “Don’t get me started. I want you gagging every which way, I’ve pictured it, gotten off to it.” You moaned and he laughed. “But, I wanna fuck your pussy more than I wanna fuck your throat,” he dipped down to press a kiss to your forehead, pushing stray hairs out of the way, whispering, “That okay?”

“Please,” you mumbled around his thumb, digging your teeth into it. “Mark, please.”

He lingered by your ear, lips brushing your lobe. “Please, what?”

“Fuck me,” you cried, writhing under him. He pulled his thumb out of your mouth and gripped your chin. Meeting his gaze, you whimpered. “Please, Mark, fuck me. I need you so bad.”

“Thought you were gonna let me bend you over the kitchen table,” he said, reaching a hand between your bodies to grip himself, “Pictured that before, too.”

“Fuck,” you gasped as he slid his tip into you.

He winced at how you squeezed him already, his brows tipped in the middle, his lips curling under. “Let me in, baby, can’t give you what you want if you don’t breathe.”

Your heart beat in your ears. You could barely get any air in as his length pushed inside of you, the pressure too great. The stretch, too much, the thought, the knowing that it was Mark, this was Mark, your roommate, inside of you, his cock, the pleasure–

A long sigh, laced with a whine, washed over him from your lips. Pushing into the hilt, your thighs touching, his hips on your hips, your clit pushing into his pelvis, he laid on top of you, your chests meshed. Parted lips met yours, the brush of a tongue on yours, the stinging of tears in your eyes as he rocked into you– you could feel him in your throat.

His thumbs pushed into your cheeks, his soft touch keeping you with him, brushing over your bottom lashes as your lips parted and you sighed, gazing up at him. 

A mess, both of you. His hair, pushed around in ways he’d never let you see, his eyes, glazed over with euphoria, his lips, parted and hungry. Teeth baring as he rocked into you, your breath hitching in your chest, you drug your hands down his back, your nails leaving behind plush red love marks as they came back up to his shoulders.

“God, I just wanna stay like this,” he mumbled, burying his head in your neck, moaning into your shoulder. “Feel so good, sweetheart,” he sighed, wrapping his lips in a kiss below your jaw.

One of your hands escaped to his hair, knitting into his locks, holding onto him for clarity. “You’re so… big…” you managed to gasp between snaps of his hips.

Smirking down at you, he pushed himself up to his hands, the silver chain on his neck dangling over your nose. “Yeah?”

Managing a smile with your twisted brows, you breathed through a laugh, “Knew it.”

“Fuck, you’re so cute,” he muttered, suffocating you with a kiss, his hands eager to hold you in anyway they possibly could. “You know what it takes to hold myself back?”

Your tongue wanted to pop out of your lips. Biting down on your lip, moaning without giving yourself permission, you blinked up at him, dazed, ignited with nirvana.

Relief.

Mark pushed up off of you, guiding your legs around his waist as he held onto yours. Picking your hips up off the mattress, he pistoled into you and tipped his head back, his groans echoing off the walls, lingering in the air.

“You know what it feels like… to have you walk around here… like you don’t know how hot you are?” He took a thumb to your clit, pressing down, grinning as you cried out and writhed, your hands gripping onto your sheets. “What it feels like… to hear you moan into your pillows… knowing that I could walk in here… and fuck you dumb?”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice broken, “Mark, yes, you drive me fucking crazy.”

He snickered. “Do I?”

Every twist of his thumb made you tremble, your high barreling toward you as you watched his body move. The arch in his back, the push of his hips, where your bodies met, the sound your bodies made…

“I wanted you as soon as I got home,” you babbled, fucking yourself back onto him as he thrust into you, “Wanted you to fuck me, wanted you to make me cum… Mark.”

His body let loose for a second, his composure dropping, his head lulling back, but then he grabbed your waist and pushed you both up to your pillows. Stretching his legs behind him, putting his hands behind your knees, he folded you in half and lowered himself on top of you. 

Hair stuck to his forehead, your breaths tangled in shared air, his chain kissed your chin, your nose, your neck.

“Mark,” you whispered, your belly tightening, your legs shaking around him. Pulling him closer, landing messy kisses to his cheek, to his jaw, you gasped, right on the edge. “M’fu- Mark!”

“Come on,” he whispered, lazy lips brushing your cheek, “C’mon, babe. I got you.” You squeezed him, your body twitching under him, a tumultuous build up, a crash you needed three days ago. Fueled by his hands, his hips, his tongue, you cried out for him, barely recognizing yourself. “Cum for me, sweetheart, c’mon, you can do it.”

Almost missing your lips with a kiss, he moaned into your mouth as his own belly tensed.

“Need you to cum first,” he groaned, letting his fingers toy with your clit, his speed relentless, but he knew as soon as you went silent, he had you. “Be a good girl,” he whined, nose pressing to your cheek, “C’mon… Cum on my cock, baby, isn’t that what you want? Cum and I’ll fill you up, you want that?”

Nodding, fast, barely breathing, only able to suck air in, unable to push any out, you clung to him as your vision seared white, and you convulsed into him, body ignited with a pleasure brand new. You squeezed him tight, giving him little time to warn you he was cumming, filling you up with half a thrust as he dropped to his elbows and whimpered.

You’re not sure how long you laid in silence, spent bodies pressed together on a mussed up bedspread that now needed a washing. Then, he stirred.

Picking up his head of messed up hair, he looked down at you, eyes heavy, lips swollen. Surprised to see you already looking, he smiled, a flash of his teeth poking between his lips. Pulling out of you, taking his time, watching you closely as he did, he kissed you gently.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, shifting over your body to lay beside you, wrapping an arm around your back to tuck you into his side.

Unable to not look at him, you brushed your lips over his chest and whispered, “You’re incredible.”

Resting an arm behind his head, he looked down at you with a lazy smile. “You feel better?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, making him laugh. “But, I think…”

He flipped his brows over, reaching his hand out to fix the mess that was your hair. “You think what, sweetheart?” 

Curling up against him, you cowered and hid your face in his arm.

“Tell me,” he said softly, smoothing his hand under your chin, lifting your head. Pursing your lips, as if he could tell by the flutter of your lashes, he poked his cheek with his tongue. “Be a good girl and use your words,” he whispered, and you almost whimpered.

Your heart swelled in your chest, your cheeks heating as you whispered, “I don’t want you to go.”

Mark glanced around your room before looking at you crazy. “Am I… going somewhere?” Smiling as you giggled, he screwed his face up and tried to wiggle away from you. “Oh, wait, actually, that's you. How’s the apartment hunt going?”

“No!” Grabbing onto him, pulling him back into you, he rolled over on his side, hovering over you. Blinking up at him, you took a deep breath and shook your head. “I’m not leaving. You overwhelmed me, I thought I had no other option.”

Mark raised his brows. “Instead of just asking me to fuck, you were going to move out? To a whole new apartment? When this one is just fine?” Your smile faded, and your resolve clouded over. Mark tilted his head, curious. “Talk to me.”

Rolling your eyes, dragging your nails against his back, softer this time, you mumbled, “I… like you… Mark.” He didn’t move. “I was thinking about moving, ‘cause… I have feelings for you. And, after this… I want you. I wanted you before. I want to be yours.”

It took his six whole seconds to break into a toothy grin. “Great,” he huffed, catching your lips in a slow kiss, whispering against them, “Which room do you want to be ours?”

Eyes widening, he shocked you with another kiss.

Nudging your nose with his, he winked. “I wanna be yours.”

“nah. im just watching dumb videos. you okay? you sound weird.”

weird. yeah. that was one word for it.

he leaned forward a little, curling into himself, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder while his other hand kept working over his cock. he was flushed to the neck, chest mottled with heat, pulse visible in his throat.

every time he heard your voice through the speaker, it was like a jolt right to his cock — he could feel the way your mouth moved, imagine how your lips would wrap around syllables if he were just a bit closer.

he bit his bottom lip, hard.

“i’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly, then swallowed. “just… wanted to talk to you.”

he was already so close and that was humiliating in its own right.

your voice was casual, kind. “oh, yeah? what about?”

mark gritted his teeth, hips twitching upward into his palm. “i… i dunno. just missed your voice.”

a pause. you laughed softly.

“that’s weird. you literally saw me earlier today.”

“i know.”

mark closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against the base of his cock to try and slow himself down. it didn’t help. he was throbbing. leaking. his stomach muscles clenched tight every time you said anything.

“but… i like hearing you.”

you went quiet for a beat. “you sure you’re okay? you sound kinda…”

“i’m fine,” mark said again, but his voice broke in the middle of it, strained and raspy, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

he had to pull the phone back a little as a soft, stuttered moan slipped out of him.

shit.

his hand kept moving — too fast now, driven by pure instinct. he tried to breathe slow, tried to pretend he wasn’t literally jerking off with your voice in his ear, but you weren’t helping.

you chuckled again. “you sound like you’re sweating or something. hot in your room?”

“y-yeah,” mark gasped, closing his fist tighter. “hot. so, so hot.”

his knuckles were turning white around the phone. he pressed it harder to his ear, needing to hear every note of your voice. his eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the wall behind his bed. sweat was already gathering under his arms, on his lower back, on the backs of his thighs. jus toes curled into the sheets, ankles twitching with every slick stroke of his hand.

you kept talking. talking like everything was normal. like your best friend wasn’t secretly jerking off to your voice and biting his fist to keep from moaning into the receiver.

“you been staying up late again?” you asked. “you really sound tired.”

mark choked on a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob, wasn’t quite a moan.

“mmh—yeah. c-can’t sleep…”

“you should take melatonin or something. or stop watching porn at 3am.”

if only you knew.

mark was panting now, trying to keep it quiet, but every breath was a tremor. his thighs shook with tension, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a bowstring. he sped up again without meaning to, his body begging for release. it wasn’t just the friction. it was you — your voice, your laugh, the way you sounded like you were half-asleep and smiling through every word.

and fuck, he wanted you to hear. even if it ruined everything.

“hey,” you said again, more curious now. “you really okay? you sound like you’re—”

“i’m f—fuck,” mark hissed through his teeth, a broken sound slipping out before he could stop it.

his back arched. he turned his face into the pillow beside him and bit down, hard. his whole body jerked with need.

“s-sorry, sorry—”

you blinked on the other end. “mark… are you… are you sick or something?”

“n-no,” mark whimpered, voice cracking again.

his chest was heaving, cock twitching wildly in his hand now. the wet slick noises of it were starting to get louder — he was so close it hurt.

“just… ngh—just don’t stop talking. please.”

you paused, clearly confused.

“mark, you sure you’re okay? your voice sounds—like you’re in pain or something. you’re not crying, right?”

he almost was.

“no—n-not crying. j-just…”

his fingers slipped, the slick glide of his palm stuttering for a second. he couldn’t do this much longer. every syllable you said was like fuel thrown on the fire. his entire body was one big live wire, and all it would take was one more second of your voice, soft and unknowing in his ear, and he’d—

“oh fuck—fuckfuck—ah—” he gasped suddenly, louder than he meant to.

he couldn’t stop it. his hips jerked up off the bed, his legs kicked once, hard, heel catching on the sheet.

“shit—”

“mark?”

bit it was too late.

he came with a guttural noise halfway between a gasp and a whimper, hand still pumping as thick heat spilled across his abs, wrist, stomach. his thighs were trembling, whole body shaking, the pleasure rolling over him in uncontrollable, stuttering waves. he clenched the phone so tight it creaked in his palm.

your voice cut through the haze.

“…wait. are you—holy shit. were you jerking off?”

mark froze. his face was bright red, chest heaving, jaw slack as the last pulses of pleasure shook through him.

he didn’t answer. he couldn’t.

the silence stretched — the only thing in his room now was the sound of him breathing. hard and shallow. still a little shaky, his hand still cupped over the base of his cock, half-hard and twitching against his sticky palm.

the mess was cooling on his stomach, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating somewhere between orgasm and panic.

“…mark?”

you sounded different now. not angry. not teasing. just… surprised. confused. and a little quieter. your voice had dropped half a note, softer in a way that made his throat close. mark swallowed.

his voice cracked when he finally said it :

“y-yeah.”

one word. barely more than a whisper.

he shifted in bed, feeling how damp the sheets were under his thighs, how raw his skin felt, sensitive to the air now. still holding the phone, mark let out a low, shaky breath and forced himself to speak again.

“i was. i… i was jerking off.”

silence.

god, he wanted to disappear. the shame was burning. he shut his eyes and dragged a hand down his face, fingers shaking slightly. his cock gave a small, involuntary twitch in his hand even now. he should’ve hung up. should’ve made up some lie. should’ve said anything else.

instead, he added : “i couldn’t stop thinking about your voice. it—fuck, it made it worse. better. i don’t know. i just—needed it.”

there was a pause on the other end. but this one felt different.

“…damn,” you finally said.

the word came out low, cautious.

mark’s breath caught. he squeezed his eyes shut.

“you’re mad,” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “i get it, i’m—fucked up, i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have called—”

“no,” you cut in fast. “no, i’m not mad.”

mark blinked. “you’re… not?”

“i mean…” you hesitated. “that’s kinda… hot.”

mark sat up straighter, heart kicking into a full sprint again. “what?”

your voice was a little different now. lower. a little breathy. “you really called me… while you were doing that?”

mark nodded before realizing you couldn’t see it.

“y-yeah.”

he was still hard. somehow. his body didn’t know how to stop with you still on the phone, your voice suddenly filled with something heavier. curiosity? tension? hunger? whatever it was, it sparked like a live wire right in his chest.

“you… wanted to hear me that bad?” you asked.

and mark could picture the look on your face now — confused, pink-cheeked, maybe biting your lip the way you always did when you were trying to process something fast.

“i did,” mark whispered. “i wanted to imagine you in my ear. i already was. but when i actually heard you… i couldn’t stop. you sounded so warm. like—like you were laying next to me.”

“shit,” you mutter, your breath hitched now. “that’s…”

mark gripped the phone tighter. “what?”

“kind of really hot,” you admitted. “like, weirdly hot.”

something inside mark broke open at that.

his hand reflexively slid down over his cock again — not stroking yet, but holding it, grounding himself in sensation, in your voice and the feeling of still being on the edge, desperate for more. his stomach clenched, hips shifting under the blankets.

“are you…” he tried. “turned on right now?”

a soft exhale from you bedore you anwser.

“yeah.”

the sound mark made wasn’t even a word. just a needy gasp, like he’d been underwater and your answer let him breathe again. he rolled his hips forward a little into his palm, dragging his fingers lightly over the head of his cock. still sensitive. almost unbearable.

“can i come over?” you asked.

mark’s breath hitched. the thought was overwhelming, making his cock twitch even more.

“yes,” he said immediately, too fast, too eager. his voice cracked on it, raw and wet with want. “yes, please—fuck, i want you to.”

there was a pause — not hesitation, but heat. you were quiet for a second, and he could hear you shifting on the other end, probably sitting up now, heart racing like his.

“leave the door unlocked,” you said.

mark nodded again, even though you couldn’t see.

“hurry.”

he didn’t hang up.

 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.

and god, it was getting repetitive. the fights. the justified helpness of his pretty eyes. the welling of tears in your blood-shot ones. your yells, pleas. the following, constant, jagged silence from him as he chose his duty over you. again and again and again. the sound of wind whooshing as he flew out of your window when he was confronted by the problems in your relationship. it was becoming a habit. a sick, twisted reality for you and the superhero.

you should leave each other, you pysche begged you as he brushed his teeth standing behind you in the early mornings, pressing his lean, muscular body to your back. you don't work together at all, it mused again when you poured him a cup of coffee. it's just gonna end in a heartbreak, you knew as you kissed his cheeks goodbye as told you he'd be home soon.

but you two were so good together. god.

you laughed at his jokes, hand in hand when out for a walk on the off-chance when he wasn't called on his superhero duties. you smiled up at him and ruffled his hair on cafe dates. you posed with him, all matching and shit, and kissed him stupid in one of the many photobooths you went to. he would get you pizza from italy and matcha from japan. he would give you his classic million-dollar smile and ask if you could forgive him. and you did. always did. only to come back to a shitty reality.

you knew it was doomed. you should have stopped. but you didn't... you couldn't. you loved him! you loved him! you loved him... especially when he always knew how to make it up.

you could still remember the first time he fucked up, before you knew even knew his identity.

you held your head in your palms after your very first big fight. you thought it was fucking over and fairly so. you had had it. you were done. he was so absent, and so full of shit. you and mark were just not going to work out and that was fine. that was fine. that was fin-

triiiiiing!

when you opened your gate, mike stood there.

"i'm sorry," he piped up, a whole cheesecake in his hands. giving you one of his classic mark smile, he asked. "please forgive me?"

and you did. but not before you mumbled about how he wasn't allowed to cancel on you again.

he promised you he wouldn't. he then cancelled on you atleast seventeen times. then, you broke up with him. and then, he won you back again.

after that, fight after fight, mark would find a way to make it upto you. extravagant trips, food, anything! but then, it got too much. you didn't want pizza from italy or matcha from japan or tteokbokki from korea. you wanted your boyfriend. and he was rarely there. "anything" for his baby started failing when he did everything and anything except reassuring you that he'd leave this superhero life behind and just live normally with you.

and so, it changed. it went from trips and food to begging. excessive begging. mark would tear up at the thought of losing you, at the thought of ever being parted. he couldn't lose you. not after all that he had lost. and you couldn't possibly put him through that pain. that ache of loss. so, you stayed.

and that's all you did. stay. any romance between you two had gradually fizzled out. a kiss on your cheek before he left wasn't affection, it was habit. you making enough coffee for two cups wasn't care, it was habit. you automatically leaving his dinner in the fridge to be treated when he got back wasn't love. again, just a habit.

and now, at one in the morning, two years seven months and three days later, you lay awake on the bed of your shared apartment.

the window was cracked open, allowing for a safe and seamless entry for whenever mark reappeared. you probably should have slept. but you couldn't. not with the dull ache in your heart.

an hour later, the sound of the clock going tick-tock was a source of comfort rather than annoyance. your chest rose and fell in steady breaths. your eyes stared at the wall in front of you. and then...

whoosh!

the curtain fluttered as your half-viltrumite boyfriend flew in through the open window. he took off his mask, barely even glanced at you as he immediately asked, "you're awake, babe?"

"yeah." you mumbled from your position, barely lifting your head to greet him.

"oh. shit, sorry. were you waiting up on me? sorry. there was this crazy interdimensional stingray and..." at your lack of response, he sheepishly said, "sorry."

"mark." your voice was feeble, barely audible to yourself. but you knew the viltrumite had super hearing, he could probably pick up on it.

if he heard you, he didn't react. instead, he quickly took off the rest of his suit, "uh, i'll take a quick shower and come. you should sleep, babe."

"mark." you said again, louder.

that made him pause.

"yes?"

you sat up, weary and lagged, "we... we need to talk."

he blinked at you before nodding, "yeah. sure. what is it?"

"this..." you took a deep breath, pinching your forehead, "this is not working."

mark's eyebrows furrowed. his eyes softened. he stepped forward, "what?"

"this isn't working." you repeated.

"no. i mean- i heard you." his words escaped him quickly, "i did."

"you know this isn't working-" you tried to reason.

he didn't even let you finish before he had practically teleported to your side, so close to you, with his face mere inches away from yours and his hands clamoring to stroke your cheek. "babe. i know... i know it is shitty and i work unreasonably long and- and listen, i'll talk to cecil. i'll take some time off—"

"no." you turned your head away from the warmth of his hand. "that's not it."

you felt his fingers twitch against your skin, "no...?"

you met his eyes again and swallowed, "this just isn't it, mark. we're done."

you expected some kind of rambling apology, some fake promise of a far off future when he retires and has all the time in the world for you, or some sort of compensation. but nothing came. nothing but radio silence.

mark grayson simply opened his mouth and closed it shut, again and again, like a fish out of water.

finally, he sighed, "you- you always say this. every once in a while."

you blinked at his words. fury rose to your throat, "yeah? because it's the fucking truth—"

he cut you off, putting his palm on your cheek again. it was soft. it grounded you. it infuriated you. "have i not been a good boyfriend? i mean... fuck, i mean... i try to do everything right. i make up when i fuck up and i always apologize—"

you shrugged his touch away, "and that's not enough. there's no point in those extravagant gestures when you're never fucking here." your voice quietened, packed with a punch, "you're never here."

"i'm here right now."

you inhaled sharply at his words. "at almost 1.30 at night? when i waited the entire night for you to show up? you don't get it mark. you can either be invincible or be mark grayson. you cannot be both."

he blinked at your words, "i- i'm sorry."

his apology hung low in the air alongside the thick silence. he didn't say anything, and neither did you. you couldn't forgive him again, not at the expense of your own ruination.

"it's just... over." you swallowed, looking away from him, "maybe... maybe you should just-" you stopped yourself, wincing, "maybe you should not be with a civilian like me. i clearly don't understand your work and—"

mark kissed you.

at first, you didn't react. didn't kiss him back. instead of backing down, he just increased his fervor, kissing you till he felt like his superhero lungs were on the verge of collapse.

when he pulled away for air, you simply asked, "what... are you doing?"

"making up." he pleaded, "for my mistakes."

"mark..." you watched as he clamored to get his upper half of the suit off. you reached forward and touched his bicep, trying to halt halting him. but he took your palm in his, throwing off his suit somewhere on the floor of your shared apartment. his voice weighed as heavy as the ache in his eyes, "please. let me."

and you wanted to protest, wanted to tell him that sex wouldn't solve any of your problems but your tongue weighed heavy in your mouth. it had been so long since you both... touched. did anything other than kisses or quickies because mark had to run.

"please." his eyes refused to leave yours as he pressed a kiss to the back of your palm. it was chaste but something molten stirred in your core.

"okay." you nodded once, and that's all mark needed.

he kissed you immediately. his hands were on you in a second, one of them cupping your cheek while the other palmed your chest through your sleepshirt. he pushed you backwards until your back was against the headboard, until he had somehow nudged his lower half in between your thighs.

you were sandwiched between the hard wall and him.

"fuck..." you groaned into his mouth, "i missed this."

he nodded, eager, already pawing at your tshirt and ripping it off.

"mark!" you yelped at the rip of the fabric, but he didn't care. his lips latched onto your breasts, his tongue permeating the fabric with lecherous wads of saliva whilst his hips driveled against your clothed cunt.

whatever arguments you had died on the tip of your tongue. this was too much. he was too much. mark was always good at sex, thanks to the viltrumite stamina but when he was needy like this? when he had something to prove... oh god, it was hard to believe you would make out of it alive.

your clothes were ripped off of you. actually. your bra, then your shorts and panties, with not even as much as a decent apology, just the promises of "i'll buy you more." as he threw around the tattered fabric.

his lips circled your nipple, his knee grinding carefully against the heat o your apex. you arched your back and gasped into the air. he grinned against your skin and drank you in feverishly.

"fuck... c'mere." you pulled him up, kissing him again, all while his knee built up that gutting pressure against your core. it was delicious. it was delirious.

kissing down the edge of your lips, and then your jaw and then your neck, he quickly replaced his knee with his fingers. god. his fingers. long, agile digits that knew where exactly to pet. to curl. to work. it was as if you were his personal favourite experiment and he knew exactly where to push and prod to get the most favourable outcome.

he pet your gooey spot, stroking the g-spot so tenderly that it had your thighs tremble and eyes roll back in bliss. he was methodical. in and out. in and out. in and out- and oh fuck, he ramped up the tempo. his fingers delved in and out of you like a machine - precise, deep and fast - until his fingers were all but a crazy blur slick with your juices. his lips still worked against your pulsepoints, sucking in bruises that made your head spin.

"fuck, fuuuck-" you cried into the heady air, head thrown back and shaking as you felt your core tighten. your orgasm built and built until it tore through you, hot and shaking.

mark came to kiss away your cries of pleasure, to drink them in as his fingers did not halt, just momentarily slow down.

"fuck," he groaned, heavy against your lips, "you're squeezing the fuck out of me, babe."

"s-sorry."

"no." he kissed you to shut you up, "don't fuckin' apologize. feels so good. feels like heaven." he panted like he was the one who just came, and then sped up his fingers again.

"mark, no." you winced, already trying to shimmy your hips away at the overstimulation of his doughy fingertips teasing your sensitive pussy again. he groaned at the thought of you escaping, "don't run from me."

"'senough..." you argued, thick-tongued and hazy, "i'm- it's enough."

"no." he kissed you again, and then, without missing a beat, lowered himself down your body. you felt his hot, open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your simmering skin as he went down - from your collarbone to the valley of your breasts and your belly, to your hip and inner thigh. his fingers didn't stop in the slightest, and now his sinful mouth had joined in the mix.

his tongue traced delicious patterns onto your clit, teasing and probing the nub until you were forcing his head deeper in and squirming your hips farther away.

the tremor in your thighs picked up pace, and before you could run, or even think of it, mark had his arms looped steadfast around your legs. he pinned you down, rendering you useless completely and utterly.

you pawed at his head, "mark— shit... too much— seriously!"

"no, no, no." he cried against your gushing pussy, kissing it intimately, "please don't run. i have to make up for this..."

you're sure your boyfriend was rambling on in the background, something about how sweet you were and how lovely you tasted but you couldn't hear any of it, not over the dull roar of blood in your eardrums. as your second orgasm washed over you, you felt your vision blank. your back arched, nails ripped into his shoulders and eyes rolled back. for a moment, all that existed was you and mark and the sexual limbo he had subjected you to.

you're not sure how long it took — seconds, or perhaps minutes — but when you caught your breath and felt your vision return to your body, you blinked back dark spots just to find mark still attached to your core.

"mark." your throat was choked, eyes heavy with unshed tears. "no more."

he looked up at you, eyes wrecked with lust and devotion. "one more. i wanna feel you cum again. on my fingers. on my face."

if his tongue wasn't enough to give you a blood rush, his words certainly were.

you shied under his intense gaze, "you don't have to— jus-just fuck me now. im ready."

mark blinked at you, as in disbelief. "and miss the feeling of my girl squirting all over me?"

your cheeks heated impossibly higher. you demanded through the embarassment, "but I want you inside."

"i know." mark gave you a smile, still unyielding in his pumps inside your cushiony pussy. "don't worry, I'll make you squirt on my dick too."

any chance of a protest were long dismissed as mark grayson dived into your core again, drinking the erotic liquid pooling from your honeyed sex.

with how overestimated you were, and how well his fingers and mouth worked in tandem, it took only a few minutes till your vision was going splotchy and head was feeling lightheaded.

an unreal pressure built up in your lower belly, then kind that had you gasping chants of your boyfriend's name in the hopes of ruination, or salvation, or both.

"fuck, fuck, fuck—" you panted, in heat and spiraling, "it's... fuck I think I'm going to..."

"yeah?" mark groaned, using his other hand to quickly swipe against your swollen clit. the strikes of his doughy fingertips only teased the burning geyser in your core and before you knew it, you felt your body shake with need and release. a jet of liquid splashed against marks face and like an indecent man, maddened with lust, he hung open his jaw and drank all of it.

you writhed against him, shaking and trembling and gasping in pleasure, and the man still had the audacity to come place kitten licks to your quivering sex.

when, ever-so-slightly, your sanity returned to you, you opened your eyes to find mark grayson cleaning up the mess between the juncture of your thighs with the softest strokes.

you pet his hair, which was now sweaty and sticking to his handsome face.

"too much?" he asked, nuzzling his face against your perspired skin. his face was still practically dripping with your essence.

managing a weak smile, you shrugged, "eh, I've had a viltrumite boyfriend for so long. I'm used to it."

he kissed up your body again, leaving the obscene trail of your juices on your body with every kiss.

when he finally made his way to your face, you wiped off his lips with your palm. he smiled against your skin, "are we good?"

you paused at that. were you? the sex was good but... was it enough?

you looked away to the side. mark gently pulled your face back to him.

"tell me if we aren't." one of his arms hooked your legs over his hips, quickly shuffling to his stifling cock to line against your entrance.

you swallowed, "i don't know." you paused again, feeling his oozing mushroom tip kiss your entrance in such a wicked game of teasing. "i just don't even know if you love me anymore."

that seemed to do it. he blinked at you, confused.

"what?" his expression was hard to decipher, even as someone who was very transparent. "how- how can you say that?"

"i..." you inhaled, sharp, "sorry. it just feels like it..."

he rested his forehead against you, "don't ever fucking say that. don't ever." there was a strain to his words, the kind that was followed by the sheathing of his cock right inside you.

you gasped, "mark!"

but it was done. as someone who loved missions, mark grayson had already found his next. he pushed your thighs to your chest, folding you in as he bludgeoned his cock into you.

"don't fucking say that." he grunted, his pupils blown with lust and resolve. every snap back of his cock was lined with a promise. "i love you."

"i—" words came hard to you. your core was already tight and burning. you were so close.

"i love you." he said it again, like clockwork. like saying it again and again made it any more true. "you don't get to fucking question that. please."

his cock was not in the slightest jilted by the rambunctious nature of his words. he dived his leaky tip to the deepest of your core, stretching you out on himself as if it were habit. his muscled erection massaged your walls.

"mark. fuck. again—nggh!" your sanity had somehow reduced itself to only one word — his name.

he nodded, feverish, bringing one of his hands to swipe at your swollen clit again. it throbbed under him, raw and overstimulated. despite his actions, his words didn't falter. "i love you. i am gonna— fuck, fix this. hah. fix it. all of it. i love you."

with each drag of his cock back into your perfect cunt, he babbled on like a madman. you, on the other hand, were struggling to retain your sanity, much less listen to his pleas.

"fuck— oh my god—" your breathy voice was enough of an indicator of what was to come. mark momentarily stilled inside of you, quickly swiping his fingers against your drenched cunt.

your back bowed, eyes clenched shut and jaw hung open as another stream of squirt hit the man's lower abs, travelling down in rivers of sin.

the juncture of your thighs were a mess of fluids — his, yours, his, and yours. the mixture did nothing but egg him on to increase his pace, to use the fluid as lube to fuck you senseless.

recovering from your fourth consecutive orgasm, you barely registered the tightening of his jaw and his irongrip on your body. he panted, "fuck— hah. god, can I cum inside? please—ngh baby?"

you nodded, not trusting your voice to be capable of much after such violent screams of pleasure.

at your go, mark grayson increased his pace to an unfaltering degree. he was inhumane — fucking you at a speed that almost coaxed another orgasm out of your spent body. your entire body jiggled at the force of his thrusts.

and then, with a few more, he spilled inside you with a unrestrained cry, "oh— holy shit."

mark collapsed on top of you, weighing his muscular body against yours as he took deep breaths. there was a mess in between the juncture of your thighs, and there he was — still buried.

instinctively, your hand flew to his hair again. you pet it, soft and smooth.

"fuck." he groaned into your perspired skin. "that was good." mark looked up, eyes big and doubtful, "yeah?"

you managed a nod, "it was."

he smiled, "are you okay?"

you sighed, still playing with his hair, "i don't think i can walk tomorrow."

mark laughed at that, airy and unserious. "I'll fly you wherever you want."

you rolled your eyes at that. you were in a post-fuck haze, not stupid.

"as if. cecil's gonna be ringing you up any minute now."

"no." mark picked himself up to press a kiss to your lips. a quick peck. "I'll take tomorrow off."

"i thought you said a superhero never takes a day off?" and though there was a teasing lilt to your voice, the two of you knew just how deeply the question flowed.

it wasn't a joke, it was a clever way to corner him, get him to admit the truth that he believed in.

"well, i can either be mark grayson or invincible, right? i choose to be mark grayson tomorrow." he flashed you a sincere smile.

you blinked, "seriously?"

mark nodded. "seriously."

you grinned, "i love you."

"i love you more." he pressed another kiss to your lips, this one a lot longer.

when you both parted, mark smiled against your lips. "i know i fucked up. I'd be better."

you smiled too, "thanks."

mark carefully removed himself from you. he then cleaned you up, offering you one of his tshirts to sleep in. you're not sure how quickly you fell asleep, but you fell asleep against his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his chest.

next morning, when you woke up, you reached out for your boyfriend but his side of the bed was empty.

groggy and sore, you blinked the sleep out of your eyes and sighed. cecil probably called. he probably needed to go save the world from an alien species for the fiftieth time this month.

well, it was fine. whatever. it was mark. why were you even expecting anything different? he was a smooth talker. and god, the sex was amazing but when had he ever kept his promises—

"i made french toast!" he announced proudly as he walked into your bedroom, a tray table in his arms.

you blinked, "you're... here?"

"uh, yes?" he looked at you, confused, "today, im mark grayson, remember?"

you blinked from him to the tray in his hands. "right... i just thought you left—"

"cecil called thrice." mark admitted honestly, "but I told him if my girlfriend breaks up with me, I'll probably go berserk and end the planet. and the GDA wouldn't want that." he added, sheepish, "probably."

"wow." you sat up, half impressed and half terrified. "that's a lot of responsibility on my shoulders. stopping invincible from ending the planet."

"it got cecil off my ass for today." he leaned in to kiss you.

you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

maybe the relationship was doomed. but the sex was bomb. and so was his french toast.

a.n: GUESS WHO GOT INTO THE INVINCIBLE FANDOM AND ALSO raise your hand if you want me to do a part two with much more angst. originally, reader was gonna leave mark's sorry ass but then i felt like being nice. hope you enjoyed the filth. (TO ANYONE WHO'S WAITING ON MEDDLE ABOUT, I'M WORKING ON IT.) old m.list | new m.list

Inside, it’s warm. Soft. Safe.

Mark’s place isn’t big, but it’s cozy in a way that feels almost unfair. A couple of mismatched lamps cast a honey-colored glow across the living room, catching on the framed prints he swore he’d hang straight one day and the books stacked in uneven piles near the coffee table. The couch is a little too old and a little too soft, but it’s perfect for sinking into after long days, which is exactly what you’re both doing.

You’re curled up against one end, socked feet half-buried under a blanket. Mark is beside you, one knee up, arm slung along the back of the couch in that easy, thoughtless way he always does when it’s just you. His hoodie hangs loose on your frame, sleeves covering your hands, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and something undeniably him clinging to the fabric.

The TV plays some random show you started twenty minutes ago and promptly stopped paying attention to.

This isn’t unusual.

Your spare toothbrush lives in his bathroom. One of your old sweatshirts is draped over the back of his desk chair. There’s a half-empty bottle of your favorite sauce in his fridge because he remembered you said you liked it once. The edges of your lives have been blurring for a while now, your things quietly migrating into his space like they belong here.

Mark notices all of it.

He notices the way your shoulders drop as soon as you step through his door, like you left the whole world in the hallway. The way you tuck your feet under his thigh for warmth. How his hoodie dwarfs you, the sleeves slipping over your fingers. How right it looks—your body, your laughter, your scent—tucked into the little corners of his apartment.

He tells himself it’s normal. Friends get comfortable with each other. Friends share hoodies. Friends leave toothbrushes. Friends know exactly which crack in the ceiling the other person stares at when they can’t sleep.

Still, his gaze lingers.

On the curve of your cheek as the TV light flickers across your skin. On the way your lips twitch when something almost makes you laugh. On the soft line of your throat when you tilt your head back against the couch.

You shift closer, your shoulder bumping his. The contact is casual, familiar, the kind that’s been happening for so long that neither of you really registers when it started. Once upon a time, you would have been hyperaware of something this intimate.

Now? It’s just…how you are.

Your feet end up in his lap like they always do, ankles crossed, blanket draped sloppily over both of you. He doesn’t think before resting his hands lightly on your calves, thumbs tracing idle patterns over the fabric of your sweats.

You sigh. It’s a little sound, small and content.

His chest tightens.

On-screen, some character is crying about heartbreak, about being tired of trying with people who never see them. You’re only half-listening, the dialogue washing over you, but a line cuts through the haze:

“I’m just so tired of being everyone’s almost.”

Your breathing goes quiet beside him. He feels, more than sees, the way you still.

Without meaning to, you and Mark both turn toward the TV at the same time. You catch each other in your peripheral vision and your gazes snag—just for a heartbeat. Long enough for something to flash between you, quick and indefinable.

You look away first. He does, too, pretending to focus on the screen again. The show continues, laugh track blaring at something neither of you find that funny.

The unspoken thing settles between you like a third presence on the couch.

It’s a weeknight. That’s the excuse.

Most of your mutual friends are busy, working late or out with other people. You had tentative plans to go out earlier—maybe hit that bar downtown, maybe grab dessert somewhere—but when the time came, you were both somehow too tired, too worn around the edges.

“Your place?” you texted.

“Always,” Mark replied, before he had time to talk himself out of how much he meant it.

Then the rain started.

Now, outside his windows, it streaks down in silver sheets, tapping against the glass and making the city feel smaller, quieter. The world shrinks to the glow of his lamps, the low murmur of the TV, the warmth under the shared blanket.

It feels like being in a cocoon. Like the rest of your life is on pause.

You’re tired. The weight of the day has your body heavy and boneless, your thoughts soft at the edges. At some point, you shift again, pulling your feet from his lap to stretch out along the couch. There’s not enough room for both of you to lie down fully, but that’s never stopped you.

“Move,” you mumble, nudging at his side.

He huffs a laugh. “You move.”

You kick his thigh, no real force behind it. “I’m exhausted, Mark. I’m claiming horizontal rights.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but he shifts anyway, twisting so he’s sitting more upright, knees bent to make space. You scoot, rearrange, and somehow you end up with your head sliding into his lap, the side of your face pillowed against his thigh.

You’ve done this before. Late nights. Early mornings. After parties when the room tilted a little too much.

But tonight, it feels different.

His breath stutters when your cheek settles on him, warm and familiar. Your hair fans out over his legs, a few strands tickling his fingers where they hover, uncertain, above you.

You notice the hesitation.

“Comfortable?” you ask without looking up, voice blurred with exhaustion.

Mark wets his lips. “Yeah.” He clears his throat when it comes out rougher than expected. “Yeah, you’re good.”

He lets his hand drop.

His fingers find your hair like they always do. It’s easy, absentminded at first—just smoothing a flyaway here, gently combing through the strands there. Your body relaxes even more, a soft hum of appreciation escaping you.

His fingertips trace the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. It’s innocent. It’s always been innocent. Just touch, just grounding, just comfort.

Tonight, it burns.

He doesn’t know what changed. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

Conversation drifts the way it often does at this hour.

You talk about work. About that coworker who chews too loudly in meetings. About the neighbor in your building who insists on doing laundry at 2 a.m. You complain about the app that keeps crashing on your phone and the podcast you’re trying to get into but can’t.

Eventually, inevitably, it circles back to the same topic it always does when the night gets late and the rain gets heavy:

Dating.

“Tell me again about your latest Hinge tragedy,” you mumble, eyes half-closed.

Mark snorts. “Tragedy is a strong word.”

“You literally texted me ‘this is a tragedy’ last week.”

“Well, okay, that one was bad,” he concedes. “In my defense, she told me her favorite hobby was waking up at five a.m. to ‘optimize her productivity cadence.’”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “People like that are why I don’t go outside.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if I had better standards—”

“Your standards are fine,” you cut in. “Your taste is just…questionable.”

He gives your hair a little tug at that. You yelp, swatting vaguely at his knee.

“Ow. Rude.”

“You were rude first,” he says mildly, but there’s a smile in his voice.

You fall quiet for a moment, the air between you thickening with the weight of things unsaid. The show continues to play in the background, a meaningless noise you’re both using as cover.

You speak again, but your tone is different this time—softer, more raw.

“Honestly?” you sigh. “I’m just tired.”

“Tired of what?”

You stare at the television without seeing a single frame. “All of it. Swiping, small talk, pretending to be interesting to people who clearly don’t care. It’s like…no one really sees you, you know? They see whatever they want to project, and then the second you’re a real person with real baggage and weird habits, they’re out.”

His fingers pause in your hair.

You keep going, the words spilling out now that you’ve started.

“I don’t even need some big epic thing,” you murmur. “I just…miss being wanted. Like, really wanted. Not ‘you’re convenient’ or ‘you’re fun for now,’ but—”

You falter, searching for the right words.

“Like someone looks at you and thinks, ‘That. I want that. I want you,’ and they actually mean it.”

Your voice dips, quiet and fragile.

“I just…miss feeling like someone wants me.”

Mark goes very, very still.

His hand rests against your temple, fingers threaded gently in your hair. He stares at the TV without seeing it, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ache.

He wants to say, I do.

I’ve wanted you for so long I don’t remember what it’s like not to.

The words swell in his chest, a pressure that has nowhere to go.

He doesn’t say them.

“Yeah,” he manages instead, his voice low. “I get that.”

You huff a humorless little laugh. “Do you? Because you actually get matches. People want you.”

He glances down at you, at the side of your face pressed against his thigh. “People want…some version of me,” he says. “The easygoing guy. The one who makes decent playlists and shows them new food spots. But that’s not the same as…you know. Wanting someone.”

You swallow. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Silence settles over you again, but it’s not empty.

It’s thick. Charged.

You think about all the almosts you’ve had. The dates that were fine, but not enough. The people who liked your jokes but flinched away from your bad days. The ones who called you “too much” or “not enough,” never pausing to consider you might be exactly right for someone else.

Beside you, Mark thinks about every time he’s swallowed back something he wanted to say around you. Every time he’s stopped himself from reaching out, from pulling you closer, from pressing his mouth to your forehead when you fell asleep on his couch.

He thinks about the night, months ago, when you’d both stumbled back here after a party, laughter bubbling between you, your hand in his. How you’d stopped in his doorway, faces inches apart, your breath warm against his lips.

He remembers the way your gaze dropped to his mouth.

He remembers the way his heart stuttered, the way every cell in his body leaned forward.

He remembers the phone ringing—some drunken friend asking where you were, if you’d gotten home safe—and how the moment snapped like a rubber band.

He remembers pretending that was nothing, too.

The TV is still going, but neither of you is watching.

Your eyes have slipped closed, but you’re not asleep. Just floating in that strange space where your mind is both sharp and soft, more honest than it would be in daylight.

Mark’s touch changes.

It’s subtle at first. His fingers move slower, less like idle habit and more like intention.

He traces the shell of your ear, the curve of your jaw. The pads of his fingers linger at the corner of your mouth, just long enough to make you catch your breath. He drags a thumb lightly along the side of your throat, feeling your pulse skitter under your skin.

Your heart thumps faster.

You don’t open your eyes, but you tilt your head the tiniest bit into the contact. Just enough to say, I feel this. Just enough to say, I’m not pulling away.

He notices.

He’s always noticed you.

“Mark?” you murmur.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out rough.

You hesitate. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.

“Do you ever think,” you start, then stop.

He waits.

You swallow. “Do you ever think maybe we’re just…meant to be lonely together? You, me, your terrible Netflix recommendations.”

He huffs a small laugh, but the sound is unsteady. “My Netflix recommendations are elite, actually.”

“Debatable,” you mumble. “But really. Sometimes it feels like…maybe this is it. Maybe it’s just us. And that’s not…bad. It’s actually kind of…nice.”

You don’t see it, but your words hit him like a blow.

You don’t count, you mean.

When you talk about being alone, about not being wanted, about people not choosing you—you don’t mean him.

Because you’ve always had him. You always will.

He’s your constant.

Something in his chest twists, painfully tight and painfully sweet.

“You don’t count,” you add quietly, like you’re reading his mind. “You’re just…you.”

His hand stills in your hair.

You. Like a category of one. Like an exception to every rule.

He exerts every ounce of willpower he has not to say something that would change everything.

“Hey,” you say after a beat, your tone dipping, almost shy. “Can I ask you something kind of…dumb?”

He forces his lungs to work. “You can ask me anything.”

You bite your lip, gathering courage.

“Why do you…put up with me?” you ask softly. “Like, all of this. My late-night freakouts, my rants, my existential crises about snack choices. You always…show up. You always make space for me. Why?”

His throat goes dry.

“Because I care about you,” he says. It’s the simplest, safest truth he can offer.

“You care about a lot of people,” you murmur.

“Not like this,” he says before he can stop himself.

The words hang in the air, heavy.

Your eyes open.

For the first time in a while, you tilt your head back enough to really look up at him. His face is bathed in the dim gold from the lamp, shadows cutting across his cheekbones, his mouth pressed into a thin line like he’s holding something back.

“Mark,” you say quietly.

His gaze flicks down to meet yours, then away, then back again. He swallows hard.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he says, voice low, almost hoarse.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t quite look at you when he says it. His gaze hovers somewhere over your head, like if he meets your eyes fully, he’ll give himself away.

Your heart is beating too fast now, each thud echoing in your ears.

“Anything?” you ask, half-teasing, half desperately serious.

He lets out a soft, unsteady laugh. “You have no idea,” he says under his breath.

Something in you clicks.

Pieces slide into place—little moments you brushed off or didn’t let yourself examine too closely. The way his hand always finds the small of your back in crowded places. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like you’re answering a question he didn’t know he’d asked.

You shift, rolling carefully from your side so you’re half-turned in his lap, your body twisted to face him. The movement brings you closer, your faces a breath apart.

The TV is just noise now. The rain is just a blanket around the city.

Here, in this small, warm pocket of the world, it’s just the two of you.

You can feel his breath on your lips.

His gaze keeps dropping to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like he’s fighting himself. His fingers flex in your hair, the slightest tremor betraying how hard he’s trying to stay in control.

“Mark,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“If this is…nothing,” you say slowly, “you’re doing a terrible job pretending.”

His lips part.

He laughs once, a quiet, broken sound. When he speaks, it’s barely more than air.

“You have no idea,” he repeats.

Your chest tightens, nerves lighting up like a live wire.

“Then don’t pretend,” you say.

The words leave your mouth before you can second-guess them.

For a split second, everything stops.

His eyes search yours, frantic, disbelieving, hopeful, scared. Like he’s waiting for you to laugh, to say you’re joking, to snatch the floor out from under him.

You don’t.

You stay right where you are, your hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest. You feel his heart slam against your palm, wild and stuttering.

He inhales sharply.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

His hand slides from your hair to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, touch reverent. He leans in, slow enough to give you every chance to pull away.

“Mark,” you breathe.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, voice barely there now, his forehead dipping to rest against yours.

You don’t say stop.

You lift your chin just a fraction instead.

It’s all he needs.

The first brush of his mouth against yours is almost nothing.

A ghost of a kiss. A question.

Your eyes flutter shut. Your fingers curl into his hoodie, knuckles pressing against his chest. He tastes like the soda you shared earlier and something warm and familiar that’s just him.

He pulls back a millimeter, just enough to look at you. Your breaths mingle in the narrow space, your noses almost touching.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, the movement tiny, shaky. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Are you?”

He huffs a silent laugh that trembles. “Not even a little,” he admits. “But I don’t want to stop.”

“Then don’t,” you murmur.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s not quite so timid.

It’s still soft at first—careful, almost reverent. His lips move against yours like he’s memorizing the shape, the texture, the way you breathe out a tiny sound whenever he changes the angle.

Then something gives.

Maybe it’s the way your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Maybe it’s the little sigh that escapes you when his thumb strokes a slow line along your jaw. Maybe it’s simply the weight of every moment you’ve both spent wanting this without admitting it.

Whatever it is, the kiss deepens.

It turns urgent. Messy.

Your mouth parts under his, and his response is immediate, like he’s been waiting for years for that one small invitation. His other arm wraps around your waist, hauling you closer, somehow impossibly closer, until you’re half in his lap, the blanket slipping to the floor unnoticed.

You gasp quietly against his lips as your bodies press together, every inch of you alive and humming.

He breaks away just long enough to drag in a sharp breath, his forehead dropping to yours again.

“We’re supposed to be friends,” you whisper.

“We are,” he says, voice rough. “We still are.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, his eyes flicking between yours. “But I’ve…” He swallows hard. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I tried to be okay with just—this. With just being your friend. But every time you walk through that door, I—”

He cuts himself off, like he’s afraid if he keeps talking, he’ll say too much.

Your heart aches in a way that’s both terrifying and perfect.

“How long?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Long enough that I don’t remember when it started. Long enough that I can tell you exactly how you take your coffee and which movie you put on when you can’t sleep and the exact sound you make when you’re trying not to cry in front of people.”

Your throat tightens.

“If you don’t want this,” he says, his voice suddenly trembling, “if this is just—tonight, or because you’re lonely, or because I’m here—tell me now. Please. I’ll stop. I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll—”

“Mark.”

You cut him off by leaning in and kissing him again.

The answer is in the way you press your mouth to his, in the way you sigh into him like your body finally found something it didn’t know it was searching for.

He makes a small, helpless sound, his hand tightening at your waist.

The kiss turns slower again, then deeper, then slow again, ebbing and flowing with all the things you’re both too overwhelmed to say.

You don’t remember when your hands slide under his hoodie, palms flattening against the warm skin of his back. You don’t remember when he shifts you fully into his lap, one arm firm around you, the other cradling your face like you’re something precious, breakable, irreplaceable.

Time blurs.

The world narrows to the drag of his lips, the rush of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise between kisses.

“I’ve thought about this,” he confesses against your mouth, words punctuated by soft, breathless kisses. “Every time you’re here, I—”

“Yeah?” you murmur, your forehead resting against his, your fingers curling in the fabric at his shoulders.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice low and raw.

Heat flares in your chest, in your cheeks, everywhere.

You don’t need the details. You don’t need the graphic edges. The intensity in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly where they hold you, tells you everything.

His care is threaded through every movement.

“Is this okay?” he asks when his lips wander to your jaw, your throat. He presses slow, lingering kisses there, each one a question as much as a declaration.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your head tipping back in silent invitation. “More than okay.”

He exhales shakily, relief and want tangling together.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” he murmurs. “If you want to slow down—”

“Mark,” you say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

His eyes search your face, pupils blown wide, vulnerability stark and open.

“I trust you,” you say simply.

Something in his expression crumples, then rebuilds itself into something even more tender.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”

The night stretches out.

Everything stays close, intimate. The couch. The low lamplight. Your bodies pressed together like you’re both afraid the other might vanish if you let any space open up between you.

His touch is reverent. Patient. Like every inch of you is something he’s been waiting a long time to trace, to memorize.

Your kisses break again and again—because you’re laughing softly against his mouth at some half-whispered joke, because you’re both breathing too hard, because he keeps pulling back to check your eyes, to make sure you’re still there with him.

You are.

You’re more here than you’ve been in a long time.

At some point, the couch becomes too small, too cramped. You don’t remember who suggests moving, or if it’s just a wordless agreement when he stands and you cling, your legs wrapped around his waist, his arms secure beneath you.

The bedroom is dim, the citylight leaking in through the curtains painting soft stripes across the bed he drops you on. 

The feeling of Mark’s mouth, hot and wet on your skin, leaves your mind unravelling in spirals. You feel light, delicate and sensitive, unsure of the journey your bodies will take as they get lost in exploration of one another, but you’re eager and curious. 

Almost effortlessly, his hoodie gets lifted off your body, leaving you bare and exposed. Under the scrutiny of his eyes, you feel shy, aware that he’s taking in a sight of you that’s never been revealed to him before. 

A breath catches in your throat when his mouth connects with your chest. His tongue moves over your skin in a slow and controlled trail, wanting to savor every inch of you. He’s squeezing your waist, jaw fighting against biting down on your breasts. Your back curves instinctively, your body giving into him completely. You feel drunk on the warmth that courses through your nerves, all in response to him. 

He moves lower, bringing a familiar pulse alive between your legs. The only thought circling your mind is that you want him like you’ve never wanted anything more. An almost greedy groan escapes him when your fingers meet his by the waistband of your sweats, helping him push them off and away. 

His name is but a whisper on your tongue as his mouth finds the sweetest spot of you. Your brows furrow, the ache he had spurred within you dissipating the second he covets your taste. Wetness rushes through you, and he drinks it all up. 

You tug on his hair as he makes you cry out for him. Somewhere in your daze, your eyes meet, telling him everything he needs to know. His fingers replace his mouth while he sits up, the tent in his pants a hint at what’s to come next. 

Like any distance at all is unbearable, you reach for him, and he’s right there, fitting his mouth over yours once again. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a sensation that’s foreign yet so inviting. Under your palm, his jaw feels strong. His ears are hot to the touch, his entire body buzzing with a fervent energy that matches yours. 

He spreads your legs and dips his hips to meet yours, his pants bunched carelessly by his knees, too impatient to take them off completely. His cock is heavy and throbbing against your cunt as he rubs between your folds. Then, finally, he pushes himself inside you.

Lips parted, shared gasps, eyes shut, the sensation makes you crumble underneath him. Gripping your waist in place, he buries his face in your neck, jerking his hips forward. Quiet curses fill your ear as he begins thrusting into you, his movements precise and deliberate. 

You throw your head back, calling his name to give you more.

Everything that follows is slow and careful, threaded with breathy laughter and whispered names and the constant hum of, Is this okay? Are you okay? and your steady, gasped yes, yes, I’m okay, I’m with you.

It doesn’t feel filthy. It doesn’t feel wrong.

It feels like finally.

Like coming home to a place you didn’t know you’d been walking toward the entire time.

He flips you around, taking the time to completely undress himself now. Breathless, you wait for him, watching his every move from over your shoulder. His hand slips around you, holding you as close as he can as he enters you once more, pressing himself deep against the curve of your ass. 

You reach for his cheek as his mouth splays wet kisses all over your shoulder. The intimacy of it all, the way he’s so gentle and passionate, it drives you crazy. He’s giving you so much and yet, you can’t get enough of it. 

And neither can he. 

The sudden rouse of his hips tells you all you need to know, and you’re there with him. 

He lifts himself just slightly, skin slapping against yours in desperate vigor. Your moans spur him on, guiding him to the peak of ecstasy. He pulls out of you on instinct, fingers quick to wrap around his pulsing member as he releases onto your back, whining weakly. 

Then, without missing a beat, he raises your hips in the air and pulls your body back to his mouth, tongue circling your clit until you’re squirming in a way that confirms the knot of pleasure that’s been tightening within you has finally snapped. 

When he rises, you fall back into the mattress, the weight of your body finally registering in your mind. You feel him shift off the bed, only to be back moments later with a warm towel in tow, cleaning the traces of himself off of you.           

You turn around lazily, breaking into a breathless grin when your eyes meet his. His gaze is full of endearment, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling stiffly. 

“Mark…”

“Yeah?”

The words feel zealous coming from you, “That was perfect.”

He trades you a laugh in his usual embarrassed but agreeable way, handing you his hoodie that had fallen to the floor somewhere in all the chaos. You slip it on, carefully observing as he clothes himself partially and returns to your embrace.

The world eventually knits itself back together.

The rain has gentled to a soft patter outside. The sounds of the city have dulled to a distant murmur. The TV in the living room is still on, long forgotten, casting mute light across an empty couch and a discarded blanket.

In Mark’s bed, you lie tangled in the sheets, skin warm and a little damp, breaths slowly steadying.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

You’re on your side, facing him. The room is dim, but there’s enough light to see the details—the way his hair is mussed, the flush still lingering on his cheeks, the softness around his eyes.

You share a pillow, noses almost brushing.

He looks…young, suddenly. Unshielded. Like the Mark you see when he’s half-asleep on lazy weekend mornings, not the Mark the rest of the world gets.

His hand finds your waist under the sheet, fingers spreading over your skin with an unconscious possessiveness that makes your chest ache.

You let your own hand settle over his, threading your fingers between his.

He exhales, a small, disbelieving sound.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, echoing his earlier question.

He smiles, crooked and a little dazed. “Yeah,” he says. “Just…trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is real and not something I made up in my head at three a.m.”

Your heart stutters.

“How many three a.m.s have you spent thinking about this?” you ask gently.

He hums, pretending to consider. “Enough that if I told you the number, you’d bully me forever.”

You snort softly. “Rude of you to assume I’m not already going to bully you forever.”

His smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing further.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I can live with that.”

He shifts closer, if that’s even possible, his forehead pressing to yours. You can feel the steady beat of his heart where your chests touch, solid and reassuring.

A quiet settles over you again, but it’s different now.

Not tense. Not filled with sharp, unspoken almosts.

It’s soft. Heavy with warmth.

“I don’t know what this means,” you admit after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “Like…for us. For everything. I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to lose you.”

His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says immediately, fiercely. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

His gaze is steady, even in the dim light.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he says, echoing the thought that’s been hovering in the back of your own mind.

There’s something about the way he says we—like it’s a promise. Like it’s a given.

“Tomorrow?” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says. “We can…talk. Decide what we want this to be. Or try to, anyway. I’m probably going to be an idiot about it and you’re going to make fun of me and it’ll be a whole thing.”

You huff a soft laugh against his mouth. “Probably.”

“But…” He trails his thumb along the back of your hand. “You’re here. I’m here. You’re wearing my hoodie in my bed, and I can feel your heartbeat under my hand, and I’m not…imagining this.”

He lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a slow kiss to your knuckles.

“For tonight,” he says quietly, “can it just be this? You and me? No labels, no panic. Just…this.”

You feel your eyes sting.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I want that.”

His shoulders drop, some final thread of anxiety unwinding.

“Okay,” he says again, more to himself this time.

He moves in closer, tucking you against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. One arm wraps around your waist, firm but gentle, hand resting at your hip. The other slips under the pillow, his fingers brushing your neck.

He holds you like he has no intention of letting go.

He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until you make a small, pleased sound and burrow in even further.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice already going soft with impending sleep.

“Yes,” you mumble into his skin. “You’re warm.”

“So are you,” he replies, pressing a lazy kiss into your hair.

You feel him shift again a few minutes later. He slips away just long enough to grab a bottle of water from his nightstand and offers it to you.

“Here,” he says. “Drink.”

You take a few sips, hand trembling with leftover adrenaline and something like wonder. He watches you with that same soft, aching look in his eyes, like you’re something he’s not quite sure he deserves but can’t stop reaching for.

When you’re done, he sets the bottle aside and wipes a thumb gently under your eye, even though there’s nothing there.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he says, unbothered. “I know.”

You smile, small and full.

Minutes pass.

Your breaths start to sync up. The city outside keeps moving—cars passing, lights flickering, people living entire lives beyond these walls.

Inside, the world has shrunk down to the warmth of his chest under your cheek, the slow circles his thumb rubs against your hip, the steady beat of his heart.

You’re almost asleep when you feel his lips brush your temple.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into your hair, so quiet you might have missed it if you weren’t pressed right against him.

You don’t know if he means tonight or tomorrow or every day after.

You decide to believe it’s all of them.

Your last coherent thought before sleep pulls you under is that for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like an almost.

You feel wanted.

Chosen.

Held.

The city lights leak in through the curtains, painting you both in soft silver. Outside, the world keeps humming. Inside, in the small, warm space of Mark’s apartment, you lie tangled together, his arms around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he loosens his grip.

Tomorrow will come. Questions, complications, conversations.

But tonight, there is only this:

You. Mark. The quiet between you, no longer empty but full.

cw: smut, angst, fluff, pwp, 3some (no mxm), jealous!switchy!jaemin + instigator!dom!mark, non-idol!au, weed use, high sex, explicit protected/unprotected pinv sex, multiple sex scenes, oral (giving/receiving), fingering, spitting, voyeurism, rough sex, overstim, shotgunning, choking, some slapping, mating press, nipple play, squirting, dirty talk, one-sided?pining, degradation, possessiveness, names: sunshine, baby, pretty girl, slut

you’re breathing hard, seeing stars, and feeling him everywhere. your eyes flutter up at the man above you, his hooded red eyes locked on yours, lips pulled into his familiar dopey grin as his hips meet yours over and over.

nights with jaemin always go like this. smoke sessions turn into more, and high thoughts come to life.

“fuck baby, feels so fucking good,” jaemin drawls out, leaning down to meet your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. he groans as you clench around him, your eyes shutting tightly as you reach your peak. you’re not quite sure how long you’ve been at it, feeling like it was ages ago that you lit up the first joint of the night.

“give it to nana, c’mon, angel,” he murmurs, readjusting to plant his hold on your hips, eyes moving down to focus on the way you take him in. “pussy was made for me, so fucking perfect, you’re so pretty. and only for me,” his voice and speed pick up, fingers digging into your hips.

“right?” he breaks from his trance to look back at your face, wanting to hear your answer.

you can’t even register what he’s saying anymore, each thrust reaching so deep into you. you can only chant his name and choruses of “yes, yes, yes.”

the pressure built in your stomach snaps, and you feel your composure crumble, cumming around him with a loud shriek, walls pulsing around him.

“f-fuck,” he hisses, hips stuttering as he moves down, intending to meet your lips once more.

with the last bit of your strength, however, you pull yourself to his chest, avoiding his lips by burying your face in his neck as you ride out your high.

he seems to pay no mind, now unable to hold back, gritting his teeth as he anchors his arms around you tightly, finally spilling into the condom. his hips continue to move, and after he’s ridden out his own climax, he collapses with you into the bed.

the feeling of being wrapped in his arms lying in the fluffy comforters of his bed is the perfect recipe for a come down, and you feel yourself start to drift to sleep. your eyes close, and you hear jaemin’s low voice, snuggling into you as he peppers kisses on your cheek.

“did so good for me, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs between kisses, and you hum before sleep envelops you completely.

you wake up the following morning, groggy with your high from the night before lingering just slightly. you’re in one of jaemin’s hoodies, and can’t bring yourself to get out of bed yet.

you hear a faint humming from the kitchen, and you can picture it all so vividly.

mornings with jaemin always go like this. waking up cleaned up and to him cooking in his cat apron and boxers, fluffy pancakes laid in front of you as he spoils you rotten.

you let out a sigh, pushing yourself from his pillowy sheets to get up and gather your clothes. as tempting as it is, you’ve decided to do your best to stop falling into this routine you’ve built.

jaemin is your main plug, and you’ve known him for a good while now. he’s always been attractive to you, and he’s never hid his own interest, either. nothing crazy ever happened until you showed up one day having left your wallet at your apartment. he offered another way to pay, and you haven’t spent a dime on weed since.

he’s always so sweet, sweeter than the pancakes he makes the mornings after blowing your back out, but too sweet for someone who you could only label as a fuck buddy. he’s sweet, but never serious.

in the most, and maybe only, serious conversation you’ve had with him, jaemin made it very clear when you started sleeping together that there were no strings attached. he just wasn’t in the right place for a relationship and you agreed back then.

but a no-sleepover rule turned into weekly sleepovers and more, and not seeing each other aside from hook ups and smoke sessions turned into grocery stops and even meeting some of each other’s friends.

yet you didn’t dare bring up the dreaded “what are we?” conversation in fear he’d call it off completely, his deeply unserious nature making it feel like he could slip from your hands at any moment.

as time passed, deep down, you know you may have developed feelings for him— he’s made it hard not to with the way he treats you, but you aren’t sure if you’re the only recipient of his sweetness, and that chips away at you.

you change back into your clothes and exit his room with your stuff.

“good morning, sunshine!” jaemin greets once he catches sight of you. he raises an eyebrow, confused that you look like you’re ready to go.

“i came up with a new whipped cream recipe, i put it on the side in case you don’t like it,” he explains, two dishes set up on his dining room table.

“oh, and i have someone coming over tonight, but you can take your time,” he comments nonchalantly. you fight the urge to ask who, but you build your resolve to enforce the distance.

“i actually have to head out. i’ve got a few errands to run,” you smile as best you can, but jaemin frowns.

“errands? do you need me to go with y—”

“no—i’m okay. thanks, though,” you interrupt, trying your best not to meet his eyes. “and sorry you went through the trouble,” you add, motioning to his pancakes.

he’s quiet for a second, undoubtedly trying to read you, but he moves wordlessly and grabs one of the plates, turning to his kitchen.

“don’t apologize. here, at least take this to go,” he insists, and before you can even object, he’s whisked a set of pancakes and cream into a container, wrapping it up in a bag before giving it to you.

“let me know how you like the cream, i’m experimenting.” he smiles gently, but it’s hard to meet his with your own.

“i will, thank you, jaemin.” the way you say his name is far too cold, but neither of you address it.

he walks you to the door and gives you a quick peck, another regular occurrence you know is far too intimate for a supposed friends with benefits situation. you can’t help but wonder—can he even treat someone else like this?

are you his only one? a voice in your head tells you no.

you say your goodbyes and head out the door, walking briskly down the hall. you enter the elevator and lean back against its walls once the doors close, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

a familiar ringtone interrupts your thoughts, and you pull out your phone to see a message from a contact you haven’t seen in a while.

as much as you want him to be, jaemin isn’t the only one for you either.

m: wyd tn?

it’s a simple text, but you know exactly what it implies. you think for a bit before responding, taking your time on your walk back home. you could use a distraction, and you know the person on the other side of this message could be just that.

you: mmm maybe getting smoked out?

m: beat me to it

m: come over, got smth new for you to try

you never thought you’d be hopping from one plug’s house almost directly to another, but after devouring the pancakes jaemin made and a long nap at your own place, you find yourself faced with a grinning mark lee.

you had met him through a mutual friend when you ran out of weed while jaemin was out of town, and you were absolutely floored at how attractive he was.

he offered to smoke you out the first time you met him, and it was only a matter of time before you ended up in his bed. smoke and sex—that’s all there was to this connection. when mark said no strings attached, he meant it.

that’s what you like about him.

you don’t see him often, but when you do, it’s always a good time. you take your usual spot on his bed, and he pulls out one of his many pipes and a small glass jar.

“here, smell this,” he holds up the opened jar to you, and you get a whiff of the pungent buds. “good? it’s a new hybrid i picked up. might start selling.”

it doesn’t smell much different from what you’re used to, but flower before it burns is always pleasant to you. he gets to grinding and packing right away, and a comfortable silence settles between you two as he takes the first hit.

he offers you the pipe and lighter, and you carefully relight the ground leaves, breathing in the smoke. after quite a few, you’re on cloud 9, and mark seems to be on the same boat.

the tension you were feeling has dissipated noticeably, and you can’t help but feel that this was the right decision for you. you needed to be out of the house, or you’d be running right back to jaemin’s.

jaemin.

jaemin who has someone else at his place right now, maybe doing everything he does with you.

jaemin who was in mark’s position not too long ago.

you try to rid your thoughts of his face, his name, his voice, him.

as if he can read your mind, mark motions for you to scoot closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. “one more?” he asks, and you nod.

with a rough hand on your lower back, he guides you to straddle him, seating you over him as he grabs his pipe. he takes a long pull, setting it to the side before his hands snake back to your waist.

you lean down to him, lips hovering over his before one hand comes to the back of your neck. he blows the smoke into your waiting mouth before melding your lips together.

you start to grind your hips into his, and all you can think about is how good it all feels, finally registering just how high you are. you never realize it until you get that wave of lightness in your head and body, having lost track of how many hits you took while lost in thought.

your brain is mush, and you can’t stay focused. part of you is glad you can’t think right now, honed in on the way mark’s hands and lips roam all over and in you, clothes tossed carelessly from the bed.

one thing you’ve come to know is that while sex with jaemin borders love-making, mark fucks.

and fucked is exactly how you find yourself, mark pressing your head into his pillows, ass up as he slams into you from behind. his hands shift to a bruising grip on your hips, pushing down so that your back stays arched just how he likes it.

“f-fuck.. fuck, that’s it.” strings of curses and groans leave his mouth at the feeling of you wrapped around him, his own mind void of anything but your plush walls, drool threatening to drip from his mouth at the addicting feeling as he hits you over and over in that spot that makes you squeal.

“how’s this pussy so tight? fuck, fuck, sucking me in like crazy..” mark’s a talker, and it’s always nasty. never the heart wrenching sweet nothings that jaemin has for you.

you’re pulled from your daze, realizing your other plug has been on your mind the entire time, despite this being a supposed distraction. with your eyes shut tightly, your mind drifts, and you start to picture his pretty smile, his voice in your ear, the way jaemin feels wrapped in your innermost walls.

in the process, you unconsciously clench around mark, at which he hisses.

his hips pick up the pace, speed bruising as his pelvis meets you from behind, a hand coming down to grab a fistful of your ass. he squeezes hard, rubbing over its expanse. teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, he admires the smooth skin before slapping it, hard.

you yelp in surprise at the sharp sting as you’re brought back to the man inside of you.

the sensation has you clenching even tighter around him, and he chuckles darkly at that “baby likes that? know you like it rough, the way i fuck this cunt.”

you’re lightheaded from the lack of air, the stinging, and the way he pounds you deeper and deeper into his sheets. he slaps your ass another time, and again, your cries and pulsing increasing at each one.

you do like it. in fact you think you love it—the way pain always melts into pleasure with mark. you don’t even feel yourself push your body back in his hands, wanting to feel more.

you can’t see him, but his eyes take in your wiggling hips, glued to the way his cock moves in and out of you, addicted to the way broken moans leave you at each stroke. he lifts a leg, planting his foot into the bed, fucking into you even harder in this new position at a spot that has you seeing stars.

you can only wail into his sheets, tears and drool soaking his pillows, feeling your stomach start to tighten. your muffled cries get louder and louder, and mark knows your body well enough to know you’re close.

“yeah— just like that. c’mon, cum on this dick baby, cum for me. milk me dry, pretty..” it’s all too much, and his words and last few thrusts have your eyes rolling back. in a flash, you’re cumming with a loud shriek as your body releases all of its energy, crying as mark pounds you through it.

he’s quick to follow, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he pushes his way through your walls gripping down on him. a deep groan bursts from his chest as his hips stutter, and he pulls out quickly and jerks himself furiously over your ass, admiring the way his release paints your skin.

his hold on you releases and your hips fall, strength completely gone from your body. the fatigue and weed coursing through your veins threaten to glue you to his sheets for the night.

mark rolls over beside you, eyes closed as he murmurs something along the lines of “so fucking good.” almost immediately he descends into soft snores, tangling up in his sheets.

you don’t usually stay over, just staying in bed until you’re ready to go. mark has always offered as a courtesy, but you know it’s better this way. maybe it’s a part of you unconsciously saving that for jaemin that sends you home each time, no matter how spent you are.

yet mark’s offer is extremely tempting in this moment, your body feeling so heavy with this new strain you smoked and the aftermath of his work on you.

one night couldn’t hurt. you give into your brain fog and find yourself drifting to sleep, letting your eyes close and breathing relax.

you’re so close, but a buzzing from your phone on mark’s bedside table alerts you. you’re almost too tired to answer, but you reach for the device anyways.

immediately, you regret checking it, your screen glaring only to display the very person you’ve been trying to get out of your head. what happened to having someone over?

you internally debate answering it, especially since mark’s knocked out next to you. but once again your judgement is clouded by your overstimulated mind.

you tap the green answer button.

“hi there, beautiful,” his voice rings through the speaker into your ear, and oh, how the sound of his voice sends chills through your entire being.

“hi..” you reply sluggishly.

“sleepy? i know you just left, but i was gonna ask if you’d come over.” his voice also sounds a bit tired, but there’s humor to his tone. you want to ask what happened to his company, but you hold back.

“mhm, smoked a bit and heading to sleep soon,” you reply, hoping it’ll end at that. you’d say you regret coming to mark’s first, but again you don’t know what, or who, jaemin was doing tonight. and with the way you know your legs will be wobbling in the morning, there’s nothing to regret.

“oh? what was on the menu?” he asks, interest piqued of course at the mention of weed.

“something new...” you yawn out, but you’re met with silence on the other line. something immediately feels off. “jaemin?”

“new? i don’t remember stocking anything new recently.. you know you don’t need to buy overpriced shit somewhere else, just let me know what you want and i’ll find it.” he chides. his voice is playful, but with a serious undertone, and you quickly realize your mistake.

“um—” warm arms slither around your waist before you can respond, and you feel hot breath fan over your ear, giving you goosebumps.

“sorry pretty, can you keep it down a bit? been a long day today..” mark murmurs into your ear, voice deep and hoarse. in a second he’s back to his soft snoring, now wrapped around you as if nothing happened.

there’s no doubt in your mind that jaemin heard that. the silence following that is so heavy, and your mind races as you try to think of how to follow up.

“who was that?” jaemin’s voice finally comes through the phone, devoid of any emotion. you’ve never heard his voice like this, and you genuinely can’t think of anything to say.

“um—sorry jaemin, gotta go. goodnight,” you reply in a rush, cutting off any further conversation with an abrupt end to the call.

mark groans as you unwrap yourself from his arms, redressing as quickly as you can, limbs a bit uncoordinated with the high still running through you and the effects of mark blowing your back out.

you call a cab home, and only once you’re finally in the comfort of your own bed do you allow yourself to fully process what just happened.

it’s not like you were doing anything wrong, so why did it feel that way? jaemin had no obligation to know who else you spent time with, just as you had none for him.

you just never thought of the possibility of the two plugs crossing paths in any way.

regardless, it shouldn’t be a big deal. yet the feeling in your gut remains, and you know why, even if you won’t admit it.

your heart sinks, scared at what jaemin’s reaction might be. scared that he’ll care, confusing you even further, or worse, that he won’t care.

either way, you don’t know if you could take it.

you haven’t heard from jaemin in two weeks. he didn’t contact you after you hung up on him like you thought he would, and when you finally mustered up the courage to reach out to him, you were left unanswered.

it doesn’t help that mark is out of town for a little while, too, mentioning a trip with some of his close friends. it’s just the cherry on top of your frustration, and you only reach out once, not wanting to put yourself in a position to be rejected again.

you know it can’t be helped, but you really are going through it.

when it reaches week 3 without seeing either of your plugs, you conclude this is good for you. it’s a solid time to reflect—no confusion, no distraction, just you and your thoughts.

you even took a break from smoking for a bit. you found that you’d spiral thinking about your predicament everytime you were high, so you decided it was time for a tolerance break anyway. with a clearer mind, you come to a conclusion.

you can’t deny it—you have feelings for jaemin that run deeper than they seem, and you need to bring an end to the ambiguity of your relationship.

yes, mark blows your mind every time you’re in his bed, but it’s not like jaemin necessarily lacks in any way in that department, either. he has potential. you’ll miss it, but you probably could live without fucking mark.

you’d go back to him for one more taste to see if you actually believe that, but you’re trying to stop complicating things for yourself.

if it turns out that it’s not in the cards with jaemin, as sad as you’ll be, at least you can get that closure to move on and you can hit up mark without that funky feeling in your gut.

just as you resolve to contact the object of your affections, message partially typed out on your phone, a buzzing of your phone startles you.

he has impeccable timing as always, jaemin’s name reading clearly on your screen. you take a deep breath, calming yourself best as you can.

“hello?”

“hi angel,” his voice is just as sweet as you remember, and some stress leaves your body at that. half of you feared he’d be as stoic as he was the last time you had spoken. “it’s been a while, how are you?”

you have so many questions for him—where he’s been the past few weeks, why he never responded to your message, why he’s acting normal. yet you don’t ask any of that, nor do you answer his question.

“can i come see you?” is what instead leaves you.

“i was about to ask the same thing,” he responds, voice just a bit more serious. “come over?”

the entire commute to his place, you resolve your mind to be honest with jaemin, even if it means things won’t be the same. you need that clarity.

he meets you at the door as he always does, and the second his door opens, the faint smell of weed hits your nose. you haven’t smoked with him in a while, and you feel a bit of sadness rise at that.

jaemin is pleasant, but he initiates no physical contact—a stark contrast to his usual clingy self. that’s a good thing for you in this moment, but you can’t help but crave his touch. there’s a slight tension you sense behind his usual smile, and you brace yourself for the conversation to come.

nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you when you walk into his living room.

“hey there, pretty girl.”

everything in you screams that this has to be a dream, but your blood runs cold at the very real mark lee sitting on jaemin’s couch, leaned back comfortably with a calm smirk on his face. he has a blunt in one hand and his other waves its fingers at you in greeting. “surprised?”

to say you’re dumbfounded is an understatement, and when you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

you look between mark and jaemin, who also has a calm expression on his face. “i heard you knew my buddy here.” he moves to sit down next to mark, patting the space between them. “take a seat?”

you haven’t had a single bit of weed in at least a week, but this whole thing feels like a fever dream you’d have on a bad trip. your feet stay planted where you are and you shake your head. jaemin shakes his head too and gets back up, leading you by the waist to guide you between them.

“h-how do you two know each other?” you finally ask. all conversation plans you had in your head were tossed out the window the second you saw mark.

he speaks up first, offering the blunt up to your lips. “relax, pretty, you’re not in trouble.” your eyes move from him to the blunt, and he nods assuringly. you let him hold it for you as you take a decent drag from it. you need something to calm you down.

mark takes one last hit as well before passing it over you to jaemin, who puts it out after taking a couple on his own.

“remember how i said i was on a trip with some close friends?” your heart sinks. there’s no way. “jaem here is one of ‘em. got him into dealing and everything, too.” jaemin nods in agreement.

“known this guy for years, and we’ve always had a lot in common, even among all of our other friends,” jaemin explains, sliding a hand from your knee up to your thigh, squeezing lightly. “didn’t think we’d have you, too.”

he looks into your eyes, calling your name softly with an unwavering gaze. “be honest. is mark the only other one?”

his expression is so serious, and when you nod yes, jaemin leans down to plant a deep kiss on your lips. the kiss is tender as always, but his hand on the back of your neck presses you into him even more. he finally pulls back, face set in determination.

“good, because after this you’re all mine,” he declares, no hint of a joke in his voice. your mouth drops, and you can’t help but be confused.

“what?”

jaemin is dead serious, but mark laughs. “he came to me with his love issues on the trip and imagine my surprise when we found out we were both seeing you?” mark chuckles as he tries to explain, recalling how it all went down.

“he was mad as fuuuck, i've never seen the guy so heated,” mark teases, and jaemin shoots him a glare. “but he chilled out when i asked if you guys were exclusive or anything.” a heavy sigh sounds beside you at that last part.

“and that’s where i went wrong in all of this..” jaemin grimaces, and looking at his upset expression, you’re still confused as to what exactly is going on.

is it all actually working out, just in a way you hadn’t expected? you need answers.

“jaem, weren’t you all about no relationships? it was all casual, right?” you question, and he interlaces his fingers with yours, eyebrows furrowed and a tiny pout on his lips.

“i’m sorry, baby. i should’ve said something sooner. i thought i was starting to get it across with my actions, but i should’ve been clear.. i do have feelings for you.” he brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly.

“after this, i’m gonna make you mine. i’ll let mark have you one more time, but after— no more games, i’m serious.” disbelief runs through you at his words, and you glance back at mark. he simply shrugs.

“i mean, my door’s open in case you wanna ditch this guy, still no strings attached. it’s all up to you.” you’re glad more than ever that things were only ever complicated with jaemin; mark’s always made it easy for you.

your heart soars as you now process that jaemin does feel the same way as you do. while you’re a bit upset at him for not telling you sooner, it all works out.

yeah, you’re in love with jaemin, but you also love the way mark fucks you. you couldn’t have discovered that if you were with jaemin earlier.

now that the confusion is gone, arousal and excitement hit you—everything you want is falling into your lap. you get to have the two of them together, and after all of this jaemin is your lover?

sure you told yourself you could give up mark, but the universe is giving you one last taste and you could not be more grateful. it’s been a while since you’ve been short of a dick appointment, squeezing your thighs together subconsciously from the past 3 weeks of deprivation.

“ohohhh, someone’s feeling it,” hands slide around your waist, mark turning fully to you. he pulls your back into his chest, and his hands start to ride your shirt up, mouth coming down to your ear and neck.

“gonna miss this pussy so bad, but hey, at least i get a goodbye present, right?” you can feel mark’s hot breath as he chuckles.

jaemin rolls his eyes, but comes to join you, squeezing in between your legs to meld his mouth with yours. he kisses you fiercely, with more passion than you ever think he has before, pushing you harder into mark’s chest.

mark’s hands slip under your shirt completely and push up your bra, bringing his fingers up to your tits, tracing lightly over your nipples in a way that has you shuddering in his hold. he pinches your nipples suddenly, making you yelp into jaemin’s mouth.

jaemin pulls back, frowning at the man behind you. “be gentle, dude.” mark raises an eyebrow at him.

“you know this one can take it, right?” mark snickers, grabbing the bottom of your shirt to pull it and your bra off of you.

he continues his actions on your chest pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. your yelps turn into moans at the way his hold tightens just a bit harder than usual.

jaemin just tsk’s at him, moving instead to kiss down your neck and chest, traveling down to lay open mouthed kisses on your exposed stomach. he backs up a bit, hooking his fingers through your waistband to drag your shorts and underwear off.

he tosses them to the side, settling back between your legs. his hands come down to your core, one hand spreading your lips as he runs his fingers through your folds.

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into it, your legs starting to tremble ever so slightly at the stimulation. he keeps your legs spread, and you wiggle your hips into his wandering fingers. jaemin likes to take his time, and it always feels good, but you crave more.

jaemin moves down, suckling into your thighs as he pushes them up to gain access to your waiting pussy. when his mouth finally meets your core, you moan out, feeling his tongue explore your folds, drawing figure 8’s into your clit with his slick muscle. your hips continue to squirm unconsciously, and mark lets out a quiet chuckle at the sight.

“y’know your angel’s gonna come running back to my door if that’s all you can do.” jaemin’s movements pause at the challenge, his fingers digging your thighs tighter. he makes eye contact with mark, but instead of getting mad like you think he will, he meets mark’s smirk with his own.

“why don’t you show me how it’s done, then?” his proposition stirs feelings in your stomach, and mark obliges immediately, the two men tugging you up to your feet to make your way to jaemin’s bedroom.

you’ve been in his room many times before, but the pure lust radiating off of your companions has everything feeling so new. both men strip themselves of their own clothes. “jaem, go sit on the bed,” mark instructs, and to your surpise, jaemin sits on his bed against his headboard with no rebuttal.

“suck his dick, pretty girl.” you take in this dominant side of mark, even more commanding and in control than when its just the two of you. and you like it. “you love him, don’t you? don’t you want your nana to feel good?”

jaemin’s cock stands tall and heavy in his hand, stroking up and down expectantly as he waits for you. mark’s right, you do want him to feel good, and as if in a trance, you follow mark’s words, settling between jaemin’s legs. you lean down taking his member into your into your hands, stroking at him lightly.

you let out a drop of spit onto jaemin’s tip, and he swears its the hottest thing he’s ever seen. you take him into your mouth as far in as you can stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth with your hands. mark watches with a darkening glare.

“you can do better than that and you know it,” mark’s voice resonates behind you, and without a second to spare a rough hand pushes you down further on jaemin’s cock. you gag as it hits the back of your throat. “take him like the champ you are, baby.”

“f-fuck!” jaemin reacts with a choked groan, too turned on by the way your throat constricts around his head, the way you just take him. mark grabs one of jaemin’s hands, placing it on top of your head, encouraging him to guide you as your head bobs up and down.

“you take this, and i’ll show you how this cunt likes to be eaten.” jaemin swallows, only being able to nod as you continue your work on him with his hands now guiding you. satisfied at his lessons, mark moves back, moving your hips up to expose your glistening core. he licks his lips, making eye contact with jaemin one last time before diving into your folds.

you cry out, mouth separating from jaemin as mark eats you out like a mad man, mouthing at your pussy, tongue dipping into your entrance as he rubs at your clit harshly. even if jaemin can’t see exactly what’s happening from his side, the effect is apparent, your head falling to his lap as your legs tremble from the pleasure.

to see you so fucked out on another man’s tongue awakens something in him.

he feels a rush in his head, heat rising to the back of his neck. his hands go back to your head, grip firm, guiding you back to his member.

you look up at him with teary eyes as you open your mouth back up, tongue ghosting over his head as you try to stay focused with mark eating you out like he’s starved.

jaemin pushes your mouth back down on his cock, and you take him inch by inch, a mix of gagging noises and moans leaving you as you try and breathe through your nose. his hips start to move in turn with his pushes, his member hitting your throat even harder.

mark lets out a delighted noise at that, separating his mouth for a second as he starts to finger at your entrance. “someone’s getting the hang of it,” he teases another finger, feeling each knuckle of his long digits slide in alongside the other. “just clenched around my tongue like fucking crazy. told ya.”

jaemin just nods, not wanting to acknowledge how mark knows a side of your body and tastes that he doesn’t. his eyes stay trained on you—even if he doesn’t know, he’ll just have to learn.

you, on the other hand, are just basking in the stimulation, feeling your stomach tighten as mark’s tongue returns to your hole, his fingers rubbing harsher into your clit at this point.

the feeling of mark’s mouth on you, and jaemin in your mouth is far too much for you, but you love it. mark’s fingers stop rubbing your clit, instead slapping in time with his mouth.

the sting has you cumming hard, sputtering over jaemin’s cock as he still holds your head in his hands. mark’s tongue doesn’t leave you, continuing to eat you with fervor, your trembling legs starting to go numb from the pleasure. you continue to let jaemin use your mouth, breathing as best you can.

it doesn’t take long for mark to bring you to your peak again, nerves flared and tears starting to fall from your eyes. jaemin swipes at your tears, shuddering at the sight.

“let go.”

his head snaps up to mark, confused and irritated at the interruption. “what?”

“i said, let go,” the man behind you repeats. “we're gonna fuck, and you’re gonna watch,” mark states bluntly.

jaemin purses his lips together, his hold on you slackening as his cock slips out of your mouth. you take in as much air as you can, heaving as you catch your breath from the back to back orgasms.

jaemin should be fuming at the way mark is bossing him around like some little bitch. should be irritated that he’s not even letting you finish him off. should be pissed that mark’s staking a claim like you’re his.

but he’s not angry, not one bit, his cock only swelling even more.

his breath catches, and he can’t even formulate a sentence in return, only nodding.

mark yanks your slumped form up by the hips, settling behind you to slap his neglected cock on your ass, dragging his head up and down your dripping slit.

jaemin just watches, swallowing the lump in his throat, baited breath as mark grins.

“this is how you do it.”

before he even finishes his sentence, he enters you in one fell swoop, bottoming out to the hilt. your head shoots up, crying out as he draws his hips back, pounding back deeply once, then again, building up speed as he grips your hips hard enough to leave reminders for days to come.

“sh-shit, your baby likes it rough, y’know?” he draws you up against him, your back meeting his chest as he continues his bruising pace, wrapping one hand around your abdomen.

“someone’s gotta fuck you how you like if i’m not around.” his other hand trails up and around your neck, pressing his fingers into the sides of it lightly. “right, pretty girl?”

your mind doesn’t even register that mark’s talking to you, going slightly lightheaded from his fingers around your throat and cock ravaging you. his fingers tighten slightly as his lips meet your ear. “right?” you pulse around him, tears running down your face and his hand.

he knows you’re not going to respond, eyes moving back up to his forgotten friend. only jaemin can’t meet his eyes, his pupils dilated and trained on the tears running down your face, your fucked out expression—the way mark just uses you.

in the time he’s known you, jaemin’s never wanted to make you sad, never wanted to treat you like you were less than. he always kept things lighthearted, nothing ever serious enough to bring you to tears.

but in this moment, he understands— you’re just as beautiful wrecked, and you want to be.

you take in air as mark releases your throat, only to shove his fingers into your dripping mouth. “take it, baby, take it for me,” the power in his thrusts hasn’t faltered in the slightest, hips pounding with the intent to make it hurt, cock rutting into your deepest parts. “and keep your eyes on your lover boy over there.”

your eyes come into focus on the man in front of you, taking in the sight of him. his teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them before as he grips his cock, red and angry wrapped in his veiny hand. his gaze is locked on yours, and you just know the jaemin you’ll be getting after mark is done is gonna be one you’ve never met before.

mark feels you tightening around him, pulsing and squeezing, knowing that you’re getting closer and closer. he’s feeling it a bit more than usual with an audience, and he knows that he’s not going to last long either.

“y-yeah, fuck, cum for me like the little slut you are—” the second it leaves his mouth, you feel a rush all at once before everything snaps, falling apart on his cock and biting down on his fingers. “and keep those fucking—” his hips punctuate each word, “—eyes. on. him.”

he continues to fuck into you through it, chasing his own high through your walls gripping down on him. “gonna fill this pussy up, fill it ‘til its fucking full.”

his thrusts grow shallower until his hips finally stutter, ropes coating your walls. he opens his mouth just as he hits his peak, biting down on your shoulder with a groan that rips through his chest.

he’s never marked you nor cum inside before, but the combination of the warmth and pain shoots through you, sending chills that could set you off all over again.

mark’s hips finally still, and he releases his grip on you, allowing you to fall forward. he pulls out admiring the way his cum drips from your entrance. he lifts his head up to address his silent friend, cocking his head to the side. “think you can do it?”

“fuck you.”

filled with a burning in his chest he’s never quite felt before, jaemin shoots up, pushing mark aside and flipping you onto your back. his eyes rake over you as he moves between your legs, stopping at your spent, swollen pussy dripping with mark’s cum. for the first time since you entered his bed, he addresses you.

“messy fucking girl,” he mumbles lowly, but it still reaches your ears, and you clench around nothing, more of mark’s cum spilling out of you. he slaps his member on top of your slit, coating his head in your mixture of juices. you gasp as he slides right in all at once with no warning, just as mark did earlier.

remembering the sight he sat through painfully, he draws his hips out, hitting into you deeply, harder than mark started, wanting to remind you that he’s more than capable of giving you what you want, too.

“one dick wasn’t good enough for you?” with a tightening grip, he lifts your hips up, using his strength to move you back and forth to meet his harsh thrusts. “had to go fucking running to the next best guy like a fucking slut?” he feels the way you clench around him at that, testing the waters after seeing how mark’s words affected you.

“wanna act like one? i’ll treat you like one,” he growls, dropping your hips to the bed and pushing your legs up by the back of your knees. he lifts himself up over you to slam himself into you, and in this new position, he reaches further than he ever has, than mark ever has, than anyone ever has.

“open up, baby.” you comply immediately, and he lowers his head slightly, letting a fat wad of saliva land on your tongue. “swallow.”

you do just that, throat sore from both your never ending cries and activities of the night. every nerve in your body flares with overstimulation, but you love it. it’s everything you want and more, and all you can do is lie there and take it as jaemin pounds into you so hard you’re seeing stars.

“shit,” you hear from beside you, and you barely are able to turn your head, seeing mark furiously tugging at his own cock, rejuvenated at the sight before him. jaemin looks over at him, too, again filled with the burning sensation at mark’s presence. he grits his teeth, directing his attention back to you.

“you should’ve just asked, baby, then we could’ve avoided all of this..” he scolds, nails digging into your calves. “but no, had to, fuck—run off to one of my best friends,” he sneers, and his ridicule hits you right in the stomach.

“i d-didn’t know!”

he just shakes his head. “i know, but listen carefully, okay, baby?” the tender jaemin you’re used to peeks out, but in a second he’s gone, holding your gaze as he says each word with emphasis. he slows his thrusts down to a torturous pace, and you do your best to listen.

“i’m the one you love and i’m the one who loves you. mark can fuck you all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re mine.” you cling onto every word that leaves his mouth, nodding desperately, heart lurching at his claim over you.

“yes, jaemin, yes, yes— i’m yours, i’m yours, jaemin,” you cry, genuinely meaning it. you are his, and you always have been, and now that you know he actually wants you to be, you can let it all go. his hips pick back up, pistoning into you, and a familiar feeling in your stomach starts to stir.

you pulse nonstop around him, feeling your vision going hazy, jaemin pressing himself as deeply as he can into you, hitting you over and over again in a spot that has you screaming. your cries get louder and higher, an intense pressure building up in your gut.

“w-wait, wait jaem—!” you plea, voice desperate. they fall on deaf ears, and the pressure explodes, forcing jaemin from your core, juices coating his pelvis and abdomen.

“fuck!” the sensation and sight is almost too much for jaemin to continue, hissing as he forces his way back into your walls, thrusting and rubbing your clit furiously to bring you both to your climax.

you’re sobbing and seeing white as you’re brought to and through it, and with a broken groan, he cums, fluids spilling into your already weeping hole.

he sits back, allowing your body to finally rest from its bent position, the two of you gasping for air. jaemin, still connected to you, leans down to kiss you roughly, your tired bodies melting back together, mouths eventually slowing, yet still moving over each other’s like magnets despite both of your lack of air.

you’re interrupted by the sound of a lighter flicking, and jaemin finally pulls out and separates from you to look back at his forgotten friend. “dude, what the fuck?”

mark has his underwear back on, sitting on a beanbag in the corner of jaemin’s room with one of his bongs in hand, lighter flicking at the bowl. mark proceeds to take a rip from the bong, taking in a heavy drag of smoke before blowing it out, the smell of weed creeping back into the room.

“want some?” he asks, clueless grin back on his face. jaemin thinks he can’t be serious, but after what you just experienced? a hit could fix everything.

“i do,” you mumble out, jaemin’s head snapping back to you. he looks at you with the same incredulous look, thinking there are other things at hand to be addressed. but he’s too tired to think, so he shrugs. why the fuck not?

jaemin slides an oversized shirt on you as mark returns to the bed. he passes you the bong, after which you pass it to jaemin, the 3 of you wordless as you recover from what was the best fucking of your life, and theirs, too, you assume. jaemin grabs some water from a mini fridge in his room, the 3 of you passing that around as well.

you don’t know how much time passes, but you all float higher with each round. it’s mark who breaks the silence, a role he’s seemed to claim over the course of this night.

“i know you guys are together together now, but… what was it?” he stops to remember, mischievous smile on his face. “oh yeah, ‘mark can fuck you all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re mine,’ is what i recall you saying, mr. na.” he raises his eyebrows in expectation.

jaemin looks at him in almost disbelief at the proposition before recalling that he did say that. and if he’s being honest, he meant it at the time.

in the end, he liked seeing this all go down more than he’d like to acknowledge, and a part of him liked being seen as well.

“don’t act like i didn’t see that fucking look in your eyes while i was balls deep,” mark laughs, seemingly reading his friend’s mind. “i don’t needa be on your dates or some shit like that, but call me if you ever need a repeat of tonight.”

jaemin looks to you to gauge your opinion, and while shy, you explain your thoughts honestly. since you had the choice, why not?

“i do love only you, jaem,” you assure, glancing back at mark. “but tonight was a little too good to not have ever again.” he just shrugs, directing it back to jaemin with a nod of his head.

jaemin hates to admit it, but he agrees. there was something different in the air tonight, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in doing it again. but you’re all way too high and fucked out to talk about it now, and you look like you’re gonna pass out any second.

he pulls you up on your shaky legs, holding you as he guides you out towards his bathroom. “we’ll text you,” jaemin states bluntly.

you beam up at him, and he looks back at you with the tenderness you’ve always known from him, only now you know it’s only yours.

he leans down to kiss you once again, not separating as he pulls you into the bathroom.

mark cleans himself up and gathers his clothes, chuckling to himself as he replays the events of the night in his own mind.

he grins at the sound of skin on skin echoing over the shower spray, tapping his fingers on the bathroom door on his way out.

“i’ll be waiting!”

a/n: if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! i fear this is actually the smuttiest thing i've ever written (i'm usually a tender fluffy love making kinda writer) that markmin live did this to me LOL side note, i feel like usually mark and jaemin's positions would be switched (lover boy vs. playful instigator) but i'm kind of living for this switched dynamic.. also this is completely separate from my other markmin plug!au's :') shout out bae @wispyxjae as always for beta-ing this filth <3

proud of myself for actually getting this done yay for 2 releases in 1 month!!! <3

feedback and shares are always always always appreciated, thank you for the support always!