Top Posts Tagged with #mark smut

here, again | l.mk (part two)

summary: After three months of nights, mornings, and almost-too-close moments with Mark, you’ve settled into something familiar. Something too comfortable. Moments that feel ordinary are anything but. Eventually, ambiguity and pretence bite you both in the ass. pairing: student!mark x female student!reader. genre: university!au, fluff, angst, situationship to…, smut! mdni! word count: ~18k warnings: okaaaayyyy lesssgo! lots of kissing with tongue, teasing, edging, dirty talk, dom!mark, brat tamer mark, power play, unprotected sex (pls wrap it, this is fiction), fingering, oral (both), hair pulling, choking, impreg kink (i hate myself), squirting, overstim, spitting, tears, rough sex, multiple positions, sloppy toppy, light degradation, mark is a menace in this one (not just in bed), but he's still sweet, emotional constipation, arguing, miscommunication, they're both annoying ngl, oc cries (i also cried), alcohol consumption, i think a vape is mentioned once, mommy giselle is a queen in this one, so is karina, lmk if i've missed anything (probs have) a/n: right it's way past my bedtime and im pretty sure i've run out of brain cells :) tumblr will NOT let me post this as a whole so i've had to split it in two. DON'T WORRY THIS IS NOT THE ENDING. I WOULD NEVER DO THAT!! part 3 (which is the final one) will just be a little shorter but you'll have it over the weekend. i promise!! anyhoooo, i've never written angst like this before so do let me know your thoughts. i hope this ruins your panties and not your makeup. i am sorry in advance pls pls pls don't hate me ILY <3 Part 1 | Part 3 | masterlist | ko-fi

There are very few things that make you lose your temper. Having always been somewhat of a calm-spirited soul, you've thrived in stressful situations, performed well under pressure. In fact, you’re positive you could list all of the things that genuinely irritate you.

Paper cuts. People that play music on their phone speakers, especially on public transport. Slow walkers. Long voice notes. Forgetting to use a bookmark. And of course, people who eat kiwis with the skin on. Because why?

Surely you could find a few more to add to the list, but you’ve always taken pride in the fact that you rarely lose sleep on other people’s accounts. Not that you’re a careless or insensitive person. You’ve just always been rather good at keeping your cool. Protecting your inner peace and what not.

Enter Mark Lee.

Mark fucking Lee and his lovely cheekbones and his soft round eyes and the way they crinkle when he smiles at you. Mark Lee and his pretty hands and the way they feel on your skin. Sometimes gentle, other times not. Everything about him really. It’s all encarved in your brain. How he speaks, how he laughs, the faces he makes when he’s deeply immersed in a conversation. All fascinating and infuriating at the same time.

He’s your first thought when you wake up and your last before you fall asleep. It’s fucking annoying. You’re not supposed to lose sleep because of another individual. Let alone a man. But, for Mark, you really are losing hours of sleep. Every night. Whether he’s in the bed next to you or not. But mostly when he’s not. Because you — no, you can’t miss him. You’re simply just so used to his presence that it’s difficult to sleep alone. Surely, that’s it. A habit and nothing more. Hopefully, if you keep repeating the word in your head, you’ll eventually convince yourself.

It’s just a uni fling. Soon you’ll be graduating and you’ll probably never see each other again. It’s how these things work. Right?

You’re on the phone to Jaemin when your phone buzzes.

Marklee: 2 mins away x

“Alright, Jaem, I have to go.” You interrupt your friend’s rambling.

“Awh, I was just getting to the good part.” He complains with a whine.

“You can tell me tomorrow after class. Although, so far it sounds like she’s in the right.”

“Boooo! I knew I should’ve called Rina instead.” He exclaims frustratingly.

“You do know me and Karina share one brain cell right?” You exhale as you lazily get up from the blanket cocoon you’ve created on your small sofa.

“Was that your doorbell?” Jaemin inquires with a hint of insinuation.

You buzz Mark in, trying your best to sound as unbothered as you can. “Twas indeed.”

“I thought you were having a night in.” Jaemin teases and you can hear the smirk.

“I am having a night in.” You respond casually.

“Mmmm, just not alone.”

“It could be take-out, you know.” You defend as you open your apartment door the second Mark exits the building lift.

Jaemin utters something indistinct over the phone. You’re too busy checking Mark out as he approaches you with a sweet smile. His duffle bag hangs off his shoulder, navy blue oversized jumper hugging his broad shoulders just right, grey sweatpants a little too baggy but stylish as always. You can tell he’s come straight from basketball practice. His hair a little damp still, making him look sexier than ever. You’re about to convulse when you realise it’s shorter than last time you saw him.

You remember him saying he had a haircut appointment a couple days ago, but you didn’t expect much of a difference. And you certainly didn’t expect a fucking undercut.

“Yo.” Mark whispers, clearly having noticed you’re on the phone and you make room so he can slip inside your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

You observe him as he drops his bag on the floor and discards his shoes next to yours like it’s his norm. It might as well be at this point.

“Hellooo? Are you still there?” Jaemin’s obnoxiously loud voice interrupts your gawking session.

You clear your throat before speaking. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait! Is Mark there? Can you ask him for his opinion? Should I apologise or—“

“Kay, bye, Jaem.” You hang up before your friend can get another word in, too distracted to actually listen to more of his ranting.

You turn your attention to Mark again and this time he’s already got his eyes on you as he casually leans against the back of the sofa with a small smile adorning his pretty face. Before you can apologise for being on the phone, Mark’s arms open, welcoming you as you eagerly slot yourself in his embrace, phone tossed on the sofa behind him.

“Hi.” He mumbles in your hair and you sigh in relief as his familiar scent surrounds you.

“Hi, Markie.” You coo in his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his middle as his squeeze around your shoulders. You can’t help but smile when he rocks you gently from side to side.

“Miss me?” He asks softly and something tightens in your chest.

You should dismiss it, say something lighthearted, but your mouth utters the words before your brain can filter them. “So much.”

His light chuckle vibrates through his chest, calming you a little, telling you he likes your forward response, even if accidental.

“Did you?” He feigns disbelief with a little gasp.

You feel the heat creeping up on your cheeks and you mentally thank his chest for shielding your face. “Shut up.”

“Aw c’mon.” He shakes you playfully. “I missed you too.”

The little statement is whispered close to your ear and you can’t help but look up at him this time. Chin resting on his chest as he loosens his hold around you just a little.

“What?” He asks with a smile as you take in his shorter hair again. So handsome.

“You look good.”

His bashful grin as he lightly ruffles his hair with one hand makes the butterflies in your stomach cause havoc. “You dig the undercut then?”

“Oh I dig it alright.” You poke his sides lightly as you stand on your tippy toes, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek.

He doesn’t let you back away more than a couple of inches before grabbing the back of your neck and surprising you with his lips on yours. It’s light at first. Gentle. Almost innocent. And you barely have time to kiss him back when he’s about to pull away. So you don’t let him. You chase him with a pathetic whine instead.

“Cute.” He breathes, laughing softly against your lips before finally giving in.

Your hands remain at his sides, bracing onto his jumper, searching for some sort of support as he holds both sides of your face, fingers slipping into your hair, thumbs stroking your cheekbones a little too carefully, lips dragging against yours with more precision now. You’ve only exchanged a few words since he came through the door, yet his tongue is in your mouth as though it belongs there, deeming you helpless, giving you no choice but to slacken your jaw pliantly, giving him room to explore and taste and lick as he pleases. And he does so with no hesitation.

A very audible whimper rolls out of you as he tilts your head to the side, his tongue gliding against yours savouringly, giving you what you’ve been craving for a whole week. He lets out a satisfied hum in exchange, and you feel it in your spine, making you shiver in delight as your clit pulses. This is fucking ridiculous. A kiss is not supposed to make you feel so weak. So unsteady but safe at the same time.

“Mh—Mark.” You try to get his attention but it comes out more like a muffled plea and he kisses you harder. Filthier.

It’s so messy, you’re pretty sure there’s drool on your chin. Kiss so wet with the amount of saliva you’re exchanging he might as well spit in your mouth. You can’t help but moan at the disgustingly crude thought, feeling almost embarrassed knowing that you’d happily swallow.

You’re suddenly very aware of the gush of slick that drips from your entrance, making a mess between your legs, and that’s when you put your hands on his chest, lightly pushing him away, needing to break the kiss in order to collect your thoughts but also breathe.

He reluctantly obliges after leaving two quicker smooches on your already abused lips, sucking on the bottom one briefly just to get a whine of protest out of you.

“Oops.” He says teasingly as he eyes you suggestively, hands dropping to your hips momentarily, before sneaking to your ass, shamelessly squeezing over your jeans. “Got carried away.”

You lightly swat at his chest in fake warning, forcing a cute snicker out of him, which makes a smile break out on your face. You’re so aware of it, your cheeks hurt.

“I need to shower.” You mutter breathlessly.

“Is that an invitation?” He asks a little too eagerly. Almost too adorable to resist.

“Actually, no.” You pout and he mimics your expression. “Sorry, I need some girly time.”

He furrows his eyebrows in genuine curiosity. “As in, like, you need to finger yourself in the shower or…?”

“No, you moron.” You shove your hand in his face, pushing him backwards. “As in shave and moisturise.”

“Ohhh.” He leans his head back in realisation before looking back at you with a mischievous grin. “My version sounds more fun though.”

He’s rather playful tonight. Slightly more than usual, and you can’t help but want to play along with him.

“Maybe I’ll indulge then.” You say skeptically as you let your hands travel down his torso, eyes still fixed on his curious ones. “Maybe I should just finger myself in the shower while you sit here and wait for me like good little boy.”

His lips part slightly as his expression becomes more serious than ever. No shock, just conflict maybe.

“Or maybe you’d prefer it if I dragged you in there with me and made you watch, hm?” Your tone is demanding as your hands reach his waistband, fingers barely slipping inside before going past it.

His breathing contrasts his still composed expression. He lets out a little gasp, hands squeezing your ass a little harder when your palm brushes over the prominent bulge pressing against your front. Still no words leaving his mouth, but his jaw flexing speaks volumes. He’s trying to compose himself. Very clearly refusing to break. To give into your teasing. How admirable.

“Does that still sound fun?” You push with an innocent smile, making sure to flutter your eyelashes while you press the heel of your palm against his tip, making sure to rub a little. Stubbornly testing his limits, wanting to see how far he’ll let you go.

Something shifts behind his eyes. You see it. For a fraction of a second before it’s gone again. It’s almost scary, making you regret your antics. But then he smiles. Nothing sinister behind it, just a simple gesture. Sweet. And then he leans a little closer, the tip of his nose touching yours. Sweet again. And just when you think he’s about to kiss you, a hand in your hair catches you off guard, pulling harshly, setting your scalp on fire, making you blink in shock. And, god, the girlish squeal you let out is truly humiliating.

You feel his breath on your ear when he speaks.

“So, the thing is…” He pauses for a moment. Chills run down your spine at the sudden change in his demeanour and all you can do is swallow the dryness in your throat and hold onto his jumper like a lifeline as he starts to walk you backwards.

You yelp when your back touches what you assume is the aisle that separates the kitchen from your tiny living room space.

“I’ve had a long fucking day,” He continues as he nuzzles against your neck and his other hand comes to wrap around it. Not so sweet this time, but your eyes shut in pleasure nevertheless, the press of his fingers on your pulse points making you feel lightheaded.

This is sick. And hot. But mostly sick.

“And silly me, the one thing I was looking forward to, was seeing you,” Both his hands tighten slightly, driving your heart rate through the roof. “But now, I’m kind of pissed off.”

Fuck.

“So, you’ve got two options.”

“Mark, I was j—“

“Don’t interrupt me.” He squeezes harder, very close to suffocating you before releasing slightly. You don’t complain. Just hold onto him tighter as you wait for him to speak again.

Patience is a virtue. Apparently.

“Number one.” A little kiss is placed on your cheek. A little too delicate for a situation like this, but it comforts you. “You take a five-minute shower, ten tops, and then you come out and we have our fun.”

“But—“

“Number two.” He ignores you, his thigh forcing itself between your legs as a warning. You go mute again. “I fuck you now. Quick. Maybe you cum, maybe you don’t. You have your long girly shower, finger yourself for all I care, but I’m going to sleep.”

He slowly releases you after that and you gasp a little too loudly, instinctively bringing a hand around your own neck, where he was just touching you. You don’t know why. Maybe to make sure this is actually happening? Because what the actual fuck. The man has simply lost it.

In the three months you’ve been hanging out with Mark, you believe you’ve gotten to know him on a decent level. Intimately and not. You don’t even know how many nights (or mornings) you’ve spent together, let alone how many times you’ve fucked. Initially, you were keeping track of the times he made you cum, but when you reached thirty-something, you just gave up.

And it’s not like he’s some kind of perverted sex god. Yes, he’s the best you’ve had, but only because he pays attention. He asks what you like. Listens. Observes. Doesn’t push boundaries unless you make clear that you want him to. Even then, he’s careful. Not necessarily gentle. Just careful. There’s always been an untouched territory you can’t really name or place.

He’s never indulged in leaving any marks on you. He’s never acted possessive or jealous. Maybe a few glances here and there when guys would approach you on a night out, but nothing major. People know you two are somewhat inseparable now. Your friends know your…situation. His certainly do too, having witnessed plenty of your drunken make-out sessions in bars, clubs, parties.

Poor Chenle found out in the worst way possible. House party. Bathroom. Chenle trying to sober up in the bathtub. Shower curtain drawn. Mark bending you over whatever surface was somewhat clean. Chenle screaming something incoherent to make his presence known before anything too incriminating actually took place. It was hilarious, but you’re pretty sure the younger boy is scarred for life. His blush appearing every time he bumps into you certainly gives away that much.

Yes, sex with Mark has always been too good. Exciting, sensual, hot, messy, maybe even a little too passionate at times. You’ve tried many positions. Experimented at times. Your vibrator got involved others. But you’ve usually been the one to initiate different things. Not that he’s shy. You know he’s not. He just happens to need a push sometimes, or at least confirmation that you’re comfortable.

So, him hitting you with the dominant card tonight, is definitely something you did not expect. Pleasant undoubtedly. Just unexpected. And you wonder what has actually triggered it, because it can’t have been just your teasing. You tease him almost all the time. He’s either reached some sort of pinnacle and had enough of your shit or there’s some underlying tension about something you’re unaware of.

Either way, it’s got your pussy throbbing and your brain malfunctioning.

“So, what will it be?” His low voice breaks you out of your trance, reminding you of the pressing matter at hand.

You blink up at him when you realise he’s staring down at you expectantly, and you almost flinch when he raises a hand to your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip lightly before dragging it down. You involuntarily bite down on where he touched as he brings the digit down to your chin.

“May I speak now?” You ask tentatively.

“You may.” He almost breaks character, you can tell by the little twitch of his lips, but you don’t risk teasing him again. Not now.

You relax a little as he cages you against the counter, his hands on either side of you, resting on the surface, as his warmth surrounds you again. Calmer this time. So calm you almost miss the thrilling chaos you just experienced.

“I need to wash and condition my hair, then shave and moisturise.” You move a little closer, hands desperately tightening at the collar of his jumper as he rolls his eyes dismissively. You feel like you’re begging while barely having said anything. “Markie, five minutes is not enough and I have so much on tomorrow, I won’t have enough time to—“

“I said ten tops.” He corrects. His tone a little lighter now, but his arched eyebrow shows finality. “Hair, rinse, shave, rinse again. I’ll help you moisturise after.”

You sulk childishly and you catch him biting the inside of his cheek. This motherfucker is laughing at you and you’re here trying not to have a heart attack.

“You’re bluffing. You won’t actually go to sleep.” You challenge with a pout, and the tiniest smirk makes an appearance on his face.

“Alright, bend over then—“

“Wait, no. I didn’t choose yet.” You grab onto his biceps as he’s now holding onto your hips, halting from turning you around.

“Baby, you could’ve been out the shower by now.” He whispers in your ear scoldingly, arms circling your waist now, pulling you closer.

You drop your forehead against his shoulder with a defeated sigh. You know you’re right. He won’t just go to sleep even if he fucks you now. But still, as impatient as you are, as much as you actually want him to bend you over right here, you’ve thought about him, waited to see him a whole week. You can wait a little longer.

“Option number one, please.” You really sound like a spoiled child and you hate that he’s made you act like this. It’s all his fault.

His light chuckle shakes you a little and the little tap on your bum, urges you to look up at him. “Good girl.”

You don’t have time to react to the taunting pet name. His lips touch yours in a quick peck and then he’s gone. You’re stuck on your spot as he casually drops on the sofa, pulls his phone out of his pocket and sprawls comfortably, legs spreading as he sinks into the cushions.

“Ten minutes, baby.” He reminds you, not a single glance thrown your way as he keeps scrolling.

You hear his obnoxiously cute giggle when you practically sprint for the bathroom without another peep.

True to your word, you’re back out in under ten minutes.

Barely.

Not because you rushed like some obedient little thing — absolutely not. You refused to sprint. Refused to skip steps out of principle. You conditioned properly. You shaved properly. You even stood there for a few extra seconds just to prove to yourself you weren’t scrambling for him.

But you were efficient. Strategic.

And when you step back into the living room, steam spilling lazily out of the bathroom behind you, hair still dripping in slow, shameless trails down your neck and chest, you know you made it on time.

Your towel is secure under your hands — gripped tightly at your chest, more for pride than modesty.

Mark looks up from the sofa. You hate the way his eyes drag. Not hungry. Not desperate. Not even impatient.

Measured. Like he knew you would make it.

He’s ditched the jumper. Of course he has.

He’s just in a black t-shirt now. The one that fits just right — not tight enough to show off, not loose enough to hide anything either. It clings to his arms when he pushes himself up from the couch, and you swallow before you can stop yourself.

“Eight minutes,” he says casually.

You scoff immediately. “Nine and a half.”

Because you’re not letting him shave time off your victory.

One eyebrow lifts. “Still under ten.”

The calm certainty in his voice makes something twist low in your stomach.

You’ve never felt intimidated by him before. Not once. Not when he’s had you pressed into mattresses, counters, walls. Not when he’s whispered filth into your ear or made you come undone with nothing but his hands. He’s always been careful. Attentive. Equal.

Tonight feels different. Tonight he’s steady in a way that makes you feel slightly off-balance.

And it’s exhilarating. And deeply annoying.

Since when does he have the upper hand?

He closes the distance without waiting for you to answer whatever silent challenge is sitting between you, his palm finding your waist like it belongs there. Warm. Solid. Certain.

“Counter,” he says, softer now, guiding you back into the bathroom.

You consider arguing.

You don’t. And you don’t know why. Because you normally would.

You climb up, towel still clutched tightly, the marble cool under your thighs. The mirror behind you is fogged, the bathroom light too bright against your damp skin. Your hair keeps dripping — onto

your collarbone, onto the swell of your chest, one rebellious drop sliding down to your stomach.

He steps between your knees. Like he always does. Like he always has. But tonight it feels intentional.

There’s a bottle in his hand — your body lotion — and you hate that he remembered exactly where you keep it.

You expect him to rush. To make a point. Instead, he squeezes a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together slowly before touching you.

The first touch is warm. Slower than you expect.

He starts at your ankle, working the lotion into your skin with deliberate strokes. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just thorough. His thumbs press into the softest part of your calf, fingers wrapping around the back, kneading gently but firmly.

His hands have always been nice. Big enough to ground you. Rough enough to feel real.

You inhale sharply when his thumb brushes over the thin pink line on your left leg.

He stops.

His eyes flick up. “What’s this?”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Shaved too fast.”

He hums quietly — not impressed — before smoothing more balm over it, slower now. Careful. Not as gentle as you’d expect. Just careful.

Your hair drips again, this time onto his forearm. He doesn’t move away.

His hands slide higher. Over your knee. Up your thigh. Pressing the balm in with long, steady strokes that make it very difficult to pretend you aren’t hyperaware of every inch of your own skin.

You tighten your grip on the towel when it shifts slightly as he lifts your leg to rest against his hip.

He notices. You just know he does.

“Chill dude,” he murmurs.

You don’t. “Fuck off, calling me dude right now.”

You’re not sure why you’re so pissed off. Whether it’s because you simply refuse to submit so early — or because you’re not used to being the one unraveling first.

Either way, this is all a little too much. Too much for what you thought you had signed up for. Yet the thought of stopping him feels like something you’d regret later. Simply because you don’t want to.

Yes, it’s too much. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. Too fucking good.

“What should I call you then?” He asks indifferently.

Hand slipping under the towel, palm massaging your inner thigh. Fingers digging into the flesh a little too hard. And when he slides further up, thumb digging into the crease that separates your thigh to where you really need him, your leg twitches slightly.

He doesn’t comment on it. And you know the graze of his knuckles against your folds is not accidental. It can’t be.

You were almost expecting him to pull something like that. You pictured it when he said he’ll help you ‘moisturise’. It’s all a fucking act and you both know it.

So why does your breath stutter?

“I don’t know.” You snap back into the conversation, trying your best to come across as unfased. “Think of something else.”

“How about…” He hums in thought as he spurts more lotion in his palm. Eyes glancing at you momentarily before reverting to his hands rubbing together. “Pookie?”

A laugh bubbles in your chest, coming out as a snort. “Be for real.”

He smirks. Hands repeating his previous actions on your other leg, caressing just right. “I am. Pookie is elite.”

You intentionally shuffle a little closer. Ass just on the edge of the counter, but his body between your legs preventing you from slipping off.

Even as you sling an arm around his shoulders, he maintains focus on his task. Unbothered. Hands massaging your thigh thoroughly.

You’ve had enough of his shit quite frankly. Patience running thin as his thumb trails closer and closer to your throbbing centre.

“Markie?” You say calmly, not really expecting him to look. And he doesn’t.

“Hm?” At least he’s listening.

“You can’t choke me and then call me pookie.” You mean for it to come out assertive, but it sounds more like a whine.

The teasing grin he sports is incredibly irritating. He doesn’t respond straight away. Too busy torturing you it seems.

He removes his hands before he can touch you where you ache this time, and you exhale in relief. Or maybe disappointment.

He thankfully moves closer. Your chests would be touching if it weren’t for your hand still gripping your towel.

He seems bothered by it. A flicker of emotion appearing on his features for what feels like the first time tonight.

“Let go.” He instructs. Nose running along the side of your face, nuzzling against your temple.

“No.” You fixate on his jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. Still, you feel his irritation.

“Let go.” He repeats. Hand wrapping around your wrist.

You resist. Stubborn. “No.”

You know why you’re doing this. He most likely does too.

You want him to break again. You hate that you do. But you can’t get the thought of him manhandling you off your mind. Bossing you around. Controlling you. Ruining you.

He doesn’t though. He instead does something that turns you on even more. He lets go of your wrist in the most dismissive manner.

“Fine.” He says calmly. “Enjoy fingering yourself.”

You feel him retreating. One step back before you link both arms around his neck, pulling him in again. Towel finally forgotten, but still in place.

“No. Markie, wait.” You plead. Pitiful.

His hands come to your sides, holding you in place and you sigh at the minimal contact. The tiny kiss left on your shoulder doesn’t help. It makes you squirm in need.

You’re positive you’re leaking on your towel. Walls throbbing uncontrollably. It’s mortifying. He’s barely done anything.

“Please.” You breathe in his neck, tits pressing against his chest, and by the way your nipples drag against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, you know the towel is no longer in the way. Just messily bunched up around your waist.

“Please what, baby?”

You moan at the intimate tone. It’s not intentional. It just slips out and you hate that he’s made you so pliant.

“Anything.” You whisper. Eyes closed in humiliation. Tomorrow you’ll be scolding yourself for giving into a man so easily. Right now, it doesn’t matter. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

You’re near tears when he buries a hand in your hair. Gentle this time. Tugging just enough to get you to look at him.

How on god’s green earth is he still so calm? You’re begging. Throbbing. Already sweating even after a shower. And he’s just looking at you.

Like he’s inspecting you. Like you’re some shiny toy he might get bored of later.

He blinks. Once. Twice. “Say you’re sorry.”

What. The. Fuck.

“What?” Your voice is trembling. You heard him. Loud and clear. You’re just having trouble understanding why your cunt clenches at the words.

This is nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Not just with him. With anyone.

“Say you’re sorry.” His grip on your hair tightens slightly as his other hand untangles the towel from your body. Regardless of your naked state, his eyes don’t leave yours.

“I’m not, though.” You choose to stand your ground one last time. It’s pointless. You know it. But you refuse to back down just to boost his ego. And it’s true. You’re not fucking sorry.

“You will be when I’m done with you.” His free hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer to the point where there’s no space between your bodies.

“I’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” You put on your best brave expression.

“That’s a lie and you know it.” His thumb strokes along your jaw until it’s on your chin and then on your lips. You obediently part them for him, tongue slipping out slightly, licking the pad of his digit. “Suit yourself."

You suck greedily. Imagining it’s his thick length penetrating your mouth, tongue swirling obscenely when he pulls out a little, before pushing back in. He repeats the action a couple times before smearing your spit on your chin.

Your eyes search for his, but he’s too busy eyeing your naked body up and down. You take advantage of his unfocussed state and quickly bring your hands to the waistband of his bottoms.

You don’t waste time.

Even as you sense the protest bubbling in him, you shove the fabric down. His flushed cock springs out proudly, pretty as always, fully hard, doing nothing but giving you the tiny boost of ego you’ve been craving all night.

He’s not that indifferent now.

The moment of pride is short lived.

Before you can react, his mouth crashes on yours, finally giving into you with an animalistic grunt. His tongue sloppily fucks into your already open mouth, giving you no choice but to try and match his chaotic rhythm. It’s not smooth or sweet. It holds force, almost making you lose your upper-body balance, and his hand slipping from your hair down to your throat, squeezing just the right amount, has you slapping a hand on the counter behind you, needing to brace yourself somehow.

You know it’s more mental than anything. You know he’s got you. His arm around your waist is holding you just fine. Yet, you need to touch something else other than him. To remind yourself that you’re not going completely insane.

You’re in your fucking bathroom, dripping on your fucking counter, whining and losing yourself because of a fucking boy that hasn’t even touched you properly yet. Because of Mark Lee.

Just because he wants you to. Simple as that.

This is his fault. Yet, he wants you to be sorry? Absolutely not.

Your fingers flex on the slippery surface of the counter, while your other hand grabs onto Mark’s hair. Pulling a little too hard. Needing to get a reaction. And you do. Just not the one you were hoping for. No desperate moan. Just a warning squeeze of his fingers on your neck. Wordlessly telling you to behave.

You feel so lightheaded, your mouth involuntarily goes slack against his, lips just brushing. Barely able to kiss him back through your laboured breaths. And when you feel a significant amount of moisture landing on your tongue and bottom lip — all messy and slippery — you have no choice but to flutter your eyes open.

“Swallow.” He whispers against your lips. And you do. With a moan that’s a little too loud for your liking. Too submissive.

You kiss him again. Refusing to stay separated for too long and you suddenly realise his top is still on. So you clumsily pull at the hem with both hands, and he complies, yanking the piece of clothing from the collar.

You don’t know where it lands. Instantly pulling him in for another messy kiss. One hand holding onto his nape — the other grabbing onto his bicep — nails digging into the skin.

You let your head loll back when he drags his lips down to your neck. It’s all so messy. So wet. He’s kissing, biting, licking, sucking hard. And it doesn’t take long for you to realise that he’s finally marking you for the first time. Just above your collarbone.

“Fuck, yes.” You hold him there. Forcing his mouth on your wet skin. Needing him to claim you in more ways than you should.

When he pulls back his eyes linger on the sore spot. His breath hitting your damp skin in hot puffs and you can’t hold back a low moan that slips on account of his stupidly pretty face.

His now shorter hair is messy. Strands flying everywhere. His eyes hooded. Gaze unfocused. Lust evident. It’s his lips that catch your attention though. Puffy — prettiest shade of deep pink — slightly parted and wet.

You lean back on both hands. Not minding a few moments to observe how handsome he looks right now.

His hands take hold of your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the counter, trapping you with his body, and you part your legs for him even further, lifting them a little to make sure he’s got full view of your pussy.

Apart from a shaky breath, there’s nothing else. Just his thumbs drawing slow circles on your hip bones.

He’s just staring up and down your naked torso. Lip chewed on by his teeth in deep contemplation.

“What?” You prod, with a subtle but still inviting roll of your hips.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About what I wanna do to you.”

You clench around nothing, hoping he can see it. The tensing of his eyebrows is just the confirmation you need. “What do you wanna do to me?”

“Not very nice things.” The point is made with his tip prodding at your sopping hole, making you throw your head back, damp hair still sticking on your skin.

“Who said I want you to be nice?” You challenge, a whine slipping out as he pushes in just a tiny bit, giving you a taste of pleasure before retracting. “Fuck.”

“You’re soaked.” He points out in awe. “It’s fucking insane.”

Another little teasing thrust, cockhead barely going in before it drags through your slit and up to your pulsing clit. “Mark—“

“Are you ovulating or something?” He grins mischievously, but you can tell he’s actually curious.

“What are you, my tracking app?” You almost choke on your spit. He’s got one hand around his cock now, flicking your clit with his tip in side-to- side motions, making your hips stutter and your legs shake.

You’re too fucking turned on. And yes, you’re also ovulating.

“Pretty sure I know your body better than a stupid little app.” He retorts, one hand coming up to play with your tits. Squeezing the flesh and pinching your nipples just right, until they’re erect, causing more arousal to flow out of you, mixing with his precum as he slowly keeps sliding his length up and down your folds, making sure the tip is always bumping into your sensitive nub.

“Yeah? Did you know I’m dying to slap you right now?” You say, with nothing but neediness laced in your tone.

He chuckles lightly. Mockingly.

“Hmm no.” His thumb unexpectedly brushes your clit just a tiny bit, sending chills down your back, making your hips jerk and then the same thumb is prying your lips open, shoving into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. “But I know you’re dying to get fucked silly.”

You let out a tiny whimper as you try to distract yourself with his thumb. But then it’s gone. And it’s one of your nipples that gets attention now. Breast engulfed in the warmth of his hand as he circles the hypersensitive peak with the wet pad of his thumb.

“Markie.” You nearly cry out at the stimulation. So hyperaware of every part of your body he’s touching, you nearly give in and apologise like he wants you to. Nearly. “Please put it in.”

He moans at your words, thumb returning to your clit and staying this time, flicking up and down harshly. His cock slips inside your pussy just an inch, surprising you nevertheless, the sting minimal but still there due to the lack of prep. It’s oddly pleasurable. And when he pulls out just a tiny bit with a loud squelch, and his thumb brushes against the perfect spot on your clit, you unexpectedly cum. Hard. Squeezing around his tip, sucking him in. And he yelps in surprise.

“Fuck!” You exclaim in bliss but also because he’s abruptly thrusts his whole length inside your pussy. To the hilt. Not a single inch left out. Thumb still somehow rubbing on your poor clit.

“Jesus—fuck, baby.” He pants with a grind. “Did you just cum?”

You try to form words, but all you can do is moan shakily. Your legs still quivering at the overstimulation.

“Mm—y-yes—fuck fuck fuck—Mark, s-stop!” You instinctively grab onto his wrist, forcing him to stop the abuse on your clit.

He grants you just that wish. But instantly forces another cry out of you as he grabs onto your ass, a hand cupping each cheek greedily, slightly lifting you off the counter before he starts delivering brutal thrusts. The angle exactly right for his cock to hit that spot deep inside your walls, not allowing you any time to recover from the haze of your orgasm.

It’s pure filth. All of it. Both of you. It’s rough and it’s loud and it’s mind numbing.

He’s giving you things you didn’t know you were craving. Fucking you like you owe him something he needs to forcefully take.

You glance at his face briefly. Fringe sticking to his forehead, eyebrows furrowed like he's angry at something, gaze clearly interchanging between your pussy and your bouncing tits, nose scrunched in a way that would be cute if it weren't for the circumstances, lips parted beautifully, tongue poking at the corner of his lips.

So fucking hot.

You feel it before you can process it. It’s abrupt. An intense pressure in your lower abdomen. Unknown. Nothing you’ve felt before. Bordering the need to pee.

“Wait—fuck—slow down.”

He doesn’t.

“Cum again, I don’t care.” He breathes harshly.

“N-no. I’m—“ You grab onto one of his biceps in desperation as his hips keep loudly slapping against yours, cock hitting a spot no one has ever discovered before. Not even yourself.

And then it’s happening. Your walls squeeze so hard, he pulls out with a loud moan. And before the sensation slips away, two of his fingers are inside you. Thrusting hard and fast. Demanding something you’re not sure you can give. But your body gives it anyway. Responding to him like it always does.

And when you feel something trickling down your ass, you let go completely. Your cunt feels aflame, eyes rolling back into your skull as you release the tension in your abdomen. Oddly liberating. A strange feeling of relief taking over you. A little splashing sound.

“Oh my fucking god.” You wheeze, struggling to get your lungs to function. Your brain definitely lacking oxygen.

Still, to an extent, you’re aware of the comforting arm wrapping around your middle. Mark’s familiar warmth helping you resurface.

“Wh-what the fuck just happened?” You mutter against his shoulder.

His drenched hand resting on your thigh is enough confirmation, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

“Pretty sure you just squirted.” He points out with a breathless chuckle.

The gentle kisses scattered on your shoulder make your heart almost jump out of your ribcage. Your arms tremble as they slither around his shoulders of their own accord. His warm chest pressing against yours, forcing out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding.

“I take it that was a first.” He mumbles into your skin.

“How did you do it?” You wonder out loud, the question slipping without you realising.

“I didn’t do shit.” He pulls back just enough to look at you. “I was just fucking you harder than usual and you started pushing me out.”

“This is fucking embarrassing.” You hide your face in your palms.

“What are you on about?” He’s forcing your hands away instantly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to face him.

“Yo,” He cups your face in his hands, his damp fingers against your skin a reminder of what just happened. “Y/N. It was fucking hot. I promise.”

You allow your eyes to open, taking in his genuine expression. “Really?”

“Yes.” He confirms without a second thought. “In my head, you were just really turned on because of me. Do you know how sexy that is?”

“I was really turned on.” You admit openly, knowing that it mostly has to do with him. “Like, more than—“

You cut yourself before oversharing, but his hands drop to your waist to squeeze in encouragement.

“More than what?” He whispers, lips too close to yours, nose rubbing against yours intimately. “Tell me.”

“I just feel like—“ You pause again, inhaling deeply to calm yourself. What are you even trying to say? “You might not wanna know this.”

“Yes, I fucking do.” He says eagerly. Tiny smile on his lips. “I feel like I already know anyway. Just say it.”

“It’s just, sex has never felt this good with other people.” He nods and you continue. “I know it might be weird—“

“It’s not.” He reassures you. Face more serious than ever. “I’ve thought about it too.”

You don’t really know what to say. This feels strange. New. A little too deep for a conversation that’s supposed to be only about sex. Surely it's just your raging hormones.

Pushing your overthinking to the back of your head, you lean in. Silently asking for a kiss he doesn’t hesitate to give you. It’s slow. Not innocent or gentle. Just slow. Almost romantic. Like there’s something unsaid. Something you don’t even want to try and uncover.

He guides your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before he effortlessly hoists you up. Kiss uninterrupted as he carries you while trying to navigate around your small apartment.

After a couple of stumbles and a few muffled giggles your back finds your soft comforter.

He easily parts your legs, taking his place between them as he hovers close.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, teeth catching your earlobe, sucking playfully as he waits for your response.

You sigh when he descends. Leaving open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. Lips leaving goosebumps in their wake, making it impossible for you to form any coherent thoughts. Even the ceiling looks complicated now.

Your hips lifting off the mattress — trying to meet his — betray you. Fresh heat blooms in your belly again, insatiable, difficult to ignore.

He breathes out a teasing laugh against your damp skin. “You wanna cum again, hm?”

“I’m still sensitive.”

“Not what I asked.” His tongue makes contact with your skin, licking over the spot he marked earlier.

“Yeah.” You breathe out half-heartedly.

“Yeah, what?” He presses, kissing lower and lower, until he’s between your tits.

“Yeah, I wanna cum again.” You huff, hating that you oblige so easily.

His mouth takes in one nipple, licking and sucking harshly before moving across, repeating the same action. Decisive hands push your breasts together, squeezing as he continues leaving wet kisses down your body, and before you know it, he’s grabbing your ankles, dragging to the edge of the mattress as he kneels on the floor, face disappearing between your spread thighs.

Your legs threaten to close around his head when you feel him dribble on your clit, but he forces them open again, folding you in half.

“Markie, baby, please.” You moan, letting your fingers cling onto his hair like a lifeline. He hums in satisfaction when you tug, letting you know he enjoys your neediness.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He confesses, making you whine at the choice of crude words. Maybe in humiliation, maybe in pleasure. And the blob of wetness you feel dribble out of your entrance must give you away. You know he sees it. “You like it when I talk to you like that?”

“Mhmm.” You tug his hair a little harder. His hot breath hitting your clit, testing your patience. “Keep talking.”

“Fuck.” Two of his fingers spread your arousal along with his spit, rubbing up and down your slit, making a mess all over your folds. “You’re a mess, baby.”

“Mm, yes.” You lift yourself on your elbows, needing to see the unholy image. He looks drunk. Completely fucked out. Almost a little insane. Like his mind is not present.

“Remember that time you let me cum inside?” He asks, sounding like he doesn’t even need an answer, before licking a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit. Tongue swirling around the nub lightly, surprising you. You flinch, hips jerking from the overstimulation.

“Oh, fuck—yes.” You pant, whining as his free hand grabs on your thigh a little too roughly. Blunt nails digging in flesh.

“Did it feel good?” He speaks all muffled into your cunt, tongue slipping down to your hole momentarily, lapping up your slick. “Having my cum in you?”

You defeatedly drop back on the mattress with a huff, eyes shutting, brain only focusing on the pleasure and his voice.

“Yes.” You grind against his face as he sucks your clit in his mouth again, tongue flicking over it in quick motions. “So good. Felt so good, Markie.”

He groans, the vibration delicious, going straight through your core.

“Should probably stop fucking you raw.” He mumbles. Two of his fingers joining, rubbing against your entrance teasingly before entering. The slide smooth.

“It feels so good like that, though.” You mewl, being nothing but honest. The feeling of his bare cock inside you, irreversibly engraved in your memory. Incomparable to anything else.

“I know, baby, but you’re always too tight.” His fingers start pumping in and out, curling just how you’ve shown him you like it. “What if I get you pregnant?”

You moan a little too loud at his words. Fucking disgusting. You’re a deranged human being. A lost cause.

“What the fuck.” You think out loud.

He quickens the pace of his hand, tongue slipping out to flick again as he glances up at you. “You want my baby or something?”

You force your mouth and your eyes shut in fear of admitting something you can’t take back later.

He exhales a mean laugh of realisation. “Fuck, look at you. You’re literally dripping.”

“Shut up.” You pant in exasperation, eyes rolling back as he starts jamming his fingers into your quivering hole. The sloshing sounds deafening. An insult to the composure you’ve always tried to maintain.

“Want me to fuck a baby in you? Is that it?” Your legs start shaking. “I’d consider it if we were a little older, you know.” Your back arches. “Bet you’d look sexy pregnant.” Your walls tighten around his fingers. “Wish I could fill you up anytime I wanted.” Your hands shove his face into your cunt again, needing him to shut up. Of course, he doesn’t. “You’d let me, right? You’d just let me take whatever I want, wouldn’t you?”

What is dignity?

“Yes.” You comply without a second thought.

“Yes, what?” He demands, fingering you at an inhuman pace, your g-spot getting abused repeatedly. You’re so close you can taste it. Completely at his mercy.

“I’d let you. Anything you want.” You rasp in relinquishment.

“Good girl.” He sucks on your clit, before giving it a gentle flick and with that little praise, you’re gone. “Mm—that’s it. Make a mess for me.”

You’re giving into another high, gasping at the waves of pleasure, eyes watering from the intensity as they shut completely. You feel a single tear escape and the high-pitched wail you accidentally let out? Unrecognisable. Mortifying.

You’ve barely regained consciousness when he tosses you higher up the bed. You head not even close to the pillows. You’re pretty sure you’re sprawled out diagonal on the mattress, but the thought evaporates when his lips find yours in a heated kiss. It’s sloppy, full of tongue, tastes like you and you have to put serious effort in keeping up with him.

His rock-hard length rests heavy on your tummy and dread washes over you, realising that he still needs to finish. You bet it’s painful for him. But you’re also very aware of the throbbing between your legs — need tangled with overstimulation. Your clit still very raw and tingly. Your inner thighs smeared in slick.

He did this to you. Turned you into some plaything he can just lash out on. It’s fucking annoying. And so arousing. Which makes it even more annoying.

Your frustration slips out in a harsh bite on his bottom lip. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until he pulls away with a pained moan, swollen lip snapping back into place, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths. It breaks when he licks the spot you bit on.

“What was that for?” He asks, a teasing edge in his tone, eyes inspecting you.

“You deserve worse.” Your voice comes out weaker than you expect.

“Turn over.” He ignores you, hand possessive on your hip.

“Uh-uh.” You shake your head in denial. You definitely look like you’re begging. “No way I’m doing doggy right now.”

“Who said anything about doggy?” He arches an eyebrow inquisitively. A bead of sweat dripping next to it. “Just lie on your front. You won’t have to do anything.”

You lean up a little, giving him a chaste kiss, and you feel the little smile that forms on his lips.

“Fine.” You murmur in defeat, too weak to challenge him.

He lifts himself off you, giving you room to flip on your stomach before straddling your thighs, keeping your legs together.

“So fucking perfect.” He praises sweetly as he gropes your ass, hands lift your hips off the mattress just a little, your back forming a tiny arch as you let your face bury in your folded arms.

You exhale in a shudder when you feel his hot breath on your shoulder and a long whimper rolls out when the bulbous tip of his cock kisses your still soaked entrance. The fit is tighter like this. And you’re so horny you find yourself wishing he ruins you. Hoping he fucks you so hard you can’t walk for days. Hoping he claims you his.

Is this normal?

“Ffffuck.” He moans as he bottoms out. Forehead dropping on your shoulder. One hand flat by your head supporting his upper weight, the other on the arch of your back, making sure the angle is right.

He’s stretching your cunt perfectly, making your jaw slacken in a quiet moan. “You feel so big like this.”

“Yeah?” The first drag of his length against your sensitive walls feels too good. The second even better. “Your ass looks fucking unreal like this.”

He punctuates the statement with a harsh thrust. Hips slapping against your behind before he grinds deeper. Cock tickling the perfect spot inside you.

“Harder.” You plead in urgency, needing to feel more. The stimulation too much and not enough at the same time. Too addictive.

For what feels like the first time tonight, he obliges.

You let yourself smile in victory, but it’s cut short when he drops his weight on you. Hot, sweaty skin meeting your back. His face tucked in your neck, breaths ragged as his thrusts increase in momentum. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, mixing with your whiny sounds.

“Ass up for me, baby.” He sounds almost panicked when you unintentionally drop flat on the mattress. You correct your position instantly, but he still slips a hand under you, palm pressing into your tummy to support you, fingers digging into your pubic bone, dangerously close to your clit.

You feel him everywhere. You’re surrounded by him. By his touch. His scent. His deep sounds of pleasure. His insane heartbeat on your spine. And still, somehow, you want him closer.

You lift your head, neck craning so you can see his face.

“Kiss me.” You whisper.

Something soft flickers in his eyes. And he does.

A hand at the base of your neck holds you in place. Grounding you as his lips slot with yours, his head tilted just right for the kiss to start off as deep as you need it to be. His tongue in your mouth, stroking yours. Slow. Sensual.

A perfect juxtaposition with the animalistic thrusts he’s delivering.

The knot in your tummy is there again, tightening fast. Too fast. Pressure building more intensely than your body can handle.

“Mm-Mark.” You mumble into the kiss. “Please, just cum, I can’t.”

“Yeah you can.” He breaks the kiss, lips still grazing yours. “You’re right there, I can feel you.”

Your fingers are digging into the comforter, needing to hold onto something as you feel the familiar throb of another climax approaching. Mark’s forehead is resting on your temple. The intimate gesture calms you but makes your chest ache too.

It’s scary.

He’s making everything strange.

It’s the hand on your abdomen that helps you get to the finish line. Fingers slipping between your folds, the angle a little awkward, but still enough for him to rub harsh circles on your clit.

You cum with a choked-up scream. It’s too addicting. Consuming in an unhealthy way. A sharp peak you feel like you’ve been climbing towards for hours. Your walls spasm violently around him. The indecent slurping sounds of your cunt vacuuming him in are too fucking loud. Your muscles tensing. Feet kicking in despair. Toes curling.

You’ve lost complete control. You’re sobbing against Mark’s arm, practically drooling on his skin as he talks you through it.

“I’ve got you.” “You’re okay.” “Pretty baby.” “So good for me.” “Gonna make me cum.”

The sweetest praises whispered in your ear slowly guide you through the aftershocks.

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s his voice. Or the way his thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. Or the way he’s now messily thrusting in short stuttering pumps, dragging out your lingering orgasm.

Maybe it’s just you feeling incredibly vulnerable. You really don’t know. But for some reason, the words you whisper next, come so easily to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He immediately halts his movements, burying himself as deep as possible.

“What?” In your hazy state he sounds surprised, confused even. Like it’s the last thing he expected.

You nuzzle against his arm, head turning slightly so you can look at him. He’s already staring. Pupils dilated.

“I’m sorry.” You say more clearly, blinking slowly as you take in his baffled expression turn into a blissful one.

His eyes roll back as you tighten around him on purpose, ass grinding back on him a little. You don’t get the chance to tease as much as you’d like.

He pulls out with a short grunt, the abrupt drag of his cock in your tender walls forcing a sharp hiss out of you. But before you can complain he’s spilling on your lower back. Hot white ropes of his release painting your already drenched skin, like a tramp stamp, laying a claim on you.

You can’t help but moan with him as you look over your shoulder. His fringe is soaked, messily matted to his forehead, sweat dripping from his temples down to his neck, chest flushed, his face contorted prettily as he milks himself dry with his tight fist, the last drops of his cum landing on your left ass cheek.

He looks ethereal like this. Just utterly ruined because of you.

You come to the conclusion that you’re both sickos. No doubt.

You so easily shattered to the thought of him knocking you up, meanwhile he’s just busted a nut because of a half-assed apology. How poetic.

He rolls off you and onto his back with a tired huff. Arm extending for you to use as a headrest, but you shuffle even closer. Head settling on his chest, ear just above his racing heart as you both try to regain your breaths.

He hugs you closer by the shoulders, fingers stroking up and down your arm and you close your eyes to the comforting feeling.

“You okay?” He asks softly when you sigh a little too loud.

“Mhm, just thirsty.”

He exhales a little laugh. “Yeah, same. Give me a minute and I’ll go get us some water.”

“Could you help me clean up first?” You ask sweetly, referring to the drying mess on your back that keeps you from moving too much.

“Nah.” He says jokingly. “I got you. Just need to breathe for a second.”

“It’s stickyyy.” You whine childishly, biting down on his chest gently. A tiny giggle erupts from you when he pokes your side as a warning.

You both lie in comfortable silence for a little while, basking in the afterglow. His fingers not stopping the gentle strokes on your skin, helping you into a more relaxed state. His cum on your back forgotten now.

You lift your head when his heart has slowed down to normal. “Since when can you last that long?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The ridiculous question catching him off guard.

“Ummmm. Rude?” His lips form a fake pout.

“Oh, come on.” You challenge suspiciously. “Your stamina is good, but that was crazy.”

He smirks. Free arm draping over his face, covering his eyes. “I may have had a wank before coming over.”

Oh?

“Where? You had practice.”

Silence.

No way.

“Ew Mark!” You exclaim in disgust but still can’t prevent the laugh that tumbles out. “The locker room?”

He chuckles along with you. “Well, in the shower. I waited until everyone left. I’m not a heathen.”

“Still pretty grim.” You disapprove with a scrunch of your nose.

“You’re the one who kept sending me nudes!”

“A bikini pic in a dingy changing room is not a nude, sorry.” What a silly man. “I just wanted your opinion, you doof.”

“Which I gave.” He points out with a hand gesture.

“And then thought, hmm might as well rub one out.”

“That’s none of your business.” His cocky expression making you want to squish his face.

“You kind of made it my business when you decided to rearrange my insides.” You retort with a pinch of his nipple, earning a exaggerated yelp from him.

“Yo, that’s on you.” He sits up carefully after leaving a smooch on your cheek and a second one on your shoulder. “Not my fault you’ve got attitude.”

Your eyes dreamily drag over his back muscles down to his small waist as you keep lying on your front, cheek squished on your arm. “I don’t have attitude.”

He hums skeptically as he stands and starts looking around for what you assume are his boxers. “Yes, you do. But that’s fine.”

“Is it?” You question innocently. You could remind him that his bottoms are discarded on the bathroom floor but his cute butt is a little too nice to look at.

“Yeah.” He gives you a gorgeous smile as he stands by the doorway, letting his gaze trace over your naked form, mimicking yours as it lingers on your ass for a second before meeting your eyes again. “Cause you said you’re sorry.”

“Get out.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Mark has given up on trying to figure out what exactly it is you want from him. At times, he likes to think he’s able to read your mind. Read your likes and dislikes. What irritates you. What makes you kick your feet with excitement. But your neutrality gets in the way most of the time. And so, he’s settled with ‘she still wants me around, I guess I’m doing something right’.

He’s been thinking about what you said the other night for days now. Sex has never felt this good with other people.

And you’re right. It hasn’t. For him it’s not just the sex that feels good though. And he’s accepted that.

He’s accepted that he might be more into you than you are into him. He’s also accepted that he might just be wrong about that. Because you really are an enigma. For all his knows, you might be in love with him and he’s just too thick to understand. Though, he highly doubts that.

He knows you like him—as person. That you enjoy his company and feel comfortable around him. No matter the setting. Whether you’re alone or just chilling with friends. You always look at him with appreciation. You always find a way to touch him somehow. A hand on the shoulder. Or his knee. Your side leaning into his. Your arm linking with when you’re talking to someone else. Like it’s instinct. Like you just need to be touching him at all times.

He knows it’s not that big of a deal. Friends touch each other all the time. But then again, are you two just friends?

It would be a hell of a twisted friendship.

Of course, you’re friends to a certain extend. But admittedly, Mark has never had a friendship like this before.

He’s had complicated relationships before. Relationships that didn’t hold the entire sense of a committed relationship. But those were never with friends. Those were just with girls he didn’t know what he wanted from or girls that didn’t know what they wanted from him.

Maybe that’s where his insecurities stem from. Or his lack of initiative.

He should have asked you ages ago. What you want from him. From this. Where this is headed.

But when he realised you’re more than okay with just hanging out and whatever it is that you two are doing, he talked himself out of asking for too much. If you wanted something more, something stable, you would have asked for it, surely. You would have called him out. You of all people would not hesitate to demand what you deserve.

And you really do deserve a lot more than just hang out sessions that always lead to sex.

He’s considered asking you out. He’s come close to saying the words more than a few times. But the thought of you rejecting him and disappearing like you did in first year of uni has always lingered in the back of his mind.

Because not having you in his life would really fucking suck. Especially now that he knows what it’s like to have you around.

Before, it was just wondering. Now it’s an expectation.

He dreads the days he doesn’t see you as it is. He can’t possibly imagine what it would be like to not see you at all. He basically doesn’t even recall what life was like before you and it’s only been three months since that night in Chenle’s spare room.

Graduation is approaching though. And he always feels a little too devastated at the thought of losing touch with you. At the thought of life and other people getting in the way. You clearly don’t want him to be your boyfriend, meaning that eventually someone else will be. And where does Mark stand when that happens?

Nowhere near you for sure. Because what kind of an idiot would be okay with his amazing girlfriend hanging out with her ex-fuck buddy.

Not that Mark would be okay with that scenario either. He’d probably cry and then distance himself if you started dating someone.

Because fuck witnessing that. And fuck being the old flame.

He’s seen too much of you. Tasted too much of you. Felt too much.

And he can’t undo any of it. It all sits there, crowding his brain. Flashes before his eyes repeatedly.

Even when you’re not with him, you’re all he sees. All he feels. All he thinks of. And even when you’re with him, he misses you. He often worries he’s being too much, but he can’t help it.

You’re all he looks forward to after a long day. A text. A call. A meme. Anything from you.

He knows he’s long gone. There’s no saving him from eventual heartbreak. It will happen. He’s sure of it.

But right now, all he can think of is how good and warm your mouth feels. And how pretty you look on your knees for him.

And what he’s sure of is he won’t last long. Not if you keep swallowing around him like that. Lodging him in your throat like you want him to suffocate you. Like you want to suck the life out of him, not just his cum.

It’s absurd. How deep you’re taking him.

This was not what he had planned. You were both supposed to be at a stupid disco event with all your friends by now. The QR codes are saved on his phone waiting to be scanned, yet he’s stuck on your sofa with you between his spread legs, sucking him off like your life depends on it. Moaning around his throbbing cock like you’re the one losing it. Like you’re the one who’s about to crash.

“Jesus fuck—Y/N, baby, slow down.” He rasps, hating how weak he sounds.

You whine in protest when he tugs at your hair a little too hard, the vibration going straight through him.

You slowly drag your lips off, your hand still jerking him off, mainly focusing on the tip as you let a glob of spit dribble down on him, using it to rub him faster, fist tightening, making him see stars.

“Just take it.” You mumble breathlessly, eyes glancing up at him, looking a little crazed.

He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. Not because your makeup and hair are done. Not because you’re wearing the sluttiest dress he’s seen you in. He’s seen you in Kuromi PJs plenty of times and still gotten hard and fucked you senseless with your pink top still on.

It’s your eagerness to please him that gets him.

The fact that you couldn’t care less about messing up your lipgloss. Which you really have. It’s smeared all over his cock now, mixed with your spit and his pre-cum. A shiny mess.

It’s how feral you look.

Since the second he stepped foot in your apartment, all hyped up and ready to go to the venue and show you off. All you did was look him up and down once before grabbing him by the collar and shoving him on the sofa.

It’s been maybe five minutes since then and he already can neither think straight nor breathe properly.

His free hand is twitching, fingers digging into the sofa cushion as he struggles to keep his eyes open, refusing to look away from you. Your pretty face. Your soft hands touching him. The arch of your back. Your cute ass sticking out in that illegal tube dress. Thin straps fallen off your shoulders, gathering at your upper arms. Cleavage on display. Your tits jiggling from the rapid movement of your hand.

He almost finds it hard to believe. How willingly you got on your knees for him. Like it was all you’d been thinking all day. Like you’d been plotting to ruin him.

You’re certainly succeeding.

“You look so good.” He moans. It resembles a complaint. And maybe it is. Because why do you look so good?

“Yeah?” You drag your lips over one side of his cock, scattering soft kisses as you keep your fist tight around him, quickly pumping his tip only. A torture. “You like my dress?”

“I like everything.” He admits without hesitation.

“Really?” You look up at him with innocent eyes, tongue poking out just a little to lick him from-base-to-top, like you would an ice lolly, swirling around the tip just to make a spectacle. “Everything?”

He bobs his head in a quick nod, not trusting his voice. You start pumping his whole length now, a little slower than before as you lean up, free hand grabbing his thigh, using it as leverage to bring your face closer to his.

“Wanted to look pretty for you tonight.” You confess, like it’s a secret.

“You do. You always look pretty.” He gives in to your taunting without a care.

He’ll happily act pathetic for you whenever you want him to. He is pathetic. But right now, he really needs release. He’s desperate for it. And the only thing he can think of is how good your lips look all wet and swollen.

So he leans down a little, the hand in your hair pulling you closer, his free one cupping your jaw. And then he’s kissing you. And you’re letting him.

You taste like candy — probably your lipgloss — with a hint of saltiness — probably him — and he can’t get enough of it. His tongue is curling with yours messily, needing to taste as much of you as possible. And the moan you let out against his lips drives him into a frenzy.

Without much thought, he’s pushing your head down again, a surprised yelp leaving you but you oblige anyway. Lips wrapping around his tip immediately, tongue swirling a couple of times before you suck gently. Then hard.

He’s got hold of your head with both hands, keeping your mouth on him. And when you sink lower, he thrusts, reaching the back of your throat, biting his lip at the choking sound you let around him. He holds you there. Lets you adjust a little before he starts fucking up into you, fucking your mouth, using your throat like he would your cunt.

He really hopes you’re leaking down there. Throbbing like he is. As sick as it might sound, he hopes it hurts. He hopes there’s a puddle on the floor.

“You know when you look the prettiest?” He asks, knowing it’s impossible for you to actually speak.

You respond with a muffled hum anyway. Your throat tightening a little, making him grunt.

“When you beg.” He thrusts a little deeper to punctuate the word, and you gagging sounds would normally make him slow down. Not now. Now they spur him on.

So he keeps fucking your throat, hands buried in your hair, holding you hostage. You still take it like a champ. The only sign of protest is your nails digging into the muscle of his thigh, both hands bracing, allowing him to push your head down all the way.

He can’t help the deep moan that tumbles out when your nose brushes his pubic bone. He’s so fucking deep.

When you grab onto his wrist, squeezing, he pulls you off, knowing it’s you signalling you need to breathe.

You gasp for air loudly the second you’re back on the surface, your eyes full of tears, only few escaping as you blink fast. He finds himself wishing your mascara isn’t waterproof, wanting to mess you up completely. To see you shatter.

“Fuck.” You manage to get out between pants. It sounds broken. You're clearly turned on. He loves it.

“You can take it, right baby?” He coos, voice full of sarcasm.

You nod, eyes wide, looking up at him like he’s hung the stars. For you, he’d hang the whole fucking universe if he could.

“Yeah? Want my cum in your pretty little mouth?” He adoringly strokes his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, wiping away your tears.

“Yes.” You scoot closer, full of eagerness, tits squished up against the edge of the sofa. “Please.”

You knew exactly what he needed. And you gave it to him. You begged.

“Go ahead.” He wraps a hand around his base as he urges you closer, cradling the back of your head.

When you stick your tongue out obediently, he gently slaps his cock on it a few times, edging both of you, rubbing the tip along your bottom lip. And he feels deranged when he thinks that his precum looks better than your lipgloss.

He lets you get to work when he’s had enough of teasing you, your little squirms confirming that you’re suffering just as much.

You bring him right on the edge only after a few quick jerks, combined with your warm mouth sucking hard on his tip.

His body tenses, eyes rolling back in bliss.

“Holy shit, Y/N, I’m cumming.” He warns with a low grunt.

When he releases down your throat, you swallow everything, making sure to not miss a single drop. Licking up and down his length, getting whatever escaped the corners of your lips, cleaning him up like he’s your little toy. And he’s so pliant, he thinks he might as well be.

You give a few more lazy but still torturous pumps, milking him until he has to wrap his fist around yours to halt your movements. Too drained to actually utter words.

With one last suckle, you pull away, looking all satisfied and content, while he still struggles to regain his breath.

He lets his head fall back in defeat as you tuck him back into his briefs. And even when he feels your weight on him, knees on either side of his hips, he still lies there limbless, eyes closed. He does smile at the cute giggle you let out against his neck, though. It’s impossible not to.

“Are you dead?” You speak softly against his ear.

His arms come back to life, wrapping around your middle as he leans forward, face burying in your neck, inhaling your sweet perfume. He shudders at the softness of your fingers combing through his hair, nails scratching his scalp just right.

“My hands feel numb.” He mumbles sleepily. You feel so soft, so comfortable. Like home. And he inevitably squeezes you closer, relishing in your warmth and the thump of your heart against his chest.

“Isn’t that a sign for a heart attack?” You reply teasingly.

“That’d be embarrassing.” He laughs weakly. “You’d have to explain and all. Yeah, not sure, I just sucked him off and he died.”

“Good way to go, though.” You joke, leaving a little kiss on his temple before cupping his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Your lips are still swollen, and he reaches up to wipe the lipgloss that’s smeared on your chin with his thumb. You smile sweetly, your gaze intense enough to make him feel giddy.

He doesn’t think too much when he leaves a quick peck on your lips, and your blush is all he could ask for in return. Before he has time to pull away completely, you pull him in for another quick kiss. And another one. And another one. Until you’re both laughing in each other’s mouths.

“So, like,” He mumbles against your lips. “What exactly came over you?”

“What do you mean?” You give him one last kiss before staring at him with the fakest expression of innocence.

“You know what I mean.” He slumps his weight back on the sofa to get more comfy and look at you better. “What made you go all berserk?”

“Berserk?” Your hands rest on his chest as you sit on him properly, crotches pressed together, only his boxers and your panties in the way. And he swears he can feel your wetness seeping through. He ignores it for now, stroking your upper thighs just beneath where your tight dress has ridden up.

“You practically pounced on me.” He tries not to laugh at your squirming. He loves getting you all flustered. It doesn’t happen often.

“Just felt horny.” You shrug, trying to cover it all up with nonchalance.

He’s not having it. “So you sucked me off?”

“Are you complaining?” You challenge with a raised eyebrow.

“Not at all.” He smirks, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress. Just a little. “Just want you to be honest.”

Your eyes close for a second, a sigh escaping when his thumb extends to your inner thigh, just an inch off your centre. “You just look really handsome.”

There it is.

“Really?” His thumb drags closer, your nails digging into his chest.

You nod. Eyes all cute and innocent. “Wanted to make you feel good.”

God, you’re going to be the death of him.

“You always make me feel good.” He admits with nothing but sincerity.

You spread your legs further apart when he presses into the crease of your thigh, thumb slipping just under the seam of your thin panties.

“Do you still wanna go to the event?” You ask, hips dragging forward.

Fuck. He’s getting hard again.

“I’ll go if you wanna go.” His eyes trained on your face, seeking for a reaction.

He doesn’t want to go. He really fucking doesn’t. And he knows you don’t either. But he wants you to say it. Loud and clear.

“What about Chenle?”

“What about him?” Mark chuckles at the silly question.

“He always accuses me of stealing you away from him.” A guilty smile on your face.

“Eh, he’s just petty I prefer spending time with you.”

You chuckle at that. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” He lets his free hand sneak to your ass, dragging you over his erection slowly. You let him. “Don’t worry about Chenle, he’ll have fun with or without us there.”

“Okay.” You say, eyes fluttering closed, clearly affected by the friction.

“Okay what?” He finally lets his thumb slip between your folds, immediately finding you swollen clit.You’re drenched, and he wonders how you’ve lasted so long without complaining.

“Let’s not go.” You surprise him by eagerly pulling his boxers down again, and he instantly raises his hips in compliance.

“You sure?” He clumsily tugs your panties to the side.

“Yeah.” Dress bunched up above your ass now as you shuffle a little closer, exactly where he needs you. “We’ll go next time.”

“Yeah, fuck—“ He rubs the tip up and down your slit, gathering all your slick. “Next time.”

“Uh-huh.” Your lips are on his and then you’re sinking down. Slow. His hands careful, on your ass, holding you steady as you accommodate to the stretch.

Fuck going to a stupid disco event. Fuck the money he paid for the tickets. He is not moving from this sofa until he’s completely ruined your make-up and you’re begging him to stop making you cum.

Mark is sure Chenle will understand. And if he doesn’t, well, he can cry about it while busting moves to Boogie Wonderland.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“Right, so what’s the deal with you and Mark?” Giselle shouts over the loud music as you both queue at the bar for a drink.

The boys are all standing in a little further behind, still fully immersed in a discussion about how Chenle missed a hoop during a game. You could almost hear the younger boy’s whining over the bass.

“He’s your friend, why are you asking me?” You respond with a teasing smile.

“He doesn’t tell me shit!” Giselle complains with a laugh and you can’t help but join. “All he says is ‘yo, I’m out’ and I just have to somehow guess he’s coming over to yours.”

You try to hide your smile, eyes focus on the bottle collection behind the bar. “In his defence, there’s not much to tell.”

Giselle raises her eyebrows interrogatively. “Seriously? You guys have missed so many nights out just to spend time together and there’s not much to tell?”

“Honest.” You shrug. “We hang out. We fuck. Sleep. Repeat.”

She blinks once. “So, like, you’re not exclusive?”

“Haven’t really had that chat.” You say plainly. You try.

“Well, what if — and I’m not saying that he has — but what if he slept with someone else?”

You certainly have thought about this. Plenty of times. So you just lie. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Yes, you have. You’d fucking slit his throat.” She dismisses your poor attempt of deceiving her and quickly shouts ‘two vodka lime sodas’ at the bartender.

“I guess it would have to happen for me to know how I’d feel.” Another lie. You know how you’d feel.

“I got this one. You can get the next round.” She says with a smile as she taps her card on the little POS machine, and you can only smile back as a thank you.

“Look,” She continues. “I’m not here to air no one’s business, especially Mark’s, cause he’s really a gem. But I’ll just say you’d be an idiot to think he has eyes for anyone else but you.”

You hesitate for too long and she speaks again. “What I mean is, if you also happen to not have eyes for anyone else, well, you’d have to be the one to admit it first.” She quickly hands you one of the two drinks the bartender leaves in front of you. You might have to down it if this conversation goes on for too long. “Not because he has some big ego, you know that already, I’m sure. He’s just the kind of person that won’t risk saying the wrong thing.”

Again, you hesitate, and she smiles appreciatively. The woman sees right through you. You hate it. But you like her.

“Just think about it.” She grabs two straws and plops one in your drink. “And I’m saying this with nothing but respect.” She steps a little closer, her face more serious now. “If you’re just in it for the sex, end it. I know that’s not the case, but I’ve gotta say my piece. He’s my bestie.”

You’ve known Giselle for a few months now. And seeing her this serious does strike something in you. Intimidation maybe. She’s one of the sweetest people you know, no doubt. But right now, she’s not your friend. She’s Mark’s friend. This is her indirectly saying ‘don’t hurt him’, and in all honesty, it makes you like her even more. It soothes you that Mark has people looking out for him.

You can only nod with a tight-lipped smile, and she does the same.

When you start walking through the crowd to get back to the group, you see Karina and Jaemin have arrived too and you wave at them excitedly. But then you notice a girl you don’t recognise. She’s talking to Mark. He’s smiling. Her hand on his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

Hello?

Before you can jump to any conclusions, Giselle saves the day again. “That’s Luna. Just warning you, she wants your man.”

“Huh?”

She snorts. “She’s had a crush on him for ages, bless her. Obviously he’s not interested, but thought you should know, in case you wanna... you know.”

“Pee around him?” You say with a knowing look.

She smirks. “Well, I was going for something a bit more classy, but that sounds better.”

You look at Luna again, and there she is still, talking to your man— Mark. Talking to Mark. More like chewing his ear off with how close she’s standing.

You really don’t want to be that person. The jealous one. The possessive one. The one that needs to mark their territory. You’ve been that person before and it only brings back bad memories.

The difference now is that you don’t even have a valid reason to act all mental. Mark hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just standing there smiling politely, with a drink in his hand. He’s just standing there waiting for you to get back. Like a boyfriend would.

The thought sits heavy in your heart.

He’s never really implied that he’d like to have that title. Your boyfriend. And quite frankly, you’ve not allowed yourself to indulge in the thought the he would actually make such a great one. A dreamy boyfriend. Simply because you know he would and you’re not so sure you’d be able to be an evenly good girlfriend.

And so you choose ‘classy’ in Giselle’s words. You choose peace. No territory marking.

When you join the group again, you have a catch-up with Karina and Jaemin first, turning your back on Mark and Luna. You almost turn to look when you hear an obnoxiously loud laugh. Surely hers. Why the fuck is she laughing? He’s funny, but he’s not that funny.

No. Classy. Stay classy.

A few minutes go by. Everyone is laughing. Shouting over the music. And you’re trying to stay involved. Present in the group. You really are, but you feel like your brain’s on fire. You’re struggling to focus on what Chenle is joking about, very aware of the two people behind you, still having a conversation.

After what feels like ages, you feel a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. Familiar. Warm. The scent of his aftershave calming you.

“Yo.” He says in your ear as he slowly sways you from side to side. It’s loud enough only for you to hear.

You can’t help but smile triumphantly. Relief washing over you. You turn in his arms and proceed to wrap yours around his waist, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach his ear.

“Yo.” You mimic, before leaving a tiny kiss on his cheek.

“Having fun?” He asks with a sweet smile, his eyes twinkling in the low lights of the venue.

You nod. “You?”

He shrugs. “I’m a bit bored.”

“Mm, maybe you should stop having boring conversations then.” Your eyes widen at your slip up, and so do his. Surprise written all over them.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Then it shifts. His features soften. A tiny grin.

“What?” You say, trying to maintain a neutral face.

“Nothing.” He’s still smirking. Fuck.

“The fuck you smiling at?” You ask in irritation. Almost like a threat.

“Nothing.” He presses. Head shaking in defence. Lopsided smile still on his stupid face.

“Shut up.” You mumble, face burying in his shoulder, hands tightening around his torso to ground yourself. This is fucking ridiculous.

“Awww, dude.” He chuckles softly. “Did you get a little jealous?”

It’s whispered but it still makes you shiver. “No.”

“Hmm okay.” He leans down to leave a kiss on your hairline. A sweet intimate gesture he shouldn’t feel that comfortable making. Just like you shouldn’t be acting all jealous.

Because he’s not yours. Simple as that.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You finalise.

He holds your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Would it really be so bad if you were?”

“I’m not.”

He laughs. Perfect teeth on display.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to contain a smile.

“Okay, well,” He purses his lips in thought. “Just in case I wasn’t clear before.” Another kiss. “It’s okay if you are.”

You frown for a second, but try to cover it with a blasé look. “Why do you want me to be jealous?”

“I—“ He looks taken aback. “I don’t. I just—I wouldn’t mind if you were is all I’m saying.”

“Why?” You press, hands curling around his wrists.

It’s very clear he’s nervous now. Maybe a little confused too. “Because you’re allowed to?”

“I’m not, though.” You point out casually. The energy has shifted between you and he’s noticed. You can tell he has when his hands drop from your face and pull out of your hold.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows. “Okay?”

You don’t really know what else to say. And neither does he, it seems. You’re both just standing there awkwardly, while he looks around. As though looking at you is the wrong thing to do.

“Mark—“

“So now we have boundaries.” His forwardness takes you by surprise, and so does his sarcastic tone. He’s annoyed. Offended even.

“Why are you pissed off?” You clap back, matching his attitude.

“Because you’re lying.”

“I’m not—“

“You are.” He steps closer. “You’re jealous and you can’t accept it, even though I said it doesn’t bother me. And you hate that I can tell, so you’re deflecting.” His harsh voice reaches your spine. It’s not pleasant. Not familiar.

“How am I deflecting?” You try to defend. It’s futile, you know.

He scoffs. “Never have I said that you’re not allowed to be jealous, and you still thought that would be a good argument.”

“I can’t be bothered with this.” You say dismissively, you temper getting the worst of you, eyes already burning. You’re just embarrassing yourself, but you can’t back down.

“Cause you’re wrong.” He said simply.

“You really wanna have a row here?” You raise your eyebrows in challenge, hand gesturing your surroundings.

“Okay, so, let’s go outside.” No hesitation, he grabs your hand, not in the sweet delicate manner he usually does. His touch devoid of any warmth as he drags you through the crowd.

You briefly catch eyes with Karina, who’s obviously witnessed the whole interaction transpire. She gives you a very awkward thumbs up, as if to say ‘you got this’ although her expression says more ‘you’re fucked’ than anything else.

Then Luna. She’s just standing there, pretending to be paying attention to whatever some other girl is going on about. But her attention is on you and Mark. And all you can try and do is ignore her. She’s the least of your concerns now.

When you’re both outside, in the smokers’ area, Mark leans against a wall and you realise you're still holding your drink, the condensation, dripping over your fingers.

You're focused on him though, staring at his face like you’re a lost cause.

His eyes aren’t on you yet. He’s looking around as he exasperatedly rubs his jaw. He looks unsettled. Like he has things to say but hasn’t found the words yet.

“Mark, what is happening?” You fail to come across as calm. It’s just sheer panic that coats your voice.

“Give me a second.” He dismisses you, one palm running down his face as, you assume, he gathers his thoughts.

Then he meets your stare and you realise you’re chewing on your lip a little too hard, tasting metallic. Why are you so scared?

“So, like, what do you think is going on here?” He demands, arms crossing over his chest. You feel even smaller than before now that he’s watching your every move.

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

He nods. “Okay. I’ll put it simply. We’ve been fucking for three months, correct?”

You know where this is headed, and you can tell it’s not a good direction, but you have no choice but to go along at this point.

“Correct.”

“Cool.” He pauses for a moment, gaze intense. “To my understanding, this is not some ‘no strings attached’ bullshit. We talk, we’re affectionate, we ditch plans with other people to hang out, I’ve basically moved into your flat and you’re here telling me you’re not allowed to get jealous. So, I’m asking you again, what the fuck do you think is going on here?”

Silence. You swallow, a little too loud, your mouth feeling dry, your stomach heavy. “I don’t—“

“Don’t say you don’t know.” His hand waving disdainfully, shutting you down in an instant. “This is a long overdue conversation and you know it. I just haven’t put pressure on it cause I could always tell you needed time. And that’s fine, but I’m not gonna act all righteous when you’re talking nonsense.”

“I’m not t—“

“Yes you—“

“Stop interrupting me!” You shout, unintentionally, having reached your limit. It seems to put him back in his place, his eyes wide, his lips sealing tightly.

You take a deep breath to compose yourself, looking around and noticing some people staring, Chenle and Jaemin being two of them. They’ve clearly paused their vaping session, too immersed in your situation. You throw them a glare without meaning to and they both immediately look away.

Mark is still, back against the wall as he watches you and you bite the inside of your cheek while you let the chaos in your head settle.

“When have you ever made your intentions clear, Mark?” You succeed at keeping your voice steady this time. You know there’s no answer to your question, because he hasn’t, but you want to see him try.

He doesn’t stall. “You know I want you, don’t play stupid.”

“Wanting me and wanting to be with me are two different things.” You retort quickly and his scoff pisses you off even more.

“Fuck off with your technicalities. You're full of shit.” He’s a lot better at arguing than you expected, and if you weren’t incredibly aggravated, you’d think he’s insanely attractive right now.

“Alright, since we’re being open and honest then, I think you’re a fucking coward.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes are wild, tone a little more high pitched.

“You’re acting all brave and offended right now, when you know damn well you’ve been so comfortable fucking me and getting all the perks you’d get from a relationship without facing any consequences.” You got him. His face drops, ears flaming red and you can almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. “That’s not righteous, Mark, that’s fucking pretentious.”

“So, if I'd asked you out, you would’ve said yes.” He states with a raised eyebrow, tone laced with sarcasm.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I don’t like living in hypothetical scenarios.”

He breathes out a humourless laugh. “So what the fuck do you want then?”

It’s an easy question, though, you do hesitate for a split second.

“I want initiative, and I want clarity, and I want someone who won’t just go with the flow." You explain as calmly as you can.

He doesn't seem to appreciate your honesty, expression sour and confused. “I'm not gonna beg you to date me. You've made it pretty clear you don't want that.”

“But you think it’s expected of me to get jealous?” You let out an incredulous laugh at his stupidity. "Listen, we can argue all you want on this, but essentially what you’ve asked me tonight is to be emotionally vulnerable when you’ve never actually reassured me. And sex doesn't count.”

That seems to shut him up. Classic.

You breathe for a moment, struggling not to sound too harsh. “And I’m supposed to feel bad because, what? Your ego got hurt? Because I won't admit that I'm jealous? That’s unfair, don’t you think?”

You’re bitter. You know you are. But for some reason you can’t back down. And you know you’re both right as well as wrong in some aspects, but you’re disappointed, and frustrated, and tired, and quite frankly, sad.

“I don’t need you to feel bad.” He argues, with an unreadable expression. You’ve lost him in this moment, you know you have. You’re just hoping you haven’t lost him in the long run. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t said any of this before.”

“Because, Mark, we’re not in a relationship.” There it is. You’ve said it. What you’ve both been dancing in circles around.

He nods. Again. This time in defeat, eyes empty. “Clearly.”

“Look, we can go back to mine and talk if you want, but—“

“Nah.” He says abruptly, taking you aback with a tone that's so cold but still burns somehow. “I’ve ditched my friends enough times. You’re more than welcome to leave if you want, but I’m staying.”

He leaves you speechless with that. It's so out of character. So hurtful. And now it’s your turn to just nod emptily, your eyes stinging. “Okay.”

And just like that, Mark Lee walks away from you, without another word. And you’re left with a heavy heart, chaotic thoughts and a single tear that you quickly wipe the second it escapes.

Karina approaches you quickly when you head back inside to gather your things, and like the great friend she is, she calls an uber, insisting on coming back with you. You don’t really have the energy to refuse, so you just give her an appreciative smile. And just as you’re about to step out the main doors, you look over your shoulder once.

He’s by the bar. Expression a little less angry when your eyes meet, but still stern. His lips part for a second, like he’s about to mouth something at you, but then he looks away. Uninterested.

Clearly having chosen not to concern himself with you anymore.

You do get a text from him later in the night. Not what you’d hoped for, but it’s something.

marklee: home safe?

That’s it. No emoji at the end. Just plain letters.

You reply with a ‘yep’, and all you get in response is a thumbs-up reaction.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Karina listens to you when you’re in the comfortable confines of your bedroom. Both in PJs, make-up off, munching on some forgotten snacks you had on your snack shelf. And you hate that you’re holding onto the bag of haribos like it’s something precious.

They’re Mark’s favourite. You’re pretty sure he’s bought them. How ironic.

“Okay, I’ll be real with you.” Karina says as she pops a Malteser in her mouth, the crunch loud. “I do see where you’re coming from, I do. But.”

“Oh—“

“But!” She insists, index finger raised as though she’s about to lecture you. She probably is. “You were pretty harsh.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that.” You grumble, the sweet in your mouth suddenly tasting sour.

“And I do sympathise with him, I’m not gonna lie. You’re pretty hard to read sometimes.” She gives you a pointed look when you roll your eyes. “You are! And I’m saying that as your best friend. I can’t even imagine what it’s like from a guy’s perspective. Especially from Mark’s.”

“Why especially from Mark’s?” You mimic her voice.

“Uh, not too much attitude.” She warns, and you immediately settle down with a bored look. “He’s just a precious little munch.”

You snort at her characterisation. It’s true though.

“And yeah, he does lack initiative, but he clearly is obsessed with you.” She says with a sad pout.

You throw the empty bag of sweets at the foot of the bed and dramatically lie down, head in Karina’s lap as you curl into a ball. “Well, now he hates me.”

“Okay, let’s not be dramatic.” She strokes your hair — hopefully with the hand that’s not covered in melted chocolate. “He’s just angry. He’ll come around sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but what do I do?” You ask helplessly, all muffled.

“I think you should give him some space first. You’re clearly both not in the right headspace to have a conversation that won’t lead to more misunderstandings.” She hums in thought. “Maybe let him come to you?”

“He won’t.”

“He might.” She defends.

“And what if he doesn’t?” You sound pathetic.

“Then we kidnap him.” She says like it’s a given, managing to make you breathe out a tiny laugh.

“I’m serious, c’mon.” You poke her thigh.

“Then you go to him.” She speaks more gently now. “And if that doesn’t work, then you have your answer.”

“Which is…?”

She sighs. “Which is…he might not be the guy for you.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

When Karina suggested you gave Mark some space, you’d assumed maybe a day or two, three tops. Not a week.

A whole fucking week. With no text, no call, nothing. You haven’t even seen him around campus like you usually do. It’s like the universe is conspiring against you. And every morning when you wake up and see no notification from him, the same thought hits you.

He doesn’t miss me.

You could easily reach out first, take matters into your own hands, be an independent woman and all that, sure. But you feel like you’ve done that more times than you can count with him — and every other guy you’ve dealt with. You’re exhausted of taking matters into your own hands. Why can’t he just take the first step?

You stare at the last two messages you exchanged every day. That stupid thumbs up reaction laughing in your face. Mocking you.

The one person you can’t face is Giselle. Not after what she so openly discussed with you. You’re so embarrassed you skipped your pilates session this week. Plus, you’re too drained for physical exercise, having barely had any sleep. Your thoughts keep you awake at night. Sometimes it’s the crying. Sometimes both.

The first couple of days you had hope, but after day four, you started to realise that maybe Mark Lee is more hurt than you thought he was. Or he’s just decided you’re not worth the hassle.

One thing you’ve realised is that Mark had become a constant. A fixture in your daily routine. A safe harbour even. A presence you always looked forward to. And now that he’s not there, it all just feels…empty.

As days go by you feel him slipping even further away. And sure, Karina and Jaemin are great, supportive friends, who are always there for you. But they’re not your Mark. No one is. No one can be.

You miss him. A tremendous amount. So much you can’t even put it into words. So much it hurts your heart.

And just when you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that you might actually never see him again, there he is, walking down that same pathway. The one he was walking down when you bumped into him three months ago. Only this time he’s all alone. No Giselle. Just him with his big headphones on, hands in his hoodie pockets, backpack slightly swaying. He seems distracted. Lost in his own thoughts as he stares at the pavement.

Your chest tightens. Breath catching in your throat. And your feet just decide to work on their own.

You’re heading towards opposite directions. He doesn’t notice you at first, and you entertain the thought of swerving him, leaving him be, but at the last second you actively block his way, forcing him to raise his head. He halts his steps immediately, eyes widening, eyebrows raising.

God, you’ve missed his face.

You stand there, facing him, not too close, but close enough to get a whiff of his laundry detergent, as you clutch onto your bag straps. And then he’s removing his headphones, letting them rest around his neck.

“Hi—“

“Hey—“

You both speak at the same time, laughing awkwardly. So you try again when he remains silent.

“Where you headed?” You start casually, or eagerly, you can’t tell.

“Class.” He points his thumb towards the Arts and Literature building, and you remember, it’s Monday afternoon. He’s got that ‘Medieval Romance Poetry’ class that he always complains about.

“Right.” You say with a smile, hoping to get one back.

You do, but it’s forced. You can tell. It’s not the signature smile that radiates warmth. It’s distant.

“You done for the day?” He asks, and you feel relief at the thought that he also remembers your schedule.

“Yeah, just heading home.”

He gives a simple nod, and you can faintly hear the music that’s playing from his headphones. Maybe Mac Miller?

“Okay, well—“

“Do you think we can talk sometime soon?” You say it before you can back down, and you hate yourself for it.

“Umm,” He hesitates, face too neutral for a positive answer. “I don’t really think there’s much to talk about if I’m honest.”

Your heart rate quickens at that. Your hands clammy, fingers twitching. And you feel like crying. “No?”

“We clearly want different things, Y/N.” He drops it so naturally, like he’s rehearsed it.

He can’t be serious. “Mark I’m—“

“Look, it’s fine. I get it, we don’t align.” He takes a deep breath. “This is just not for me, I’m sorry.”

“Why?” It comes out as a whisper, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just angry.”

You’re hopelessly trying to salvage something that feels beyond you now, and it doesn’t feel right. This is not how it’s supposed to go. This is worst case scenario, not what you hoped for. He can’t just not want to be with you anymore. He can’t just be over it so quickly.

“It’s done. Let’s just leave it there, okay?” Now he’s smiling? Really? “For both of our sakes.”

You can’t cry. Don’t cry. You keep repeating the words, hoping they’ll register in your brain. Hoping your eyes will listen. And you’re praying this is a prank. This isn’t your Mark. It can’t be.

Was he always this cruel? Or is this some kind of a sick joke? God, please let it be a sick joke.

“I honestly wish you the best, no hard feelings.” He steps closer, but only so he can walk past you. “I have to go, but maybe see you around yeah?”

You manage to look in his eyes one last time. You want to. Just to see if you can still read them.

It’s just politeness that you find. Polite eyes, a polite smile. And just like that, Karina’s words echo in your mind.

He might not be the guy for you.

So you push through the clogging of your throat, even if it hurts. And you smile back, as unbothered as you can muster. “Yeah, see you around.”

And then he’s walking away. For good.

This time leaving you with a chest that feels hollow, like he reached inside and scooped something out, and a face that’s too difficult to dry, because your tears keep falling.

And you realise something you never thought possible.

Mark Lee, the sweetest boy you know, just broke your heart.

taglist: @neotannies, @ppeachyttae, @hi00000234567, @markyosuh, @meowieshibal, @withlovemark, @haluenx, @leehaechie, @snapcracklen, @aliquidexnihilo-blog1, @cathamada, @hyusunn, @wachimingox, @14juno

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