Mark Lee Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

MARK LEE (마크리) — BBF (DRABBLE)

✧.* MINORS DNI (18+)

there was something so appealing about having something you couldn’t. in this case, someone. you didn’t spend too much time wondering, asking why things were the way they were, you knew you had to go to the flow. maybe it was wrong, maybe you lacked morals and the right mind. maybe you just liked the chase, the thrill of it. whatever it was, you were in for it. you were so fucking in for it.

MARK LEE was insatiable. you didn’t understand at first but, then again, you didn’t pay much attention, and neither did he. you were used to your older brother bringing him around, an entire group of his friends huddled together. whether it was in his room, the living room, or outside, they were constantly there, a joint nuisance during your pre-teen years. you were just as much of a nusiance, bugging them, pestering them with whatever seemed to be on your mind at the time. you’d get a couple laughs, even if they were forced, but it was only right. you were their best friend’s baby sister, and they didn't mind you too much. they thought you were adorable, like a cute version of your brother. no matter how it seemed to you, what you felt for mark was just puppy love. it wasn’t something anybody found weird, as obvious as it was. you clung to him, laughed at his shitty jokes, and everybody found it adorable. there was nothing serious to it.

those years flew by faster than any of you had anticipated. a few summers later and you had grown into a beautiful, mature woman. you had put all the more care into your body, your studies, and your career. your brother often joked that he couldn’t recognize you, that you had grown up way too fast. he wasn’t far off, actually. you had spent a few summers away, studying abroad in greece for shits and giggles. the distance wasn’t as ideal as the progress, but you didn't regret a thing.

you came back a changed woman, and you were more than pleased with yourself. you missed korea more than anything, even the less than pleasantries that came with it. your brother was the first to greet you, embracing you in a big hug the minute you came in. he hadn’t seen you in years, and he was more than stunned with the outcome. “wow, you've gotten uglier,” he joked as he ruffled your hair. you only rolled your eyes at him, slapping his shoulder lightly. “you haven't changed at all, i see.” he mocked your words, sticking his tongue out after to emphasize one thing—just because you had changed doesn't mean everybody else did.

when it was time for his friends to come around, you realized just how little everything else had changed. your brother and his friends stuck to their usual routine, just like when they were younger. you didn’t think much of it, even though the thought of mark still lingered in your mind. you did your best to push it aside, reminding yourself that whatever it was you felt—you felt it ages ago. you were a kid, it was puppy love, and you didn't know any better.

when they finally came around, they made themselves comfortable in the backyard. your brother had informed them of your return, and they were ecstatic to see you, to see how you were doing. to see if you had changed, to see if you were dating, thought one of them in particular. the first thing that you did was dash out of the house to greet them. there were whoops of approval, a few warm hugs and handshakes, all mingling in the air with a few cheers of, “we missed you” and “you've changed so much.” you were thrilled with the feedback, taking in every bit of what everybody had to say. all but one.

mark didn’t know what exactly it was that he was expecting to see when you walked out. your brother spoke highly of your change, saying it was like you had matured overnight, but mark took his words with a grain of salt. he managed to stay afloat despite his anticipation, until you had finally revealed yourself. his knuckled turned white with the force of his fingers clutching his seat, yet he couldn’t utter a word. everyone was able to say something, to greet you, everyone but him. the words were there, he knew exactly what it was he wanted to say, but they refused to come out.

you met his gaze swiftly, failing to realize the sheer tension behind them, even as everybody quieted down. “hey, markie,” you approached him with a soft smile, standing on your toes as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “missed you so much.” he felt as if time had come to a halt, his body growing more warm and more intense with every passing second. he felt the way your arms enveloped him, and all he could smell was you. it was a familiar scent, a comforting one tinted with vanilla and cinnamon.

he finally forced himself to hug you back, his arms snaking around your waist. “missed you more, (y/n).” fuck, was he grateful to have finally said something, anything. it was when you finally pulled away that he finally got a good look at you, at what he had been missing out on for years on end. your brother had sugarcoated his praise and approval, you had changed in ways that felt vulgar to say aloud. it was the way the european sun had done you justice, lightening your hair and tanning your skin. he found himself face-to-face with said justice, the white tan lines peeking under your tank top giving him all the indication.

he saw it in the way your eyes beamed with something foreign, something that wasn’t childlike nor pure. it was something dangerous, something intimidating that forced his gaze to lock with yours, decorated by black strokes of eyeliner. it was in the way the tank top hung from your body, hovering just above your belly button—no, something hovering just above your pierced belly button. fuck, he could feel it now, in all the wrong places. it was in the way he could see your hard nipples under the sheer top, visible with the cold air brushing over them. it was in the way your short were too tight and, well, too short, hanging just an inch below your ass. he felt disgusting for looking, and he knew it was obvious.

“i’m gonna go back inside,” you announced aloud to everyone, but yours eyes never left mark. neither did the stupid smirk playing on your lips, fuck, maybe not everything changed. “it’s getting a little cold for me.” everybody murmured hums of approval, nothing too special, but mark was frozen in his spot. he watched you as you turned back around and went back inside, his eyes glazing over everything—the way your hair shifted, your shoulderblades, the curve of your back, and your ass. he felt awful, but he couldn't help himself. everything that seemed cute years ago no longer seemed cute.

“you better watch yourself, mark lee,” your brother cut through the silence as he sipped his beer, his tone accusatory in a playful way. “she’s still my baby sister.”

you were his baby sister, that was the only thing that hadn’t changed. what really changed was mark. he held it off for as long as he could, telling himself it didn’t matter, that you were both young and didn't understand what feelings were. you still didn’t understand, neither of you did, but feelings didn't matter anymore. you didn’t have to understand feelings to understand hormones.

“it’s weird seeing you drink,” you couldn't bite back the smirk playing on your face as you heard his voice. you leaned forward, arms crossed against the kitchen counter as you sipped your beer. it was like you had anticipated his arrival from the second you walked back into the house, it almost felt calculated. you didn’t turn back around, you could feel his presence, his gaze. “really weird.”

you hummed in response as you sipped your drink. you looked up at the window in front of you, locking eyes with his reflection, the smirk never leaving your face. “i’m full of surprises, right?” you practically purred, leaning forward as the straps of your top spilled down your shoulders. he felt the strain in his pants, one he prayed you wouldn't notice as his gaze flickered between your eyes and the valley of your cleavage, now all the more visible to him.

he tried to distract himself, to stop himself from giving in. his eyes fell to the floor, falling on a can of beer that either could’ve fallen to the floor, or been meticulously placed there. mark didn't know better, he never knew better. “you dropped a can,” he didn’t mean for his voice to tremble as much as it did, but it was too late. he was like a mouse in a room full of traps.

your smirk didn't falter as your gaze dropped to the can that you had placed by your feet. “you’re right,” you murmured as you sunk down. your legs remained upright, upper body bending down as you grabbed the can. you didn’t hear the way he cussed under his breath, but you didn’t need to. you saw it in his eyes as they dropped to your ass, the material of your shorts stuffed in between the mound of flesh, giving him the view he had been silently praying for. “didn't even notice.”

he wasn’t sure what it was that finally did it for him, but he had just about enough. you had turned your back to him once more, as if you were oblivious to what you were doing, but he caught the smirk on your face. it was just about enough to piss him off. his footsteps were heavy as he approached you, his breath hitching slightly as he bent down. his chest was tight, his heart thumping against his ribcage like a drum. “you’re really pushing it, aren’t you?” he spoke, his voice gruff with irritation. you scoffed, your hand grabbing his arm for balance as you turned, your clothed breasts brushing against his forearm.

you finally turned to face him, a glint in your eye. “pushing what exactly?” your tone was playful, taunting even. you had always been a tease, but now it was different. it wasn’t the same playful banter from when you were younger, it was something more, something that had his blood boiling.

his eyes searched yours, looking for any semblance of innocence he might've missed. he found none. “you know what i’m talking about,” he breathed, his hand hovering over your arm for a second too long. your skin felt hot under his touch, and he knew you felt it too. “gonna do something we’ll both regret.”

you leaned in closer, your breath grazing his cheek. “you think?” your voice was a whisper, filled with challenge. “i’m not a little girl anymore, mark.” your hand found its way to his chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath his shirt. his eyes narrowed, the reminder hitting too close to home. “you're my best friend's baby sister,” he practically snapped, his frustration reaching a peak. his anger was misdirected, and he was aware of that. what he should’ve done was remind himself of the facts, the same facts that seemed to fight the tent in his pants. you stepped back, feigning innocence as you sipped from your can.

his gaze dropped to your mouth, watching the way your lips wrapped around the can. he could feel his resolve slipping away, his body begging him to do something, anything, to get closer to you. “it’s wrong,” he said, the words feeling foreign as they left his mouth. you set your beer down, a knowing smile playing on your lips. “is it?” your hand reached up, playing with the strands of your hair.

his hand shot out, grabbing yours before it could reach your hair. “your brother,” he began, his voice strained. “your brother would kill me.”

you stepped closer again, your hand still in his grasp. “he’ll never find out,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. you leaned in, pressing your body against his. “no one’s gonna find out.”

his eyes darkened, his grip on your hand tightening. “we shouldn't,” he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. “you're playing with fire.” you leaned in even closer, your tits pressing against his chest. “maybe i like getting burned,” you murmured, your other hand reaching up to trace his jawline.

his control snapped. he crushed his mouth against yours, his tongue delving deep, tasting every part of you. his hands roamed your body, feeling every curve and dip. you moaned into his mouth, your body responding instinctively to his touch. the kitchen floor was cold under your bare feet as you stepped out of your shorts, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you. “mark,” you whimpered, pulling him closer. his response was to lift you onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist. he didn’t hesitate, his hand reaching into your panties, feeling the wetness that had been building up since you saw him again. “so eager,” he murmured against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

you pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, revealing his muscular chest. your hands roamed over his biceps, taking in the warmth of his skin. “fuck,” you breathed as he kissed down your neck, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin.

his hand found your tits, his thumb flicking over your hardened nipples as his free hand worked on your panties. you arched your back, pushing yourself closer to him. “mark,” you repeated, your voice needy. his mouth found your nipple, sucking and biting gently, making you gasp. his other hand found your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. “shit, you’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief as your juices coated his finger, leaving his nail slick and shiny.

you were lost in the feeling, your hips bucking against his hand. “please,” you begged, your voice a desperate whine. he complied, his hand moving faster, his teeth biting down harder. then, he pulled away, leaving you panting, your eyes glazed with desire. “not yet,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “i wanna see all of you.”

you didn’t argue, letting him pull your tank top over your head, revealing your bare breasts. “just like that, fuck,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over the flesh of your tits, stopping at the sight of the metal piercing that clung to your belly button. every bit of it helped him see you in a different light, a light that made his cock painfully hard in his pants. he took in the sight of you, so needy, messy and on display for him. it was wrong and he knew it, but he was too entranced to care anymore.

his hand snuck up to your mouth, his thumb pressing into your lower lip as he stared into your eyes. “you're so fucking tempting,” he groaned, the words slipping out despite his better judgment. you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking lightly before speaking, “so are you.” it was all the invitation he needed.

his hand moved down to the button of his pants, the sound of his zipper echoing through the kitchen. he stepped closer, his cock springing free, thick and long. you took in the sight of him, licking your lips, your eyes wide with anticipation. “are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. “more than you’ll ever know,” you replied, your voice just as breathless.

his hand moved behind your head, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer to him. your eyes never left his as he guided his cock to your mouth, the tip teasing your lower lip. you parted your lips, letting him in, feeling the warmth and hardness of him on your tongue. his grip tightened, his hips bucking slightly as you took him in deeper. your eyes watered slightly, but you didn’t care. you liked the way he felt, the way he filled your mouth. you liked the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes rolled back.

you moved your head back, letting his dick fall out of your mouth with a wet pop. “so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, his voice strained with lust.

his hand left your hair, moving to the small of your back, pressing you closer as he kissed you again. you could feel his length pressing against your stomach, leaving a wet trail against your belly button as it slid down to your pussy. your hand found its way to his cock, stroking him gently. “you’re gonna get me all dirty,” you murmured against his lips, your voice teasing. “you want it clean?” he responded, a hint of mischief in his tone. “maybe later,” you replied, your hand moving faster, your thumb smearing precum over the tip of his cock.

his hands moved to your ass, cupping the flesh, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer. you could feel his cock sliding through your folds, the head brushing against your clit. “mark,” you moaned, your legs tightening around his waist. “i know,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “i know you want it.”

he didn’t wait for you to respond, didn't wait for permission. he pushed into you, filling you in one swift motion. you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. “fuck,” you whispered, the pain mixing with pleasure. he stilled, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. you took a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “more,” you demanded, your voice needy.

his thrusts grew deeper, harder, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. the kitchen counter was cold against your back, but you didn’t care. all you could feel was the heat between your legs, the way his cock filled you up, the way his hands held onto you like you were his. “you're so fucking tight,” he groaned, his hips moving with a ferocity that had you seeing stars.

you met each of his thrusts with your own, your body moving in sync with his. “fuck me harder,” you begged, your voice strained. he complied, his hips slamming into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. you could feel yourself getting closer, your orgasm building like a storm inside of you. “mark, i’m gonna—"”

his hand came down, colliding with the flesh of your ass, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “not yet,” he grunted, his rhythm not faltering. “i’m not done with you.” you moaned, your body responding to his dominance. he reached around, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing it in circles as he fucked you. you knew it was risky, but the thrill of it only made you want it more. he was lost in the pleasure, the morbidly amazing feeling of your cunt milking everything he had to give you. his cock was big, hitting all the right places that had you clawing at his back. he held you in place, arms draped around your waist as he drilled into you. he made sure one hand toyed with the flesh of your ass, gripping and probing hard enough to paint bruises. his other hand roamed over your tits, kneading the flesh as his thumb tugged at your nipples, but his curiosity got the better of him.

he couldn’t help the way his hand dropped to your stomach, fingertips tracing the piercing. he loved the way the light adorned the material, it was like eye candy to him. he kept his hand there as he pounded into you, the realization of just how big he was compared to you dawning upon him. it had to do with how your cunt struggled to take him whole, the outline of his cock practically under the skin of your stomach. he was entranced by it, thrusting into you just a little harder to really see it. you were so small compared to him, yet there you were, taking him whole. he placed his palm ovee your stomach as he continued to tear your pussy apart, his hand clasped over the outline of his cock. it was like he was jacking himself off, while he was inside you.

the pressure grew as his pace quickened, your body tightening around him. “please, ’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain. “do it,” he urged, his hand pressing down harder on your stomach. your eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm crashed over you, your body shaking with the intensity of it. he groaned, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his own release. “gonna fill this pussy up,” he warned, his voice strained. “please,” you moaned, your cunt clenching around him.

his cock swelled, pulsing as he came inside you, his cum filling you up. your legs tightened around his waist, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your climax. your breath came put ragged and harsh, your chest heaving as his cum spilled down your thighs. he leaned into you, his forehead pressing against yours.

you could feel his heart racing against your chest, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. “what now?” he whispered, his voice filled with uncertainty. “now, we clean up,” you replied, your voice low and sultry, your hand reached down, wrapping around his still hard cock. “and maybe we do it again,” you suggested, your eyes never leaving his.

his eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or hesitation. what he found was a spark of excitement, a challenge. “you’re insatiable,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “a little bit,” you replied, your smile widening. “now, get me off this counter before i get a bruise.”

he chuckled, his grip on your ass tightening as he lifted you off the counter. your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck. “where to?” he asked, his voice still thick with lust. “my room,” you murmured, your eyes half-lidded. “we have all night.”

✧.*

mark + big tits!reader i feel like mark would go crazy over big tits 🤭🤭

mark is a boob guy he told me himself!

MARK LEE really did love you with his entire heart. he did everything a good boyfriend was supposed to do; he made you laugh, he treated you to brunch and dinner, he spoiled you whenever he got the chance, he made you his muse for his music, and he was never afraid to show his love openly. you were just as good to him; you laughed at all his terrible jokes, you cooked for him, made sure he felt safe enough to open up to you, and consoled him whenever he did open up. you had both steadied a bridge and crossed it without any problems.

almost, actually. see, mark had an issue of his own. unbeknownst to you, he had been battling some thoughts of his own that, for the first time in forever, he was too scared to share with you. it had to do with the way your tits were outlined and accentuated, no matter what you wore. the first time he took notice of it was when you had gone out to lunch with him and his friends. he was aware you were blessed with a bigger chest, but he really did his best to look anywhere else but there. it wasn’t until he caught jaehyun taking peeks, his gaze lingering longer than necessary on the top of your cleavage. you were oblivious, but not mark. ever since then, it was a chore to focus on anything else.

you didn’t bother dressing modestly around the house, why would you? you sported a pair of shorts and a loose, short tank top as you cooked and vacuumed. mark was sprawled out on the sofa, his eyes focused on the television, though he really didn't care for whatever shitty soap opera was currently on. it wasn’t until you came by the table to clean up, guiding the vacuum across the floor as you did so. mark couldn’t peel his eyes off you, his gaze glued to you as you bent over to reach every crack and crevice. his breath hitched in his throat as the straps of your top spilled down your shoulders, revealing a good half of your bare, huge tits. they moved with every persistent nudge of yours as you continued to work, bending down further to reach the corners. as you did so, your top went with you, spilling further down your shoulders until your nipples were peaking, the mounds of flesh now completely visible to mark.

he couldn’t ignore the way his dick hardened in his shorts, and he was completely sure you would notice and think of him as the world’s biggest creep, but he couldn’t control himself. all he wanted to do was turn the fucking vacuum off and pin you to the couch, make an even bigger mess all over your tits, than the one you were currently cleaning. you had straightened yourself and met his eyes with an oblivious smile. turning the vacuum off, you asked him sweetly, “what’s wrong, baby? everything okay?”

something inside him had overgrown the shame he had been nurturing, something dark that had to do with the ache in his cock and the sudden seriousness in his eyes. “come here,” he said, his tone low and steady. your smile faltered, thinking you had done something to piss him off, but you knew better than to question him when he seemed so serious. “what’s wrong?” you asked with a frown as you reached his spot on the sofa, towering over him as he straightened his back.

he didn’t say anything immediately, he just spread his legs out and leaned back. you didn’t catch his drift until your gaze followed his movements, stopping upin reaching the very evident tent in his shorts, resting against his thigh. you weren’t too sure what had done it for him, but you didn’t care. you had done something to make him horny and the raw sight of him so needy went past your eyes and straight to your core.

“come here,” he repeated, his voice just as low. he gestured towards his lap, patting his bare thighs for you to make yourself comfortable. with shaky legs, you obliged, planting your palms on his shoulders and letting him wrap his arms around your bare waist to adjust you some more. you felt it the second you sat down, the weight of his hard cock pressing into your shorts. no matter how clothed you were, you felt every bit of the hardness resting against your clit.

your fingers trembled around his shoulders, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to keep yourself fron reacting just yet. “you feel that?” he purred, his hungry eyes boring into yours. “you feel how hard you’re making me?” you could only nod quietly, trying hard to fight back against the warmth that soread through your panties, dampening them just enough for mark to notice, a smirk gracing his lips. you had never seen him so focused, so serious. the sheer weight of his gaze mixed with the way he traced circles on your hips was enough to break you.

“can you do something for me?” he asked, his voice slightly softer than before. you nodded in response. of course, you thought, anything for him. “take your top off for me, yeah?”

the request caught you completely off guard. there was nothing strange about it, but you had expected something more demanding. to suck his dick, get him off, or even get straight to fucking, but mark wasn’t like that. you knew better, so you obliged, pulling up the hem of your tank top and sliding it over your arms as he watched you, his gaze content and sinful. you tossed the top aside, leaning back as you allowed him to take you in with his eyes, giving him exactly what he wanted. you felt embarrassed, your elbows coming up to cover yourself, but mark was faster than you.

his hands wrapped themselves around your wrists, pulling your arms away from your chest. “don't even think about it,” he murmured, the tone of his voice enough for your arms to drop. you studied the way his eyes lit up at the sight of your bare tits, your nipples hardening under the weight of his gaze.

“i really tried to control myself, i really did,” he admitted softly. as he did so, he pulled you in closer, a gasp passing your lips as he pushed your hair to one side, giving him complete access to your neck. you arched into the feeling of his lips grazing your skin, teeth sinking into the flesh only for his tongue to caress the same spot seconds later. your tits, plump and heavy, grazed his forearms you did so. “but i can’t anymore, i’m really sorry.” you gasped as his lips travelled south, his tongue dancing over your collarbone, tinged with sweat and perfume.

“you should’ve just—fuck, told me,” you rasped out through a moan as he continued. you were so unaware of his hidden infatuation and, in fact, displeased that he hadn’t brought it up sooner. his hands attached themselves to your tits, a soft moan of relief passing his lips as he kneaded the flesh of your tits. “told you what?” he taunted as he brought his lips down around one of your nipples. “that i can’t get enough of your boobs, is that it?”

you were too caught up in the feeling of it to respond, your only reply a soft, strangled moan as your fingers tugged at his hair, bringing him further into the valley of your tits before pushing them together around his nose. he moaned, taking in the sweet scent as he probed at the thick flesh, tugging and squeezing the mounds around his face as his tongue explored the surface. “so fucking big,” he rasped as he lifted his head ever so slightly, enough for you to see the drool that glistened on his chin, before coming back down with a shake of his head. “they’re so fucking big.”

spit coated your boobs as he took one into his mouth, even though he knew he couldn't fit it all in, his other hand groping your other boob as tears filled your eyes. it had to have been some sick combination of pleasure and embarrassment, pure heat engulfing your cunt through your shorts as he sucked on your tit. he looked up at you, his eyes rimmed with hunger as he practically ate away at your boob. “get me off with them, yeah? that okay?” the request was enough to make you tremble, barely able to nod as the thought of him, so desperate and needy, fucking your tits raw clouded your mind.

you watched as he pulled his shorts down, his hard cock springing free from his boxers. it was already glistening with precum, and he didn’t even bother to stroke it before he watched you lay flat on the couch as he pushed the base of his dick against the soft mounds of your tits. “yeah, like that, come on, baby,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to rock his hips back and forth, your boobs jiggling with every thrust. you could feel the warmth of his cock, the wetness of his spit and precum mixing together, creating a sticky mess on your chest. it drove you insane, creating an even stickier mess between your thighs. it was all about the wild look on his face as he watched the way your boobs took his entire length in, the way his free hand toyed with your left tit, pulling at the nipple and squishing it against the skin of his cock as he rutted his hips slowly. the tip of his dick hit your chin and you couldn’t help but open your mouth, letting your tongue wrap around his head and take it in between your teeth as his shaft twitched between your boobs.

his groans grew louder as he picked up the pace, his hips slapping against your chest with every thrust. your eyes rolled back in pleasure as you felt the pressure build in your own core, his dick sliding along the underside of your chin as your tongue swirled around the tip. “fuck, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum all over your tits,” he warned you, his voice tight with need. you nodded, eager for it, feeling your own orgasm building as you watched his face scrunch up in ecstasy. your hands found their way to his hips, urging him faster, pushing him closer to the edge. you could feel the pulse of his cock, the way it grew stiffer and stiffer against your skin.

with a guttural moan, he came, spurts of hot cum painting your chest and neck as his tip left your mouth and twitched against your boobs. he thrusted forward once more just to feel the warm flesh, still spurting, and you watched with wide eyes as ropes of his seed shot out, landing on your chest and stomach. you looked up at him, panting, your chest heaving with every breath as your own climax hit you like a wave, your legs squeezing together as your muscles tightened and released in a symphony of pleasure.

mark’s eyes never left yours, the sight of his cum on your skin driving him wild. he leaned in, licking the creamy liquid off your neck before grabbing your hand and guiding it to his hardening member. “don’t get tired on me, baby. who said we were done?” he whispered, his voice husky with satisfaction.

✧.*

a/n: thank you to whoever requested this!! if you don’t like how it turned out lmk and i’ll redo it babe

Mark with big tits reader was craaazyy good 😵‍💫 what about mark with insecure reader bc she has tiny bitty titty (me)✌️

this is not a love story — mark lee (마크 리)

✧ WC: 15.8K

✧ SYN: you’ve never known love, no matter how much you believed you did. maybe it was never fated for you to cross paths, maybe it was never really there.

✧*. 18+

if there was anything you refused to allow yourself to believe in, it was a happy ending. taking things for granted seemed to come easy for humans, you thought. or rather, you knew, because you were a part of the majority. times were simpler when you were blissfully unaware. back then, you were just blissful, unaware of just how complicated life would get after those trial years.

you got your happy ending, you lived it until you turned fourteen, ready for a cruel beginning. it was easy to take the simple things for granted, and if you could turn back time, the first thing you would do is make sure to cherish it all. cherish staying up an hour past your bedtime, cuddled up with your mother, watching whatever show she had turned on. you didn’t care at the time, you didn't care for her midday soap operas or her nightly detective shows, but it was different now. now, you would give anything to watch just one more episode, curled up in her lap. you would give anything to get up early and get ready for school with your mother’s makeup, even though you hated going. you would give anything to watch cinderella one more time, to believe that happy endings really did exist.

your makeshift happy ending came to its final act when you turned fifteen. you had moved from busan to seoul just a few years back, and you were unable to adapt. a new school, new friends and a new way of life was awaitng you, but you had no idea how to make peace with it. it wasn’t too hard the first few years, all you had to do was keep to yourself. the thought of it was what kept you away from the other students, away from their cliques and personal politics, kept your grades steady and you to yourself. you were never in the eye of the storm, nobody had a reason to pick on you. like many other things, you had taken the peace for granted.

most of it started when you were fifteen, your own hormones teaming up against you. nothing had changed—not the silence, not the way those around you acted. nothing changed except your approach; you felt insignificant, like nothing you said or did mattered. you noticed the attention fall on the other girls from your class, the way nearly every boy was fond of them, showered them with praise. everything you had deemed irrelevant before had come back and hit you like a ton of bricks. why did nobody bother to give you that kind of attention? were you that ugly? was puberty doing everybody but you justice?

those kind of thoughts had started to flood your mind, seeping into every crack and crevice of your attention and ultimately stealing it from the things that really mattered. you started to focus more on your physical appearance, waking up an hour too early just to touch yourself up. you wanted to turn yourself into someone you knew you weren’t, to live somebody else's life just to feel better about yourself. everybody questioned the sudden change, no matter how little of important you deemed yourself. why was your hair straightened? had your lashes grown overnight? what was with the skimpy clothes? in a way, it was effective. more people had started talking to you, even if it was small talk. it made you feel good, but you knew you could do better.

you had traded what would later be a piece of your soul in exchange for temporary security. you entered your first real relationship that same year—it wasn’t real, it lasted five months. to a fifteen year-old girl with less than no experience, it was real. it was real when you held hands, kissed, when you lied to your parents to see him—even if it was for just twenty minutes, when he made you feel like you were the most important girl in the world. it was just as real to you when you had started smoking, drinking, doing all the things you swore not to do with him. it didn’t count if it was with him, right?

it became real when reality hit you like a physical blow to your stomach. ultimately, you had lost your virginity to him in a way that was so sudden, you knew in your head that it wasn’t love, but you weren’t thinking with your head. not when you wore your heart on your sleeve so proudly. it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, you didn’t even like it all that much. you just wanted to feel the love you so badly chased after, even if it only lasted five minutes. you told your friend all about it the next day, but you were so worked up and eager to share the news that you had forgotten just how much the kids your aged liked to blabber, and it was exactly what he did. you didn’t realize just how fast the news had spread, you didn’t register the dirty looks and condescending stares for a good while, until you had to.

the news of your distasteful encounter had reached the staff. the principal, the secretary, and the guidance counselor. when you were called into her office, you didn't know what it was you were expecting. the office itself put you off—white, sleek walls, a tidy desk, three chairs alligned perfectly to the side, and the sharp, pungent stench of medical supplies. everything about it made your stomach twist with fear, even though you didn’t know what it was that you were so afraid of. the silence only put you off further, but then, she finally cut through it. the sole start was just to ask you basic questions—how were you doing? have you been experiencing any issues lately? what was your life like at home, any concerns? it was meant to make you comfortable, to spread your soul open and go after its most tainted parts, but it only made you more queasy.

you wished the small talk had lasted longer, because you were absolutely unprepared for what followed. when she asked you if it was true that you had lost your virginity, you felt your world turn upside down. you were sure she had seen the way your face paled and heard the way your heart thumped in your ears, you were positive. your throat had started to close up and your lips grew chapped, no matter how many times you ran your tongue over them. in the end, you had to admit it, there was absolutely no way out of it. you had finished your confession with what worried you the most, begging her to honor the counselor code and to keep your parents uninformed. she promised to keep it a secret, but never intended on taking it to her grave.

in all fairness, you were fifteen. it wasn’t morally right to lie to you, but lying to your parents about such a situation would've been even worse. your mother threw a fit, broke down in the worst way possible and cried herself to sleep three nights in a row. your father had shut down—he was never mad, he was just disappointed. your mother had gone off like a time bomb waiting to explode, and she finally did. she exploded in a way that made you feel like you were the epitome of everything wrong with the world, and in a way that made her feel like she was the reason for it. you had blamed her for taking advantage of your future for so long, for forcing you to move with her just because she wanted to—because she longed for her city even if you liked yours better. you didn't think you resented her for it, even though she knew you did. she made peace with it, with the fact that you had both found a way to put a strain on your relationship.

your boyfriend was the first to break things off with you, even though you were the one instructed to do so. you had no intention of doing it, telling him all about what happened and his response being something generic and typical for a boy his age—you’d find a way out of it, he'd stay by your side, he’d wait as long as possible for you. you didn’t know it then but when you looked back at it, you felt like a fool. none of his promises were fulfilled, and you were left with a void in your heart for the first time in your life. it was a void you had filled with cheap cigarettes, shots of groccery store tequila, red hair dye and an absolute punch to your youth.

you were sixteen by then, and you had lost any and all touch with reality. the void in your soul was blocked by going to parties you swore you would never come across, befriending the hosts even though you knew they were shitty people, expanding your circle of friends you knew hated you deep down—but you didn’t care. it was a phase that took a toll on you and your reputation. during that phase, you had gotten yourself entangled in two more relationships. they were short-lived, shorter than your first one, but you didn’t wanna be alone. if you weren't with your friends or drinking, you wanted to feel loved. even if you knew it was temporary. you had given yourself up two more times to feel the love you thought you deserved, even though it wasn’t love. it didn’t faze you until people started talking about it, again.

this would happen four more times. four more times would you give yourself up to four different people you thought loved you. maybe some of them did, you didn’t know anymore. you had stopped believing in it a long time ago, you had stopped chasing the happy ending you thought awaited you. maybe you struggles weren’t all for nothing, you hoped, maybe the sun was hidden behind the clouds, but it wasn't. the sun had fallen and it was dark, and your only source of light was what was familiar. it wasn’t a good kind of familiar, no matter how useful the light seemed. it was a blinding kind of light and it, too, would succumb to the darkness at some point.

the cycle repeated itself four times, but you were too numb to realize just how bad it had gotten. the only time you had fallen in love during the whole ordeal was with the fourth guy. you were seventeen at the time, and he was a year younger than you. anybody listening would’ve assumed it was your shot at a happy ending, that it was everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost was. almost. you were out with your friend and her boyfriend, and he had insisted on going to one of the many bars in town, but your friend was reluctant. you had been texting a guy at the time and, though it was rather casual, he happened to be in the same bar. it was the only reason you agreed, promising her you’d be there for just a bit. the guy you had been texting wasn’t too eager to see you, thinking it was too soon, but it all changed when you walked in. as corny as it was, it was the truth. he hadn’t expected you to be so pretty, so charming and so gentle with him. you barely noticed him at first—when you walked into the bar, the first thing you felt was the stench of medical equipment in the bathroom assaulting your nostrils.

despite the rough start, it was a relationship that blossomed into something that was as beautiful as a foxglove. it came in different shades, patterns and shapes, but it was beautiful. it was beautiful when you took a glance at it, even a good stare. it was beautiful when you embraced it, even for a long while, but it was just as deadly if you held onto it for too long. that was exactly what you did. you held onto it until you had nothing to hold onto anymore, until the stem had snapped and the petals danced in the air. the petals were all that was left, but even they showed no mercy. he had broken it off after six months, claiming to have done it because you were dishonest with him about how many people you had slept with prior to him, but you knew that it wasn't true. you knew he had just gotten bored of you.

your breaking point came just after, and you grieved him far longer than you should have. eight months proceeding the split had been spent drinking, pondering and making a fool out of yourself—all because of a man. it made you spiral, shift and it was the sole reason you fell apart. nothing mattered anymore, not even the people that made it their mission to turn your the intimate details about your life into a public spectacle. you let yourself fall apart with nothing to catch you but your own too arms, and even they weren’t enough to carry the weight of your burdens. had you ever known love? what was the point of feeling the warmth of a home if it was built with cards? you hadn’t known love, and you were sure you never would.

you started to take yourself seriously when you turned eighteen. the people hated you, all the people your age. they all knew you based on the mistakes you had made, the most intricate details of your life that you prayed would never come to light, and the poor decisions on your behalf. your name had become such a taboo topic that you had detached yourself from the rest of the city. you spent a summer away in japan with your uncle, searching for a way to put your mind at ease. upon coming back, you were quick and pleased to discover that everybody had forgotten about you. you were no longer relevant, your scandals were no longer interesting to talk about. it was something that one of your exes, kim dongyoung, assured you that it was as if people has forgotten about you entirely. despite having a rough split with him, one that was entirely your fault, you remained friends with him, and he was good to you.

your final year of high school came to a peaceful and successful close. all of your time was devoted to your classes and extracurriculars, and nobody said a word about it. you had assumed tens of thousands of derogatory words would roll off their tongues, at least behind your back, but there was nothing. once again, you didn't matter, and you couldn't have been happier about it. you graduated as best as you could, and absolutely everything had changed, but you didn’t feel at ease. you didn't feel like you would get your happy ending, no matter how well you were doing.

the pressure that once felt distant was now inescapable, crushing you under its weight. you thought the relief would come after graduation, that somehow this looming sense of duty would evaporate as you took the next logical step—studying law, following in the footsteps your family had silently mapped out for you. but instead, the silence from everyone around you only added to your disquiet. the silence wasn’t praise, it wasn’t encouragement, it was indifference. you had worked so hard for nothing more than a polite smile, a generic “congratulations.” no one cared.

that was when the contract came in—a modeling gig, of all things. It was meant to be temporary, a short detour from the expected path. you figured it would be easy. why wouldn’t it be? pose for a few pictures, walk down a runway. In and out, no mess. you’d take some time, maybe earn a little money before heading to law school like you had always planned. you signed your name on the dotted line, not fully realizing what it meant. suddenly, you were in it—korea’s newest face, the nation’s ‘princess.’ the transformation wasn’t gradual; it was like waking up in someone else’s body. one minute you were a student, scandalous, spat on. the next, you were everywhere. billboards, magazines, flashing cameras. thhe whole country seemed to know your name, and for the first time, you felt like you existed.

but existence always came at a price. at first, it was small sacrifices. a skipped meal here, an extra workout there. you told yourself it was temporary, just until the next shoot, just until the next campaign. soon, celery and ice cubes became your daily staples, the only things you allowed yourself to consume. the emptiness inside you wasn’t just hunger anymore—it was something deeper, more insidious. your reflection in the mirror grew sharper, more defined, as if every pound you shed stripped away another layer of who you used to be.

the people around you noticed the changes, but not in the way you expected. the criticisms came, not from the people who mattered to you, but from strangers. overweight men with sagging bellies, women who would never fit into the clothes you wore—they all felt entitled to say something. a comment about your posture, the way your hips didn’t quite match their idea of perfection, how your eyes looked too tired. their words clung to you like grease, seeping into every pore until you began to believe them. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the insults only fueled you, driving you to work harder, push further, just to prove them wrong.

there were moments when you wanted to quit, when the exhaustion from endless workouts and starvation weighed you down so heavily that you felt your bones might snap under the strain. there were nights when you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you had made the right choice, if modeling had been easier than law—or if this was just another cage, more gilded but no less suffocating. yet, despite it all, something began to shift. it started with the way people looked at you. at first, you didn’t notice. you were too busy hiding your exhaustion behind perfect makeup, too focused on pretending that everything was fine. but then, you began to see it—the looks that weren’t pitying, weren’t dismissive. people weren’t looking at you like they used to, with that thin layer of contempt, the way they had in school. it wasn’t hatred anymore. this time, when they looked at you, it was admiration.

the way their eyes lingered on you wasn’t like before. It was different—soft, almost reverent. you could feel it in the way they stood a little straighter when you walked into a room, the way conversations quieted, as if your mere presence demanded attention. you started to recognize that look. it was the one you had given others, the untouchable, the perfect. they didn’t see you as human anymore, but as something beyond that. they saw perfection, or the closest thing to it that they could grasp.

it felt good. addictively good. the power that came with their admiration, their respect, it washed over you like a warm current, and you couldn’t deny how much you craved it. it filled the hollow places inside you that no amount of food or rest could fix. you had always wanted to be seen, to matter, and now you did. it didn’t matter if you were starving. it didn’t matter if you felt like you were falling apart behind the scenes. as long as they looked at you like that, it was worth it, wasn’t it? you had become korea’s ‘princess,’ but deep down, you knew. the crown was heavy, and it wasn’t yours to keep forever. you just didn’t know how long you could carry it.

the studio was a cavernous space, its high ceilings disappearing into soft shadows cast by the industrial lighting rigged above. a haze of white light bathed the room, diffusing over every surface, amplifying the sharpness of the scene in front of you. rows of expensive cameras clicked in perfect rhythm, each shutter a drumbeat to your performance. the set was minimal—sleek, modern, monochrome—a backdrop of muted grays and blacks that made your crimson gown blaze like fire.

you were the centerpiece, draped in a figure-hugging satin dress that pooled dramatically around your feet. the fabric clung to every curve, shimmering under the lights with every subtle movement. a slit ran high up your thigh, a calculated element of the designer’s vision. the neckline dipped just enough to tease, but not to scandalize. everything was deliberate, down to the last stitch. you had become a canvas, an embodiment of elegance, allure, and untouchable sophistication.

“alright, beautiful, chin up. yes, just like that,” the photographer’s voice echoed, smooth and precise. his name was han minseok, and he had a reputation for bringing out the best in his models. his praise came easy, but you knew better than to let it sink in too deep. you held your pose, lifting your chin slightly, eyes half-lidded as you stared down the lens with calculated indifference. “perfect, darling,” minseok murmured. the camera clicked again, rapid-fire. “you’re nailing it. hold it right there—perfect!”

your manager, jeong jaehyun, stood off to the side, arms crossed, observing the shoot with an approving smile. his eyes followed every movement you made, calculating, critiquing, but also proud. he knew how to push you, knew exactly how far you could go before breaking. and today, you were flawless. you could feel his approval radiating from him without him needing to say a word. you shifted your weight slightly, allowing the dress to catch the light in a new way. the faintest smirk tugged at your lips—a hint of danger, a whisper of seduction. you manqged to embody the theme of the shoot effortlessly. minseok lowered the camera, grinning wide. “that’s a wrap. fantastic work as always.”

jaehyun approached you, his smile soft but pleased. he handed you a bottle of water, and you accepted it with a gracious nod, twisting the cap off to take a slow sip. the cold liquid hit your parched throat, refreshing but momentarily distracting. when you looked back at him, you noticed it—the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes today. there was a sadness, a shadow lingering behind his usually confident demeanor. “jaehyun,” you said softly, eyebrows furrowing. “what’s wrong?”

his smile wavered. “sit down for a second,” he said, gesturing toward one of the nearby makeup chairs. your heart skipped a beat, a subtle prickle of worry crawling up your spine. you did as he asked, sitting gingerly, suddenly aware of the hum of the studio around you—the muffled conversations, the clinking of equipment being packed away, the janitor scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the floor in the corner. the sharp smell of cleaning chemicals stung your nostrils, cutting through the faint scent of hairspray still lingering in the air. you tried to ignore it, forcing your attention back to jaehyun.

“what’s going on?” you asked, your voice low and uneasy. he hesitated, a brief flicker of discomfort crossing his features before he spoke. “i’m being relocated. back to connecticut. it’s for a while—maybe a few months.”

you blinked, the words sinking in like a slow, cold weight. “what?” your voice came out quieter than you intended. he saw the look on your face, and he immediately stepped forward, taking your hands into his, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll be back,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “you’ll be fine, better than fine. you’re doing better than ever.”

the disappointment hit you like a punch to the chest, sharp and unexpected. “i can’t do it without you,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. he shook his head, his expression softening even more. “it’s not me, it’s you. i’m the one who can’t do this without you.”

his words should have been comforting, but they only deepened the sense of dread coiling in your stomach. jaehyun had been with you since the beginning, guiding you through every high and low, through every mistake and every victory. the thought of him not being there, even for a little while, made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. he paused for a moment, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles before he continued. “you’ll have someone new. a friend of mine, just as experienced as me. i trust him completely.” you frowned, skeptical. “who?”

“you’ll meet him tonight,” he said, offering a small smile. “the whole team is going out for drinks, and he’ll be there.” you nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your chest tightened. even with his reassurances, the idea of working with someone new didn’t sit well with you. the trust you had in him wasn’t something that could be replaced so easily. sensing your unease, jaehyun leaned down, wrapping you in a hug. his arms were warm, familiar, grounding. “you’ll always be a star,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and comforting. “with or without me.”

you hated how much those words hurt. hated how much you had allowed yourself to rely on him. it wasn’t supposed to be this way. you weren’t supposed to get attached—not to anyone. but history had a cruel way of repeating itself, didn’t it? all you ever did was get attached. you didn’t trust yourself to say anything, so you nodded silently, letting him hold you for a moment longer before he pulled away, his hand squeezing yours one last time. he gave you a final smile—sad, but reassuring—before he turned and walked toward the door, leaving you alone with the weight of his absence already settling over you, even if he hadn’t left you yet. they all left, why was it so shocking that his turn had come?

your apartment was a modern contradiction—beautiful, sleek, but hollow. the wide windows let in a gentle glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows against the pristine white walls. it was elegant, like something out of a design magazine, all clean lines and expensive furniture. the kind of place that should have felt like home but never quite did. every corner was curated, from the marble countertops to the velvet sectional sofa that sat untouched most days. everything looked perfect, yet the emptiness inside you felt sharper here, in this space that was too big for just one person.

your parents hadn’t been to your apartment, hadn’t seen this life you had built for yourself. not that they cared to. you hadn’t spoken to them in months, not since they’d made it clear that your choice to model, rather than pursue law, was unforgivable. their silence hung over you like a cloud, heavy and oppressive, yet familiar. you were used to being left behind. your father’s words still echoed in your head, dismissive and final, “you’re wasting your potential.” your mother hadn’t said anything at all—her disapproval was cold, passive, like she had washed her hands of you.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, hands delicately applying makeup with a precision you had perfected over the years. the foundation smoothed over your skin, covering every flaw, creating the illusion of perfection you’d mastered long ago. the emptiness in your chest collided with the fullness of your apartment—so much space, so little meaning. it felt like you had filled your life with things, with a career that demanded all of you, and yet somehow you remained empty inside, hollowed out by the silence from the people who should have cared the most. your hands moved almost mechanically as you styled your hair, pulling it into loose waves that fell over your shoulders in soft, effortless curls. your outfit for the night was simple but striking—an off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your frame, the fabric slinking around your body like it was made for you. it was elegant, understated, but you knew it would turn heads. you always turned heads.

as you stepped out of your apartment and into the waiting car, you felt a strange sense of detachment. the city lights blurred outside the tinted windows, a constant stream of life and movement, yet you felt removed from it all. the car ride to the bar was short, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach twisted tighter with each passing minute. you weren’t sure what tonight would bring, but something told you things were about to change. jaehyun was supposed to meet you, introduce you to your new manager. the thought made you feel uneasy.

when the car pulled up to the bar, you were immediately greeted by the flash of cameras. it never ceased to unnerve you, the sudden explosion of light, the shouts from photographers who called your name like they knew you. you squinted against the brightness, stepping out of the car as gracefully as you could manage, though the onslaught of attention left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. you half-expected jaehyun to come out and handle the situation, to shield you like he always did, but he didn’t. the door to the bar opened, and for a brief moment, you thought it was him. but it wasn’t.

instead, a man appeared, a bit shorter than jaehyun but striking in his own way. he wore a leather jacket rather than jaehyun’s usual denim, the dark material catching the light in a way that made him look almost dangerous. his jawline was sharper, more distinct, and his dark hair was swept down in front, framing his forehead. his eyes met yours, and there was something in the way he looked at you—something unreadable, intense. he didn’t say a word as he approached, discarding his jacket and spreading it open to shield you from the cameras. his movements were smooth, confident, as he draped the jacket over your shoulders and guided you inside. the warmth of the leather was a stark contrast to the cold, clinical detachment you’d felt all evening.

“who are you?” you asked, your voice soft but firm, laced with confusion. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze steady, unreadable. “mark lee,” he said, his tone calm, measured. he paused, and for a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he let the silence hang between you. then, as if deciding to answer the question you hadn’t asked, he added, “i’m your new manager. didn’t jaehyun tell you?”

your heart sank slightly, the pieces falling into place—he was the one jaehyun had spoken about. mark studied your face as though he were trying to read you, to understand something you hadn’t yet said. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost amused by your reaction. “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said softly. you blinked, unsure of how to respond. the words you spoke felt disconnected from the thoughts in your mind. “the pleasure’s all mine,” you mumbled, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you.

mark’s gaze lingered a second longer before he turned, leading you further inside, away from the flashes of the cameras. the air inside the bar was warmer, thick with the chatter of people and the clinking of glasses, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled in your chest. even as he guided you to a table, the leather of his jacket still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was shifting beneath your feet. and you weren’t sure you liked it.

the bar was vaguely lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of glasses. a few members of the team were already gathered around a table near the back, the familiar faces of the makeup artist, the stylist, and the photographer who had been on set earlier. they greeted you with warm smiles and the easy familiarity of people who had spent long hours together under bright studio lights. it was strange how these people had become your family of sorts, even if it wasn’t a family you had chosen.

jaehyun spotted you first, standing up with that easy grin of his, arms already open for a hug. “there she is,” he murmured, pulling you in tightly. his embrace was warm and comforting, but the knowledge that this might be one of the last times he’d be there for you made it bittersweet. “have you met your new manager yet?” he asked as he released you, his eyes glancing over at mark, who stood just a few steps behind you.

you nodded, unsure of what to say, the words getting caught somewhere between your mind and your mouth. you could still feel the weight of mark’s jacket on your shoulders, the leather warm against your skin, grounding you as you stood between the two men. you wanted to say something that sounded more certain, but you were scared of how it might come out—scared it might sound like you didn’t want this. mark stepped forward, a casual confidence in his movements. “she ran into a bit of paparazzi trouble outside,” he said with a slight chuckle, as if it was nothing new.

jaehyun clapped him on the back, laughing. “always on duty, huh? you must have eyes everywhere.” mark grinned, his laugh coming easy. “you have no idea.”

he pulled out a chair for you, the gesture small but thoughtful, as he motioned for you to sit between him and jaehyun. as you lowered yourself into the seat, your eyes met his for a moment, and there was something in the way he smiled at you that eased the tension in your chest just a little bit. you settled in, the low buzz of the bar around you offering some comfort, though you still couldn’t shake the feeling of change looming in the air. the drinks came quickly—classic cocktails, neat whiskey, and bottles of soju. jaehyun was the first to raise his glass, and you followed suit. “i’m going to miss having soju while i’m away,” he said with a sigh, swirling the glass in his hand.

you clinked your glass against his, a smile tugging at your lips. “we’ll drink it in your honor.” he laughed, and as you turned to clink your glass with mark’s, your eyes met his again. he smiled back at you, that same easy warmth from earlier. for a second, you forgot about the looming goodbye, about the shift that was about to happen. you let yourself smile, feeling a strange sense of calm in the moment. the drinks were strong, stronger than you’d realized at first. the warmth of the alcohol spread through your chest, loosening the tightness in your muscles, and you allowed yourself to relax into the night. laughter flowed easily among the group, the conversation light and comfortable, even as the weight of jaehyun’s upcoming departure lingered on the edges.

but eventually, the night began to wind down. one by one, the team started to tap out, heading home with promises of seeing each other soon. jaehyun was the last to stand, his expression softening as he looked at you. “i’ve gotta head out. my flight’s tomorrow,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of the goodbye that neither of you wanted to say.

you stood with him, the alcohol making you feel just tipsy enough that the world seemed to blur a little around the edges. as you hugged him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, and you realized just how much you were going to miss him. “mark will take good care of you,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. all you could do was nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. he pulled away, giving you one last look before turning to leave. you watched him go, the door closing behind him with a finality that made your heart sink.

you sat back down, the world feeling a little off-kilter now that jaehyun was gone. the noise of the bar seemed distant, the voices around you a dull hum. but then you felt a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and when you turned, you found mark looking at you, his expression gentle. “i know you aren’t thrilled about this,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. “but he’ll be back.”

you nodded, trying to steady the emotions swirling in your chest. “don’t be offended,” you said, your words a little slurred from the alcohol. “i must sound like an asshole. i’ve just known jay a long time.” mark laughed softly, shaking his head. “the models i work with are usually blunt and awful. you’re like a breath of fresh air.”

your heart fluttered at his words, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or something else. either way, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush you couldn’t quite control. “really?” you asked, your voice soft. he nodded, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “yeah. it’s hard to meet someone genuine like that.” it caught you off guard, the way he said it. he hadn’t called you hot or beautiful—the usual compliments that were thrown at you without much thought. he hadn’t treated you like you were something to admire from a distance, something polished and perfect. he thought you were genuine. nice, even. and for the first time in what felt like forever, something mattered other than how you looked.

mark stood outside the bar with you, his hand wrapped loosely around his phone as he called for a cab. the air was cool, the kind of breeze that bit at your skin just enough to remind you you’d had too much to drink. the world felt like it was swaying beneath you, the soft blur of neon lights and city sounds blending into the haze of alcohol that had settled deep into your bones. you barely noticed the cab pulling up, but mark did. he grimaced the moment he saw the driver, his jaw tightening as he clocked the smirk tugging at the corners of the man’s lips.

“stay here,” he murmured, his voice low as he helped you toward the back seat, his hand resting at the small of your back to steady you. the driver’s smirk grew as you stumbled slightly, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. mark’s patience snapped, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut through steel. Without a word, he climbed into the cab beside you, his presence filling the small space in an instant. the driver’s smirk faltered, his bravado crumbling under the weight of mark’s glare, and he turned his eyes to the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“how much has she had to drink?” the driver asked, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of something slimy beneath it, something that made mark’s blood boil. “you’re being paid to drive, not make small talk,” mark snapped, his voice sharp enough to make the driver flinch. silence fell over the cab, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of the tires against the pavement. you, oblivious to the tension, rested your head back, your eyes fluttering closed as the night swirled around you. you were out of it, the world fading in and out, each moment blurred by the alcohol in your system. you didn’t notice the way mark was watching you, his gaze softening, his features smoothing as he made sure you were okay.

if you had been more aware, you might have seen it for yourself—something tender in the way he looked at you, something protective. it wasn’t the predatory gaze you had come to expect from men, the one that made you feel small and vulnerable, like something to be taken. no, this was different. this gaze made you feel watched over, cared for. like, for the first time, you weren’t alone. “you’re taking me home?” you slurred, your voice breaking through the fog as you turned to him, disrupting his thoughts. mark glanced down at you, his brow furrowing for a second before he nodded. “yeah,” he said softly, “gonna make sure you get there safely, then i’ll head back.”

you frowned, your eyes half-lidded as you tried to focus on him. “you’re being too nice,” you murmured, your words a little wobbly, childlike. he chuckled, the sound low and rich, a warmth that spread through your chest despite the alcohol’s numbing grip. “this is just the tip of the iceberg,” he replied, teasing but gentle. the cab pulled over in front of your building, the harsh overhead light inside flickering slightly as mark handed the driver his money, glaring one last time before slamming the door shut behind him. he helped you out, his arm around your waist as he guided you toward the entrance. you leaned into him, your steps unsteady, but his grip was firm, holding you upright, never letting you fall.

when you reached your apartment door, you fumbled for your keys, your fingers clumsy as they searched through your bag. you couldn’t find them, frustration bubbling up in your chest, but before you could say anything, he reached in and pulled the keys out for you. he unlocked the door, holding it open as you stumbled inside, expecting—fearing—that this was when things would change. this was when history would repeat itself, when he would become just like the others, just like every man who had ever taken advantage of you in your weakest moments. but it never happened.

instead, he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both firm and soft, his warmth seeping into your skin. the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of alcohol, filling your senses. there was no pressure in the way he held you, no expectation. just comfort. when he pulled away, he bent slightly at the knees, his eyes level with yours as he spoke, his voice soft but clear. “get some rest, okay?” he said, pausing as his gaze flickered over your face. “we have work tomorrow.”

you nodded, your body too tired, too heavy to respond with anything more. he gave you one final smile, that same smile that had put you at ease earlier in the night, and then he turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. you stood there in your apartment, the door closing softly behind him, your mind struggling to piece together what had just happened. you had expected a lot, but not this. not someone who cared without asking for anything in return. not someone who saw you for more than just how you looked.

the pounding in your head felt like it would split your skull in two. you groaned, dragging yourself upright, the weight of exhaustion heavy in your limbs. the throbbing didn’t let up as you stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to chase away the hangover. the mirror reflected a face you barely recognized—dark circles under your eyes, skin pale and drawn. it was a far cry from the pristine, polished image you had to maintain in front of the cameras. right now, you were just tired. so tired.

you grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet, shaking two pills into your hand and downing them with a gulp of water. the cold liquid soothed your dry throat, but it did little to chase away the hollow ache settling in your chest. you drank another glass, hoping it would make you feel less fragile, less breakable. your hands trembled as you set the glass down, the weight of the night before pressing on you, heavy and inescapable.

you wandered back to your bed, sinking into the comfort of the soft sheets, pulling them around you as if they could shield you from the world. but the world had already broken in. with a sigh, you reached for your phone, not ready but too curious to resist. you needed a distraction, something to pull you out of this haze. but as the screen lit up, you felt your stomach lurch. the first headline caught your eye, and the blood drained from your face as you read it.

your dark past—an anonymous ex airing out the ugly details of a relationship you thought you had buried years ago. the words stared back at you, cold and unforgiving, and each one cut deeper than the last. attention-seeking slut, slept her way through the scene and life itself. the accusations swirled around you, each one a dagger to the chest, every headline worse than the one before. it felt like the world was closing in, shrinking around you until there was nowhere left to hide.

you scrolled through the article, your hands shaking, your breath coming faster as the memories you had tried so hard to forget were dragged back into the light. this was worse than anything you could’ve imagined. you had been bracing yourself for the usual scandals—the kind of things models made headlines for. a wardrobe malfunction, a bad night out, maybe a ridiculous diet rumor. but this? this felt personal. too personal. and the worst part was, it was all out there, for everyone to see. you kept scrolling, hoping there was some way to stop the flood of accusations, but it didn’t stop. it never did. your heart pounded in your chest as the articles piled on, one after another, each one worse than the last. you reached the bottom of the page, bracing yourself for another wave of vitriol—but what you found was something different.

a response from your company. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the name attached to the statement—mark lee. your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you clicked. his words were like a lifeline, pulling you out of the darkness for just a second. “her past has nothing to do with her present, her career or her heart,” he had stated firmly. “anyone making defamatory statements will face legal action.”

it was a short, direct statement, but it hit you like a bolt of lightning. mark had acted fast—so fast that it stunned you. you hadn’t even had the chance to process what was happening, but he had already stepped in to protect you, to shield you from the fallout. your company hadn’t hung you out to dry. he hadn’t hung you out to dry. and it wasn’t even morning yet. you let the phone slip from your hand, your heart still racing, but for a different reason now. mark hadn’t just stood by and watched as your name got dragged through the mud. he had taken action, defended you without hesitation. the weight of last night’s events came rushing back—the way he’d walked you home, the way he had been so kind, so careful, without expecting anything in return. and now, this.

how had he managed to do it so quickly, without so much as a second thought? how had he known to step in before things got even worse? you didn’t know, but what you did know was that mark wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just your new manager. he was someone who had your back. the room felt too quiet, too still, as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t believe this was the impression you were leaving behind—a model being defended for her humanity rather than her appearance. a woman with someone in her corner, fighting for her, when she had never expected it.

you pulled the front door shut behind you, squinting at the early morning sun filtering through the leaves, casting soft dappled light across the pavement. you adjusted your sunglasses, preparing yourself for the day, your mind still tangled with the weight of the headlines and mark’s words from last night. but as you stepped down the front stairs, something caught your eye—a car parked just a few feet away. the sleek black paint gleamed under the sunlight, and as your eyes adjusted, you saw him. mark, leaning casually against the hood, a small, gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. “you look like you could use a ride,” he said, his voice carrying over the stillness of the morning.

your heart fluttered, the ease in his tone making the heaviness in your chest feel a little lighter. was it possible for someone to be this kind, this genuine, without asking for anything in return? you hesitated for a moment, still unsure, still caught in the confusion of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “are you sure?” you asked, trying to mask the uncertainty in your voice. mark rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but that smile never wavered. “just get in,” he said, moving to the passenger side and pulling the door open for you. he gestured toward the seat, a playful look in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand why you were hesitating.

you gave in, sliding into the car, letting the plush leather seat envelop you. the inside was immaculate—black leather, clean lines, the scent of something warm and subtle, maybe sandalwood, lingering in the air. it was the kind of car that screamed understated elegance, not the flashy, attention-grabbing kind you were used to seeing in this city. everything about it felt intentional, like mark himself, composed and thoughtful without ever needing to prove anything.

as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you kept your gaze forward, unable to meet his eyes. shame clung to you like a second skin, the weight of yesterday’s headlines still too fresh. but you could feel his eyes on you, watching you in that quiet, gentle way that made you feel both seen and safe. the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, until mark’s voice broke through. “you saw, didn’t you?” his tone was soft, almost apologetic, like he wished you didn’t have to bear the weight of it.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight as you nodded. “thank you,” you murmured, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. “i’m sorry you had to see those comments.” he paused, pulling out of the driveway, his eyes flicking toward you for a moment before returning to the road. “i can’t believe you’re the one apologizing,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

you frowned, confused by his response. “you were the one who had to deal with it,” you said, your voice a little firmer now. “you had to read those comments, engage with them.” mark glanced at you again, just for a second, but there was something in his gaze—something that made your heart ache, though you couldn’t quite place why. “you’re the one they were talking about,” he said quietly, the weight of his words sinking into the air between you.

you bit your lip, the familiar shame rising in your chest. “they didn’t lie about much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. mark’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “what do you mean?” your fingers fidgeted in your lap, the memories of your past flickering in your mind like painful old photographs. “i slept around when i was younger,” you said, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth. “i was ashamed. thought i was being loved, but it was the opposite.”

the silence that followed felt deafening. you braced yourself, preparing for the inevitable—a lecture, a judgment, the same disgust you had faced so many times before. you could almost hear the harsh words before they even came, could feel the sting of the shame that would follow. but instead, what came was something else entirely. “so what?” mark asked, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the most inconsequential thing in the world. you blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “what?” you asked, your voice small, barely able to comprehend what you had just heard.

he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “you live, you learn. you make mistakes and move on from them. what about it? why would i hate you for it instead of hunting down those assholes one by one?” you were shocked. completely and utterly floored. you had spent so long believing that your past made you disgusting, that no one could ever look at you the same if they knew. and yet here was mark, looking at you like none of it mattered—like none of it could ever change how he saw you.

“you don’t think i’m disgusting?” you asked, your voice breaking just a little, your heart in your throat. he let out a dry laugh, the kind that held no real humor, only disbelief. “i could never think that about you,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a balm. the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, but this time they weren’t out of shame. for the first time in a long time, they were tears of relief. a small smile broke through the sadness, and you turned your head to the window, letting the tears fall in silence, feeling something you hadn’t felt in years.

mark’s presence felt like a shield as the crowd of paparazzi closed in around you, their cameras flashing incessantly. you could feel their hands tugging at your sleeves, jostling to get closer, to snap that perfect shot. their voices were a blur, shouting questions, making demands, their lights blinding you through your sunglasses. you froze, feeling trapped in the chaos, your breath catching in your throat.

but he was there, right beside you, his body tense and protective. his arm wrapped around you, and with a low, dangerous tone, he snapped, “back off.” his patience seemed to have worn thin, and his words cut through the air like a knife. the paparazzi hesitated, a few taking a step back, but some were still relentless. mark didn’t falter. he shifted, his hand moving to shield your face from the barrage of cameras, guiding you firmly toward the studio door. no one was getting a glimpse of you—not today, not like this.

by the time you made it inside, your head was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt exposed, even though he had done everything he could to protect you. as the door clicked shut behind you, the noise from outside was silenced, leaving only the soft hum of the studio’s air conditioning and the quiet, comforting sound of mark’s breathing beside you. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice small, barely audible. his smile was soft, but it reached his eyes as he reached up, gently sliding your sunglasses to the top of your head. his fingers brushed your hair back, and then, with the same tenderness, he removed the mask from your face, revealing the features you’d hidden from the world. “look at you,” he said quietly, his voice warm, “so pretty.”

it was a compliment, but not the kind that made you feel objectified or cheapened. it wasn’t the kind of praise you’d grown accustomed to—words that were always laced with lust, with ulterior motives. this felt different. it felt sweet, genuine. you smiled, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little as you savored the softness of his touch. before you could respond, the director called you into the room. you walked together, side by side, mark never leaving your side. his hand hovered protectively at your back, tracing small, soothing circles that grounded you. the nerves that had gripped you so tightly just moments ago began to ease, the tension in your shoulders melting away with each gentle motion.

as you entered the room, the director didn’t waste any time. “so, about the scandal,” he began, his voice clinical, detached, like it was just another problem to solve. “we need to do damage control.” his gaze flickered between you and mark, and you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “what do you have in mind?” mark asked, his voice calm, though you could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

the director’s next words were like a punch to the gut. “a blind date,” he said, his tone as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “with someone just as famous and prestigious. it’ll take the heat off the story.” your heart sank, your throat closing up. you wanted to object, to say something, anything, but your voice betrayed you. you couldn’t get the words out. why was it always like this? why did you always lose your voice when men made decisions about your life? why did you always fall first, always bend to their will?

but this time, mark spoke up for you. “no,” he said firmly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “she’s not gonna do that.” the director shot him a sharp glance, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “what makes you so sure?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

he scoffed, the warmth in his expression fading as his hand dropped from your back. “i’m her manager,” he said, his tone cold. “i’m not gonna let you pimp her out to the press over a scandal.” you blinked, stunned by his words. you tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to stop, terrified that he was digging his own grave by standing up for you. you couldn’t bear the thought of him losing everything because of you, of him falling short just like everyone else had. but he didn’t budge. the director removed his glasses, staring him down. “watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low. “you’re only here because of jaehyun.”

mark smiled, but it wasn’t the warm, playful smile he usually gave you. it was something harder, more condescending, though when he looked at you, that hardness softened. “i’m not,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “i’m here because of her.” his words made your heart skip a beat, a smile tugging at your lips despite the tension in the room.

the director scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. when mark simply nodded in response, the director leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment before speaking again. “fine. then you’ll date her. make it convincing for the cameras.” shock washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless. your eyes widened, your mind reeling. date him? publicly? it was absurd, and yet you couldn’t find your voice to object. you were frozen in place, trying to process what had just been said.

the director dismissed you both with a wave of his hand, as though you were mere pawns in his game. as you left the room, you could feel the anger radiating off mark. not at you, never at you, but at the way the director had reduced you to a tool, something to be used for publicity. it made his blood boil, and you could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “i’m sorry,” he said as you walked down the hallway together, his voice low, filled with frustration.

you stopped, turning to face him. “you gotta stop apologizing,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “i’d rather be your fake girlfriend than anyone else’s.” his lips curved into a small, almost sad smile, but it wasn’t convincing. you could see the guilt still weighing on him, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. but he nodded, accepting your words, even if he couldn’t fully believe them himself. and despite everything, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t help but smile, too.

the photoshoot dawned bright and clear, the studio awash with sunlight that filtered through large, high windows. the space was a hive of activity, filled with the muted hum of chatter and the clinking of equipment. the walls were adorned with a pristine white backdrop that could be transformed into any setting the imagination could conjure. spotlights were carefully positioned to cast a flattering glow, creating a perfect balance between shadow and light.

you arrived once more feeling a mix of trepidation and anticipation. the scandal was still fresh, its edges raw and jagged, but you tried to set it aside, focusing on the task ahead. the concept for the shoot was a glamorous vintage look—a nostalgic nod to the old hollywood starlets, with a modern twist. the wardrobe was exquisite: a shimmering gown in deep emerald green that hugged your figure before flaring out into a dramatic skirt. the bodice was adorned with delicate beadwork that caught the light with every movement, creating a subtle sparkle that seemed to dance across your skin. your hair was styled in voluminous waves, cascading down your back with a glossy sheen. the makeup was equally flawless—classic winged eyeliner and a nude lip, complemented by a subtle, radiant glow on your cheeks. as you stepped in front of the camera, you felt the energy of the room shift. the crew's murmurs fell silent as they focused on their work, adjusting lights and angles to best capture the vision. mark was there, of course, standing just off to the side. his gaze was fixed on you, and in that moment, it felt as though he was the only person in the room who truly saw you.

the photographer directed you with practiced ease, calling for different poses and expressions. you moved fluidly, slipping into character with a grace that felt almost effortless. the camera clicked rhythmically, its shutter capturing each fleeting moment of your performance. you felt a growing confidence, bolstered by the soft, encouraging murmurs from the crew.

throughout it all, mark’s eyes never strayed from you. his gaze was unwavering, filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just that he was watching; he was absorbing, cherishing each glance, each expression. his eyes held a warmth that transcended mere admiration. there was a softness, a depth that suggested he saw something in you that went beyond the surface, beyond the glittering gown and the carefully applied makeup. as the photographer called for a brief break, he approached, his footsteps light, his expression a mix of admiration and something deeper.

he reached out, gently adjusting a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch that was both respectful and intimate. “you’re doing incredible,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the backdrop of the studio’s ambient noise. “you’ve got this natural grace about you.” his words were more than just praise; they were a recognition of your essence, of the way you moved and carried yourself. you could see it in his eyes—his admiration was palpable, sincere. it was a gaze that lingered with affection, with a hint of something that bordered on reverence.

the photographer resumed the shoot, and with each click of the camera, mark’s gaze followed, unwavering. there was no objectification in his stare, no hint of lust or superficial desire. instead, it was as though he was seeing you for who you truly were—a person who, despite the chaos and scandal, was captivating, beautiful, and worthy of admiration. there was someone who saw past the headlines and the flashing cameras, who saw you as more than just a face on a magazine cover.

when the session finally concluded, and you stepped away from the set, you felt a profound sense of relief and accomplishment. mark was there to offer you a genuine smile, one that spoke of pride and support. “you were amazing today,” he said, his voice laced with admiration. “i’m really proud of you.” you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had little to do with the shoot and everything to do with the way he looked at you.

“so, see you tomorrow?” he asked, his tone warm, laced with a hint of casual curiosity. you hesitated, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing your mind. “actually,” you began, “would you like to get lunch with me now? i mean, if you’re not too busy, of course.” you trailed off, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. “i don’t want to impose or sound desperate,” you added quickly, feeling the need to clarify.

mark’s smile widened, a reassuring glimmer in his eyes. “i’d love to,” he replied. “it’s no imposition at all. let’s go.” you felt a wave of relief wash over you as he guided you towards his car. outside, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city streets. mark’s car—a sleek, black luxury sedan with tinted windows—stood out in the midst of the bustling parking lot. it had an understated elegance, the kind that spoke of both comfort and refinement. the interior was plush, with leather seats that exuded a sense of sophistication.

he opened the door for you and, once you were settled inside, slid into the driver’s seat with practiced ease. his movements were smooth and confident, and as he started the engine, you noticed his demeanor had shifted. he was more focused, more protective, shielding you from the cameras that lingered at the studio’s entrance. his eyes remained sharp, scanning the area to ensure you weren’t bothered.

the drive to the restaurant was marked by a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional hum of street traffic. mark took a scenic route, passing through tree-lined streets and past elegant boutiques, showcasing a side of the city that felt both serene and refined. you glanced at him occasionally, catching glimpses of his profile illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights.

eventually, you arrived at a spot tucked away in a quieter part of the city. its exterior was a blend of modern chic and classic charm, with large windows framed by delicate drapery and a welcoming sign that hinted at the warm atmosphere inside. mark escorted you in, and the hostess, recognizing him, offered a discreet nod and led you to a cozy corner table away from the prying eyes of the street. the restaurant exuded a quiet elegance—soft ambient lighting, tasteful decor featuring muted colors, and a faint, inviting aroma of gourmet dishes being prepared. as you settled into your seat, mark pulled out a chair for you with a courteous gesture, his attention never straying far from you.

over the course of the meal, the conversation flowed easily. his presence was soothing, and his attentive listening made you feel at ease. the menu offered a range of refined dishes, and you both opted for light, comforting fare—fresh salads, tender grilled fish, and a selection of artisanal bread. the food was delicious, but it was the company that truly made the experience special. as you ate, you found yourself opening up to mark in a way you hadn’t anticipated. “you know,” you began, your voice tentative but earnest, “i’ve been used all my life. it’s like people see me as something to exploit, and it’s only made them think less of me.”

mark’s eyes softened as he listened, his gaze attentive and caring. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. instead, he simply took in your words, his expression reflecting a mix of empathy and understanding. “i’m sorry you’ve had to go through that,” he said quietly. “no one deserves to be treated that way.”

you felt a lump form in your throat as his words sank in. the vulnerability you had shared was met with genuine compassion, something you hadn’t expected. mark reached across the table, his hand extending to yours with a tender, reassuring touch. “use me,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “use me until you love yourself.”

you were stunned, the weight of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. the promise in his voice was profound, a gesture of support that went beyond mere words. you stared at him, trying to process the depth of his offer. but before you could respond, his hands enveloped yours in a gentle embrace. in that moment, you were acutely aware of the contrast between the performance you had to put on and the genuine connection you were experiencing. the touch of his hands, the way he stroked your fingers with a tenderness that was both comforting and intimate, spoke of something deeper. it was as though the boundaries of your staged relationship were dissolving, giving way to a reality that was more genuine than you had anticipated.

the conversation continued, but the focus shifted to lighter topics. you both shared stories and laughter, the tension of the earlier events seeming to melt away. mark’s presence was a balm, soothing your frayed nerves and providing a sense of security you hadn’t known you needed. as the meal came to an end, he paid the bill, his hand still holding yours as you walked out. the sun had set, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle, casting a warm glow over the streets. you were acutely aware of the contrast between the authenticity of your time with him and the world outside, which seemed to linger with its judgment and scrutiny.

when you reached his car, he opened the door for you once more, his touch gentle and respectful. as you settled back into the plush interior, you couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. the lines between your staged relationship and the genuine affection you felt were blurring, and while you knew that you were still performing for the cameras, the moments of sincerity you shared with him were undeniable.

as he drove you back to your house, the evening air outside was crisp, a gentle reminder that the day was drawing to a close. the glow of streetlights cast a warm, comforting light through the windows of the car, creating a cocoon of serenity around you both. the drive was quiet, filled with a comfortable silence that spoke volumes more than words could. when you arrived at your front door, he walked with you, his presence a steady comfort against the backdrop of your otherwise solitary home. the hallway was lit, adding a soft ambiance to the moment. he stopped at your door, his expression softening into a genuine smile as he wished you a good night.

but as he turned on his heel to leave, something inside you surged—a reluctance to let him go, a sudden, overwhelming desire for him to stay. “wait,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. “spend the night.”

mark paused, his demeanor shifting as he turned back towards you. the smile on his face faltered, and his gaze became serious, filled with a mixture of tenderness and something you couldn’t quite place. “i can’t do that,” he said softly, almost apologetically. your heart sank. Were you so off-putting to him? was he so disgusted by you that he couldn’t even stay? the thought pierced you, and you had to ask, “why?”

his eyes met yours, and despite the gentleness that still lingered, there was an undertone of something raw and sincere. “because,” he began, taking a step closer, “i don’t think i’ll be able to control myself if i do.”

the distance between you was minimal now, so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating off him. his proximity made your heart race, the thump in your chest loud enough that you thought he might hear it. you swallowed hard, struggling to understand why you felt this way, why he was so close yet seemingly so far. “there are no cameras,” you reminded him, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to reassure him of the privacy you both had.

mark chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “i don’t care about the cameras,” he said, his voice a soothing murmur. “it’s not about that.” the weight of his words, the gentle touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to fill the space between you made you feel a sudden surge of vulnerability. you hated yourself for feeling so exposed, for being so willing to give in, to risk it all, and to let someone see you so completely.

in that vulnerable moment, driven by an impulse you couldn’t quite control, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his. it was a kiss filled with raw emotion, a desperate plea for connection. to your surprise, mark’s response wasn’t fueled by lust or urgency. Instead, his kiss was tender, patient, as though he was savoring every second. his hands cupped your face with a gentle care, his lips moving against yours with a softness that spoke of deep affection rather than fleeting desire.

when he finally pulled away, it was with a smile that seemed to reflect genuine fondness. “look at you,” he cooed, his fingers lightly ruffling your hair. “so cute.” you frowned slightly, still trying to process the unexpected tenderness. as he leaned against the doorway, his smile widening, you asked, “are you gonna leave?”

mark shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a playful warmth. “no way,” he murmured, his voice filled with determination. “someone has to make sure you get some rest.” the way he spoke, the care in his actions, almost felt surreal. it was as if the affection he showed was almost too good to be true. yet, as he stepped inside, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, you felt the house grow warmer, more inviting with his presence.

he watched you from the couch as you moved around the kitchen, preparing tea. the dim light from the overhead fixture cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the delicate way your hands trembled as you worked. he noticed how thin you looked, the hollowness of your cheeks and the way your clothes hung loosely on your frame. it made him wonder whether this was always the way you were or if it was a consequence of the relentless demands of your career.

“do you need help?” he asked, his voice filled with concern as he stood up and walked toward you. the distance between you seemed to shrink with every step he took. as he approached, he gently took hold of your wrists, guiding your hands to pour the boiling water over the tea bags. the warmth of the steam contrasted sharply with the coldness he felt in his chest as he observed your fragile state.

you turned to face him as you finished, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. he could see the tremors in your hands, which you tried to hide by gripping the mug tightly. “you’re shaking,” he said gently. “shouldn’t you eat more?”

a sad smile crossed your lips as you shrugged. “i should be eating less.” mark’s smile faded, and he set the mugs back on the table with a determined clink. the realization hit him hard, the idea that you were expected to adhere to a standard that demanded you to shrink, not only in size but in presence. it was unfathomable to him that someone as perfect as you should be subjected to such dehumanizing expectations.

“why did you take up such a job?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and concern. as you sipped your tea, you reflected on the question, your eyes distant as if searching for the right words. “everybody likes the surface,” you said, your smile fragile. “nobody cares about what goes beyond it. it’s always been like that, so i may as well get some money out of it.”

mark’s heart ached at the thought of you being reduced to eye candy, your worth dictated by your appearance rather than your true self. the notion that your life’s goal was to be admired rather than valued for who you were made him sick. “quit your job,” he said abruptly, the words escaping before he could fully process them. you looked at him in shock, the tea still hot on your tongue. “are you crazy?” you asked, incredulous.

he shook his head, his expression earnest but troubled. “quit your job,” he repeated. “you should be doing something you love instead of being everything you hate about yourself.” his words carried a raw truth that stung deeply. no one had ever told you to quit before; it had always been about encouragement, about pushing through. his opposition was startling because it was clear he saw you for more than just your looks, something no one else had done. it clicked for you then—mark was the only person who seemed to understand and care about the essence of who you were beyond the superficial.

“you mean it?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of hope and disbelief. he didn’t answer with words but instead set his tea down and leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. the contact was so tender that it made your knees weak, tears threatening to spill over. it was a kiss devoid of urgency, filled with care and an earnest desire to comfort.

when he finally pulled away, his frown deepened at the sight of your tear-filled eyes. “how could anyone be cruel to you?” he murmured, his voice filled with sorrow. “so cruel that you cry at the slightest affection?”

your tears began to fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. mark, seeing the depth of your pain, gathered you into his arms without hesitation. “don’t cry,” he whispered, though it was the exact thing that made you let go, burying your face in his chest as the tears flowed. he held you tightly, his arms a sanctuary from the world’s cruelties. cry, he thought, let it all out. as if sensing his silent encouragement, you did just that, clinging to him as you let your emotions pour out. for the first time, you felt truly cared for, not for how you looked but for who you were.

as you pulled back from him, your eyes still glistening with the remnants of tears, he reached up with his rough fingers to tenderly brush them away. his touch was surprisingly gentle, the contrast between the coarseness of his hands and the softness of his touch creating an intimacy that felt both intimate and profound. small, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his gaze filled with an affection that was deeply comforting.

you leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, it was different. the kiss was infused with a hunger that transcended the need for love or the fear of loneliness. it was driven by a genuine feeling of being cherished, an intensity that came from truly feeling valued. the kiss full of passion, and you could hear the heavy breaths escaping from him, proof of the fervor that both of you were experiencing. despite the heat between you, mark pulled away, his face flushed, and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“don’t,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, their closeness adding to the depth of his emotions. the word was almost a plea, a desperate attempt to maintain control despite the overwhelming feelings. you frowned, confused and yearning for more. “why?” you asked, your voice laced with vulnerability.

he shook his head, his fingers gently stroking your hair in a soothing motion. “i don’t wanna be like them,” he whispered. “i don’t wanna break you.”

the sincerity in his voice was audible, his hesitation evident in the way he caressed your hair. the thought of him being so considerate, so concerned about not causing you pain, only made you feel even more secure and cherished. you took a step back, but his fingers remained entangled in your hair, a subtle reminder of his presence and his care. “break me,” you encouraged softly, your eyes locked onto his. “i’m yours to break.”

the words hung in the air, laden with an openness that surprised even yourself. mark’s hesitation deepened. he was overwhelmed by your fragility, the softness in your eyes, and the way you looked at him with such trust. he didn’t want to cause you any harm, didn’t want you to feel used or sullied. “i don’t want you to feel used,” he admitted, his voice betraying his internal conflict. the tenderness in his voice and the way he looked at you with such genuine concern only made you feel more at ease. you didn’t respond verbally; instead, you kissed him again, your hands exploring the contours of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the fabric.

his resolve wavered as he felt the intensity of your touch. his initial urge to hold back dissolved as you made it difficult for him to resist. his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap, never breaking the kiss. in his mind, he battled with the thought of being gentle versus the desire to give in fully to the moment. his struggle was open, yet he knew he could be gentle, that he could offer you the care and affection you deserved. his thoughts raced as he navigated this delicate balance, his love and concern for you making him want to be as gentle as possible while also embracing the passion that surged between you.

his hands moved from your hair to your shoulders, then down to your breasts, cupping the small mounds of flesh tenderly. you gasped into the kiss as his thumbs brushed over your sensitive nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. his touch grew bolder, kneading and caressing, as you arched into his palms, your desire growing more urgent. the fabric of your shirt was the only barrier, and it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough for much longer.

mark felt your urgency, and his own desire grew stronger. he broke the kiss to gaze into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or fear. all he saw was the same trust and need that had been there before. with trembling hands, he began to unbutton your shirt, one button at a time, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation was present, a heady mix of excitement and emotion that made your heart race. as he undid the last button, his eyes shamefully drifted to the sides of your shirt covering your bare breasts, but he didn’t have time to feel shame, not when he wanted you to feel loved.

his hands slid inside your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your soft, perfect skin. he took a moment to just look, his breath hitching at the sight of your nipples, pebbled and begging for his touch. his eyes filled with tears, not of pain or regret, but of pure love and the depth of his feelings. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. you didn’t speak; instead, you leaned in to kiss him again, this time more urgently, your tongue dancing with his, as your hands found the hem of his shirt, eager to feel his bare chest against yours.

his own shirt was soon discarded, and you both sat there, breathing heavily, skin to skin. his strong hands continued to massage your breasts, his thumbs playing with your sensitive peaks, driving you wild with every touch. your own hands roamed over his shoulders, his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of his body. the connection between you was sickening, a silent conversation of love and lust that didn’t need words. “fuck,” you exhaled as his thumbs danced around your erect nipples, kneading the thin flesh of your breasts. you felt ashamed for a second, ashamed at the lack of what you had to offer him, at the dainty size of your breasts. you felt the need to cover up, to hide yourself from him, thinking it wouldn't be enough for him to enjoy. you crossed your arms over your small breasts, a shy look of embrassment in your face, but mark wasn’t having any of it.

his hands gently moved yours aside. “no, baby, don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his eyes filled with adoration. “you’re perfect. absolutely perfect. i love every inch of you, these too,” he said, tracing his fingers over your breasts again. his words were like a balm to your insecurities, a gentle caress to your ego. his warm mouth found one of your nipples, suckling it with surprising gentleness. the sensation was like a lightning bolt straight to your core, and you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as he worked his magic on your breasts. the way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, made you feel so cherished, so loved. you lacked what other girls could easily offer him, yet he didn’t seem to care.

his other hand found its way down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, over your hips, and down to the button of your pants. with a gentle tug, he encouraged you to lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. you were now fully exposed to him, vulnerable in a way that was thrilling and terrifying all at once. his eyes took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your bare pussy, glistening with arousal. he groaned, his own desire thick in the air. “so beautiful,” he murmured, his hand moving to touch you lightly.

his fingertips grazed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. you moaned, unable to hold back the sound, your legs spreading wider to give him better access. he took his time, teasing and exploring, his touch as tender as if you were made of the most delicate glass. he parted your folds, his finger sliding in easily, feeling the slickness of your arousal. you were so wet for him, and the sight of his finger disappearing into you made him even harder. “you’re so ready for me, fuck, like you were made for me,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

his thumb continued to circle your clit as his finger began to move in and out, his pace increasing gradually. your hips rocked in sync with his movements, the pleasure building inside you like a crescendo. he watched your face, reading your every expression, ensuring that he was giving you exactly what you needed. his eyes never left yours, filled with a fierce love and protection that made your heart swell. you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps, but he wasn’t done yet. he needed to feel you, to have you with him filling you up to the brim.

mark leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slid them off. his cock, hard and demanding, sprang free, and you couldn’t help but stare. he was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and the sight of him made you both nervous and incredibly turned on. he noticed your gaze and smirked slightly, a hint of pride flashing in his eyes. “aren’t scared, are you?” he asked playfully, his voice a seductive whisper.

you shook your head, trying to play it cool despite the nervousness that bubbled up inside you. “not at all,” you lied, your voice a little shaky. he chuckled, his hand moving to stroke himself slowly, the sight of his hand on his cock making your stomach flip. “you sure?” he questioned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you nodded, your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way his shaft grew even more as he touched himself. no matter how scared you were, you knew he would take care of you.

mark leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his kiss gentle yet filled with a burning need. you felt his hand move away from your pussy and the loss of his touch made you whine into the kiss. but the sound was soon muffled by his groan as he pulled away, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. the tip of his dick was slick with precum, and you felt a thrill of anticipation as he pushed against you, just the tip teasing you. it had barely grazed your slit, yet you were soaking around him, the sight of it only clouding his mind even more.

his eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was the same eagerness that reflected his own. with a deep breath, he pushed in, inch by inch, his big cock stretching you wider than you’ve ever been. it was a delicious pain, a sweet agony that you couldn’t get enough of. your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you up, his gentle strokes becoming deeper, more insistent. your walls tightened around him, trying to hold onto his length as if afraid to let go. “you’re okay, baby, just hold on,” he encouraged softly as you whined, nails clawing at his skin.

his praise, his tenderness, it all felt so overwhelming that tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. it was too much, too beautiful, and it hurt in the most exquisite way. you nodded, your breath hitching as he reached down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as his cock pushed deeper into your pussy. your moans grew louder as he found a rhythm that had you writhing in his lap, your body moving with the gentle ebb and flow of his hips. “look at you, taking me so well,” he cooed at the sight of his cock tucked into the swell of your cunt, his fingers grazing the small creases of your breasts as you tightened around him.

his strokes grew more deliberate, his movements more powerful, yet never crossing the line into roughness. he was worried that his size might be too much for you, so he held back, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible without causing any discomfort. but you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint that was clear in every line of his face, the cords of his neck standing out as he held back. you didn’t want that; you wanted all of him, the beast that lurked beneath his tender exterior. “i can take it, break me, please,” you panted. his hands reached down, your hands wrapping around his, urging him to go deeper, to move faster.

his eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, and what he saw there was all he needed. he let go of the last of his restraint, his hips moving with more force. your pussy stretched around his thick cock, the feeling of fullness making you dizzy. each thrust was met with a wet slap, the sound echoing in the quiet room, mingling with your cries of pleasure. your walls clenched around him, trying to hold onto him, to keep him deep inside you, to never let him go. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that had you bucking your hips, trying to get closer, trying to get more. he was so sweet, his hair tickling your skin as he wrapped his tongue around your nipple, his tongue probing at the flesh. you wanted to feel insecure, but he was making it impossible.

his hand found yours again, his fingers interlocking with yours, as if to remind you that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. the connection was strong, and it only grew stronger with each passing moment. your orgasm was approaching like a freight train, and you could feel it building in the pit of your stomach. your breath grew shallower, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in the feeling of him inside you. his free hand was in your hair, tugging gently, his teeth grazing your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

his thrusts grew deeper, and the pressure on your g-spot was intense. you felt yourself tightening around him, your pussy gripping him like a vice. “cum for me, baby, cum on my cock,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a seductive rumble that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the words alone were enough to send you over the edge, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. your body tensed, your pussy pulsing around him as you screamed out his name, your eyes squeezed shut, tears of joy streaming down your face.

his own orgasm was building, the feel of you tightening around him was too much. with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, groaning as he released his seed, filling you up without a single thought of protection. he watched as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your climax, his heart racing with the intensity of his own feelings. the sight of you, coming apart in his arms, was more than he could handle. his own eyes filled with tears, his love for you so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but cry with you.

he held you tightly as he pulled out, his cock still hard and glistening with your juices. his hand moved to stroke your hair, his eyes never leaving your face. “i love you,” he whispered, the words coming out in a choked sob. the weight of his emotions was palpable, and you felt your own heart swell in response. you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his cum leaking out of you, a testament to the intimacy you had just shared. “i love you too,” you whispered back, your frail fingers wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks.

there was no shame in it anymore. there were no cameras waiting to capture the moment, no witnesses. there was nobody but the two of you. there were no mocking looks or harsh words to battle your self-esteem, nothing to fuel your insecurities. he was as raw as you were, but he was stronger than you. he didn’t cry because of the sex, he cried because of the love. you weren't too sure about a happy ending just yet, but a beginning was more than you could’ve asked for.

✧*.

a/n: to the doll that requested, hope u know ur absolutely perfect no matter what. never let anybody’s subjective opinion or the standards perpetuated dictate how beautiful you are and how beautiful you should feel. this goes to anybody reading, because i know there’s too many of you scrolling through tiktok and thinking, “why cant i look like that?” or “why do i have hip dips, why doesn’t my ass looks like that, why does she look like that and i don’t?” i promise all of your insecurities are illusions purposely projected by the media to make you give into what they’re feeding you. no, starving yourself won’t make you beautiful. neither will overused lips fillers or heavy botox or that botched bbl. there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, there never was and there never will be. cherish every part of yourself, you never know who may be looking at you and wishing they had what you do.

Ure so funny because someone asks for a smutty one shot and probably expects the bare minimum but u go all out with a plot and freak shit 😂 With that being said...do your best with a Mark smut shot I can't wait to see what u do with it

MARK LEE (마크리) — DO AS I SAY (18+)

✧ MDNI!

your university had a way of swallowing you whole, but you welcomed it. it wasn't that you were detached or indifferent, but you had mastered the art of restraint. no one saw the tears you never cried, or the secrets you cradled like fragile relics. this place—the sprawling campus of glass and ivy—was a sanctuary for people like you. people who wore masks, hid their sins behind designer handbags, and attended charity events only to gossip about who slept with whom. it was a twisted ecosystem, where loyalty was paper-thin and friendships were only as deep as the amount of money spent over dinner.

you had a circle, too. a group of friends who mirrored you in more ways than you liked to admit. their laughter was loud, their wallets even louder. it was always about excess—who could drink more, who had the latest luxury item, who flaunted their wealth the loudest. but you? you were different. you were quieter, more calculated. you didn't feel the need to shout for attention because it came to you naturally. people were drawn to you, inexplicably, like you held a secret they were desperate to know.

mark lee was one of them, an outsider who somehow managed to worm his way into your world. he was loud, confident in a way that made you pause. he wasn't like the others, with their inherited wealth and privilege. mark had clawed his way into this school, thanks to a scholarship he barely mentioned. the scholarship wasn't just any grant; it was paid for by your father, a token of goodwill to silence a scandal at mark's previous school. money exchanged hands, victims were silenced, and mark became part of this elite institution—an unspoken debt hanging between him and your family.

he was everything you shouldn't want. his presence was a direct contrast to the smooth, polished edges of your life. he didn’t fit into the mold of your carefully curated existence, yet you were drawn to him, inexplicably, maddeningly. his rough edges intrigued you, like something you wanted to smooth out, only to find yourself cut by them instead. and donghyuck, your boyfriend of ten years, could see it. he always did. he watched as your eyes lingered a little too long on mark’s frame, noticed the way you tilted your head just so when mark spoke to you.

donghyuck was a puzzle you had long since stopped trying to solve. your relationship had become a habit, a well-worn routine you couldn’t break free from, not even when your heart wasn't in it anymore. he argued too much, pushing you with his opinions until all you felt was exhaustion. you stayed because it was easier. because after a decade together, walking away seemed like an impossible task. but he wasn’t blind, he saw the way mark fascinated you, and surprisingly, he didn’t mind. in fact, he indulged you, watching as you and mark explored the boundaries of desire that donghyuck himself couldn’t reach.

it was twisted, but you all enjoyed it in your own way. donghyuck took a strange, almost voyeuristic pleasure in watching you with mark, hating himself for liking it yet never stopping you. mark, for all his rough edges, reveled in the attention, in being the object of your desire. and you? you simply allowed yourself to drift further into the tangled mess of it all, feeling nothing but a hollow satisfaction.

but secrets have a way of catching up. no matter how carefully you tried to bury them, they clawed their way to the surface, desperate to be seen. that night—on the eve of the end of your first year, when champagne flowed like water and celebrations ran late into the night—everything began to unravel. a girl, one you hadn’t even noticed before, had stolen from you. not something trivial like a necklace or a piece of clothing, but something far more dangerous. a piece of evidence.

evidence that could send your father to prison, the same man who had orchestrated mark’s scholarship, the same man who controlled more than half the people in that room. she had stolen it, and you hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. but donghyuck had. he always did.

the locker room was dimly lit, a mix of fluorescent light and shadows that stretched across the cold, tiled floor. you pressed mark against the wall, his breath hot against your neck as your lips met in a bruising kiss. his hands roamed your body, desperate and needy, while your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, never close enough. the taste of him—of adrenaline, of something forbidden—ignited a fire in your veins, pushing you deeper into the moment.

“god, you taste like trouble,” he breathed against your lips, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. his voice was low, rough, and it made you feel powerful, like you were in control of something wild and untamed. “you like that, don’t you?” you whispered back, your lips brushing the skin of his jawline as your hands traveled down his chest. his pulse quickened beneath your touch, and you reveled in the way his breath hitched.

“i like everything about you,” he groaned, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you even closer, your bodies flush against each other. his words were almost inaudible between the sounds of your heavy breathing, the slick sound of lips on skin, and the soft moan that escaped him as your hand trailed lower, teasing. “you’re obsessed,” you teased, your voice a breathless whisper against his lips. you could feel the weight of your words sinking in, could feel the way his body responded to every little move you made, like he was entirely under your spell.

mark’s response was a muffled curse, his lips crashing into yours with a renewed hunger. his hands slipped under your shirt, fingers tracing lines along your skin that left you burning for more. his touch was demanding, urgent, but just as you were about to let yourself get lost in him, a noise cut through the air—a sharp, metallic clang that echoed through the locker room. you both froze.

your eyes darted to the source of the sound, and you felt your blood run cold. donghyuck stood at the far end of the room, a piece of metal glinting in his hands. for a moment, it didn’t register. your mind was still clouded by the heat of the moment, but then you saw her. the girl. she lay crumpled on the floor, her body still and lifeless, blood pooling beneath her head. the piece of metal donghyuck held was stained red, the same red that dripped onto the floor in a steady, sickening rhythm. your breath caught in your throat as the scene unfolded in front of you, surreal and horrifying all at once.

donghyuck, calm as ever, looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, as if nothing had happened, he casually tucked the metal back into his pocket, his movements almost practiced. without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the girl’s body behind like a discarded thought. the room felt suffocatingly quiet in his absence.

mark’s expression shifted from confusion to sheer horror, his face pale as his eyes darted between you and the lifeless body. you could see it in the way his hands trembled, in the way his chest heaved like he was struggling to breathe. “we have to—” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. “we have to tell someone.” you turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest, but not from fear. no, you were already calculating. donghyuck had done this for you. for your father. and if anyone found out, if anyone so much as breathed a word, it would be over. for all of you.

mark’s horror-stricken eyes remained on the body, unmoving, wide with disbelief. the girl’s blood had stained the sterile white tiles, her body lifeless in the shadow of donghyuck’s impulse. but you didn’t flinch. you didn’t blink. you didn’t even tremble. “no,” you said, your voice calm, unnervingly so. your gaze never left him, a slow, deliberate exhale escaping your lips. mark blinked, stunned by your composure, his brow furrowed in confusion. his chest heaved with frantic breaths, but all he got from you was a cold, calculated stare, one that sent chills down his spine. he opened his mouth to speak again, but you didn’t give him the chance. with swift, silent precision, you took his wrist, dragging him away from the scene before he could protest, the metallic tang of blood still thick in the air.

through the narrow hallways of the locker room, you led him, the sound of your heels echoing off the walls in rhythm with his shallow breathing. he stumbled behind you, still in shock, disoriented by the events that had just unfolded, by the way you hadn’t even reacted. his mind screamed at him to do something—to call for help, to alert someone—but his body refused to obey. instead, he followed you blindly, mesmerized by your grip, your unwavering control. you stopped only when you reached the deeper part of the locker room, where the maze of lockers gave way to a long wooden bench. you pushed him down onto it, your gaze heavy and unreadable, your silence more commanding than any words could ever be. mark collapsed onto the bench, his knees trembling beneath the weight of it all.

he should have been thinking about the dead girl, about the crime he’d just witnessed, about donghyuck standing there with that bloody piece of metal. but he wasn’t. he couldn’t. all he could focus on was you—the way your dress clung to your body, the heat radiating off you as you stood over him, unbothered, in control. his heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t fear that fueled it. you smiled, but it was a shallow, practiced thing, a facade that you wore like armor. you bent down slowly, your fingers threading through his hair, soft and gentle, almost tender as you tugged him closer. his face pressed into your stomach, and though there was fabric between you, he could feel the warmth of your skin, the press of your body against him. his breath hitched, his mind a mess, but all he could think about was you.

“you love me, don’t you, baby?” the words left your lips in a soft purr, so smooth and calculated that it made him dizzy. mark’s lips parted in shock, his thoughts spinning. he should have been focused on the horror of the moment, but the feel of your body against him, the scent of your skin, drowned everything out. he couldn’t think straight. his voice stammered out, broken, unsure. “yeah, of course i do.” your smile widened, a sweet, almost cruel thing, as you lifted his face from your stomach. the grip on his hair didn’t loosen, though. it stayed firm, your fingers weaving through his locks like you were in control of him now. his pulse raced beneath your touch, his body aching with a need he didn’t want to acknowledge, not now.

“that’s a relief,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you straightened up, stepping back just enough to let his eyes roam over you. his breath caught in his throat as you peeled the dress off with slow, deliberate movements, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap at your feet. you stood before him in nothing but a bra and panties, your skin bathed in the low light of the locker room, your confidence unwavering. he couldn’t tear his gaze away, every inch of you captivating, intoxicating. his hands twitched, desperate to touch, but frozen by the weight of what had just happened.

your eyes glittered with satisfaction as his gaze devoured you. you took a step closer, lowering yourself to him, and your lips found his in a kiss that was hot and heavy, filled with a heat that made him dizzy. his hands moved instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer as your tongues met, each movement deliberate, each touch fueling the fire inside him. he groaned against your lips, your bodies pressed tight together. you pulled away slowly, your lips brushing his cheek as you whispered, “that’s why you can’t tell anyone about what you just saw.”

his expression faltered, confusion clouding his mind as the reality of the situation tried to claw its way back into focus. his breath hitched as the gruesome image of the girl flashed through his mind again, but the sight of you, so close, so irresistible, was enough to dull the horror. “he killed her,” mark rasped, his voice barely audible. you didn’t flinch. Instead, you took his hands in yours, guiding them over your body, letting his palms brush over the swell of your breasts, down your waist, over the curve of your hips, until they rested on your ass. the heat of your skin, the softness of your body, drowned out any rational thought. “yeah, shame on him,” you purred, pausing just long enough to let him squeeze, to feel the weight of you in his hands.

you leaned in, your lips grazing his ear as you whispered, “but we can’t let him go to jail. it’s over for me if he does.” you shifted slightly, letting his hands stay on you, letting him feel every inch of you. “and you don’t wanna lose me, do you?” the thought hit him like a punch to the gut. the idea of losing you, of you slipping away, made his stomach twist painfully. he didn’t know if it was the intensity of his feelings or the heat of the moment, but the thought of it broke him, made him weak. he shook his head, his voice barely a whisper as he answered, “i don’t—i won’t tell.”

relief washed over you, and it showed in the way you smiled, the way you pressed your lips to his once more. this time, the kiss was hungrier, more demanding. it felt like a reward, like a promise sealed with heat and desire, and mark let himself sink into it, unable to resist you, unable to think of anything else but you.

your fingers grazed his scalp as he sat on the bench, trembling under your touch, caught in the storm of emotions you so easily controlled. his mind was a whirl of confusion and panic, the image of the dead girl flashing briefly before his eyes. but it faded, again and again, every time you touched him, every time your skin brushed against his, pulling him back under your spell.

you could feel his tension, the way his body shook with the weight of what he’d witnessed, but you knew how to make it disappear. he was already on edge, lost in you, in the heat of the moment. his gaze followed the path of your fingers as they slid down his chest, slow and deliberate, until they reached his waist, where his breath caught in his throat. you knelt down before him, taking his face in your hands and tilting it up so his eyes met yours. “you’re okay,” you murmured, your voice soft, as if you were soothing a frightened animal. “i’ve got you.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes darting to the side for a fleeting moment, as though the gruesome scene in the locker room was haunting him, begging him to act. but then your hands slid lower, over his chest, his stomach, until they stopped just above his hips, your fingers tracing the line of his waistband. the panic in his eyes dulled, replaced by something deeper, more primal, as you tugged him closer to the edge of the bench.

the soft click of your heels echoed in the silence as you placed a foot on his thigh, balancing yourself delicately. his breath hitched again as his trembling hands reached for you instinctively, but you grabbed them and placed them firmly at your waist, guiding him into touching you like you were his to worship. “you love me, right?” you purred, watching him nod, wide-eyed, desperate to please you. your hands slid to his belt, and you slowly undid the buckle with a deft flick of your wrist. “then show me.”

mark’s eyes darkened with hunger, his previous fears fading as he focused entirely on you. his hands moved on their own now, running up and down your sides, feeling the curve of your body. you slipped out of your heels, and his lips pressed reverently against your ankles, trailing kisses up your calves as he pulled your shoes off. his touch was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid to break you, but as you cupped the back of his neck and tilted his head up to meet your gaze, the heat between you grew.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, his voice trembling with reverence. you smirked, enjoying the way he was beginning to unravel beneath you, his mind drifting away from everything else but you. his lips traveled higher, over the bend of your knees and up your thighs, until they reached the hem of your panties. he hesitated for a moment, his mind flickering back to the blood-stained scene in the locker room, the image of the girl’s lifeless body gnawing at his consciousness. but the moment you tugged at his hair, pulling him closer, the thought evaporated like smoke. he was too far gone now, too lost in the warmth of your skin, the scent of your body, the taste of your lips.

“don’t think about her,” you whispered, your words wrapping around him like a command. “just focus on me.” you didn’t have to say it twice. his lips were on your skin again, hungry and eager, as he worshiped every inch of you. his hands slid over your breasts, squeezing gently, and you let out a soft sigh, arching into his touch. the more he touched you, the more his fear slipped away, replaced by the need to lose himself in you completely.

he felt your hands move lower, grazing over the bulge in his pants, stroking him through the fabric just enough to make him gasp. his breath was ragged now, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep up with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.  “you’re doing so good,” you whispered, your voice soothing but firm, guiding him into submission. “just relax.”

he let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he surrendered himself to you, to the sensation of your hand stroking him, calming him, making him forget everything else. his hips bucked involuntarily as you continued your ministrations, the tension in his body building until he couldn’t think straight anymore. you palmed his painfully hard dick through his boxers, touch gentle as you pulled them down, allowing his cock to spring free, twitching and aching with an overwhelming heat in your hand.

his lips found yours again, desperate and sloppy, as he pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body with increasing urgency. you kissed him back, just as messy, just as hungry, fueling the fire between you. he moaned into your mouth, his hands squeezing your ass as you pressed against him, the heat between you becoming unbearable with his hips shakily bucking into the warmth of your hand. “you don’t wanna lose me, do you?” you murmured against his lips, your breath hot against his skin. he shook his head frantically, his voice hoarse as he rasped out, “no, i don’t.”

you leaned back, straddling him on the bench, your thighs wrapping around his waist. your hand slipped away from his cock, reaching back to unclasp your bra, letting your breasts spill out, heavy and full. his eyes went wide with lust, and you knew he was yours, utterly and completely. “then prove it,” you whispered, leaning back to give him full view of your chest. his eyes devoured you, and without a moment’s hesitation, his mouth closed around one of your nipples, sucking and biting gently, making you gasp with pleasure. you could feel the weight of his heavy, bare cock twitching against your thigh, grazing your panties that desperately needed to be pulled off.

you reached down and grabbed his cock, stroking it slowly, watching his reaction as you brought him closer to the edge. he moaned against your skin, his teeth grazing your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “so good for me,” you murmured, the words a dark promise in the quiet of the locker room. he nodded, his eyes glazed with lust as he took your other breast in his mouth, his tongue circling the sensitive peak. the feel of his hot mouth on your skin made you wetter, your panties soaked with desire. you needed him to fuck you, to fill you up and forget all about what he had seen.

you slid off the bench, pulling your panties down to expose your bare, wet pussy. mark’s eyes snapped to the sight, his breathing growing more ragged as he took in the vision before him. you stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder, and guided him to his knees. his eyes searched yours for reassurance, and you gave it to him, a nod of your head and a smirk that promised everything would be okay. he leaned in, his breath hot on your skin as he kissed along your inner thigh, his tongue tracing the delicate lines that led to your center. you spread your legs wider, granting him full access, watching as his tongue flicked out to taste you. he looked so needy, so desperate for every bit of you, and it only turned you on even more.

his tongue darted out, licking along your slit, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. your hand found his hair again, your grip tightening as you pushed him closer, urging him to devour you. he didn’t need much convincing, his mouth moving against you with a hunger that was almost animalistic. you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the tension in your body coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. you knew he could feel it too, the way his grip on your hips tightened, his tongue moving faster, more insistent, but you couldn’t let go just yet, not with the sight of his cock pressing into his stomach. he swore he could cum untouched at just the sight of you.

you leaned back against the lockers, one hand in his hair, the other playing with your clit, guiding him, telling him exactly what you needed. his eyes never left yours, watching as you grew closer to climax, as your breath grew ragged and your legs began to tremble. your moans grew louder, echoing off the tiles, mixing with the slurping sounds of his mouth on you, and you knew he was getting off on it too, on being the one to make you feel this way. you felt yourself start to come undone, the warmth spreading through you like a wildfire, your body tightening around his face as he licked and sucked and assaulted your cunt, staining his jaw with slick.

mark’s eyes glazed over with desire as he watched you shudder and come, his tongue still lapping at your juices as if he couldn’t get enough. your hand in his hair tightened even more, pulling him closer as you rode out the last waves of pleasure. when you finally released him, he looked up at you with a dazzling smile, proud of himself for making you feel that way. you stepped closer, stroking his cheek with a gentle touch that belied the power you had over him.

his cock was now a throbbing ache, begging for release, and you knew it. you stepped closer, guiding him to stand, and bent down to kiss him again, your tongue tasting yourself on his lips. he moaned into the kiss, his hands automatically reaching for you, grabbing onto your ass and pulling you closer. your kiss grew sloppier, more desperate, as your hands reached for his zipper and pulled it down, freeing his cock. it sprang out, thick and heavy, and you couldn’t help but let out a little gasp of surprise.

you pushed him back down onto the bench, your body straddling him once more. your hand wrapped around his length, stroking it with the same expertise he had used on you. his eyes rolled back in his head as he felt you position yourself over him, his cock poised at your entrance. your pussy was still pulsing from your orgasm, and you knew he could feel it, could feel how wet you were for him. you looked down into his eyes, watching the need in them grow stronger, the fear and horror of what he had seen fading away as you lowered yourself onto him.

his cock slid into you with a groan, filling you up completely, stretching you out until you felt like you might split in two. you began to rock your hips, riding him with a slow, steady rhythm that had him panting and cursing underneath you. his hands found your breasts again, squeezing them as he watched you take him deeper and deeper. your eyes never left his, the intensity of the moment keeping you both locked in a silent battle of wills. his thoughts of the girl were gone, replaced by the overwhelming desire to please you, to make you scream his name.

you leaned in, your breasts brushing against his chest, and whispered, “so sweet to me, always listening,” your voice was a siren’s call, luring him deeper into your web of seduction. he nodded, his eyes glazed with lust, and you felt a thrill of power run through you. your hips picked up the pace, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the locker room. “i'll do whatever you say,” is all you needed to hear. he was lost in you now, his eyes never leaving your face, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you fucked him harder and faster.

his thumb found your clit and began to rub it in slow, deliberate circles, and your moans grew louder, your movements more erratic. your orgasm was building again, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. you could feel his cock swelling inside you, and you knew he was close too. “cum inside me,” you panted, your voice a desperate plea. “i want to feel you fill me up, promise me you won’t say anything.” his response was a grunt of agreement, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, sending you spiraling over the edge once more.

you threw your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you came, your body spasming around his cock. he followed you, his hips bucking up into you as he filled you with his hot cum, the sensation making you clench around him even tighter. your walls pulsed around him, milking him dry, and he let out a guttural moan of pleasure, his body shaking with the force of his climax.

for a moment, you both sat there, panting and sweaty, his cock still buried inside you. then, with a sly smile, you leaned down to kiss him, your tongue darting into his mouth, tasting yourself on him. he kissed you back, his hands still gripping your hips tightly, his breathing uneven. he didn’t have to speak, his silence was what you asked for in the first place. you got what you wanted, you always did.

✧

a/n: elite was such a good show until it wasn’t

girl ur literally my fav nct writer 🫶🫶 i just wanted u to know that i appreciate u answering the asks wholeheartedly hehe. in a mark lee brainrot rn, dom!mark x reader 🫡🫡

MARK LEE (마크이) — SWEETHEART (18+)

✧ MDNI

it had been perfect—like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. your relationship with jaehyun was everything that love songs were written about, the kind of smooth sailing people envied from the sidelines. it was golden, wrapped in honeyed moments, soft whispers, and lazy smiles shared in the glow of a setting sun. the two of you painted a life together, each day a new canvas, filled with color, warmth, and comfort. nights were spent with heads tilted back, eyes tracing the stars, mapping constellations in the inky blackness, sharing secrets that were only meant for the sky to hear.

paris was your sanctuary. the rented hotel room had the scent of wine lingering in the walls, cigarettes lazily curling in the air like an afterthought. it was there that you learned how to make jam by hand, the two of you laughing at the mess you created, fingers sticky with sugar and fruit. you remember the way jaehyun kissed your wrist, tasting the sweetness as if it were the only thing that mattered. those moments were pure. untainted. until they weren’t.

it wasn’t the heart-wrenching kind of betrayal you had heard about—where tears flood your eyes and your chest aches so much you can barely breathe. no, it was quieter. like a slow unraveling, a ribbon pulling apart from the fabric of your life, thread by thread. he had been cheating, living a double life that you were blissfully unaware of. the weight of it didn’t crash into you all at once, but it sank, settling deep inside your chest, colder than anything you had ever felt. you weren’t shattered—you were numb. how could he have done it? how could you have been so blind, so foolish, to miss the signs that were right in front of you? it was enough to make your head spin, the world tilting on an axis you no longer recognized.

the days blurred together after that, a haze of distraction and feigned indifference. you got on quicker than you thought possible, faster than anyone expected. maybe it was because you hadn’t truly felt the pain, or maybe because you didn’t want to. either way, you moved forward. it was easier to pretend that nothing ever hurt at all.

mark, though—he had prayed for this. he would never say it aloud, not even in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. but he had. every time he saw you with jaehyun, every time he watched the way you kissed him, the way you melted into him, something inside mark twisted. and he prayed. he prayed that your perfect relationship would crumble, that something, anything, would cause a fracture, a break that could pull you apart.

he never wanted to admit it to himself. what kind of friend did that make him? jaehyun was his best friend—one of the only people he had ever truly trusted. but how could he look away when all he could think about was you? the way your hips swayed in the jeans jaehyun bought for you, the way your lips wrapped around the popsicles mark had handed you on a hot summer day. it was wrong. he knew it was wrong, but it didn’t stop him. something had been unlocked inside him, something dark, something he hadn’t known was there. and now that it was free, he couldn’t lock it away. he didn’t want to. no one else had to know, not yet. but you would. soon enough. he was ready to introduce that side of himself to you.

“fucking slut,” mark’s voice was low, dripping with something dangerous as his hand tightened around your throat. his thumb pressed into that sweet spot just beneath your jaw, the one that made your vision blur and your breath hitch. you could barely think, barely process the rush of heat between your legs, the pressure of his knee grinding into you, sending shockwaves through your body. there was nothing between you but the thin fabric of your panties and his jeans, and you were soaking, drenching his knee with your desire.

“is that what you are? a slut?” his words were a hiss, dripping with venom and amusement. you were, and you had only just begun to realize it. not in the way you might have thought before—this was something deeper, darker, something that only Mark had drawn out of you. you weren’t some naïve virgin, far from it. you had done this countless times with jaehyun, but it had never felt like this. he had always been too soft, too careful with you, like you were made of glass, fragile and delicate. it was almost ironic, given the way he had shattered everything with his lies and betrayal.

but mark was different. loud, funny, hyperactive—that was what everyone saw. that was what you had seen. this, though? this was something else entirely. something darker, something you’d never have expected from him. but you had learned your lesson about judging people by appearances. “yeah,” you rasped, your voice barely more than a breath as his grip on your throat tightened, sending another pulse of heat straight between your legs. “just for you.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk as his hand trailed upward, his grip loosening just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you think. his thumb tapped roughly against your lips, a silent command, and without hesitation, you parted them. the moment your mouth opened, he shoved his thumb inside, groaning when he felt your tongue curl around it, wet and obedient.

“you should see yourself right now,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting. his eyes flickered over your face, watching the way your lips wrapped around his thumb, your eyes glazed with lust. “he should see you right now.”

the shame that pooled in your stomach twisted into something darker, something far more exhilarating. the thought of jaehyun walking in, seeing you like this, seeing his best friend ruin you—god, it turned you on more than you wanted to admit. a part of you wanted it to happen, wanted him to see how far gone you were, how much you had fallen.

“he should, actually,” mark repeated, the dark glint in his eyes growing more intense. he pulled his thumb from your mouth, the slick wetness of your saliva still glistening on his skin. you watched in a haze as he reached for his phone, sitting on the edge of the desk. he picked it up with a smirk, his eyes locking with yours, daring you to protest.

“what do you think, princess?” his voice was a murmur now, a purr, as his fingertips traced the bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers racing up your spine. you could feel your heart pounding, could feel the weight of the decision hanging in the air between you. and yet, despite everything, despite the shame, despite the humiliation, you wanted it. you needed it. so you nodded. mark chuckled, the sound dry and amused, like he had expected nothing less. “exactly what i thought,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours as he swiped the screen, fingers moving with ease as he pressed record.

mark’s grip on your throat tightened again, his thumb pressing down hard enough to make your pulse stutter, your vision blurring at the edges as the air thinned in your lungs. he reveled in your reactions, the way your lips parted, the small gasps and moans slipping out, desperate for more, needing more. there was a sick pleasure in the way he controlled you, the way he had you falling apart beneath his touch, completely at his mercy.

“look at you,” he sneered, his voice low and cruel as his eyes flickered from the phone screen to your face. the red light on the camera blinked steadily, capturing every moment, every sound, every filthy thing he did to you. “fucking pathetic. you think jaehyun could ever fuck you like this? like you deserve?” his words sent another wave of heat rushing through you, shame and arousal twisting together in a way that made your heart race, your core clenching with need. you couldn’t answer, not with the way his hand was wrapped around your throat, but the way you writhed beneath him said enough. you needed this. you needed him.

mark shifted his weight, his knee pressing harder between your legs, grinding against your dripping core. his free hand moved to your ass, squeezing roughly before landing a sharp, stinging slap that made you cry out. “answer me,” he demanded, his voice sharp as he delivered another slap, harder this time, the sound echoing in the room. “no,” you gasped, your voice hoarse as you struggled to breathe, your body trembling from the roughness of his touch. “he couldn’t.”

mark chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “that’s right. he couldn’t. he doesn’t know how to handle a slut like you.” he spat the word with venom, and yet it sent a thrill through you, the degradation hitting you harder than the slaps, making you shudder. he let go of your throat just long enough to shove two fingers into your mouth, forcing them deep, pressing against the back of your tongue until you gagged around them. his eyes gleamed with something dark and twisted as you choked, and he pulled his fingers free, wiping the spit across your cheek.

“open,” he growled, and you did, your mouth parting obediently, your tongue resting against your lower lip as you looked up at him with wide, needy eyes. his lips curled into a smirk as he leaned over, spitting directly into your mouth. “swallow.” you did, closing your mouth and swallowing hard, the taste of him lingering on your tongue. he grunted in approval, his hand sliding down your throat again, squeezing as he pushed you back against the bed. his knee was gone, replaced by the rough fabric of his jeans pressing against your bare, soaking core, grinding into you as he smirked down at you.

“i should send this to him,” mark murmured, his eyes flicking to the phone, his hand tightening around your neck again. “let him see what his little princess looks like getting fucked like a whore.” your body betrayed you, a shiver of excitement rushing through your veins at the thought of jaehyun watching this, of seeing you like this, ruined by his best friend. mark grinned, sensing the shift, his hips rolling against yours, teasing, taunting you as you whined beneath him.

“yeah,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “you like that, don’t you? you want him to see, you want him to know how much you need this. how much you need me.”

he didn’t wait for an answer, his hands moving to your hips, lifting you up just enough so he could pull your panties aside, exposing your slick, dripping folds to the cool air. he wasted no time, thrusting into you with a rough, punishing force that had you arching off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as he filled you completely. there was no gentleness, no hesitation, just the relentless pace of his hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room.

“look at you,” he growled, his hand wrapping around your throat again as he fucked into you, hard and fast, the bed creaking beneath the force of his thrusts. “so fucking desperate for it. bet you never looked like this for him.” his words were a sharp sting, but they only fueled the fire burning inside you, the heat building with every rough, pounding thrust. you could feel the phone’s camera still recording, capturing every moment, every filthy word that fell from mark’s lips.

“bet he didn’t know what to do with you,” he continued, his voice a low snarl as he slapped your ass again, harder this time, leaving a red handprint on your skin. “bet he didn’t know how to fuck you like this. didn’t know how to make you beg for it.”

you were already so close, your body trembling, every nerve on fire as he drove into you mercilessly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you clawed at the sheets, desperate for more. mark’s grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make your head spin, your vision blurring as the pleasure built and built, coiling tight in your belly. “come on,” he taunted, his voice rough as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want you to cum for him. cum for me while he watches.”

that was all it took. your body shattered, pleasure ripping through you in waves so intense you could barely breathe, your vision going white as you screamed his name. mark didn’t stop, fucking you through it, his thrusts rough and brutal as he chased his own release, his hand tightening around your throat as you convulsed beneath him. with a guttural groan, he came, his body tensing as he buried himself deep inside you, his hips jerking against yours as he filled you, the warmth spreading through your core. he stayed there for a moment, panting, his hand still wrapped around your throat as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

then, with a smirk, he reached for the phone, lifting it from the desk as he pulled out of you. he angled the camera down, making sure it captured everything—your wrecked, trembling body, the sticky mess between your legs with his hot cum seeping out of your cunt—the evidence of his release dripping out of you. “perfect,” he murmured, his fingers tracing your thighs one last time before he stopped the recording, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

✧

a/n: this was soo rushed i’m sorry lol but it’s 9 am and i have an mun meeting in an hour!! also ily u sound like such a sweetheart omg so cute

Girl I've read ur recent work and u write for mark soooo well omds likeee 😫😫 LIKE SOME OF THEM REALLY GOT ME LIKE DAYUMMM THAT HAPPENED?? but anyways, may I please req a mark smut oneshot but he's hitting it from the back infront of the mirror 🫶 oddly specific but ykkk 🤭💗

PRACTICE — MARK LEE (마크아) (DRABBLE)

✧°, 18+

the rhythm of the music pulsed through you, each beat sending a ripple of energy that moved your body like an extension of the sound itself. every click, every snap, every bend of your joints matched the tempo flawlessly. you moved effortlessly, gliding through the practice room as if the floor was an ocean and you, the tide, crashing and retreating with perfect fluidity. your legs carried you across the glossy surface, only for you to slide down with your hips, feeling the friction against the ground as if the music itself was guiding you lower, pulling you into the depths of your own expression.

this was how you preferred it. alone, without the prying eyes of an audience, no need for applause or recognition. just you, the music, and the space to let it all pour out, unfiltered. in these moments, you felt free — more so than anywhere else. every emotion, every thought, channeled through your body as it moved to the rhythm that only you could hear. but peace never lasted forever.

your ears caught a sound—a click that didn’t belong to the music. it was subtle, but it jarred your senses, breaking the delicate trance you had been in. you didn’t need to turn around to know what it was. your eyes shifted upwards, catching the reflection in the wide mirror that lined the walls. there he was. leaning against the doorframe, his figure half-shadowed by the dim light filtering through the hall. his eyes were locked onto you, dark and intense, watching your every move as if he had been there for a while. how long had he been standing there? the thought sent a wave of heat to your cheeks, and not from the workout.

rising from the floor, you felt a sudden rush of embarrassment flood your chest, your breath still heavy from exertion. you hadn’t expected an audience, especially not your boyfriend. the vulnerability of being caught in such a raw, unguarded state sent a shiver down your spine. “you should try knocking,” you joked, your voice trembling with a nervous laugh as you tugged at the hem of your shorts, adjusting them in a futile attempt to regain composure. but mark didn’t respond, didn’t even crack a smile. his gaze remained steady, a quiet hunger in his eyes, the kind you’d never seen before. it wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper, something that sent your heartbeat skittering beneath your ribcage.

“mark?” you called, hoping to snap him out of whatever trance he seemed to be in. but again, silence. he pushed off the doorframe and started towards you, his movements slow, deliberate, the air between you charged with an intensity that made your skin prickle. had he been disappointed? did he expect more? the doubt clawed at the edges of your mind, but the way he was looking at you told a different story. his silence wasn't disdain—it was something else entirely. he closed the distance between you with a quiet, predatory grace, his eyes roaming over your flushed skin, taking in the way your shorts clung low on your hips, exposing the hem of your panties, how your shirt stuck to your sweat-slicked skin.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding louder than the dying music in the background. “please, say something,” you tried again, your voice soft, almost pleading. but before you could finish, he was there, just inches away, his presence overwhelming, his gaze smoldering. it silenced you, that look. a heat bloomed across your skin, his nearness amplifying the tension between you.

“you did so good,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry purr that sent a tremor down your spine. his fingertips grazed your cheek, tucking away the damp strands of hair that clung to your face, his touch light, but charged with unspoken intent. you tried to laugh it off, even as the butterflies in your stomach fluttered uncontrollably. “nothing special,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just practice.”

his eyes darkened at that, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. he hated when you said things like that, hated how blind you were to your own brilliance. “have you seen yourself?” he asked, his tone sharp, though not unkind. the mirrors surrounded you, reflecting every angle, but somehow, you always seemed oblivious to what he saw. what everyone saw. you blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his stare, his words echoing in your mind. prove it? what did he mean by that? the question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unanswered, until it was replaced by something else—something far more tangible.

your knees gave way before you could even process what was happening, your body responding to the soft, unexpected pressure of his lips on yours. it was sudden, startling even, but the moment his mouth touched yours, all your questions dissolved into nothing. you knew better than to resist, better than to pull away. mark had always had this effect on you—the ability to unravel you, to strip away the composure you wore like armor, leaving you exposed in a way that was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

his lips moved against yours with a practiced ease, a perfect synchronization that felt almost too natural, too right. He tasted you slowly, deliberately, savoring the salt of your sweat, the rawness of the moment. and that’s how he liked you — raw. no filters, no performances, no masks. you didn’t have to pretend around him, didn’t have to put on a show like you did for the others. for mark, you were enough just like this, messy, sweaty, stripped of all pretense. that’s when he wanted you most—when you were vulnerable, laid bare to your very core.

the aftershocks of your embarrassment still pulsed through you, a hum of unease that made your heart race. but he thrived on that, thrived on seeing you in this state. his fingers brushed your jaw, the touch gentle, almost soothing, but there was something darker beneath it. something that made your stomach flip, a wave of heat crashing over you as his lips moved with more urgency, his tongue pressing insistently at your lower lip. it wasn’t a request—it was a demand. a demand you surrendered to without hesitation, parting your lips for him, giving him what he wanted. he devoured you.

the kiss deepened, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, slow and deliberate. you felt his warmth, his breath mixing with yours as his hand tilted your chin up, angling you just how he wanted. your knees threatened to buckle again as his tongue slid over your teeth, tangling with yours, coaxing a soft gasp from your lips. the sound only seemed to spur him on, his movements growing bolder, more possessive, as if he wanted to claim every part of you.

you let him. you let him take what he needed, let him devour you in the way only he knew how. saliva pooled between your lips, spilling out in messy streams as he finally pulled away, breathless and satisfied, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. his thumb brushed the corner of your lips, wiping away the remnants of your shared kiss, his eyes dark and heavy with want. “you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured, his voice low, thick with desire.

of course, you knew. anyone would know. you didn’t have to hear it to understand the effect you had on him. it was clear, undeniable, from the way his body responded to yours, the way his breath hitched and his hands lingered, unwilling to let go. you felt it, too—the hard press of his dick against your bare thigh, showibg just how much power you held over him. even though he was clothed, you could feel him, feel the subtle way he rutted against you, seeking some kind of relief. it was subtle, but not enough to escape your notice. you never missed a beat—not when you danced, and certainly not now.

his hand traveled down your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone before dipping into the neckline of your shirt. his touch was feather-light, teasing, and it had you squirming. his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast, and you bit your lip to stifle a moan. “what are you playing at, mark?” you whispered, the words thick and heavy with anticipation. you knew what he wanted—what he always wanted—but you liked hearing him say it. you liked the power that came with making him admit it.

mark’s smirk grew, his eyes gleaming in the soft light. “i wanna watch you cum,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very air around you. it was so blunt, so raw, that it stole your breath away. your cheeks flushed, and you felt the heat pool between your legs, your body already responding to his words. “want you to watch yourself cum,” he continued, his hand cupping your breast fully, squeezing it gently. “want you to see what i do to you, what only i can do to you.” his hand never left your tits, even as he flipped you over. it didn’t take much manpower to turn you onto your knees, your eyes now locked on your fucked-out reflection.

you whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut as his thumb circled your hardened nipple. his other hand slid down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts, hinting at what was to come. the thought was overwhelming, but you didn’t dare stop him. instead, you leaned into his touch, letting his fingers play with the sensitive peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until you couldn’t take it anymore. “yeah,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “yeah, i want that, too.”

his hand slid lower, his fingertips dancing over the fabric of your panties, feeling the wetness that had soaked through. the pressure grew, the anticipation a coil tightening in your belly. and when he finally dipped his fingers beneath the elastic, touching you, you thought you might shatter right then and there. his touch was electric, sending sparks shooting through your body as he began to stroke your clit, slow and methodical. “keep your eyes open,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “i wanna see your face when you come for me, baby. i wanna see every second of it, every twitch, every drop i coax out of you.”

his voice was a command, and your body obeyed. your eyes snapped open, meeting his in the mirror. his gaze was unwavering, a promise of what was to come, and you couldn’t look away. you watched as he worked you, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that had you gasping for air, your thighs trembling as they slid past your sticky folds. you felt the heat building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. and when it did, it was like nothing you had ever felt before.

you threw your head back, a silent scream escaping your lips as the orgasm washed over you, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to drench every nerve ending. your body arched, your back bowing, as he continued to work you through it, his strokes never faltering. you felt your muscles clench around his fingers, desperate for more, even as your legs gave out and you collapsed against him. he held you up, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. he was needy, desperate for the way your swollen lips parted for him, the way your eyes glazed with tears at the feeling of his mere fingers fucking you open for him.

his touch was like fire, searing and intense, leaving no part of you untouched. your chest heaved with every breath, your eyes wide with shock and desire. and there you were, in the reflection, a picture of pure carnality—messy, wanton, and utterly exposed. your cheeks burned with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment, but the thrill of it only served to make the moment more potent.

mark’s hand slid from your jaw, leaving it to hang slack as he stepped away from you, his eyes still glued to your reflection. your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breaths shallow and uneven as you watched him move behind you. you felt the cool air kiss your skin as he slid your panties down your legs, your knees shaking as they made contact with the floor. the sensation of being so bare, so open, was almost too much to handle.

his breath was hot against the back of your neck as he whispered, “now, watch me fuck you. i want you to see just how much i own you, how much you crave this, how much you need me to fill you up and make you scream my name. don’t look away, baby. not even for a second. this is just for us.” and with that, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock nudging against your wetness. your eyes remained locked on the mirror as he pushed inside you, inch by inch, filling you to the brim.

you watched as his muscles tensed, his face a mask of concentration and desire. his eyes never left yours in the reflection, holding you captive with a gaze that seemed to strip away every last shred of your modesty. the sensation was almost too much to handle—his cock stretching you open, the sound of your wetness, the feeling of his hands digging into your hips as he pulled you back onto him, harder, deeper. your eyes glazed over, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you and the rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

his thrusts grew more forceful, his hips slapping against your ass with a steady, punishing beat that had you gasping for air. your palms were flat on the mirror, slick with sweat, your body trembling with each impact. your cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, your mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure. you could feel another orgasm building, the pressure building like a storm in your core. his hands spread your ass apart, his thumb digging into the tight hole as he leaned over to spit. his thumb spread his spit all over your clenching hole as he eased it into you, but his eyes never left the mirror. your eyes searched his in the mirror, pleading for relief, for the sweet release that hovered just out of reach as the sting from your ass being coaxed open mingled with the pleasure of him splitting your pussy in half.

mark’s grip tightened on your hips, his movements growing more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants. “you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort. “so wet, so perfect for me. tell me how much you love it, baby. tell me how much you want me to fill you up, to make you cry.” his words were a dark symphony, a sweet torment that had your body singing in response. you felt your voice crack as you whispered, “yes, yes, i love it, i need it, please don’t stop, mark, please—”

his eyes never left yours, the intensity in them making your knees wobble. he leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he murmured, “you’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you? just like a good girl. i wanna feel it, wanna see it in those pretty eyes of yours. cum for me, baby, come on.” with the tip of his throbbing cock inside you, it was too much to resist. the coil of pleasure grew tighter, your muscles clenching around him, your body begging for more.

you watched in the mirror as he picked up the pace, his strokes growing deeper, more deliberate. every thrust sent a shock of pleasure through you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the palms of your hands. your breasts bounced with the force of his movements, your nipples hard and sensitive. mark’s hand slid around your body, his fingers finding your clit, playing with the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly as he drove into you from behind, hips snapping against your the flesh of your ass, every movement catching light in the mirror.

you bit your lip to keep from crying out, the need to watch him fuck you too strong to break eye contact. your cheeks were stained with a deep blush, your eyes wide with lust and a hint of desperation. your breath came in pants, hitching in your throat with every thrust. his hand on your jaw was a constant reminder of his control, his dominance, and it only served to fuel the fire building inside you.

suddenly, the dam broke, and you were cumming, hard, the orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire. your eyes squeezed shut despite your best efforts, your body convulsing with pleasure as he pounded into you. you felt his grip tighten, his own release following close behind. the sound of his grunt, the feel of his hot breath on your neck, sent shivers down your spine. when he was finished, he pulled out slowly, the wet squelch of his sticky cum making you whine.

his hand remained on your jaw, keeping your head tilted up, your eyes on the mirror. he stepped back, letting you collapse onto the floor, your legs giving out beneath you. you were a mess—sweat-drenched, hair a tangled mess, and your makeup smeared. but in that moment, you had never felt more beautiful, more wanted, more alive.

✧

a/n: thank you for requesting, u seem like such a sweetheart! i hope this was okay!!

after reading all ur mark fics i need more 😩😩 how about bsf mark and reader and reader teasing mark till he loses control 🤭🤭

BAD TASTE — MARK LEE (마크이) (DRABBLE)

✧ MDNI (18+)

you had known mark lee for as long as you could remember, ever since his family moved to korea when you were both just kids. your mothers, best friends in their youth, had practically sealed your fates as companions the moment they introduced you to each other. and from the beginning, mark was different. a bit softer than the other boys, a bit louder, and always with that boundless energy that no one could ever match. but the neighborhood kids didn’t seem to care about any of that.

mark, with his wide smile and hopeful eyes, had no one to play with. his big, round eyes would search the playground for someone, anyone, to run to, but no one was ever waiting for him. they teased him for being different—his canadian accent, his constant need for attention. it wasn’t fair, but kids rarely are. you were the one who stood up for him, the one who made sure that mark wasn’t left standing alone by the swings with that forlorn expression he tried so hard to hide.

“come on, i’ll race you,” you’d say, grabbing his wrist as you tugged him toward the street, the sound of your laughter echoing down the block. it was always like that—the two of you, running off to the convenience store to buy the cheapest ice cream you could find. sticky hands, melting ice cream dripping down your fingers as you sat together on the curb, legs crossed, talking about nothing and everything. mark would look over at you with wide eyes, licking the ice cream off his hand, and you would smile back, never thinking much of it. at the time, none of it held any deeper meaning. you were kids, after all.

he was terrible at riding his bike, too. the image of him wobbly and flailing his arms every time he lost balance was etched into your memory. mark would cry over the smallest bruise, always a bit dramatic about his scrapes and cuts. “i can’t do it!” he would say, tears brimming in his eyes, the bike tossed to the ground in frustration.

but you, with your quiet patience, would stand behind him, hands gripping his waist, steadying him. “you’ve got this, mark. i won’t let go.” the promise was always there, in every word you spoke, in every gesture. you kept your arms around him, supporting him until, one day, he managed to pedal on his own. and when he did, the look of triumph on his face was unforgettable. he rode off, legs kicking at the pedals, laughing so freely, and you watched, content, never once imagining that such simple moments would later carry a weight you couldn’t ignore.

as you both grew older, those touches—the casual brushes of his hand against yours, the way he’d playfully bump your shoulder as you walked together—still held little meaning. he was mark, your childhood friend, the boy who had once cried over bruises but had grown confident, taller, and magnetic. in high school, something shifted. he had this pull, this charm, that made everyone gravitate toward him, especially the girls. and you? you found yourself drawn to him, too, in ways you hadn’t expected.

you wrote a note, one that held the words you couldn’t say aloud. a confession. but you weren’t sure, not completely. so, you asked a friend for advice, showed him the note, and after a glance, he nodded, giving you the green light. you felt ready, heart pounding, rehearsing the moment over and over in your head. but you never got the chance. that day, he had introduced you to his girlfriend. not just you—his mom, too. your heart had cracked, though you smiled through it, feeling the sting of the moment settle deep. it was a cruel irony, one that only encouraged you to push your feelings aside. you told yourself you didn’t need to confess. what mattered was your friendship, and you would make sure to preserve it. you threw yourself into that, becoming the best version of a friend that you could be.

still, you couldn’t help but plan a small surprise for him one night—a bag of the same cheap ice cream you used to share as kids, from the same convenience store that had witnessed your countless memories. but fate had another cruel twist. you saw him before you reached his door, sitting in his car with his girlfriend, their lips locked in an embrace you couldn’t unsee. he had pulled away when he noticed you, guilt etched in his features, but you just rolled your eyes and forced a smile. you went home that night, shared the ice cream with your family instead, and let that be your breaking point—the last time you would ever cry over him.

their relationship didn’t last long, only a year. when it ended, you asked him why they had broken up, fully expecting him to be heartbroken. but he wasn’t. he shrugged casually, a hint of nonchalance in his voice. “wasn’t working out.” you rolled your eyes at his indifference, clapping his shoulder in that familiar, comforting way. “we’ll drink tonight. you’ll get over her in no time.’

he smiled, nodded, and agreed. he was always up for spending time with you. What he didn’t admit—what neither of you admitted—was that his breakup had little to do with his ex. he had left her because, deep down, he was in love with you. but that confession was never spoken, never even hinted at as the years flew by. your friendship remained steady and inseparable, but so did the tension that lingered beneath the surface, like a secret you were both too afraid to unravel.

the heat of the living room clung to you, suffocating and unbearable, even as the ac hummed weakly in the background, doing little to cool the thick, humid air. you could feel it—the weight of the night pressing down on your skin, sticky and relentless, as if the entire room had absorbed the summer’s swelter and refused to let it go. the couch beneath you was warm, uncomfortable, and every shift in position seemed to generate more heat than relief. you flapped the hem of your shirt, trying to fan yourself, but it was pointless—nothing seemed to work. your skin felt flushed, burning from the inside out, as the alcohol from earlier settled uncomfortably in your stomach.

the television blared obnoxiously, some mindless show that had long since lost your interest, the volume dial turned up too high, each laugh track grating against your already frayed nerves. you groaned, eyes closed, trying to tune it out, but it only pissed you off more, the cacophony of sound wrapping around you like a vice. you could’ve sworn it was getting louder by the second, making the room feel even smaller, more unbearable.

then came the familiar buzz. the vibration of your phone on the coffee table, insistent and unrelenting, had been gnawing at the edges of your consciousness for over an hour. It hadn’t stopped—not once. at first, you had ignored it, trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t worth the energy. you already knew who it was. but curiosity eventually got the better of you, pulling you out of your fog of frustration.

with a low groan, you reached for your phone, flipping it over in your hand, the screen lighting up and casting a dim glow against your face. your eyes squinted at the notifications—yuta’s name unmistakable, flashing in bold text, his messages pouring in from not just one, but three different accounts. desperation oozed from every word, the text practically vibrating with his frantic energy. “it wasn’t what it looked like, baby, please.” “it was a mistake, don’t you know i love you?” “answer the phone, i’ll go crazy if you don’t.”

you exhaled sharply, scrolling through the seemingly endless string of messages, each one a variation of the same hollow plea. you’d read enough. it was as though you could feel the weight of each message, but none of it stirred anything in you except tired indifference. the lies were all too familiar, and you nearly felt yourself drifting off just trying to read through the recycled excuses—the same old, tired script that men like yuta always seemed to follow. you and him hadn’t even been dating that long—four months, maybe? barely enough time for him to matter. and yet here he was, acting as if the world would end without your forgiveness.

you stared blankly at the screen, thumb hovering over the ‘block’ button, but paused. not yet. not out of mercy, but simply because you couldn’t be bothered to deal with it right now. you tossed the phone back onto the table, letting it vibrate against the wood as you leaned back into the couch, the heat pressing down on you once again. johnny’s words rang in your head, an echo of a conversation you had months ago when this whole thing with yuta had started. he had practically pushed you into the relationship, convinced that it would be good for you.

“it’s for your own good,” he had told you, leaning back in his chair with that ever-knowing grin. you had rolled your eyes at the time, half-annoyed at his persistence. “you’re totally pimping me out right now,” you’d teased, feigning a dramatic hurt.

“you need a distraction. you need to get over mark, dude,” he had countered, his voice more serious than usual. he had your best interest at heart, you knew that much. he always did. but you weren’t convinced. “i’ve been over mark for a while, dude,” you had mimicked his tone, throwing the words back at him, though neither of you really believed it. johnny had given you that look—the one that said he knew better, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

of course, johnny was right. you hadn’t been over mark. not then, not now. but you had agreed to the date with yuta anyway, more out of exhaustion than excitement. he had seemed nice enough at the time, a distraction, if nothing else. you let the relationship run its course, despite your lack of real enthusiasm. it hadn’t stopped you from thinking about mark, but it had kept you busy enough to ignore it. mark, of course, had been the first to pester you about yuta. he didn’t even try to hide his disdain.

“he just doesn’t seem like your type,” mark had said one night, the bitterness barely masked by a joking tone as you all sat around having drinks. it was subtle, but you knew him well enough to see through the act. he didn’t like yuta—never had. before you could respond, yuta had shot back, his own dislike for mark just as transparent. “like you know what her type is,” he had argued, a smirk playing at his lips.

mark’s patience had snapped then, a sharpness in his voice you rarely heard. “i’ve known her my whole life. you’ve known her for, like, five days.” you had frowned at the time, guilt gnawing at the edges of your mind. you hadn’t meant to put mark in this position, hadn’t meant to make him out to be a jealous boyfriend. he was just being a good friend. that’s what you told yourself. he’s such a good friend, you thought, over and over, trying to convince yourself. maybe you were just tone-deaf, unable—or unwilling—to recognize what was really going on beneath the surface.

tonight, though, you had finally told mark the truth. you had caught yuta cheating—found him in a situation you couldn’t ignore. the betrayal stung, sure, but not in the way it might have if you had really cared about him. still, you had sent mark a message, telling him everything, expecting him to respond. but hours had passed, and there was nothing. no reply. he had seen the message, that much you knew, but his silence echoed louder than the buzzing of your phone.

“asshole,” you muttered to yourself, though you weren’t entirely sure if the insult was meant for yuta or for mark. your thoughts were hazy, a tangled mess of frustration, heat, and exhaustion. it didn’t matter. the weight of the night pressed on your chest, making it harder to think clearly. you were too damn hot, too tired, and too angry to care anymore.

with a sigh, you reached for the bottle, pouring beer over the remaining soju in your cup. the alcohol fizzed and swirled together, and you took another long sip, telling yourself it was just a little more. but after a few more cups, you’d lost track of how much you’d had. each drink added to the furnace inside you, the heat rising until it felt like you were being boiled alive from the inside out. your skin burned, sticky with sweat, and your body slumped deeper into the couch, the cushion swallowing your discomfort as you groaned into the thick, suffocating air.

after downing your fourth cup, you gave up. the frustration of it all—the heat, the noise, the incessant buzzing of your phone—was unbearable. you tugged your shirt over your head in one swift motion, tossing it aside carelessly. the relief was immediate, a cool sigh escaping your lips as the air touched your bare skin, soft and refreshing against your chest and stomach. finally, you could breathe again.

your eyes lazily drifted toward the television, where the characters of the drama you’d been half-watching continued their melodrama. you squinted, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you. childhood lovers, you thought silently as the drama played. it had been seven episodes of this nonsense, and still, bae seokryu hadn’t made a single smart decision. she’d ignored choi seunghyo’s confession, even though it was clear she felt the same way. it was infuriating. why was she still focused on that idiot ex of hers, hyeonjun? even after he cheated on her, she was running back to him like nothing happened.

“what a dumbass,” you muttered under your breath, watching as seokryu entered a restaurant with hyeonjun, leaving seunghyo to wallow in his unrequited love. her best friend is head over heels for her, and she’s this stupid? you thought to yourself. it didn’t make sense. seokryu should’ve stuck around to give seunghyo a chance, even after he broke up with taehui. but no. she was caught up in a ridiculous cycle of bad decisions, and for some reason, you couldn’t stop watching.

your irritation simmered, and you absentmindedly reached for a cigarette, bringing it to your lips. the flick of your lighter sounded like a small victory in the otherwise unbearable night. as the tip ignited and the smoke curled around your face, you took a long drag, savoring the brief distraction. the fogginess in your head felt a little more bearable with each inhale, even as the ringing of the doorbell cut through the haze.

at first, you barely registered it. the ringing was distant, muffled, as if it were happening in another world, far away from the sweltering heat of your living room. you exhaled, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling, and ignored it. but the doorbell persisted, ringing again and again, growing more insistent with each moment you delayed. with a sigh, you pushed yourself off the couch, the annoyance already clear in your expression. whoever it was, they were about to get a piece of your mind. you half-feared it was yuta, come to beg for your forgiveness in person, thinking he could somehow charm his way back into your good graces. i could totally kick his ass, you thought, half-sober and full of misplaced confidence. your footsteps were heavy as you approached the door, hands fumbling with the lock as you prepared yourself for a confrontation.

but when the door finally swung open, your breath caught in your throat. it wasn’t yuta. mark stood there, panting, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. his skin was flushed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, and his hair clung damply to his face. he looked wild, frantic, like he had raced through the night to get to you, his eyes wide with something you couldn’t quite place.

“took you long enough, loser,” you scoffed, leaning lazily against the doorframe. you took a slow drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke swirl around you before exhaling with an air of indifference. the coolness in your tone barely masked the simmering irritation beneath the surface, but you couldn’t help the hint of amusement that crept into your voice.

mark stood there, still panting, his breath catching awkwardly in his throat as his eyes darted up and down your form. he struggled to regain control of himself, but as his gaze swept over you, it was clear he had already lost the battle. your hair was tousled in the most effortlessly perfect way, the kind of messy that looked intentional, like you had just rolled out of bed with the weight of the world hanging loosely off your shoulders. the mascara you’d smudged hours ago only added to the ethereal haze that clung to you, darkening your eyes in a way that was both soft and dangerous. and your lips—wrapped around the cigarette filter—were plush, slightly swollen from too much biting. god, did he wish he could turn back time.

but it wasn’t just your face that had him flustered. you stood there in nothing but a bra and low-rise jeans, the sweltering heat having driven you to shed your shirt long before his arrival. his gaze betrayed him, flickering across your chest, taking in the way your bra clung to your skin, damp with sweat, the fabric looking too tight, threatening to give way at any second. the mounds of flesh pressed against the cups, straining at the edges, while the curve of your waist slid downward to meet the waistband of your jeans. the denim barely rested above your panties, but the hem was visible, teasing the line of skin that disappeared beneath the fabric.

he cursed himself silently, hating the way his body reacted to you, to this moment that wasn’t supposed to feel so charger. it was different now, and he didn’t know why. “i—” mark stammered, his words faltering as his throat seemed to dry up. his hands twitched at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to force the words out. “i came as fast as i—” he stopped himself, rubbing his face in a desperate attempt to collect his thoughts. his eyes darted back to you, panic mingling with something else he refused to name. “jesus christ, put a shirt on. you’re so cheap.”

there it was, the weak joke he always used to diffuse tension. his voice came out half-joking, half-choked with something he wasn’t ready to admit, and as he dragged his palm over his face again, you could see the nervous energy in him, the way he tried to play it cool. you rolled your eyes, annoyed. “what a dick,” you muttered under your breath, the sound too low for him to hear, but the sentiment was loud and clear in your head. he’s no choi seunghyo, that’s for sure, you thought. “you’re such a little virgin,” you groaned in mock frustration, flicking the ash from your cigarette onto the ground. the insult rolled off your tongue easily, almost affectionate in the way it echoed years of knowing him. “we’ve taken baths together, dude. don’t make it weird.”

mark’s eyes widened slightly, stunned by the casual way you reminded him of that. baths—those innocent days when the world seemed so simple, when nothing about being close to you felt dangerous. but this? this was something else entirely. something that made the air between you feel thick, and it wasn’t just the heat of the summer night.

you turned on your heel, leaving the door open behind you as you walked back into the house, cigarette dangling lazily between your fingers. the weight of your words hung in the air, heavy and lingering, and mark stood frozen for a moment, caught between following you inside and grappling with the way everything suddenly felt different. you had shared so much before either of you even knew how to speak—but this? this was new. he wasn’t trying to make it weird, not consciously, but his body was betraying him with every stolen glance, every uneven breath. and for once, he couldn’t hide it.

mark stepped in hesitantly, trying to shake off the tension that clung to him like a second skin. he took in the living room, dimly lit, the remnants of a lazy afternoon sprawled across the space—empty bottles on the table, clothes strewn across the floor. a typical mess that felt like home. “i’ve got a hunch you’ll be an alcoholic in your forties,” he started, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, trying to find humor in the simmering heat between you both. “you’ll die with the company of red wine and twelve cats.”

you scoffed, settling back into the couch as you stubbed out your cigarette filter, the smirk on your face not fully hiding the playful annoyance in your voice. “dying with you nowhere in sight?” you mused. “sounds like a dream come true.” he could only respond with a half-hearted middle finger as he plopped down next to you. His body was tense, awkward, like he didn’t quite know how to sit in his own skin around you. your legs were folded beside him, your bare feet poking at his sides, testing him as he shifted nervously, eyes darting to the screen.

“dude, seunghyo’s such a dumbass,” he groaned, his focus pinned to the show. “i can’t believe it took him so long to confess. it was so obvious seokryu was into him.” you straightened yourself slightly, feeling the alcohol sway through your limbs, rocking you with a soft, fuzzy warmth. “i know, right?” you agreed, leaning forward as if the conversation might ease the strange pull between you both. “seokryu’s just as bad. she should’ve said something a while ago.”

as you spoke, your voice trailed off, and your eyes met his—just a beat too long. the moment stretched, dizzying, like the alcohol had gone straight to your head. you felt the weight of his gaze, the way it lingered on you in a way it never had before, and it made your heart flutter in your chest, made the air between you feel thick and heavy. you broke eye contact with a cough, a sudden need to escape, to move. “you want something to drink?” you asked, voice tight, needing the break in tension more than you cared to admit.

mark laughed nervously, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, betraying the nervous energy that was seeping into the room. “yeah, a beer will be fine.” you nodded quickly, eager to retreat to the kitchen. your hands were shaky as you grabbed the bottles, mind racing, replaying the look in his eyes. what was that? that flicker you saw—was it real? had you imagined it, or was it something more? your heart pounded in your chest, breath hitching as you leaned against the counter. you could blame it on the alcohol later, but part of you wanted to explore it now, just for a moment.

as you grabbed the beers and turned to head back, mark sat back on the couch, his eyes flickering to your phone on the table. the screen buzzed insistently, and curiosity got the best of him. without thinking, he reached for it, flipping it over to see a stream of messages from yuta, the name glaring back at him like a taunt. his jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the phone as more texts kept rolling in. “son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, blood boiling in his veins. his grip tightened until he heard your footsteps nearing, and he quickly set the phone back down, trying to act casual.

“who’d he cheat with?” he asked suddenly, the question spilling out before he could stop himself. his voice was sharp, edged with something darker than curiosity. “is she prettier than you?” you rolled your eyes, leaning over to place the bottle in front of him, the motion slow, deliberate. he noticed, no matter how hard he tried to look away, the sway of your hips, the way your breasts bounced with each step. it was almost like you were doing it on purpose, teasing him without even knowing it. or maybe you did know. maybe the alcohol was making you bold, making you play with fire.

no, mark thought, shaking his head slightly. she’s just tipsy. come on, dude. but then you leaned closer, and his breath caught in his throat. the way your bra clung to you, the fabric barely holding back your chest as you bent over—it was too much. your nipples were stiff, peeking out from the confines of the too-tight bra, and he couldn’t help but stare, his body betraying him. you noticed, of course you did. you bit back a smile, amusement dancing in your eyes as you sat back down beside him, the tension between you electric now. “yeah, she’s really hot. you’d like her,” you teased, taking a long sip from your own bottle, watching him squirm.

mark was halfway through his own beer before he could even think, trying to drown whatever the hell he was feeling. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice barely a whisper when he said, “i don’t think so.” you offered him a small, knowing smile, the kind that made his stomach flip, and then you kicked your legs over his knees, your feet resting in his lap. his whole body jolted, tensing under the weight of your touch. “you want a cig?” you asked, your voice soft, almost too casual. you’d never seen him nod faster.

your fingers moved deftly as you pulled out the cigarette, holding it between your thumb and forefinger, dangling it just inches from his reach. mark’s eyes flicked to yours, eager but wary, his smile faltering as you suddenly pulled it back.

“I have a trick,” you murmured, voice dropping to a hushed tone that made his breath hitch. you held the cigarette up between you both, your eyes locked onto his, glinting with mischief. “it’ll make it last longer.” it was the way you said it, the sudden dip in your voice that caught him off guard, made his heart pound a little harder in his chest. but what really did it was the trick. he watched, eyes widening as your tongue slid out, wetting the edge of the cigarette paper in slow, deliberate strokes. the tip of the paper darkened under your touch, the moisture staining it just enough.

was this some kind of joke? mark’s mind raced, trying to catch up with what was happening. did you pick this up off wikipedia, or were you just tormenting him on purpose? but it wasn’t just the act—it was the way you did it. your gaze was half-lidded, dark and sultry, never leaving his. you made sure he felt every second of it, the tension so thick he could barely breathe. your tongue traced the paper one last time before retreating back between your lips, leaving him frozen in place. and that was it. that was when he snapped.

the cigarette slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor, forgotten the moment he surged forward. his hands were on you before you could even react, rough, determined. his fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head as he hovered over you, his knees pressing into your thighs, caging you in. your heart raced, breath shallow, your chest heaving as you stared up at him in shock. this wasn’t how you imagined it—no, it was better, wilder, more intense than you’d ever dared to dream.

“mark,” you managed to choke out, but he cut you off. “what are you doing?” he growled, his voice sharp, rough, almost angry as his eyes bore into yours. there was something dangerous in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite place, but it sent shivers down your spine. for a second, you thought he might be furious with you, and maybe part of him was. but then you felt it—the hardness pressing into your thigh, the undeniable evidence of his desire that made your eyes widen. he wasn’t angry. he was desperate.

“you walk around half-naked, tits out like a slut,” he spat, the venom in his words making your breath hitch, your pulse quicken. “did you do it on purpose? did you do it for me?” his voice was low, dangerous, each word laced with frustration and lust. your mind spun, the weight of his accusation making your stomach drop. “no, did you do it for yuta?”

the name made your skin crawl. yuta? the thought of doing anything like this for him was sickening. of course it wasn’t for him—it was always for mark. who else would it be for? “you,” you rasped out, your voice barely above a whisper. “for you.” the tension in mark’s body snapped. his hips jerked forward, pressing his bulge harder against your thigh, and he bit back a gasp, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. that was what he had been waiting for, what he needed to hear.

without another word, his lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce, all-consuming. you gasped against his mouth, but any protest you might have had was lost as his hands moved, roaming your body. his kiss was hungry, desperate, as though he’d been waiting forever for this moment, and finally, it was his. you kissed him back, just as eager, just as desperate, tasting the beer and cigarettes on his lips, mingled with something distinctly him. the sensation made your head spin, and you clung to him, your body arching into his, needing more.

his hands were everywhere at once, rough palms grazing over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. he grabbed at your bra, fingers tugging at the fabric impatiently, as though he couldn’t bear another second without feeling you. “fuck,” he muttered against your lips, pulling back just long enough to tear your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a care. his hands moved immediately to your chest, cupping your tits through your bra, fingers squeezing greedily as he leaned back in, capturing your lips once more.

you moaned into the kiss, the sound swallowed by his mouth as his fingers worked, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. It only took a moment before he had it undone, your boobs spilling free into his waiting hands. “god, you’re too fucking much,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your bare chest with unabashed hunger.

your skin flushed under his gaze, heat pooling between your legs as you watched him take you in. his eyes were wild, dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged pants as his hands continued their exploration. he pinched your nipples between his fingers, rolling them until you gasped, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “mark, please,” you whimpered, your voice shaky, your body trembling with need. he didn’t hesitate. his hands moved to your jeans, yanking them down your legs in one swift motion, the fabric pooling around your ankles as he knelt between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. you could feel his breath on your skin, hot and heavy, as he stared down at you, his hands spreading your thighs apart and gaze dropping to your sticky panties.

“all this for me?” he asked, his voice gruff, the question almost a demand. you bit your lip, nodding, unable to find the words to answer. you felt his hands at the band of your underwear, hooking his thumbs under the fabric, and then—oh god—his mouth was on you, tongue swiping through your folds, lapping up your arousal like a man starved.

you moaned, arching off the couch, your hips bucking against his face. his mouth was hot, his tongue rough, and you could feel his stubble grazing your sensitive skin in a way that had you arching into his mouth, adding to the sensation. he devoured you, his mouth working in a way that made your toes curl and your back bow. you’d never felt anything like this before—the raw, animalistic hunger of it all. it was like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years, and now that he had it, he was going to make it count.

his tongue found your clit, flicking and sucking with a skill that had you seeing stars. your nails dug into his scalp, your hips rolling to meet every stroke, begging for more. the room spun around you, the only anchor his mouth, his hands, the way he held you in place as he feasted on you. you could feel it building, that sweet pressure in your core, the tightness that signaled the start of something incredible.

his teeth grazed your clit, the bite of pain mixing with pleasure, sending you spiraling. “mark, i’m gonna cum,” you panted, your voice high and breathless. he growled against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body, his tongue pressing harder, pushing you closer to the edge. and then, with a final, frenzied flick, you were over the edge, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

you collapsed back onto the couch, breathless, your chest heaving as he pulled away, a smug smile playing on his lips. your eyes fluttered open to meet his, dark with satisfaction, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you shattering into a million pieces. “you’re such an asshole,” you whispered, though you couldn’t keep the fondness out of your voice. his smile grew, turning sweet, and he leaned back in, kissing you softly. “but you like it,” he murmured, his hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach. you couldn’t argue with that. you liked it. you liked it a lot. but there was still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind—what now? what did this mean for the two of you?

he stood, his eyes never leaving yours as he undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and shoved them down. his cock sprang free, thick and hard, and you felt your mouth go dry at the sight of it. you’d seen him naked before, of course, in passing, in the locker room after gym class, but never like this. never with the intention of having him inside you.

he stepped closer, his hand guiding his dick to your dripping pussy. “you’re soaked, shit,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. and you were. so wet, so ready. he pushed into you, inch by slow inch, the stretch delicious and almost painful. you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist, holding him close. he felt so big, so much bigger than anyone you’d ever been with. you could feel him in your stomach, filling you up in a way that made you feel complete.

his hands slid up your body, gripping your thighs tightly as he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. the couch groaned under your combined weight, the sound echoing through the room, mixing with your gasps and his grunts. his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. your eyes rolled back in your head, your body moving in time with his, the friction building, your core tightening around him. his mouth found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire as he sucked and bit. your nails scored down his back, leaving marks as his stubble pricked at your neck in a way that had you dripping.

his hands roamed, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples, making you squirm and whine. the sensation was almost too much, but you didn’t want it to stop. you could feel him getting closer, his movements growing more erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants. “i’m gonna cum, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained. “i’m gonna ruin your pussy.” and you were so close, so fucking close. you wrapped your legs around him tighter, urging him on, your body begging for release.

suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you gasping, your pussy pulsing around the emptiness. before you could protest, he spun you around, pushing you face down into the couch cushions. his hand smacked your ass, the sound echoing through the room, making you jump. “keep up with me, i have an idea,” you weren’t too sure of what he meant, you were too lost, desperate to have him back inaide of you. you felt him move around, his rock hard tip pressing against your ass as he retrieved your phone from the table. you didn’t register it until he leaned forward, his cock grazing your cunt once more as he gestured to your phone in his hand. you tried to make out what he was doing, turning your head to see him scrolling with a scoff. “what a fucking pussy,” he wasn’t talking about you, he was talking about yuta.

you didn’t get a chance to speak, to protest, he had slid upwards, kickstarting the voice recording and planting your phone beside your ear. your eyes widened at the realization—he was sick, he was twisted for wanting yuta to hear what he was doing to you, just hours after your break-up. you were sick for wanting it even more.

his cock slammed into your pussy again, and you moaned, the sound captured by the phone’s microphone. “is this all for me, baby?” he grunted, his hips slamming into yours as he pulled at your hips to meet his thrusts, the couch squeaking beneath you. you couldn’t help but bite your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overwhelmed you. the thought of yuta listening to this was fucked up, but it only made you wetter, made you want to scream louder. his strokes grew faster, more erratic, and you felt his hand snake around your waist, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with precision. “tell him how much you love this, tell him how much better i am than he ever was,” he panted, accentuating each word with a thrust.

you whimpered, the heat of his breath against your neck making you shiver. “mark, oh my god, it’s so good,” you moaned, the words spilling from your lips, the truth in your voice unmistakable. “better than yuta?” he prompted, his voice a dark whisper. “yes, so much better,” you gasped, the truth slipping out, lost in the haze of pleasure. his hand tightened on your hip, his strokes becoming more demanding. “that’s right,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “tell him who this pussy belongs to.”

you felt your face flush, the his words turning you on more than you cared to admit. “it’s yours, mark,” you whispered, the words barely audible. “say it louder, baby. tell him who you really want.” he smacked your ass again, the sting mixing with the pleasure, making you squirm. “it’s yours, mark, all fucking yours,” you cried out, the sound echoing in the quiet room. his grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more punishing, each one sending you spiraling closer to the edge. his hand moved from your hip to your mouth, his thumb pressing against your lips, and you opened, letting him slide it in.

his thumb moved in and out, mimicking the motion of his cock, the taste of your own juices mixing with the salty tang of his skin. “tell him how much you want my cum in you, baby. tell him how much you need it,” he demanded, his voice harsh, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. you felt your stomach clench at the thought, but the words tumbled out, unbidden. “i want it, i need it,” you moaned, your voice thick with desire. “send it to him,” you breathed, the thrill of the idea making you wetter. mark’s eyes lit up with excitement, and he reached for your phone, pausing before sending the message with a smug smirk.

the room was spinning, the pleasure building, your body tightening around him like a vice. he leaned in closer, his hand moving to your clit, rubbing it in firm circles as he whispered, “cum for me, baby. let me hear how much you love it.” and with that, you were gone, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, your pussy spasming around his thick cock. he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut, and you felt the warmth of his cum fill you up, the sensation sending you over the edge once more.

you collapsed onto the couch, your body boneless, as he pulled out, the sound of his seed dripping onto the floor making you shiver. your cheeks were flushed, your pussy sore and sticky, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. mark stood, looking down at you with a smug look, his cock still hard, glistening with your juices. “that’s what happens when you don’t get what you want, isn’t it?” he said, his voice still thick with lust. “you go running to the first person that shows you some attention.”

his words stung, but you didn’t have the energy to argue. you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with yuta’s panicked texts. the audio message had gone through, and his responses were no less than mortified. “you really think i did this just to use you?” you asked quietly as you set your phone down, your heart sinking at the thought of him thinking so little of you, of himself.

mark’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice tender. “i just—i’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, i wanted to make sure he knew—knows—what he’s missing out on.” his thumb traced your cheekbone, his eyes searching yours. “and what about us?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “are we just gonna ignore this?”

you took a deep breath, the weight of his question settling heavily on your chest. the silence between you was deafening, the only sound the faint buzz of the television and the distant hum of the barely functioning air conditioner. you didn’t know what to say, but you knew exactly what was in your heart. “i’ve liked you for too long, you asshole,” you whispered, trying to mask the tension with all your might.

mark’s hand stilled on your face, his eyes searching yours in the reflection of the television. “you idiot,” he murmured, his voice soft with unspoken emotion waiting to pour out. “i’ve liked you even longer, i can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

his confession was like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your heart. “i didn’t think you felt the same way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. the weight of your feelings had been heavy on your shoulders for years, and finally, they were out in the open.

he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his eyes closing briefly. “i’ve liked you since we were kids, but i didn’t know how to tell you without ruining our friendship,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t want to lose you, so i just hoped you’d eventually figure it out. but then you started dating yuta—” his voice trailed off, his jaw tightening at the mention of your his name.

you nodded, fully aware of the pain behind his words, the same pain he had kept hidden from you for so long. you’d been so caught up in the drama of it all, you hadn’t noticed the subtle ways he’d tried to show you how he felt. the way his eyes lit up when you walked into a room, the gentle touches that lingered just a little too long, the way he’d always been there for you, no matter what. “i really like you, mark,” his grin was unmistakeable, his eyes crinkling in such a soft manner, as if he hadn’t just fucked you. “i really like you, too.” it was everything you had dreamed of, finally coming true.

✧

a/n: this took longer to write than anticipated sorry omg

come back home (집에 돌아와) – mark lee (마크이)

✧ 16+

you never really knew what it meant to have a home. surely, the idea was simple enough: a place to shelter from the world, a structure that separated you from the cold or the rain. but to you, it was just that—a roof, four walls, something solid beneath your feet. maybe a chair here, a table there, if luck was on your side. if luck smiled, perhaps even a bed. It was the bare minimum, and you learned to make do with it. the word “home” had always felt hollow, devoid of warmth or comfort. your house, with all its peeling wallpaper and creaking floors, was just that—a house.

you existed there, your parents existed there, but it was never more than an intersection of lives that hardly touched. the screaming was normal, expected even. the cadence of their voices raising in anger, the crash of shattered glass, the dull thud of doors slamming shut—it became the rhythm of your childhood, a song you wished you could unhear. at first, when you were young, it terrified you. you were nine, maybe ten, the first time it truly sank in, and you clamped your hands over your ears, tears streaking your cheeks as you cried yourself to sleep. but at least there was a bed, you reminded yourself, even if the sheets were cold and the mattress hard. cold water had a knack for feeling warm when your hands were freezing.

you learned, over time, that cold water felt warm when your hands were freezing. you adapted, hardened yourself to the noise, the tension, the never-ending war waged between your parents. they never divorced. that, too, became part of the routine, the way they lived in the same house but on different planes of existence. they tolerated each other, and you? you tolerated it all.

at nineteen, you left. escaped, really. found yourself in a dingy apartment on the outskirts of hongdae, where the nights were quieter than you expected. so quiet, in fact, that you almost missed the screaming. almost. it never truly left, though. the echoes of their fights lived on in your mind, a constant ringing in the stillness of the night. even when the world outside was silent, the crickets long gone, it was there. but it didn’t faze you anymore. it had stopped fazing you a long time ago.

you met him when you were eighteen, just a few months shy of nineteen, and you couldn’t have known then how much someone could fill the spaces in your life where there had only been emptiness before. mark was funny in the kind of way that made you laugh before he even finished his jokes, like his sheer presence radiated joy. he was sweet in a way that wasn’t forced, his kindness so natural it felt like breathing. but it was his charm that hooked you from the very first glance—there was something about him that was magnetic, a pull you couldn’t resist. he was clumsy, a little ditzy, the kind of person who seemed to trip over his own feet yet laugh about it with the confidence of someone who made falling look graceful. you had sworn, more than once, that he must’ve been a blonde bimbo in a past life, the way he moved through the world with a carefree lightness.

you liked everything about him, even the quirks that might have annoyed anyone else. the way he laughed a little too loud, obnoxious but infectious. the way his fringe had fallen just so over his eyes when you met him, a mess of hair that he never quite bothered to fix. you liked the way he mixed his english and korean, as if his thoughts flowed too fast for just one language to handle. and then there was his scent—the sharp, musky warmth of sauvage that clung to his clothes, lingering in the air after he left like a memory you didn’t want to fade.

what you liked most, though, was how much he seemed to like you. it wasn’t just the way he looked at you or the way his voice softened when he said your name. it was the fact that he embraced everything about you, even the things you were sure no one else would. the first time he came over, your apartment was a mess—clothes strewn across the floor, dishes piled high in the sink, books and papers scattered like debris from a storm. but he didn’t flinch. he didn’t judge. instead, he smiled, wide and genuine, as if the clutter didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“you're way too nervous, dude,” he teased, his voice light and teasing as he stood in the doorway. “it’s adorable, shit, what should i do with you?”

you blushed, avoiding his gaze as his hand ruffled your hair, the touch gentle but enough to send a warmth rushing through you. you fumbled with the keys, your fingers shaking slightly as you unlocked the door. “try not to judge too hard,” you muttered under your breath, stepping inside with him trailing close behind. mark clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if to dismiss your worries. “i’m not judging, promise.”

the interior was as chaotic as you’d feared—blankets draped over the couch in a haphazard pile, magazines tossed onto the coffee table without a second thought. there was a plate from last night’s dinner still sitting on the counter, and you caught sight of a lone sock peeking out from under the tv stand. but mark didn’t seem to notice any of it, or if he did, he didn’t care. he walked in, looked around, and grinned. “feels cozy,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made you believe it, just for a moment.

you both settled on the couch, sinking into the cushions as the quiet hum of the television filled the room. he suggested watching a movie, something light, something to fill the silence without demanding too much attention. but you weren’t really focused on the screen. your gaze kept drifting back to him—the way he sat with one arm slung lazily over the back of the couch, the other holding the remote, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you as if he could feel your stare.

it wasn’t long before he caught you. his lips quirked up into a playful smile, and he leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. “you’re staring,” he whispered, voice teasing but low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “i wasn’t,” you protested weakly, but the blush on your cheeks gave you away.

he chuckled, the sound soft and comforting, before he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his hand lingered for a moment, fingertips grazing your skin as his gaze dropped to your lips. and in that moment, the air between you seemed to shift, thickening with tension that neither of you wanted to break.

his lips met yours gently at first, testing, exploring. but the warmth of the kiss grew, deepening as his hand moved to cup your cheek, pulling you closer. the taste of him was intoxicating, the mix of his cologne and something inherently him filling your senses. when he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him.

“god, you taste even better than i imagined,” he murmured, his voice roughened by the kiss, a hint of something darker lingering beneath the surface. you blushed deeper, the heat from his words spreading through you like wildfire.

later, you found yourselves on the balcony, sharing a cigarette as the night air cooled the flush on your cheeks. the city lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow over the streets below. mark stood beside you, his arm casually draped around your shoulders, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you both stared out into the quiet.

he took a drag from the cigarette, exhaling a slow, steady stream of smoke into the night before turning to you. his eyes were soft, but there was a determination in them you hadn’t seen before. “i’ll do anything to make you mine, you know that, right?” his voice was low, serious in a way that made your heart skip a beat. you looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. he meant every word.

your relationship with him unfolded like the slow bloom of a flower, delicate and sweet, each petal unfurling with every day you spent together. it was puppy love at its finest, the kind that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into nervous knots. the kind of love that made the world seem softer, more forgiving.

your dates were simple, but they were everything. late-night walks through the city, hand in hand as the neon lights reflected off the wet pavement. you’d stop for street food, sharing rice cakes or steaming hot dumplings, laughing when the sauce dripped down your chin and mark wiped it away with a grin. he had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel special. like the time he surprised you with a cup of coffee before your early shift at work, the note scribbled on the side of the cup in his messy handwriting—“thought you might need this. see you tonight, babe :)”

it wasn’t grand gestures that defined your relationship, but rather the small acts of care. the way he always carried your bag without you asking. the way he memorized your favorite takeout order and brought it over after a long day. or how he slipped love letters under your door, little notes scribbled on torn pieces of notebook paper, each one messier than the last, but filled with words that made your heart swell. “you make me feel like the luckiest guy alive. can’t believe i get to wake up every day knowing you’re mine.”

you kept every single one, tucked away in a drawer, rereading them when the nights felt too quiet. he was your safe space, your escape from the chaos that had been your life for so long. and slowly, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected. one night, after a particularly rough day, you found yourself curled up in his lap, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you whispered the words you had kept locked away for so long.

“never really had a home,” you started, your voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside. “parents were always fighting. it was constant. screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming. they never got divorced, but they never really stayed together either. i guess i got used to it after a while. but it never stopped hurting.”

mark’s arms tightened around you, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as you spoke. you could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, as if he were absorbing your pain, taking it on as his own. for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just held you close, his breath warm against your skin.

then, in a voice quieter than you had ever heard him use, he spoke. “my dad was the same,” he admitted, his words heavy with the weight of years of silence. “used to hit my mom. me too, sometimes. i don’t think i ever really forgave him for that. he cheated on her. over and over. i remember hearing them fight when i was a kid, and i’d just hide in my room, pretending it wasn’t happening. but you can’t really ignore that kind of thing forever, you know?”

you lifted your head, looking up at him, and for the first time, you saw a side of him you hadn’t seen before. his eyes were dark, shadowed with memories he had buried deep. his usual smile was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “i’m so sorry,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment as if savoring the warmth of your palm against his cheek.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, but you could hear the crack in his voice. “i mean, it’s not okay, but i don’t know. i guess i just got used to pretending it didn’t hurt.” and then, without warning, the tears came. first yours, then his. it was quiet at first, a few soft sniffles, but soon you were both crying, your tears mingling as you clung to each other. it wasn’t the kind of crying that came with sobs or broken words, but a deep, shared grief, the kind that had been bottled up for too long.

you cried for the pain you had endured, for the childhoods that had been stolen from both of you. you cried for the loneliness, the fear, the helplessness of watching the people you loved tear each other apart.

“i didn’t think i’d ever find someone who understood,” you whispered through your tears, your forehead pressed against his. “someone who just—gets it.” mark shook his head, his own tears spilling down his cheeks as he looked at you, eyes red-rimmed and glistening. "you don’t have to go through it alone anymore," he said softly, his voice breaking. “we’ve got each other now. i won’t let you go through that again. not ever.”

he had never seemed more fragile. the boy who always laughed too loudly, who joked about everything, who never took life too seriously—now, he was exposed, raw in his vulnerability, and it broke something in you to see him like this. but it also healed something too. in him, you saw a reflection of your own. every time he smiled at you, every time he touched your hand or kissed your forehead, it felt like a promise. a promise that you wouldn’t be alone anymore. and you believed him.

there’s that saying, the one everyone knows but no one really wants to admit the truth of. something about apples and trees. the apple never falls far, but when it does, it rots. months had passed, and he hadn’t changed. he was still the same sweetheart you met, the same boy who made you laugh at stupid jokes, who scribbled love notes and stuck them in your bag when you weren’t looking. the same boy who held you through the darkest moments and promised he’d never let you feel alone again. you clung to that.

but then, slowly, things started to shift. it was subtle at first, the kind of thing you told yourself not to overthink. his phone, which had always been an afterthought, suddenly seemed to light up more often. notifications during your dates, while you were watching tv, even when you were lying in bed together. each time, he would glance at the screen, the light reflecting in his eyes for a moment before he turned it off, flipping the phone over like it was nothing.

you didn’t want to be that person. the one who asked too many questions, who pried, who doubted. but the feeling gnawed at you, deep in your gut, a quiet ache that you couldn’t shake. “what’s the matter?” you’d asked him once, your voice soft, trying to keep it casual. mark had answered smoothly, barely blinking. “group chat being spammed.”

you believed him. you wanted to believe him. so you brushed it off. you convinced yourself that you were being paranoid, that the ache in your stomach was nothing more than insecurity. but then you caught a glimpse of something. a photo of some girl, just for a split second before the screen went dark again. “who’s that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even, trying not to sound clingy, desperate for him to say something that would calm the storm brewing inside you. “my cousin,” he said easily, his tone so calm it almost soothed the unease in your chest. “she’s coming to hongdae next week.”

you nodded, forcing a smile, swallowing the doubt that still lingered in the back of your throat. you brushed it off, again. but the ache had grown, twisting and knotting in your stomach, especially when you noticed something else. the scent of perfume. not his usual sauvage, that sharp, familiar musk that clung to his clothes. this was different. dainty. fruity. feminine. you didn’t say anything that night, even though it felt like a slap in the face, but you got no sleep. you lay there, staring at the ceiling, the smell of it taunting you, the ache now a full-blown pain, throbbing in your chest.

the final straw came one night when you were at his apartment. he was in the shower, the sound of the water echoing from the bathroom connected to his bedroom. you sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through your hair, staring at his phone lighting up on the bedside table, once again buzzing with notifications. curiosity got the best of you. you didn’t want to be the kind of person who went through someone else’s phone, but the feeling in your chest wouldn’t let you ignore it anymore. so, with shaky fingers, you pulled down the notification bar, and that’s when your heart dropped for the first time in nine years.

four girls. maybe five. their names flashing on the screen, some of them sending attachments you didn’t even want to open. you didn’t need to. the gist was clear. flirting. photos. motel meet-ups. you felt sick, your hands trembling as you held the phone, your pulse roaring in your ears, drowning out the sound of the water still running in the bathroom.

when mark stepped out, a towel slung low around his waist, his hair dripping wet, his usual grin plastered across his face, you couldn’t even look at him. “you okay, baby?” he murmured, approaching the foot of the bed. the scent of him, the faintest hint of sauvage, mixed with the steam from the shower, was almost nauseating now.

you stared down at your bare feet, unable to speak. you felt like you were on the edge of breaking, your throat tight, your hands shaking as you held his phone in your lap. his smile faltered as he noticed the phone in your hands. you turned it on, the messages lighting up the screen once more. his heart sank, and for the first time, you saw him panic. “babe,” he started, his voice breaking, but you wouldn’t let him finish.

with all the rage and betrayal you had kept buried, you slammed his phone against the floor. it shattered, pieces of glass scattering at your feet. the sound of it breaking filled the room, sharp and violent, like the crack of something much deeper snapping inside you. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” he said, his voice rising in disbelief as he stood there, staring at the wreckage of his phone. “at least let me explain.”

you stood, rage boiling in your veins, and before he could reach for you, his hands gripping your shoulders, you met his gaze. the smile he had worn for so long, that same charming smile that had made you fall for him, was gone now. and you saw him for what he was.

without thinking, your hand flew up, and your palm collided with his face. the sound echoed in the silence of the room, and for a moment, neither of you moved. mark was stunned, his cheek reddening from the impact, his eyes wide with shock. you should’ve been afraid. maybe some part of you should have hesitated, but you didn’t. not this time.

“what?” you spat, your voice trembling with fury. “gonna hit me? show me you’re your daddy’s son? you’re already halfway there.” you saw the way his fist clenched, his knuckles turning white. but he didn’t raise his hand. he stood there, frozen, his face pale, eyes filled with a mix of shame and anger, but he didn’t strike back. you left right then and there, grabbing your things with shaking hands. you didn’t look back.

the familiar sound of silence weighed heavy on your shoulders, pressing down like an invisible force, suffocating and thick. it wasn’t the comfortable kind of silence you’d once craved, the kind you sought when the world felt too loud, too chaotic. this was different. this was the silence that mingled with the sound of your quiet sobs, echoing off the walls of your apartment. it was too quiet. too still. and in that stillness, the mess of your head overpowered the mess of the space around you.

the apartment was the same disarray it had always been—clothes strewn across the floor, an unwashed coffee mug on the table, an empty takeout container abandoned on the counter. but none of it seemed to matter. not now. not with the turmoil in your chest, the ache that made it impossible to focus on anything but the hollow throb of betrayal that gnawed at your insides.

your phone buzzed on the table beside you, and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. it had been going off for hours now, vibrating insistently, demanding your attention with every essay-length text he sent. you could imagine the words without even reading them—apologies, excuses, desperate attempts to explain away the hurt he had caused. but they were just words, and they meant nothing to you now. he had ruined everything. not you.

you had been a step ahead of him this whole time, guarding your heart as best you could, but that was perfect. he was a step behind you, stabbing you in the back had never been easier. you stared at your phone, the messages stacking up on the screen, the notifications piling on top of each other until it felt like they were mocking you. mocking the love you had given him, the trust you had placed in him.

eventually, you responded. not with the anger or the pain you felt in your chest, but with something colder. numb. a simple message, telling him to come get his stuff the next day. no explanations, no arguments. just the finality of it, the line drawn in the sand.

you didn’t get any sleep that night. How could you, when the shadows of him lingered everywhere? his clothes, his gifts, his belongings—they surrounded you like ghosts, watching over you from every corner of the apartment. even the air felt heavy with his presence, as if you could still smell the faint scent of his cologne hanging in the room, clinging to everything he had touched.

by the time the sun started to rise, you felt hollow. the kind of emptiness that comes after a storm, when everything has been stripped away, leaving only the wreckage behind. that was when you heard the knock at the door, faint but insistent. you knew it was him.

your hands trembled as you unlocked the door, the cold metal of the knob slick beneath your sweaty palms. when you opened it, mark didn’t hesitate to step inside. he barged in, his movements hurried, his breath catching in his throat like he had run the whole way here. his eyes were puffy, red, and swollen, matching your own. his heart broke at the sight of you, standing there in your worn-out pajamas, eyes rimmed with tears. but you? you had nothing left to break. you had already given him everything. your heart, your trust, your love. he had taken it all and shattered it, and now there was nothing left for him to ruin.

“your stuff’s in my room,” you croaked out, your voice hoarse from hours of crying. it was all you could manage to say. you couldn’t even bear to look at him, not directly. you were no longer facing the man you thought you knew. you weren’t sure if you ever knew him at all. but mark didn’t move. he stood there, his breath shallow, his body tense, as if he was fighting some internal battle. you turned your back to him, unwilling—unable—to look at the face that had lied to you for so long. that was when he finally moved.

not toward your room, not to gather his things like you had expected. no, instead, he came for you. you felt his warmth before anything else. his breath, hot against your neck. his arms, familiar and strong, draping around your waist, pulling you close. you didn’t fight it. you didn’t push him away. maybe you were too weak, too tired from all the crying. maybe you just didn’t want to. maybe you wanted to hold on to something familiar, something that reminded you of the love you thought you had.

“i’m so sorry,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper, the sound of it raw and broken. “i don’t deserve you. i never deserved you. i don’t deserve to beg, but you have to know they meant nothing. nobody will ever top you. nobody will ever come close to you. hate me, but please don’t stop loving me.”

you didn’t respond, but you felt the tears start again, the ones you thought had been drained from your eyes. they flowed silently down your cheeks, mingling with his as he pressed his face to yours, his cheek wet against your skin. you could feel him trembling, the weight of his regret pouring from him in waves, and for a moment, you let it wash over you.

he kissed your cheek, soft, tentative, as though he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer still, his lips trailing along your jawline, your temple. you let him, because it was cold. and he was the only warmth you had left. his lips found yours, once sweet and tender, now salty with tears. you didn’t pull away. you let him kiss you. you kissed him back.

“i’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured between the kisses, his voice cracking, “i love you so much. please, don’t leave me.” you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. his hands were everywhere, gripping you like he was terrified to let go, like he was scared you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold you tight enough. that’s what you wanted to believe—that his touch was desperate, that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. so you let him. you let him touch you, hold you, kiss you. because in that moment, it was all you had left.

his hands moved up your body, his touch feather-light as they reached the hem of your shirt. he tugged it over your head, his eyes never leaving yours, and you didn’t resist. your heart was racing, but not with the excitement it usually did when he touched you. no, this was something else—something more frantic, more desperate. you weren’t sure if you were letting him do this because you loved him or because you were just too tired to fight.

you felt the warmth of his skin against yours as his shirt came off next, the soft fabric brushing against your sensitized skin like a lover’s caress. and maybe, just for a moment, you convinced yourself that you could forgive him. that his love was enough to fill the gaping hole that his lies had left in your chest.

you stumbled backwards toward the bed, his arms never leaving your body, your legs giving out beneath you as he laid you down. his kisses grew more urgent, his touch more feverish as he explored your bare skin. you were crying now, your body shaking with each sob that wracked your chest. but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop, not now.

you felt his hands on your pants, the button popping open, and you didn’t protest. the fabric slid down your legs, leaving you exposed, vulnerable. his eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of hope, something to cling to. you didn’t want to give it to him, but your body was betraying you. it responded to his touch like it had been programmed to do so from the very start. his weight settled on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on as if he were the last piece of driftwood in a storm. you sobbed into his neck as he moved inside of you, the friction mixing with the pain in your heart. you weren’t sure if you were crying because it felt good or because it hurt. maybe it was both.

his breath grew ragged, his movements quickening, his eyes never leaving yours. he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, words that once meant everything now sounding like echoes of the past. you didn’t say anything back, just held onto him tighter, letting his warmth and the rhythm of his body fill the cold void that had taken root inside you. and when he finally came, his body shuddering with the force of his release, he collapsed onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his tears mixing with yours.

it hurt like hell, every bit of it. every breath you took was like a punch to your gut, every tear that fell from your cheek felt cold. it was cold, and it was quiet. it was home.

✧

a/n: if ur reading this and ur in a toxic relationship, and when i say toxic, that ranges from gaslighting to physical abuse—this is ur sign that there most definitely is a way out. if ur reading this while and ur ina toxic relationship thinking, this is awful, how could the reader patch things up with him just like that, this is ur sign. the hands that hold you are the ones most capable of harming you and the words that console you will be the fastest to hurt you. a cold touch will feel warm when ur freezing, but sometimes its just better to freeze. know your worth, and even if you dont know it, know that it has never depended on what a man thinks of you, and it never will

not this fic outpacing all of my other fics. y’all are really checking for my man omg ;____ ; but thank you <3

Wants vs Needs [M]

Genre: ABO, Omegaverse, Smut, AU

Warnings: A lot of smut, unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex, Mark has some Dom qualities, 

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Mark Lee x OC

A/N: Just was dealing with some Mark brainrot. Yeah. That’s about it mdfjkhlkashfd. I REALLY DO HATE THIS FOR ME. But please enjoy! Feel free to follow, like , reblog and chat with meee <3

Keep reading

MK (Part I)

As promised, here’s another Mark post to make up for that brief birthday piece that didn’t get to highlight him that much.

I’ll try my best to post a lot of Mark content since it’s his birthday month, so stay tuned. 

Let the GIF below remind you of that. By the way, this is one of my favorite looks on him! Don’t you all agree?

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

–––

Summary: This piece was inspired by one of the prompts in @neoculturedrabbles​ list: 

Prompt #20: “What did you do this time?”

POV: 2nd person since I wrote this late last year. 

Word count: 749 words

–––

“Essie noonaaaaa!” It was the first thing you heard from Mark when he called you up late in the afternoon.

You just woke up from your nap and was about to start a relaxing day doing nothing, but the younger guy had to call you after drinking a glass of lukewarm lemon water.

“Yes, Mark? What can I do for you?” Your voice sounded hoarse, and you cleared your throat, so you sound better.

“I need your help, like, right now. Please. I really need you.” You sensed the fear in his voice, and you held onto your comforter tighter.

“What did you do this time?” Your voice could not hide the exasperation you felt at his call.

You should know by now that when he calls you with a whiny voice, he is up to no good.

“I forgot my wallet at home. I’m with Haechan, and you know how he is, he doesn’t bring a wallet when he’s with his hyungs,” you heard a sharp objection from his dongsaeng, “so can you please bring it here? You know how it looks like, right?”

You sighed, remembering his beat-up leather wallet that could’ve belonged to your uncle. “Yes, Mark. I know what your wallet looks like. Because I’m delivering it to wherever you and Donghyuck are eating, you have to treat me.”

It was his turn to sigh now but in defeat. “Okay, Essie noona. I got you. I’m really sorry I had to disturb you…”

“It’s fine, Mark. As long as you treat me to my fave cake and coffee, we’re good.”

The next thing you heard was Haechan laughing diabolically in the background before you hung up.

///

An hour after he called, you were on your way to the restaurant with his wallet. It felt heavy, and you wondered what it contained.

As you opened the door to the restaurant, you saw Haechan waving at you excitedly. You returned his wave in the same manner, making Mark sink deeper into his seat.

“Here you go, Mark Lee,” you said, handing his wallet before sitting down beside him. “Please don’t forget this every time you step out of the house, okay?”

He bowed in apology after getting the wallet, his face almost hitting the floor. “I’m really sorry, Essie noona,” he then looked at the guy across him, “but this one’s nagging me to hurry up a while ago, and I forgot to bring this in return!”

Haechan looked away, whistling a particular tune. You laughed at their interaction before you patted Mark on his shoulder.

“You should already expect that when you’re with him, okay?” You glanced at the blond boy, who gave you his trademark wink-and-hand-check pose.

Mark could only grumble in response, carefully fishing out bills out of his wallet.

///

After he paid for the meal he and Haechan ate, it was your turn to be treated.

You walked alongside the hyperactive boy, who you did a secret handshake with when he stood up from his seat. It took a minute and a lot of hype sounds (e.g., a lot of ‘hey’s’ and ‘get it’), making Mark embarrassed and amused at your thing.

“Hey, how come I don’t have like that with any of you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at both of you.

“’Cause you’re not cool enough?” Haechan replied in his usual sassy way, eliciting giggles out of you. “And you’re always out, dude. How can we have a special handshake when you’re not here?” You added, planting your hands on your hips.

Your housemate pouted, defeated again with your ‘teamwork.’ “Haechan and I have become close over the past few months too,” you said softly, glancing at the guy beside you who responded with a bashful smile.

“I’m sorry that I’m always out, you know I don’t have much control with my schedule,” Mark mumbled, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “But anyway, let’s have cake and coffee. My treat.”

You and Haechan exchanged your special high fives and screeched in delight. “Oh yeah! Mark’s treating us!”

“Guys, please. Stop doing that. It’s embarrassing,” your housemate whispered as he walked faster and farther from you.

Haechan, who was taller than you, hooked an arm around your shoulder and walked animatedly beside you. His energy was infectious, and you followed suit, later on singing a Queen song as you trailed the person who was going to treat you to dessert.

–––

FIN

Midnight Sky

The thought of Mark Lee playing the song this piece is titled after will never leave my mind.

I am confident he can do it, and it suits his voice. A girl can dream, right?

I hope you enjoy this rejection fic featuring Mark and my main OC Essie.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

POV: 2nd person

Word count: ~1,000 words

Additional notes: This is part of the Main Timeline pre-Essie and Johnny. Please refer to the Masterlist, which I will update shortly with this one. I'll get to writing the other missing pieces of Mark's story, even Jaehyun's. Some things might not make sense now, but it will in the future. We'll get there, okay?

Recommended listening: I will now associate the title of this fic (also mentioned in the story) as a song Mark should sing to us. You have to agree with me.

---

You never wanted to be in this situation, but sometimes, life hands it to you. It was never easy to break someone’s heart. 

Mark Lee was kneeling in front of you after serenading you in a bar he rented for this purpose. 

This was a more intimate affair than his confession in front of Johnny and Key because he thought you didn't take that seriously. Hopefully, this moment will get through you.

He sang a couple of your favorite songs, but when he sang ‘Midnight Sky,’ you figured out what would come next. 

“Noona, please say something,” he said softly, his doe eyes looking at you with anticipation. 

It has been a couple of minutes since you remained silent after his grand confession. Your mind kept replaying the words he told you – I have been in love with you for some time, Essie noona. I hope you’ll give me a chance to be the partner you’ve always wanted and deserved. 

Those were some big claims, and deep inside, you were curious about what he could give you. But it would be best if he knew the real story of why you were afraid of being in a relationship again. 

“Mark…” you started, holding both of his hands so he could stand up, “I think you have to know something first.” 

You led him to the edge of the stage he performed on and told him to sit beside you there. After a couple of deep breaths, you started to share some of your past. 

As you told him your reasons, your mind was also wondering about the possibility of being with Johnny, the guy who made you love again. 

If you could just go straight to the point that you weren’t expecting his confession and that you were in love with his hyung, then this would be all over. 

“But noona, I am not like your ex. I’m a different person, and I’m not one to ignore and ghost,” Mark replied, his tone a bit on the edge. You could tell he was becoming impatient with the way your conversation shifted. 

“I know, Mark. But…” You busied your hands by clenching and unclenching them on your jeans, still delaying the inevitable. “I’m really sorry; I didn’t expect this at all.” 

The silence that enveloped you both felt suffocating, but you knew that if you said the wrong words, things would never be the same again. 

“So, I guess that’s a no then?” Mark’s voice was barely a whisper, and you felt that he was on the verge of crying. 

You diverted your eyes away from your lap to look at him, and your suspicion was correct. Your heart ached at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, but you knew what your heart wanted the most. 

“I’m sorry, Marky. Maybe in another lifetime or parallel universe, we could be.”

“Why not now? Is there someone you like more?” He hesitated to ask you, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t take this chance.

“Yes, Mark. I think you know who that is, right?” The tears that pooled in the younger guy’s eyes slipped, and he had to look away from you to wipe them. 

“I think I know who that is,” he said in between sniffles, “but you know what?” He faced you with slightly red eyes. “I’m glad I took the risk to tell you how I feel. If I keep this bottled up for too long, I might resent everyone.” 

You didn’t know what else to say, so your tears decided to speak for themselves. You never thought of the depth of his feelings for you. You always saw him as an affectionate little brother that you wanted to shower your love and praises. He deserved everything he was getting, but unfortunately, not the love he wanted from you. 

“Don’t cry, noona. It’s alright; I can take this.” He smiled at you to reassure you he’ll be fine, but you knew he wouldn’t be after going home to your respective apartments. 

“I’m really sorry, Marky…” More tears spilled on your face, and despite the rejection he got from you, he wiped them with his handkerchief. 

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t make you do something you haven’t set your heart on,” You noticed his small smile can break any moment now. You had to give it to him for being strong after being turned down, but at the same time, you wanted to console him. 

“Can I request something?” His ears perked up at your question, and you saw his beautiful eyes glimmering in the dark. “Come here,” you motioned to your lap, and slowly, he crawled to you. 

You pulled him into your embrace, which was something not uncommon between you two. Mark buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent. You nuzzled on one side of his head, with one of your hands ruffling and playing with his hair. 

“Do you think I led you on, Marky?” You asked softly, not breaking away from your intimate position. 

“To be honest, yes. We always have moments like this, noona. I could lose myself in your hugs, and you’re one of the people I don’t mind playing with my hair.” 

That got a chuckle out of you and pecked his head afterward. “Are we too close for your liking?” 

“Yeah, and I wish we could be something else,” he mumbled before pecking your neck. “Can I request something this time?” 

Mark broke away from your hug and looked at you intently. God, his eyes were making you feel weird and fuzzy inside. 

“Can I get a…” Before he finished what he was saying, he looked at the floor. You glanced at what he was looking at, but you became distracted by his red ears. 

You already know what he wanted to request, but it would better if it came from him. 

“Can I get a kiss from you?” 

---

FIN

P.S. My brain stopped with that ending, and I don't know if I should proceed lol.