Nct Mark Angst - Tumblr Posts

[10:07pm] “whatever it is, we can fix this-” he moved towards her, attempting to grab her hands, as a gesture that everything was going to be alright. she immediately responded by backing up, shaking her head. “y/n...” he said cautiously. “i-i’m sorry, please let me make it up to you, i’ll do anything,” he pleaded.

“it’s too late, mark,” she said, moving past him to grab her suitcase that was already packed with all of her stuff. “it’s been this way for a while,” she stated as she opened the bedroom door and left. he stood there, speechless and heartbroken. and that’s when the tears started falling. he knew a while back he messed up, he just never did anything to fix it.

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