#Mark Fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leejenowrld · 5 months ago

Text

warm me up

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 5k

genre — smut, explicit sexual content, soft sex, not proofread, oral sex, riding

synopsis — mark insists on “warming you up” after you come in from the cold, wrapped in fuzzy blankets with cocoa still in your hands. he shifts closer, his touch slow and teasing, until his hands are roaming beneath the blanket, pulling soft gasps from you. before you know it, he has you on your knees for him on the living room carpet, the faint glow of christmas lights and a forgotten movie playing in the background. his low groans mix with the soft sounds of your mouth on him, his fingers tangling in your hair as he whispers just how good you are—his perfect little gift.

[fic ml]

The night was frigid, with a sharp bite in the December air that clung stubbornly to your skin no matter how fast you moved to escape it. You felt the cold seep through your coat, a cruel, clinging thing that turned your fingers numb and your cheeks raw. The snow crunched beneath your boots, and your breath formed fleeting clouds in front of you as you hurried toward the door, your shoulders curling inward against the wind.

The door opened before you even reached it. Mark was already there, as if he’d been waiting, his silhouette backlit by the golden glow of the living room behind him. He stood in the doorway with that familiar, boyish smile playing on his lips, the kind that always made your chest feel just a little too tight. His sweater hung loose on his frame, the sleeves pushed up carelessly to his elbows, and in his arms, he held a blanket—thick, soft, and already open, as if he couldn’t bear to waste a single second before wrapping you in it.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice warm and low, a balm against the chill that still clung to you. He didn’t wait for you to answer. Mark never did when it came to taking care of you, and tonight was no exception.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few strides, and immediately began draping the blanket over your shoulders. His movements were so gentle, so deliberate, that it made your throat tighten. His hands brushed against your arms as he tucked the edges of the fabric around you, his touch warm despite the lingering cold on your skin.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, the words a quiet reprimand, though there was no real heat behind them. His brows drew together as he tilted his head, studying you with that careful, unyielding attention that was so uniquely him. “Why didn’t you text me when you were on your way back? I would’ve come to get you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat when his hands rose to cup your cheeks, his palms so warm they almost burned against the cold flush of your skin. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, feather-light, and his expression softened further as he sighed.

“You’re like ice,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice tinged with something that felt like frustration but was really just concern. “Let’s fix that.”

It was impossible not to melt under his care. He pulled you inside without another word, his arm steady around your waist as he guided you toward the living room. The warmth hit you first, a delicious, enveloping heat that made you realize just how cold you’d been. But it wasn’t the fire crackling in the hearth or the golden lights strung around the Christmas tree that made your breath catch. It was him. Mark, with his steady touch and the quiet way he fussed over you, as though the idea of you being uncomfortable for even a second was too much to bear.

He led you to the couch and eased you down, the blanket still snug around your shoulders. His hands never left you for long, moving to tuck the fabric tighter, brushing over your arms and sides as he murmured something about grabbing your cocoa. You barely registered the words, too focused on the way he looked at you—so soft, so unguarded, as though his only purpose tonight was to make sure you were warm, safe, and content.

When he returned, he handed you the mug with both hands, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Drink,” he instructed, his tone gentle but firm. He crouched in front of you, his knees pressing into the carpet as he watched you take the first sip, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Better?”

The cocoa was warm, sweet, and soothing, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him. You nodded, though your voice felt too small to use, your lips curling into a faint smile you couldn’t quite suppress.

Mark’s lips quirked in return, but he didn’t move. He stayed crouched before you, his hands resting lightly on your knees, his thumbs brushing absent circles over the blanket. The room was quiet save for the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of a forgotten movie playing in the background. It was the kind of quiet that felt intimate, thick with unspoken words and simmering tension.

“You’re gonna catch a cold like this,” he said, breaking the silence with a teasing lilt, though his concern still bled through. “Let me warm you up properly.”

The words sent a ripple of heat through you, subtle but undeniable. You tilted your head at him, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest with a skeptical look. “I’m fine, Mark.”

“You’re not,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. Then, without waiting for permission, he reached for you, his hands slipping beneath the blanket to find your arms again.

The shift in temperature was startling, the contrast between the chill of your skin and the heat of his hands making you suck in a quiet breath. Mark’s eyes darkened at the sound, his lips parting slightly as he leaned closer.

“Sensitive tonight?” he murmured, his voice lower now, a subtle roughness threading through the softness.

You shook your head, though the motion was half-hearted. “It’s just… your hands are warm.”

“Good.” He shifted closer still, until his knees pressed against yours and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. “Let’s make sure you’re warm everywhere.”

His hands moved slowly, deliberately, as though savoring every inch of skin he touched. Fingers skated over your arms, brushing away the last remnants of cold, before trailing lower, testing the curve of your waist beneath the sweater. The blanket slipped, pooling around your lap, but neither of you seemed to notice.

Your breath hitched when his hands dipped higher, slipping beneath the edge of your sweater. His touch was feather-light but insistent, the heat of his palms searing against your chilled skin.

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as his thumbs traced lazy circles over your ribs. “I don’t think this is enough.”

Before you could respond, before you could even think to argue, Mark shifted again. His hands guided you down, his movements steady and sure, until the couch was behind you and the plush carpet was beneath your knees.

“Mark,” you whispered, his name falling from your lips in a soft, uncertain plea.

“Shh,” he soothed, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands came up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed over the pink flush of your cheeks, grounding you, steadying you, even as his touch sent sparks skittering across your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. The air between you felt heavier now, humming with a tension that was as intoxicating as it was inevitable. Mark’s gaze was darker, his eyes tracing your face like he was memorizing every detail, every breath. His fingers slipped into your hair, tangling lightly, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that left you breathless.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, the edges frayed with something deeper. “You have no idea, do you?”

The rest of the world faded, the firelight flickering in your peripheral vision, the cocoa cooling on the table. All that mattered was him—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he unraveled you with nothing more than a whisper and a careful touch.

Mark didn’t rush as he pulled you closer, his hands never leaving your frame, like he was terrified you’d slip away if he let go for even a moment. The weight of his body settled behind you, his chest pressing firmly against your back as he tugged the blanket around both of you, cocooning you in heat. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a slow, soothing thrum that matched the rise and fall of his breaths.

His arms circled your waist, pulling you flush against him as he pressed his lips to the side of your neck. The kiss was soft at first, barely a brush of warmth against your chilled skin, but it deepened with every passing second, his mouth lingering longer, his tongue darting out to taste you.

“You’re still cold,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and edged with something that sent heat spiraling low in your belly.

You tried to protest, shaking your head slightly, but the words wouldn’t come. Mark’s hands were moving again, slow and deliberate, skimming over the curve of your waist and down to your hips. His fingers splayed wide, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you impossibly closer.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, the words heavy with intent as his lips moved along the line of your jaw, up to your ear. “Let me make you feel warm everywhere.”

You turned slightly, your eyes meeting his, and the look in them nearly stole your breath. They were darker now, molten with something that burned hotter than the fire crackling a few feet away. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a beat before he kissed you—slow, deep, and consuming.

The kiss left you dizzy, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his sweater for balance as his hands roamed beneath the blanket. He didn’t hurry, didn’t rush to strip you bare. Instead, he took his time, peeling away each layer with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

Mark’s fingers hooked into the hem of your sweater first, sliding it up inch by inch, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin as he worked. He pulled it over your head, letting it fall to the floor before his hands returned to your body.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp as his palms skimmed over your bare arms and shoulders. “So perfect.”

His lips found yours again, but this time the kiss was hungrier, more insistent. His hands were bolder now, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings to tug them down, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. The cold nipped at your skin for only a moment before Mark pulled you back into the warmth of his body, his hands spanning your hips as he pressed kisses along your shoulder.

“Mark,” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.

He hummed softly against your skin, his hands sliding lower until they found the waistband of your panties. “You trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation, your breath hitching as he eased you onto your back, the blanket slipping away to pool beneath you. The firelight bathed you both in a soft, golden glow, and for a moment, Mark just looked at you, his gaze drinking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said softly, his hands spreading your thighs as he settled between them. His touch was gentle, almost worshipful, as his fingers traced the sensitive skin along the inside of your thighs. “Will you let me do that?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, the anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. Mark’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh of your thigh.

He started slow, his mouth moving over your skin with deliberate care, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake. His hands held your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin as his lips inched closer to where you wanted him most.

When he finally pressed his mouth to you, your back arched off the couch, a soft gasp slipping past your lips. The first touch of his tongue was tentative, testing, as if he was savoring the moment as much as you were. But it didn’t take long for him to find a rhythm, his tongue moving with a precision that made your head spin.

Mark was thorough, methodical in the way he worked you open with his mouth. His tongue traced over your folds with slow, deliberate strokes, savoring every sound he pulled from you. When he reached your clit, he paused, the tip of his tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with agonizing precision.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin but no less devastating. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you steady as he flicked his tongue over your clit, his movements growing bolder with every passing second.

Your hands found his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tried to ground yourself. But Mark didn’t make it easy. He alternated between teasing licks and firm, deliberate strokes, his tongue working you closer to the edge with every pass.

When he sucked your clit into his mouth, a broken moan escaped you, your thighs trembling beneath his hands. He hummed in satisfaction, the vibration sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through you.

“Mark,” you gasped, your voice shaky and desperate as your hips bucked against his mouth.

“Stay still,” he commanded softly, his tone firm but laced with affection. His hands slid higher, pressing against your hips to hold you in place as he buried his face deeper between your thighs.

The sounds he made—low groans of approval, the wet slide of his tongue—were almost as intoxicating as the pleasure building inside you. He was relentless, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you closer and closer to the precipice.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “So good for me.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his hair as the tension in your stomach coiled impossibly tight. Mark seemed to sense it, his tongue moving faster, his lips wrapping around your clit as he sucked harder.

It was too much, too good, and when the release finally crashed over you, it left you trembling beneath him, your moans spilling freely as he continued to lap at you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

He didn’t stop until you were gasping, your thighs shaking in his grip. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening as he looked up at you with a satisfied smile.

“Warm enough now?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes soft with affection.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the warmth of your release still pulsing through your body. Mark hovered above you, his lips glistening, his hair slightly disheveled from where your fingers had tugged. He looked impossibly handsome like this—soft and tender, but with a heat in his eyes that still burned through you.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips gently against yours, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. It was intimate, so deeply consuming that it made your heart clench. His hands, warm and steady, cupped your face as he pulled back, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the moment. The words felt too small to encompass everything you felt, the way he unraveled you, cared for you, and pieced you back together with his touch.

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his gaze softening as his lips curved into that familiar, heart-stopping smile. “I love you more,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, like a quiet promise.

The simplicity of his response made your chest ache, your lips curling into a smile of your own as you leaned into his touch. “I just—” You hesitated, your fingers brushing over his forearm, grounding yourself. “I just appreciate you so much. The way you take care of me, the way you’re always so gentle and patient with me. I—”

Mark’s breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. His arms stayed around you, his touch warm and grounding as you traced lazy patterns over his chest. Your fingers wandered, exploring the ridges of muscle beneath his sweater, the heat of his skin radiating into your palms. He didn’t speak, but his silence wasn’t empty—it was full, heavy with the unspoken warmth that passed between you like a steady current.

You shifted slightly in his lap, brushing your nose against his as you cupped his jaw, your thumb stroking the sharp line beneath it. “You’re so good to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His lips parted, his brows drawing together slightly at your words, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist where your pulse thrummed, his gaze locked on yours as if to say I feel the same.

The way he looked at you—soft but intense, like he was holding the weight of everything you were offering—sent a shiver through you. It wasn’t just desire in his eyes; it was something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything you couldn’t say out loud. He met you halfway, his hands sliding up your back to cradle you closer, his fingers splayed wide as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. You didn’t need to speak for him to know what you were thinking. The steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the way his fingers traced idle patterns over your skin, was answer enough.

“I want to take care of you too,” you said softly, your voice steady now as you let your hand drift lower, brushing over the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “I want to make you feel good, Mark.”

His expression didn’t falter, but his breath hitched slightly, a subtle reaction that made your pulse quicken. He leaned back just enough to study your face, searching for something before a quiet, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “You wanna warm me up too?”

You nodded, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms, pulling gently. “Yeah. Let me take care of you, baby.”

He didn’t say anything, just leaned back onto his elbows, his legs stretching out in front of him as he let you take the lead. Your hands worked carefully, sliding his pajama bottoms down inch by inch, revealing the defined muscles of his thighs and the growing evidence of his arousal.

Your breath caught when his cock sprang free, already thick and hard, the sight of him enough to make heat bloom in your stomach all over again. Mark shifted slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he waited, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

You settled between his legs, your palms smoothing over the warm skin of his thighs as you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss just above his knee. The intimacy of the moment lingered, heavy and unspoken, as you kissed your way higher, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

“Baby,” Mark murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a tension in it now, a quiet strain that sent a thrill down your spine.

You smiled, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I want to make you feel good,” you repeated, your voice soft but laced with intent.

And then your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, your tongue flicking gently against the sensitive tip. Mark’s reaction was immediate, a low, guttural groan escaping him as his head fell back, his fingers curling into the blanket beneath him.

You took your time, savoring the way he felt against your tongue, the way his body tensed beneath your touch. Your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, holding him steady as you moved lower, taking more of him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hips jerking slightly before he stilled himself, his hands gripping the edge of the couch now. “You’re so—”

His words broke off into a groan as you hollowed your cheeks, your tongue pressing firmly against the underside of his cock as you began to move. You kept your pace slow at first, drawing him deeper with each pass, your free hand sliding up his thigh to rest against his hip.

Mark’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each labored inhale. His hands twitched, his fingers flexing as if he was fighting the urge to touch you, to guide you. But he didn’t. He let you set the pace, his restraint only breaking in the way he moaned your name, his voice thick with pleasure.

You pulled back slightly, your lips releasing him with a soft, wet sound that made him shudder. “You can touch me,” you murmured, your voice soft but sure. “I want you to.”

His eyes snapped open, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He didn’t hesitate this time, his hand coming to rest at the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair.

“Baby,” he said again, the word strained as you took him back into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding lower. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, his hips lifting just enough to meet your movements, but he still let you lead.

The sounds he made—low groans, soft curses, the occasional gasp—were like music, each one spurring you on, driving you to take him deeper, to make him unravel the way he’d done to you. You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the quiet strain in his voice as he whispered your name like a prayer.

“You’re so good,” he murmured, his voice rough and raw. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

The praise sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you hummed softly around him, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand tightened in your hair, his other sliding down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a silent, tender gesture.

Mark’s breathing grew ragged, his groans deeper and more desperate as you worked him closer to the edge. His body trembled beneath your hands, his restraint slipping with every pass of your tongue, every hollowed gasp that left your lips.

“Baby,” he rasped, his voice strained as his fingers tightened in your hair. “I’m—”

You didn’t let him finish, your movements growing firmer, more deliberate as you pushed him closer and closer to release. His groan was deep and guttural, his hips jerking slightly as he finally let go, the warmth of his release spilling over your tongue.

You didn’t pull away until he stilled beneath you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. When you finally looked up, his eyes were locked on yours, dark and molten with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something that made your heart race all over again.

Mark’s breaths were uneven as you rose to your knees, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand. His chest heaved, every rise and fall drawing your eyes to the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His gaze was locked on you, dark and heavy with something that made your body tingle all over again.

You didn’t rush. Instead, you took your time climbing into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips as you settled against him. His hands found your waist instinctively, his touch grounding as your bare skin pressed against his. He felt so warm beneath you, solid and steady, and you couldn’t help but lean in, brushing your lips softly against his.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, the words spilling out without thought, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

Mark’s hands tightened on your hips, his lips quirking into a small, breathless smile. “I’ll always be good to you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of promise.

The moment lingered, quiet and intimate, as you shifted slightly, feeling the hardness of him pressing against your entrance. You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips, and Mark’s grip on your waist grew firmer, his eyes flickering with restraint.

“Baby,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Go slow. I want to feel every second.”

You nodded, your hands bracing against his chest as you began to sink down onto him, the stretch leaving you breathless. He filled you inch by inch, the burn sweet and satisfying as your body adjusted to his size. Mark’s head fell back against the couch, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his fingers dug into your skin.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You feel so perfect.”

The praise sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you let out a soft moan, your hips shifting slightly as you took him deeper. He was thick and hot inside you, stretching you in a way that was almost too much but exactly what you needed.

You stayed still for a moment, your breaths mingling as you both adjusted to the intensity of it all. Mark’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your ribs as he whispered, “Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

But patience wasn’t something you had much of, not with him buried so deep inside you. You rolled your hips experimentally, and the way Mark’s jaw clenched, the way his groan sounded so desperate, made you want more.

Slowly, you began to move, lifting yourself up before sinking back down, your body finding a rhythm that sent sparks shooting through your veins. Mark’s hands guided you, his grip firm but never controlling, his eyes fixed on yours as you rode him.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his voice rough and broken. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—made your heart race. Your pace quickened, your hands splayed against his chest for balance as your hips moved faster, harder. Every thrust sent him deeper, the friction igniting a fire that spread through every inch of your body.

Mark’s hands slid to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he met your movements with shallow thrusts of his own. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with the soft crackle of the fire and the distant hum of the Christmas movie still playing in the background.

“Mark,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer as the pleasure built inside you, hot and overwhelming.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice strained but steady. “I’ve always got you, baby. Let go for me.”

His words sent you tumbling over the edge, the pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling in his arms. Your nails dug into his chest, your body arching as you moaned his name, your release washing over you with an intensity that left you breathless.

Mark wasn’t far behind. His hands gripped your hips tightly as he thrust into you one last time, his groan low and guttural as he spilled inside you. His head fell forward, his forehead pressing against yours as he tried to catch his breath, his hands smoothing over your back in slow, soothing circles.

The room was quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of your breathing. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten.

Mark leaned back slightly, his hands coming up to cup your face as he looked at you, his eyes soft and full of something that made your chest ache. “You’re everything to me,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

A small smile tugged at your lips, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re everything to me too.”

His lips curved into a smile of his own, and he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and tender.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. The fire crackled softly in the background, the glow of the Christmas tree casting a golden light over the room as you both drifted into a peaceful, sated silence, wrapped up in each other.

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p0ckykiss · 4 months ago

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who's spiderman - mark lee

summary -> mark lee is your best friend. you would trust him with your life, but you had no idea he was hiding such a big secret until tonight.

warnings -> female!reader x mark, friends to lovers, fluff

you sighed dramatically and flopped back onto the couch, legs draped over those of your best friend. “mark, I hate art.”

mark stopped in his tracks, a nacho chip halfway to his mouth. “but…y/n, you’re majoring in art.”

“i knooow,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “but i have like fifty projects due and not enough time to do them.”

mark grinned, finally crunching on the chip covered in cheese. “i said you should’ve started earlier.”

“psshh…just because you’re already done with all your finals for the semester doesn’t mean you can hold it over me,” you retaliated.

“yes it totally does,” he replied, laughing.

you grumbled under your breath and pulled out your phone in an attempt to ignore him. mark rolled his eyes and smiled, waiting for you to talk again while he continued munching on his nachos. several minutes passed in relative silence, and eventually you found a meme you wanted to show him, so you were forced to suck it up and acknowledge his presence. you shoved your phone in his face and he jumped before reading the post and laughing (as expected).

he spoke when you pulled the device away. “so you finally decided I was right, huh? done procrastinating now?”

“ughhh, i don’t want to though.”

“if nobody did things they didn’t want to do, then nothing would get done.” you stared at him in total confusion and he backtracked. “okay, that made no sense. how about this?” he grabbed your hand and looked you in the eye. “if you start the project for drawing class then i’ll go get us something to eat.”

“bribing me with food? you should be ashamed of yourself, mark.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” mark grinned and moved your legs so he could slide off the couch, grabbing the spare key before leaving the apartment.

much later that night, you were sitting on the same couch looking at your phone before bed. a clatter and then a thud coming from the bedroom raised your concern, and you stood with the intention of finding out what the sudden noise was. on your way to the hallway, you had a moment of common sense and grabbed a pan from the kitchen to potentially defend yourself against an intruder. did i lock my windows? you wondered, not able to remember to save your life.

your heart racing, you swung around the corner into the room. in your shock, you dropped the pan (thankfully, not on your feet) and it clattered to the ground.

there, lying face-up on your bedroom floor, was your best friend mark lee. however, he was entirely clad in a red and blue spandex-like suit from the neck down, and his face appeared to be bleeding. at the sound of the pan hitting the ground, he immediately sat upright and spun around to stare at you, a deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes.

“you’re – you’re spiderman?!” you asked incredulously, feeling faint suddenly.

“i – i – uh…” mark jumped to his feet before quickly removing his suit. the suit crumpling to the floor and leaving him in only a pair of boxers with stars patterned on them. “why do you ask?” he tried in vain to kick the discarded costume aside and crossed his arms over his bare (and very muscled, you might add) chest awkwardly. “who’s spiderman?” he laughed nervously. “i don’t know him.”

you couldn’t believe he was actually attempting to deny what you had clearly seen with your own eyes just a few seconds ago. also, blood was dripping off his face. you put your hands on your hips. “mark, what the hell. i know you’re a superhero. i just saw you wearing the suit. also, you seem to have crawled in through my window for some reason. and…you are bleeding.”

the reality of his injury seemed to catch up with him and he sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. (you were momentarily distracted by the muscles again…how did you never notice how ripped your best friend was??) “look, I’m sorry. but you can’t tell anyone about this, y/n. the only other person who knows this is donghyuck"

you nodded until you looked up to his face again. “donghyuck knows you're spiderman???! ” you practically yelled.

mark rushed forward and pressed his hand over your mouth, the other arm reaching up to grasp your bicep. “shhh! don’t say it so loud,” he whispered, glancing around.

you rolled your eyes and pushed his hand away so you could speak. “oh, come on, there’s nobody else here. my roommate doesn’t come back until later anyway.” now so close to him, you could more clearly see that he had a jagged cut on the side of his face and a black eye on the opposite side. almost unconsciously, you ran a thumb over his non-bruised cheekbone, and he shivered. “okay, who did this to you, mark?”

his grip tightened and he sighed, closing his eyes. “just some bad guys,” he mumbled. “honestly, it’s nothing. i’ve had worse.”

“hush. we gotta get you cleaned up before that cut gets infected, idiot.” a hesitant smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you turned away to go find the first aid materials.

after a few minutes, mark padded into your kitchen, where you had pulled a couple of chairs near the small table and spread out the medical supplies. he had apparently discovered the ancient gray pair of sweatpants he left here a couple months ago, but he remained shirtless. “you, uh, seem to be taking this really well,” he commented, rubbing his arm nervously.

you felt your face flush. “oh, trust me – i’m still in shock, but right now I’m focusing on helping you instead of thinking too hard about everything.” you opened the dark brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and wet a clean cotton ball with the liquid. “all right…get over here.”

“listen, y/n, you don’t actually have to do this – it’ll heal on its own-”

“not if it gets infected it won’t. now come here.”

he seemed to realize that there was no point in arguing with you and gave in. rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he sat across from you in the chair you placed near your own and leaned forward. you lightly dabbed peroxide over the cut, and he hissed. “ow, that stings.”

“sorry!” you quickly apologized. “i should have warned you.”

he smiled for a quick second before grimacing as you continued. “it’s okay, really. i knew it would hurt. i guess i’m just lucky he didn’t get any closer than he did with that kni-” he stopped mid-sentence, sensing your concern. “um, never mind. you can keep going.”

as you carefully cleaned the wound, applied antibiotic ointment, and bandaged your best friend’s face, you noticed he was staring intently at you every time you happened to make eye contact. you could tell you were blushing while the minutes passed at an agonizing pace.

once the wound was wrapped in a protective bandage, you stood to clear the supplies off the table. mark suddenly leaned forward to hug you before you could step away, and once you got over your momentary shock, you hugged him back. “thank you,” he murmured into your arm. after a millisecond of hesitation, you pressed a feather-light kiss to his ruffled hair.

his arm around you squeezed tighter, almost as if he was afraid to let go. your face grew warmer as you felt his thumb brush your side. a few seconds more passed before you slowly tried to pull back, and he finally let go. before you could move too far away, however, mark grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, tenderly kissing your knuckles. you were stunned into silence, a certain dreamlike quality to his actions.

“is this okay?” he whispered, clutching your hand in his like he was dying and you were the cure.

“yeah,” you breathed in response.

mark stood suddenly, and your brain picked that particular moment to helpfully remember the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and nearly short-circuit. your breath hitched when he gently cupped your cheek in his hand. you could hear your heart pounding in your ears, waiting for his next move.

“is…is it bad if I really want to kiss you right now?” he murmured, meeting your gaze.

you managed to shake your head slowly, mesmerized by his deep chocolate-colored eyes. he stepped closer and you shivered involuntarily, giving your silent consent by closing your eyes as he leaned in.

the pressure of mark's lips against yours was steady, almost asking permission. after half a second, you pushed back and returned the kiss. he released your hand and gently held your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks with the softest touch imaginable. both of your hands were freed to find their way into his chestnut-colored hair and around his neck, holding on to him as if your life depended on it.

“i…love…you,” he spoke in between kisses. you smiled against his lips, and he pulled your body towards his with a surprisingly strong arm. mark kissed you again, long and lingering. when you finally broke apart, mark kissed your cheek before resting his forehead on yours.

“you have no idea how much i wanted to do that,” he admitted, gentle laughter shaking his body.

your mouth split open with a joyful grin. “you dork,” you replied breathlessly. “i love you too.” You closed your eyes again, exhaling shakily. when you opened them, mark had an intense look of adoration in his eyes.

“go out with me?” as soon as the words left his mouth, his brain seemed to catch up, and he pulled away quickly, trying to save himself. “um, uh, i mean…will you-”

you laughed, cutting him off. “yeah, mark. i’ll go on a date with you. even if you didn’t ask me the right way.”

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing in relief. “great, i was worried i messed it up for a second – wait, what do you mean ‘the right way’?”

you giggled at his confusion. “come on, mark. we gotta put these things away and get you out of here before my roommate gets back.”

at your bedroom window, mark couldn’t resist giving you one last kiss before pulling the mask on and swinging away with a wink. you pressed your hands to your blushing face, reflecting on the eventful evening.

falling backwards onto your bed, you smiled wide.

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ohmygs-blog · 1 year ago

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i loveddd the dirty joke texts with mark and would totally love another partttt 🙈🙈

bf mark vii.

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haeiheart · 1 month ago

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terms and conditions mark lee smau

chapter 19: a whole packaged diva

masterlist / prev / next

a/n: i wanted to include wish so badly so i made saku y/n baby brother hehee, also the smau is ending soon and i dubno how to feel >_<

taglist: @haechology @kittydollzz @dilflover44 @nctdreamchaser @nctrawberries @awktwurtle @prettymoles @sibwol @kukkurookkoo @remgeolli @stqrgr7 @calssunflower @luvs4haechan @haechskiss @crosmicgxrl @gnarlycore @urlocalbeaner5 @fairyoflia @undomielsql @gomdoleemyson @whothefvckami @markzmelons @httpsxnox @luchiet @multifandomania @nosungluv @bbykaixx @hoeingthefuckup @cicicoups @ddolleri @iseos1 @seraferina @gigikapptor @minkieater @flaminghotyourmom @joonsprettygf @uncasings

#nct 127 #nct dream #nct dream smau #nct smau #mark lee #mark lee smau #nct #nct mark #lee minhyung #mark smau #minhyung smau #mark fic

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jaelvr · 4 months ago

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Perfume

Home | NCT 127 masterlist |

Requested : no

Prompts ; 75 “I thought I didn’t miss you, but then I saw your photo.” + 82. “i lost myself the day i lost you.”

Pairing : ex! Mark x fem! reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : little angst, fluff

Word count : 5.5k

Warnings : confused feelings, exes to lovers, idol! au, fluff, slightly ooc

Have a great day !!

——————————

You sat on your bed, eyes sadly roaming over the photobook perched on your nightstand. Your name was called out in the hallway again, your band's leader ushering me to hurry. "Coming!" you responded, turning the album upside down and hiding it on the bookshelf before you left your room, heading out to meet your band members in your dorm hallway, and putting your shoes on. As you entered the bustling hallway, your bandmates greeted you with familiar grins, oblivious to the memories hiding in your room. The chatter and laughter filled the air as you gathered together, momentarily distracting you from the ache in your heart. The weight of nostalgia clung to you like a well-worn cloak. You stayed quiet, putting your coat on before following your bandmates outside, too tired and drained to be bothered to try and engage in whatever conversation they were having.

Sensing your mood, your bandmates exchanged concerned glances as they walked by your side. However, respect for your privacy kept them from questioning your silence. The cold winter air bit at your cheeks, matching the chilled emptiness you felt inside. "'m fine." you brushed off, noticing the look Minji gave you as you got into the car next to her. Minji, her astute observant eyes narrowing with concern, studied you intently. The silent understanding between the two of you filled the space. Though she sensed your inner turmoil, respect for your boundaries prevented her from delving further. As you sat beside her, a shared, knowing glance passed between you, signifying her wordless reassurance that she was there for you without intruding.

The journey continued in the dimly lit car, the hushed whispers of your bandmates' conversation faded into background noise. Minji's gentle touch on your arm provided a small comfort, a silent gesture of her unwavering support. The passing cityscape mirrored the emotions swirling within you, the world continuing its indifferent rhythm while you wrestled with your unspoken pain.

----

It was worse when you'd reached the company's building, the familiar scent almost feeling suffocating in the hallway, indicating you'd just missed him by seconds, maybe a minute. You hadn't even realised you'd been lost in thought until Minji was tapping your shoulder, the other girls already in the dance studio. Minji's touch on your shoulder snapped you out of your reverie, bringing you back to the present. You realized you had been lost in the haze of nostalgic thoughts, the scent lingering in the hallway reminding you of his presence. The realization stung, a harsh reminder that he was just out of reach, leaving you with a hollow ache in the pit of your stomach. "Sorry, I uh.." you murmured, clearing your throat as you avoided her stare.

Minji, perceptive as ever, understood the hint of discomfort in your voice. Concern filled her eyes as she watched you carefully avoiding her gaze. A momentary silence settled between you, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. "It's okay," she said gently, her voice hushed and reassuring. "But…are you sure you're okay?" You hummed at her words. "Yeah, yeah, of course I'm fine." you brushed off, shaking your head. "Showcase is more important." you chuckled, gritting your teeth. Minji raised an eyebrow at your quick dismissal, unconvinced by your nonchalant response. The look in her eyes told you that she could see through the facade you were trying to maintain, but she respected your choice to downplay your feelings. In the end, she sighed softly, her concern for you apparent in the downturn of her lips. "I know you're focused on the showcase, but…just remember, you can talk to me anytime, alright?"

"I know." you murmured, heading into the practice room with your cheeks slightly warm, changing topic immediately and talking to one of the other girls. This was going to be a long day. Minji didn't push the subject further, even though the concern etched on her face remained. She knew when to give you space, and right now, you clearly needed it. The others in the room also noticed the slight flush on your cheeks but refrained from commenting, respecting your unspoken boundaries. Even so, their watchful eyes betrayed their concern, silently observing you as you conversed with one of your bandmates.

----

As soon as you heard 'break!' come from your instructor, you'd practically ran outside, choosing to take your fifteen-minute break out on the metal stairs, quietly watching the streets of Seoul. Your bandmates exchanged puzzled looks as you scurried out of the practice room, your quick retreat not going unnoticed. They glanced at each other, silently communicating their concern, but decided to give you some space for the time being. You found solace on the metallic stairs, the noise of the city providing a faint hum in the background. The cool air brushed against your skin as you stared into the hustle and bustle below, your thoughts racing a million miles an hour.

The footsteps echoed in the metal stairway as someone approached and settled beside you. You remained fixated on the distant cityscape, not needing to look to know who it was. In your peripheral vision, you noticed the familiar form, though your gaze remained fixed ahead. The silence between the two of you was filled with a myriad of unsaid words, each moment hanging suspended. "it must be bad if they've asked you to come talk to me." you spoke, a bitter chuckle leaving your mouth at the poor attempt of a joke. The figure beside you chuckled faintly, a weary sigh escaping their lips before they spoke. There was a tinge of understanding and a trace of sadness in their voice. "You know they're all worried sick about you. But they know you'll say you're fine, so they asked me to talk to you. You can't fool me though. What's going on in that head of yours?"

"I appreciate you coming to check up but I'm fine Taeyong-" you started, immediately being cut off. Taeyong cut you off mid-sentence, the firmness in his voice making it clear that he wasn't buying your façade. "Stop with the 'I'm fine' act. I know you better than that." It was clear it would be harder to persuade him that everything was fine - a lot harder. "it's nothing." you murmured, looking down at the group making noise, seeing Mark, Haechan and Johnny all coming back with bags of food, laughing about something as they walked along the street, to the entrance. Taeyong followed your gaze as it darted towards the street below, his eyes landing on the trio of giggling boys walking back with bags of food. He was silent for a moment, studying your expression before speaking softly."I know you too well. You might think you have everyone fooled, but I can see through it. It's not nothing, so just spill it."

The silence that hovered between you confirmed Taeyong's suspicions, and he let out a weary sigh as he took in your subdued demeanour. It was clear that your heartache was intricately connected to Mark, and the pain you were trying so desperately to mask was evident to someone who knew you as well as Taeyong did. He gently placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his voice quieter now, a mixture of empathy and knowing. "You're not over him, are you?" You let out a sigh, rubbing your face as you debated answering. "No." Taeyong's grip on your shoulder gently squeezed in a gesture of understanding, his eyes reflecting the weight of the revelation. It was the truth laid bare between you, a painful reality that even time hadn't managed to erase. He paused for a moment before speaking, his voice gentle and understanding. "How long has it been since the two of you…split up?"

You shook your head, playing with your sleeve. "I thought I didn't miss him, then I saw his photo." you confessed, the favourite Polaroid you had of you and him on the front of the photobook he'd gotten you as a present, fresh in your memory. "We haven't spoken since. Guessing either he's avoiding me or I'm super unlucky and just keep missing him everywhere." Taeyong listened intently to your confession, the memory of the Polaroid photo you described vividly in his mind. It was clear how much that photo meant to you, and it made sense that it would spark the resurgence of your feelings. He mulled over your words about not speaking to him. A part of him wondered whether Mark truly was avoiding you or if it was merely a matter of coincidence that you hadn't crossed paths. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself for the moment. "You miss him, don't you? More than you want to admit."

"it doesn't matter if I do, I can't do anything about it." you grumbled, trying to brush it off and fighting the tears welling up. Taeyong frowned at your bitter tone, his heart aching for the pain he knew you were going through. Your efforts to mask your feelings were obvious, and he could see the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. He shifted closer to you, his voice gentle but firm as he spoke. "Hey, it does matter. You can't just brush your feelings aside and act like they don't exist. And who says you can't do anything about it?" You groaned, trying to battle your tears. "I can't! The whole reason we broke up was-" you snapped, biting your tongue as you silently cursed, realising you'd said too much already.

Taeyong's eyes widened slightly at your sudden outburst, taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. His curiosity was piqued by your words. Realizing you'd let slip more than you intended, you cut yourself off mid-sentence, leaving an unfinished thought hanging in the air. Taeyong's expression shifted to one of deeper concern, and he was silent for a moment before gently prompting you to finish." "… because of what?" you shook your head, tears slowly starting to roll as you hid your face. "I've said enough, I-" Taeyong's heart sank as he watched the tears roll down your cheeks, the weight of your pain evident. He gently put a comforting hand on your back, silently urging you to speak more. He spoke softly, his voice filled with empathy and understanding. "It's okay, you don't have to hold it in. You've barely said anything. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"They made me." you whispered, giving in as he hugged you. Taeyong listened intently as your words hung in the air, a mixture of surprise and anger rising in his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you as you gave in to his embrace, pulling you closer to offer comfort. "What…what do you mean they made you?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm, a hint of protectiveness in each word. After a while, Taeyong broke the silence, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Who made you… and why? Was it the company?" You hummed quietly, a little fearful. "management." you whispered, legs pressed to your chest as you sniffed. "they told me if they didn't then they'd delay albums even longer or something worse." Taeyong's jaw clenched as he listened to your quiet confession, the anger and disbelief in his eyes hardening his expression. The revelation of management's involvement in your relationship sent a wave of hot fury coursing through his veins.

The audacity of the company to meddle in your personal life like that, threatening you with such drastic measures, ignited a protective rage within Taeyong. He tightened his hold around you, his voice barely a whisper when he spoke. "And Mark… he just agreed to it?" you shook your head "he…he didn't know." you mumbled, defending him. "said it was a bad image for him and his fans wouldn't like it." Taeyong's heart skipped a beat at your words, the realization sinking in. His anger momentarily flared as he thought of the company's actions, but then he saw the way you defended Mark, even in your pain. A bitter mix of relief and frustration coursed through him. While Mark's innocence was a small comfort, the manipulation of the company angered him deeply. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice a little softer now. "So he had no idea about any of it…?"

You hummed in confirmation. "said if I told him there would be consequences." you informed, pain in your chest at the memory, squeezing your fist tighter. Taeyong cursed under his breath, the sound of your pain echoing in his thoughts. Anger and frustration burned within him at the manipulative tactics used against you and Mark, but he focused on staying calm for your sake. He gently released his hold on you, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes, his expression hard and determined. "Why didn't you tell any of us about this? We could've helped." A silence swept over as you thought about your words. "I couldn't. No one could know." you murmured.

Taeyong grit his teeth, the anger in his eyes growing fiercer. The thought of you being pressured to suffer in silence, to shoulder the burden alone, fueled the anger coursing through him. He let out a deep, frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to calm himself before speaking. His voice was strained but firm. "They had no right to tell you to keep all this a secret. This is…this is ridiculous. You shouldn't have had to go through this alone."

He paused for a moment, trying to keep his anger in check as he looked into your tear-streaked face, the pain evident in your eyes. He felt a strong mixture of helplessness and fury at the situation, and an intense need to support you, and protect you from any further harm. "We should… we should talk to the others. They need to know. They need to help you." He gently took your hands in his, gently yet firmly turning you to face him, his voice laced with concern and determination. "s'fine. I doubt he wants anything to do with me." you shrugged, trying to act like the idea of that didn't pain you. Taeyong's heart ached at the casual dismissal of your pain, the nonchalance in your voice only serving to deepen his worry. It was clear that the thought of Mark not wanting anything to do with you hurt far deeper than you were willing to show. He let out a deep sigh, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. His voice softened as he spoke. "You really think that? I don't believe that for a second. You know him better than that."

You didn't argue, a piece of you deep down knew he was truthful, that you were almost creating a false image of Mark in order to protect yourself from the pain and risk. He noticed the change in your demeanour as you stayed uncharacteristically quiet, and he knew he hit a nerve. Your reaction showed him how much you still loved and cared for Mark, even if you tried to hide it. "You still love him, don't you? It's written all over your face." He gently squeezed your hands, his voice gentle but firm as he continued on. "How could I not?" you confessed, voice small. The raw emotion in your voice struck a chord within Taeyong, the heartbreak and longing for Mark seeping into your words.

He squeezed your hands a little tighter, silently letting you know he understood the depth of your feelings. A tinge of sympathy flickered in his eyes as he spoke, his voice soft. "Then why not go and talk to him? You've been carrying this pain alone for so long…don't you think it's time to clear the air?" You shrugged, yet still found a reason not to. "Maybe at some point. I need to focus on the showcase for tomorrow." you excused, glancing at your phone as you saw your break was almost over, standing up in order to get ready to go back to dance rehearsals. Taeyong watched you stand up, a pang of concern and disappointment tugged at his heart. He saw the way you shifted the focus back to the showcase, using it as a shield to avoid dealing with your emotions.

He rose to stand with you, a mixture of understanding and worry etched on his features. His voice was measured as he softly commented on your deflection. "You're avoiding the issue, and you know it." You stood up, starting to head back in when you heard him softly call your name. Taeyong's voice halted you in your tracks, and you turned back to look at him. He stood quietly for a moment, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. He crossed the distance between you, a few steps bringing him just a few centimetres away from you. His eyes held a silent plea as he spoke, his voice softer than before "…He'll be at the showcase.." he started, holding up a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence when you tried to argue, his expression firm yet filled with care. He could see the way your body tensed at the mention of the showcase, and he knew your mind was racing with thoughts and conflicted emotions. "Just…listen for a second."

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours as he continued, his voice gentle but insistent. "You can't keep avoiding him forever. You need to face this… and the showcase is the perfect chance. It's just one night… one night where you two will have no choice but to be in the same room." He studied your face, watching the various emotions play across your features as you processed his words. The idea of being so close to Mark after all this time was clearly making you uneasy, but he knew it was a necessary step. He stepped even closer, his voice a little softer now. "You can't keep living like this, pretending like everything is fine when it's not. You deserve closure…and he deserves an explanation." you could see the hopeful look in his eye and sighed, nodding.

"Alright, I'll think about it."

----

You scanned the backstage area, looking for a glimpse of the boys. A few members of your group excitedly discussed the performance while others were catching their breath, the adrenaline from the performance still coursing through their veins. As you searched the crowd, your eyes finally landed on the group of 127 boys standing in a corner, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. You excused yourself, waving and approaching the boys with a smile.

The members noticed you approaching, and a chorus of cheerful greetings and compliments rang out. Johnny let out a whistle of admiration as you approached, grinning widely. "Hey there, superstar! You killed it out there!" Doyoung smiled warmly, gesturing for you to join them, and Yuta gave you a friendly wave. They all seemed genuinely impressed by your performance, the atmosphere light and celebratory. You laughed, shaking your head as you humbly accepted their praise. "Learnt from the best." Johnny chuckled and rolled his eyes slightly, playing along with the praise. "Flattery, flattery. But we love it." Yuta smiled and jokingly flexed his muscles, feigning a serious tone. "Well, if you're learning from us, you've definitely been paying attention to the right people." The others laughed playfully, indulging in the banter and lightheartedness of the moment.

You chuckled, listening to them all bantering and joking around with each other while you looked for a certain someone, noticing they were missing a member. As the banter and laughter continued, you couldn't help but notice the absence of a familiar face. One member was noticeably missing from their group, his absence casting a subtle shadow over the scene. Johnny, ever observant, noticed your gaze lingering, and his smile faded slightly as he followed your gaze. He leaned over and gently elbowed you. "Looking for someone?" You cleared your throat, nodding. "yeah, is..is he here?" you asked, cheeks a gentle pink. Johnny's expression softened as he saw the hint of a blush on your cheeks and the concern in your eyes. He knew exactly who you were referring to, and he glanced over at the other members, who had suddenly become quiet, their bantering now reduced to hushed whispers. Johnny turned back to you, the corner of his mouth curving up into a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he's here. He had to step away for a moment but he'll be back shortly."

Johnny watched you as you nodded, understanding the mixture of anticipation and anxiety you were feeling. He gently patted you on the shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay. Just hang tight, he'll be back any minute now." The other members nodded in agreement, offering silent support, each of them secretly rooting for the upcoming reunion. They continued chatting and joking, creating a facade of normalcy, but you could sense the underlying anticipation in the air. Several minutes passed, each second feeling like an eternity as you fidgeted and glanced nervously toward the door, waiting for his return. Every rustle of the curtains or shuffle of footsteps had you hopeful, scanning the surroundings for a glimpse of him. Finally, as the minutes ticked by, the door to the backstage area gently creaked open, and a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Mark's gaze instantly landed on you, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your presence. The chatter around you seemed to fade into the background as you and Mark locked eyes, a mix of surprise and anticipation etched across his features.

The other members suddenly grew quiet, their conversations falling silent as they observed the moment unfolding. They glanced back and forth between you and Mark, their faces a mixture of tension and hope. Johnny watched discreetly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, while the others tried to maintain a casual stance, pretending not to notice the charged atmosphere. Mark walked over to the group with Taeyong, who instantly greeted you with a grin and pulled you into a hug, praising your performance. As he approached, Taeyong immediately chimed in, giving you a tight hug and praising your performance. "You were amazing out there! We were all rooting for you." Mark smiled, his heart racing as he took in your appearance in front of him again. The sight of you, radiant and vibrant, made his chest tighten. He struggled to find words, his mind still racing with a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.

Taeyong smiled back, his eyes flickering between you and Mark. He knew the weight of the moment, the tension in the air, and the unspoken emotions swirling around the group. He subtly moved away, allowing you and Mark some space, while the rest of the members quietly observed, trying to give you the illusion of privacy in the crowded backstage area. Mark stood before you, the rest of the world seemingly fading away as he focused solely on you. His heart thudded in his chest, the weight of unspoken words and emotions pressing upon him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he took a deep breath, his voice soft and laced with a hint of uncertainty. "Can we…can we talk? Alone?" You took a deep breath, playing with the hem of your shirt. "Of course. My dressing room might be free?" you offered, admiring his face but making note of how tired he also looked.

Mark nodded, silently signalling his agreement to your suggestion. At your mention of the dressing room, a wave of relief washed over him. Being in a quiet, secluded place would make it much easier to discuss what was on their minds. He managed a small smile, appreciating the gesture and how well you knew him. "Yeah, that would be perfect. Lead the way." you shot Taeyong a nervous look before walking, leading the way. The walk down the hallways was silent until you both reached the room, making sure no one else was in there before going in and shutting the door behind you. The silence between you and Mark felt thick and heavy, an undercurrent of tension and anticipation that seemed to grow with each step closer to the dressing room. As the door closed behind you, locking out the rest of the world and all its distractions, a sense of quiet isolation settled in the air. The only sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioner and your own breathing. Mark stood a few feet away from you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, suddenly feeling uncertain about what to say.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, his gaze shifting from the floor to your face and back again. After a beat of silence, he finally spoke, his voice soft and somewhat tentative. "You were incredible out there…I couldn't take my eyes off you." He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up. "So was yours! I mean yours always are but-" you rambled, cheeks red as you avoided his eyes, realising what you were doing. "Your solo was amazing." Mark's lips curved into a soft smile at your quick response, amused by your slight awkwardness. He couldn't help but find endearment in your rambling. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head slightly, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he spoke. "You're not much of a calm and collected person, are you?"

"s'not my fault I get nervous around you." you defended, staring at the ground, heart racing. Mark's smile widened, his heart skipping a beat at your words. He took a step forward, closing the distance between you ever so slightly. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but there was an underlying sincerity in his words. "You still get nervous around me, huh? After all this time?" he teased gently, a smug smirk on his face. "shut up." you murmured, a small smile on your face as you still avoided eye contact. Mark chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that filled the small space between you. He studied your face, noticing the slight upturn of your lips and the hint of a blush on your cheeks. He took another step forward, stopping just a few centimetres in front of you. He gently reached out and placed a finger under your chin, gently guiding your gaze up to meet his. "Look at me." you hesitated but followed, looking up at him.

As your gaze finally met his, Mark's breath hitched in his throat. The sight of you, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes, sent a wave of emotions coursing through him. He studied your face, noticing the way your eyes darted around, the way your cheeks flushed with colour. He smiled a warm, genuine smile, his fingers still gently cupping your chin. Softly, he spoke, his voice a mere whisper. "I've missed you…" That seemed to be the tipping point. You latched on, arms wrapping around his neck before burying your face in his chest, fighting the tears. Mark's eyes widened slightly in surprise as you suddenly launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his own arms around your body, pulling you closer, holding you tightly against him. He could feel the slight tremors in your body, the telltale signs of tears brimming in your eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he tightened his embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. "Shhh…" he murmured softly, his voice gentle and soothing. "It's okay, I'm here."

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." you whispered, clinging to him as if he'd disappear. Mark's heart ached at the sound of your choked apologies, the muffled sound of your voice against his chest. He ran his hand slowly up and down your back, a soothing gesture meant to provide comfort and reassurance. He pulled away slightly to look down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and understanding. "Hey, shh…it's okay." he whispered, gently guiding your head up to look at him. He gently wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes, his touch gentle and tender. "There's nothing to apologize for." he reassured. "did Taeyong-" you asked, tears still streaming as you struggled to speak. Mark nodded, understanding the question you were trying to ask. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and searching for the right words to say. He sighed and let out a small laugh, more out of disbelief rather than amusement. He gently stroked your hair, trying to soothe you as best as he could. "Yes, he told me…everything."

He saw the flicker of shame and guilt in your eyes, the emotions that were all too familiar. He cupped your face gently, his thumbs gently tracing your cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears. "I'm not mad…" he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "I never was. I was just…hurt." He paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding or acknowledgement. "I promise I didn't want to do it, Mark, i lost myself the day I lost you." you whispered, rambling on with anxiety rising. "I still keep your sweater in my dresser in case I'm craving your scent and I still keep your toothbrush in my bathroom in case you come back again, and-" you rambled on. Mark's heart ached as you spoke, your words tumbling out in a desperate plea to make him understand. He listened intently, soaking in every word, every syllable that spilt from your lips. He could see the pain and regret etched across your face, the guilt that weighed heavily on your shoulders. He gently placed a finger on your lips, silencing your rambling for a moment. He stared down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions - pain, understanding, and a hint of hope. "Stop…just stop…"

When you didn't, he took a chance and went for it, your eyes widening when you felt him cut you off with his lips on yours. Without another word, Mark closed the remaining space between you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate, yearning kiss. It was a combination of tender and hungry, a mixture of all the emotions he had been holding back for so long. He held your face gently in his hands, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your jaw. After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling. He let out a shaky exhale, his heart racing and thrumming in his chest. "I-" he began, his voice soft and filled with a mixture of emotions. He took a moment to collect himself, his eyes staring into yours.* "I don't care about the reasons…or the circumstances…or any of those stupid excuses of why we broke up. I don't blame you…I never did. The only thing I care about right now is that you're here, right in front of me…and that I still love you." he confessed, eyes both a mix of love, fear and hope for your response.

----

"I'll go grab the drinks." you volunteered, getting up out of your chair already. "someone will need to help-" you started, a soft chuckle leaving your lips as the boys dibs not it. Mark watched as you stood up, a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, his arms folding across his chest, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He chuckled as the boys loudly protested, each of them declaring their unwillingness to help, almost as if they'd planned it out in advance. In the midst of the chaos, Mark spoke up, a cocky smile on his face. "Oh come on, I'll help." you grinned, following him back inside the boys' dorms and to the kitchen. As the two of you made your way to the kitchen, Mark kept a watchful eye on you, a small smile playing on his lips. He helped you gather the drinks, grabbing bottles and cans, his movements smooth and effortless. Once everything was ready, he closed the fridge door with a thump before turning to you, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "what?" you murmured, eyebrow raised and a smirk on your face as you approached him.

Mark chuckled, his eyes flickering over your face, taking in every detail. Even the casual smirk on your lips was enough to make his heart flutter. He leaned back against the counter, a smug look on his face. "What?" he echoed your words defiantly, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "I can’t admire my girlfriend?" you hummed, smirking as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Never said that." Mark's smirk widened into a full-blown smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He wrapped his own around your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours. He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke in a low voice, filled with playful mischief. "Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it then, huh?"

"You'll have to find out later."

220 notes · View notes

blondemrk · 3 months ago

Note

wait i just saw 10 got filled so envelope 1 + mark 🪼

LATE NIGHT RAMEN

p mark x fem!reader genre angst/fluff wc 2.1k

you don’t know what stroke of bad luck led you to this, but somehow, you ended up with mark lee as your roommate.

it was supposed to be a temporary thing—just until your original housing situation got sorted out. but weeks turned into months, and now, you’re stuck with him. the boy who leaves his shoes in the middle of the living room like a trap. the boy who blasts his guitar at ungodly hours. the boy who somehow never remembers that dishes don’t clean themselves.

it’s unbearable.

“you left your laundry in the machine again,” you snap, throwing his clothes onto the couch.

mark, lying upside down on the floor for no reason, just grins at you lazily. “thanks for bringing them in.”

“that wasn’t meant to be helpful.”

but mark never takes anything seriously, so of course, he just stretches and sits up, ruffling his hair like he’s the main character in some rom-com. “you stress too much,” he teases, smirking.

“you annoy me too much.”

it’s always like this—snarky remarks, bickering over who finished the last of the cereal, and arguing about his terrible taste in music. mark has a way of pushing every single one of your buttons, and you hate that it’s so easy for him.

it starts over something stupid.

as most of your fights do.

you come home after a long day, exhausted, already feeling the weight of a million little frustrations pressing down on you. all you want is to reheat some leftovers and go to bed. but the moment you open the fridge, you realize something.

the container of pasta you made last night—the one thing you were looking forward to—is gone.

“mark!” you yell, slamming the fridge shut.

a beat of silence. then—

“yeah?”

you storm into the living room, where mark is sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. he glances up at you, one eyebrow raised, and you can already feel irritation crawling up your spine.

“where’s my food?”

mark blinks, like he has to think about it. “oh. that was yours?”

your jaw drops. “are you serious right now?”

he has the audacity to shrug. “i thought you weren’t gonna eat it.”

“oh, right, because i just love cooking for fun and leaving food in the fridge for no reason.”

mark sits up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “relax, dude. i’ll buy you something tomorrow.”

“that’s not the point!” you throw your hands up, exasperated. “you always do this! you take my stuff, you leave a mess everywhere, you never listen when i tell you to stop—”

mark rolls his eyes. “jesus, it’s just food.”

“no, it’s not just food, mark! it’s everything.” your voice rises, frustration spilling over. “you don’t take anything seriously! you act like everything is a joke, like it doesn’t matter if you make my life harder—”

“because you’re always looking for something to be mad about!” mark snaps, standing up now. his usual easygoing expression is gone, replaced with something sharper. “god, do you ever stop complaining?”

you recoil, heat rushing to your face. “excuse me?”

mark lets out a humorless laugh. “you act like i’m the worst person in the world just because i’m not a control freak like you. news flash, roommate, not everything has to be a life-or-death situation.”

your hands curl into fists at your sides. “maybe if you actually cared about anything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“i do fucking care!” mark’s voice is louder now, rough around the edges. “but you—you just assume the worst about me all the time. no matter what i do, you’re always gonna see me as the guy who’s never good enough for you.”

that stuns you into silence.

your breath is uneven, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. you don’t know when the fight stopped being about food and started being about something else. something bigger.

mark exhales harshly, raking a hand through his hair. “you know what? forget it.” his voice is quieter now, but there’s something final in it. “i’m done.”

and then he walks away, slamming his door behind him.

leaving you standing there, chest heaving, hands shaking.

and the worst part? you don’t even know if you’re still angry—

—or if you just hate the way it hurts.

but why does it hurt? you hate him.. right?

the apartment feels different after the fight.

it’s not just the silence—although that part is deafening. it’s the way mark doesn’t acknowledge you when he walks past, the way he doesn’t joke around like he usually does, the way he keeps his door shut more often than not.

for the first time since you moved in, you miss the noise. the annoying hum of his guitar, his off-key singing from the kitchen, the sound of him laughing at his own stupid jokes.

but most of all, you miss him.

and that’s the worst part.

you don’t even know how the fight escalated the way it did. one second, you were yelling about food, and the next, mark was saying things you weren’t ready to hear.

“you’re always gonna see me as the guy who’s never good enough for you.”

his words haven’t stopped replaying in your head since that night.

you hate that it stings. because it means maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t completely wrong.

it goes on for days.

the cold war. the avoidance. the awkward, heavy silence that makes the apartment feel suffocating.

until one night, when you find him on the couch.

he’s sitting there, staring at the tv, but it’s clear he’s not really watching. there’s a crease between his brows, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against his knee. his usual easygoing energy is gone, replaced by something quieter.

you hesitate.

you could go back to your room. pretend you don’t care. pretend nothing’s wrong.

or you could do something about it.

with a deep breath, you step forward. “hey.”

mark stiffens slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him first. “hey."

silence stretches between you, thick and uncertain.

then—

“i shouldn’t have said all that,” you admit, crossing your arms. it’s not easy, swallowing your pride, but the weight in your chest won’t go away otherwise. “i was pissed, but… i didn’t mean to make it seem like i don’t—” you stop yourself. shift on your feet. “like i don’t see the things you do.”

mark exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. he looks exhausted. “i shouldn’t have snapped either. i just… i dunno, i was frustrated. it felt like no matter what i do, you always see me as the guy who doesn’t take things seriously.”

you chew on your lip, then sit down next to him. not too close, but close enough that your knees nearly touch. “i don’t actually think that,” you say, voice quieter now. “i was just being an asshole.”

mark glances at you, amusement flickering through his expression. “yeah. you were.”

you huff, elbowing him lightly. “you’re supposed to say, ‘no, it’s okay, you’re totally justified in all things.’”

mark snorts, shaking his head. but then he leans back against the couch, exhaling. “i don’t wanna fight with you.”

you swallow. “me neither.”

another beat of silence.

then, in a voice so soft you almost miss it, mark says, “i don’t hate living with you, you know.”

your heart stumbles over itself. you turn to look at him, but he’s already focused on the tv, like it didn’t take everything in him to say that out loud

you breathe in slowly. then, barely above a whisper—

“yeah. me neither.”

and somehow, just like that, the weight between you starts to lift.

things don’t go back to normal immediately.

the tension lingers, the memory of the argument still fresh. but the ice starts to thaw—slowly, subtly.

mark stops avoiding you. you start talking to him again.

it’s not perfect, but it’s something.

and then one night, something changes.

it’s late when you walk into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you were up studying, brain fried, stomach grumbling. you expect the apartment to be quiet, mark probably already passed out in his room.

but instead, you find him at the kitchen counter, sitting cross-legged on a stool, lazily munching on a bag of chips.

he glances up when you walk in. “yo.”

you blink at him. “what are you still doing up?”

mark shrugs, tossing a chip into his mouth. “couldn’t sleep.”

you open the fridge, searching for something edible. “are we out of leftovers again?”

mark scratches the back of his neck, looking suspiciously guilty.

you narrow your eyes. “mark."

“okay, listen, technically i ate the last of them, but before you kill me, i made ramen.”

you pause. “you made ramen?”

mark grins, pushing a bowl toward you. “consider it a peace offering. and its about all i can cook..."

you hesitate for a second, then sigh, accepting the bowl. “i guess this is a step up from you just eating my food with zero remorse.”

he smirks. “see? character development.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t stop the small smile from tugging at your lips as you take a seat across from him.

the apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional crunch of mark’s chips. you’re not sure why you’re both still awake at this hour, but for the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel awkward.

mark leans his chin in his hand, watching you eat. “hey,” he says suddenly, voice softer.

you glance up. “what?”

his gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary. “we’re good, right?”

something in your chest tightens.

you don’t know why, but the way he says it—like it matters—makes your stomach flip.

you swallow, setting your chopsticks down. “yeah,” you murmur. “we’re good.”

mark exhales, a small smile tugging at his lips. “cool.”

and maybe it’s the late-night haze, or the warmth of the ramen settling in your stomach, or the way mark is looking at you—not like you’re his annoying roommate, but like you’re something else—but for the first time since moving in, you think…

maybe this isn’t the worst thing in the world.

you’re both on the couch, a movie playing in the background. you weren’t even planning to watch it, but somewhere between mark saying, “just one episode, come on,” and you rolling your eyes, you ended up here—sitting too close, sharing the same blanket, the flickering light from the tv casting shadows across his face.

you’re tired. sleepy in that comfortable, heavy way where everything feels a little softer, a little less real.

mark is sitting next to you, his arm draped over the back of the couch. you should move. there’s plenty of space. but you don’t.

you’re barely paying attention to the movie when you feel it.

mark shifts beside you, stretching his arms—casual, unbothered—until suddenly, his fingers graze your shoulder.

it’s the lightest touch. a barely-there brush of skin against skin.

but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

you tell yourself you’re imagining it. that mark isn’t really leaning in, that his gaze isn’t flickering to your lips, that the space between you isn’t disappearing.

but then—

his fingers skim your wrist, hesitant but deliberate. testing the waters.

your heart stutters.

you turn to look at him, and—god.

he’s close. too close.

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, just a second, you think—

is he going to kiss me?

the air shifts, thick with something unspoken. neither of you moves, but neither of you pulls away either.

then, the sound of a loud car horn blaring outside makes you both jolt.

the moment shatters.

mark blinks, pulling back so fast it’s like he just realized what was happening. “uh—” he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “i should, uh. get some water.”

you swallow hard, nodding. “yeah. yeah, good idea.”

mark practically jumps off the couch, making a beeline for the kitchen.

you sit there, heart pounding, staring at the screen without really seeing it.

because something almost happened just now.

and the fact that you’re disappointed it didn’t?

that’s a whole new problem.

@chenlezip @holyhaech @mrkified @injvns @polarisjisung

did yall miss me or what..

288 notes · View notes

markresonates · 2 years ago

Text

two hot

summary: for some reason, your body requires more than one alpha to satiate your needs in heat, leading Mark to seek assistance from his best friend when you unexpectedly start going into heat in public.

pairing: alpha bf!Mark x omega!fem reader x alpha!Haechan

other: alphas Jen & Jis lil voy

genre/trope: porn w/ lil plot, tiny fluff bc i'm soft; omegaverse, fake medical conditions as a plot device; (eventual poly, not jealous love tri)

word count: 8.8k

a/n: so here's that markhyuck omega heat sex threesome idea i mentioned a while ago...per usual, it’s longer than i said why am i the way i am so i’m splitting it into 2 pts!

warnings: rough unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), cock warming, manhandling, exhibitionism & extremely public, voyeurism, humiliation, lil dumbification, overstimulation, degradation & praise, spitting, stomach bulge, cum inflation, knotting, oral fixation reader, breeding & creampie kinks; sweet hard dom Mark & hard dom Haechan, super sub reader [ note – heat sex is categorized as dubcon; therefore, read at your own discretion ]

You thought you had more time. You should have had more time.

About an hour into your new Introduction to Astronomy lecture, your waning attention span is fully disrupted by a suspicious wetness you feel between your thighs. You uncross your legs and casually glance down, heart dropping when you discover a small pool of glossy slick in the middle of your lecture hall seat, heralding the start of your heat.

it’s official: life fucking hates you.

Rationally, you’re aware of the fact that you need to formulate a plan but as you shift in your seat, your train of thought is derailed by the sensation sparked between your legs. You clench your jaw and grind your teeth together, forbidding your mouth from vocalizing the shred of gratification you get from squirming in your seat.

Of all the damn days to pair a bodysuit and a pleated mini skirt, this day has got to be the absolute worst. But of course it had to be warm enough today that you felt comfortable showing more skin. In your mind, it made sense to seize the favorable weather before the last remnants of Summer disappeared into a chilly Autumn, but now you’d rather be bundled in three thick layers and sweating buckets than vulnerable in your current attire.

While you arch your back and discreetly grind against the messy chair, the bodysuit stretches, progressively sliding up your abdomen, and bunching at your waist. The damp material tugs on your hood, a second later, your clit is subjected to rough stimulation directly. Intense tingles ripple through your core from the sensitive spot. Even with your lips pressed together, you can’t suppress the tiny high-pitched squeak in your throat.

Renjun angles his laptop towards you, quickly typing out are you okay?

You freeze your body. Giving him a terse nod, you rid yourself of the unwanted attention and resume the lewd activity. It takes a mere 30 seconds for your folds to eat up the narrow strips of material that once covered your intimate parts, giving your slick pussy a wedgie. It’s uncomfortably restrictive, and yet, simultaneously a massive turn on.

You should be more concerned but the torturous pressure feels too good to stop, restraint briefly suspended again in a pleasured daze, chasing the desired pulsating sensation. Your eyes pop out of your head hearing the small metal snap of your bodysuit’s crotch region pop open, exposing your panties underneath and instantly bringing you back to reality.

Jisung ducks his head near your ear. “Hey, what’s that-?”

“What’s what?” you immediately cut him off, worried he heard the same noise.

He hums, pursing his lips. “What’s that smell?”

“uh, well…”

You gulp, so mortified that it’s impossible to meet his eyes, embarrassment warming your cheeks, your heat cranking up the bubbling sensation within you.

This shouldn’t be happening. You’ve documented your heat cycle since the day you started taking suppressants years ago. If you left it up to nature, your heat would be a seasonal affair. Now, thanks to the convenience of modern-day medicine, taking one daily pill significantly lowers your heat cycle frequency to biannually.

It’s always been consistent enough that you could pinpoint the exact 48 hour period in which it would start. In fact, a series of predetermined dates are highlighted on your desk calendar for when you’re supposed to be in heat: over four months from now.

Your scent is detectable in two ways: if someone were to press their nose directly to your scent gland, or the significantly more potent way, through the profuse slick secretion omegas produce in heat.

And given the fact that you’re practically sitting in a puddle of slick at the moment, panic is knocking at your front door with fever. Any alpha in a ten foot radius will soon smell the arousing nectar leaking out of you.

Fortunately, you’re in the last row of a half empty lecture hall. Rather than a dozen alphas, it’s a handful of the closest ones that’ll be raising their noses to get a whiff of the fragrant aroma floating through the air, two of those alphas being your friends.

Jisung sniffs around curiously, even going so far as to lean forward, over where Jeno is sitting directly in front of you.

“Hmm, it’s, like, sweet and fruity. Do you smell it? Like raspberries…or maybe strawberries?”

Renjun stops typing notes on his laptop. “I don’t smell anything.”

Figures; betas like Renjun don’t detect omega scents until they are at the absolute peak of their heat, and even then it wouldn’t be very strong.

“Also, for your information, raspberries and strawberries aren’t berries.”

“Wha- Really!?”

“Yeah. Most fruits that end in ‘berry’ aren’t actually berries, botanically speaking.”

“Um, Renjun?” you try to grab his attention in a hushed voice, failing as a result of Jisung talking over you at the same instant.

Besides your first heat, you’ve always been well prepared. You take preventative measures against potential alphas who may smell you and want to take advantage of a heat-drunk omega.

Your typical protocol entails remaining holed up in your dark room. The mini fridge by your desk is fully stocked with four days worth of food and beverages, the air conditioner is on full blast, curtains and blinds drawn closed. Your door is secured shut with three bolted locks too.

For your past few heats, Mark has locked himself up with you as well. Being an omega, it was of vital importance to find a trustworthy alpha that wouldn’t savagely take advantage of your heat-induced instinctual nature to follow an alpha’s orders. The whole reason you submit to Mark is because you know he would never take things too far. For your past two heats, Mark was knotting you until his exhaustion proved overwhelming, and he physically couldn’t use his big dick any longer. Basically, your alpha can’t go far enough, for some indiscernible reason.

Based on the increasing amount of slick and the new ache in your core, you’d estimate you have less than an hour before your heat will seriously start affecting your senses. There’s a reason you keep track of your heat cycle, and it’s to avoid horrendous situations like this one.

You’re struck with uncertainty and a minor sense of helplessness, facing your worst nightmare alone. At the moment, you don’t have Mark by your side, protecting you from other predatory alphas, ensuring you eat and drink something when you’re too out of it to do so yourself; and most importantly, pleasuring you to take away the pain that comes with your extreme heat cramps.

You need Mark.

Mouth beginning to water, deep in your filthy thoughts, you don’t register the conversation around you. You imagine him taking care of you in this very lecture hall, bent over the sturdy wooden podium at the front of the class.

You’re preoccupied and perplexed, a fraction of you developing a peculiarly strong craving for a knot – any knot. Considering how fast your heat crept up on you in the first place, you have every reason to believe this craving will continue to intensify. You feel ashamed to admit it, but at this rate, you might just find yourself allowing any alpha to knot you.

Jisungs face scrunches up in disbelief, hearing another botanical fun fact. “No way. You’re trying to tell me bananas are berries? I don’t believe you.”

Jeno snorts, barely peering over his shoulder to throw his two cents into the hushed conversation. “Why are you arguing with Renjun? When was the last time you ate a fruit?”

“I don’t know. When was the last time you didn’t fall asleep at 6 am?” Jisung grumbles, not-so-quietly as he intended.

If they weren’t in a classroom setting, Jisung would’ve hidden behind Renjun or grabbed something to shield himself from the other alpha’s wrath. Jeno fully twists his torso around, dawning a toothy grin that spells trouble for the youngest in the near future. He opens his mouth to speak but ultimately falls silent.

The lecture hall’s desks are the type that flip down to hover over half of your lap. With only your right thigh covered, Jeno’s eyes flick down to where you've been looking.

He zeros in on the source of the fruity scent Jisung was referencing. He drops his smile, licking his lips, dark pupils flashing candy apple red. The other two shift their attention to your lap in quick succession.

Initially, Jisung doesn’t see what they do from his position. His curiosity then leads the naive boy to bend his upper body down and inch forward. Finally granted a vantage point to peer between your legs, his face turns a shade that matches the berries he spoke of a minute ago.

“Uh, y/n? Are you, um, in-” Jisung stutters, his bright eyes locked between your parted thighs.

Both alphas stare, mystified by the sight of your drenched panties, the thin white material now see-through and doing nothing to stop you from making a mess in the center of the lecture hall chair. Lifting your head, you see Jeno’s pupils fully dilated, swirling with lust, and you imagine Jisung isn’t too far off, mirroring the older alpha.

You belatedly try to snap your thighs together but Jisung, of all people, latches onto your inner knee and keeps most of your seeping slit on display for them. His fingers digs into your soft skin in an uncharacteristically possessive manner, while Jeno quietly growls.

They’re increasingly aroused hearing a spurt of your slick gush from your core, discovering you to be turned on by your own humiliation. You softly whine, embarrassed beyond all possible belief.

“What happened to decorum, huh?” the beta scolds the younger alphas.

Jisung snaps out of it and rips his hand away so fast it hits his desk. “Ow!”

“Acting like you just presented and never smelled slick before? Ugh. Get a fucking grip, you guys.”

Renjun sets his phone on his desk, angling it towards you to show his screen and you tune out the apology from the frazzled boy on your right. “Hey, so I texted Mark. The good news is he’s on his way.”

You exhale in relief. “Okay. Wait, what’s the bad news?”

Renjun winces, reluctant to kill your newly kindled hope. “Well…he said it’ll probably take him a half hour to get here.”

“A half hour?”

You snap your tongue, loathing today’s dreaded turn of events. You squeeze your eyes shut to fight off the tears threatening to stain your burning cheeks.

“Oh, hold on.” Renjun scans the new message from your boyfriend, rereading it in his head, triple checking the text before delivering the additional details. “He said he’s…sending someone to get you? And they’ll be here in a dozen minutes or so.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Who?”

“Dunno, he didn't say.” Renjun shoots him another text, asking for the identity of this mystery person he’s referring to.

You stare at his phone intently, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck and haloing your hairline. Renjun taps the dim screen to keep it from turning off.

As you impatiently wait for an answer, your old nervous habit of picking and biting your nails resurfaces. You peel part of your nail off and fixate on the minor self-inflicted sting for the sake of a distraction from your intimate regions pulsating with arousal, not to mention the graphic, x-rated imagery about how easily you’d bend over for alphas in your vicinity.

Renjun lifts the back of his hand to your feverish forehead, the worry on his face deepening into his soft features. “Don’t take this the wrong way, y/n, but why did you come to class if you were in pre-heat?”

“When I left my apartment this morning, I didn’t fucking feel like I was in pre-heat,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

You ring your head low and swallow your bad temperament as the harsh tone reaches your ears. You cringe, barely recognizing your own voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated because I don’t know what’s going on. I shouldn’t take it out on you though.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. You’re stressed out.” Renjun gives you a sympathetic look, equally as confused by your body as you are. “Well this explains why you wore that today.”

“What do you mean?”

Renjun clicks on the weather app to show you the temperature outside. “Because it’s cold today. But if you were really warm, the temperature outside wouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Ugh, oh my god. You’re right,” you reply, mentally slapping your forehead for not actually checking the forecast for today. Simply put, you believed you knew better, based on how warm your room felt when you got out of bed this morning.

You hold your abdomen and apply minimal pressure there, preparing for the onset of pain when your cramps start up, just like the bad habit responsible for the new drop of blood swelling at the tip of your finger.

Jisung is quick to dig into his messy backpack and procure a quick fix for any minor injuries. It’s clear that he’s trying to be as helpful as possible, still feeling terribly guilty for holding your thighs open and preventing you from hiding what was visible to him and Jeno through your thin panties.

You dab the blood with the folded tissue he hands you, and then wrap the blue and green, dinosaur themed band-aid around your finger. “Thank you,” you whisper to Jisung sincerely, touching his arm to express gratitude.

You don’t blame the guilt-ridden alpha too much. After watching your pussy leak slick through the soaked white material, it was only in his nature to want to breed an omega on the verge of going into heat. The baby alpha Jisung you know and love wouldn’t do that.

Renjun lightly taps the back of your hand when you pick the finger next to the freshly bandaged one. He clasps your hands together, preventing you from doing more damage to that hand, at least.

You frown at your hypocritical friend who himself hasn’t managed to kick the same bad habit as you. Nonetheless, you appreciate his comforting action.

“You know, I keep thinking why me? What have I done to deserve this?” You gesture at your thighs with your free hand. “And how am I supposed to last another however many minutes?”

Renjun pauses and sighs. “On second thought, maybe you should go now. It’s way stuffier inside, so it might be a good idea to go splash some water on your face in the bathroom first before whoever Mark sent gets here.”

You hesitate for a second. You're troubled by not only the mess you've made in your seat, but the continual trickle of slick, potentially painting a colorful bullseye on your wet cunt.

Alphas with practiced, keen olfactory systems can track a scent from a mile away, the express purpose to savagely use the needy omega they find simply because your kind is at its most vulnerable in heat.

You always knew that omegas drew the short stick in life, but it was only after you had observed Mark’s rut in person that you officially became envious of alphas. An alpha’s number one priority during rut, above food and shelter and anything in between, is to breed omegas.

They’ll brutally fuck a slick hole for multiple days, repeatedly knotting them until their bun-hungry alpha brain is sure that the omega will deliver them happy, healthy pups.

Nearly every omega and most alphas take suppressants, making the chances of knocking up an omega less than 0.001% if both partners are medicated. Though, regardless of their incredibly slim chances of conceiving, that does not dissuade a stubborn alpha in rut from attempting to produce offspring.

During Mark’s last rut, despite the primal need to dominate and fuck your brains out, oddly enough, his stamina weirdly didn’t match yours.

“Whoever Mark’s sending is supposed to get here any minute, so there’s no real harm in leaving a minute earlier. No one would try anything with you if you’re in a public setting like school,” Renjun assures you and gives your hand one last squeeze.

“Y/n?” Jisung works up the courage to gently tap your arm like you did his, giving you what remains of the travel size tissue packet that’s been in his backpack for nearly three years. “Don’t worry about the chair. We’ll wipe it off when you leave.”

Jeno guiltily turns around again and apologizes like the younger alpha. He then makes a generous offer to save you the trouble of waiting a second longer to leave for good.

“I can drive you home now, if you want, y/n. And, you know, if you feel comfortable enough being alone with another alpha…no pressure. It’s just the least I can do.”

“Um, thank you. I think, uh…”

Fifteen minutes ago, when you had no plan whatsoever and hadn’t been in contact with Mark, you would’ve taken him up on the offer, but Renjun is right. You know that a part of you is really craving a knot. However, you believe you’re lucid enough to handle going to the bathroom by yourself.

You don’t see yourself jumping at the first opportunity to sit on a throbbing alpha cock, bouncing up and down, pathetically begging them to fill you up with an excessive amount of cum, like you did before. Plus, you don’t want to attract even more unwanted attention if two of you were to stand up and walk out in the middle of the lecture.

“I think I’m good, Jeno. It’s just around the corner. I’ll be fine.”

You pick up your bag, tying the varsity jacket that Jeno generously handed to you around your waist. You head for the door, walking at a reasonable speed to not attract more attention than your scent likely has.

Jeno’s jacket conceals most of the slick running down your inner thighs, and you make a mental note to somehow make it up to him later.

You have almost reached the bathroom when, out of nowhere, you’re ambushed by an alpha, pressed face first against the brick wall of the science building.

Whoever it is had the sense to slip his hand in front of your heated forehead to break the blow against the wall and not crack your skull open on impact. Obviously, alphas don’t want a dead omega.

You can’t breed something that’s not breathing.

That’s basic alpha 101.

Your heart rattles in your ribcage, racing a million miles per hour. You wish you were allotted enough time to wipe up your slick before being attacked.

If only you had accepted Jeno’s offer to be safely escorted, then you wouldn’t be pinned to a wall, hands held behind your back by an alpha presumably relying purely on an animalistic desire.

To make matters worse, being dominated so aggressively triggers a surge of arousal from within your inner omega, the yearning for sexual fulfillment intensifying at a rate higher than in your lecture.

On instinct, tremendously touch starved, you grind your hips back, pressing your ass against the half-hard cock hidden in the alpha’s pants.

He leans closer to your ear, pulling the cherry lollipop out of his mouth to whisper in a deep, gravelly voice, “Did somebody miss me?”

You whimper, timidly, and he chuckles.

Something possesses you to tilt your head to the side, submissive and craving a knot so damn badly that you’re willing to bare your vulnerable neck for the alpha.

He hesitates, before nosing at your scent gland, shakily exhaling through his mouth. Presented with such an alluring opportunity, the alpha almost loses his cool, tempted to accept your invitation and take advantage of your omega’s baseline reflex to submit.

Practicing a degree of restraint that very, very few alphas in his unique position possess, he instead places a single soft kiss to the spot he knows is reserved for Mark’s teeth.

Mark…

You break out of your innate trance as lips that don’t belong to your alpha are still pressed to your neck, the gravity kicking in about what it means to allow a stranger to bite and claim you.

You can’t imagine what your life would be like as a double claimed omega, shared by two alphas, belonging to both Mark and the mysterious, possessive person behind you.

You catch him off guard by ripping away. You whip around, snapping your tongue when you finally discover the identity of your attacker.

“Argh, what the fuck, Haechan?”

You lean back against the solid wall, holding a hand over your chest as if your heart is on the brink of bursting through the slats of your ribs.

“Did you have to give me a heart attack? What happened to saying hello, hm?”

He snickers, a melodious, infectious laugh that makes you want to smile as well. This time, with tremendous effort, you hold your ground.

“What’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” he says, sticking the candy back in his mouth.

You wish you could chase away the butterflies in your stomach that are consistently conjured up when his designated pet name for you rolls off his silver tongue. You’ve seen Haechan flirt with countless girls, yet he’s always reserved “sweetheart” and “sweetie” for his favorite omega.

You can’t describe why hearing his pet names excites you, inappropriately so. Perhaps, you like feeling special to him in some way, his sugar-coated sweet tooth reserved for you and you only.

Mark knows all of this.

He would have to be both blind and deaf to not see Haechan’s effect on your body and pick up on the sound of your heart racing. His charming best friend is frustratingly swoon worthy, but Mark had never minded it much. A case can be made that Mark is the jealous type. It’s for this very reason you find it so curious that he allows Haechan to get away with openly flirting with his omega.

“Why are you even-?”

You freeze as he wipes a tear from your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers along the side of your face and down your neck. He wraps his hand behind your neck with his thumb pressing into where your pulse is fluttering rapidly, tucking the lollipop into the side of his cheek to speak.

“Shh, take deep breaths for me, baby. In…out…in…out.”

The alpha’s instruction marginally calms your nerves, your omega instincts compelling you to follow without question. You are obedient and malleable, most especially in heat, for Haechan and your own alpha, of course.

“Good girl.” His praise has you biting your lip, whining softly. “Renjun probably told you but Mark’s on his way. He sent me to take care of you first.”

“Oh,” you reply, dumbly.

You should have suspected that Mark would send him to pick you up. It’s obvious in retrospect. He trusts Haechan with his life; by extension, he would have total faith in his best friend to handle you too.

“Yeah, oh,” he mimics with an annoyingly charming curl of his heart shaped lips.

Haechan basically gets off on annoying people, although his form of teasing you differs from others. Plus, you never fail to give him the reaction he’s searching for, playfully rolling your eyes, quietly snapping your tongue, or throwing some weak comeback in return.

“Are you disappointed to see me, y/n? I know you're Mark’s princess but you’ll just have to settle for me this time.”

“Wow, how noble of you. My hero,” you reply, sarcastically. “Can we go now?”

“By all means, lead the way, sweetheart.”

Right on queue, you roll your eyes, just like he knew you would. You take a few steps in the direction he gestures to before the first heat cramp punctures your core. Luckily, Haechan catches your body as your knees buckle, doubling over in pain.

Haechan clears his throat. “Y/n, you should know that Mark didn’t just send me here to pick you up,” he says cryptically, unpocketing his phone.

He proceeds to play a voicemail Mark left him. You listen with pursed lips, furrowing your brow as you take in your alpha’s words.

You try to concentrate on the message, partially distracted by Haechan’s scent swirling around you, quickly permeating your skin and thoughts.

“Hyuck, you’re the only alpha I completely trust to take care of y/n like that…and by that, you know what I mean. And don’t be surprised if she, like, starts to beg for it. She can be realllly needy, trust me.”

There’s a spike in Haechan’s scent, reminded of his personal mission to hear you beg.

Despite not having kissed him, you can taste him on your lips. His all-encompassing spicy musk intensifies, melting into a subtle syrupy vanilla that clings to your tongue and stirs up a hunger for forbidden fruit. The cherry candy is no match to his natural scent.

“Oh! One more thing. y/n likes it a bit, um, rough when she’s in heat…so just keep that in mind. I’ll be there as soon as possible, dude. 40 minutes tops. Alright, see you then.”

Haechan looks at you, searching for a reaction, but instead, he sees your face contort painfully again.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

You turn your head, now within proximity to count all the pretty moles on his sun-kissed face, like sunflower seeds you’re tempted to taste and swallow by the handful until you’re physically ill.

“Do you want…”

You straighten your back again, a chill running up your spine as Haechan slowly reaches under your skirt. He drags his hand up the inside of your thigh. The tips of his fingers draw through the many lines of slick dripping down your legs.

“…my help?” he finishes in a tone deeper than you knew he could produce.

Your cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment, feeling another mini rush of wetness soak the utterly useless material covering your throbbing core. There’s no denying that you’re incredibly aroused by Haechan. He knows you know he can smell the gush of new slick you involuntarily released.

A strong sexual desire pumps through your veins, driving you up the walls. You’ve always been curious about what it would be like to have the alpha ruin you and use your body like a toy, but you’re not certain how much of that can be attributed to being on the verge of heat. For better or for worse, you decide that that’s a problem for future you to determine, and present you to toss out the window.

Tasting a mere crumb of Haechan’s touch wasn’t enough – you had to swallow him whole, and the only way you could do that is by giving him the pleasure of devouring you first.

“y-yes, please.”

Your answer is so faint that if he were any farther away, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Haechan suppresses a smug smile, pleasantly surprised to get your first “please” this soon after catching up with you.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart.”

His skilled fingers touch where you want him most, grazing over your clothed pussy. Anticipating some kind of pleasured noise, he holds your body close and pops the lollipop inside your mouth.

He scans your surroundings for a place nearby with any additional smidge of privacy. Locating a possible secluded destination, he steers your weak body in the direction of his choice. Haechan snakes a hand up the front of your skirt again, pressing his thick cock against your ass as you stumble forward.

Imagining how dirty you must look turns you on, the debauchery of grinding on someone in broad daylight while they have your skirt flipped up to rub over your wet panties has your vision blurring momentarily. Modesty is nothing but a vague concept in the far off distance, seconds away from disappearing over the horizon.

The next thing you know, your body is pressed against a cool hard surface, bleary eyed and craving the kind of high only a mind blowing orgasm can earn.

You vaguely recognize you’re behind the science building you came out of before Haechan ambushed you, escaping the bright rays of burning sun that were beating down on you by slinking into the secluded shadows with the golden, silky voiced alpha.

Your skirt rides up as he shoves a knee between your legs. He gets a firm grip on your hips as you grind down against his thigh, soaking the material of his skinny jeans, creating a wet spot in the denim with your slick.

“Wow, would you look at that? Baby made a mess all over me already. I bet you wanted that, huh? Rubbing your slick on me so people know you’re fucking two alphas?”

You remove the lollipop to refute his provocative claim. “I-I’m not fucking two alphas.”

“Ha, maybe…not yet, anyways. But you want to. Isn’t that right, y/n?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue rough, throat scratchy like sandpaper. You part your lips to argue with him but nothing comes out. Instead, you insert the lollipop again, sucking on the shrinking round candy, a poor attempt at covering up your original intention.

“Exactly…now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Haechan places your clammy hands on either side of his shoulders to ensure you won’t lose your balance, then he lowers himself to crouch in front of you.

“Hold.” He lifts up your skirt, giving you the bottom hem so he can get down to business.

Haechan’s fingers dig between your clothed folds, feeling your slick leak onto his hand. The thin material pushes into your entrance in an unsatisfying way and you whine.

He tsks his tongue three times, shaking his head. “Just as I suspected.”

You don’t need a reminder of how wet you are, and yet Haechan still brings his hand up for you to see the wet webbing clinging to the tips of his spread fingers anyways. A small embarrassed noise escapes your mouth.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, using his thumb to toy with your clit, “you look so adorable when you’re embarrassed. All rosy-cheeked and messy.”

Haechan slides your panties down your legs and you cooperate by stepping out of them, hands still anchored to his shoulders. He brings them to his face and licks off a great majority of the wetness that seeped out of you, peering into your soul as he does so. Your lips form a slight pout, missing his touch.

“Ha, Mark was right. You are a needy omega,” he teases and pockets your panties like a trophy he’ll proudly keep forever.

“What would Mark say if he saw his precious omega barring her neck for a total stranger?”

You softly moan a bit louder as he curls his fingers just right. Your knees wobble, struggling to stay upright.

The image of the alpha ravaging your body while Mark watches the act unfold, makes it difficult to focus on your surroundings, distracting you from the minor degree of shame in your chest.

You couldn’t care less about your indecent exposure at the moment either – you feel too good to care about anything.

“H-haechan…I want you…want you so fucking bad,” you breathe out, words slightly slurred with the round candy in your mouth.

Haechan’s cock twitches, picturing you in tears, your walls struggling to accommodate him. However, he is aware that behind a school building isn’t the most ideal place to take an omega in heat, especially considering the potency of your heavenly scent, steadily increasing.

Since Mark isn’t here yet, the least he could do is take you inside the building.

Your slick seeps into the frontside of Haechan’s clothes, clinging to his upper body for dear life as he carries you into an empty classroom. He sets you down on the lab table and observes the damage to his clothes.

“i-i’m sorry about that.” You lean back, peering down at your lap, nervously.

“Oh, baby…c’mere.”

Haechan cups over your knees and tilts forward to kiss your neck, sucking a dark hickey right next to your mating mark from his best friend.

“I like collecting these little spots from you.” He pries your thighs apart and draws closer to your bare pussy.

“It’s cute that your body can’t help but mark me somehow.”

He gets on his knees, darts his tongue out to swirl around your clit. His fingers prod your slick core and slide inside you, stroking your sensitive spot skillfully. The breathy noises he’s rewarded with are ones he’ll remember forever.

It’s astonishing how quickly Haechan figures you out.

He’s already in tune with your body, keenly aware of what makes you tick, knowing how to make you quiver and arch your back beautifully.

Not before long, Haechan has you shaking uncontrollably, squeezing your eyes shut, your short stuttered breathing uneven and shallow as your orgasm peaks, and you topple into an abyss of intense pleasure. The lollipop falls out of your open mouth, rolling off the black table.

You might as well be outside, stargazing in the dead of night based on how many constellations and galaxies twinkle and swirl behind your fluttering eyelids.

Haechan doesn’t let up on his efforts to overload your system with a tingly static sensation. Sobbing pathetically, you try to bat him away with what little strength you have, overstimulated and overcome with the sizzling heat frying your nerve endings.

He huffs and retracts his hands, wiping his mouth and the mess of dripping juices on your inner thigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t touch you anymore!” he tosses his hands up in the air, melodramatic as ever.

“Finally,” you murmur, granted relief to catch your breath for the first time.

You’re heavily panting, linking your fingers together and resting your hands atop your head to allow better airflow into your oxygen deprived lungs. He steps back and studies you like a unique specimen for medical observation.

A few quiet moments pass before the dull cramps creep up inside you, not yet terribly painful but aching in a way that guarantees incoming sharp pains. You whimper for stimulation again, sending puppy dog eyes at Haechan.

“More…please.”

The alpha’s face is painted with mischief, taunting you by reaching for your body then abruptly stepping back to watch you sniffle, and rock back and forth.

Upon noticing your eyes starting to well up with tears, he ultimately gives in. Haechan curls two and then three fingers inside you, opening you up for his throbbing cock.

As much as he’d love to see you cry, he’s under strict instruction to satisfy and take care of you. He can’t threaten to not relieve the effects of your heat and tease you to the point of genuine distress.

“Aww, don’t cry, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You let out a breathy moan and make grabby motions to the tent in his pants.

“Hm, does the cry baby want a knot?” You bite your bottom lip, nodding. “Yeah? Can you use your words? Or is there nothing going on up there in that pretty little head of yours?”

He lightly taps your forehead twice, then slides that hand up to tangle in your hair.

You smile, shy and small, and, dare he say, adorable. “You- you think I’m pretty?”

One side of the alpha’s mouth curls up, amused that “pretty” was the only word that you clung onto. He rolls his eyes, teasingly.

“Of course you’re pretty, y/n.” Haechan removes his hand from your hair to take out his thick cock. “And only the prettiest of girls get this.”

With a newly unveiled salivating incentive, you immediately pull yourself together, spine straight as an arrow.

You stare at his shiny, precum-glossy cock with heart eyes, licking your lips as he gives himself a few jerks and produces more pearly droplets from his slit. He pushes you back against the lab table when you try to get to your feet for a taste.

“You can choke on my cock later, princess. I thought you wanted a knot? Or did you change your mind?”

“No! I-I do want it,” you frantically reply.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I really want it, Haechan, really badly.” He raises an eyebrow, expecting more. “Please…please, knot me. I wanna be filled with your cum. I’m begging you…breed me, Alpha.”

Breed me, Alpha rings in Haechan’s ears like wedding bells signifying the everlasting bond of a committed partnership. Hearing your sweet voice desperately begging for his seed, using the dominant title you only ever use with Mark, your real alpha, gets Haechan rock hard.

He savors every second he gets to be your alpha.

Satisfied with your eloquently worded, pitiful plea, he lines himself up. His shiny cockhead glides through your folds before breaching your dripping entrance.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart,” the alpha whispers against your scent gland, his mouth sucking it softly.

You gasp as he drives his hips forward, forcefully pushing against your tiny hole until you’ve accepted his blunt tip, and sucked his fat cock inside.

Mark can smell you the second he drives on campus. He rolls his window down to take another alluring whiff, his right hand just barely gripping the bottom of the steering wheel while his left palms the bulge in his snug jeans, tenting obscenely.

Mind preoccupied, his tunnel vision blinds him from focusing on a single thing besides seeking you out and filling you with loads of cum as soon as possible. He doesn’t recall pulling into the parking lot, getting out of his car, or locking it. All he knows is that, within the blink of an eye, he’s rushed across the campus, his feet landing just outside one of the science labs housed in the same building as your astronomy lecture.

Yanking the door wide open, his wild eyes dart to where his best friend’s knot is locked inside his omega, rubbing your clit so aggressively after your third orgasm that you’re reduced to a twitching mess.

You don’t immediately recognize Mark’s presence, too lost in the intense buzzing sensation to even register that the alpha barged into the room.

Mark slams the door behind him and purposely leaves the door unlocked like Haechan did. There’s a certain reckless thrill that comes with the possibility of getting caught in a compromising position.

In contrast to the way he raced here, driving haphazardly and disobeying traffic laws, Mark slowly crosses the lab room towards your splayed body in a few, brisk strides. He removes his hard cock from his jeans with a lazy smile, stroking himself and licking his lips as you cry out.

Haechan flicks his chin up at Mark, greeting him happily. He makes a show out of pressing a slick-coated finger against your lips to silence you.

“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta keep it down. You don’t want everyone next door to hear, right? They’d probably say ‘we should go check on whoever’s crying!’ Only to come in here and find their pretty classmate is a dumb little slut…with a cunt full of cum.”

You whine, leading him to push two of his dirty fingers into your mouth to shut you up. His smirks as you mindlessly suck on them like a binkie, shutting your eyes and humming pleasantly.

“She’s so pretty when she cries.”

“I know right?”

Mark makes a growling noise in the back of his throat as he rubs his hand over where he can see the faint outline of Haechan’s thick knot buried inside you, making your abdomen bulge. Both you and Haechan shutter, feeling a tingly sensation from the pressure your boyfriend applies.

“So, how’s she been?”

“Well, she-”

“Mar?” you weakly croak around Haechan’s fingers and he removes them.

“I’m here, y/n, I’m right here.” Mark wipes a lone tear of yours away and caresses your warm cheek. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“I’m…hot.”

“No objection there,” Haechan jokes.

“Why did you send Haechan?” you continue like you didn’t hear the alpha currently plugging you up with cum.

“Oh, y/n. You remember how you were during your last heat.” Mark stops stroking his cock and takes out a tissue to dab away the sheen of sweat on your feverish forehead.

“Actually, you were probably too far gone, huh?”

You blink up at him, tilting your head into his hand when he tries to wipe your cheek. If you’re being honest with yourself, you only recall bits and pieces, and none of those memories are exceptionally vivid.

“I didn’t know it was possible. Like, I looked it up and on average, omegas need to be knotted 5x before their heat breaks. But, y/n, seriously, I lost track of how many times I knotted you and it’s never enough. I couldn’t take care of you throughout all of your heat and it killed me to see you like that and not be able to help you more. You need more than I can give you, princess.”

He offers you a small genuine smile, his hand trailing down to palm at your exposed breast. Mark gently rolls your nipple between his fingers, hearing you quietly purr. “So Haechan was nice enough to agree to help me help you.”

“But Mark-”

“It’s for your own good, y/n,” Mark calmly tells you. “And didn’t Haechan make you feel nice?”

“Um, well, I-”

You gulp, ruminating on how you want to answer, whether you should tell him that another alpha made you feel as amazing as Mark does.

“Wanna tell me what it’s like to have his knot locked inside that tight little pussy of yours? I know you love being full of my cum. What about his cum? I bet you looove getting fucked full of his cum too, huh?”

“Y-yeah, I love being full of cum…your cum and-and Haechan’s cum.”

Mark smiles at your response and rewards you by pinching your perky nipple. “That’s what I like to hear, baby.”

You whine when Haechan wiggles his mostly deflated cock out of your tight core. “You really weren't lying when you said she gets super wet.”

“Hm, let me feel.” He hums, looking closer and dipping his fingers inside the dripping combination of your fluids.

Mark widens his nostrils and takes in the aroma of Haechan’s cum mixed in with your juices, his eyes flashing blood red.

It’s unfamiliar and vaguely off putting to smell his mate has been violated and fucked open by another alpha. Although, overall, the dominant sensation coursing through Mark is arousal, turned on by the thought of sharing your body.

“Nah, man. It gets worse, you’ll see. Her heat hasn’t even peaked yet.”

Mark addresses Haechan like you aren’t even here. To be fair though, during your heat you’re not all here anyways.

“W-worse?” you eke.

“By the end of her last heat, she had so much fucking cum in her, I don’t know where it was all going.”

“Ha, we got ourselves a little cum dumpster here,” Haechan snickers, sliding his fingers inside your cum dribbling cunt again.

With such an overflowing amount of slick and cum, if someone told you that the obscene squelching that fills the room is a soundbite from some high quality pornography, you wouldn’t doubt it. You croon as he curls them up just right, taking a moment to stimulate your most sensitive spot skillfully.

He retracts them sooner than you’d prefer and brings his fingers to your mouth. “Suck.”

A fat droplet falls on your bottom lip.

Mark rubs slow, comforting circles over your abdomen. “Go ahead, baby,” he encourages, leaning down to suckle on your neglected bud.

Earning Mark’s blessing, you obediently suck your own berry wetness and Haechan’s cum off of the alpha’s fingers.

“God, what a filthy slut,” he says once you’ve fulfilled his wish. “She gives in so easily, she’d do anything to get another load of cum.”

A weak sound of protest weasels up the back of your throat, disagreeing with the term he used to describe you. You expect Mark to disagree with his best friend’s crude statement, but he shockingly does the opposite.

“Tell me about it, dude. The whole time she’s always begging for a knot and more cum. I know a lot of omegas beg in the middle of their heat…”

Mark pets your head gently for a second, then snakes his fingers into your hair, giving it a brief yank.

If you weren’t on the precipice of your heat hitting full force, his sudden action would’ve caused you a decent amount of pain. But by now, your aching body welcomes any form of touch – the rougher the better. The demeaning terms trigger strobing excitement inside you.

“…but with y/n, it’s like where did my sweet omega go? Who’s this needy cumslut?”

Your bottom lip quivers, internally conflicted by your budding arousal. Mark looks down at you with pity in his eyes.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, “don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying it to be mean, I’m just telling the truth. You don’t know what it’s like trying to take care of you.”

You whine softly, your foggy emotional state making you feel guilty, even if the fraction of you that’s still of sober mind knows that you have nothing to feel guilty for. The seeds of insecurity take root in your head, questioning if he secretly resents being with you, if you’re too much of a burden that he wishes he wasn’t your alpha.

Mark reads the emotional turmoil brewing on your precious face. In an effort to soothe the distress, he quickly leans over to kiss it away. A handful of adoring pecks down your face, lips lightly kissing your forehead twice, the tip of your nose and finally to your lips. He is much gentler now than the hand responsible for the arousing sting to your scalp. Mark tastes the other alpha on your mouth and grins anyway.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about it, y/n.” He again brushes a few stray tears away from where they spill from the corners of your wide, glossy eyes. “I just wanna make sure you’re well taken care of this time.”

“Even without you, I can take care of myself well enough,” you sniffle, lying through your teeth, fooling no one, not even yourself.

Your hand twitches, wanting to prove a point but hesitating because you're not used to being watched by two sets of eyes.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, princess. I know you want to,” Mark tells you.

“R-really? Like, um…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “...in front of him too?”

You sneak a glance at Haechan, who, by the looks of it, is about ready to unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole any second now. You vaguely remember wanting him to do so not too long ago in your most fuzzy heated state.

“Yes, in front of me and Haechan.”

“Aw, sweetheart. I just fucked your pretty cunt and yet you still feel embarrassed?” Haechan pouts in mock sympathy. “That’s adorable.”

Mark exchanges a look with his best friend before turning back to you. “Be a good girl for me and demonstrate how you used to do it before we met. You can do that, right, babe?”

An adoring smile reaches his lips, eyes locking with yours. You could try to deny the lewd act, but above all else, you want to please your alpha.

Mark wants you to be a good girl, and that is exactly what you will be. You gulp, releasing a shaky sigh, and nodding timidly. Your mouth twitches up to mirror his sincere smile as best as you can manage.

“That’s my girl,” Mark beams.

Mark knows how to comfort you, pushing two fingers into your mouth to give you something to wrap your lips around. He gently cups the back of your hand and guides it lower while you’re pleasantly suckling.

You tilt back, propping your upper body up by extending your left hand behind your back. Folding your spread legs up and planting your heals on the edge of the wide black lab table, exposing your throbbing cunt to the alphas.

You trace your fingers through your folds, rimming your freshly used entrance before sliding two of them inside, moaning around Mark’s fingers as you follow his instructions.

Muscle memory of touching yourself on a frequent basis over the years takes charge, and within seconds, you locate your weak spot.

“There you go. Good girl.”

You mewl, your legs trembling every so often as you draw your fingers up to stimulate your clit. The muscles in your face are equally as prone to a visceral jumpy reaction as your lower half is.

Craving more, you lay your upper body back against the table, and switch hands to curl your left fingers in your abused pussy and rub quick circles over the hood of your clit, stroking up and down to stimulate every nerve around the electrifying spot.

“M-mar…” you whimper, drool trailing from your stuffed mouth. “Fuck-fuck me. Please, I n-need your cum now.”

Mark bestows a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “How about you show me how bad you want it, eh?”

You hop off the table and lower to your knees obediently, folding your legs underneath you and sitting back on your feet, hands placed flat on your thighs, spine arched to show the round curve of your ass.

Haechan whistles. “You sure did train her well.”

“Nah, man. y/n didn’t need training. She’s just a perfect omega.” Mark smiles, happy to show you off. He pets your head as you start to squirm and quietly whimper.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

You part your lips, holding your tongue out to catch the spit that falls from Mark’s mouth. He hums, approvingly, watching you swallow it and open your mouth again. He pauses for a second before flicking his chin at Haechan.

“You want Haechan’s spit too?”

You glance at Haechan and release an affirmative noise a second later. Your core aches for further rough filling again. You rub your slippery thighs together, feeling more slick gush from your throbbing pussy, increasingly aroused when Haechan steps up to the plate.

He lets a string of saliva dangle from his tongue, slowly dripping into your mouth, and partially dribbling down your chin intentionally, simply because he wants to make a mess of your pretty face.

You're about to wrap your lips around Mark’s cockhead when all of a sudden, the sharpest pain stabs your abdomen. Your jaw drops in a silent scream, crumpling into a ball, squeezing your eyes shut, and nearly blacking out.

Mark kneels down and rubs your shoulder, lifting your head to look you square in the face. Worry colors his sharp features and shatters the heated, public pornographic fantasy.

“Shit. y/n’s cramps usually subside for an hour or so after getting a knot,” he mutters to Haechan. “I didn’t want to do this…but I don’t think we have much of a choice now…”

[hint for pt 2]

additional warnings: dr jaem thorough exam, double penetration, spitroasting, oral (fem & male), face sitting, throat fucking, choking, somnophilia, squirting, sex toys, nipple play and breast milking. alright, i think that's it.

it’s 2023.

why did it take me this fucking long to write markhyuck x yn ?? i said i’d write for this pairing in FEB 20 FUCKING 21.

sorry for not posting in forever. the #1 motivation for writers is feedback and interaction. for me, knowing people enjoy my works and appreciate the time i put into something has a huge impact. i'd be really grateful if you shared this by giving it a reblog and would love to see you spam your thoughts/reactions in the tags or comments!

[oct 12th, 2024 update]

pt 2 is about 80% done. now, i'm not saying i WON'T post it in the next week, but comments, reblogs and feedback would definitely inspire me to finish it up soon<3

okay 'tis all. thank you for reading and i hope you (yes, specifically YOU, beloved reader of mine who's reading this RIGHT NOW !) are doing well:))

stream 127's *FACT CHECK*

➾my masterlist

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galacticseonghwa · 4 months ago

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a book like love - mark lee

INCLUDES ! — non idol!bf mark x fem!reader, just straight fluff because i miss mark and i see him on sunday, lmk if i've missed anything else AUTHORS NOTE ! — my friend helped me with writing this one, she doesn't have tumblr though so heartbreak, not proofread!

the sun was beginning its descent behind the sleek modern architecture of the Starfield Library in Seoul, casting long golden rays through the massive glass windows. Inside, rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched like endless towers of knowledge, the quiet hum of soft footsteps echoing in the air. It was a typical late afternoon, but for mark and y/n, this moment felt anything but ordinary.

mark was lounging in one of the cozy chairs near the top floor’s balcony. His legs were crossed, a book propped up in one hand, but his attention was on y/n. his eyes were drawn to y/n, who was skimming through a shelf of romance books on the shelf in front of him

she didn’t know he was watching her. she rarely did, and that was just one of the many things he loved about her. y/n had this quiet, unassuming way of being like she was always in her own world, focused, intent on whatever she was doing, but completely present in the moment.

y/n had this gentle grace when she moved, and as she reached up to pull a thick book off the shelf, mark couldn’t help but smile and chuckle softly to himself. y/n's hair was tied up in a messy bun, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. she looked effortlessly beautiful, she always did.

it's been three years since they'd met, since they'd walked into this very library for the first time, two nervous 21-year-olds both obsessed with books, one obsessed with manga or anything spider-man related and the other with romance. it was there, amid the stacks of poetry, that they'd found each other.

he first noticed her when she bumped into him in the crime section, her book flying out of her hands and landing right at his feet. she apologised over and over, a deep pink blush colouring her cheeks. they laughed it off, and after a while, their shared love of books drew them back to the library every week. they studied together, talked about dreams, books, and everything in between. eventually, that awkward friendship blossomed into something more.

y/n glanced up from her book and caught his gaze. her face lit up instantly, that warm smile spreading across her lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

she made her way over to him, the sound of her soft footsteps making him feel like he was living in a dream.

“are you going to keep reading that book, or should we go grab a drink?” she asked, her voice as soft and soothing.

mark slowly set the book down with a soft grin. “i’d rather have you in my arms.” he said and gently pulled her closer to him.

y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but mark could see the blush creeping up her neck. she always did that, pretending to be embarrassed by his cheesy lines, but he knew better than anyone that she liked it. he had a way of making her heart flutter, just like she did to him.

“i should have known you'd say something like that,” she teased, sitting down next to him on the plush chair. her scent, a mixture of rose and strawberry, wrapped around him like a warm hug. he promised to breathe her in forever.

mark leans closer to her and places his hand on her thigh, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of her jeans. he smiles up at her and places a soft kiss on her neck.

they sat there for a moment, simply enjoying the quiet and each other’s presence. it wasn’t often they had moments like this just the two of them, surrounded by books, a world of possibilities and quiet joy.

“so, what’s next for us?” mark asked softly, his voice almost a whisper as he glanced at the horizon through the window, his hand never leaving her thigh. the sky was streaked with pink and orange as the sun set, and for a moment, the entire world felt still.

y/n's smile softened, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “what do you mean, markie?”

he turned to look at her, his hand instinctively brushing her hair back. “i mean… we’re 25 now. we’re no longer in school anymore. what do we do now? what’s our next chapter?”

y/n smiled, her eyes closing as she savoured the quiet moment. “i think we’re already writing it. this is our next chapter.”

her words brought a contented sigh from him. of course, they were already living it. their life, right here, right now, together, was perfect. they didn’t need to have all the answers right now. all that mattered was that they had each other.

“do you ever think about the future?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as if he was revealing a hidden vulnerability.

“most of the time,” y/n said, her voice steady and reassuring. “but i think... i think the future will always be uncertain. the important part is that we’re in it together. i’m happy with you, mark. wherever we go, whatever we do... as long as you’re by my side.”

he reached over to take her hand in his, his fingers threading through hers. there was a sense of peace in that touch, a promise that no matter where life took them, they would always be together.

“i’m happy with you too, baby” he whispered. “More than I’ve ever been with anything or anyone else in my life.”

y/n smiled softly, her eyes shining with the kind of love that made mark feel like the luckiest man alive.

the library around them continued to hum with soft conversations and the rustling of pages, but to them, the world seemed to stop. there was no rush, no pressing need to be anywhere else. they were in this moment, wrapped up in the quiet, safe in their love.

“so, baby,” mark said after a moment, letting her hand go and squeezing her thigh lightly. “how about that drink, hmm?”

“hmm,” y/n hummed, looking up at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “only if you promise not to say any more cheesy things for the rest of the day.”

he laughed softly. “i can’t make that promise, but i can promise to make you laugh.”

her eyes twinkled as she leaned in and kissed him gently making him smile against her lips. “deal.”

together, they stood, hands still intertwined, and made their way toward the elevator, leaving the serenity of the library behind them for a while. but as they stepped into the bustling streets of Seoul, surrounded by the noise and energy of the city, they both knew they had everything they needed.

they had each other, and that was more than enough.

the warmth of the coffee shop was a welcoming relief from the cold winter outside. mark and y/n settled into a corner booth, their mugs of coffee steaming between them. y/n curled her hands around her cup, her fingers gently tracing the edge as she gazed at mark, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“do you ever think about the past?” she asked, her voice contemplative.

mark raises an eyebrow. “the past?”

“yeah,” she says, her eyes softening. “like… when we first met. back in the library.”

mark leans back in his chair, taking a long sip from his mug. the memory felt like it belonged to another lifetime. “i think about it all the time. how nervous i was to even talk to you. how much i wanted to ask you out but didn’t have the courage to do so.”

y/n laughs softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “i was so nervous too. i thought you were way out of my league.”

“out of your league? me?” mark babbles surprised. “i was a mess. you have this way of making everything seem so effortless.”

they both fell into a quiet moment, reminiscing about the small, awkward beginnings of their relationship. from that first, fumbled encounter in the library to the late-night study sessions, their connection had grown with each passing day. what had started as friendship had blossomed into something deeper, something unspoken but undeniably strong.

“i think we’ve come a long way since then” y/n says softly, her voice full of affection for the man in front of her.

“yeah,” mark hums, his eyes locking with hers. “and i can’t wait for what’s to come.”

mark reaches across the table, placing his hand in hers. “we’ll write it together. just like we’ve been doing all along. the story of y/n and mark”

and in that moment, as they sat together in the coffee shop, mark knew that no matter where their lives led them, they would always have each other. their love, like the books in the library, would continue to fill the pages of their story, one chapter at a time.

TAGLIST ! — @sinisxtea @wonwootakemyheart @injunnie-lemon @haechology @sk8mrk

#galacticseonghwa #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nctzen #mark lee #nct mark #nct mark lee #mark fluff #mark fic #mark lee fluff

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haespoir · 1 year ago

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texts w/ stoner bf!mark

it’s not a lot but its smthn!!!

#nct #nct scenarios #mark #mark lee #mark texts #mark au #nct smau #mark smau #mark text #mark fanfic #mark scenarios #nct social media au #nct social au #nct texts #mark fic #i forgot what to tag erm #mark fluff #stoner mark #bf mark

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justwritedreams · 1 year ago

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Uncle Marcus | Mark Lee

Domestic!Mark x Reader Genre: pure fluff Word count: 751 Warnings: mention of wisdom tooth removal Note: This is all for myself while I recover, would I like Mark to be my nephew's uncle? Yes definitely🤧

⪢ NCT Masterlist

Y/N heard her nephew's voice sing through the house, humming her name and she just smiled lightly, as much as she could at that moment and adjusted herself better in bed knowing that the two and a half year old baby would come running at any moment. “Uncle Marcus arrived!” the little boy announced at the door of his aunt's room and she held back her laughter with her hand over her mouth, already imagining her boyfriend's face. A few seconds passed before she saw her boyfriend's familiar face pass through the doorway in a kind of shock and disappointment upon hearing the wrong name, he was holding the small hand of Y/N's nephew who was bringing him to her room. "Hey love." Mark approached the bed and gave Y/N a quick kiss on the forehead. "How are you?" “Swollen.” she pointed to her left cheek and saw Mark laugh lightly as he looked at her. Her face was actually slightly more swollen compared to the other side but that was expected, considering that removing the tooth would do just that. “Any pain?” he asked worriedly and she shook her head. “I just feel sleepy.” she replied, lying down on the bed again. She still felt the anesthesia in her mouth, it had only been two hours since she had her wisdom teeth removed so the effects were still there. “Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” he assured and approached to give her a light peck, both Y/N and her nephew laughed. The nephew for finding the scene amusing and Y/N for feeling just one side of Mark's mouth press against hers. "What?" He laughed awkwardly. “I don’t feel anything on that side.” She explained, pointing to her own mouth and he laughed along. “Rest, okay?” he asked and she nodded. “Your nephew and I have a lot to play with.” Y/N admired her boyfriend holding her nephew in his arms, the little boy loved Mark and tired the boy until he himself fell asleep but it was a great battle because Y/N's nephew always fell asleep first. She just watched the two leave the room as her eyes grew heavier and heavier and she gave in to sleep.

[…]

Y/N started to wake up to the sound of the guitar chords, it was familiar, Mark tried to teach her nephew to play the guitar from an early age and the little one always had fun with the instrument, more hitting his own hand than playing the strings but he liked the songs and Mark singing for him. Just like Y/N, who didn't move to avoid attracting attention, she just watched her boyfriend and nephew sitting on the floor in their own little world. She enjoyed watching the interaction between the two, the two favorite people in her life adored each other and she couldn't feel happier. “Listen, grandpa and grandma are here.” Mark announced to the little one that clapped his hands and got up quickly, with the help of the older one and ran out of the room, Mark followed him a little late and came back a while later. “I didn’t see you woke up.” he said to his girlfriend as soon as he saw her eyes open, he sat next to her on the bed and took his hand to caress her back. “He adores you, you know?” Mark smiled widely, he also liked him as if he were his own nephew. And in fact he felt like it was. “He just needs to learn to say my name correctly, right.” Y/N laughed at Mark's disappointed expression. “One day I’m Marcus, the next Maku, he’s even said Mork.” “Will you believe me if I tell you that when you’re not here he says your name right?” Mark looked at her in disbelief. “I feel defeated.” He threw himself on the bed next to Y/N who stroked his hair lightly as he made himself better on the bed. “You’re his favorite uncle.” Y/N remembered and he nodded. “And he’s my favorite nephew.” Y/N laughed. “Because he’s the only one.” They both laughed and Mark turned to face her. “Thank you for coming today.” He moved closer to kiss the tip of her nose. “I said I would come and take care of you. Your parents have a child to look after and so do I.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Okay, Uncle Marcus.”

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spiderm444rk · 9 months ago

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LOST IN TRANSLATION - mark lee smau

2) don’t do anything stupid

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─

A/N: my roommate went on a vacation and i have literally nothing to do until she comes back so i’ll be updating every day for now 🫶🏻

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˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ taglist: @chenlesfavorite @injunnie-lemon @cyjzzl @morkiee @aek1ra @luvtyunn @nosungluv @mystverse @kittydollzz @6682dni @urslytherin

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leejenowrld · 7 months ago

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‘love me back?’ — one

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 22.2k words

genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love

synopsis — mark lee goes from being the quiet kid at the river court to the star basketball player on campus, reigniting old tensions with his brother, jeno. as jeno’s girlfriend, you’re pulled into the rivalry, but it’s mark who captivates you. his touch, his presence—he stirs something deep inside you that you can’t shake. as the tension between the brothers grows, so does your forbidden connection with mark, forcing you to confront where your heart—and body—truly belong.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree hill, reader is in a relationship with jeno but it’s far from healthy or loving, depictions of lust and physical connection rather than emotional intimacy, slow burn with emotional (and sexual) tension between reader and mark, basketball is a heavy theme, mark being a key player, reader uses drugs and drinks to avoid facing her emotions, struggles with communication and vulnerability, messy dynamics with themes of abandonment and insecurity, escapism, toxic sibling rivalry between jeno and mark, oooh guys jeno is a jerk! bad boyfriend jeno, explicit sexual content involving rough and emotionally detached interactions with jeno, reader makes out with mark, soft mark, emo boy mark, confident mark, understated and hot mark, references to drug and alcohol use as coping mechanisms, swearing, explicit language and competitive sports tension.

[fic ml]

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

───────────────────────────────

The air in the room is thick and hazy, the low-hanging smoke curling in lazy spirals above your heads, seeping into the fabric of your clothes and the sheets. The bedside table is cluttered with half-empty bottles—beers, vodka mixers—and a vape pen with a fading light. The faint scent of weed lingers, clinging to the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. It should feel comforting, familiar, but it doesn’t. Everything feels muted, dulled, like you’re watching your life from a distance, the numbness settling deeper with each passing second.

Jeno lies beside you, shirtless, his body warm against yours. Your head rests on his chest, where his heartbeat thuds unevenly, just as it always has—never steady enough to soothe you, never grounding like you wanted it to be. Tonight, it feels even more erratic, like something inside him is pulling further away. Your fingers trace lazy circles over his skin, the motion slow, almost mechanical. It’s a routine now—this closeness that never truly feels close.

He’s quiet, too quiet, and it irritates you more than it should. You inhale sharply, the vape pen slipping between your lips before you exhale through your nose. Shifting closer, you press a kiss against his neck, letting your lips linger longer than usual, hoping he’ll respond. But there’s nothing—not a sigh, not a flicker of acknowledgment. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, his mind somewhere far beyond the room. You pull away, frustrated, the weight of the past hour pressing down on you.

“Jeno,” you murmur, your voice catching slightly, as if the words are stuck in your throat. Your lips linger near his jaw, hoping for a reaction, for something to pull him back to you. But all you feel is the faint twitch of his hand on your waist, a gesture that once held desire but now feels empty, mechanical. It’s not what you’re looking for, not tonight.

You move again, this time more insistent, straddling his waist, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to ground yourself—or maybe trying to ground him. You tilt his chin toward you, forcing his eyes to meet yours, but they’re glassy, distant, reflecting the dull light of the lamp more than any real emotion. “Are you even here?” you ask, half-joking, but the frustration behind your words cuts through the haze in the air.

“Yeah,” he mutters, but there’s no conviction in his voice. His eyes flicker to the ceiling again, avoiding yours, like he’s searching for an answer there that he can’t find in you.

You let out a sharp breath, your fingers tightening on his chest as you lean down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s supposed to feel familiar, intimate. But even then, his response is slow, almost hesitant, like he’s going through the motions, doing what’s expected but feeling none of it.

Your heart sinks a little, and you pull back just enough to study his face, the way his jaw tenses and his gaze remains distant. The dim light casts long shadows across his features, making him look older, more worn down than he should. Something is eating at him, gnawing at the edges of whatever you have left between you.

“What’s wrong with you?” The words come out more accusatory than you intend, but the irritation bubbling inside you won’t let it rest. You both know what this is—it’s been like this for months now. Physical, surface-level. No connection. No real emotion. But tonight, it feels worse. Heavier.

He finally shifts beneath you, his fingers brushing against your hip, but there’s no spark in the touch, no warmth. “It’s nothing,” he says, his voice thin, barely more than a whisper.

“You always say that,” you mutter, the words bitter as they leave your mouth. You push yourself off of him, sitting at the edge of the bed, your hands in your lap as you glance over at the cluttered mess around you. Bottles, smoke, scattered clothes. It’s all a blur. “Is this really what we are now? Me trying, and you always somewhere else?”

You run a hand through your hair, glancing over your shoulder at him. Jeno doesn’t answer right away. He just rubs his face with his hand, his other arm falling limp beside him, like even the effort of responding is too much. “It’s just the game tomorrow,” he mumbles, but his words lack conviction.

“The game?” You repeat, incredulous. You turn to face him fully now, your frustration spilling over. “You’re thinking about basketball right now? We’re here, and all you care about is some stupid game?”

Jeno sits up, finally breaking the contact between you. His hands are tight, clenched in the sheets as he avoids your gaze. “It’s not just the game,” he snaps, his voice sharper now, the edge of something deeper cutting through. “It’s Mark.”

The name lands heavier than you expect. Mark Lee. Jeno’s half-brother. The one he rarely mentions, the one who has always been at the edges of your awareness but you’ve never had a reason to think about him. You’ve seen him around but only from a distance. He was never at the parties, never a part of the crowd Jeno ran with, always separate. always… distant. Mark’s never really mattered to you. Until now.

“What about him?” You ask, your voice slower, more careful.

Jeno lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He’s back,” he says, the frustration creeping into his voice.

“Back how?” You mumble, feeling the tension building. Mark had been around since you and Jeno were children but he had always been a part of the background, you never expected that to change.

Jeno shifts beside you, you watch his jaw clench, his fists tightening on the sheets. “Back into my life. Out of nowhere. He’s on the team now—just showed up like he had something to prove, and Coach didn’t waste a second. Benched me, gave him my spot.” The words are clipped, tight with barely concealed anger.

You sit there, trying to process it. You’ve seen him before, alone at the river court after hours, earbuds in, completely disconnected from the world you and Jeno are a part of. Calm, composed, like nothing touches him. It strikes you how different he is — how he’s always stood apart from Jeno’s chaos.

He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can feel the anger bubbling underneath, the years of resentment suddenly in the open. “My dad’s losing it. He never wanted Mark around. Hated him from the beginning—he’s always seen him as the mistake, the one thing he can’t stand to face. But now Mark’s back, and it’s like this unspoken challenge. Like Mark’s here to prove he’s better, or he can take everything that’s mine.”

You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to the intensity of his words. “Jeno… I’m sure it’s not that deep. It’s literally just basketball.”

His gaze snaps to you, deadpan. Anger flickers in his expression, a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there moments before. You’ve said the wrong thing. You can feel it. He looks at you like you don’t get it—like you don’t understand him at all.

There’s something wild in his eyes now, something untamed. “It’s never just been basketball,” he says, voice sharp, frustration lacing every word. “He’s always wanted everything I have. He’s always been there, lurking. And now he’s coming for everything—my spot, my life.” He pauses, his voice dropping lower, quieter, almost as if he’s afraid to say it out loud. “And you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sinking into the silence that stretches between you. You stare at him, stunned, trying to process what he’s just said. And you. A chill runs through you. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond, how to make sense of what he’s implying.

───────────────────────────────

Jeno pulls up to the river court erratically, tires skidding on the gravel as he parks. The way he moves—quick, aggressive—mirrors the tension that’s been building between him and Mark for days. You’d rather be anywhere but here, surrounded by the weight of this impending showdown, but for Jeno, this is his element. He thrives in moments like these, where all eyes are on him, where the crowd fuels his need for attention and validation. Every glance, every whispered conversation from the sidelines—Jeno drinks it all in, the girls batting their eyes at him only adding to his confidence.

You feel the stares too. You and Jeno aren’t just well-known—you’re desired. The kind of couple everyone talks about, whispers about behind your backs. People want to be you or be with you. You’ve seen the way their eyes follow you both, lingering a little too long, filled with envy and something darker. It’s intoxicating, usually. But tonight, the attention feels heavier, more suffocating, like it’s pressing down on you, trapping you in this moment where everything feels like it’s about to break.

The river court itself is buzzing, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The sky is a muted purple as dusk settles in, casting a hazy glow over the court. The river runs just beyond, the sound of water rushing in the background, a soft but constant reminder of the tension flowing through this moment. The court is cracked, worn from years of use, but it has a certain rawness to it—gritty, real. The streetlights flicker to life as people gather along the edges, their shadows long and looming over the pavement. There’s a strange energy in the air, a mix of excitement and unease, as more people file in. Jeno’s supporters are far bigger, louder, their voices filling the space. They want a show, and Jeno is ready to give it to them.

“Welcome to the river court showdown!” Lee Donghyuck’s voice cuts through the murmurs, playful and dramatic as he addresses the growing crowd. You don’t know him well—he’s Mark’s best friend, always lingering in the background. His narration carries a light-hearted tone, but the way his eyes flick between Mark and Jeno makes it clear: this is personal. “Ladies and gentlemen, the stakes are high, and you can feel the intensity in the air. We’ve got a battle of the brothers tonight. Mark Lee, our underdog, taking on the one and only Jeno Lee.”

Your gaze shifts to Jeno as he steps onto the court, confidence radiating from him as he bounces the basketball in his hands, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator surveying his territory. Across from him, Mark stands still, calm. He doesn’t thrive on the attention like Jeno does—he doesn’t even seem to notice the crowd. His focus is entirely on the game, his eyes sharp, determined.

Donghyuck’s voice carries on, “In one corner, we have Jeno—star player, campus legend. And in the other, Mark—cool, calm, and collected, with everything to lose.” There’s a hint of admiration in his tone when he talks about Mark, and you catch yourself paying closer attention to him too. You’ve never really noticed Mark before, but now, as he steps forward, there’s something about the way he carries himself that draws you in. The quiet confidence, the determination in his eyes… it’s hard not to watch him.

The game starts fast. Jeno wastes no time, dribbling aggressively, his body coiled with energy, every movement sharp, intentional. Mark, on the other hand, is methodical, almost serene in the way he moves, his eyes never leaving the ball. Jeno talks trash as they play, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You don’t belong here, Mark. This isn’t your world.”

Mark doesn’t respond, his focus unwavering. You can see it—the way his eyes track the ball, his calm under pressure. He’s not here to prove anything to Jeno; he’s here for himself. Every shot Mark takes is calculated, precise. He moves with a fluidity that surprises you, and you catch yourself watching more intently than you expected, noticing the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes sharpen when he finds an opening. There’s something intimate in the way he plays, an art to his determination that makes it impossible not to be drawn in.

“And Mark with the shot—boom! Nothing but net!” Donghyuck’s voice is filled with excitement, and the crowd reacts with gasps. You can hear the surprise rippling through them. Jeno wasn’t expecting this, and neither were they. “He’s got game, ladies and gentlemen. Jeno might have his work cut out for him.”

Jeno’s frustration grows with each point Mark scores. You can see it in the way his movements become more frantic, more desperate to overpower Mark. But Mark doesn’t falter. He doesn’t need to respond to Jeno’s taunts, and doesn't need to engage in the mind games. His eyes are always on the prize, his determination unshakable.

As the game continues, it’s clear that Jeno underestimated his brother. Mark isn’t just holding his own—he’s thriving. Each basket he makes feels like a step out of the shadow Jeno has cast over him for so long. For Jeno, this is about dominance, about keeping Mark out of his world. But for Mark, it’s about more than that. It’s about carving out his own place, about proving he can hold his own.

Jeno dribbles back, eyes narrowing as he pulls up from way beyond the three-point line, his body coiling with the kind of confidence that comes from years of dominance on the court. His movements are fluid, almost graceful as he rises to take the shot, the ball leaving his fingertips in a perfect arc. For a second, it looks like it’s going in—like he’s about to remind everyone why he’s the best. But just as the ball reaches its peak, Mark appears out of nowhere, launching himself into the air, his arm extending at just the right angle to block it.

Donghyuck's voice bursts out in excitement, “Jeno shoots… and misses!” he pauses, eyes wide with amazement, “holy crap, did you see that? Someday men will write stories about that block, children will be named after that block and Argentinian women will weep for it!”

The sound of the ball slapping against his hand echoes through the court, followed by the stunned gasps from the crowd. Jeno stumbles back, shock and disbelief flickering across his face as the ball ricochets away, the confidence he’d had only moments ago shattered.

“Mark with the rebound. He’s fast. He’s focused.” Donghyuck’s playful tone turns serious as the game nears its end. The tension in the crowd is palpable, and you can’t help but feel it too. But more than that, you’re watching Mark now—really watching him. The way he doesn’t let anything distract him, the quiet intensity in his eyes as he takes his final shot. There’s something about him in this moment that feels… different. It’s not an attraction, not yet, but a subtle curiosity. The way he moves, the determination etched into every step—it draws you in, and you can’t help but wonder what else lies beneath that calm exterior.

“And that’s it! Mark Lee wins!” Donghyuck shouts as the crowd erupts, the shock clear on everyone’s faces. Mark’s friends swarm the court, cheering loudly, their celebration unrestrained. You watch them from the sidelines, a small, subtle smile pulling at your lips. You don’t know why, but seeing Mark win… it makes you happy. There’s something about it that feels right, like you’ve been waiting for this moment without even realising it. You haven’t smiled like this in so long.

Jeno walks toward you, his face twisted in frustration and defeat. “It’s not a big deal,” you say quietly, trying to diffuse the tension.

Jeno laughs, though it’s not a sound filled with humour. “He’s not gonna quit the team now. I lost the bet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You bet on it?”

Jeno’s face hardens, and the way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat, but not in a good way. His silence is unsettling, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. “What did he bet if he won?” you ask, your voice quieter now, a sinking feeling creeping into your chest.

Jeno looks at you, his jaw tight. “You. He bet that he gets you.”

The words hit you like a slap, the weight of them sinking in slowly. You’re stunned, unsure how to feel. Part of you is angry at Jeno, furious that he would treat you like an object in some stupid rivalry. But another part of you—the part that watched Mark play tonight, the part that saw something different in him—can’t shake the way you felt watching him on that court.

───────────────────────────────

The drive back to Jeno’s house is suffocating, the silence hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break. You’ve tried speaking, tried breaking through the wall he’s built around himself, but he just stares straight out of the window, his jaw clenched tight as if he’s grinding through every word he doesn’t want to say. His silence grates on you, each passing second tightening the coil of frustration in your chest.

Finally, you snap, your voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why the fuck would you agree to let me get involved in any type of bet? Aren’t you my boyfriend? Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

Jeno doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to look at you. His expression remains stony, detached, like you’re not even there. It’s as if every emotion between you is locked behind that clenched jaw. The frustration inside you bubbles over, boiling under your skin as he pulls up to his apartment, the car jerking to a stop. Before you can say anything more, he throws the door open, slams it shut, and storms toward the house, leaving you sitting there, stunned.

You follow him, heart pounding, already knowing what you’re about to walk into. But it still hits harder than you expect when you push through the front door: another one of his fucking parties.

The bass from the music vibrates through the floor, the walls practically shaking from the force of it. The air inside is thick—sweat, alcohol, smoke—all mingling into a nauseating fog that clings to everything. Half the campus seems to be packed into the house, bodies pressed together, laughing, shouting, grinding. It’s chaos. It’s chaotic, a celebration party that was meant to mark Jeno’s victory but he lost. He didn’t expect to lose so now he’s throwing himself into this mess, trying to forget how Mark beat him.

Jeno doesn’t even glance your way as he strides straight into the centre of the party. The second he steps inside, the energy shifts. All eyes are on him. Girls bat their eyelashes, offering coy smiles and glances, waiting for him to notice. The guys are quick to slap him on the back, giving him their usual praise, eager to bask in the glow of his attention. He soaks it up, drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.

Without a second thought, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd. You stand there, invisible, feeling like an afterthought. You watch as Jeno gravitates toward a group of girls, the kind you’ve seen around before—the ones who always seem to be in his orbit, looking for a chance to get close. They laugh at something he says, their hands grazing his arm, their gazes hungry. And Jeno, your supposed boyfriend, leans into it.

You watch as one of the girls, dressed in a tight, glittering dress, dances close to him, her body pressed against his as they move to the beat. Jeno’s hands rest on her waist for just a second—nothing more than a passing touch, but it’s enough to sting. Enough to make your stomach twist. She leans in to whisper something in his ear, and he smirks. It’s a look you’ve seen before—not necessarily malicious, just confident, like he’s always known how to handle this kind of attention. His eyes are a bit hazy, a mix of alcohol and the mood of the night, and he doesn’t even glance in your direction.

The other girls join in, dancing around him, their bodies brushing against his as the music pulses through the room. Jeno doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop them, but he’s not exactly encouraging it either. He lets it happen, lets them touch him, lets the night sweep him up. You know it’s not about forgetting you, not about pushing boundaries—Jeno’s always had this natural pull, the kind that draws people in without him even trying. But tonight, it feels different, harder to shake off, like he’s just letting the moment take him, unaware of how much it’s affecting you.

Your chest tightens, and you stand there, rooted in place. It’s not like this is the first time—Jeno’s always been the guy who draws attention effortlessly, always the one people gravitate toward. But tonight, there’s something sharper about it, something that feels a little too close. You know he loves you, but watching him in the middle of it all, surrounded by all these girls, it feels like you’re invisible for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s forgotten how much he means to you. But deep down, you know it’s just him getting caught up in the night, not in them.

You make your way upstairs, needing space, needing to breathe. The noise below feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you. Jeno’s room is as much of a mess as the party downstairs, but it’s quieter at least. You go straight to his drawers, pulling out bottles of whatever alcohol you can find, downing shots without caring about the burn in your throat. Then it’s the drugs—whatever pills and powders he’s stashed away. You don’t think, you just take them. Anything to numb the anger, the frustration, the feeling of being trapped and ignored.

You grab your laptop from the desk and plug your phone into the speaker, blasting your own music. The party music below is lame, anyway. With the alcohol and drugs starting to take effect, you focus on your screen, your fingers flying across the keys as you work on your art assignment. You pull up the digital image you’ve been editing for days, your eyes scanning the lines and colours as you tweak the lighting, adjust the shadows—anything to keep your mind off Jeno, off the party, off everything.

An hour passes before Jeno stumbles into the room, high out of his mind. He’s still reeking of sweat and alcohol, his shirt half-untucked, his eyes bloodshot. He glances at your screen, scoffing.

“What are you wasting your time on now?”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to start another fight, but the irritation flares up anyway. You keep your eyes on the screen, editing a tiny detail on the photo, hoping he’ll leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks over and turns off the speaker, his smirk testing you.

“You know nobody listens to this crap,” he says, challenging you with his gaze.

“Why the fuck did you allow me to be bet on?” you snap, unable to hold back any longer. The question is sharp, bitter.

Jeno rolls his eyes and shrugs, as if it’s not worth discussing, as if it doesn’t matter. His casual dismissal makes your blood boil.

“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me,” you seethe, standing up from the bed. “Don’t give me attitude. You’re the one throwing your lame parties and celebrating what? That your brother beat your lame ass today?”

Jeno shakes his head, irritated. “That’s why I came here now,” he mutters, his words slurring slightly. “To ask you if you wanna come party with us.”

“‘Us’?” you ask, folding your arms. “So that means the guys and the girls you’re fucking around with? The ones you let grind all over you like you don’t have a girlfriend standing right there?”

Jeno’s expression tightens, his jaw clenching as the accusation hits him. His eyes flash with frustration, but for a moment, you catch a flicker of guilt before he quickly masks it. His lips press into a thin line, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if he’s holding back from snapping. He sighs, exasperated. “And me.”

“And the guys,” you repeat, rolling your eyes.

“You know what, Y/N,” he says, his tone shifting to frustration. “I’m getting really tired of this. I came here to spend time with you.” He points at you accusingly, his words biting.

“Yeah, me and half the campus,” you shoot back, referring to the party downstairs.

He throws his hands up in defeat. “Whatever. You wanna be a bitch, that’s cool. Just sit here and listen to your loser rock and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you glare at him, your voice sharp as a knife. “How about you don’t see me tomorrow?”

Jeno’s face falters for a moment, and he looks at you, something softer trying to break through the haze of alcohol and frustration. “Look… I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low. It’s an apology, but it feels half-hearted, like he’s saying it because he knows he should, not because he means it.

You shake your head, ignoring him as you push past. The anger burns too hot, and his apology barely registers. You brush yourself past him, the touch brief but cold, leaving him standing there in the doorway, stunned and alone.

You breathe heavily, trying to calm the anger still simmering in your chest. Each inhale feels shaky, your body betraying just how rattled you are. Jeno’s words, his actions downstairs, the careless way he allowed those girls to hang on to him like you didn’t matter—it all echoes in your mind. You need to escape, to get away from the suffocating weight of it all. With nothing else to do, you make your way downstairs, the pounding bass and shrill laughter filling the space like a cloud of smoke you can’t shake.

You’re halfway to the kitchen when a few of your friends spot you. Their faces light up, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. They pull you into a conversation, their voices high-pitched and bubbly as they compliment your dress, touching your arm and admiring the way the tight black fabric clings to your curves.

“Oh my god, that dress is insane on you!” one of them gushes, her eyes wide with admiration. “Jeno is so lucky…”

You smile, the kind of smile you’ve perfected—wide and warm, just enough to convince them you’re engaged. “Thanks,” you reply, your voice light, pretending to match their energy. It’s easy to slip into this act, to fake the excitement, the warmth. You’ve done it before. But inside, everything feels hollow, like there’s a wall between you and the rest of the world.

As they chatter on about the party, about boys, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress is tight, black, hugging every inch of your body. The neckline plunges just enough to catch attention, the fabric pulling at all the right places. Your makeup is flawless—lips painted a deep, sultry red, eyeshadow smoked out in a way that makes your eyes pop. To everyone else, you look like the life of the party, someone who belongs here. But looking at your own reflection, you feel detached, like you’re watching yourself from outside your body.

You’re about to respond to one of your friends when something catches your eye—someone. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice Mark Lee standing across the room. You freeze. Your friends’ voices fade into the background, the party around you slipping away as your focus zeroes in on him. What the hell is he doing here?

Mark doesn’t belong at parties like this. It’s obvious in the way he stands, surrounded by people yet somehow separate, distant. He’s smiling, his lips curved upward, but there’s a casual awkwardness in the way he holds himself. His shoulders are tense, and he fidgets with his hands as if he’s not entirely comfortable with the attention.

You watch as a few girls, practically draped over him, giggle and bat their eyelashes, clearly trying to catch his eye. Mark’s friends are laughing, slapping him on the back like they’re celebrating something. You can tell his status is rising after his win today, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how quickly people are flocking to him. It’s almost comical. Yet, unlike Jeno, Mark doesn’t seem to bask in it. He’s not soaking up the attention or feeding off it. Instead, he shifts awkwardly under their gazes, like the weight of it all makes him uneasy.

There’s something… different about him.

You find yourself studying the way his body language contrasts with the energy around him. Where Jeno would be centre stage, loving every second of the spotlight, Mark seems almost out of place, as if he’s trying to navigate a world that doesn’t quite fit him. It’s… endearing. His discomfort, the way he’s clearly not used to being the centre of attention—it draws you in, makes you curious in a way you hadn’t expected.

A small, quiet laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help but find it amusing, how different he is from everyone else in the room. And just as quickly as you let yourself slip into that moment, his eyes meet yours.

For a split second, your heart stutters, and your breath catches. His gaze holds yours, steady and intense. You can’t look away, even though every part of you wants to. It’s as if the rest of the room melts away, the noise, the people, the party—it all blurs into the background. There’s only him.

Mark’s eyes are dark, deeper than you’d expect, and the tension between you feels thick, almost suffocating. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something behind his stare—something that sends a jolt through you. It’s unsettling how deep it cuts, like he’s seeing straight through you, into a place you didn’t want anyone to go.

Your stomach twists, the feeling both terrifying and magnetic. You should look away, but you don’t. You hold his gaze for longer than you should, and the tension between you builds with every second that passes. His stare is steady, unblinking, as if he’s waiting for something, as if he’s testing you. And the longer it goes on, the more you feel like something has shifted—something subtle, something dangerous.

Finally, you tear your eyes away, your heart racing in your chest. You turn, your movements quick and sharp, almost desperate to break the connection. But the weight of his gaze lingers on you, even after you walk away, the tension hanging in the air long after the moment has passed. Something has shifted, and you can feel it deep in your bones.

You don’t know what it is, but you’re certain of one thing: you’re not ready to face it yet.

You storm off, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and betrayal, the thoughts of Jeno’s reckless behaviour and the bet swirling in your mind. Every step feels heavier, like the weight of everything that’s happened is pressing down on your chest. The muffled noise of the party below fades into the background as you climb the stairs, heading straight for Jeno’s room. The air feels thick, the kind of tension that wraps around you and makes it hard to breathe.

He bet on you.

The thought keeps ringing in your mind, making your stomach churn. It’s a hollow realisation, but one you can’t shake—like every guy in your life somehow views you as a prize, something to win or lose. Your chest tightens with anger, but it’s not just aimed at Jeno. It’s aimed at Mark too. He was part of it. Part of the game, the manipulation.

You reach Jeno’s room and shove the door open, needing the space, needing to breathe. The familiar smell of his cologne mixed with weed hits you. The room is a mess, clothes and empty bottles scattered everywhere, a chaotic reflection of everything wrong between you and him. You step inside, your hands trembling slightly as you try to make sense of everything swirling in your mind.

But before you can take a breath, you hear footsteps behind you.

Your heart skips, the sudden sound catching you off guard. You whip around, expecting Jeno, but instead, it’s Mark standing in the doorway. His expression unreadable, his hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Hey,” Mark says, his voice soft but carrying through the tension in the room.

You stand in shock, your eyes narrowing in on him. The last person you want to see right now is Mark Lee, of all people. “What do you want? Why are you following me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend, but you don’t care. The anger flares up, twisting in your chest. “Why are you even in Jeno’s room? Do you want me to call him?”

Mark’s expression shifts, his lips curling into a half-smirk that makes your blood boil. “Yeah, you won’t do that.” he says, voice calm but biting. “Bit of a weird relationship you guys have, huh? You’re his girlfriend, but he spends the night flirting and touching other girls?”

His words hit harder than you expect, cutting deep. You swallow, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling inside you, but it spills over anyway. “You’re not allowed to talk about my relationship,” you snap, stepping closer, the distance between you narrowing. “How dare you… how dare you tell Jeno that you wanted me if you won the game earlier?”

Mark chuckles, the sound low and dry. “Just when I think Jeno couldn’t be more of a jerk,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I changed my mind, alright? I agreed that if I won, I’d quit the team. Did he bother telling you that, or did he just let you believe the worst?”

You freeze, stunned. The weight of his words hangs heavy between you. “Why would you… why would you want to quit the team?”

Mark’s expression softens for a moment, the tension easing slightly from his posture. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I’m tired of this,” he says, his voice quieter now, more genuine. “I don’t want to be in Jeno’s world anymore, competing with him over every little thing. Basketball used to be fun for me, but not when it’s all about one-upping him. It’s exhausting.”

You stare at him, processing the weight of what he’s just said. He’s not just tired of the rivalry—he’s tired of everything that comes with it, the constant competition, the games, the need to prove something. It’s so different from the way Jeno sees things.

You truthfully had no idea how intertwined Mark and Jeno’s lives had become recently. It feels strange, realising you’ve been standing on the outside of something so tangled. You’re meant to be Jeno’s girlfriend, yet you’ve never seen this side of his life—not until today when he mentioned Mark while getting ready for their showdown at the river court. That was the first time he had ever really talked about his half-brother with you, and even then, it was brief, distant, like he was giving you only the surface.

And now here you are, standing with Mark, getting a glimpse into the mess that you’ve somehow been pulled into without fully understanding it. It’s like you’ve been involved in their rivalry without even realising it, and yet you can see the toll it’s taken on Mark. The weariness in his voice, the way he talks about Jeno—it’s clear he’s already fed up. He’s exhausted, but from your perspective, you’ve only been witnessing it from the outside, catching pieces of a story you were never let into.

You’re confused, not truly understanding the dynamics between Mark and Jeno or the tension in their family. You’ve met Jeno’s dad before, and it didn’t take long to realise he’s an asshole. Controlling, dismissive, and always pushing Jeno toward something—whether it’s basketball or his own toxic expectations. Now, hearing Mark’s side of things, it makes sense why he wouldn’t want to be associated with their dad or get sucked into Jeno’s world. You’re not surprised Mark is tired of it all.

You notice the sadness lingering in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features, and it makes something twist in your chest. It’s clear he’s been carrying the weight of this rivalry far longer than you realised. You don’t fully understand the complexities between them, and a part of you wonders if you ever will.

You change the subject, not wanting to push him further into a conversation that clearly brings up so much for him.

“So… you did bet on me at first,” you murmur, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Why?”

Mark steps closer, and suddenly the air in the room feels different, heavier with a tension that has nothing to do with anger. His eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “Because I’ve always noticed you,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “The way you laugh when you think no one’s watching. The way you bite your lip when you’re lost in your own thoughts. The way you don’t let anyone in, but you have so much more to give than what people see.”

The words send a jolt through you, leaving you speechless, flushed. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The room feels smaller, the tension between you thick and suffocating.

Just as quickly as he’s drawn you in, Mark shifts the conversation, breaking the intensity of the moment. His gaze drifts to the bedside table, where a stack of vinyl records sits. He curled an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “No way Jeno listens to music this good,” he comments, his fingers brushing over the edge of a record. “Oasis?”

You blink, the sudden change in tone catching you off guard. “He doesn’t,” you mumble, glancing at the records. “They’re mine.”

Mark’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Didn’t think Jeno had that kind of taste. But you… this makes sense. You’ve got good taste.”

You shake your head slightly, still processing the shift in the conversation. Jeno always made fun of your music, always complained about how outdated and boring it was. But Mark… Mark seems to appreciate it.

He looks around the room again and spots your laptop, the digital art project you’ve been working on still open on the screen. He steps closer, leaning over to get a better look. “This… this is good,” he says, sounding almost impressed. “Really good.”

You brush off the compliment, shrugging. “It’s nothing, just something I mess around with.”

“No,” Mark says firmly, turning to face you, his eyes serious. “You’re talented. You need to take this seriously. Be proud of yourself for once.”

You blink, the unexpected praise catching you off guard. Jeno never really cared about your art. Whenever you’d show him a new project, he’d glance at it, offer a half-hearted “cool,” and move on to whatever was on his mind. But hearing it from Mark—someone who’s not even in your life—feels different. It feels real.

You turn away slightly, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, trying to dismiss it, but Mark doesn’t let it go.

“It is a big deal,” he insists, his voice soft but firm. “Look, I know I’m a complete nobody to you, and I don’t know everything about you, but I can tell that this… this is something you care about. You’re good, really good, and you shouldn’t brush that off.”

You swallow hard, his words sinking deeper than you expected. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he sees more than what you’re used to showing people. Like he’s seeing the side of you that even Jeno never bothered to notice.

The tension between you shifts again, but this time it’s softer, quieter. You feel yourself calming down, the anger that had burned so hot before now fading into something else—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels like Mark is seeing you, really seeing you, and that makes your chest tighten in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The question slips out before you can stop it, and you feel vulnerable, like you’re revealing more than you want to.

Mark’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe because someone should be,” he says quietly. “Someone should tell you how good you are. How much you matter. How much you deserve more than what you’re settling for.”

The words hit you hard, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. Mark’s standing so close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and for a moment, you forget everything else. You forget about the party downstairs, the chaos with Jeno, the bet. All you can focus on is the way Mark is looking at you, the sincerity in his eyes.

You want to say something, anything, but the words are stuck in your throat. There’s a strange electricity in the air between you, like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous and exciting all at once. Your mind is telling you to stop, to pull back, but your body doesn’t move.

And then, before you can fully process what’s happening, Mark reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your arm. The touch is soft, tentative, but it sends a jolt through you.

“Mark…” you murmur, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he’s already pulling his hand back, stepping away just enough to give you space, the intensity of the moment easing. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a small laugh, but it’s not out of amusement—it’s out of the tension that’s still lingering between you both.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I don’t know, I felt like you needed to hear that.”

You stand there, your heart racing, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. Everything feels charged, like you’re balancing on a knife’s edge. You know you shouldn’t feel anything like this. He’s Jeno’s brother, after all, and this is already messy enough. But the way Mark looks at you, the way he speaks to you—it feels different. Different from Jeno. Different from anyone.

“I should go,” you finally say, the words shaky and unconvincing.

But before you can make a move, Mark stops you again, his voice soft but commanding. “Wait.”

You turn back, meeting his eyes again, and the tension that had briefly eased floods back, stronger than ever. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are full of something you can’t quite place.

“Why are you with him?” Mark asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because deep down, you’re not sure you know the answer anymore. The connection you once had with Jeno feels distant, hollow, like it’s slipping through your fingers the more you try to hold on.

Mark takes a step closer, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. His presence is overwhelming, and for the first time tonight, you feel truly seen. Not as Jeno’s girlfriend, not as someone who’s part of the chaos—but as yourself.

“Because,” you start, your voice shaky. “It’s easier than admitting that maybe we’re not right for each other. It’s easier than dealing with everything that’s falling apart.”

Mark’s eyes soften, and for a moment, he looks like he understands you in a way no one else has. He doesn’t push you for more, doesn’t make you feel guilty for your honesty. He just listens, and that feels like something you’ve been missing for a long time.

There’s a long silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy, charged with all the things you’re both not saying, but also filled with a strange sense of calm.

And then, Mark’s voice breaks through the quiet.

“You deserve better than ‘easy,’” he says softly, and his words sink deep into your chest, stirring something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long.

The room feels smaller, the air between you buzzing with something electric. For the first time, you wonder if maybe Mark’s right. Maybe you do deserve better. Maybe ‘easy’ isn’t enough anymore.

And just like that, everything between you shifts again.

───────────────────────────────

The next morning is a blur of regret and a pounding headache, the hangover hitting you harder than usual. You drag yourself out of bed, thoughts of last night swirling in your mind. Mark. You can’t stop thinking about him, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It’s unsettling how much it affected you, how easily he got under your skin. You’d never noticed him before, never cared to, but now… now it’s different.

He looked right into you, saw things no one else had ever bothered to. That scared you. How could he do that in just one conversation? It’s unsettling how easily he got under your skin. You’d always been in control of how people saw you—polished, popular, the girl everyone wanted to be. But Mark… he saw past all of that. And you hated that. You couldn’t allow it.

As you walk through campus, your usual routine kicks in. The stares, the whispers—they follow you like they always do. You’re well-known, well-liked, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. You slip back into that role easily, the confident girl everyone looks up to, the one they envy or want to be. But today, it feels different, like something’s off. Like you are off. The mask you wear is starting to slip.

You push open the heavy doors to the stadium, the noise of squeaking sneakers and the thud of basketballs filling the air. The gym is mostly empty except for the cheer squad and the basketball team, both deep into practice for the big away game this weekend. The space is vast, the polished wood floor stretching out in front of you, the high ceilings making the place feel both overwhelming and hollow.

Karina, your best friend, is standing in the middle of the court, already in full drill-sergeant mode. She’s wearing the same cheer outfit as you—tiny, sultry, and sexy. The short skirt clings to her hips, barely covering her thighs, and the tight top shows off just enough skin to turn heads. Her long black hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her dark eyes flash with intensity as she barks orders at the other girls. Karina’s passionate, sometimes too much so, running practices like boot camp. You’ve known her forever, and while she thrives on drama, partying, and popularity, she’s a good person underneath all that chaos. She’s just someone who loves living on the edge and always ends up in trouble.

“You’re late,” Karina snaps when she sees you, her voice sharp. She rolls her eyes dramatically and gestures for you to start warming up. “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, don’t even bother showing up.”

You give her a half-hearted shrug, too hungover and distracted to care. “I overslept,” you mutter, pulling your hair into a ponytail and adjusting the skirt of your cheer uniform. The fabric clings to your skin, the skirt short enough to leave little to the imagination. You stretch, trying to ignore the lingering headache and the thoughts of Mark that refuse to leave your mind.

Karina goes back to yelling at the other girls, demanding perfection in the routine, and you start practising alongside them. The others around you are gossiping, their voices filled with excitement as they gush over the basketball players—how hot they look in their uniforms, who hooked up with who, and which guy is the best in bed. You block them out, going through the motions of the routine as if on autopilot.

But then, you feel it again. That familiar, heavy gaze. You lift your head, and your heart skips when you see him.

Mark.

He’s across the court, dribbling a basketball with effortless ease, but his eyes are on you. He’s wearing the team’s uniform tank top, his last name, ‘Lee,’ boldly printed on the back. The sleeveless jersey hugs his broad shoulders, showing off his muscular arms, the definition of his biceps catching your eye. It fits him well—too well. The fabric clings to his torso, outlining the muscles beneath, and you curse yourself for noticing.

What a fucking liar. Didn’t he say he was quitting the team? So why was he here now, practising like nothing had changed?

Mark dribbles closer, and as he moves past you, you can’t stop yourself from striking up the question that’s been bugging you. “I thought you quit,” you say, your voice sharp with accusation.

He pauses, turning to you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I did,” he replies smoothly. “But I realised something this morning—this court is where I belong. No one’s gonna stop me from being here. Not Jeno. Not anyone.”

His words are like a challenge, and it makes something in your chest tighten. He stands there, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to say something more. You narrow your gaze, trying to keep the frustration from bubbling over. His presence was throwing you off balance, making you question things you didn’t want to face.

Mark doesn’t seem fazed by your silence. In fact, he starts talking again, asking about cheer practice, making small talk like nothing’s wrong. But you can’t let yourself engage. You give him blunt, clipped responses, barely meeting his gaze. You can’t afford to let him break through your walls again. Not in front of Karina and the other girls.

He huffs, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “Why the hell are you a cheerleader anyway? You’re the least cheery person I know.”

Before you can answer, you notice the other cheerleaders staring, their eyes flicking between you and Mark. Some of them—the same girls who were flirting with him at the party—are watching closely, whispering to each other, their expressions curious. You feel exposed under their gaze, like they can see right through you, like they know something’s happened between you and Mark even though that was far from the reality.

You force yourself to act indifferent, cold. You put up the walls you’re so good at building, the ones that keep people from seeing the real you. But Mark’s not fooled. He sees through it, and it only makes him more determined. His gaze lingers, and you can feel the weight of it even as you turn away, trying to focus on the routine.

The tension between you is subtle, a quiet current that hums beneath the surface. You don’t know him well enough for it to be anything more, but there’s something about the way Mark watches you—calm, measured, like he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unsettling how easily he manages to chip away at the front you’ve put up, the one you use to keep everyone at a distance. He doesn’t push, doesn’t challenge you outright, but his presence is enough to make you feel exposed in a way you’re not used to.

What bothers you the most is how Mark seems to notice things others don’t, like he’s already picking up on pieces of you that you barely acknowledge yourself. He doesn’t say much, but the way he looks at you—steady, unflinching—feels like he’s seeing past the version of you that everyone else accepts without question. It’s not that he’s right, exactly, but the fact that he might be makes you uneasy.

Mark catches you stealing small glances at him as the practice goes on. You falter in your movements just enough for him to notice, and each time you feel his eyes on you, your skin prickles with awareness. It’s infuriating, really—the way he’s always watching, like he’s waiting for you to crack. And what’s worse, you can’t stop yourself from glancing back.

You refocus, forcing your attention on Karina, who’s still barking orders at the squad, her long black hair swaying with every step. She’s relentless, her intensity dialled up to eleven. “Come on, Y/N,” she snaps, clapping her hands. “You’re half-assing it today. Get your head in the game!”

Karina’s passion for cheer is unmatched. She runs these practices like military drills, pushing everyone to their limits. It’s part of why she’s cheer captain, part of why the girls respect her, but it’s also why they gossip about how extra she is behind her back. But you know that her heart is in the right place. She loves this life. The drama, the popularity, the excitement of being at the centre of it all.

The cheer team lines up for the final drill, a complicated pyramid. As you climb into position, you catch Mark watching again, this time closer than before. He’s dribbling lazily nearby, as if he’s waiting for an excuse to talk to you. Your stomach twists, frustration and something else swirling in your gut. You turn away, focusing on the balance, ignoring him.

But as practice winds down, and you’re stretching by the edge of the court, you feel his shadow fall over you. He’s closer now, leaning against the wall, the basketball spinning lazily in his hand. You can’t ignore him any longer.

“I thought you were serious about quitting,” you mutter, not looking at him, your fingers digging into your muscles as you stretch.

Mark doesn’t answer right away, his silence speaking volumes. When he finally does, his voice is low, laced with that teasing tone he always seems to have around you. “I was. But sometimes plans change.” His eyes are locked on yours, and you hate how steady his gaze is, how it makes you feel like he’s peeling away your defences one layer at a time.

You scoff, rolling your shoulders back as you stand. “You and Jeno are going to kill each other. What’s the point?”

Mark’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening for a brief second before his usual calm mask returns. “Maybe. Or maybe this is the only way to settle things between us.”

You’re taken aback by the intensity in his voice, but you don’t show it. Instead, you shrug, grabbing your water bottle and taking a long drink. “Whatever. Just don’t drag me into it.”

Mark steps closer, and you freeze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “You’re already in it,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Whether you want to be or not.”

You blink, trying to process what Mark means. Of course, you’re involved—you’re Jeno’s girlfriend, after all. But there’s something in the way Mark says it, something that feels deeper than just the rivalry between him and his brother. He’s looking at you like he knows something you don’t, like he sees the storm brewing before you even realise it’s there.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the doors to the court open with a loud bang, the sound echoing across the gym.

All eyes instinctively glance toward the entrance as Jeno strides in, exuding the kind of confidence that makes it seem like he owns the place. There’s an effortless swagger in his step, the kind that turns heads, drawing attention without even trying.

He’s late, but he doesn’t look like someone who’s been through a rough night. His hair, though slightly tousled, is styled in that perfect, careless way that still manages to look deliberate. His basketball jersey clings to his broad shoulders, the material showcasing the lean muscles of his arms as it moves with every step he takes. His name ‘Lee,’ is plastered boldly across his back. His skin glows with a faint sheen, his body radiating a kind of heat that makes you—despite everything—take notice.

Coach Suh’s voice booms across the court, cutting through the tension. “Lee Jeno! You’re late! Get your ass over here—this isn’t a damn joke.”

Jeno just shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The sound of his laugh echoes through the gym, but it’s empty, lacking its usual charm. Instead of walking toward the rest of the team, he strides toward you and Mark, his gaze flicking between the two of you.

His expression is tight, frustration radiating off him, but it’s not just about being late. The way his eyes fix on Mark makes your stomach clench—this wouldn’t end well.

“So,” Jeno drawls, his voice low and laced with bitterness, “not only do you want my life, my spot on the team, but you also want my girl?”

The words hang heavy in the air, his accusation sharp. Mark doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing as he watches Jeno, his calm exterior refusing to crack.

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you feel the tension between them ramping up like a ticking time bomb about to explode. You can see it in Jeno’s posture—the way his fists clench, the way he’s getting ready to square up and the way his jaw tightens—he’s not going to let this go easily.

You step in quickly, hoping to defuse the situation before it spirals out of control. “Jeno, let’s just go, yeah?” you say softly, stepping closer to him. You put your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, hoping your touch will calm him down. “We’ll skip practice and hang out like we used to before. Please, let’s just leave.”

For a moment, Jeno doesn’t move, his gaze still locked on Mark, but then he turns to you, his features softening just slightly. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Baby, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You swallow, the tension in the air heavy, but you nod, wanting to end this. “It’s okay,” you whisper back. “Let’s just move on, okay?”

Jeno pulls back, his smirk returning as he glances at Mark one last time before turning fully to you. He speaks loud enough for Mark to hear, completely ignoring his brother’s presence. “I’ll pick you up later, yeah? We haven’t fucked in so long. I’ll make sure you have a better time than last night.”

You freeze, his words making your skin prickle. It’s meant to sound playful, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something bitter and insecure. You can sense it in the way he’s trying too hard, covering his unease with cocky charm.

But you’re horny, above everything else, you really want cock. His cock.

“Okay,” you smile, leaning up to kiss Jeno softly, the warmth of his lips against yours a temporary distraction. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of Mark’s eyes burning into you from across the court, watching the whole interaction unfold.

───────────────────────────────

The gym was alive with the roaring of the crowd, the heavy pounding of feet against the polished hardwood echoing through the space. It was the big away game, the one everyone had been talking about for weeks. You stood with the rest of the cheer team, pom-poms in hand, cheering and supporting the boys. The energy was electric, the entire stadium buzzing with anticipation. You could feel the excitement coursing through the air, a mix of tension and adrenaline that had everyone on edge.

The crowd was packed, faces blurred together, and their cheers were deafening. The thud of basketballs against the court, the squeak of sneakers, You glanced around, spotting Karina, who was already screaming her head off, hyping up the team and the crowd, her long black hair bouncing with every movement. She was intense, as always. The bright cheer uniforms only added to the energy, and despite the tension in the air, you couldn’t deny how it all came together. You loved being part of the noise, even if you felt disconnected at times.

Your eyes were naturally drawn to the court, where the basketball players were in full motion. Mark was everywhere—sprinting down the court, dribbling the ball, his focus intense. He was confident, fully immersed in the game, his movements fluid and controlled. It was hard not to notice how good he was, how easily he fit into the rhythm of the team despite everything that had happened. He belonged there, and it was becoming more obvious with every passing second. The crowd roared when he made another shot, and you could see the respect from his teammates growing, even from the coach, who’d been unsure about Mark’s return at first.

You’ve crossed paths with Mark more than ever lately. Now that he’s back on the team, it’s like you can’t escape him. Every practice, every game, he’s there. At first, you tried not to think much of it. You were with Jeno, after all. But there’s something about Mark that draws your attention, whether you want to admit it or not. Something in the way he moves on the court, the quiet confidence he carries with him, a calmness that contrasts with Jeno’s intensity.

The tension between them is palpable. Jeno had always been the star of the team, the one everyone looked to. But ever since Mark returned, that’s been changing. Mark was gaining attention—not just from the coach but from the teammates too. He was good. Really good. And every time Mark made a clean shot, a perfect pass, it only seemed to stoke the frustration in Jeno’s eyes.

Jeno was playing tonight, just not in his usual position. And it was clear that something was off. Every time he had the ball, he hesitated, glancing toward Mark before passing to someone else. He was purposefully ignoring his brother, and you could see the frustration building. Mark was calling for the ball, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Come on, man! Pass the ball!” Mark shouted, motioning for the pass.

Jeno ignores him, pushing forward and taking the shot himself. It’s a miss, and the other team grabs the rebound. Mark’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes locked on Jeno, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The tension keeps building, and you feel it, feel it in the way Jeno glares at Mark during the timeout, feel it in the way Mark brushes past him, his shoulders stiff with barely contained anger. It’s only a matter of time before something snaps.

And then it does.

In the final quarter, with the clock winding down, Jeno gets the ball again. He dribbles down the court, and Mark is wide open, calling for it. The crowd yells for Jeno to pass, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes for a three-pointer, and the ball bounces off the rim. Mark’s face tightens in frustration, and as soon as the play stops, he storms over to Jeno.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mark demands, shoving Jeno’s shoulder. “You had to prove something by missing a shot you knew you couldn’t make?”

Jeno’s eyes flash with anger as he pushes Mark back, his jaw clenched tight. “You think I’m gonna let you take my place? You don’t get it, Mark. This was my team before you showed up, and it’ll be my team long after you leave.”

Mark doesn’t back down. He steps closer, his voice calm but cold. “You don’t own this team, Jeno. Stop acting like I’m here to take everything from you.”

Jeno scoffs, his voice rising, the frustration boiling over. “That’s exactly what you’re doing! You want everything I have—my spot on the court, my life, my girl—” He stops short, his eyes darting to you for a split second before he looks back at Mark. “You want what’s mine, and you’re not getting it.”

Mark’s jaw clenches, and before anyone can react, Jeno takes a swing. The punch catches Mark in the chest, but Mark doesn’t fall back. Instead, he lunges forward, shoving Jeno hard enough to send him stumbling back. The crowd gasps as the tension explodes, and the game halts as the two brothers start throwing punches.

It’s chaos. They’re grappling, shoving each other, fists flying as they tumble to the ground. Teammates rush in to pull them apart, but the damage is done. The anger, the resentment—it’s all out in the open now.

“Is that what this is about?” Mark growls, his voice low as he’s dragged back by a teammate. “You’re scared I’ll take everything you think is yours?”

Jeno spits, his eyes burning with rage as he shrugs off the hands holding him back. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Just because you walked back into my life and everyone suddenly loves you. But you’re nothing, Mark. You’ve always been nothing.”

The words sting, and you can see it in Mark’s eyes. There’s hurt beneath the anger, hurt that Jeno’s words have dug up, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he straightens, his chest heaving with effort as he holds Jeno’s gaze. “I never wanted to take anything from you, Jeno,” Mark says quietly, but the weight behind his words hits hard. “I just wanted a chance to be something without having to live in your shadow.”

Jeno doesn’t respond. He just glares, his fists still clenched, and it’s clear that, despite everything, he’s not ready to let go of his anger.

You watch from the sidelines, your heart racing. The fight, the words they’re throwing at each other—it’s like you’re watching years of tension unfold right in front of you. And though you know you should be on Jeno’s side, your heart twists when you see the way Mark looks, the way he’s trying to hold himself together while everything falls apart around him.

Jeno looks at you, expecting you to come to his side, to back him up like you always have. But you can’t. Not this time. Not when you can see the pain in Mark’s eyes, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide. You hesitate, your mind racing with everything that’s happened, torn between the loyalty you owe to Jeno and the empathy you feel for Mark.

Before you can think too much, you find yourself stepping forward, your voice soft but clear. “Jeno… maybe it’s time to let this go.”

Jeno’s eyes snap to you, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. “What? You’re taking his side now?”

“I’m not taking sides,” you say quietly, but the look in Jeno’s eyes tells you he doesn’t believe that. “I just think this has gone too far. Both of you need to stop before it gets worse.”

Mark stands there, silent but watching you, his gaze steady, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next. And for a moment, you catch the flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or understanding. It’s brief, but it’s there.

Jeno lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Of course. Of course, you’d side with him.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of Jeno’s words, but before you can respond, the coach steps in, finally ending the fight and calling off the game.

As the crowd disperses and the players start to leave the court, you find yourself standing in the middle of it all, your heart heavy with everything that’s happened. Jeno storms off without another word, and Mark lingers for a moment, his eyes meeting yours once more before he turns and walks away. Jeno’s jaw was clenched, fists still balled as he stormed off the court. He didn’t look at you, not even once. Not after the fight started and not when he walked away, the tension radiating off him in waves.

You waited outside the locker room, hoping things would cool off, but Jeno was waiting for you. The moment your eyes met his, you knew this wasn’t going to be just another argument. There was something different in his gaze—something deeper, angrier.

“You let him get to you,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you stood before him, trying to keep your own emotions in check.

Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You think this is just about him getting on my nerves?” His voice was sharp, filled with a bitterness that made your stomach twist. “It’s never been that simple. He keeps trying to edge me out. First, he steps onto the court, taking my place there, and now…”

He paused, the weight of his words heavy in the air. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something raw in his gaze, something that made your chest tighten.

“And now it feels like he’s trying to take you too,” Jeno muttered, the accusation hanging between you like a loaded gun.

The shock hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless for a moment. “What? What are you even saying?” you stammered, though the crack in your voice betrayed the strength you were trying to summon. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Jeno’s frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I’m not blind, Y/N. I see it. The way things have changed between us… The way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. You’ve been different, distant. You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was laced with something that felt like betrayal, something that cut deep even before you could fully process what he was accusing you of.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, they felt hollow.

“Am I?” He scoffed, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, the tears already threatening to spill over. “I’ve been trying, Jeno. I—”

“Trying?” he cut you off, his voice harsh and biting. “This is you trying? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re slipping away from me. You’re slipping away, Y/N, and it’s because of him. Admit it.”

The tears finally broke free, sliding down your cheeks before you could stop them. It was too much—the accusations, the anger, the way he looked at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. “I can’t do this,” you murmured, shaking your head, your voice barely holding together. “I’m trying, but you—”

Without waiting for his response, you turned and bolted, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. The sounds of the gym—shouts, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the dull thud of the basketball—faded behind you as you disappeared into the dimly lit hallways. The air was colder here, the emptiness wrapping around you like a shroud. But it couldn’t stop the sobs from rising in your throat, harsh and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You couldn’t remember the last time you cried. Not like this. Not the kind of tears that felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out, like they’d been building for years, waiting for this very moment to break free.

Your chest heaved, your breaths ragged and uneven as you stumbled into a dark corner, sliding down against the cool wall. The hallway was silent, save for the sound of your sobs echoing back at you. You felt so raw, so exposed, like every layer of protection you’d built over the years had been stripped away in an instant. Vulnerability wasn’t something you allowed yourself to feel often—maybe ever—but here you were, unable to stop it.

Tears blurred your vision, and you pressed your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. But it was no use. The emotions had taken hold, refusing to let go. The anger, the hurt, the fear of everything unraveling—it was too much.

For so long, you had kept it all together, every crack patched up with a smile or a dismissive shrug. But this time… this time you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop the flood. And it terrified you because you didn’t know what came next. What was left when all the masks came off, when the facade you’d worked so hard to maintain finally crumbled?

You don’t know how long you’d been sitting there, curled up on the cold bench in one of the quieter hallways, your face buried in your hands as sobs wracked your body. Time felt like it had lost meaning, and you were too exhausted to care.

But when you heard soft footsteps approaching, you didn’t move. You didn’t have the energy. A familiar presence settled next to you. You felt it before you saw him, the warmth of his body close to yours, the quiet concern that radiated from him.

“Y/N,” Mark’s voice was soft, almost tentative. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

The question felt absurd, considering the mess you were in, but something about the way he asked it—so gently, so genuinely—caught you off guard. He wasn’t demanding answers, wasn’t prying. He just wanted to be there.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, trying to brush him off, but your voice cracked, betraying you. Your hands trembled as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but it was no use. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Mark didn’t push. Instead, he quietly sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its simplicity. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just stayed there, his quiet strength offering more support than you’d realized you needed.

And then, before you knew it, you were crying again. Harder this time. The tears came in waves, overwhelming and unstoppable, and you felt yourself crumbling under the weight of everything you’d been holding in.

Without a word, Mark wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest in a gesture so simple, yet so needed. He held you close, one hand gently rubbing your back as the other rested on your shoulder. It wasn’t forceful or overwhelming—it was soft, steady, like he was offering you a safe space to break down.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing, steady. “You don’t have to hold it in.”

His words were like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go. To stop pretending, stop fighting. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his chest as the tears flowed freely.

Mark held you through it all, his presence grounding you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in this. He didn’t say much—just whispered reassurances when the sobs became too much, his hand continuing its slow, comforting motion on your back.

When your sobs finally began to subside, you pulled back slightly, your eyes puffy and red, your breath still shaky. You met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide.

He wasn’t judging you. He wasn’t expecting you to be strong or put together. He just… saw you. The real you. The vulnerable, broken, messy you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with emotion.

Mark’s gaze softened, his hand still resting gently on your back. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to go through anything alone. You deserve better”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. There was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you, that made you believe him. Made you feel like, for the first time in a long time, someone saw you for who you really were—and didn’t turn away.

You nodded, your throat tight, and Mark gave you a small, understanding smile, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before he pulled back, giving you space to breathe.

───────────────────────────────

The next few weeks passed in a blur of practices, games, and strained silence. You and Jeno had settled into a routine of avoidance—every fight left more scars, and neither of you seemed to know how to bridge the growing gap. Every interaction felt heavy, filled with unspoken words and bubbling frustration that neither of you could release. Even the once-effortless sexual connection between you had started to lose its spark, leaving behind a dull ache in its place.

But the only constant, ironically, was Mark.

But you tried to hide it because Jeno was beginning to suspect something. You denied all accusations. Maybe you were just acting petty, trying to make a point and prove Jeno that he was wrong even though you knew he was right. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were scared—scared to open up to Mark, scared to admit that the feelings stirring inside you weren’t as simple as you wanted them to be.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that your stolen glances, the way you lingered a bit longer than you should during practices, was just harmless. But deep down, you knew better. Something was growing between you two, an unspoken pull that had you circling each other in quiet tension.

Today, it all came to a head during practice.

You moved through the stretches with fluid precision, your body bending and arching with every calculated motion. The gym lights flickered overhead, casting a golden hue on your skin as you twisted and turned, giving the cheerleaders around you a preview of the sultry moves you had perfected. Each stretch felt like a deliberate invitation, especially when you bent low, ass pushing out, skirt rising just high enough to leave little to the imagination. The hem of your cheerleading skirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs, teasing the smooth expanse of your skin as you moved.

Your body felt alive, the beat of the music in the background fueling the slow, rhythmic sway of your hips. You could feel the stretch in your thighs, the way the muscles tensed and released as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, the fabric of your skirt rising dangerously high with each movement. Your arms lifted above your head, drawing attention to the curve of your waist, the way the tight cheer top clung to your chest, accentuating every dip and curve.

You knew eyes were on you. You felt it.

But one set of eyes burned hotter than the rest.

Mark’s gaze was a constant, heavy presence, dragging over every inch of your body as you moved. He wasn’t trying to hide it. No, he wasn’t even subtle. Every time you bent low or did a quick flip of your hair, his eyes were right there, drinking in the sight of your ass, the bare stretch of your thighs. His gaze was intense, following the rise and fall of your body as though he was committing every detail to memory.

Your skirt rose a little higher as you shifted into a new move, a slut drop, your thighs tightening as you lowered your body, giving him an even better view. You felt the air against your skin, the way the heat of the gym mingled with the cool brush of fabric as it rode up higher with each deliberate movement. It made you feel powerful. Sexy. You were showing off, and you knew it.

Mark’s reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened as he watched, his fingers gripping the basketball tighter than necessary, veins bulging along his forearm. The way his eyes roamed over you, dark with want, made a shiver run down your spine. He didn’t blink, didn’t even bother pretending to focus on the practice drills.

Instead, he was laser-focused on you.

You caught his gaze as you straightened up, standing tall with a cocky smirk tugging at your lips. His eyes stayed glued to you, a hungry look darkening his features. You felt a thrill rush through you, knowing you had his full attention, knowing he was checking you out in front of everyone. Your body burned under the weight of his stare, heat pooling low in your belly. It was addictive, the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour you right there in the middle of the gym.

You could feel Jeno’s eyes on you too, burning with barely concealed jealousy as he watched the unspoken tension pass between you and Mark. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t care. The power you felt from knowing Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off you only fueled you more. The harder Jeno stared, the deeper you sank into your movements, stretching further, leaning into the seductive rhythm of the routine.

And then it happened—Mark, distracted, let the basketball slip from his grip. The sound of it bouncing toward you pulled you from your trance just in time to see it come flying in your direction. You barely had time to react, the ball missing you by mere inches, the whoosh of air sending your hair flying.

The entire gym fell silent.

All eyes were on you now, the attention turning from curious whispers to outright gawking. The cheerleaders stopped mid-practice, their gazes shifting from you to Mark, wondering what the hell was going on. The basketball team paused, a few muttered chuckles floating through the air as the ball rolled to a stop at your feet.

Mark was still staring, his eyes now filled with something darker, more heated than before. The moment felt charged, the tension between you two palpable, hanging thick in the air. You could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, their confusion, their curiosity. But none of that mattered. All you could think about was the way Mark was looking at you—like he was undressing you with his eyes, like he couldn’t get enough.

You huffed, breaking the silence with a sarcastic snort. “Nice arms,” you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to shake off the tension.

Mark didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear it, his gaze burning into yours with a quiet intensity. “Nice ass,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dangerous, something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the air between you two thickening with a different kind of tension. You could feel the flush rising in your cheeks, the way your body responded to the boldness of his statement, to the low rasp of his voice. Your throat tightened, and for a split second, you forgot where you were, forgot that the entire gym was watching, that Jeno’s eyes were on you, burning with fury.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you stood there, locked in Mark’s gaze, the heat between you almost suffocating. It was subtle, so subtle that no one else in the gym could pick up on the charged moment passing between you two. But you felt it. You knew it. And from the way Mark’s eyes stayed on yours, dark and hungry, you knew he felt it too.

The whispers around you grew louder, and you could feel the cheerleaders and basketball players glancing at each other, sensing the tension but not quite understanding it. But the look on Jeno’s face said it all. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and suspicion as he watched the two of you, his body tense with barely concealed rage.

You could feel the weight of Jeno’s stare as he marched toward you, his presence heavy and commanding. “Let’s go,” he snapped, grabbing your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you toward him, his frustration barely hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t even glance at Mark, but you could feel the seething anger radiating off him in waves.

Mark’s eyes didn’t waver. He watched as Jeno led you away, his gaze steady, like he was daring you to say something, to do something. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The air between you and Mark was thick with tension, the kind that lingered even as you walked away, Jeno’s grip tightening on your arm as if to remind you of where you were supposed to be.

──────────────────────────────

It’s late, and your apartment smells faintly of the popcorn Karina had insisted on making. Your legs are lazily draped across her lap as she scrolls through her phone. A few of the other girls are scattered around the room—Winter, Ryujin, and Ningning—chatting animatedly, their voices buzzing like static. You’re not particularly invested in the conversation, but you’re here anyway. You couldn’t avoid it. It’s part of the routine.

The girls gossip about the usual—boys, parties, and who’s been hooking up with whom. But tonight, there’s a different energy in the room. They all have questions about what had happened earlier, and you can feel their curious stares burning into you.

“What was that about?” Winter is the first to ask, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. You know exactly what she’s referring to, but you don’t really know how to answer. To you, it was nothing. Of course, Mark would make a comment like that. You looked hot today, and he’d noticed. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Winter presses on, unwilling to let it go. “You can’t tell me it was nothing, especially after seeing how Jeno dragged you out? I wonder what happened after that.”

You glance at her and sigh, deciding to give her the raw, unfiltered truth. “Nothing,” you start, watching their eyes light up in anticipation. “At first, Jeno was mad, pissed even. But then I sucked his cock, and he fucked me against one of the lockers in the guys’ changing rooms.” You pause for effect, wiggling your eyebrows as you finish, “He’s definitely forgiven me.”

The girls burst into giggles, some of them clapping like you’ve just given them a piece of juicy gossip they’d been dying to hear. They choose to ignore the toxicity of it all, the fact that you and Jeno had been using sex as a band-aid for your issues for weeks now. You and Jeno barely talked anymore. Every argument, every moment of tension, was resolved with a quick fuck rather than any real conversation. But you don’t say that part. You leave that truth buried beneath the surface.

“So… Y/N, would it annoy you if I made a move on Mark?” Karina’s voice cuts through the laughter, sharp and filled with a hint of vindication as she looks at you from the corner of her eye.

You can’t help the way your face tightens, annoyance flashing across your expression before you can force it back down. You plaster on a smile, lying through gritted teeth. “No, why would it?”

Karina leans back, raising a perfectly arched brow as if she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Just seems like there’s something going on between you and Mark. He’s been staring at you non-stop lately.”

“Just seems like you and Mark have nothing in common,” you bite back, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested in him now. Is it because he’s gotten more popular?”

Karina doesn’t flinch at your retort. Instead, she gives you a slow, deliberate smile. “Maybe,” she says, her voice cool, like she’s playing a game she knows she’ll win. “Or maybe it’s because I think he’s cute. And honestly? I’d love to take his virginity.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of something uncomfortable rippling through you. You weren’t expecting that. “Take his virginity?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can’t hide the slight edge in your tone.

Karina doesn’t miss it. She leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You know, how fun it’d be to corrupt him. Break him in a little. He’s so… quiet. I bet he’s just waiting for someone to show him how it’s done.” Her voice dips lower, more seductive. “Imagine his hands on you, not knowing what to do at first, but learning… fast.”

The other girls are eating it up, hanging onto every word Karina says. They laugh and nod along, and Winter even adds a low whistle.

“Girls…” Winter chimes in, her tone playful. “I don’t think he’s a virgin. It’s always the quiet ones with the big cocks who know exactly what they’re doing.” She sighs dramatically, leaning back into the couch, adding a moan for effect. “I bet he knows how to use it too.”

You roll your eyes. “No, he’s definitely a virgin. I can tell.”

The room fills with chatter as the girls go back and forth, arguing over whether Mark is as inexperienced as you claim or secretly a sex god in disguise. The conversation takes on a life of its own, filled with explicit fantasies and wild speculation.

“Honestly, there’s a rumor going around that he’s fucking Giselle,” Ryujin adds, her tone more serious, like she’s spilling some kind of secret.

“Giselle?” Ningning scoffs. “Please. She’ll fuck anyone with a cock.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s been so chill lately,” Winter says, laughing. “He’s getting laid!”

The conversation feels like it’s spiraling, the air heavy with innuendo and teasing, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of irritation beneath the surface. You’re trying to laugh along with them, trying to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of Mark with someone else.

But the truth is, you don’t really know what to feel. You’ve been keeping your distance from Mark, trying to navigate your mess of a relationship with Jeno, but there’s something undeniable growing between you and Mark. Something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Karina leans in closer, her voice low. “Come on, Y/N,” she says, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About what it’d be like with him.”

You glance around the room, the girls all watching you expectantly, and for a moment, you feel cornered. The weight of their expectations pressing down on you.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Like I said, he’s probably a virgin. Nothing to think about.”

“Virgin or not,” she says, her lips curling into a smirk, “he’s still hot. And honestly, I think the quiet ones are always the best in bed. All that pent-up energy…” She trails off, her voice laced with suggestion as she winks at Winter, who giggles.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in your chest. The last thing you want is to picture Mark like that—especially not with Karina talking about him like he’s some kind of conquest. But the image creeps in, unbidden, and you quickly push it away.

“Anyways, I heard Jeno’s gonna invite him to his party this weekend,” Karina continues, her voice light and casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I think I’ll make my move then.”

You groan, slapping your hand against your forehead. “Why is he inviting him?” you mutter under your breath. This wouldn’t end well—you could already see it.

Karina shrugs, her smirk widening as she leans back against the couch. “Shouldn’t you know? Aren’t you his girlfriend?” There’s a teasing edge to her voice, and it grates on your nerves, making your blood simmer just beneath the surface.

You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you try to ignore her, but the annoyance is creeping in, settling deep in your bones. You don’t want to think about Jeno, about Mark, about whatever mess you were tangled up in between them. And you definitely don’t want to think about Karina making a move on Mark at Jeno’s party.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, standing up from the couch, “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little plan.” You cross the room and grab your phone from the coffee table, feeling the girls’ eyes on you the entire time.

Winter giggles softly behind you, her voice sing-song as she chimes in, “Come on, Y/N. We’re just messing with you. No need to get all worked up.”

You turn, giving them a forced smile, but the tension in your body refuses to dissipate. “I’m not worked up. Just… tired.”

Karina’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, her smirk still in place. “Sure,” she says slowly, like she knows more than she’s letting on. “Tired. Right.”

You let out a small sigh, knowing there’s no point in arguing with her. She thrives on this—the drama, the teasing, the tension. She always has. But right now, all you want is some space to clear your head.

You head toward the door, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. “I’ll catch you guys later,” you call over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

──────────────────────────────

The music thumped through the walls of the house as you stood at the front door, adjusting your mini black skirt that barely covered anything. It was tight, short, and see-through, leaving little to the imagination. The lace thong you wore underneath was clearly visible if someone looked hard enough, and you had no doubt that people would be looking tonight. Paired with heels, your favorite jewelry, and a form-fitting top that highlighted every curve, you were dressed to kill.

Jeno opened the door, his expression softening into a smile as he took you in. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the skirt, and you felt the heat already building between you two. He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips warm against yours as his hand slid down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin. The promise of what would happen later was clear in his touch.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured against your lips before pulling away to greet Karina and Winter behind you with a hug and a quick nod.

His eyes were back on you immediately, dark and filled with lust as they traced the lines of your daring outfit. You smiled giddily at him, excited for the night ahead. You already knew how the night would end—tangled in sheets with his body on top of yours, all heat and passion. It was the one thing you both were still good at, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

The party was already in full swing, the bass vibrating through the floors as the scent of alcohol and smoke filled the air. The lights were low, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, with people sprawled across the couches and dancing in the center of the living room. Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic but comfortable atmosphere. You could feel the buzz of energy around you as you stepped further into the house, bodies pressed together as the night unfolded. You were already excited for the night, already anticipating the way things would go later with Jeno. The fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know—tonight would be intense.

But then you noticed Mark.

He was across the room, dressed casually in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, but somehow he stood out more than anyone else. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, and your eyes found his before you even realized it. He wasn’t hiding the way he was looking at you either. His gaze trailed over your body, lingering on your legs, your hips, the tight skirt that hugged your every curve. There was something deliberate in the way he looked at you, and it made your heart skip a beat.

You huffed, quickly looking away, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. What were you doing? You were here with Jeno, after all. But when you turned back, you saw Jeno walking toward Mark, and your heart sank. You were ready for things to blow up, expecting another confrontation, but to your surprise, Jeno greeted him with a nod and an indifferent expression. At least they weren’t killing each other.

Just as you were about to relax, you saw that Mark wasn’t alone. A girl stood beside him—someone you didn’t recognize. She was quiet, her eyes wide as she glanced nervously around the room, like she wasn’t used to this kind of environment. There was something shy about her, something that made you uneasy for reasons you couldn’t explain.

Jeno greeted her too, his smile a bit too bright as he introduced himself. “I’m Jeno, nice to meet you.”

The girl smiled shyly and introduced herself, but there was something else—a quick, knowing look exchanged between her and Jeno. It was subtle, but you caught it, and it sent a strange jolt of unease through you. What was that about?

Shaking your head, you turned toward the kitchen, needing a drink to calm your nerves. You grabbed a bottle of vodka, pouring yourself a shot and knocking it back quickly. Then another. You didn’t stop until the burn settled into your veins, dulling the edge of whatever was eating away at you.

Just as you set the bottle down, you felt the air shift—the unmistakable presence of Mark sliding in beside you, close enough that the warmth of his body brushed against yours. His voice cut through the noise, low and teasing, carrying that familiar edge that always seemed to pull your attention.

“Taking it a bit far tonight, aren’t we?” You turned your head slightly, catching the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His eyes, dark and sharp, flickered between the empty shot glasses and then back to your face.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a familiar mix of irritation and something else—something that made your heart beat a little faster. “What do you care?” you shot back, but there was no bite in your voice. The warmth from the alcohol was already settling into your veins, and maybe that was why you felt more relaxed around him. Or maybe it was just him.

Mark leaned in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he rested his hand on the counter beside you. His scent—clean, warm, with a hint of something that made you want to lean in—filled the small space between you. “Just looking out for you,” he said, his voice casual, but the glint in his eyes told you there was more to it, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before returning to your eyes. It was subtle, but enough to send a small shiver down your spine. You swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as you glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Looking out for me?” you echoed, your voice carrying a hint of sarcasm, masking the way his presence was making you feel things you weren’t ready to admit. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Why don’t you look out for your date?” you shot back, your voice betraying more jealousy than you intended.

Mark chuckled, the sound low and smooth, his attention fully on you. “She’s not my date,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by how disarming he could be. “Who is she, anyway?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though the question lodged itself in your throat.

Mark glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward the girl he’d walked in with. “My best friend.”

You blinked, surprised by how easily he said it. You had assumed… well, something else entirely. “Oh,” you murmured, unsure how to respond.

Mark grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What? Did you think I’d bring a date to a party knowing you’d be here?”

You felt the heat creeping up your neck, but you quickly masked it with a small smile. “I didn’t think about it that much.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Mark said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, sending a shiver through you.

The air between you felt charged, every unspoken word and lingering glance thick with an intensity neither of you was willing to name. The tension simmered quietly beneath the surface, weaving itself into the playful banter, the stolen glances. You both danced around it, staying in this delicate balance, where each smile, each teasing remark was a way to keep things light—yet everything about the moment felt intimate, personal. Neither of you dared to break the fragile line between what was said and what was truly felt.

But before you could say anything else, you felt a hand on your waist—Jeno.

You gasped softly, your mouth widening in surprise as you realized he had been watching you and Mark the whole time. His eyes were calm, surprisingly calm, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You smiled brightly at Jeno, hoping to diffuse whatever tension was building. “Hey, baby. Do you want to dance?” you asked, your voice laced with forced cheer.

He shook his head, his expression soft yet serious. “Y/N, can we talk?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how gentle he was being. Jeno wasn’t usually like this—calm, collected. This was new. Maybe this was it, the turning point you’d been waiting for.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, following him as he led you upstairs to his room. Your heart pounded in your chest as Mark watched you go, his gaze heavy, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

Once inside Jeno’s room, you wasted no time, slipping your top over your head, your mind already racing toward what usually came next. You turned to him, expecting to see him ready to go, but instead, he sat at the edge of the bed, head lowered, fingers gripping his knees. His expression wasn’t what you were used to—stormy, tense. He wasn’t undressing. He wasn’t even looking at you.

Confused, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. Your hands reached for his belt instinctively, trying to pull him out of his mood the way you always did. “Jeno, come on,” you murmured softly. “Let me suck you off. I’ll make you forget whatever’s on your mind.”

But instead of the usual eager response, his hand gently covered yours, stopping you. He shook his head, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Y/N, not tonight.”

You paused, your hands frozen mid-movement. “Jeno?”

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Sit down, Y/N.” His voice was soft, but firm as he gently pushed your hands away, motioning for you to sit beside him. “We need to talk.”

Jeno ran his hand through his hair again, the tension in his posture evident. His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of his words settling between you both. “We need to stop, Y/N. Stop pretending we’re a compatible couple.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, though deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

Jeno sighed, his voice thick with emotion. “You know it’s not working anymore. You feel it just as much as I do.” His eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the depth of his sadness. “We’ve been together for so long, but it’s not enough. It hasn’t been for a while.”

Tears immediately welled in your eyes as you shook your head, refusing to accept it. “But we’ve been together forever. We’re supposed to be together, Jeno. What do you mean it’s not enough?”

Jeno’s expression was full of regret, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know it feels that way, but think about it. How many days have we really been happy lately? It’s just fights, making up through sex, and pretending everything’s fine. But it’s not. We both know that.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. You didn’t want to admit he was right. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I can’t. I don’t know how to… I don’t know how to be without you.”

Jeno leaned forward, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said softly. “You still have me, okay? I still love you, and I always will. But we both deserve more than this. We deserve to be with someone who makes us happy, not just someone we’ve been with because it’s comfortable.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening. You hated how much his words resonated with you. You hated that he was right. But what scared you more was facing the truth, admitting that your relationship with Jeno was broken, that it had been for a while.

“I can’t do this,” you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. “I’d rather just… I’d rather keep pretending. I can’t face the truth, Jeno. I don’t know how.”

His eyes softened even more, filled with understanding. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. You don’t have to lie to yourself, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that things are messed up. It’s okay to be scared.”

But that was the problem. You weren’t good at facing the truth, at being vulnerable. Emotional intimacy terrified you, and you’d spent so long hiding behind the idea that everything was fine, that you could just patch things up with sex and avoid the hard conversations. Being honest, being real—that was something you’d never been good at. You’d rather live in the illusion than face the mess underneath.

Jeno seemed to sense your hesitation, your fear. He gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the sobs finally wracked your body. “I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m not leaving you. You’ll always have me, but this… this relationship, it’s not good for either of us. And it hasn’t been for a long time.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat. The thought of not being with him terrified you more than you could admit. “I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered, the words broken between sobs. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You’re not alone,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll always be here for you. But we can’t keep doing this, pretending we’re happy when we’re not. It’s not fair to either of us.”

His words were like a dagger to your heart, twisting painfully because deep down, you knew he was right. But the truth was too heavy, too overwhelming. You’d spent so long avoiding it, pretending that everything was okay, that hearing it now felt like your world was crumbling.

“I still love you,” Jeno said, his voice steady despite the emotion in it. “I love you, but we need to stop hurting each other like this.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. The sincerity in his gaze made it hurt even more. “But what do I do without you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know who I am without you, Jeno.”

He reached up, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “You’ll figure it out. And I’ll still be here, even if we’re not together like we used to be. You’re stronger than you think.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you leaned back into him, unable to fully let go. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to admit that everything was falling apart. But Jeno was right—you were holding on to something that had died a long time ago, and the thought of letting go felt like losing a part of yourself.

For a long time, he just held you as you cried, his arms the only comfort you had left. But eventually, even that had to end. Jeno stood up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back.

“I’m gonna go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Take some time for yourself. You’ll be okay, Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat too tight with the weight of everything. You just nodded, tears still falling as you watched him leave the room, his presence fading with each step. And as the door closed behind him, you felt the crushing weight of reality settle in, the silence echoing in your chest where your heart had been breaking all along.

You were alone. And for the first time, you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

Later that night, Mark finds you huddled on the ground, your knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to hold it all in, but you’re failing. Your body shakes with sobs that you can’t control, and when you hear footsteps approaching, you tense up.

“Mark, now is not the time, please go away.” Your voice cracks as you cry out, lips trembling. You cover your face with your hands, not wanting him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable.

But Mark doesn’t leave. He doesn’t even hesitate. He gets closer, kneeling down beside you. The quiet rustle of fabric is the only sound, and you shiver as he drapes his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm, and it smells like him—fresh and clean, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.

“Jeno told me to come,” he explains softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up, confusion flooding your tear-streaked face. “What?” The question falls out, barely coherent, as you swipe at your face, painfully aware of how horrible you must look—mascara smudged, makeup streaked, and eyes puffy.

Mark doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he moves even closer, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into him, gently guiding you onto his lap. You don’t resist. His arms wrap around you, and you straddle him, your body sinking into his warmth as if it’s the only safe place you can find.

The sobs come harder now, uncontrollable, and you bury your face in his shoulder, clutching onto him like a lifeline. He holds you tight, one hand smoothing down your back, the other resting against your hair, cradling you like something fragile. His soft whispers, the way he gently hushes you, the quiet “it’s okay, I’m here,” all create this bubble around the two of you, making the world fade away for a moment.

Mark’s presence doesn’t fix anything, but it makes you feel less alone. There’s no judgment in his touch, no expectation. He lets you cry, lets you fall apart in his arms, and that’s what breaks you even more. You’ve been holding it in for so long, pretending everything was fine, pretending you were fine.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like this, pressed close to him, when he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “What happened?”

You suck in a breath, pulling back just slightly, though your forehead still rests against his. Your voice is small, fragile. “He broke up with me.”

Mark’s expression softens, his lips parting as he lets out a quiet “Oh.” There’s no surprise in his voice, only understanding, only compassion. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words. Instead, his hand finds its way into your hair, gently smoothing it down, his touch so careful, as if he’s afraid to hurt you more than you already are.

He doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t push you to talk more. He just holds you, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you, offering you a calm in the midst of your storm. His fingers stroke through your hair, and his other arm is firm around your waist, keeping you anchored to him as you cry quietly into his neck.

And somehow, in the quiet of his embrace, with his soft breaths brushing against your skin, the weight of everything doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. The pain is still there, sharp and unrelenting, but Mark’s presence makes it bearable. He makes you feel seen, heard, like it’s okay to not have it all together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself feel. You let yourself break. And Mark is there to catch every piece of you, holding you together when you can’t do it yourself.

The silence between you feels intimate, not awkward. It’s comforting, the kind of silence that says more than words ever could. His arms stay wrapped around you, and for now, that’s all you need. You just let him hold you.

“Mark,” you whisper, your voice shaky, barely audible as you shift closer to him. Your thighs press against his, caging him in. You bite your bottom lip, feeling the tension crackle between you, and notice his subtle groan as his hips press up slightly.

“Yeah?” he responds casually, though his voice is rougher, his restraint evident.

“You’re hard,” you mumble, your tone matching his, casual, as though stating a simple fact. The firmness presses against you, unyielding, hot even through the layers of fabric between you. The heat of him radiates into your skin, the outline unmistakable as it pushes against your thigh. Your words hang in the air, blending with the warmth that rises between you, making the closeness more intimate than it should be, despite the simplicity of the moment. The feeling is undeniable, solid and real, as though the space between you is shrinking with every breath.

Mark shifts slightly under you, groaning low in his throat. He doesn’t try to deny it. “Yeah, I am,” he says, his voice deeper now, gravelly. He lets out a slow breath before adding, “It’s because you’re—”

But before he can finish, you crash your lips against his, silencing him with a kiss so intense it feels like you’ve both been waiting for this moment forever. Already straddling his lap, you press yourself closer, your thighs locking around him tighter, your body molding against his. Your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him into you as if you’re afraid to let go.

Mark responds instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a passion that catches you off guard. His hands slide down to your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you even closer. The kiss is messy, intense—tongues tangling, soft moans escaping between your lips as the heat between you grows unbearable.

Your hips move of their own accord, grinding down on him, and you feel the hardness pressing against your core, making your breath hitch. His hands roam up your thighs, sliding under your skirt, pushing the flimsy fabric up higher until it’s barely covering you. He grabs your ass, squeezing hard as you rock your hips, the friction between you igniting every nerve in your body.

You moan softly into his mouth, the heat between you both growing unbearable. When Mark’s hand moves down to smack your ass, the sound is sharp and commanding, making your body jolt in response. “Mark,” you gasp, the name slipping out in a breathless moan. His name was a broken plea on your lips as his hands continue to roam, guiding your movements as you grind harder against him, feeling the friction build between your bodies.

His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, guiding your movements, pressing you harder against him as you grind down. The heat, the friction, the way he kisses you with an intensity and desperation—it all sends your mind spinning. You feel his desire in every touch, every grip on your skin, and you want more.

You arch your back, pressing your chest against his, the kiss growing even more desperate, your tongues tangling, breaths mingling as soft moans escape between your lips. His hands pull you closer, as if he can’t get enough of you, the tension building with every second, every movement.

Mark stands, lifting you effortlessly, his strong hands gripping your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, every hard muscle pressing against you. Before you even register what’s happening, he tosses you onto the bed, Jeno’s bed—and the realization of where you are only adds to the illicit thrill running through you.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. His chest is broad, his arms flexing with every movement, each line of his body carved like stone. Your gaze traces over the defined ridges of his abs, the muscles contracting with every deep breath he takes, and your heart races, pulse pounding in your ears.

Then your eyes drop lower, and you can’t help but stare at the bulge straining against his jeans. The thick, undeniable outline is impossible to ignore, and the sight makes your breath hitch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your anticipation skyrockets. The raw need between your legs intensifies, and you press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip as you imagine what’s coming next.

Mark moves closer, his hands reaching down to undo his belt, the metal clinking as he loosens it. But just as his fingers graze the zipper, you catch the flicker of doubt in his eyes. It’s subtle, just a brief hesitation, but it’s enough to shift the atmosphere. The dangerous, primal intensity in his gaze softens, and for a moment, he looks at you—not with the hunger you’ve seen, but with something deeper, more conflicted.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the weight of the moment hanging between you. His hand pauses at his waistband, and he swallows hard, his jaw clenching. The air thickens with the tension of everything unspoken, and for the first time, you both hesitate, the thrill of the moment colliding with the reality of where you are—of who you are.

Mark leans over you, his hand brushing against your cheek, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the heat that had been building just moments before. His thumb runs over your lower lip, lingering there as if he’s warring with himself, battling between desire and restraint.

“We can’t,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost regretful.

You blink, still lost in the heat of the moment, your body screaming for more even as his words register in your mind. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice breathless. You reach for him again, your fingers already working on the button of his jeans. “Come on, Mark… we don’t need to stop. I’m on the pill so you can cum inside of me, I don’t mind.”

His groan is deep, almost pained, as he steps back. One hand drags down his face, his frustration clear as he shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he mutters, his gaze conflicted. “You just broke up with Jeno—he’s my brother. And we’re in his room. You really want this to happen here? You want me to fuck you on his bed?”

Your response is immediate, unwavering. “Yes.”

He stares at you, huffing out a breath of disbelief. “Y/N…” he starts, voice softer now, laced with something between guilt and restraint. “No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. Not like this.”

For a moment, everything pauses. The weight of his words crashes over you, bringing with it a wave of reality you’ve been avoiding. The intensity of what almost happened—the way you nearly crossed a line that, once crossed, couldn’t be undone. Embarrassment starts to creep in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone.

You sit up, hurriedly pulling your clothes back on, avoiding his eyes as the thrill of the moment fades, replaced by a deep ache you didn’t expect. The tension between you feels different now—charged, yes, but laced with something more painful. Something you can’t quite name.

Mark doesn’t say anything as he watches you, his chest still rising and falling heavily, the conflict clear in his eyes. You know he wants you, you felt it, but there’s a line he won’t cross. Not like this. And you hate that it makes sense. You hate that he’s right.

As you stand, buttoning your skirt, you bite your lip, fighting the urge to cry. You weren’t ready for all of this to stop so abruptly. You didn’t want to face the truth of the situation or the complicated mess your feelings had become. And more than anything, you didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Do you want to come to mine?” you ask, the words shaky, but you force them out. There’s a part of you that fears he’ll refuse, that this will be the moment everything falls apart completely. But you can’t help but hope he’ll still want you, even if not here. Not like this.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. His expression is unreadable, his eyes searching yours for something you’re not sure you can give. The silence stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, the fear of rejection threatening to overwhelm you.

Then, finally, he nods, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand reaches out, offering to help you up, and for the first time since this whole mess started, there’s a flicker of tenderness in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice soft, yet sure. “Let’s go.”

Relief washes over you as you take his hand, the touch of his fingers grounding you, soothing the frayed edges of your emotions. As he helps you stand, the tension between you shifts again—not gone, but different. The heat is still there, simmering under the surface, but it’s mixed with something softer now, something that feels more real.

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Back at your apartment, the quiet felt almost surreal after the chaos of the night. The familiar warmth of your space wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a stark contrast to the lingering tension still buzzing between you and Mark. You felt the shift in the air the moment you stepped through the door—the atmosphere was softer, quieter, more intimate, and the reality that it was just the two of you sank in.

Mark followed you inside, his eyes taking in your surroundings with quiet interest. The apartment was all yours for the night, a small comfort in itself, and you were already beginning to sober up. Mark, as if reading your mind, immediately took care of you, handing you a bottle of water. “You need this,” he said softly, his tone gentle, but there was an undercurrent of care in his voice that made your chest tighten.

You took small sips, the cool water refreshing as it slid down your throat, grounding you back to the present. Meanwhile, Mark wandered around your room, and you couldn’t help but watch him, feeling something shift between the two of you.

Your space was a reflection of you—a safe haven filled with little pieces of your world. The fairy lights you’d strung up glowed softly, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the scent of your candles lingering in the air. Your walls were lined with your art, pieces of yourself you rarely shared with anyone else. There were posters of abstract designs, dreamy landscapes, and sketches that felt like fragments of your soul on display.

Unique and delicate things decorated your shelves—a crystal lamp you had found at a flea market, a few small plants in pots you had painted yourself, and a collection of books you loved but hadn’t read in ages. The room felt like a mix of creativity and chaos, an organized mess that somehow made sense only to you.

Mark’s eyes moved from one corner to the next, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took everything in. He seemed fascinated by the art on your walls, lingering over certain pieces as if trying to figure out the stories behind them. You could see the admiration in his gaze, the way he appreciated your space without needing to say much.

“You really made this place your own,” he commented softly, running a hand over one of the posters, careful not to disturb it. “It’s beautiful..”

A warm flush crept up your neck at his words. You weren’t used to someone appreciating your space like this, not in such a genuine, heartfelt way. Mark wasn’t just complimenting the decor—he was complimenting you, the person who had created this world.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden. “It’s nothing special.”

Mark shook his head, still gazing around. “It’s special because it’s yours.” His voice was soft, sincere, and it made your heart do a strange, fluttery thing in your chest.

“Can you help me get my necklace off?” You ask, smiling as he’s already making his way over to you.

Mark’s fingers worked gently at the clasp of your necklace, his touch soft and deliberate. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as he carefully unhooked the delicate chain from around your neck. The warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold—it was the softness of the moment.

He moved slowly, taking the necklace and walking over to your jewellery stand. You watched as he placed it neatly on one of the hooks, his movements calm and precise, as if he had done this a hundred times before. There was something almost tender in the way he handled your things, treating them with care, as if they were an extension of you.

Mark turned back to you, his eyes soft as he reached for your earrings next. His fingers grazed your earlobe, and you held your breath, feeling the closeness between you both. The quiet of the room wrapped around the two of you, making the moment feel even more intimate. One by one, he removed each earring, placing them in their designated spot, never once rushing or making you feel hurried.

The silence was filled with unspoken words, a shared understanding that neither of you dared to voice. When he was done, he looked back at you with a small, almost shy smile. “There,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You needed to clear your head, to shake off the growing feelings you had for him, so you excused yourself to take a shower. As you stood under the warm spray, washing away the remnants of the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mark had looked at you. The way his presence had shifted from something casual and playful to something deeper, more intimate. The thought scared you, but it also made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a soft bathrobe, you found Mark sitting on your bed, strumming a gentle tune on a guitar. You paused, tilting your head in confusion. Where did he get that from? You didn’t remember him carrying a guitar around at the party or on the way home. Had you really been that out of it?

“Where did you get a guitar from?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you watched him hum and play a melody, his fingers dancing over the strings with ease.

He looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I always carry it around.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed if you brought a guitar with you to the party.”

Mark chuckled, his laughter soft and infectious. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. “So, you play basketball and the guitar?” you teased, feeling more relaxed now, the tension easing into something more playful.

He nodded, plucking a few more notes before setting the guitar down. “My major is music.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

He chuckled along with you, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “It’s way past midnight,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more serious. “You should get some sleep. Don’t you have lectures tomorrow?”

You shrugged, already feeling the weight of the day catching up to you. “I’m not going.”

Mark gave you a pointed look. “Don’t say that. Yes, you are.”

You sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. Instead, you moved to the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers and sinking into the soft sheets. The warmth of the bed, combined with the softness of the moment, made your eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

As you began to drift off, you noticed Mark standing up, throwing a blanket onto the chair in the corner. You frowned, sitting up slightly. “You don’t need to sleep there,” you whispered, your voice soft and almost shy. “Come here. There’s so much space in my bed.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s literally a single bed.”

You rolled your eyes, patting the space beside you. “I just want someone to hold me so I can sleep.”

For a moment, Mark hesitated, his eyes searching yours. But then he sighed, his expression softening as he crossed the room and slipped under the covers beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a way that made your heart race, but also made you feel safe.

Mark held you tightly, his arms pulling you closer, enveloping you in his warmth. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the soothing rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in so long. His breath was warm against your forehead, gentle, almost protective, as he leaned in and whispered, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice, low and intimate, sent a soft shiver down your spine. His words weren’t just a wish; they felt like a promise, like he was going to hold you through the night and keep you safe.

His hand, large and warm, rested softly on your waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin under your shirt with the lightest of touches. It was a subtle, almost unconscious gesture, but the intimacy of it sent your heart fluttering. He didn’t pull away; he stayed close, his body pressed gently against yours, grounding you in the moment. Every small shift of his body, every breath he took, seemed to ease the tension that had been weighing on you for so long.

You let your hand rest on top of his, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His fingers instinctively intertwined with yours, the touch delicate yet reassuring. It was more than just physical contact—it was the silent understanding that you weren’t alone anymore, that he was here, holding you through it all.

His lips brushed lightly against your forehead, a featherlight kiss that made your heart swell. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity in his tone wrapped around you like a blanket.

With a soft sigh, you let yourself relax completely, your body melting into his. You could feel the last remnants of stress slipping away, replaced by the steady, calming presence of Mark beside you. His embrace was warm, solid, and it made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in what felt like forever.

As your eyes fluttered closed, you let yourself fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, your mind finally quiet, the weight of the world finally slipping away, knowing he would be there when you woke.

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authors note — surprise!! i’ve been teasing this one for a while and just wanted to drop it without any prior warning :) this is gonna be a long ride and have many more parts so comment if you want to be on the tag list :) send an ask through telling me what you thought or interact !! thank you

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