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Mafia!AU Mark

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

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

✧ WC: 15.8K

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

✧*. 18+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧*.

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

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

BAD TASTE — MARK LEE (마크이) (DRABBLE)

✧ MDNI (18+)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧

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

[9:14 AM]

church boy!mark entwines his fingers with yours as you hold hands in prayer, silently praying you won’t feel his heart thumping through his fingers.