@matryosika - Tumblr Blog

If you still mean it

Pairing — Mark Lee & Self-Insert AFAB Reader

Wordcount — 15,822 words

Includes — Infidelity in a previous relationship, alcohol and weed consumption, driving under the influence (do not fucking do it), friends-to-something-weird, themes of jealousy and possessiveness, weird friendship dynamics, slight perverted behavior, sexual first times, a shitty relationship, Jeno is an instigator and some characters are morally grey. Smut warnings under the cut.

Author's Note — Will this be my comeback to writing fanfics? I am not entirely sure. I just felt an itch and this happened! Feedback is highly appreciated because it has been almost a whole year since I wrote something, so I might be doubting my abilities at this point. Thank you for reading! This is not proofread, and english is not my first language, please keep it in mind.

Smut warnings: Reader is a virgin, Mark does have experience. Use of petnames, lots of kisses, make out scenes, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, squirting, multiple orgasms, hints of masochist reader and sadomasochist Mark (but very tame, to be honest), unprotected sex, piv, cum eating, creampie. If I miss any tags, please let me know!

“So, it’s a promise?”

Mark should've said no. Dodge the question, at the very least.

He should've just laughed it off. Change the topic of conversation around to focus on anything but you, and that stupid promise you were coercing him into keeping it.

He could've used his usual awkwardness to escape your dreamy, yet cornering gaze. Blame it on the alcohol in your system and pretend to be concerned over the drink you were practically spilling on top of your skirt.

Mark could've said plenty of things, anything that didn't resemble the meaning of a yes or of course. Rather an easy task.

But despite his GPA, Mark Lee isn't the smartest man to walk on earth.

At least not when it comes to you.

“Word”.

Be it the weed, the smell of your fragrance, the can of beer he chugged down long before he started smoking, or the mere fact that what you were suggesting was exactly what he daydreamed about, Mark just didn't know who or what to blame for his decision

At the time, he didn't think much about it —not even after waking up the very next day, with his throat dry and a heavy sense in his chest of having blurred the limits of your friendship.

What was there to think, anyway? You were drunk and he was high. You probably didn’t mean it, and even if you did (which, to Mark’s logic, was highly unlike it) you probably didn’t remember it by then.

And even if you did mean it, and did remember it the next morning, the odds weren’t in his favor: you turned 23 five years from then, and a lot of things could happen in the span of a single year or two. Even if the promise was as serious as you made it to look, hooking your pinky around his as the definitive seal of said promise, there was no way on earth you would reach your early 20's with no sexual experience whatsoever; wherever Mark saw it, that promise was meant to remain untouched, without being fulfilled nor broken.

But, truth be told, a part of him craved dearly for the circumstances to be different. Mark wished for you to actually gather the courage to bring that night up, to address the fact that you asked him to take your virginity if no one had done it by the night of your 23rd. birthday.

The other part wished for him to travel back in time and relive that night over again. He would've done things right, starting from ditching Jeno's invitation to get high at his place.

Had he not attended his friend's house very late into the night, he wouldn't have found you half asleep, alone with your drunken thoughts. And had he not found you alone and completely drunk, Mark would've never found out about the kind of thoughts that wandered into your head that day —having you as a friend would’ve been a bit easier, and living would've been less anguish-inducing.

A lot of things happened in the span of a year or two. None of them could have been predicted by Mark.

Not only did you become closer to him as a friend, but you also ended up sharing an apartment together. He was reluctant about it at first, but you were so good at persuading people into acting in your favor that he fell into your wit once again.

“If we split the rent, it’s going to be cheaper. It’s close to uni, and our part-time jobs,” your words were accompanied by a longing gaze that he swore it made his knees buck. “You told me you hated the college dorms, so I’m offering you an alternative to that”.

You were right —Mark despised, with all his heart, the college dorms. They were small, and the hallways were always crowded; also his own privacy was close to non-existent there.

So yes, you were offering him the best alternative. But he still hesitated, despite going through a pros and cons list of living in a college dorm, which basically consisted of 1 pro (always being on time for his classes) and at least 17 cons.

“Please?” You begged him when you caught a glimpse of reluctance imprinted on his face.

And again, Mark just had to say yes.

So you ended up moving in together at the beginning of the spring semester, and things seemed to be going really well for the both of you. Or at least, seemingly so.

Your apartment became some sort of crashing place, just like Jeno’s house was at some point, and it wasn’t unusual for you to host weekend gatherings for you and Mark’s friends.

It also wasn't unexpected that you and Mark got to know each other on a personal level —you learned to decipher his mood based on how long he took to shower, and he quickly picked up on the fact that you listened to 80’s music whenever you were feeling sad.

But, of course, for things to work out, communication was mandatory.

“I’m seeing someone,” you blurted once during dinner, making him lift his gaze up from his meal. “We aren't together together, but we're getting there”.

Mark wouldn't admit it out loud, but he felt a pinch of awkwardness when you told him that.

“That’s- good dude, I guess,” he swallowed thickly, doing everything he could to pretend he wasn't feeling nauseous at the mere thought of even encountering you holding hands, or worse, kissing someone. “Uh, what’s his name?”

“Met him at work,” you replied, hinting that he wouldn’t know who he was even if you told him his name. “We have been going on dates and all, and- I think I like him”.

Again, he felt that stinging anguish in his chest. All in cynicism, as if he hadn't been dating and messing around with other people in the meantime too.

“Yo, that’s good,” he nodded. “Like, really good”.

Of course, in the back of his mind there was the promise. The promise you and him made, the one that was pending on a string because of that guy you met at work, who would probably have you to himself before Mark even had the chance to.

“Yeah,” you smiled, picking the fork on your food with no purpose whatsoever. “I mean, I wanted to tell you because you’re my friend but also because- well, he’s probably not going to be a stranger around here, y’know?”.

Of course he wasn't. And that was one of the things Mark feared the most when you asked him to be your roommate.

“Yeah, I get it,” he rushed to say, shaking his head in an attempt to convince himself that this sort of thing was bound to happen. “Like, of course you’re going to want some privacy and whatnot”.

You let out a sigh of what Mark could only guess as relief, followed soon after by a sympathetic smile.

“Just let me know in advance, yeah?” He cleared his throat, not being able to look right into your eyes. “Like, if you want the apartment all to yourself, let me know and I'll keep myself busy”.

The sexual, implicit meaning behind his words made you giggle internally, which only translated to a friendly chuckle that was so quiet he just couldn't pick on.

“Will do, Mark”.

But a whole year passed, and not once you asked to have the apartment all for yourself.

He tried not to think much of it, keeping the promise in the back of his mind —latent, noisy, repressed.

Your apartment wasn't the only place you could get some intimacy, and he knew that —he also knew that your boyfriend had a place of his own, and that love hotels exist. He also knew one could fuck anywhere, so you not asking to have the apartment for yourself didn't mean you were still a virgin.

But in the deepest pits of his guts, he kind of wished it did.

He also kind of wished you would break up with your boyfriend because he was an asshole, but those were the kind of things he never actually said out loud to anyone, except to Haechan.

“Man he is such a waste,” Mark had complained to his best friend, “I can’t fucking stand him”.

“You can’t stand him? Or you can’t stand the fact that he is probably getting it on with her and you’re just complaining about it to me?”

Haechan has always been too witty for everyone's good. Especially Mark's.

And he might've been right to some extent, but Mark knew it was beyond that. The guy was literal trash, and he often wondered why you just couldn't see it.

“You think they have done it already?”

“Dude I- God, why are you asking me that?”

“Just curious,” Haechan shrugged, but because of the broad gamer chair, it wasn’t noticeable from Mark’s point of view. “I mean, their relationship is weird as fuck”.

He never thought much of it, of your relationship. First and foremost because he wasn't a masochist, and because he didn't want to hate the guy more than he already did —it was awkward enough to have him at your place every other business day, acting all lovey-dovey with you.

“How come?”

“You know, she lives with you,” his friend emphasized the word lives, “imagine having a girlfriend but she lives with another man that’s not you”.

“We’re roommates,” Mark explained, although Haechan’s words kind of made sense.

Not a lot, but kind of.

“Yeah but that doesn’t make it any less weird,” the brown-haired continued playing video games like he just didn't drop a (painfully obvious) bomb onto Mark. A bomb he didn't think about before, but that he couldn't stop spiraling into once Haechan brought it to the spotlight.

“You think she’s going to move out with him or something?” The anguish in his voice was notorious, but he prayed Haechan was too distracted to notice. He wanted to act like he didn't care, despite his heart being shattered into tiny, little pieces at the mere thought of you getting into formalities with your partner.

Even worse, at the idea of having to find a new roommate all over again. One he actually likes and trusts, and that wouldn't get too upset at his habit of leaving the toothpaste open.

“It would be the obvious thing to do,” his friend mindlessly responded. “If, you know, you’re serious about it or something”.

That night, Mark unlocked a new fear: you moving out to live with your boyfriend.

An imminent fear that seemed too real to be ignored, and just around the corner for him to shake it off.

He was itching to ask you if you've ever considered living with your partner, albeit the short period of time you had been in the relationship, but he never actually got the courage to ask —it was best to not know, anyways. About that, and about your relationship as a whole.

And truthfully, Mark always tried to play things low-key. Never asked too many questions, he never interrupted your privacy by listening to your conversations with your friends, and never stayed in the shared common areas for too long when your boyfriend was home. Both for your comfort and his sake.

But the inevitable happened and, one night when you came home crying after what was supposed to be your 2-year-anniversary, he just had to ask.

“What happened?”

Your teary eyes and pouty lips were out of his sight when you embraced his figure, alternating between crying on the crook of his neck and against his chest.

“He- with someone else, he was- some texts, and-”

He could only get a small grip on whatever you were trying to say, but his heartbeats became faster and he felt an odd kind of warmth invading his chest, neck and back. A mixture of rage and empathy.

“C’mere,” he held you tightly against him, awkwardly patting your back while he tried not to think about your fragrance too much. You were clinging onto him, pouring out your heart in a sob of despair, and he was solely thinking of how warm your skin felt against his, and how delicious your hair smelled.

There were more things to worry about, but again, Mark Lee isn't the smartest man to walk on earth when it comes to you.

“Wanna talk about it or-” You were already ranting before he even got to finish his question, walking towards the living room couch and dragging him with you.

“He has been cheating on me,” you said. “For God knows how long, I don’t know. Don’t care, didn’t ask”.

He kept quiet, patiently waiting for you to keep on talking but you tried to make it seem as if you had said everything you had to —your mouth was closed in a straight line, but Mark didn't miss the small gasps that escaped your lips every time you thought about saying something else but regretted it immediately.

“Okay,” your friend nodded, carefully thinking about how to address this whole mess. He had a lot of questions, most of which were just his curiosity rather than a desire to help, “how did you-”.

“I received a weird instagram message,” you sighed without giving importance to the how but what, pushing your hair away from your face. “There were some pictures and videos of him with another girl. And you know? I always felt a hunch. Been feeling it since like six or seven months ago? God how- can’t even- I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner. I feel so fucking-”.

“It’s not your fault, you know?” Mark's soothing voice suddenly made an appearance, and it made you realize you were rambling. It wasn't normal for you to talk about your relationship with your friend, or anyone for that matter, but that night seemed adequate. “Like, it’s not your fault you didn’t know. And it wasn’t your fault that he chose poorly. It has nothing to do with you”.

You knew he was partly right —you weren't at fault for not realizing it before. But a part of you sort of thought it was your fault to some extent, that it had everything to do with you, and you feared that if you were to reveal that to Mark, he would've chosen your boyfriend's side.

You know, as a man.

“I need a fucking drink,” was pretty much all the exhale you gave in response to his words. And he looked at you with a pinch of pity and concern that only fueled your need to reject your sobriety tonight.

“I don’t think you should drink,” Mark told you, tilting his head. “Like you’re obviously not in a good place emotionally”.

“Well I’m not going to drink alone,” you cocked an eyebrow at him, with eyes so swollen Mark didn’t know if he found them eerie or cute. Completely disregarding the indirect invitation to drink with you, you insisted, “am I?”

And again, he should've said no.

Like he should when you asked him to be your roommate, and when you coerced him into keeping a promise you probably didn’t even remember by then.

But it wasn’t within him to deny you anything, so he soon found himself drinking beer alongside you, hearing two years of your relationship squeezed into one conversation. It was enough information to overwhelm everyone, but he still tried to keep track of all the names and dates you were dropping.

He also tried not to think about how he would've done things with you, and how good he could've made you feel throughout your relationship.

They were pointless thoughts, anyway.

“The girl, it was someone from work,” you confessed after four or five beers, feeling content with that little push of extraversion that always comes with alcohol. “I wouldn’t necessarily call her a friend but she- we got along, I guess”.

In situations like these, Mark was a man of few words. At least when it came to hearing the whole story, so you weren't surprised by his silence. If anything, it only invited you to fill the void with everything you intended to leave unsaid before drinking.

“She knew we were dating and everything. Always complimenting us on how much of the perfect couple we were,” you take another bitter sip to your drink while your eyes unfocus on the t.v. in front of you, paying no particular attention to Mark’s presence, nor whatever was happening on the screen, “I should've known she was onto something. All those praises weren't normal”.

You backtracked a bit, and even kept quiet for a while as you gathered your thoughts.

Again, Mark just waited patiently.

“I mean, it’s not her fault. I am making it seem like she is a fucking homewrecker and all but the one with the commitment was him,” you bit your lip, trying to put some sense into what you were saying. “Yeah it was shitty of her to fuck my boyfriend, but it’s not like she forced him or anything. He was willing to do so, so they’re both at fault. Maybe he is more than she is, I don’t know. It kind of makes sense”.

You were slurring your words a bit, but Mark was as sober as if he had been drinking water for the past hour or so.

“It does make sense,” he reassured you, nodding as a way of validating your feelings. “But it doesn't matter whose fault it was, you know? You're hurt, and you don't have to intellectualize this whole situation so it doesn't hurt less”.

“Someone has been paying attention to psychology 101,” you teased him, smiling for the first time that night. His heart pounded heavily against his chest at that, but the moment didn't last long before your smile dropped and your eyes got clouded with tears yet again. “But it kind of matters whose fault it was. At least for me”.

“Would that make you feel any better?”

“That would make me feel less guilty,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze that so desperately tried to find yours. “Because I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this whole thing was my fault”.

Mark's eyebrows went from flat to slightly furrowed. And again, his heart pounded heavily for all the wrong reasons.

How could you be at fault? Your boyfriend was the one that cheated, the one who betrayed your trust. How could you be the one to blame, if he felt you trembling between his arms?

You probably made your mistakes too, but such unfaithfulness shouldn't be the punishment for screwing it up here and there.

“Dude, I don’t-”.

“I just couldn’t do it,” you shook your head, rubbing your face with your available hand. “I just- couldn’t, I tried- like really tried, but I just- I couldn’t”.

It was pretty clear to you what you were talking about, but the way Mark kept staring at you made you think he needed some sort of clarification.

“You couldn’t do what?” He asked with genuine confusion.

“It,” you guided the bottle to your lips and chugged down the rest of your beer. “You know what I mean, don’t make me say it”.

And although Mark's heart was ringing in his ears, he felt out of breath and his head felt dizzy, he needed confirmation to see if you two were on the same page.

Or talking about the same thing, to be precise.

“You couldn’t-”.

“I couldn’t have sex with him, okay?” you suddenly blurted out, swallowing thickly when you caught Mark’s oh of realization. “I told him I wanted to wait, and seemingly he was fine with that at first,”

the more you talked, the less Mark listened. And he should've had, because that was some valuable information you were pouring out.

But in the back of his mind, the promise was ardent. Like a fire that spreads calmly, that's threatening but you just can't run away from it because you think it's pointless.

It will catch up with you eventually.

“After the first year, I guess it got kind of old,” you continued, feeling embarrassed of having to admit such a thing out loud. Particularly to a man. “He wanted more and I didn’t- I mean we did other stuff, you know? I thought that would compensate the fact that I just couldn't get myself to fuck with him, but I guess it wasn't enough”

Mark was looking at you puzzled, and you wondered if he also thought it was your fault too.

Your ex never explicitly said so, the whole "I cheated on you because you wouldn't have sex with me" thing. But it was painfully obvious —the other woman could offer him something you just couldn't, and he didn't think twice before taking it.

“You do- realize that what you’re saying is bullshit, right?” Mark blinked with such a concerned gaze that you felt your chest heavy. “How could you even- seriously though, how can you even think this is your fault?”

“Because that’s how men act,” you spat. “Only caring about getting your dicks wet, nothing else”.

He could've said something along the lines of don't generalize, but he would've been a hypocrite.

It wasn't that Mark thought with his dick, like every other man. But he also couldn't deny the fact that men are careless and impulsive, doing things they always end up regretting.

He was nowhere near an exemption to that rule, but he tried his best.

“And how exactly is that your fault?”

You paused for a moment, trying to give some sense to his words.

They honestly had a much more solid point than yours, which were rooted in anguish and overwhelm.

“I don’t know,” the sigh that escaped your lips was a reminder to Mark of how long he had been holding his breath. You were walking around the one topic he didn't want to discuss, the one thing he wished to remain ignorant to.

You swallowed thickly, pondering between opening your heart to one of your dearest friends, or just taking some things to your grave. You know Mark wouldn't judge you, but you also knew there wasn't a clear point in you ranting about your sexual life with him.

It just wasn’t something you two usually talked about.

So you went with the latter and put an end to a conversation that was meant for so much more than addressing a couple of facts —because truly, your mouth itched to talk about everything that went wrong between you and your ex.

But maybe right then, it just wasn't the time and place.

A couple of weeks have gone by, and the small dot under a certain date of a month almost always capture Mark's attention every time he intends to navigate through the calendar app.

Your birthday is coming up, and he just can’t stop the inevitable.

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Jeno asks with eyebrows so furrowed, Mark thinks that’s the most expression he has ever seen on his face.

Apart from his characteristic smile, of course.

“I just- got stuff to do man,” he shrugs, avoiding both Jeno's and Haechan's confused glances, “exams are coming up and-”.

“Cut the crap,” Jeno interrupts. “Haechan, tell him to cut the crap”.

“Cut the crap, Mark,” adamantly, Haechan intervenes, “you don’t even study”.

“This is your roommate we’re talking about,” the black-haired emphasizes, making it as awkward as he possibly can, “you know, the one that is now very single and probably looking for a rebound”.

Mark’s eyes squint and he hisses slowly, “she is not looking for a rebound”.

“It’s up to you to change her mind,” Haechan clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

Mark never told anyone about the promise, so his friends talking about how he should approach you it's kind of weird now that he thinks about it.

“What’s your deal with us, anyways?” He hufs, staring up at Jeno while he lights up a joint.

“The better question it’s what is your deal with her?” Jeno lets out a taunting laugh that soon gets mixed with an awkward cough, “her birthday it’s coming up, she is clearly upset because her boyfriend of two years cheated on her, you’re pathetically obsessed with the girl but you won’t come to her birthday party?”

“Dude, I am not obsessed with her,” Mark defends, pinching the bridge of his nose. From afar, Haechan subtly smirks.

Seems like everyone can tell, but him.

“Okay, whatever,” the black-haired plops down onto the couch, and the blunt travels from his hands to Mark’s. “If you don’t want to come, then don’t come. But if she ends up in my bed, I don’t want you to cause a fucking scene”.

Mark licks his lips, and his throat feels dry —both out of rage and amusement, “I want to see you trying”.

“Oh?” At that, Haechan perks up.

None of your friends are strangers to your magnetism —there's just something about you, or your aura, or the way you sometimes smile with your tongue and your gaze can go from doe to siren in an instant.

There's something about you that only people who pay attention can understand.

And they have been paying attention for too long, much to Mark's dismay.

“You want to bet?”

Had you been any other girl, Mark would've bet on it.

Like Jeno, he is competitive. And he considers him to be a very fair opponent.

But this is you they’re talking about, and Mark doesn’t gamble where he can’t stand to lose —least of all against Jeno, who has a reputation of its own.

“No,” he stresses, pressing down the half-way smoked blunt into the ashtray, “unlike you, I don’t act like a fucking high-schooler”.

“Bold statement coming from someone who is about to miss a birthday party just because the birthday girl makes him lose control, so much so he has a boner every time she is around,” Haechan teases and Mark groans. He swears he is going to lose his mind.

“Yeah dude, you’re not that slick holding that cushion to your crotch every time she sits near you,” the other one snorts in between chuckles.

“Can we stop talking about her?”

“Why? Are you growing a boner?”

Mark kicks his head up. Sometimes he can’t believe these are his best friends.

You've never been too fond of celebrating your birthdays.

Not even now, that you kind of need it the most.

“I’ll pick you up in 20, okay?” Minjeong tells you through the phone, with an interference so loud you swear she might be bar-hopping the streets of Seoul to qualify the best place to take you tonight.

“Can I at least know where we are heading to?”

“If you don’t know the meaning of a surprise, you should look it up,” she replies with a condescending tone. “Wear something pretty. Or slutty. Or pretty slutty, I don’t know”.

She hangs up and you're left by yourself, staring longingly at your wardrobe with only twenty minutes to get ready —half of the clothes hanging in there you don't recognize anymore, just as much as you no longer recognize yourself.

It didn’t start right away, but it began long before the breakup. Around four or five months into the relationship, your ex began making small comments—remarks about how your clothes were “too revealing,” or how a certain color didn’t suit your skin tone.

It was seemingly innocent at first, but eventually you found yourself switching from mini-skirts to jeans, and you made sure not to put on too much make up because he didn't like it.

You stopped styling your hair because he never noticed it, and you changed your signature fragrance to something duller just because he once made a comment about your favorite being "too exotic".

You entered that relationship as yourself and left it as someone entirely different —someone he shaped, yet couldn’t stand. Someone he felt no guilt betraying, because you were no longer the girl he’d fallen in love with.

That is, if he truly ever loved you.

You blink repeatedly when you feel the tears lining up in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill down your make up which, by the way, took you a lot of effort to craft, and decide that you can't spend the seventeen minutes left crying. Instead, you dive into your closet hoping to find the dress you once bought, but never managed to wear. And when your hand reaches out to the bottom of the pile of clothes and you feel the satin-like fabric, you can't help but let out a sigh of relief.

Overall it's a quiet outfit, but it does tick the boxes "pretty", "slutty" and "pretty slutty".

At least that's what you think, and that's the impression you get from your roommate's reaction once you leave your room.

“Too slutty?” You flinch, scrunching your nose.

Mark stares at you in awe, almost as if he had seen a ghost. And he might as well have —he can’t remember the last time he saw you looking like… you.

“No, dude, you-” He tries to form a coherent sentence, but you're overwhelming him in three of his five senses, and he can't think straight, “you came back to the Libre?”

You try to pretend that knowing exactly which perfume you're wearing doesn't affect you, but it does make you feel inexplicable things —no matter how invisible you think you might be, Mark Lee has always made you feel seen.

“Does it stink or something?”

You just have no clue how many times Mark has jerked off smelling your clothes.

“No, no,” he rushes to say, “it’s just- it has been a while since-”.

“I know, I know,” you walk past him, and you fail to notice the way he sharply inhales to fill his lungs with the remains of you, “I don’t recognize myself either”.

You stare at your reflection in the living room mirror, and then your gaze shifts to Mark that's still standing behind you, dressed up a little bit different than what he is used to, “are you going out tonight?”

Right, the birthday party it’s a surprise birthday party.

“Yeah, I am going to Jeno’s”.

“Good,” you sigh, taking one last look in the mirror before you start regretting every single one of your choices tonight, “if I call you in the middle of the night, please pick up. Minjeong it's threatening me with a good time, but we both know we have different definitions of what a good time is”.

Mark nods, “noted”.

And right when you’re picking up your keys and heading to the door of your apartment, he calls your name one last time, “you look good, you really do”.

You smile.

You can always count on Mark Lee to make you feel seen.

“It’s the blindfold really necessary?” You ask, feeling dizzy both by the sense deprivation and the fucked up way Minjeong navigates the streets of Seoul.

“I'm starting to think that a duct tape was far more necessary than that rag,” she sighs, and you bite back a smile, “we’re almost there, alright?”

“If you made me dress up just to end up in a bar at Hongdae I swear to God-”

“We’re not going to a bar in Hongdae,” she repeats for the third time tonight, letting out a frustrated oh my God that is barely audible, but it earns another smile from you, “just keep quiet for like three minutes, and then you’ll see”.

And after the promised three minutes, you feel her parking the car —to your knowledge, you could be in the middle of nowhere. Driving for 45 minutes with no traffic can take you really far in Seoul.

Of course she forces you to stay in your seat until she opens the door for you, and offers you her arm for some guidance.

You notice there is no bustle nor loud music that could indicate you’re in one of Seoul’s main streets, and the air feels way more chilly and clean than that of the city.

It’s comforting in a very eerie way, because it is totally opposite to the atmosphere that Minjeong considers as a party.

“Where are we?” You swear you spent almost an hour inside that car, and the ambient feels way too different you might have ended up in a different fucking country you have to ask. Minjeong, once again, rolls her eyes.

“Walk, come on,” she prompts you, pushing you ever so slightly to your front.

Truth be told, the real ride lasted for twenty minutes at best. Minjeong just elongated it so everyone could get to the place on time.

And after another twenty minutes of trying to walk past a rocky path with high heels and a blindfold, you actually managed to set foot on a solid surface.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” Minjeong whispers behind your back, her hands reaching out to untie the black rag that blocks your vision, “but welcome to your surprise birthday party”.

“My what?!”

The minute the blind fold falls to your feet, you hear a thunderous welcoming that makes up for the past minutes of silence you had been enjoying a bit too much.

Your gaze focuses on everything and nothing, practically at the same time.

“Surprise!” Everyone chants. There are faces you recognize, but the place is crowded with way more people than you actually know. Of course this is more like the Minjeong ambiance of a party —random people, loud music and alcohol.

You almost feel shy and intimidated, but a snarky figure it's quick to approach you with a shot glass and a high-pitched “drink up, come on!”

There's no time to register the liquid Haechan is pouring down your throat until it is burning, and you can only cough in disgust.

“Easy there Hyuck,” Jimin says, embracing your figure in a warm hug that you also have no time to register until her figure holds yours comfortably, “it has been a fucking while since our girl drank”.

And that much is true —your ex hated it when you drank.

Of course, he was allowed to do so. But not you, because you were supposed to be a lady.

A lady that doesn't drink.

Doesn't argue.

And most importantly, doesn't say no to sex with her man.

“Who are all these people?” You ask, still coughing whilst Minjeong pats your back softly.

“Girl, I have no idea,” she admits, “I just proposed the idea, and everyone was on board”.

By everyone she means Jimin, Haechan, Jeno and Mark, your closest friends.

Their friends were also your friends, but not as intimate —still, you greet Jungwoo, Johnny, and a bunch of other people you recognize from college. They greet you too as well, holding you in drunken hugs albeit only ever talking like once or twice in your life.

From afar, you spot Mark leaning down into the kitchen bar and you make your way to him.

“Hello Mr. I'll-be-at-Jeno's,” you snark, taking Mark’s cup from his hands and chugging it down in a sip. There wasn’t much liquor left, anyways.

“I know you hate surprises, but I couldn’t tell you,” he defends himself, taking the cup from your hands just to pour you some pineapple juice with vodka. “Minjeong was very excited about this, and it wasn’t within me to ruin her plans, you know?”

You look at Minjeong dancing happily with Jisung, someone you share classes with and that she has been madly in love with since she first saw him.

It's at moments like these that you feel truly blessed. If it weren't for your friends, you think you would have been left to rot in your post-break up misery forever.

“And did you have something to do with all of these?” You ask, glancing around the kitchen and living room that are cutely decorated with balloons and a big sign that says happy birthday with golden letters.

“Who do you think convinced the Zhong Chenle to lend us his precious lake house to host a borderline frat party?” Mark raised an eyebrow, flirtatious.

Chenle is well-known for being one of the richest people in school. One time he threw a party at his house in freshman year, and people still talk about it to this day.

He never threw another party again though, not once, after the damages caused to the property. But apparently Mark made you the exception.

“So that’s why it is so crowded in here,” you hum, crossing your arms against your chest. Mark didn't want to look, but your cleavage it's too revealing to miss it and now he feels like a pervert. Not only that, but the sight brought back memories from that night, when you made him promise the thing.

You were wearing a white thank top, and you were leaning onto him to whisper drunken sweets to his ears that he just couldn’t get lost in between your breasts.

“Did you bring Gigi?”

The nickname makes you feel nauseous for some reason, but you would never confess that to him. As far as you know, Mark and Giselle have been talking. Not entirely dating but also not entirely as friends. Or at least that's what he told you a week or two before you ended your relationship.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I need time to reflect on some things”.

The phrase is rather weird, and it reminds you of a cliché that says it's not you, it's me, but you don't argue —although you two live together, and have been friends for almost 7 years now, communication is not your forte.

At least not while being sober.

“Birthday girl!” Jeno storms, making space for himself between you and Mark. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, and the mixture of his cologne, cigarette smoke and weed makes your heart skip a beat or two.

Jeno is good looking. It took you a while to admit it to yourself, but ever since you just can't stop seeing it.

“It’s not my birthday yet, Jen,” you smile, offering him a flirty look Mark knows all-to-well.

“I know princess, there are still a couple hours left,” he grins, and the way his eyes turn into crescent moons earns another genuine smile from you, “but tonight we should celebrate it like it is”.

There's a sexual innuendo to his words that Mark catches, and he isn't entirely sure if you did too. But judged by the way you're smiling and batting your eyelashes to him, either you caught it and want it, or you don't. He can't know for sure.

Jeno doesn’t know about the promise. He doesn’t know that you deliberately asked Mark to be your first.

And he certainly doesn’t know that, even without a bet, it’s his bed you’ll end up in.

Rather sooner than later.

"Come on baby, it's your turn," Haechan hands you the microphone after giving the best rendition to George Michael's Careless Whisper, and you can barely hold it and stand up from the leather couch without stumbling upon yourself.

Somehow the people in the party dissipated to various places of the house, and you ended up in a fucking karaoke room that was maybe as big as your own apartment.

Chenle, as the music major he is, asked his parents to build it and he takes much pride in it. So much so that he only allowed a few people to enjoy it tonight. And it has everything —a big ass screen, a bar, and even a dance pole for God knows what.

"What's gonna be your choice?" The owner asks, allowing you to explore the music catalog as you ponder. The one condition for choosing the song it’s that it has to be an 80’s song.

“Oh! That one!” You jump in excitement when "Like a Virgin" by Madonna pops up on the screen.

The irony makes you let out a drunken chuckle, but to be fair you like the song. It is also the only one you can remember the lyrics from beginning to end without having to read them.

Haechan helps you climb to the small stage, and when the countdown video starts playing on the screen you suddenly feel too shy and self-conscious of your singing abilities.

To be really honest, they're nowhere near good. Not even a meh.

“Wait!” You squeal, dragging your words, “I don’t even sing good!”

“We’re drunk, we don’t care!” Minjeong screams, with just as dragged words as yours.

Your eyes desperately look for Haechan, the only one who has been your duo partner before, but seems like he is too busy rolling a joint to even pay attention to his surroundings.

You start to panic. That is, until you hear the first notes of the melody and Jeno climbs to the little stage with you.

Having other people at the front with you makes it feel less intimidating, despite almost no one paying attention because they're either too drunk or too into their own business.

Everyone except Mark, whose high gaze hasn't left your image the whole night.

Albeit how low his voice is, Jeno is matching the Madonna vibe perfectly. So much so, that your awful voice doesn't sound as bad when he is there harmonizing with you.

Singing it's fun, although it is not an ability of yours, but when Jeno starts offering you lingering touches and sensual glances, it becomes even more fun.

The tension rises and suddenly everyone is paying attention. Haechan gawks at the way you drunkenly grind your hips against Jeno, and Minjeong and Jimin can't help but cock an eyebrow to each other when the black-haired adamantly places his hands on your hips like they belong there.

Even worse when he brushes his lips against yours, and you lean up to capture him in an ardent kiss for the crowd to see at the end of the song.

It’s way too erotic to be ignored, even for your roommate, whose ears and cheeks are growing red the more he watches the scene.

Mark feels conflicted —you're not his to claim. And you have the freedom to choose Jeno over him, because the stupid promise was made in a drunken moment like this.

When it didn't matter.

When it wasn't as serious as it should have been.

If you want to fuck Jeno, you could. But Mark wishes otherwise.

It's him whom you have to choose. The one that could actually make you feel good. The one that could teach you everything you've been missing out on.

Jeno has a reputation of his own, but he won't be capable of adoring you the way he does.

To treat you like he can.

To make you cum like he knows he would.

“Get a fucking room!” Chenle screams, fascinated by the scene unfolding right in front of his eyes. He is squealing like a fanboy, and the rest of your drunken and high friends look as excited as he is.

Everyone, except for one.

“Come on Lee,” you hang him the microphone, with a taunting smile like you know exactly how much havoc you've wreaked inside him, “it’s your turn”.

Mark looks at you defiantly, with a gaze so sharp you would've feared if you weren't this drunk.

“I’m good,” it’s all he says, pushing the mic away from him.

“It’s almost my birthday,” you pout, “let me hear that pretty voice of yours, come on!”

“I said I’m good,” his voice is steady as he repeats himself, firm enough for you to desist but full of softness to assure you he isn't upset.

Although he is, he won't show it.

Not there, anyways.

And he senses you've caught the message when you simply turn around and hand someone else the microphone, leaving Mark on his own as he watches the way you sway your hips all the way to Jeno.

"So," you drunkenly plop down on the couch next to Jeno, the tip of your fingers teasingly caressing his bicep, "your place or mine?"

He chuckles, “I don't think your roommate would like the idea of having me over”.

From afar, Mark keeps staring.

Be it the weed, or the fact that he thinks you two are way too drunk to pay any attention to him, Mark just can't stop staring.

“Whatever,” you exhale, batting your eyelashes in a sultry manner, “he brings girls all the time, and not once have I complained”.

“Yeah but it is different,” Jeno comments, closing his eyes while getting lost in the patterns you are drawing in his biceps with the tip of your nails, “those girls aren't your friends”.

“So?” You cock an eyebrow, “I still have to listen their obnoxious moaning all the fucking time. Especially Gigi, that girl can't shut up even if her life depended on it”.

“It is definitely not my place to say it”, your friend murmurs, laughing to himself between words, “but Mark has this weird obsession with you”.

The words barely register to the both of you —you don't think much about it, and Jeno believes the alcohol in your system it's too much to remember this anyways.

“What do you mean Jen?”

“You know,” he sighs, tilting his head at you while giving you the dreamiest gaze, “he won't let any of us get near you in a flirty manner. He has never explicitly said so, anyway, but we kind of caught the message after what happened with Jaemin”.

The name not only rings a bell, but brings back a lore you completely forgot about.

Those pieces of information do wonders to your sobriety, by the way —the more Jeno talks, the less intoxicated you feel.

“What are you talking about?”

He smiles with his tongue poking through his cheek, "again, not my place to tell you about".

You can't believe this man —one moment he is drunk and spilling all your roommate's secrets, the other he decides he is too politically correct to keep on gossiping.

That is, until he leans into the crook of your neck and his breath tickles your exposed skin, revealing a bomb that confuses you even more: “but a little birdie told me that Mark doesn't like to share, not even with his friends”.

Jaemin was, perhaps, your first heart break. One you never really count as a heart break because, to be fair, you were never really together. Not officially, at least.

You met him right after Mark moved in with you —being one of his best friends, it was only natural of him to appear in your apartment every other business day after college. He was sweet, attractive, and shared a couple of interests with you that had you bonding almost immediately.

It didn't take you long to develop feelings for him, and you were almost, certainly sure he felt the same way.

Almost, certainly sure until one day he just ghosted you. Out of fucking nowhere.

Not only that, but you noticed he grew apart from Mark too.

You never had the guts to confront him which was a bummer because you were really into the guy, but you just figured things sometimes ended up like that, especially when no type of commitment was made.

For a while you daydreamed about everything that could've been, but then you met your ex-boyfriend and Jaemin went into the background.

Tonight, hearing his name makes you think you never got closure to it. And you feel you could get it tonight, somehow.

“I am going to need you to be more specific, Jen,” you say, grabbing the sides of his face with such a delicacy that makes Jeno's heart throb, "what did Mark have to do with that?"

Instead of replying, he crashes his lips against yours yet again.

For all he knows, he could be doing his friend a favor right now. A sick, twisted one, but a favor nonetheless.

The kiss catches you by surprise, but it is not unwelcomed by you. You quickly adapt to his pace, furrowing your eyebrows when you feel him nipping at your lower lip —he has a reputation of being a good kisser, and he is living up to it. And you're enjoying it a bit too much that you don't catch the subtle "why don't you ask him?" that escapes from his lips in between kisses, right before he pulls away from you.

“I think it's time for us to leave,” Mark's raspy voice you could recognize anywhere, especially when he speaks like that, like he is bothered and out of patience.

You cock an eyebrow at him, still with your arms intertwined with Jeno's figure, "who said I want to go home?"

“You’re not thinking straight,” he sterns, darting glances between you and Jeno, “and it is getting late”.

“Then you go home,” the liquid courage in your veins is making you act mighty, but the truth is you have no idea where you're standing. You're not entirely sure how things escalated this quickly with Jeno, nor why you're actually considering getting it on with him.

You also have no idea why Mark is acting like he is, nor what Jeno meant with the whole Jaemin thing.

Maybe you're still too drunk, and your mind is playing confusing games on you.

But you don't fail to notice the way Mark's glance at Jeno, with a gaze so sharp it might as well be an unspoken threat.

A look you've never seen in your roommate before, and that it stirs things inside you in all the fucked up ways.

“Maybe you should go, princess,” Jeno says, placing a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think Mark is already riled up enough about the fact that I got to kiss before he did. Who knows, if I end up taking you to my place tonight maybe our friendship could even end up like that of Jaemin's”.

“That’s enough,” Mark says, and you don't even acknowledge his actions until the cold air hits your exposed skin, and you're walking the hideous rocky path, only this time in high heels while being drunk.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Mark?” You hiss, struggling against his hold on your arm. “And what the fuck was that about?”

“Jeno has a big mouth,” he says, cornering you between his front and the open door of his car. You have no other option but to get inside, too dizzy and your legs aching to actually fight him.

He gets inside too, turns on the engine and starts driving without sparing you a glance.

After a while, a couple of words fall from his lips, but they do nothing to ease your anger. If anything, they enrage you even more: “he is not worth your time”.

“Yeah, you probably know so much about how I should invest my time,” you scoff, glaring at the window with a bitter look, “I mean, that's why Jaemin grew apart from me, right? Because you also thought he wasn't worthy of my time”.

Again, Mark doesn’t spare you a glance nor an answer, and the silence that builds up between the two of you only deepens the tension you feel within. The kind of tension that makes you verbally vomit in an attempt to fill up the void.

To regain even the slightest bit of control.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the reason why things didn’t work out with me and Jaemin. And you’re also the reason why I am sitting right next to you, and not Jeno’s tonight,” at that, you turn to face him —not an inch of you feels fear, but anger.

And Mark feels it. The way you're shooting words out like daggers, like he is the villain of your failed love stories and one night stands.

“Do you really think I would let you end up with them? They treat girls like they’re something to win, not something to keep.”

You blink repeatedly, his words catch you off guard, “let me?! You don’t get to decide who-”.

“Well I already did,” Mark cuts you, "you didn’t end up in Jeno’s bed tonight and Jaemin hasn't looked for you in years, has he?”

You look at him in awe, with your lips parted and furrowed eyebrows that make his heart shrink.

At times like these, when he really ponders about everything he has done, it's when he accepts he is on the brink of insanity.

Maybe Haechan was right.

Maybe he is obsessed.

“What the fuck is your problem, Mark?” It comes out more as a whisper, but it is loud enough for him to catch it.

And he realizes, now that his true intentions are out in the open, there's really not much to lose.

“You,” you never thought the sound of three letters together could be this spiteful, but it is. And it stings, big time. “You are my fucking problem. You and that stupid promise”.

The words hang there, thick and heavy, and neither of you move. You should look away, or at least pretend that you have no idea what he is talking about, but you remember it too.

The way you said it, not like a joke, but like a secret slipping out.

A secret you intended to take to the grave, but failed miserably.

“I thought you didn’t remember it,” you quietly admit, but feel your blood boiling underneath your skin, “you never said anything, I-”.

“No I do remember it, that's the issue,” the more he talks, the angrier he gets. And the more you think about it, the more sense it makes, “I remember it so clearly, I started ruining things just to keep that promise alive”.

For the first time that night, you're okay with the silence. You don't feel the need to bite back, to say anything in return, because you're still processing whatever that was that fell from his mouth.

Even when he parks the car in front of your apartment, and he stares at the steering wheel like he just ruined the very last thing he intended to ruin, ever, you don't speak.

“That's what you wanted to hear, right? That I've been patiently waiting for years to have you, and that it killed me every time someone else got you to themselves,” he murmurs, letting out a deep breath.

You think he will continue rambling, but he stops. And then, some sort of realization hits you.

“All of this… just because you want to be my first?” You ask, incredulously, “am I a trophy to you? Something to brag about?”

And when Mark looks at you with crystalline, half-lidded eyes, you realize you didn't nail the spot.

Matter of fact, you're far away from getting it right. And Mark is not about to try to explain it to you with words.

“I know you're way smarter than that,” it’s all he says before getting out of the car and slamming the word shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It is all so confusing, you're not quite sure if Mark hates you or he is in love with you. It’s not like you’re going to ask, either.

But one thing you're certain about: the promise, equally, made you ruin things to yourself. That's why you couldn't have sex with Jaemin when you had the chance, nor could you sleep with your boyfriend of two years. That's also the reason you're here tonight, almost fully sober and outside your apartment alone, because ending up in Jeno's place could only mean one thing.

And you were not about to screw it up.

Not when you are this close to the deadline. A deadline you religiously tracked, but never dare to admit. Not even to yourself.

You check your phone right before getting out of the car, the clock striking a big 00:04 A.M. —it is, officially, your birthday.

By now there are a couple of messages congratulating you; most of them are wondering where you are, and why you leave your own party too early, but you pay no mind to those.

Not to any, but one.

[11:54 P.M.] From: Jeno — This is the part where you two say “Thank you Jeno”.

[11:55 P.M.] From: Jeno — It was nice making out with you. We should do it again sometime.

[11:55 P.M.] From: Jeno —Just please make sure that Mark won't cut me off from his life.

[11:56 P.M.] From: Jeno — I like being his friend.

Like Mark, Jeno is a little weird.

[00:05 A.M.] From: You — Lol, what was in it for you?

[00:06 A.M.] From: Jeno — I got to make out with a pretty girl.

[00:06 A.M.] From: Jeno — And make Mark all riled up.

[00:07 A.M.] From: Jeno — Two of my favorite things in the world.

[00:07 A.M.] From: Jeno — Happy birthday (.◜◡◝)

A promise it’s a promise, right?

And he brought it up. He must want this as much as you do.

Right?

As you make your way through the elevator, you pray he hasn't fallen asleep yet.

You don't have a solid plan, but that doesn't matter. This is Mark you're thinking about. Mark, your roommate, the protagonist of your wildest fantasies and almost every single wet dream you've had since you met him.

You don't need to have a plan —you're now sure he wants you, and you want him too.

The apartment it's completely dark, except for the crook underneath his bedroom door that's mildly illuminated. It's taking you a lot of courage to knock on it, but you manage to do so in less than the time you thought it would take you.

One, two, three times. And no response.

He doesn't tell you to come in, nor opens the door for you. But you sense he isn't asleep yet, you can hear soft music playing through his speakers, and he never falls asleep with the lights on.

Never.

So you go at it again, much to your pride, and you knock on his door another three times.

Only this time, he actually answers.

And he stands there, between you and his room, with a gaze so deep you feel your heart ringing in your ears.

“It’s my birthday,” it’s all you say. Not clever or witty, but that's all you could come up with.

“I know,” Mark rasps, his eyes talking way more than his mouth. “Happy birthday”.

You don't think twice. This time, there's nothing to think about.

And with a delicacy that doesn't match the short, black dress you're wearing, nor the ardent desire behind your eyes, you give Mark a quick peck.

Not a kiss, but barely a brush of his lips. It is soft, and clumsy, and it happens almost in slow motion.

But not slowly enough for him to react.

He stands there, frozen, with his heart beating at a thousand miles per hour wondering if you're sober enough to choose this.

To choose him. Even after all.

"You're going to have to guide me here, you know?" You chuckle nervously, feeling him tensing underneath your touch, “I know nothing about sex”.

Mark blinks repeatedly. He wants to question you, to make you doubt. He wants you to desire him, not because of a stupid promise but because your body wants him —no, needs him.

“This is not because of the promise, right?”

You lick your lips, “when will you realize that the promise was just an excuse to to put over the table that I've wanted to fuck with you ever since I met you, Mark?”

He looks at you for what feels like ages before actually kissing you.

A kiss that doesn't resemble any other kiss that you've had before, one that is charged with the same amount of lewdness and devotion.

Mark kisses like he wants to assert dominance, to have control. And you're not one to put up a fight, so you let him.

One of his hands finds your hips while the other settles on your nape, and he pulls in you to the point of deleting every single space between your bodies.

“You want me to guide you?” Mark asks in between kisses, slamming the door shut right behind him while leading you to his bed, “want me to teach you?”

There's something enticing about the corruption, Mark thinks, about breaking something so pure, shaping something into everything he knows.

It is not about being the one to fuck you first, but being the first one to make you feel the kind of pleasure that you can't provide for yourself.

A pleasure that only he can provide for you.

“Yes, please Mark,” you chant, desperately roaming your hands against his cheeks, neck and chest.

This is as far as you've gotten with someone: the despair, the neediness, the desire to feel a body rutting into you.

But you don't let them. You never went further from there.

"You're going to have to trust me”.

“I already do,” you pant, and a moan escapes from your lips when Mark bites the point where your neck and clavicle connect, “fuck, you know I do”.

“Just me, right?” he whispers, placing a soothing kiss on top of his bite, “not Jeno, not Jaemin, nor your stupid ex, right?”

“Just you Mark,” you cry out, and at that, he lets out a triumphant smile.

He has you right where he wants to.

Right where you belong.

He takes his time marking your skin, peppering kisses and bites anywhere he possibly can. Where people could see them, where your friend's eyes could land and wonder who did those to you.

And you don't seem to mind the way he is harshly sucking on your flesh, leaving purplish bruises that might take a while to fade.

He is not in a rush, but he feels you growing impatient by the way your hips instinctively try to reach some friction against him.

“Have you ever let anyone-” he asks, with his fingers tracing your slit over your laced panties.

You are soaking wet.

“No,” you shake your head. You don’t even let him finish, but you know the answer beforehand to whatever it is he was about to ask.

You’ve never let anyone touch you. You’ve also never received an oral, let alone experiment an orgasm with something that aren’t your toys or fingers.

He kisses you yet again, only this time around way more possessive than the last. Mark's saliva tastes like plum soju, mint and your strawberry gloss, and your heart skips a beat at the realization that this is real, that this is happening —your taste and essence lingers in Mark's mouth, and there's no turning back now.

The closer your bodies are, the more your fragrances mix. You can't tell his smell apart from yours, and he can't tell either —your hands smell like his lotion, and his shirt smells like your perfume.

Your mind spirals into all the sensations he is providing you with, that is until his hands sneak underneath your dress and you get to feel his hot flesh against the sides of your body.

Then, your mind goes blank again.

Your blood boils, you feel the heat rising to your chest, cheeks and ears. You feel exposed, in a way, but you're sure things aren't going to end there.

Mark Lee has seen nothing of you just yet.

"Can I take it off?" His hands are still attached to your waist over your clothes, and as far as you're concerned he could be talking about your dress or your bra. You want those two off anyways, so you nod and agree to whatever he is thinking.

Things unfold in slow motion to your eyes, but everything is happening pretty fast, actually. In the blink of an eye your dress and part of your underwear are scattered around his bedroom floor, and it doesn't take too long before some of his clothes are joining yours there, too.

Between all the kisses and pettings, you feel the loss of his warmth when he takes a step back. Then, you feel really exposed.

Apart from your heavy breaths and fast heartbeats, the room is completely quiet. So quiet it scares you, so you break the silence with a muffled "what?".

Mark's straight eyebrows furrow just slightly, and he parts his lips to say something yet nothing comes out of them. Nothing but a deep, trembling exhale; it sounds like the equivalent to being able to finally breath after being underwater for so long.

“What, Mark?” You repeat with a stern voice, fearing he might've started to regret the whole thing.

But when he drops to his knees in front of you, and his hands find the waistband of your panties, you get the sense that he might not be regretting any of this at all.

“So pretty,” he mutters, with rounded eyebrows like crescent moons and big, open eyes as he stares up at you, “you’re so, so pretty”.

The compliment takes your breath away, and the skin on your nape and back short-circuits as if an explosion of electricity it’s taking place underneath your flesh.

"You really think so?" You're not quite sure what prompts you to ask such a question, but you figure you should let yourself get loose. The last thing you want for tonight is to hold back, because that isn't the idea.

You're doing this with Mark for a reason, and said reason is because you trust him.

Without holding back, without overthinking, without hesitating. There will be plenty of time to reflect on whatever happens tonight, but right now isn't the time.

At least not when Mark is kneeling in front of you, holding so much adoration in his eyes you swear you finally feel those butterflies people keep talking about.

“I know so,” he reiterates, “just look at you”.

Your eyes fall to where his hands meet with your panties, and this time he asks for consent with just his gaze. You nod, and lift your hips slightly off the mattress to make his job rather easy.

You want to shy away, to cover yourself and evaporate into thin air —at the same time, Mark wants to look at you. You want him to be the first one to see you naked, to touch parts of your body nobody has before. You want to see his expression, to wonder what he will do when the realization of having you in his bed finally sinks in.

Because up until now, everything feels like a fever dream to him.

You lay at the edge of his bed, and watch as he undresses you. His hands trace the path of the panties , from your thighs to your calves, and only looks up when it reaches your ankles, signaling for you to get rid of them.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, standing up from the floor right in front of you. His eyes are all over your face and you get the feeling that he might kiss you again, but all he does is press his lips against yours and murmurs, “you’re fucking mine, you know that?”

You do. All you know is the adrenaline running through your veins, and the palpitations you feel underneath your left rib cage and between your thighs.

And all you know is that you want Mark to fuck you. Whether it's painful, or not. Whether you get to feel some pleasure, or not. All you want is for him to be your first, to be the one you experience sex for the first time like everyone around you already has.

It's actually more complicated than that, than just experiencing, but you don't dwell on it for long.

“Don’t think about it too much,” you suggest, just as fazed as he is. “Don’t think about anything just- do whatever you want”.

Mark can’t do whatever he wants with you. At least not yet. He needs to be gentle, to prepare you to take him like he likes to be taken.

“Stop me if I hurt you,” he whispers with shortness of breath, “alright?”

You nod and swallow thickly, “okay”.

Inevitably, Mark feels a pressure over his shoulders.

You deserve something memorable, something that it's all about you.

Sure, his dick is hard and throbbing, and he swears he is one second away from exploding inside his pants, but he is willing to leave his pleasure aside for yours.

He'd have other opportunities to get his dick wet and other chances to experiment with you. Right now it should be all about you, about making you feel good.

And under that thought, he kisses you again.

Soft and slowly, dragging the tip of his fingers along the middle of your back. His tongue brushes against yours and you completely forget about the concept of oxygen.

It doesn't matter now that Mark's breath is everything you need to respire.

You hardly think about how naked you're in comparison to him, because he presses his chest to yours and your breasts become squeezed by his golden skin. You feel your nipples hardening against him, and you’re fully aware he can feel them too.

Fuck, he can feel them. And his cock gets even harder by that alone.

“Let me see you,” Mark whispers under his breath, but you wrap your arms around his neck, preventing him from taking a step back from you. You shake your head, feeling abruptly overwhelmed by his embrace, as well as the cold air hitting your skin.

“No one has ever seen me naked,” you say.

He knows.

“I want to see you, if you let me,” he swallows thickly, brushing his nose against yours. “Please, let me see you”.

Mark feels your arms releasing some strength, falling limp over his shoulders, and he takes that as an opportunity to walk back just enough to see you.

All of you.

Everything he has been fantasizing for years now, without being able to catch a glimpse from.

“God,” he exhales with a strangled breath, doing everything he possibly can to remain collected.

But it's irrational, and impossible. How can he remain calm when you're almost fully naked in front of him? Your skin is covered in goosebumps, your nipples are hard and the wet spot between your legs just tells him that your body needs something only he can give you. How can he be calm throughout any of this?

He can’t, and he is finally coming to terms with it.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur, slyly crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m practically naked, and you still have your pants on”.

Mark listens, but decides to ignore you. Instead, his hands find your crossed arms and he motions for you to drop them, pressing his lips against yours to kiss you one more time.

He swears he might never get tired of kissing you, ever.

“Lay down,” he presses desperate, short kisses against your lips, and you follow his guidance until your back meets the softness of the comforter again.

His hands hold the sides of your body, only to drag the last piece of clothing off from your body. And it happens all too fast, that you don't even have time to shy away. Mark lays down between your spread legs, with his hands and arms hooked underneath your thighs, feline eyes looking right at yours.

“Remember,” Mark warns, and the feeling of his warm breath against your core feels too weird and unfamiliar, you mean to close your legs around him but he doesn't allow you to, “tell me if I hurt you”.

Your heart would have exploded inside your chest at the sight, but it doesn't until Mark's tongue meets your pussy for the first time. Then, you feel your heartbeats ringing loudly in your ears.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, holding up your weight with your forearms.

“You’re dripping wet,” he murmurs, nose brushing against your clit while his tongue collects all your arousal, “you must really want this, don’t you?”

You writhe under his hold, feeling weakened by his words. Your chest feels heavy, and there's a tension on your lower back that prompts you to grind your hips against his face, practically begging for him to do something.

And he does —the tip of his digits slide against your folds, exploring you. He focuses his tongue on your clit, and by that alone you swear you're seeing stars. You thought the stimulation would pretty much feel like your fingers or toys, but it's nothing close to that. It feels foreign, out of your control, and you like that.

“How do you touch yourself?”

Instead of replying, you guide one of your hands to his, that is already wet and sticky, and take two of his fingers, “put them inside”.

He follows your orders, sinking his index and middle finger with such an ease it surprises both of you. Normally, it would take you a while to get wet on your own —right now, it seems that your body is reacting to Mark much faster than you expected.

“So fucking warm,” the mutter is more to himself than to you, but you still catch it. And for some reason, the sound of his voice makes you clench harder around his fingers, “and so tight”.

“Don’t say that,” you kick your head back, closing your eyes shut.

“I know you like it,” he says, a small smile creeping through the corners of his lips, “I can feel it”.

There it is, again. Your walls flutter around his fingers, squeezing them softly at every word he says.

“You like it when I tell you how wet you are?” Mark’s voice is gradually lower now, and his choice of words has the desired effect on you, “don’t lie, I can feel you getting tighter”.

This may be better than any lie detector the world has come to know. Discovered by none other than Mark, right before any other guy all over you could.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, your fingers instinctively latching to his black hair. You don't mean to pull it, but you find yourself using it as leverage, and Mark finds himself groaning at it, “seems like I've discovered something about you too”.

He presses his lips and nose further against yours, pretending to know every single inch of your core with his tongue. It's the first time anyone does this for you, and he wants it to be memorable—a couple of soft whimpers and quiet, strangled moans are falling from your lips, but that isn’t enough for Mark.

"What else do you do?" He asks, and the question comes out more as a whimper than a casual, nonchalant voice. He is clearly affected by all of this, and you can tell by his hips rut against his bed as he touches you. “When you touch yourself, what else do you do?”

One of your hands leaves his dark hair, and guide to your breasts. It always goes a little bit like that —your dominant hand maneuvers the toy against your clit, and your other hand focuses on your breasts and nipples, pinching and twisting them as you like.

Fuck, well, that's going to be a sight imprinted in Mark's mind forever. The way your back arches as soon as your fingers tease your nipples, the way your chest elevates with a deep inhale. The way your hips buck against Mark's touch, and how your toes curl just slightly at the stimulation.

He soon focuses again on his task, pumping two of his fingers inside you while his tongue takes care of your clit that has become more swollen than initially.

He is doing anything he can to get to know you, to see how his touch is affecting you. And when his middle finger touches a spot inside your walls that he hadn't before, and you let out a guttural moan of his name, Mark bites his lip.

“Right there,” you shake your head frantically, acquiring strength from, practically, nowhere to push your body up in your forearms again, “shit, again, do it again”.

And he complies. His middle finger curls, and the reaction he gets is the same, if not more pronounced, from you.

“You’re getting even- fuck, even wetter,” repeatedly, he manages to find a pace of his own. His fingers move slowly and deliciously inside of you, almost always touching that spot that has you moaning louder than before. That, added with the suck of his mouth around your clit, sends you to cloud 9.

You've never felt this before, on your own, and it scares you.

It feels more intense, and slightly painful. Your lower back hurts, you're sweating and you fear you might pee.

It definitely feels as if you're going to pee.

“Mark!” You gasp, your hands pushing him away, “I feel- ‘m gonna make a mess”.

His heart is beating loud in his ears, and he feels the pressure of your thighs squeezing his face.

You must be close.

“Wait!” You gasp, and Mark withdraws from between your legs, but his fingers continue fucking your pussy with an increased pace, “G-god, fuck, I’m-”.

You’re babbling, not making any sense. And Mark feels his dick leaking precum, sticking to his underwear. Never in all his years of life had he been this hard, and it's hurting him to no end. At the same time, it feels deliciously torturing.

He just fears he might come untouched.

“Close?” Mark asks, and you just nod frantically.

As if an expert, his palm hits your clit every time he bottoms his fingers out inside of you. A part of him tells him he should position himself back between your legs and make you come with his mouth and fingers; the other, however, urges him to crawl up, between kneeling and lying next to you, as his available hand guides your chin to him.

The sight is even better like this, Mark thinks —your teary eyes and the hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks with sweat is something he might never be able to forget.

The way you're staring at him like you're scared, and confused, and oh so aroused. He is the reason behind your body shaking and your hands gripping the bed sheets underneath you; the reason behind your cries and whimpers, and the wetness between your legs.

All because of him.

"I think I'm coming," you manage to spit out in a strangled breath, and soon after lose complete control over your body.

Your back arches against his bed, your legs close around his wrist, and your body threatens to push him away. But Mark doesn't let you —he embraces you, holding you harshly in place as you ride your high.

“There you go,” he murmurs, with a soft smile creeping through the corners of his lips.

Your trembling hand wraps around his bicep, and you can barely open your eyes without tearing up. Whatever just happened, you haven't experienced it before.

“Mark,” you whimper yet again, feeling how your walls clench over and over around his fingers. It tired you, both mentally and physically —your toes feel funny from clenching them much, your legs are sore from being spread open for a while now, and your hips feel tired from all the tension that suddenly snapped minutes ago, “holy fuck, Mark”.

“I’m right here,” he tells you while leaving a quick kiss on your lips.

And then another.

And another.

And another, until it turns into a proper kiss, one that isn’t nearly as sloppy or fast as the ones he offered you before. This time, Mark kisses you slowly, carefully, almost as if he is trying to soothe all that tension with his lips.

“You said I can do whatever I want with you, right?” he whispers, brushing away the hair sticking out to your forehead with sweat.

You nod, desperately.

“Come again for me, yeah?” The way he is asking for it it's so sensual, but you know it is not a plea. It is an order, and you want to obey.

“Are you going to take everything I give you?” Mark asks, dragging his lips along your jaw and neck. “Will you be good for me like that?

“Yes, Mark,” you moan, biting down your lower lip when his fingers find your overstimulated core yet again. The soft touch is enough to make you flinch, and he similes at that.

“Oh, God,” a gasp escapes your lips when he starts touching you again, rubbing your clit in circles, “‘t hurts, fuck”.

“I know baby,” yet he doesn’t stop, “but you have to be wetter for you to take me how i like it”.

The hidden promise behind his words makes you arch your back, and then you feel it —the pain morphing into pleasure, because it is him who is inflicting it on you.

This time, your orgasm hits you faster. In no time your legs are trembling yet again, and you're holding onto his neck like your life depends on it.

To be honest, it does right now.

“I need to taste you again,” and before you can protest, Mark’s tongue is already lapping at your slit, savouring all the desire you have for him.

When he is done, Mark licks his lips and he does so in such a swift movement that it barely registers in your mind. But it does, and you can't stop thinking how attractive he is, and how awfully aroused he is making you feel. It's like your body has a mind of its own, one that's completely enticed by him.

He gets rid of the rest of his clothes, and you admire him.

“C’me here,” he kneels in the bed again, hovering your body. His erection pressed against your lower abdomen once again, and you let out an unexpected, almost embarrassing moan just by that alone.

He is hard, and his dick feels warm. You can't help but sneak a hand between your bodies and wrap it around him, making him curse under his breath.

The sight of Mark's eyes closed shut, and his bottom lip caught between his lips will be engraved in your mind, maybe forever.

“If you touch me again, I'm going to come,” he warns you.

“And isn’t that what you want?” You ask, stroking him softly. You’re barely discovering how he likes to be touched, but there’s something pleasant about the way you’re exploring him.

“Not before fucking you,” Mark tells you, “I have to make you feel good again”.

Your eyes never abandon his figure, and you're too lost in that thought, of how strikingly beautiful Mark looks tonight, that you don't feel any sort of panic until the tip of his dick slides against your slit.

This is really happening, you think to yourself, and suddenly all the oxygen from the room has vanished, leaving you with a heavy chest and an awful sensation that you're choking.

“Ready?” He asks when he catches a glimpse of your furrowed eyebrows.

“Just nervous,” your eyes dart between his face and the parts of your bodies where you almost meet. You've heard awful stories about first times, involving a lot of pain and discomfort; why would yours be any different than those?

You feel your heart beating in anticipation, and your throat gets dry.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Mark says, leaning down to kiss you, “I’m going to make you feel really, really good”.

You nod, because you know he is telling the truth. So you brace yourself by holding his biceps, watching as he guides his dick inside of you.

“Inhale for me baby,” he tells you, and you follow. Your lungs get filled with fresh air until they hurt, until you no longer can harbor any more oxygen.

And only then, the tip of it slides right in easily, with just the tiniest bit of discomfort —your fingers and toys are not close to the size he is.

“Let it all out,” and you exhale deeply, relaxing underneath him as he finally bottoms out. He stays there, without moving, feeling how your walls adapt to his girth. Mark kisses your cheek, and snuggles his face in the crook of your neck to leave a couple of them there, too, “good job”.

You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck just as your legs wrap around his hips.

His weight on top of you feels nice, just as it does having him inside of you. But you're desperate to know how he really feels, so you prompt him to move.

“I’ll go slow,” and he sticks to his word. His thrusts are slow, but deep —every time he bottoms out, you moan.

You're just getting used to him, so the way he is fucking you is more than enough for now. And it is enough for him, too —if he goes any faster, he is sure he will come.

But he maintains a certain pace, and your bodies get to meet each other in a way they hadn't before.

“Does it feel good?” You ask him in a murmur, and he hums in response.

“So good,” his eyes never leave yours. “You feel so good, your pussy feels so good”.

You bite your lips, wanting to hold back whatever reaction his words elicit from you.

There's something lewd about his voice, and the way he says things tonight. There's something lewd in the way you like it, too.

“You feel good too,” you compliment him, caressing the sides of his face. “Want to come again, with you”.

Mark nods, as if you’re giving him an order for him to follow. But you might as well have, because he takes it upon himself to give you what you want. One of his hands sneak between your sweaty bodies, and albeit difficult, he manages to position the tip of his fingers over your clit, rubbing it at the same pace as his thrusts.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, closing your eyes shut when you feel a pinch of pain from the overstimulation.

It's crazy how many things Mark has learned about you in the past hour.

“Does it feel good when I touch you like this?” He manages to ask, and you nod frantically.

His hand then withdraws from your clit, and when you're about to protest, you notice his mouth is leaning closer to your chest.

He then latches his tongue around one of your hardened nipples, and you become a mess of whimpers underneath him.

“And this?” Mark asks with his lips attached to the flesh of your breast, “does it feel good when I do this?”

“It feels so good, Mark,” you chant, with teary eyes that threaten to start bawling in ecstasy, “so good, fuck, so good”.

He continues, sucking on your nipple while his fingers tease the other. And you really seem to like it because you can't stop moaning, because all your hands do is to force him even more against your chest.

“Squeezing me so good,” Mark mutters under his breath, losing control of himself as he feels you clenching around him. He's drooling over your breasts, swollen and pink lips dragging across your flesh while his hips start spasming, “God, you’re so fucking tight”.

You sneak a hand between your bodies, and when your digits brush against your clit, you feel your body jolting, and the tension threatening to unravel.

You're so close, again.

And you hope he is close too.

“I’m-” You don't manage to finish the sentence when Mark's fingers replace yours, “Mark!”

You mean to keep your eyes open, to look at him in between, but you finally give up to the overwhelming pleasure. You close them shut, and all you're left with is the feeling of Mark's body against yours, and the sounds you and him are eliciting from each other.

“Close again, baby?” And you nod frantically, tightening your limbs around him —your arms around his neck, your legs around his lower back.

You’ve hugged Mark before, but nothing will ever compare to this; to your naked bodies pressing together, to his lips murmuring sweet nothings against yours.

To share something as intimate as an orgasm can be.

“Coming,” you whisper weakly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. And at the same time, Mark lets out a painful, choked groan.

He wants to come, but not yet. Not before fucking you how he likes to fuck.

Mark wanted to be gentle, and he has been, but he also wants to ruin you for every other man, and he won't do it just by making you come.

He will do it by fucking you hard. By making you feel things you've never felt before, by corrupting you into finding pleasure in everything he gives you.

So when you finally come down from your high, and you look up at him hungry for more, Mark decides to switch your position on the bed.

He maneuvers your body so that you're on all fours, the palm of your hands doing barely anything to hold you up, but Mark helps you by pulling your hair with a strength that makes you moan.

"I fucked you like you deserved it," Mark says, pressing kisses to your shoulders and back. One of his hands holds your hips in place, while the other gets lost and tangled in your hair, “now, I'm going to fuck you how you need it".

And this new position makes you gasp even harder than before —you can feel all of him, inch by inch, bottoming out inside of you.

“Oh my fucking God,” you practically scream, hands squeezing his bed sheets.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he says, pulling your hair harshly so that you turn to see him. Or at least you try to.

His hips start moving inside you, gentle enough for you to get used to his stretch, but almost desperate to increase their pace. Naturally, you get even wetter. The noises your pussy makes clenching around him are heavenly, and they're also a good measure for how rough Mark can be with you.

"None of them would've been able to get you like this,” Mark grunts, forcing your head in place so that you’re partially looking at him, “you’re dripping on my cock”.

Your walls squeeze him yet again, and he can’t suppress a chuckle of disbelief, “never thought you’d be into dirty talk like this”.

“Fuck me harder, Mark”.

Shit, you’re way better than anything he imagined.

“Like this?” He asks, increasing not the pace of his thrusts, but the deepness of them. Right when you felt you couldn’t feel him any deeper, he reached that spot.

“Fuck!”

Your body collapses onto the bed, and he lets you. But your hips and arse are still prettily arched for him, so he continues taking you.

“You can give me one more, right?” It's taking him all his self-control not to blow inside you right then and there, but he has to endure it a little bit more. At least until he gets another orgasm from you. “Show me how good I'm making you feel, come on”.

“Mark, it feels- so fucking good,” you cry out.

“Prove it to me,” he says through gritted teeth, “let me know how good my cock feels inside you”.

And like that, you come once more.

Only this time, it’s too much.

You feel your body trembling, and your orgasm dripping out of you onto Mark’s thighs.

“There you go baby,” he praises, but he doesn’t slow down. Instead, he fucks you through your orgasm faster.

The sweet, gentle Mark that made you come for the first time that night is long gone.

And you don't hate that.

You crave it.

“Want- you to come,” you sob, biting down your lip so hard you swear it’s bleeding. “Please- fuck, please, come”.

And all it takes for you to push him to the edge is the way your hips roll against his. Naturally, instinctively, like you were made to take him and just him.

And he wants to prove it to you, and anyone for that matter. If you let him, of course.

“Can I come here?” Mark asks, hovering over your body while he sneaks a hand between your tummy and the mattress, finding your overstimulated core, “can I fill this pussy with my cum?”

You nod frantically, between tears.

“Please,” a beg falls from your lips. “Please, Mark, please”.

And he is about to come right where you want him, how you want him, but not like this. So he flips you over until you’re on your back once again, and right before you can protest or say anything he sinks inside you yet again.

"Want to see your pretty face when I mark you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips, “so you never forget who was the one to have you first like this, to use this pussy before anyone else”.

His gaze never leaves yours until he comes —his eyebrows furrow, his eyes close and you fear he might be coming too hard by the grimace of pain in his face.

He moans your name in between, breathing heavily while the remains of his high hits him. Mark can't remember a time he came this much, or this violently, but he adores the feeling.

And it is all because of you, the star of his fantasies.

He wishes to stay like this forever, entangled with your hands intertwined.

But he feels you falling asleep in his embrace, and he needs to take care of some things first.

“Don’t sleep up on me baby," he quietly whispers, his voice strained for all the groans and moans he let out tonight, “let’s get you cleaned up”.

You barely register anything, but whine at the loss of his warmth when he backs up.

Then, Mark catches a glimpse of his cum oozing out of you and he thinks it’s the prettiest sight he has ever seen —even better when he remembers that he is the first one to have you like this.

As it was written.

As it should always have been.

Because a promise will remain a promise, only if you still mean it.

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