#mark blurbs

[handlemehyuck]

bf dreamies 𓍼 dating a full-time student

꩜ i received a request on my main blog, but it honestly feels weird to post there for nct now lol, so i decided to let it live here >.< thank you for requesting, anon 🤍 happy reading!

mark: he brings you lunch during your shifts at the library. he melts watching you run down the stairs, skipping to his car because you know his adoring gaze is locked on you. the excitement twirls you, and he laughs in the driver’s seat, observing the curious students, probably wondering what on earth is up with this girl. they’d understand if they knew her boyfriend was here. her very busy boyfriend with her favorite food and a kiss to give. a few kisses. as many as she has time for.

renjun: he thinks you’re incredible. he finds your major fascinating and has shown more interest in your studies than anyone else in your life. he quizzes you with your stack of flashcards, throwing in spontaneous questions to make you laugh. he reads over essays. he asks about your lectures, curious to know what the most interesting part was. he loves it when you text him after an exam, confident you crushed it, and gracious for his help, but he always says: no, baby. that was all you.

jeno: you stay up late together. he plays video games and you sit at the desk he built beside his gaming setup. you wear one of his AirPods, attention focused on your laptop screen and the opened textbooks around you. he stopped playing an hour ago and is admiring you, but you haven’t a clue. he leans over to kiss your temple, asking if you’d like some water or tea. all you do is nod, and he laughs. “which one, baby?” “hmm?” “water or tea?” “whichever’s easiest.” your eyebrows furrow, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you flip back a few pages. “i’ll make tea.”

haechan: you’re in an online grad program that’s kicking your ass, so anytime you’re on break, he spoils the hell out of you. you’ve been flown to cities across the world after exam season to sing and dance in arenas and experience top-tier stress relief. when deadlines are compressing, he cooks for you and pulls you away from your desk to eat with him. he’s supportive and sweet but intense about your health. you’re a perfectionist, and he’s received far too many texts from you in the middle of the night like it’s normal to completely disregard rest. your favorite thing to do is nap with him, or feel his fingers in your hair while he watches tv at a quiet volume so you can rest.

jaemin: a part of him—and maybe he doesn’t admit this—is living vicariously through you. any opportunity he has to pick you up after class is taken, and he finds himself leaning forward against the steering wheel to get a better view of the students passing by. the campus is slow and quiet before erupting into a sea of bobbing heads and heavy backpacks as another morning class ends; they navigate the rush like it was choreographed. in another life, he wonders if your paths still would’ve crossed. if you would’ve spent every waking hour studying together in the library, at cafes, in the grass outside the science building once spring’s warmth is delicious. when he sees you, he slides back into reality, feeling the leather beneath him, and smiles widely through his window.

chenle: when he finds out you’re on the uni’s club soccer team, he asks for your game schedule. there’s a twitter page that posts updates, so he makes an account for the sole purpose of following it. his liked tweets are filled with every goal you scored and assist you made; he replies too: that’s my girl!! he has your last name on a sweatshirt that he wears to every game he can make, a mask covering his face, and sunglasses covering his eyes. he loves greeting you after games, your lips still parted, catching your breath. your cheeks are red from the excursion. flyaways frame your face, ponytail messy and much looser, so much looser than it was when you ate breakfast together hours earlier. you unravel the hair tie in his car, run your fingers through your hair, and contemplate what you want for dinner. his treat.

jisung: he’s your safe haven. his apartment is your oasis. his heart lurches whenever you text him about heading over, even if you know he won’t be home for hours. his demeanor always shifts slightly when he knows you’re at his place, and he can’t be there. he always texts back, wondering if you’re ok, and hoping you were just seeking a different environment to study in. when he gets home, sometimes you’re still studying. other days, you’re asleep in his bed or standing in the kitchen in one of his t-shirts with wet hair, waiting for the kettle to whistle. he wishes you’d just move in with him, knowing it wouldn’t only save you money, but he craves your presence. he sleeps better when you’re in his bed, and he prefers to know you’re eating. it warms his heart to see your folded figure studying on his couch, taking short breaks to peer out the window. he takes your picture, sometimes calling your name and catching a soft smile and warm eyes on film.

[cbeargyu]

Hii, I love your writing so much, I just discovered your account and omg I just binged the entirety of it!!

Would you ever write a period piece, like something inspired by medieval times. Because, imagine Mark as a lowborn knight devoted to protecting the court's only female alchemist. They have mind-boggling sex and fall in love, duh. But, the reader's accused of performing witchcraft. So, she's sentenced to death. AND Mark's ordered to excecute her!

the mercy in his life

summary: accused of witchcraft and sentenced to death, you face execution by the knight sworn to protect you. but what the crowd doesn’t know is that he’s hiding a dangerous secret — and a desperate plan to save you.

pairing: knight!mark x alchemist!fem reader

genre: historical, romance, drama, angst, smut, forbidden love

warnings: explicit sexual content, public execution themes, religious and political persecution, emotional distress, betrayal, sacrifice, mention of blood, decapitation, manipulation of identity for escape.

you belonged in the shadows of the stone walls, where the air smelled of burnt sage and old parchment. where your hands, stained with crushed herbs and soot, crafted remedies for nobles who never looked you in the eye. you weren’t a lady, not by their measure—you didn’t wear silk, didn’t smile for men who thought your intelligence was a novelty. you were a necessity. useful. quiet. invisible.

until he came.

sir mark lee wasn’t supposed to speak to you. he was a knight—lowborn, yes, like you, but carved into legend by the steel in his grip and the loyalty in his gaze. they said he once felled a man twice his size for threatening the prince. they said his sword was blessed by god himself.

but he didn’t look like a legend when he stood in your chamber that night, armor scratched from battle, blood crusted at his temple. he looked human. lost.

“the healer’s too far,” he’d said, voice low and urgent. “they told me you could help.”

you remember the tremble of his body beneath your fingers as you cleaned the wound. how he watched your hands—not your face, not your figure, but your hands, like they held power.

“it’ll scar,” you told him, not knowing why you felt the need to speak softly. “but you’ll live.”

“then i owe you my life.”

he meant it.

after that, he returned often—always under the pretense of bruises and shallow wounds, always after dark. sometimes he didn’t even knock. just appeared in your doorway, breathless from training or battle, eyes searching the dim room until they found you.

“it’s quiet here,” he once said, the first night he stayed too long. “i can breathe.”

you didn’t touch each other. not yet. but the air between you grew heavy with want. every word he spoke lingered too long. every glance left your skin hot. he began to bring you things—dried rose petals, rare vials, broken relics from the battlefield. once, he placed a single golden pin in your palm. “it reminded me of you,” he said, and didn’t explain why.

you never wore it.

but you kept it in a drawer, where your fingers found it on restless nights.

because there was something unspoken between you—something dangerous. it curled beneath your skin like flame, threatening to devour you whole. you knew what it meant to be seen by a man like him. you knew what the court would say.

a knight and a witch, they’d whisper.

a blade and a curse.

they’d burn you for it.

but still, you let him return.

you let him look at you like that.

you let him touch your hand one night, when neither of you spoke, and the fire burned low, and the only sound was the trembling of your breath.

you didn’t stop him when his lips brushed your knuckles.

you didn’t stop him when they found you.

the night he kissed you, you thought it was a mistake.

he was half-drunk on pain and exhaustion, slouched in the wooden chair by your hearth. his armor lay discarded by the door, his tunic undone at the collar. the firelight carved golden edges into his face, highlighting the bruise along his jaw and the shadow beneath his cheekbone.

you stood beside him, grinding herbs in a small stone bowl, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed you.

but you did.

“you should sleep,” you said, not looking at him. your voice was soft, too soft.

“i should,” he agreed.

he didn’t move.

you turned. “mark—”

“say that again.”

you blinked. “what?”

“my name. like that.”

you swallowed. “mark.”

his lips parted slightly, like it surprised him. like he hadn’t realized how much he wanted it.

“it sounds… holy. when you say it.” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and you could feel the shift in the air—thick, charged.

“don’t say that,” you murmured, heart pounding.

“why not?”

“because i’m not holy.”

he smiled, slow and reverent. “i know. that’s why i come back.”

his fingers brushed yours. just barely. but it was enough to make you ache.

you could have pulled away. you should have.

instead, you set the bowl down and let your hand rest on his.

“this is dangerous,” you whispered, though your body leaned into the gravity of his.

his other hand came up to your waist—hesitant, warm, trembling slightly. “so is war. i still ride into it.”

you stood between his knees, close enough to feel the heat of him. his gaze dropped to your lips. lingered.

“tell me to stop,” he said. “and i will.”

you didn’t.

so he kissed you.

slow at first, like a secret. his lips moved gently against yours, searching, learning. he tasted like wine and fire and something softer—something only you had ever touched.

your hands curled into his hair, pulling him closer. he stood, lifting you with him, mouth never leaving yours. your back hit the wooden wall with a soft thud. your breath caught when he pressed against you���his body solid, needy.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured against your throat. “i dream about you.”

you gasped as his hands slid beneath your layers of cloth, palms hot against your waist, your hips.

“i think about you when i train,” he whispered, teeth grazing your collarbone. “when i’m bleeding. when i’m praying.”

his voice broke slightly. “i want you more than i want heaven.”

you pulled him closer, grounding yourself in his warmth. “then take me.”

he paused, forehead pressed to yours. “are you sure?”

you kissed him like an answer.

and he unraveled.

he lifted you easily, carrying you to the cot as if you weighed nothing. his kisses grew desperate—needy—his hands shaking as he undressed you. he looked at you like you were something sacred and forbidden, something he should fall to his knees before. and when he finally slid inside you, slow and deep, you swore you saw stars.

he held you like he couldn’t believe you were real. moved inside you like he wanted to memorize every sound you made, every tremor in your body.

“look at me,” he whispered. “please, look at me.”

you did.

and what you saw in his eyes was not lust. it was devotion.

pure. aching. terrifying.

like he’d burn the world for this.

like he already had.

he undresses you like he’s learning you.

his fingers move slowly over the laces of your bodice, undoing each one with reverence, his eyes fixed on your skin as it’s revealed inch by inch. he doesn't rush. doesn’t speak. he only breathes—deep and controlled, as though he's afraid the moment will vanish if he moves too fast.

“you’re trembling,” he murmurs, brushing your bare shoulder with the back of his hand.

“so are you.”

his lips press to your collarbone, warm and tender. “i’ve never wanted anything this much.”

your chemise slips down your arms and pools at your feet. he steps back for a moment—not to admire, but to steady himself. to feel the weight of seeing you bare in front of him for the first time. your nipples are hard from the cold, your thighs pressed together in shyness.

mark steps in close, his hands finding your hips, his mouth returning to yours—hungrier now. he kisses you like a man who’s been starved. tongue sliding past your lips, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other slips down, down—

until it finds the heat between your legs.

you gasp into his mouth.

his fingers are rough from swordwork, but careful—featherlight as he brushes through your folds, slow and teasing.

“fuck,” he whispers when he feels how wet you are. “is that all for me?”

you nod, breath shaky.

“say it.”

“it’s for you,” you whisper. “it’s always been for you.”

he groans, sinking to his knees.

and that—that sight alone nearly makes you come. the court’s golden knight, down on the floor, pulling your thighs apart like a man possessed. he looks up at you once, lips swollen, eyes dark.

“hold on to something,” he says. “i’m not stopping.”

and he doesn’t.

his tongue finds your clit instantly—circling, sucking, flicking in just the right rhythm while two fingers slide into your dripping heat. the stretch is perfect, obscene, your body grinding against his face without shame.

you cry out his name. over and over.

“mark—mark, please—fuck—”

he moans into you like he’s savoring the taste. his fingers curl inside you, stroking your sweet spot until your thighs shake around his head. you come fast—too fast—your body clenching hard, legs trembling, and still, he doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it with his mouth and fingers, coaxing every drop of pleasure out of you until you’re whimpering, begging—

“please, mark, i need you inside me. now.”

he’s already halfway undressed. you help him push his pants down, and his cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking.

you reach for him, wrapping a hand around the base.

“you’re big,” you whisper, almost dazed.

he chuckles low in his throat. “you can take it. i’ll go slow.”

he lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing the tip through your soaked folds until your hips buck.

“ready?”

“yes. please—mark—”

he pushes in, inch by inch, stretching you open so deeply, so sweetly, your head falls back against the pillow. your mouth drops open in a silent cry. he groans, gripping your thigh.

“fuck—you’re so tight. so warm.”

he bottoms out, stays there for a second, trembling above you.

“you feel like home,” he breathes.

you lift your hips to urge him deeper, and he starts to move—slow thrusts, deep and measured, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you. one of his hands slides under your back to pull you closer, chest to chest.

“look at me,” he says again. “i need to see you.”

you do. and it nearly breaks you.

the way he stares—like you’re salvation and sin all at once. like he’d die in your arms if you asked.

he picks up the pace, hips snapping harder now, your bodies slapping together as your moans fill the room. you wrap your legs around his waist, and he fucks you deeper, faster, panting against your neck.

“i love you,” you whisper, breath caught between sobs of pleasure.

he freezes for half a second.

then he slams into you—hard—and groans against your throat.

“say it again.”

“i love you,” you repeat, louder this time. “i love you, mark—”

he thrusts faster, wild now, hand slipping between you to rub your clit again. it takes seconds before you’re coming again—clenching around him, gasping as your vision goes white.

“gonna come,” he growls, voice wrecked. “inside you. can i—?”

“yes,” you gasp. “mark, fill me, please—”

he groans your name as he spills into you, hips jerking erratically, cock pulsing deep inside. he kisses you through it—your lips, your cheeks, your temple—as if trying to brand himself into your skin.

when it’s over, he collapses on top of you, both of you slick with sweat, your hearts beating like war drums.

he stays buried inside you, still hard, still holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“i’ve never had anything this real,” he whispers against your skin. “not until you.”

he stayed until morning.

you woke with your leg draped over his hip, his nose buried in your neck, his hand still on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go, not even in sleep. the fire had burned out hours ago, but the warmth of his body—solid, steady—wrapped around you like a promise.

you stayed quiet for a long time. breathing him in.

you didn’t want to be the first to speak.

“i thought it was a dream,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “i’ve had so many.”

your fingers moved slowly through his hair. “this one’s real.”

he shifted, just enough to kiss your shoulder. “then let me stay in it. just a little longer.”

and he did. he stayed the whole day.

he made you tea. kissed you between sips. traced the curve of your hip with calloused fingers while you told him about the healing properties of dried rosemary. you watched the way he listened—truly listened—as if every word you spoke mattered more than any prayer, any sword, any oath.

you didn’t say the word love.

but it bloomed quietly in the room. in the touch of his hand on your back. in the way he kissed your ankle before laying you down again, mouth warm and reverent on your skin.

he knelt between your thighs like a man come to worship.

his tongue found you slowly—wet, careful, patient. he groaned when you moaned, gripping your thighs as if the sound alone undid him. he didn’t stop until your voice broke on his name, until your legs trembled and you begged him—desperately, breathlessly—to come inside you.

and when he did, it wasn’t rushed. it was slow, aching. he slid in deep and held your face in his hands like you might shatter if he didn’t.

“you feel like sin,” he whispered, “and i’d choose you anyway. every time.”

you kissed him to quiet the sob that rose in your throat.

because you knew. even then.

love like this wasn’t meant to last.

after that night, he returned as often as he could. not just with bruises or offerings—but with longing. with need.

“i missed you,” he’d whisper, shutting the door behind him with trembling hands. “days feel longer when i’m not inside you.”

and you’d undress him by candlelight, kiss the scar by his hip, feel him grow hard against your belly as you whispered your own confessions.

“i wait for you,” you’d admit. “i sleep in your shirt. i read your letters again and again.”

he’d bury himself in you like he could protect you from the world. he’d fuck you slowly some nights, eyes locked to yours, hand between your legs, breath hot on your ear. other nights he’d take you against the table, desperate and rough, your skirt bunched at your waist, his mouth muffling your moans.

but always—always—he held you after.

as if his body was your shield.

as if he could keep the world away.

but the world was not kind.

not to people like you.

you noticed the whispers first. the way the maids avoided your eyes. the way the king’s advisor lingered too long outside your door.

one morning, mark arrived later than usual. blood on his sword, panic in his eyes.

“they’re watching you.”

your hands trembled. “who?”

he stepped forward, gripping your shoulders. “the council. they’ve seen the relics you’ve been studying. the salves you’ve made. they think it’s unnatural.”

“it is natural,” you said, voice cracking. “it’s chemistry. observation. logic.”

“they don’t care.” his voice broke. “they’ve seen the burn marks on your fingers. the powders. the symbols in your notes.”

you stared at him. “you think they’ll accuse me?”

he looked like he was about to fall to his knees. “they already have.”

the night before your sentence, he came to you in secret.

the guards let him in without a word. his rank allowed it. no one questioned why a knight would want a final word with the woman he’d been ordered to kill.

you were sitting on the floor, your ankles shackled, your wrists raw from the chains.

he fell to his knees in front of you.

“don’t speak,” you whispered. “just hold me.”

and he did.

his hands shook as he undid your binds. his lips found your temple, your cheeks, your mouth. he kissed your tears away and pulled you into his lap like he couldn’t bear the distance. like his arms were the only place you had left to live.

you kissed him back—desperate, hungry, grieving.

when he lifted you into his arms and laid you down on the stone floor, neither of you cared that the world was ending outside that cell.

his body hovered over yours, his eyes soaked in pain and reverence.

“if this is the last time,” he said, voice cracking, “i want you to remember how i loved you.”

“show me.”

and he did.

his hands moved over you feverishly, like he needed to memorize every inch before they took you away. his mouth worshiped you—biting, kissing, licking everywhere he could reach.

he fucked you with a kind of despair that bled into every stroke—slow, hard, deep. he held your face the whole time. kissed you between every thrust. whispered your name like it was the last word he'd ever speak.

your nails clawed down his back, your bodies slapping in a rhythm more desperate than gentle.

“come for me,” he begged. “i need to feel it. please—please.”

you did, gasping, sobbing, breaking open beneath him.

he followed with a cry—buried inside you, body shaking, moaning your name like a prayer that wouldn’t save him.

after, he didn’t move. just held you.

and when dawn broke, he whispered three words into your hair:

“i have a plan.”

the air in the square feels carved from iron.

it’s barely morning, but already the sky is bruised, heavy with smoke and dust, the sun hidden behind low, churning clouds. the crowd gathers thick around the platform—commoners, merchants, guards, even a few nobles lining the edge in muted colors, whispering beneath their veils. no one dares to speak too loud. no one dares to look away.

up on the scaffold, a girl kneels.

she wears only a thin, off-white chemise—something that might’ve once been undergarments, now soaked from the morning dew, clinging to her body like a final insult. her hands are bound behind her back, and a coarse burlap sack has been pulled over her head. it covers her face completely, as if even in death, the sight of her is too much to bear.

beside her stands a knight.

armor polished. back straight. face unreadable.

mark.

he looks at the girl in silence for a moment longer than he should have.

his grip on the sword tightens.

then he speaks.

his voice carries across the square like a knife’s edge—sharp, clear, final.

“by order of the royal council, for the crimes of blasphemy, defiance of divine law, and the practice of forbidden arts…” he pauses. just long enough for the crowd to hold its breath. “(y/n), the court’s former alchemist, is hereby sentenced to death.”

some gasp. others cry.

but mark doesn’t blink.

he raises the sword above his head, perfectly still.

for a second—just a second—the wind seems to die.

and then the blade comes down.

a thud. a sharp cry from somewhere in the crowd. the body slumps forward, lifeless.

blood stains the wooden boards.

“the sentence has been carried out,” mark announces, stepping back from the fallen figure. “the accused is dead.”

the crowd erupts.

some cheer. some cross themselves. others simply watch in stunned silence as two guards approach to drag the limp body away.

mark turns, slowly, descending the scaffold with heavy steps. his face remains hard. unreadable. dutiful.

but behind his eyes, something burns.

and far beyond the square—beyond the walls, past the fields, deep in the cover of the forest—

a single horse races down a dirt path.

its hooves hammer the ground with desperate speed, mud flying, breath steaming in the cold air. tied to the back is a plain wooden carriage, bouncing wildly with every turn.

inside, hidden beneath layers of cloth, you lie curled on your side.

your fingers tremble as you pull back a layer of thick linen. the scent of earth and damp wood fills your lungs. the sky outside is blurry through the slats—branches whip past, wind howling like something feral. you clutch a dark cloak to your chest, still warm from the body that gave it to you.

from him.

you blink rapidly, eyes burning.

outside, a voice yells above the storm.

“hyah! go! faster, damn it—go!”

you know that voice.

donghyuck.

you remember the way he came to you in the dead of night, face pale, breath fast. don’t speak, he’d said. just trust him. trust me.

you hadn’t asked questions.

you’d only run.

and now you’re here, hidden among herbs and straw, body aching from the cold, alive—alive—while the crowd back in the village still believes you’re rotting on the scaffold.

you press a hand over your mouth as the realization strikes.

he lied.

he gave them a body. not yours.

he gave them a sentence. not your death.

he gave you a chance.

you gasp, swallowing down a sob, but it’s too late—the tears come hard and fast, hot against your cheeks. your fingers dig into the fabric of the cloak, desperate for something to hold onto, something that still smells like him.

you twist slightly, pulling the curtain back with trembling fingers.

and through the trees, barely visible in the distance, you see it—

the dark spire of the church tower. the same one that watched over your execution. the same one that now rings hollow bells into the sky.

you stare at it, eyes full of tears, heart breaking.

“mark…”

you whisper it like a prayer. like a farewell.

you know you won’t see him again.

you know he gave everything to save you—his oath, his honor, his life as he knew it. and he stayed behind, sword still dripping, face still carved from stone.

for you.

the carriage races on, carrying you further and further into the unknown.

and you, hidden beneath it all, turn your face to the past.

and cry.

[babiesdreams]

Advent Calendar

Day 11 : Mark - Haechan. +18

Content Warning: Very verbal. A lot of degradation and humilliation. Praise kink. Very detailed deep throat/ Oral sex. Possesive. Threeome. Sub reader.

"Oh I love that sound" His voice made it difficult for you to stay still. It was your first time deepthroating someone like that, and the gagging sound seemed to have awaken something in him. His hand held your head in that position, not moving an inch, though his length was throbbing, massaging the back of your throat slightly. Another gag.

His fingers pull from your hair, forcing your head far from his figure. Deep breaths help you recover slightly. You open your eyes, noticing the notorious string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. His length fully erect, covered with your spit. "Come on, open your mouth again" He asks with a sweet tone and a mischevious grin. You open your mouth widely. "Your tongue out, come on" You do so, looking directly into his eyes. His lips curve forming an evil smile. His length enters fully in your mouth once again.

You gag again when it reaches the limit of your throat, this time he keeps the position for longer, keeping the air away from your lungs. You protest against his skin, only limiting the air even more. Your hands tap on his thights, seeking compassion. His hands pull you away once again, except this time he kneels down, next to you. You are busy coughing and heavy breathing, so he allows you some seconds to recover.

After some time his fingers curl around your chin lifting your face to make you look at him. "Open your eyes and look at me" You follow his orders, though your tears make it difficult for you to see anything. "Did you like that?" His question seems so sudden, you've talked about this for hours before actually doing it, of course you were enjoying it. "Yes" There's no doubt on your voice. "Louder"

"Yes" You shout. "Yes what? What did you like?" You take a deep breath before answering. "I liked how you used my mouth" His fingers wrap your hair again, pulling it down, to make you look up as he gets up. "What a dirty slut" He lets out before spitting on your face. "Open your fucking mouth" He orders and you obey, receiving his hot spit into your mouth. His free hand recollect the spit decorating your face and puts it into your mouth. You swallow it all.

He pulls your hair, dragging your body across the room. His arms lift you and drop you onto the matress leaving your head hanging on the edge of the bed. His length enters your mouth once again, this time there's absolutely no way for you to move. He thrusts as he pleases, getting more and more worked up. At some point an extra pair of hands start touching your body softly. Mark must've arrive, you figure.

Donghyuck's hand grabs yours and places it on your throat. "Keep it there" He says, thrusting deeper into you, hands on the sides of your torso. You are confused at first, until you notice the bulge going up and down your throat, following his movements. A sudden wave of pleasure washes over you.

A hot tongue starts playing along your folds, taking advantage of the wet and messy state your cunt is in. Hyuck starts leaving a mix of kisses and bites over your stomach, so you never know what to expect, sometimes you get a soft caress of his lips over your sensitive skin and others you receive a painful yet pleasurable hint of his teeth. On rare ocassions he kisses over a spot that has been bitten, and even that softness pokes your sore skin.

Your pussy though, that's a different story, it's completely moistured, a mix of your own juices and Mark's saliva drips down your body, reaching your asshole. His tongue draws circles over your clit for a while, then he sucks your clit in with different intensities, then his tongue enters you, reaching inside as fas as it can. His fingers join later, for a deeper dive inside your walls, curling up to reach your g-spot. Your legs wrap around his neck, pushing him closer.

You end up cumming pretty fastly, but it does not affect anything around you, both boys keep their actions as if nothing happened, as if your loud moans hadn't been silenced by his length entering deepen inside your throat, as if your body hadn't been shakingfor a while. It had calmed down though, slowly, although a new wave of pleasure was already forming inside of you.

Hyuck pulls out of you suddenly. "You're gonna ask me permission to cum this time okay?" You simply nod. "Okay?" You gulp. "Yes" He smirks. "Good girl. Now look at the mirror" He says pointing at the mirror standing right behind Mark. "Look how fucking desperate you are, look how much of a slut you actually are" Your cheeks burn in embarrassment at his words.

"Can I cum?" You ask noticing how close you're getting. "Beg" His voice had a dark undertone to it. "Please, let me cum" He chuckles. "You can do it better" You take a deep breath to delay your orgasm. "Please, I'm a desperate slut, I need to cum so badly, please let me cum" He smirks. "Add more desperation" You start tearing up, almost unable to control your high any further. "Please, I'm so wet and desperate for cumming please, have mercy and let me" Before you can finish you hear his "Cum" and your body reacts instantly, with no need of further actions.

Hyuck comes closer to you and start kissing you passionately while Mark leaves wet kisses and bites on your thighs.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hii, I wanted to inform you all that I'll be testing a new format with the advent calendar fics, so if you leave a comment, I'll reply portraying the characters of the fic. If you want someone specific to answer you write his name, if you don't I'll choose for you. Have a nice day and comment if you want to test this <3

Advent calendar masterlist

Masterlist

[turquoisenintendo64]

the warmth arms bring ft. mark grayson.

you weren’t listening anymore.

you felt how his voice rumbled in his chest, but you weren’t actually listening to the words, too focused on the beating of his heart. and, also, you were falling asleep.

moments like this were rare with your boyfriend, mark, as he was always too busy saving people. so, when they came, you cherished them.

but right now, on the other hand, you were awfully tired and his loving hold on you was keeping you warm. not to mention how hearing his heart beating so calmly brought you immense peace. how could you not get sleepy?

you caught some of the words. something about… penguins. and pebbles.

“hey,” his voice makes you open your eyes slowly. “are you falling asleep? we can sleep.”

it’s also his voice what makes the corner of your lips quirk up. soft, sweet and quiet.

“no, no,” you say, groggily. “keep talking. i like hearing you talk.”

he chuckles softly, the sound going straight to your heart.

“well i was saying,” he starts again. his hand travels from the small of your back to touch the ends of your hair. “penguins choose a partner for life, and they give them the most beautiful pebble they find as a gift. like a promise ring, kind of.”

you hum softly, letting him know you’re listening.

“you gave me a rock once.”

he laughs.

“i did,” you swear you can hear his smile. “more than once, actually.”

you stretch on top of him, exhaling through your nose.

his arms encircle your waist again, making you feel secure.

you yawn, and he asks you again: “do you want to sleep?”

this time, you nod, shifting so both of you would be more comfortable in that position.

he holds you close to him, and you loosely wrap your arms around his neck.

he leaves a soft kiss on the top of your head, and you smile. “but keep talking,” you request. “your voice is soothing.”

he murmurs an ‘okay’ before rambling about a movie he saw a couple days ago with william. something about brad pitt solving a crime.

he didn’t mind if you weren’t listening, with your eyes already closed and your breathing growing more calm.

just being this close to you, in the darkness and quiet of his room, was enough.

knowing you were alive and safe was enough.

some people would call this boring. he calls this love.

[swtheartz]

absolutely obsessed with healer!reader rn because while healing is seen as something so pure and beautiful—you’re such a dick. more akin to an exhausted office worker on a 9 to 5 (though you schedule is much worse, and twice as grueling), and running off of three cups of expensive coffee and grumbling your answer.

girl boss in high heels?? no. sleep deprived asshole in combat boots that will kick someone’s teeth in, heal them, then do it again.

and some freak on your team that gushes over you and secretly crushes some villain that tried to kill you while you’re not looking, and tells you to ignore the blood on their suit before going back to harassing you. you hate his guts meanwhile he has to hide in the bathroom and jerk off to try and get some energy out of his system to try and behave himself around you.

i’m on my monthly no one say anything to me rn.

[graywaynewriter]

A/N: fuck it Mark Grays blurbs go!

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who ALWAYS bring you something back when he goes on missions. Rare flowers, tourist stuff, food, perfumes, and keepsakes. He once brought you back sand because it was different in another country.

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who flies with you while dancing because he thinks it's more romantic. He lets you rest your feet on his and you'll glide around the house until you smooooothly maneuver out of the patio door and into the night sky where he twirls you around

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who ALWAYS grabs flowers if he's ever late for a date. And yes he's sped across the globe to get your fair flower, that is not yet in season where you live

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who calls you mid-fight just to say, “Hey, so are we still doing the Italian place down the street tonight?,” before punching a villain through a building

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who gets overly competitive about carrying all the groceries in one trip—even if he’s flying them in and they all fall halfway across the driveway 

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who sends you blurry selfies from space with captions like “you’d like it here!” Or “I almost got hit by a ship :)”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who lets you try on his superhero suit once and then immediately regrets it because you won’t stop posing in front of the mirror. But he’s also not complaining because “your ass looks great in that”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who trains with you not because you’re in danger, but because “if anything ever happens, I want you to be able to at least break the dicks nose”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who sends you voice memos from high-speed flights and they’re completely garbled wind noise, but he still expects you to know what he said. Eventually, he has to text back and he says. “What do you mean you can’t hear anything??”

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who uses his powers to pull pranks on you such as scaring the crap out of you while you’re in the shower and just sticking his head through the top opening of the curtain

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who is embarrassed by his mother because she just had to pull out the baby photos book and show you every milestone possible. Including all of his Halloween costumes and either when he was going through puberty acne.

Bf!Mark Grayson! Who swears up and down that he did not put your spare clothes on the top of his closet just so he can see you try and reach up to grab it only to ask for him to get it for you

-🧚🏼

[lacobus]

watching a movie with mark but its you who's super dtf and he's genuinely interested in the movie so he's dodging your attempts like crazy

it could be a seance dog adaptation or some generic movie, and he'd shoo your hands away from his waist because he knows you want to slip your hand under the waistband of his sweats and palm him through his boxers </3

usually i think he'd let you do whatever but when he's invested in what he's watching he's not gonna move an inch.

he just lets you have his thigh— gently dragging you back and forth. occasionally cooing at you when he can tell you're close.

"aw that's it baby," he says, bouncing his leg to help you cum faster.

you cum over his thigh pretty quickly after that and he holds you for the duration of the movie. patting your back and pressing kisses along your face.

when the stupid movie is over he teases you for being insatiable. though he usually does this after sitting you back down on your couch or bed and he slides down to his knees to clean up the mess you've made. letting you wrap your legs around his head and semi suffocate him as he eats you out.

[lilhughesy]

°•*⁀➷ YOU & LUKE — streets of ann arbor au blurb

just wanted to say goodnight!

-> associated with this umich hockey gc leaked!

featuring: mark estapa, luca fantilli, mackie samoskevich, and ethan edwards

"Come on, Lukey," You pouted, snuggling closer into his chest while the two of you relaxed into your bed, "It would be funny, and the boys would love it."

He rolled his eyes playfully, "I rarely call them, they're gonna think it's an emergency or something."

"That's why when you tell them 'goodnight', they'll just be so much happier," You giggled, already knowing that Luke would do it just because it's you that's asking him. He's always had a soft spot for you, but ever since the two of you have gotten closer, that boy has become even softer for you.

Luke sighed as he gently adjusted his position so he sat a bit higher up on your pillows while reaching for his phone on your side table, "Only doing this because you asked me to," He told you as his thumb swiped on his phone screen to unlock it.

"You're the best," You added as you kissed his jawline, "Nice lock screen by the way."

Luke's eyes flickered down to you as a small smirk grew on his face. The tips of his ears turned a light shade of pink to match his slight embarrassment of being caught by you, "It's a good photo of you. Always reminds me that there's more to life than hockey or what the media says about me."

Your own cheeks heated up in response to his sweet words that wrapped around you like a hug, "You're adorable, you know that right?"

You and Luke waited as the line rang a few times on speaker before Mark picked up, "What's up, Lukey?"

"Hey Marky, just wanted to call you to say goodnight," Luke said with a smile on his face.

"Aww, thanks baby," Mark chuckled, "Goodnight to you too, cutie. I hope you have a good sleep."

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Mhm, can't wait to see you tomorrow."

"Alright, bye Mark."

Luke laughed lightly as he hung up on the call before looking down at you as you gave him a small thumbs up, "Good job, baby"

"Oh shush," He grinned, "I'm gonna call Luca next."

"Hello?"

"Hey Fants," Luke said, trying to stifle the laugh forming in his throat, "Just wanted to call you and tell you goodnight since I'm going to sleep now."

"It's 9:10PM, why are you going to bed so early? Wait..." You heard Luca pause on the other end, "Did you and Y/N have a marathon or something?! You never go to sleep this early!"

Luke's eyes widened and his mouth opened agape, "Oh fuck off, Fants. I just wanted to say goodnight."

"You didn't answer my question!"

"Goodnight, Luca," Luke repeated while Luca continued to complain about not having his question answered before Luke hung up on him.

You finally let out the laugh that you were holding the entire duration of the call, "I swear he never minds his own business."

Luke nodded, "It's Fants, he loves hearing the gossip."

"Call Mackie, I'm sure he would love to hear your voice," You said to Luke as he scrolled through his contact list. He hummed in agreement as he pressed for the call to be on speaker,

"Hey man," Mackie greeted after the first ring, "You need something?"

"No no, I'm good," Luke told him with a low shake of his head, "I just felt like calling you and wishing you a goodnight."

Mackie laughed, "Aww, Lukey! I appreciate that man, love you."

"Love you too, bro," Luke chuckled as the two of you could still hear Mackie laughing, "See you in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah man, sleep tight and sweet dreams."

Luke placed his phone on the empty space next to you with his arms wrapping around your middle to pull you closer, "Happy?"

You giggled as he peppered small kisses all over your temples, "Can you call Ethan too? You can't not say goodnight to him."

He rolled his eyes playfully, "I called three of the boys already, can't I just cuddle with the pretty girl next to me right now?"

"Please, Luke?" You asked while batting your eyelashes at him, "Just one more call?"

"The things I would do and do for you, sweet girl," He mumbled to himself before reaching over to pick up his phone again, "Alright, hey Siri, call Ethan Edwards."

His contact lit up the screen as it rang, "Hi baby,"

"Hey, Eds," Luke said while drawing small circles into your arm, "How's it going, man?"

"Not much," Ethan yawned as a few rustles came from his end, "You good, bro?"

"Yeah dude, just wanted to call you and say goodnight."

Ethan let out a low chuckle, "I was gonna call you and say goodnight too, I heard that you called Mark and Mackie."

"Yeah I did," Luke laughed, "You in bed?"

"Mhm, just settling in," Ethan told him.

"Alright, goodnight Eddie."

"Goodnight, Hughesy.... and goodnight Y/N!" Ethan laughed, "I know that she's the one making you do this and I know that you're definitely in her bed right now."

Luke's face turned red at the knowing tone of his best friend's voice, meanwhile, you were already laughing, "Goodnight Eddie!" you sang out while lifting your head slightly off Luke’s chest.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[7:58 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

"You're making me nervous," you murmur as fall into step beside your boyfriend.

Fratboy!Mark spent a whole two hours biting his nails and shifting nervously on your bed as you got ready. Every two minutes he was up and pacing around the small area of your dorm room. He hasn't told you he's apprehensive, but it's obvious.

You two have been dating for just over a year now. You two had gotten together the summer before your last year of high school and here you both were, still together while in university. You two have spent so much time together, have absorbed each other's mannerisms that now you're just two sides of the same coin.

"Huh?" Mark asks as he pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, "what have I said, babe?"

"You haven't said anything. It's what you're doing. You're like radiating your anxiety onto me. I thought you said they were cool, Markie," you pout as you squeeze his hand.

"They are," he stresses, "but they're a lot."

"If you can handle them, then I can handle them," you reassure as you peck his cheek.

Mark had been waiting for this moment since he'd passively mentioned to his new frat brothers that he had a girlfriend. They'd all been pretty cool about it, asking Mark about you, asking when they were going to meet you, so he finally gave in. They were cool guys, sure, but you were his girlfriend, he didn't want his new group of friends to reflect poorly on him.

Mark felt like he was going to be sick as he watched you introduce yourself to the guys. They all seemed to be on their best behavior and the frat house seemed to be tidy and organized for the first time.

He felt you squeeze his hand. He hummed, wide eyes finding your own look of concern, "are you going to come out back with us to the fire pit?"

"Yes, of course, babe," Mark nodded, following behind you and the guys closely.

He couldn't help how his nerves radiated off him, even now that you were already here. You were talking to the guys, listening, laughing, making conversation like you were a long lost friend among them.

You leaned into Mark as you laughed at something one of the guys said. "You have to come over more. I want more embarrassing Mark stories," Jaehyun laughed.

It was then that Mark seemed to tune in. The anxious buzz in his mind calmed down as furrowed his brows, "you've been telling them embarrassing stories?"

"Yeah, in exchange for embarrassing stories of you while you were pledging. Does a talent show rendition of Drake dressed as Mickey Mouse ring a bell?" You tease with a giggle.

"I have a video!" Johnny exclaims with a laugh, "I'll send it to you!"

"How are you going to send it to her?" Mark asks as he cocks his head to the side.

"We exchanged social medias like five minutes ago and I'm ten followers richer now," you smile happily.

Yuta nods as he scrolls, "awww, look! It's Markie at prom!" He holds out his phone for the rest of the group to see. They all hoot and holler, leaning in to get a good look at the screen,

Yuta looks at the screen with a decisive nod, "you guys are a good looking couple. Obviously, you're punching though, Mark."

"Obviously," you agree with a nod, accepting a handful of snacks from Johnny who is sitting beside you. Johnny who has never shared his snacks without Mark asking and you didn't even have to ask.

He's starting to think he didn't have any reason to be nervous at all... yeah, this whole college experience will be great with you and his new frat brothers at his side.

[ditzybeee]

❥・Mark Grayson — boyfriend hcs

❥・tags: mark grayson blurb, mark is a stalker but in a cute way, childhood friends to lovers, but also lowkey not childhood friends, comic or show mark with season 1 mark in mind, gn!reader, no use of y/n, no dialogue

❥・word count: 434

❥・─────────────────────

Mark Grayson, who met you in kindergarten.

Mark Grayson, who chose to sit next to you in his unassigned assigned seat.

Mark Grayson, who would come home excitedly to tell his mom that you looked at him during class.

Mark Grayson, who would make sure your seat was open until you arrived every morning.

Mark Grayson, who made sure to pack extra valentines for you every year.

Mark Grayson, who scoped out his classrooms at the beginning of the school year to see if you were put in his class.

Mark Grayson, who came to every class period the minute before the bell to make sure everyone was in the classroom, to see if you were there.

Mark Grayson, who found the closest seats near you in the classes you had together.

Mark Grayson, who traded seats with the people next to you just to sit near you.

Mark Grayson, who was shocked to see a Seance Dog keychain on your bag.

Mark Grayson, who nervously asked if you read the comics.

Mark Grayson, who doesn't know how attractive he is.

Mark Grayson, who was confused as to why you wanted to go out with him.

Mark Grayson, who gives you free burgers when you visited him at work.

Mark Grayson, who told you about his powers the second he got them.

Mark Grayson, who gives you late-night flights when you text him that you can't sleep.

Mark Grayson, who tries so hard for you.

Mark Grayson, who forgets to tell you about his off-world missions.

Mark Grayson, who isn't perfect.

Mark Grayson, who vents to you about the GDA.

Mark Grayson, who enjoys your study sessions, your attempt to help him graduate.

Mark Grayson, who doesn't see the need for school, though he appreciates your efforts.

Mark Grayson, who needs any excuse to hang out with you, with his busy life.

Mark Grayson, who wants to spend every waking and sleeping moment with you.

Mark Grayson, who has too many impulsive sleepovers at your house.

Mark Grayson, who finally introduces you to his parents.

Mark Grayson, who's mom loves you.

Mark Grayson, who makes sure you're safe.

Mark Grayson, who vents to you about his father.

Mark Grayson, who, despite his father's actions, tries to give you the same experience dating him as his father gave his mother.

Mark Grayson, who insists you never visit him in the GDA hospitals.

Mark Grayson, who swears he'll keep you safe until his dying breath.

Mark Grayson, who loves you so much that he would take over the world for you (he won't, but he would).

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: mark grayson is a shitty bf but fanon is not trust

❥・masterlist

[deansbeer]

toxic!mark breaking into your apartment late at night <3

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

[ contains a tiny teensy countdown spoiler! ]

warnings 𓏵 smut | ghosting | stalker!mark | breaking and entering | unhealthy relationship dynamics | possessive!mark | infidelity | slight dubcon | voyeurism (your date is asleep beside you) | exhibitionism | power imbalance | manipulation | toxic masculinity (through the fucking roof) | fingering.

sticky notes 𓏵 the idea of toxic!mark has me giggling and kicking my feet. he’s soooo fine. and before anyone comes at me for this, i do not condone any of this behavior irl <3 it’s all fictional.

mark meachum was the kind of guy who left you breathless and then left you on read for three weeks straight.

one night of pure electricity — hands everywhere, whispered promises against your neck, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. then nothing. radio silence. your texts sitting there delivered but unread while you tried not to check your phone every five minutes like some lovesick teenager.

so yeah, when tyler from the coffee shop asked you out, you said yes. why shouldn’t you? mark had made it pretty clear where you stood — or didn’t stand — in his life.

what you didn’t know was that mark had evan keeping tabs on you. “for her safety,” he’d said, like having your phone hacked was some kind of twisted romantic gesture. like he had any right to know where you were or who you were with after ghosting you completely.

the night tyler stayed over should have been simple. a few drinks, some laughs, falling into bed together because you were tired of waiting for someone who clearly wasn’t coming back and wanted nothing to do with you. tyler was sweet, uncomplicated — everything mark meachum wasn’t.

you were half asleep when you heard your apartment door open. only two people had a key, and your roommate was out of town.

mark stood in your bedroom doorway like he owned the place, green eyes dark and jaw clenched as he took in the scene — tyler passed out on one side of your bed, you sitting up with the sheet clutched to your bare chest.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you whispered furiously.

“could ask you the same thing.” his voice was low, dangerous. he moved into the room like a predator, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“you can’t just—” you started, but he was already at the edge of the bed, fingers ghosting along your bare shoulder.

“can’t what?”, he murmured. “can’t want what’s mine?”

��i’m not yours,” you hissed, even as your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch. “you made that clear when you ghosted me.”

his hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat. “i had things to handle. doesn’t mean you get to bring random guys into your bed.”

tyler stirred beside you but didn’t wake. your heart pounded as mark’s other hand traced down your throat, across your collarbone, then inched lower.

“he could wake up,” you breathed.

“then you better be quiet.”

the sheet fell off your body as he pulled you against him, his mouth hot against your ear. “did you really think i’d let you go that easy?”

his hands were everywhere at once — rough, demanding, reacquainting themselves with every curve and hollow of your body. you should have pushed him away, should have been outraged at his audacity, but your body remembered his touch too well. remembered how he could make you fall apart with just his fingers, just his mouth, just the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“missed this,” he growled against your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point. “missed you.”

“you got a funny way of showing it,” you managed to gasp out, even as your hands found their way under his shirt, nails dragging down his back.

he pulled back just enough to strip off his clothes with efficient movements, his eyes never leaving yours. the moonlight from your window caught the planes of his body, all that controlled power that you knew he was about to unleash on you.

“gonna make you forget all about him,” he promised, settling between your thighs. tyler was maybe a foot away, dead to the world, and mark’s hand was already between your legs, finding you embarrassingly drenched for him.

“already so wet for me,” he murmured, satisfaction clear in his voice. “your body and pussy knows who it belongs to.”

you bit back a moan as he worked you with practiced ease, two fingers curling inside while his thumb circled that sensitive bundle of nerves. he knew your body like a map he’d memorized, knew exactly how to touch you to drive you insane.

“mark,” you whimpered, trying to stay quiet, trying to remember that tyler was right there.

“yeah, that’s right,” he encouraged, adding a third finger, stretching you. “say my name. let me hear who makes you feel this good.”

your hips rolled against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was building with maddening skill. just when you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate.

“not yet,” he said, positioning himself at your entrance. “wanna feel you come around me.”

he pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch, and you had to bite down on your pillow to keep from crying out. he was bigger than you remembered, or maybe it had just been too long, or maybe it was the sheer insanity of the situation making everything feel more intense.

“holy shit,” he groaned into your neck, holding still for a moment. “so fuckin’ tight. she’s squeezin’ me, babe.”

then he started to move, slow and deep at first, each thrust calculated to hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. one of his hands braced on the bed next to tyler’s shoulder, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

the danger of it all — tyler’s sleeping form inches away, the possibility of getting caught, the sheer wrongness of it — only made everything hotter. mark’s pace increased, driving into you with a desperation that matched your own and had you panting.

“look at me,” he commanded, and when you did, the possessiveness in his eyes nearly undid you. “this is my pussy. this is why you can’t just move on. i won’t let you.”

he shifted angles slightly, and suddenly every thrust was hitting exactly where you needed it. your nails dug into his shoulders as you fought to stay silent, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered, feeling you tighten around him. “let go for me. show me how good i make you feel.”

his thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight circles, and that was all it took. you came apart with a silent scream, body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over you. mark followed right after, burying himself deep as he found his own release, his groan muffled against your shoulder.

for a moment, you both just breathed, bodies still joined, the harsh reality of what just happened starting to sink in. tyler shifted again, mumbling something, and you both froze until he settled back into sleep.

“next time you want someone in your bed,” mark whispered against your neck as he pulled out carefully, “it better fucking be me.”

he dressed quickly, efficiently, then leaned down to kiss you one more time — deep and claiming and full of promise.

then he was gone, leaving you breathless and furious and wanting more, tyler still blissfully unaware beside you.

in the morning, you’d have to deal with the aftermath — the guilt, the questions, the realization that mark had been watching you all along. but right then, in the dark, with your body still humming from his touch, all you could think about was the promise in his words.

next time.

[handlemehyuck]

dreamies 𓍼 but, he’s dating your sister

you’re in love with dreamies, and you’re roommates with your sister. you see him all the time, and he sees you, too. he really sees you.

mark: it’s his folded frame in the middle of the night, seated in the armchair resting closer to the window than it ever has before. he apologizes and tells you he was planning on moving it back before he leaves like the small living room rearrangement would ever bother you. “are you ok?” you’re watching his profile and clutching a mug when he smiles, so you only see half of the expression, and it’s gone when his head turns to you. “i can’t be honest with you. i’m dating your sister.” you laugh and walk around the couch to sit at the end that’s closest to him. “i overhear your conversations. i’m never listening on purpose, but the walls are thin, and i don’t study with headphones in. the way you talk about the world is fascinating—there are a lot of things that i see the same way. it’s ok if she doesn’t always get it, but sometimes… at least sometimes she should be curious.” he smiles again, and this time, you see the entire thing. “are you curious?” your head falls to the side, and it’s about to brush the couch’s arm when your palm catches it instead. you wonder if he’s aware of the stars in his eyes. “i can’t be honest with you, mark lee. you’re dating my sister.”

renjun: it’s the way he looks standing in your bedroom, observing pieces of you all over the walls, displayed through photographs and magazine cutouts—printouts from pinterest. he sits on your bed with his hands in his lap and too many thoughts in his head to know where to start. he shouldn’t be here, but you’re here. you’re cracked open in this room. the air smells like you. your closet door is open. he can see the sweater you wore on christmas last year. he couldn’t get closer to you without crossing a line, so he’s sitting on your bed with his hands in his lap, breathing you in. fragmented thoughts pierce his tongue, beg him to open his mouth, but he’ll cross the line the moment his lips part. it’s as if you know as if you can see it from the window seat: “talk to me, please?”

jeno: he wakes you from a nap, his tone gentle, his body crouched in front of your sleeping self on the couch. he smooths back your hair without realizing he wanted to until his fingertips are already there. "hey, i'm sorry to wake you. you have class in 20 minutes. it didn't look like you had an alarm set. i don't even see your phone." he's whispering. the warmth of his breath smells of spearmint: it’s the gum he chews. the gum he offers you. the gum stashed in his car's glove compartment. he doesn't stand when you start to sit up. his hand slides down your arm and nearly caresses your waist before his touch is withdrawn. "thank you.” you rub your eyes, “i didn't mean to fall asleep."

haechan: it's his raw exhaustion and unmasked annoyance. it's your sister's arm around his shoulder and her purse hanging from his neck. it's the hoarseness in his voice and the darkness beneath his eyes. it's the forced smile and hidden embarrassment because he only wants you to see him at his best. "let me help. you should get home. isn't your shoot in three hours?" you feel his warmth—it saturated the entryway—when you step closer to take the weight of your wasted sister, who groans at the loss of his familiar contact and warmth, no doubt. "yes, i should... i'm sorry. leave some advil and water on her nightstand if you have any." he doesn't kiss her forehead. he doesn't whisper sweet nothings in her ear that turn your head away from the intimate moment. he's looking at you, and you've avoided his eyes far too many times to read their message this time.

jaemin: it's moments in the morning that make you fall in love with him. he's the first face you see on a sunday, floating around your kitchen like it's his and you're the welcomed guest. he's making breakfast. he went to three stores for the hazelnut creamer you can't drink coffee without. he brought the photography book you showed interest in reading. he asks about your classes and internship. his lazy smile perks up in front of you, it sparkles when you laugh. his messy hair shines beneath the kitchen lights. his voice flutters your eyes, but he blames it on the all-nighter you didn’t pull.

chenle: it's the conversations at night that make you fall in love with him. after dinner, while your sister is at pilates, he relaxes in the living room. he drinks a beer or accepts a cup of tea after your kettle whistles. you ask him questions, some surprise him, others he's never heard before, and a silence fills the space as he thinks, seated on the floor with his head tipped back and resting against the couch cushion. you stimulate his mind in a way your sister never could, and he knew that early on: he and your sister aren't a perfect match, but he convinced himself the gaps were small and barely noticeable. he’s convincing himself slipping through them to reach for you is an impossibility.

jisung: it’s his face in the audience at your recital, seated beside your best friend and three empty seats you reserved for your sister and parents. it’s his soft smile and the glow in his eyes that you find every time the choreography leads you back to stage left. it’s the bouquet of tulips he’s nervous to hand you that comes along with prideful praises, highlighting his knowledge of the art. it’s your best friend witnessing the exchange, and the scary fact that she knows all of your body’s signs when you like someone—love someone.

[cbeargyu]

altar boy sins

summary: the pastor’s son fucks you in the back room of the church, promising god’s forgiveness while ruining your last shred of purity.

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

genre: smut, religious corruption, dark romance.

warnings: explicit sexual content, anal virginity, church setting, religious guilt, oral (m receiving), squirting, degradation, sacreligious language, coercion under trust, creampie, overstimulation, power imbalance, aftercare (light), public risk, no vaginal penetration.

part. ii - part. iii

MDNI 🔞

you had always been the image of virtue. ever since you were little, your life had revolved around the church—every sunday service, every youth retreat, every choir practice and prayer circle. your mother made sure you were dressed modestly, always with your bible tucked in your bag and your heart turned toward god. everyone in town knew your name, whispered it in admiration—such a good girl, they said. so devoted. so pure.

and mark lee... well, he was supposed to be the same. the pastor's son, golden and clean, always sitting in the front pew with his father’s bible open on his lap, eyes closed in pretend prayer. he smiled with soft dimples and spoke in warm, respectful tones that made your mother adore him instantly. she liked to say god had placed him in your path for a reason. and maybe that was true. maybe god had placed him there—to test you.

you hadn’t meant for anything to happen. it started so small, just conversations after service, long looks shared across the chapel, the brush of fingers when you passed him a hymnal. he was gentle at first, careful not to cross a line, but each moment alone with him felt like gravity pulling you closer. and when he kissed you the first time—behind the fellowship hall after bible study—you felt like the world stopped. his lips were warm and soft and sinful.

when you first started sneaking around with mark, things were softer. more innocent. you’d meet behind the church after evening mass, hiding between the tall hedges where no one could see you. he’d press gentle kisses to your lips, hold your hand tightly, whisper sweet nothings against your ear as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

he never rushed you—not at first. he’d just touch you over your clothes, his hands resting respectfully on your waist, sliding up under your blouse only when you let him. and each time you let him go a little further, his praise would melt you. you’re so good for me, baby. so sweet. so perfect.

the first time he touched you under your skirt, you thought your heart would stop. his fingers were warm, slow, exploring the damp heat between your thighs through your panties while he kissed your neck. you were shaking the whole time, clutching his shoulders like a lifeline as he whispered filth in your ear in that low, reverent voice of his.

god made this body just for me, didn’t he? you were meant to be mine.

the day you got on your knees for him was the day something shifted between you.

it was in the church parking lot, late at night, both of you hidden behind the youth ministry van. you’d been making out for too long, your thighs pressed together from the ache building inside you. his cock was hard against his jeans, and when he asked do you wanna try something new, baby?, you nodded without thinking.

he guided your hands to his zipper, helped you pull him out—long, thick, flushed at the tip. your breath caught when you saw it, your mouth already watering.

“just lick it for me,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ears. “just a little. just the tip.”

but it wasn’t just a little. not when you saw how much he wanted it, how his jaw clenched and his hands trembled when your lips wrapped around the head of his cock. you took him deeper, his praises growing filthier with every inch you swallowed. the taste of him was salt and skin, musky and intimate, and you moaned around him without meaning to.

he came down your throat that night, holding your head with both hands, whispering you’re so fucking perfect while you swallowed every drop. and afterward, he kissed you so gently you almost cried.

but still—you never let him go all the way.

you’d told him you were saving yourself for your husband. that you’d only give yourself completely after standing before god, in white, with a ring on your finger.

mark didn’t push. not exactly. but his hands got more confident, his touches more persuasive. and every time he left you trembling, wet, begging quietly into his mouth—he’d whisper:

“god will forgive you. he made you to want me”

now you were here, months later, hidden away in the church’s back room. it was where the choir robes were stored, a little room behind the altar with old wooden shelves and a dusty piano no one used anymore. you weren’t supposed to be here, not alone with a boy, not with him. but your hands were already shaking as he kissed down your neck, one of his palms pressed to the small of your back, keeping you pinned to the edge of the table.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear, “so perfect, baby. you know how crazy you make me?”

you whimpered, fingers curling in the sleeves of his shirt. “mark... we shouldn’t. not here... not like this.”

his hands slid lower, gripping your hips. “why not? no one’s gonna find us. besides... god will forgive us. he always forgives. he sees love in our hearts. don’t you love me?”

you bit your lip, your whole body trembling with guilt and want. “i do... but i want to wait until we’re married. i want to give myself to my husband. i want god to bless it.”

his eyes darkened, not with anger but with something deeper—desire. temptation. “then marry me. i swear i will. you’re the only girl i want. but i want you now... please. just let me have a little more.”

“mark, i can’t...” your voice cracked, shame pooling in your chest. “it’s a sin.”

“he’ll cleanse us,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw, “he knows your heart. you’re doing this out of love. and he knows you’re still pure... if we don’t—if i don’t take you like that.”

you blinked at him, confused. “like what?”

he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. “i’ll still leave your virginity intact,” he murmured, hand slipping down between your thighs, pressing over your clothes, “you’ll still be untouched. we won’t do it the usual way. i’ll just take you here—” he kissed your cheek, “from behind.”

your breath caught.

“it won’t count,” he whispered, voice sweet like a prayer, “you’ll still be a virgin. still god’s perfect girl.”

you hesitated. the weight of every sermon you’d ever heard sat heavy on your shoulders. but his hands were on your body, and his mouth was on your throat, and your skin was burning. and deep down, there was something dark inside you that wanted it. something that pulsed every time he touched you, something that made your knees weak and your mind hazy.

“promise me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “promise me you’ll marry me.”

he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “i promise. i’ll take you to the altar myself.”

and that was all it took.

your heart was pounding in your chest as he turned you around gently, his hands never leaving your body. the room was dim, lit only by the soft amber light that spilled through the stained glass near the door. you could hear your own breathing, shallow and fast, as mark guided you to lean over the wooden table. the old surface creaked under your weight, the air cool against your thighs as he slowly lifted the hem of your white sunday dress.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice husky now, more raw, more real. “so innocent. so ready to sin for me.”

his fingers trailed up the back of your thighs, calloused and warm, until he reached the soft curve of your ass. your panties were white, lace-trimmed—modest, sweet, something your mother had bought for you. but they were soaked through, and mark saw it right away.

“jesus,” he breathed, a smirk forming on his lips. “you’re dripping already, baby.”

you whimpered as he tugged them down, the delicate fabric catching around your knees before sliding all the way to your ankles. your cheeks burned with shame and arousal, both twisting deep in your belly as you felt the cool air kiss your now-bare skin.

“bend down for me,” he whispered, pressing between your shoulders until you were fully bent over the table, your elbows resting on the worn wood, your ass presented to him like an offering.

you felt him drop to his knees behind you, felt his hands spread you open, exposing every trembling inch. he kissed along the inside of your thighs, soft and slow, his tongue flicking dangerously close to where you ached. you gasped when you felt him spit between your cheeks, fingers guiding the wetness to your tight entrance.

“it’ll hurt a little,” he murmured, voice lower now, more dangerous. “but you can take it. you’re a good girl, right? you want to make me feel good?”

you nodded, your eyes closing, your hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white. “yes… i want to be good.”

“then stay just like that for me.”

he stood again, one hand gripping your waist as you heard the rustle of his belt, the soft clink of the buckle as he undid his pants. then his cock was pressing against you, thick and hot, the head teasing at your tightest spot.

you tensed.

“nghh—ahhh, too much—!”

“shh,” he said softly, kissing your shoulder. “relax for me, baby. let me in.”

he pushed slowly at first, and your breath caught in your throat as the stretch began—hot and burning, unfamiliar and intense. tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you whimpered, body trembling as he pushed further, inch by inch.

“m-mark—! it hurts—”

“shh, quiet, baby. you don’t want anyone hearing how much of a filthy little thing you are, do you?” once he was buried inside, he paused, letting you adjust, his fingers caressing your hips, your waist, whispering soft praises against your ear.

you could barely breathe as you felt every inch of him inside you, thick and pulsing, stretching you open in a way that made your entire body tense. your hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that your wrists ached, your forehead pressed against the wood as your mouth hung open, panting through the pressure, through the sting. his hands were firm on your hips, thumbs digging into your skin as he stayed buried inside you, letting you feel the full weight of what you’d just done.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice reverent, almost in awe. “you’re squeezing me so tight. you feel like fucking heaven.”

you whimpered, a mix of pain and pleasure blooming in your belly like a wildfire. his hips rolled just slightly, testing how much you could take, and the slow friction made your knees shake. it wasn’t like anything you’d imagined. it wasn’t sweet or soft—it was raw and thick and full. your body fought to accommodate him, fluttering around the intrusion as he began to move in earnest.

“this is what you wanted. i’m just giving you what that virgin pussy of yours was too scared to handle.”

“mmph—! nghh—ahh—!”

“what was that? you like being stuffed full of my cock? like being my dirty little church whore?”

each thrust came a little deeper, a little harder, his pace increasing as the tightness began to melt into something warmer, wetter. you bit down on your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the sounds spilling from you betrayed how good it started to feel. shame pooled hot in your stomach, because it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. you weren’t supposed to like it.

“look at you,” he groaned, slamming into you harder now, one hand sliding up your back to grab a fistful of your hair. “moaning like a little slut while i fuck your virgin ass. does it feel good, baby? you gonna come for me like this?”

your mouth opened in a raw scream, half agony, half ecstasy, unable to hold back the flood of sound escaping you.

“oh my god, oh my god, it’s stretching me too much—!”

“jesus, you’re so fucking loud—shut up, baby, shut up.” he shoved your face down against the table, hand over your mouth again, his hips snapping harder.

“if anyone hears you, they’ll know how desperate you are to get fucked like this.”

you cried out as he pulled your head back, forcing your spine into a deep arch, making you feel every brutal thrust more sharply. the pain burned, yes, but under it was something more intense—your body trembling as a deep heat began to coil between your legs. your thighs were slick, your clit aching from how empty it felt, untouched but throbbing.

his balls slapped against you with each thrust, obscene sounds echoing in the small, sacred space of the church storage room. the smell of sweat and sex filled the air, mixing with the faint trace of incense that lingered on the choir robes stacked beside you. it was filthy. wrong. holy.

he let go of your hair and reached between your thighs, fingers finding your clit without hesitation. you sobbed as he rubbed fast, circles tight and relentless, and your hips started to jerk back against him on instinct, chasing something you didn’t fully understand.

“you’re gonna come,” he grunted, almost laughing, breath hot against your ear. “you’re gonna come like this, with my cock in your ass, right here in god’s house. fuck, baby... you’re perfect.”

“m-mark—i… i feel like i’m gonna pee—”

your vision blurred as your body locked up, tension snapping all at once in a flash of heat and shame and unbearable pleasure. your orgasm ripped through you like lightning, a violent gush exploding between your legs, spraying down your thighs and onto the floor with a loud, wet sound that shocked even you.

“jesus fucking christ—” he gasped, faltering for the first time as your body clenched around him like a vice, milking him deeper.

mark’s hips stuttered the moment he felt the rush of wetness pour out of you, his breath catching in his throat like he couldn’t believe what just happened. your body was shaking beneath him, trembling and spasming uncontrollably as your release coated your thighs, dripping messily down onto the floor. he pulled back just slightly to look, to see the way you squirted for him, your slick glistening under the dim church light.

“fuck, baby…” he groaned, sounding half-wrecked, half-awestruck. “you just—fuck—i made you do that?”

he grabbed your hips tighter, almost possessively, and slammed back into you, still deep in the grip of his own rising climax. your body was so sensitive now, every thrust making you jolt forward, your muscles twitching from the overstimulation. but he didn’t stop—not yet. he was chasing something now, something hot and desperate.

“you came so fucking hard,” he growled against your neck, his thrusts getting sloppier, deeper. “your little virgin body just squirted all over my cock… and you were so scared of sinning.”

you moaned weakly, your voice raw and broken, drool slipping from your lips as your cheek pressed flat against the table. your body felt like it was floating, skin hot and damp with sweat, your hole still stretched tight around him, sucking him in greedily every time he pulled back.

“mine,” he whispered like a prayer, fucking into you with final, brutal thrusts. “you’re mine. god can’t have you anymore. you belong to me.”

and then he came.

with a deep, guttural moan, mark buried himself inside you one last time and spilled everything into your ass—hot and thick, ropes of cum filling you until you could feel it dripping back out around his cock. his hips jerked as he emptied himself, one hand sliding up to hold your waist while the other rubbed your lower back in shaky, soothing circles.

he stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling against your back, sweat clinging to both your skins. the room was quiet except for the sound of your combined breaths and the faint ticking of an old wall clock above the door.

you blinked slowly, still dazed, still trembling. and for a brief second, you felt completely hollow and completely full at the same time—ruined, marked, and claimed.

he pulled out slowly, and you whimpered at the emptiness, at the sticky warmth leaking down the back of your thighs. your body sagged against the table, weak and used, your legs barely holding you up. you could feel his release slipping from your hole, thick and hot, a constant reminder of what you’d let him do—what you’d begged him to do.

“stay still,” he murmured softly, voice gentler now, almost sweet. he reached for a folded choir robe from the shelf beside him, one of the ones no one ever used, and knelt behind you again. with quiet, careful hands, he cleaned the mess dripping down your thighs, the backs of your knees, and finally between your cheeks. he wiped away the cum from your entrance, his touch slow and reverent, like he was cleaning something sacred.

you flinched slightly, still too sensitive, and he pressed a kiss to your lower back. “i’ve got you,” he whispered. “you were perfect for me.”

when he was done, he helped you step back into your panties, tugging them up gently over your sore, sticky skin. he straightened your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles like he was tucking you back into your illusion of purity. then he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips—slow and soft and careful, like he hadn’t just broken something inside you.

you both stood in silence for a moment, breathing slowly, the air still thick with the scent of sin and sweat.

and then he reached for his bible.

he tucked it under one arm and held out his other hand to you. you took it, fingers lacing with his, still trembling slightly. and together, you walked out of that little storage room, out into the bright white hallway of the church.

the front doors were open. sunlight poured in. a breeze moved through the sanctuary like nothing had happened.

as you stepped into the entryway, mark dipped his fingers into the small bowl of holy water near the door. he touched his forehead, chest, and shoulders, murmuring the sign of the cross with practiced grace. you followed suit, mimicking the motion, your fingers wet and cool against your burning skin.

no one would ever know.

you were still god’s children, still his favorites.

only now, he wasn’t the only one watching you.

[ohmytyong]

‧₊ ̊🖇️✩ ☁️ ₊ ̊🎧⊹♡

thinking about musician boyfriend!mark who would find any excuse in the world to have you around in the studio with him every time he composed music

you are his muse; every single beat in the music, every single word in the lyrics, every single note he sings is inspired by you. sitting on his lap and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he mixes the different components together in a song is definitely a bonus

he would take your recommendations in mind and make minor changes here and there just because you suggested it. he would try it out and find that most of the times you were right and he would praise you for having such a musical ear. you would say it's because you spend all this time with him

he would try to lace his songs with tiny parts of you with every chance he had. he would add a voice-mail of you sleepily confessing how much you love him in the beginning of one song, or he would put you inside the booth and make funny faces to make you giggle in the recorder to later add at the end of another song. you would call him such a cliché but he would wave you off

and to prove you wrong, he would sneak in the background of his guitar strumming your recorded soft moans and whimpers just to make you shy. and when you would playfully hit him while hiding your face in embarrassment, he would claim that it's all part of the artistry because all his art is nothing else but you

[swtheartz]

omni-mark who obsesses over how he towers over his lovely partner, enjoying the way you have to step on your tiptoes just to give him a kiss on the cheek. omni-mark who enjoys taking care of you. he doesn’t express his emotions so openly, but he does insist on buying the groceries, paying for nearly everything you want, as long as he gets your love and attention in return. omni-mark who weirdly enjoys lazy days with you. lets you run your fingers through his hair as you both sit on the couch, sits real close to you as you both sip at the morning (afternoon) coffee the two of you made in the kitchen as some shitty movie plays on the tv. omni-mark who absolutely adores the way you get so excited over the things you’re interested in. the way your eyes light up and your smile brightens gets him every time—reminds him of what drew him to you in the first place. omni-mark who claims he doesn’t get jealous. but he does. gods, he gets jealous. it doesn’t have to be over anything serious. it could be you giving your attention to an animal, and he’d wish it was him instead and follow you around for hours before you offer to let him hold you. omni-mark who is obsessed with the slight bulge in your stomach as he fucks into you. fat tip kissing your insides, making a mess of you. revels in the way you whine and press back against him, he doesn’t let you silence yourself. ever. he wants to hear how you gasp his name and see the way your eyes roll back as he steals every little thought that isn’t of him out of your pretty little head. omni-mark who puts you in gentle headlocks. nothing too tight, and nothing threatening in the slightest, but enough to keep you in place. to hold you still as your legs tremble, knees threatening to buckle as you drool around his fingers stuffed in your mouth. he could never get over how pretty you look in prone bone. omni-mark who makes sure you cum before he does. every single time. he’ll make you cum on his tongue, his fingers, his dick, just to hear you sob and say ‘it’s too much!’ as you pushed your hips against his, unable to help yourself. he knows you don’t mean it—not when you whimper when he pulls out and squeal when he slams back in. omni-mark who lovessss to cum inside. he can’t help himself. call it instinct, or a nagging urge of his that he can’t get rid of, or just him being unable to help himself. this man cannot pull out for the life of him. needs to see his spend spill out of you as he presses a kiss to your forehead. (he’ll stuff it back inside with his fingers if he needs to. doesn’t want it going to waste.) omni-mark who obsesses over you. your smell, your touch, the sound of you. he’d rather die than let you go. and he knows you’d do the same. a / n : this is so fucking thirsty but i need him so bad i like my men STRICT

[graywaynewriter]

@hhoneylemon let’s have a do over 😭

Warnings: NSFW content (I tried my best😭), male! Reader, like my other blurbs but for our male audience 😎, some descriptions I did my best at

☆

Bf!Mark who makes you sit on his lap while he games. He mutes his mic the second you settle onto him, hands slipping under your hoodie to rest on your waist like second nature. “You comfy, baby?” he murmurs, tilting his head to kiss your jaw mid-match. He loves the way you go quiet, flustered by how easily he multitasks—killing enemies in-game and making you squirm in real life.

Bf!Mark who helps you shave—and gets distracted. It starts innocent: him behind you at the sink, holding your wrist steady while you shave. Then he’s pressing his lips to your shoulder, whispering, “You always look so good like this…” and suddenly you’re not finishing your shave at all. The mirror fogs up for a different reason.

Bf!Mark who wears your hoodie just to feel close to you. He swears it’s because he couldn’t find his own, but the way he tugs the collar up to his nose, breathing in your scent, says otherwise. “It smells like you,” he murmurs, curling into your side. You let him wear it to sleep, and in the morning, he still won’t take it off—just looks at you with that soft smile and says, “It’s mine now.”

Bf!Mark who always pulls you closer in his sleep. Even when you’re on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off, he’s half-asleep and still dragging you back into his chest. His voice is gravelly when he murmurs, “Where d’you think you’re goin’?” Because 10 more minutes in bed with him wouldn’t hurt. (Even if you’re late )

Bf!Mark who always wants morning kisses—and more. He’s not a morning person unless you’re in it. He’s kissing your neck before you’re fully awake, his hand sliding under the blanket, warm and slow. “Let me wake you up properly,” he murmurs, his voice still raspy. You don’t even get to check your phone before he has you gasping into his pillow.

Bf!Mark who fucks you slow just to hear you whimper his name. He presses into you with a teasing, maddening pace, every thrust dragging out a sound from your throat that has him groaning against your neck. “So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he says, watching your face twist in pleasure. One hand strokes your cock in time with his hips. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Let me ruin you nice and slow.”

Bf!Mark who goes down on you like it’s his last meal He pulls your briefs down and moans at the sight of you—hard, flushed, already twitching for attention. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says before licking a long, slow stripe up your shaft. His mouth is hot, wet, greedy, and he doesn’t stop even when your thighs tremble and you’re panting his name. “Give it to me,” he groans, one hand stroking what his mouth can’t reach. “I want every drop.”

Bf!Mark who makes you watch yourself in the mirror. He bends you over the bathroom sink, one arm wrapped around your chest, keeping you still. You can see everything—the flushed tip of your cock leaking against the porcelain, Mark behind you, eyes locked on your reflection. “Don’t look away,” he growls, thrusting deeper. “Watch how good you take me. Watch how fucked-out you get for me.”