#mark lee drabble

[achocosun]

all I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you ft. lee mark !

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ genre ; non-idol!mark × fem reader. fluff, pure unadulterated fluff. established relationship au. use of pet names (for her: baby, pretty girl / for him: lovie). just a short drabble to get used to posting on tumblr. ugh this turned tooth-rottingly sweet.

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ word count ; 1.4k (this was supposed to be shorter but well, i got carried away haha)

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ warning(s) ; none that i see ^^

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ notes ; divider by @mewryn (it's so pretty oml)

laughter. the sound of laughter had to be your favorite music that drifted leisurely throughout the apartment.

be it hushed chuckles over a movie or a funny tiktok your boyfriend sent over to you, the rambunctious cackling that tailed your group of friends when they'd indulged a little too much in drinks after dinners that often than not happened in the home you shared with mark–you cherished them all the very same.

before you moved into the flat on the tenth floor, the highest any residential building went in the street equidistant to both of your workplaces, you had some doubts. mostly concerning how eerily quiet it tended to get even with the faint honks of traffic in the heart of seoul.

you could owe it to your upbringing in the city, never once truly alone despite how easily it was slipping into a faraway headspace. you still did that sometimes but after meeting mark, the use of your headphones that'd found purchase against your ears got lesser and lesser. until you could go days just listening to his little tangents.

of course, it was more because of the fact that you adored how his whole face brightened as he shared with you something, anything he held dear. the way his soft brown eyes twinkled as he animatedly explained his point made you lose all sense of reality.

once in sophmore year of college, he had stopped for half a minute and then chuckled at you staring at him in awe. it had taken him waving his hand before you and a "hello, earth to _______? do i have something on my face?" for you to realize your embarrassing predicament.

only mark didn't seem to find it odd. no, on the contrary he found the gesture endearing. he had that tendency to ramble, everyone told him as much. but for you to listen to every word and hang onto it infused a swell in his heart, a giddy feeling he honestly did not want to suppress.

with mark, everything came in it's most simple form. relationships were not supposed to be easy, each one had it's own complications as did yours. but with him you knew you would always try to work through every rough patch because your boyfriend was willing just as much.

you had put an official label on your relationship in junior year, and not being strangers to the amount of teasing that would ensue from your rather large circle of friends, you had decided to keep it lowkey, letting them find out on their own and ease into it.

but with your streak of not keeping your hands–or lips for that matter—off each other, it took them two weeks flat to figure it out. but that's on johnny and his inability to knock on doors as he strutted into mark's dorm as if it was his own, oblivious to you both tangled in each other's arms on the small sofa pushed against the wall beside the balcony.

to your surprise, no noticeably grand change came with the reveal. in johnny's words, you and mark had always been sort of touchy with each other even as friends. he told you to keep the make-outs to a minimum and nobody else would know for sure.

after graduation, mark had mustered up the courage to ask you to move in with him. he had put a lot of thought into it—scoured for decently sized apartments, looked for help from his older friends and even went as far as to ask your parents for their opinion.

of course, the one answer that mattered was yours but even the fact that he asked your parents made you feel elated. and it definitely earned him their seal of approval.

the hesitant question had followed a meal of chinese takeout for dinner as you leaned your head on his shoulder, watching the movie playing in the living room of his childhood home, an arm wrapped around his waist. you had noticed his skittishness all night and it all came to a head as he played with the ends of your hair.

"i was thinking", mark started, taking your hum as approval to continue while you lowered the volume of the tv. "and seriously you can take as much time to think or even say no, i won't force you."

this time you turned to face him fully, a frown creeping up to your face. "what is it, markie? is something wrong?"

"i– well..." he took a sharp breath, eyes never once meeting your own. "i was thinking maybe you can move in with me?"

the silence that followed only plummeted his heart further down his stomach. mark moved an inch away from you, grabbing the remote from your grasp while shaking his head. "never mind. it's way too soon to think of that stuff, right? that's was a sudden, stupid ques—"

"don't say that. nothing you said is stupid." regaining your voice, you shifted closer to him, your grip sliding up his arm and towards nape as you rubbed the area. his shoulders slouched visibly, irrate heartbeat slowing just a little.

you smiled up at him, deft fingers smoothing across his across his brow and finally resting against his cheeks. it took a little tug for him to finally face you, mouth opening and closing as he wracked his brain for the appropriate words to find him when you spoke again.

"i would love to move in with you, mark."

as much as you loved mark when he's talking, sometimes you took great pleasure in rendering him speechless.

as quick as lightning he held your wrists with widened eyes, stopping the advances of your hands down his perfectly sculpted face. you brushed his knee softly as his adam's apple bobbed with a dry gulp.

mark found it hard to even formulate a thought, let alone speak. just when he'd started believing all of this was a bad idea, horrendous really, your admission nearly made his brain short-circuit.

"woah, wait— no. what?" he stumbled over the words eliciting a giggle out of you. "run that by me again, baby. i don't think i heard you correctly."

swatting his shoulder playfully, you took liberty to throw a leg over his, straddling his lap. "you heard me just right the first time, lovie. i think we should do it, move in together. i mean, we have somewhat stable jobs and it would stop us from inconveniencing your parents or mine. honestly, i love your mother but i got goosebumps when she winked at me on the way out."

mark managed a chuckle, rubbing up and down the sides on your legs on either side of him. this had been your arrangement after college. date nights in either of your houses meant the parents always had to leave unless they wanted to walk in on their not-so-little-anymore kids doing anything reserved for behind closed doors.

suddenly, you found yourself being pulled forwards into his chest as his ecstasy evolved into child-like laughter–carefree and unbound. his arms tightened around your form as you succumbed to your own joy.

mark whispered against your hair between pressing kisses to the crown of your head, "i love you, you know that?"

you peeked up at him, cheeks starting to hurt from the wide smile that nothing in the world could dampen. "do you?"

"mhmm. and now that we will live together, i'll remind you everyday, pretty girl. over and over."

sometimes, it scared you how dependent you had gotten on this one single person. finding your chest surging with pride in his every minute success, just as it ached when he hurted.

mark looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. then again, you were sure you'd visit every length to do just that if he so much as asked.

and that night had brought you to this one, sitting against the armrest of the loveseat surrounded by your friends, legs thrown over your boyfriend's as he held you close. you knew he would never let you fall but every fiber in your being appreciated the closeness regardless.

you smiled at haechan's dramatic recounting of some incident in the pub last night, finding comfort in the fingers thrumming to an unknown beat against your hips.

as your eyes wandered to every occupant of the cozy living room of your apartment—yours and mark's—you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars for this chance.

because until you have this little life, this warm, lived-in home, your friends, family and most importantly him by your side, nothing could make you a stranger to the sense of contentment.

© ACHOCOSUN '2024 on tumblr

[bloodmoonmuses]

translation: i love you. | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, college au (not that important for the context tbh), friends to lovers, fluff, drabble (900 words)

summary: your friends referred to you as the mark lee interpreter. you weren't sure why, but you understood him- even the words he didn't say.

warnings: none!

To many, you were known as the Mark Lee Interpreter. Such was usually said in jest, but you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest when the moniker was bestowed upon you. Sure, the guy rambles a bit, but if you listen- really listen- he has quite a beautiful outlook on the world. 

You and Mark usually conversed in motion. You’ve divulged your deepest secrets to him while on aimless walks. You’ve cracked your wisest jokes to one another while biking. You’ve had entire conversations through your eyes while dancing in grimy bars.

Now was no different, though a more chill variation. It’s Spring, so the two of you are taking a stroll in between classes. The sun knocks the chill off an otherwise too-chilly day, its rays falling on your face like a smattering of kisses. Spring isn’t in its picturesque stage quite yet. The stasis of winter still lingers, trees barren and skies grayish amidst the light that peeks through the cloud coverage. It’s calming.

There’s a creek that runs through the center of campus, a little bridge arching over the widest part. This is where you stood now, watching the water trickle over stones. 

“I think about rocks a lot,” Mark says out of nowhere. (Translation: Nature is so beautiful- even the most mundane and minute aspects of it. Even the parts that people forget. I think about forgotten things a lot, like rocks.) You believe it. Mark thinks a lot about a lot of things.

“They’re, like, soooo varied. Y’know?”

You do know. Large rocks. Mountainous rocks. Boulders. Stones. Pebbles. There are many types of rocks. “The ones in the creek look super smooth. It’s… hypnotizing.” Mark speaks as though he’s constantly in amazement, or on the brink of an epiphany. He’s the embodiment of potential, of the hypothetical, of what could be. You think a lot about what you and Mark could be. 

Of the many possibilities, you conclude that as long as some form of togetherness is involved, you’d be anything for him.

“I think about water a lot,” you respond. 

“What’s your favorite kind of water?” (Translation: Indulge me. How intently do you think about the minutiae of the world? Are you as crazy about water as I am about rocks?)

“Hm,” you say. “Good question. No one’s ever asked me that.” You assume he’s asking you to identify a particular body of water as your favorite. A memory comes to mind. 

It was the summer after freshman year. You and Mark went to the beach everyday together.  You think of the chilly water that rolled over your toes in the waking moments of dawn. You think of how beautiful the sunrise looked reflected on the ocean. You think of Mark waking up with you, despite not being a morning person. That wasn’t your favorite type of water, no. You specifically liked the sea water that danced on the ends of Mark’s hair. The drops that traveled down the follicle, forming shimmering beads, and dripped onto the sand below. You made a game of watching and counting them that summer. (The highest you got was 47.) 

You’re not sure how to consolidate this memory into a sentence that doesn’t sound absolutely insane. You decide to omit the thought entirely. A conversation for a different day, you suppose. 

“The ocean. Cliche, I know,” you say. Mark nods to himself, then hums.

The creek beneath you harmonizes with Mark’s humming. He begins walking again, taking your hand in his. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for your friendship, but it makes your heart do this twisty thing you can’t quite place. It was the one action of his you couldn’t interpret. Mark doesn’t make a big deal about it, nor does he discuss the matter afterwards. It was almost like he was entitled to your hand, clasping his calloused fingers around yours without a second thought.

You’ve never actually looked at your intertwined hands before. The first time he grabbed it (during one of those days on the beach), Mark acted so nonchalant. You figured the gesture didn’t mean much to him. You were scared that, if provided with a visual, you’d never stop thinking about his stupid hands. 

This time, you allow yourself a peek. The cuff of Mark’s jacket hangs over his fingers, and he squeezes your hand when he realizes you’re looking. (Translation: You’re finally acknowledging this. Are you here? Can you feel me?) 

Your hand is getting sweaty. You pull away to wipe it on your jeans.

Mark can’t believe you’re nervous right now. You’re never nervous around him. The two of you have become accustomed to the wordless ease of your relationship.

Mark’s eyeing you again. You pretend you can’t see him in your peripheral vision. It doesn’t work. “Nervous?”

“Not even a little bit,” you say defiantly. You snatch his hand back into yours as if to prove your point. However, this only does the opposite as you begin to literally tremble.

“You’re so funny,” says Mark, running his thumb over the back of your hand. He slowly lifts your hand to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He simply presses your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact while he does so. Your breath hitches.

“Mark-” is all you manage to say. You can’t meet his eyes, so you look at your conjoined hands as they swing between the two of you. Elation radiates off Mark’s skin. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Your hand is so warm,” Mark says. (Translation: I love you.) 

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[neochan]

[9:10 PM] if it weren't for the gentle sting of soapy water seeping in to the gash above his eyebrow, he wouldn't have regretted it. or maybe it was the look on your face as you worriedly dabbed his torn skin with a blood soaked rag.

either way, mark lee was feeling something parallel to regret. see, he didn't truly believe in the word, because if he did, he wouldn't have gone out and done it to begin with. perhaps it was contrition or guilt he was feeling.

definitely the latter.

he felt guilty.

how could he leave his pretty girlfriend all alone, sick to her fucking stomach, while he partook in activities you hated. anxiously awaiting his return, eyes peering through the blinds in the kitchen until you finally caught sight of your boyfriend stumbling up the walk way.

and then to throw open the door to the sight of his face covered in blood - nose trickling ruby red; a particularly awful cut above his eyebrow. shirt torn and dirty with matching cuts littering his chest.

that's something mark will never forgive himself for either.

so yes, he felt guilty, but he never regretted it.

shit, those assholes who hit on you this evening belonged knocked out in the ditch behind the pub anyways. their sickening smiles coating their face in a grimy guise. just the thought of what they had said to you - how they had grabbed your ass.

mark's hand curls tight around the bathroom sink counter - knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping the granite.

"babe-" you whisper, setting the rag down and staining the white countertop pink.

"sorry" he chuckles, loosening his hand and shaking it out, "sorry for worrying you, i just-"

"i know."

despite the fact that his wounds still trickled a bit of blood, he pulls you against him and leans his temple against the top of your head. "i swore to always protect you." he kisses your hair, "no matter what."

[moonctzeny]

hi, if you're still taking drabble requests could you please do mark + face-sitting and praise kink?? thank you <3

mark + face sitting

+

genre: smut

wc: 801

tw: making out, groping, grinding, face sitting, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, spanking, possesiveness

————————————————————

I think the best makeout sessions with Mark would happen at the early hours of the morning. He's had a long schedule and he told you not to wait for him but you did, patiently wasting time in his dorm until he returns. And he might scold you for staying up so late but he's happy to see you, so happy to have you in his bed. He's just gotten out of a hot shower, hair still wet as he rests his head against the bedpost. And your eyes almost fall closed from the exhaustion and the way his voice relaxes you but you still ask him how he's doing, listen to him go on about the dull and vibrant moments of his day.

He takes a moment after your conversation to finally enjoy the silence that the half-empty dorm offers and that gives him enough time to take a good look at you. To realize that you are here, all for him to enjoy, no distractions. So he pats his lap until you crawl your way over, parting your thighs to sit comfortably over his. A palm is soon rested on your cheek and Mark pulls your jaw down softly for a kiss, his 5 o'clock shadow pinching you a little but you don't mind. He tastes like the toothpaste he used earlier and his lips are so soft that it surpises you how hard they manage to press against your own.

You sigh into the kiss as you move closer so that your chests connect, and when he dips a hand under the t-shirt that you're wearing you gladly let him. His calloused fingers run up and down your spine, making your whole body shiver, and you wonder how he manages to make the whole room spin like that.

In a feeble attempt to ground yourself you dip your fingers through his wet locks, tugging on them slightly. With a muffled growl, Mark lets his head fall back, neck exposed and begging your teeth to sink in the flesh, and that's when you notice that his glasses have turned foggy from the heavy breathing. Mark doesn't like how composed you seem to look, hands steady as you take off his specs for him.

If you were good at masking your arousal before you sure suck at it now, a whiny whimper leaving your lips as he thrusts his hips upwards. His hardness nudges your clothed clit in the most delicious way and you start circling your hips over him in search of that same pressure again. Mark's response is his skillfull hands unclasping your bra, groping your chest as you ride him over your clothes. Struggling to keep your lips connected in the desparation of it all.

You almost come on the spot at his next request.

"Sit on my face."

Ridding yourself of almost all your clothes, you watch as your boyfriend lays down on the bed, one hand palming his cock over the cotton sweatpants he has on. With a pair of hungry eyes set on you, you pull your lacy underwear past your thighs, fabric peeling off with difficulty from how wet you've already become. With tentative moves, you hover over Mark's pretty face, taking a deep breath before lowering your hips.

The first lick feels like heaven- tongue collecting all the mess you've made for him. He moans in delight as he sucks at your clit, the vibration making you shiver. Kitten licks over your sensitive bud have you falling over, face planted on his thighs as you let one moan exceed the other. You bite on your hand to stay quiet, you're not alone in the apartment after all, and Mark squeezes your ass as a 'thank you'. God knows he'd want to hear you in your full glory, screaming his name and waking the neighbors, especially when you start to grind your pussy over his face, so close to your orgasm that it takes your breath away.

He's been taught to count his blessings but his mind can't even fathom how lucky he is at this moment, nor how many guys would kill to be in his place. In a sudden burst of possessiveness he lets his palm snap against your ass, the pain only pushing you to pleasure further.

It's while you're drooling over his sweats, with his cock pulsating against your cheek that you warn him you're gonna cum, white heat overwhelming you just seconds later, yet Mark doesn’t stop. He lets you ride out your orgasm freely, his nose bumping on your clit and making your thighs shake from the overstimulation. He starts by soothing you with his tongue, slow motions letting you rest before picking up the pace again.

He wonders how many times he can make you cum tonight.

[neo-nymph]

freeuse!AU where nerdy high school mark is constantly being used by the horny popular girls at his school as a cute sex toy. They always fawn over his cute stutter, rub their hands over his toned body and throw themselves at the first sight of him for a chance to use the girthy monster cock hiding shyly in his pressed slacks. They palm his flaccid muscle during biology, making flirty remarks and batting their long lashes while he tries his best to focus on his textbook and note taking. His skin is turning pink and his cock is gradually hardening until his book is shut by a soft hand in the middle of his studying. The pretty girl next to him takes Mark's flustered face between her palms as she throws her leg over his thighs to straddle his body and says earnestly "You're such a cutie Markie". She smells sweet, like vanilla. her lips are plush as they tweak into a suggestive smile and her breasts,, barely covered by her thin crop top, are right in front of his face. Poor, pure mark is so distracted by the bulging flesh that he doesn't notice his pants have been tampered with until the tip of his fat cock is pushing into a warm wet hole, stealing a deep groan from the back of his throat. The pretty girl bites her lip as her muscle is stretched around the delicious toy. She bounces on his cock in the center of the classroom, loud and unapologetic about the pleasure literally pumping into her. She grabs one of hands that gripped his chair and forced him to grip her breast instead, sighing and throwing her head back at the feeling.

Mark gets used all the time for things like this. Pretty girls always fighting for a chance to sit on his face, ride his thigh, or persuade him to ram his member into their tight cunts. Mark didn't understand why the girls always wanted to use his cock and not their boyfriends, or one of the guys on the sports teams. It kind of scared Mark when he caught sight of the football players staring angrily at him in the hallways as one of their girlfriends got on her knees for him to choke happily on his thick cock. But it was that humble, shy, sweet innocence coating his being that made his dick so delicious and addictive in the first place.

[tqmies]

Can I request Mark + College or Fake dating + prompt 42?

Rush | Mark Lee

Part of Tqmies 1K Event!

college & fake dating au, 42. “Who’s laughing now?” “…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God.”  wc: 1k Note: why choose an AU when we can have both ?!

"I want to piss off my parents - Which isn't illogical, by the way - so what better way than to drag you into it?!"

"Is this supposed to make me agree?" You quirk a brow, tapping a nail on the desk in front of you. And your wearing a frown, taken aback by the sheer audacity of the male in front of you, who you haven't spoken to in years, asking you for help.

"It'll only be for a bit! I'll parade you around for a bit, make my mom blow up in her chair, and then we'll fake break up!"

"I'm missing the part where I benefit from this.. And why me anyways?" You loll your head to the side, its not like you were a particularly bad influence or anything. You were nice, hard working, and a good student. If anything, you were a mothers dream for their son.

"My mom hates your mom."

Ah there it was, the moment of truth. You and Mark's mom had attended high school together, and from what you know, the two weren't fond of each other at all.

But your mom held no ill intent towards Mark, would Mark's mom hate you? How immature, doesn't sound too far off of what your mom would say.

"Still don't see what I get from it." You shrug, going back to your book.

"You'll get to date me." He points at himself, eye brows raised as he's dead serious. He thought of himself as a catch, why weren't you jumping at him?

You want to laugh in his face.

"And I'll pay you."

"Now we're talking." You nod, not one above being payed off. Hey, you'd done far more questionable things for as little as twenty dollars.

But being faced with someone as affluent as Mark, you're sure you'd get a check out of this.

Which is why you're now standing beside him as he shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for his parents to get the doorbell. You had to admit it, you were kind of nervous.

Not that you really liked Mark or anything, but you weirdly felt pressured to win over his parents.

The door opens and you're met with Mark's dad, and he offers his a son a curt nod before he turns towards you. "Oh, will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

The smile is wiped off your face. "He didn't tell you?"

Mark's dad shakes his head, and Mark avoids any direct eye contact with you. Oh you were going to piss Mark's parents off, that's for sure. Mark's dad just turns and heads inside, the two of you following after.

You enter behind him into the kitchen, where Mark's mom is. Her eyes widen among seeing you, "Mark, honey, I didn't know you were bringing a guest."

"Ma, this is my girlfriend."

You expect steam to blow out of her head, for her to angrily rage and demand you leave, to even start cursing out her son.

But she does none of that, instead offering you a warm smile. "It's nice to meet you. Mark didn't tell me we were having guests, or else I would've cooked up something special."

You shake your head, unable to stop yourself from returning the kindness. "The food smells amazing."

Why'd Mark want to piss off such nice people anyways?

The evening goes pretty well, and Mark thinks that he's not getting his moneys worth. He had bet by this time at night that you'd be getting ran out of the house as he got berated for dating you.

But none of that is happening, in fact his mom looks happy as ever. She doesn't mind your mother either, she had to know by now, you had even given her the names of your parents when she asked. So why was she keeping it together so well? Didn't they hate each other?

You tell Mark's mom your major and she jumps up. "Oh wow, so pretty and smart. How did my son manage to snag you?"

You just nervously laugh, shrugging playfully. "I don't know either."

"Mark usually brings home such trouble makers." She shakes her head as she cuts into her food. "It's a relief to see he found someone so good for him."

..

Mark slams the door as he climbs into the drivers seat, and you can tell he's mad. And really, you can't blame him, seeing as his parent's didn't seem pissed off at all.

"Well, guess your genius plan didn't work out after all, guess I'm just too likable." You make a snark comment, crossing your arms.

Mark leans his head against his steering wheel as you continue.

"Tried to use me to piss off those sweet people! Jokes on you, Who's laughing now?" You mock, facing Mark when he doesn't respond.

Instead you notice wet tears fall off his face, the sound of sniffling as well. You grow confused at that. ".. Clearly not you. You're crying, dear God."

He wipes as his face aggressively as he sits back up. He looks at you as he scoffs. "My parents don't like anyone, okay? Even if they didn't care about your mom, I knew they'd find something to pick at you for. They always comment on my date's outfit or their manners."

"Oh wow, I'm sorry Mark. That's really shitty." You respond.

"But the one time I try and piss them off, they like you?" He says, bewildered. "Not a single bad thing to say? And it's all for a girl that I'm not even dating. God, I'm such a loser, why did I think this was a good idea? How am I going to explain that I let the one good thing I had go?"

You assume he's referring to you not showing up anymore, and for as little as you know the boy, you find yourself sympathizing. "I can always show up again, if that helps."

He nods a little, "Sorry I dragged you into this."

You can't believe you ever agreed to this fake dating thing, but something you tells you that you'll be sticking around longer that you intended.

[smileyerim]

Mark would stop on the side of the road if he saw a patch of flowers and thought they were pretty. He would pluck them up himself for you. Whenever he saw pretty flowers either walking around or driving, he would stop and pick some for you like its a natural instinct. Rarely do the flowers get back to you in good shape or even at all. He forgets they’re delicate little things and he would stuff them in his pockets or his bag. Next time he wears that item again he’ll find dried up petals in the pockets and send you a picture of them. If he does remember to give them to you, they’ll be wilted and bent. He would never actually buy you flowers, the thought never really crossed his mind to do so. But if this man is absolutely head over heels in love with you, he will be thinking of you a lot and pretty flowers remind him of his pretty girl. He isn’t even trying to be extra sweet and cute, it literally is just him.

[writtenbymkl]

[22:36 pm]

word count: 473

a/n: little mark drabble i thought of while looking at my old 2015 wattpad account 🤔

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“Yo, there’s my favorite superstar,” You say, wandering into the room full of clothes and racks. On one hand, you have some flowers, and on the other, you have a watermelon cake.

“Y/n? Dude, what.” You look at Mark's surprised face as he drops the chopsticks he just had in his hand.

“What? Weren’t expecting me? You know how I am with surprises, dude,” You walk over to where he is sitting and place the cake on the table.

“These are for you, Fork,” you shove the flowers into his hands. Not just any flowers, though.

“Yo, you got me tulips?” He mumbles.

“Duh, what else would I get you?” You watch as Mark places the tulips on the seat next to him and gets up.

“Bring it in, dude,” He pats his chest and spreads his arms out to signal you to hug him. You roll your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Congratulations or whatever. You guys completed your tour,” Mark pats your back and lets go.

“Yeah, I’m a bit sad it’s over, but I’ll be on the road again soon enough,”

You squint at Mark. “You better rest up. I don’t want you calling me at 3 am like last time because you got sick and insisted on staying up to write.”

“Ay, it’s all part of the job, man,” He shrugs. You’re about to mention something else when the door opens.

“Y/n, you’re here! Johnny told me you were around here somewhere,” You hear someone say in a baby voice. Arms unexpectedly engulf you from behind.

“Hey, Donghyuck, long time no see,” You say as you try to signal Mark for help.

“Dude, let her go. She can't breathe,” Haechan lets go and goes to stand next to Mark.

“I told you not to call me Donghyuck,”

“I know, but I like making you mad,” You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“You guys are literally children, like wow,” Mark blinks.

“You know, Mark, it’s funny that you call us children when you were crying last night saying Y/n wasn’t gonna make it to the con-“ Mark’s hand suddenly flies to Haechan’s mouth.

“Yo, what? Haha, what are you even saying, dude,” You watch as Haechan licks Mark’s palm. “YO, what the hell, man,” He exclaims while shoving Haechan away from him.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Marker. I’m your number one fan. I’d never miss it for the world,” You wink at him.

“Shut up,”

“Hey, what about me? I love you more than Mark. I thought we were best friends,”

“What? Of course not. Y/n is my best friend, not yours.”

“Y/n, choose. Me or mark?” You watch as they continue to argue over who’s better. When you’re friends with Mark Lee, you have a lot in store for you.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊

[nonuwhore]

Oii, bao diaa.

Gostei do prompt "não faz isso, quero ouvir você gemer" e acho que poderia ser interessante ele com o mark, talvez na primeira vez dele com você e que você esteja com vergonha?? ou algo que você imaginar com esse prompt + mark!

enfim, eu adoraria ver isso na sua escrita, obrigada💖💖

GRANDE EVENTO DE 1 ANO DE ANIVERSÁRIO DO NONUWHORE!!!! 🥳🥳🥳

 19. “Não faz isso, quero ouvir você gemer.” contém: boyfriend!mark; fluff; cocky!mark porque a gente não pode esquecer nunca que ele é leonino (e esses são os melhores); apelidos (princesa, amor); linguagem vulgar; smut: morning sex; dirty talk, thigh fuck; mordidas; menção a ejaculação; praise;  contagem de palavras: 1,5k nota da autora: então, a história acabou saindo um pouquinho diferente kkkkk mas acho que mantive a ideia central. espero que você goste, de verdade!!!! muito obrigada por participar do evento &lt;3

“Princesa”, a voz meio quebrada de um Mark que acabara de acordar te chamou. Ainda levemente adormecida, você a ouviu longe, mas reconheceu quem te chamava e o tom de culpa que ela carregava.

“Hum?”, você respondeu, sonolenta, e sabendo o que viria a seguir.

“Eu não consigo dormir mais… Já são oito horas…”, ele fez a afirmação parecer um absurdo, como se só pessoas malucas dormissem depois disso. Sentiu sua cintura sendo enlaçada pelo braço dele, junto do quadril encontrando o seu e a barba nascendo no queixo alcançar sua nuca. Um beijo, delicado e quase imperceptível. Outro, mais demorado e pesado. Mais outro, molhado e seguido de uma mordiscada tímida.

“Mark!”, você instintivamente o empurrou usando ancas e ele riu.

“É assim que você pretende me afastar? Acho que não vai dar certo”, ele riu sacana e te puxou para perto mais uma vez, se encaixando com cuidado na curva do seu corpo.

“Pelo amor de Deus, é domingo, me deixa dormir!”, você implorou.

“Você já dormiu muito! Olha que lindo o dia lá fora, a gente podia estar fazendo tanta coisa!”, e apontou para a cortina meio aberta que mostrava o azul límpido do céu. 

“Foda-se a beleza do dia, eu ‘tô de folga, quero dormir!”, você se debateu, fazendo birra, e ele se calou, mas você sabia que isso não tinha acabado.

Vocês tinham o mesmo problema todos os finais de semana há seis meses, que foi quando ele te pediu em namoro. Ele estava tão nervoso, as palavras saiam da boca sem nenhuma relação sintática, apenas uma grande sopa de “cara”, “tipo”, “é que”, e se você se perguntou se aquele era o mesmo Mark Lee que você conhecia das histórias que corriam pelo campus. O mesmo Mark Lee que não perdia nenhuma festa do curso de vocês - e de outros -  e nunca teve problema para falar com nenhuma caloura, nenhuma mesmo, até você chegar. Não que ele não tivesse tentado, você só era completamente inacessível, sempre fazendo a cara mais assustadora quando alguém do centro acadêmico chegava perto nos corredores e evitando todos os trabalhos em grupos possíveis. Só que o professor de Introdução ao Desenvolvimento de Sistemas de Software de vocês não curtia muito essa ideia e resolveu fazer um sorteio de duplas para apresentação de um trabalho, e adivinha quem caiu com você. Evitar que Mark se aproximasse durante todo um semestre foi exaustivo e improdutivo, mesmo ambos não tendo nada em comum além dessa disciplina específica, depois de duas semanas ele já aparecia no seu dormitório toda noite com os lanches mais famosos do campus para você provar e dizer não para ele, a partir dali, se tornou impossível. Esse momento, que vocês vivam agora, nunca seria uma exceção. 

“Mark”, você o chamou e ele te apertou mais um pouco, o sorriso dele pressionado contra o seu ombro.

“Dormiu bem?”, perguntou, com a mesma voz manhosa que quase fez vocês ficarem de recuperação, porque, depois de um tempo, vocês passam mais tempo jogando qualquer coisa que ele achava na internet ou assistindo séries longuíssimas que você não lembrava nada da história, já que metade do tempo os dedos dele estavam dentro da sua calcinha. 

“Sempre tem como melhorar, né?” ele soltou um risinho apertado com seu tom de sarcasmo. 

“Sabe com o que eu sonhei?”, você balançou a cabeça e segurou a mão dele que apertava a sua barriga. “Sonhei que a gente ‘tava brincando de esconde-esconde. E eu era muito ruim, porque não te achei nenhuma vez”, você não precisava se virar para saber que nesse momento seu namorado tinha um bico feito com os lábios.

“Ou… Eu era muito boa, já pensou nessa possibilidade?”, você provocou sabendo como Mark era competitivo. 

Ele riu, cheio de si, “Claro, sempre há a possibilidade.”

“Você precisa parar de achar que é bom em tudo, Mark.”

“Mas eu sou. Uma máquina de última geração.”

Você empurrou sua bunda contra o colo dele. “Você é bem ruim em resistir a isso aqui”, e repetiu o movimento, se esfregando um pouco mais no membro adormecido.

Mark gemeu, sacando sua jogada. “Entendi, você quer provar um ponto…”

“Quero”, e parou, esperando o que ele faria a seguir, mas morrendo de vergonha de ter tomado a iniciativa. Você conseguia ouvir ele pensando e sentia o volume dentro da calça crescer.

“Que isso, amor… O que te deu hoje?”

“Talvez alguém tenha me acordado antes da hora… E fazer isso enquanto eu não te encaro é mais fácil”, você foi sincera e automaticamente perdeu a coragem que você tinha acumulado desde o dia anterior, quando você queria deixar claro que adoraria passar a noite com Mark dentro de você, mas não conseguiu, perdendo seu namorado para o video game.

“Você vai mesmo me fazer morder a língua”, ele se grudou a você de novo, deslizando a extensão rígida bastante óbvia por conta do short fino no meio da sua bunda e enfiando a mão dentro do seu pijama, segurando um dos seus seios como se eles fossem a última esperança da terra. Os dentes seguram a pele da sua nuca e do seu pescoço enquanto ele beliscava seu mamilo, ativando os todos os sentidos de ambos.

Você suspirava pesado, contendo a vontade de gemer e pedir que ele te fodesse logo, porque sua calcinha já tinha virado sopa. Se limitou a segurar a mão dele por cima do seu peito, apertando com mais vontade, e ajudando a fricção que ele fazia em você, aflita por mais. 

“Droga, você ‘tava tão certa”, você o sentiu se afastar de você, descendo a roupa de baixo dele e sua, e o membro quente pressionado mais uma vez contra o vão da sua bunda. Ele deslizou com cuidado, assistindo seu quadril fazendo o movimento contrário, em um sincronia ensaiada, e apertou sua cintura com força. “Eu nunca vou me acostumar com como você é gostosa, principalmente com essa atitude”, sussurrou mordendo sua orelha e soltando o hálito quente que arrepiou até pelos que você não sabia que tinha.

“Mark…”, você sabia que hoje não ia conseguir se conter, principalmente se ele fosse usar esse tom com você.

“Você vai gemer meu nome hoje? Diz que vai…”, te provocou, direcionando o membro com as mãos para o centro das suas pernas, mas sem te penetrar, o deslizava entre os lábios ensopados com mais facilidade que o normal e suas coxas automaticamente o apertaram, dando uma sensação parecida com a que ele tinha quando estava dentro de você.

O ritmo vagaroso provavelmente ia te matar. Ele não tinha pressa pra se movimentar e nem pra beijar seu pescoço e morde-lo, soltando a pele lentamente. A ponta gordinha resvalou no clitoris implorando por atenção e foi o bastante para te fazer abafar o chiado com as costas da mão. 

 “Não faz isso, quero ouvir você gemer”, ele pediu, segurando a mesma mão e aumentando um pouco a cadência em que fodia sua coxa. “Se eu não te torturar, você promete que geme pra mim? Promete?”, e sua cabeça confirmou com tanta força e rapidez que fez ele sorrir, boquiaberto com o quão molhada você estava e o quanto isso o deixava mais maluco pra te fazer gozar.

Como prometido, ele passou a estocar com mais vontade o espaço apertadinho que você criou para ele, escorregando por toda a sua intimidade, e te fazendo gemer alto, sem 

calcular nenhuma das suas ações. “Eu vou ficar viciado nessa porra, vou te querer assim toda vez”, disse se referindo ao jeito que sua garganta liberava os sons mais dolorosamente estimulantes. Pensar em fazer de novo fez seu corpo erupcionar em um longo e paralisante orgasmo, te deixando completamente travada e sentido todo o tipo de prazer enquanto Mark era o único a balançar a cama em um frenesi que o levou ao limite logo em seguida. Seus líquidos e os deles se misturavam no tecido da roupa de cama que colava na sua pele do mesmo jeito que Mark se agarrava a você. 

“Você consegue me olhar agora?”, perguntou, retomando o que você disse anteriormente. Seu olhar encontrou o dele, rapidamente, e voltou a encarar o canto da parede. Ele riu, perdido pela expressão cansada e envergonhada no seu rosto. “Você tem vergonha de dizer que tá com vontade, amor?”

“Ainda não, Mark Lee. Ainda não.”

[rrxnjun]

sugar and salt: the game of trust ;; lmk

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader genre: dystopian, sci-fi, survival ; action, angst wc: 12k (12.941) warnings: mentions of death and near-death experiences, gore, the criminal law works differently in this universe because i simply said so! a/n: this story is very briefly inspired by squid game and the hunger games! also thank you to izzy @decembermoonskz and nur @y0imyas for the advice with the banner haha ily taglist: @ontothe--next​

THIS FIC IS A PART OF THE GAME OF SURVIVAL COLLAB HOSTED BY TOFFEE @neo-shitty ! thank you for hosting this collab, I had a lot of fun with this <3

in a game of trust, you and mark lee compete for 1 million dollars- just the right amount of money that could solve all of your problems. the rules of the game are simple: after completing three challenges, all carefully crafted to test your trust with your partner, the team that trusts each other completely, wins. you think you've got it all under your control and there's no way you and mark aren't the best candidates, however, you find out you've been wrong. because you know what they say-- don't trust everything you see. even salt looks like sugar.

Staring out the window, seeing nothing but a dark cast of shadows of the night behind the glass, your body jolts up and down in the seat so smoothly you almost think the bus is not moving on the road, but is rather levitating along the street. The whole setting looks almost futuristic– you’ve never seen anything like it. 

The bus seeps into your senses in a dark blue color, pearl-white seats settled one after another on the blue floor, pairs of people sitting in every single one, not one seat left empty and vacant. Everyone’s wearing dark-blue jumpsuits with a golden logo embroidered onto the right chest pocket, four words burning into your eyes with a sense of strange uncertainty. The game of trust; gold on blue, almost royal-like combination decorating your uniform, much like everyone else’s in here. It gives the whole process a deep sense of solidarity. You’re all on the same level here. It doesn’t matter what background you come from. Nobody ever asked, after all.

Low beeping of an unfamiliar gadget in the very front of the bus begins to lull you to sleep. It’s strange, just how calm you feel in this situation. You might as well be going towards your death, for all you know. You’ve seen it on the TV millions of times before– the weak ones get eliminated. There’s no way to know if you’re the one that’s going to win this game. 

But in the whole chaos of it all, somewhere, in the depths of your soul, you feel at ease. You feel relaxed. Your brain won’t let you admit to yourself that you might be nearing your end. 

A small TV– almost the size of the ones you see in the hospital rooms, cradled away in the corners– starts slowly appearing from the top of the ceiling, a mechanical buzz following its arrival. The gadget turns on with a white flash, a logo identical to the one on your jumpsuit following, three tones (a C, a G and an E, sounding almost too optimistic for this kind of game) ringing all through-out the bus, through the small speakers installed in the wall, next to every single seat. 

A robotic voice speaks through the speakers, not able to be identified by anyone in this room, sounding as every other generic woman in this world, sentences carefully crafted and always ending with a full-stop followed by a second-long silence. Everything feels like a simulation. You feel like everything you’re experiencing isn’t even real– when you used to watch this show on the TV, you could always just imagine it’s all made-up and the people dying are paid actors, forced to act terrified of losing everything. You could almost imagine it– hundreds and hundreds of young, aspiring actors method-acting, getting paid when they do the job right and make everyone believe that the horrifying game that is on the TV every few years is just an act, all made up for the entertainment of others. 

Sitting in the bus with tinted windows, being taken away from everything you know, into a new, foreign place, you already know this is not an act. It’s all real. And you’re a part of it. 

Somehow, this thought doesn’t scare you. You remain calm, listening to the lady in the speakers, with your eyes focused on the screen, following the animations running through the TV.

“Dear contestants, welcome to The game of trust. As you’re currently commuting to your temporary dorms, where you’ll spend the night before the game begins, allow me to introduce you to the game itself. The name is The game of trust– fitting for the character of the game. 

You’re all here with your assigned partner. It’s the person you decided to sign up for the game with, the one person you’re going to compete with against others. The point of the game is simple: upon arrival at the station, everyone got our high-technology trust bracelets,” you glance at the light-blue, rubber thing on your wrist. The bracelet lights up when you move your hand, the small screen presenting you a set of numbers that change every time you look at it. They never go below 90%. “These bracelets are the determination of your progress in the game. They show the principle we are trying to measure in the game– your trust towards your partner in this game.”

Noticing the number 94%, you smile to yourself and glance at the people around you, all staring at their wrists and nervously chewing on their bottom lip. “The higher the number shown, the higher your chance at surviving in the game is. We have prepared three rounds of games, all aimed at testing your trust towards the other person. After completing each one, the pairs with the lowest number of trust will be eliminated.”

The animation on the TV screen flashes with three circles that slowly intertwine as small, star-shaped objects merge through them. Some of the stars turn red and disappear, until there’s only two in the final circle, representing the main path of the game. 

“There’s a cash prize of 1 million dollars for the last team standing.”

Eyes of everyone around you flash with competitiveness, the vision of what they could do with the money blinding everyone’s anxiety for at least one second. This is not a game for millionaires. This is not a game for wealthy people that are only trying to make their funds bigger. This is a game for the people in the lowest part of the society– the ones with debts, the ones that need the money so much they don’t mind going to a game where they could lose their life to earn it. They can lose it all, yet, they still won’t have less than what they had when they started. It’s all or everything for them. There’s not much of a difference between their life now, and dying.

“There’s one rule, though: the last team standing has to have their trust numbers at 100%. If both of them have a number lower than 100, meaning that they don’t trust each other completely, they both get eliminated. However, if one of them has a number on their bracelet that's lower than 100 and the other one trusts them at 100%, the one who completed the game can choose to eliminate the other one to get the cash prize; meaning that the team percentage is still equal to 100%. If they don't choose to do that, however, they still both get eliminated.”

The teams in the bus start murmuring between each other, the last rule making everyone confused and perplexed. Because why would someone choose to kill the other person, if they trusted them completely, right? That bond seems to be so strong that you wouldn't want to break it.

“You will be arriving at your destination in 45 minutes. Good luck, dear contestants.”

Smiling from ear to ear, content with what you’ve heard in the speakers, you glance up to your left, meeting eyes with your partner for the game. There’s no way your numbers could ever drop below 100% in the last stage. 

“Do you trust me?” you ask him, voice coated in sweetness. 

“I trust you,” he nods.

Content with the answer, you reach out to squeeze his knee. Of course you’ll get the 1 million dollars. And after that, everything will be okay again. Everything will be settled and you’ll live happily ever after. 

It seems like you’re both sure in your decision to compete in this game. You’ve lived through hell and beyond together, after all. You’d trust Mark Lee with your life.

“Let’s win this game, Mark.”

“Are you ready for the game?” Mark mumbles as he watches you unpack the few plain white t-shirts you brought with yourself, leaving your duffel bag at the bed. Glancing up at him, you find yourself nodding with a half-smile, running your hands over the soft fabric of the bedsheets.

You arrived just a few hours ago. Everything in your sight is plain white, the whole building reminding you of the sci-fi movies you’ve seen on the TV as a kid. Everything is automated– even the toilet flushes itself right as you’re done using it and the room welcomed you with a robotic voice when you set your feet over the doorstep of the automatic door. 

“How can you be so calm?” he asks. 

You shrug. “I believe in us, I guess,” you mumble. “I’m confident in the bond we have.”

“You don’t think anyone in here trusts each other more than we do?” 

Grinning, you walk towards his body sitting on the other bed, slowly running your hand through his hair as you reach him and watch him looking at you with rounded eyes, orbs full of honey. Taking your other hand and plopping his chin up a little more, you see him calmly scan your features, matching your grin with a hesitant half-smile. 

“No, Mark,” you muse, “I don’t think anyone here could ever beat us.”

He almost looks like he believes you for a second, his eyes losing the uncertain shade covering them, when you both get startled by the voice coming out of the speakers installed in the ceiling. Your eyes trace the corner of the room until they reach the very top, finding the speaker right next to the small, modern light in the center of the ceiling, listening to the same, robotic voice once again. 

“Dear contestants,” it starts, sending chills down your spine. Now that you’re in this room and not in the comfy bus as before, the situation seems to be more and more serious. You can’t say it disturbs your peace, though, because that would be a lie. As you’ve already said: you trust the bond you and Mark have. And there’s no way anyone could ever trust another person more than the two of you trust each other.

“The game begins tomorrow at 8 in the morning. You will be woken up at 7 and served breakfast at 7:30. Please, have a good night’s sleep to prepare for the first challenge of your trust.” the voice finishes, the same three notes as before (a C, a G and an E, you’re certain) repeat themselves as a jingle and the voice cuts out, signaling that it’s most likely time for sleep. 

And you’re right– the light turns off by itself a few seconds later and there’s no way for you to turn it back on. You’re left in complete darkness, shaky eyes searching through the room as you try to navigate yourself back to your bed. 

The next few minutes pass by in silence, neither you nor Mark daring to break it for a reason unknown to the both of you. There’s something sacred in the space you two share right now, hearing each other fall asleep for what might be the last time in your life. Who knows if you’ll live through to sleep another night in this comfortable bed. Who knows if you’ll come back after breakfast tomorrow. 

The future is uncertain for the both of you. But that’s okay. You have nothing to lose– only each other, that is. And you’re both going all in. 

“Sleep well, Y/N.”

After eating the breakfast you were served in a plain, pearl-white cafeteria that was bigger than anything you’ve ever seen (not even the cafeteria at your old high school was this big), you find yourself standing amongst the crowd of people in front of a white door. You were directed here by the robotic voice coming through yet another speaker hidden in the wall. 

It’s a little after 7:45, you’d say– you’re not sure, though, because your phones were taken away right after getting on the bus. You have no sense of time and space right now. You don’t know where you are and what time it is. The only source of information you have is the robotic lady telling you directions every once in a while. For all you know, you could’ve been lied to. There are no windows in this place and the doors are locked everywhere. You could very well be in space– you wouldn’t know.

Everyone around you is anxiously biting at their nails. The girls here are all wearing their hair up in some sorts of ponytails or braids, seemingly ready to put their everything into the challenge. You don’t know if you’re gonna get your hands dirty in the game that awaits you behind the white door, but you’re completely certain that if you had to, you wouldn’t hesitate. 

Glancing up at Mark, he seems more relaxed than yesterday. You know he fell asleep a few minutes before you, judging by the calm breathing that resonated through the room after you wished him a good night. He has no apparent dark circles under his eyes, despite them almost always decorating his handsome face nowadays. He somehow looks healthier. More determined to fix his life. 

The truth is, you were okay with what you had before entering the game. Sure, you didn’t have much money and some days, it was difficult to survive, but you came to terms with it. Or at least that’s what you thought– it’s easy to convince your brain sometimes. But seeing Mark suffer every day is what made you agree to sign up. There’s no universe in which you’d leave him alone in this– you hated every single day you had to live by his side when he wasn’t happy. Mark’s everything to you and in a situation like this, the only thing left to hope for is that you’re everything to Mark.

Your hand automatically meets his, intertwining your fingers and squeezing it for just a heartbeat before letting go, as if you were trying to convince the both of you that you’re completely relaxed. The adrenaline in your veins says otherwise, though, and with every passing second that you’re left in the dark, you feel like your heart is gonna burst out of your chest. 

Just as you’re about to open your mouth and complain, the door opens with a low buzz and a click, leaving you standing in front of another white room, inviting you in.

No one dares to step inside first. What if it’s a trap? A few pairs of heads peek inside through the doorway, eyes searching for a clue, hands hesitantly reaching inside as if to test if there’s a laser there that will slice you open once you step into the room. 

“Shall we go in?” you hear Mark whisper into your ear, your eyes peering up at him. There’s hesitance sitting on his features. He’s always been the one to follow orders and compromise– there’s no surprise in him waiting for a cue right now.

“I guess so,” you say. The tone of your voice seeps in determination– a polar opposite of your partner. It’s always been like this. He’s the hesitance, you’re the push forward. He’s the calm, you’re the storm. He’s the sugar, you’re the spice– a salt in the enemy’s wound, the one that strides forward and beams in glory as the other one follows. 

Stepping forward and sensing everyone’s eyes burning at your back, you enter the white room and look around. When a few seconds pass and nothing happens, the other people follow you, filling the room with a buzz of low voices talking hastily in each other’s ears, trying to figure out what’s going on and how to move forward. You feel like someone’s watching you, like there’s a hidden camera following you every move, examining you like you’re in a social experiment. The truth is, you wouldn’t be that far from the truth anyway– you’re in a contest, after all. A contest that’s public and everyone watches. You might as well be their laboratory pet, the subject they look at through a magnifying glass to search for the last piece of dignity left in your body. Because surely, if you signed up for this competition, even the last ounce of self-worth in you must be disappearing.

In front of you is a big, glass box full of black fabric. The silk is scrapped into longer pieces, all thrown recklessly into the container, catching your eye as your vision traces the spacious place. Your brain does wonders as you try to come up with a possible solution to this puzzle, gears turning in your head as you feel Mark’s breathing on the back of your neck, concentration being the only state you can turn your brain into, when a loud voice breaks you out of your survival mode.

“Contestants,” it says. 

Finally, the instructions you’ve been yearning for. You never imagined to feel relief when you hear the robotic voice, but it fills you to the brim as you look around and watch Mark, both of you listening to the lady in the speakers.

“Welcome to the first challenge of The game of trust. In this game, we will test your trust with a process you’ve been familiar with since childhood, and that is a simple game of buddy walk.” 

There’s a pause in the robot’s speech, allowing everyone in the room to take in the information. “In front of you, there’s a box with blindfolds. One person from each team will wear it, as the other person will stand at the end of the obstacle course and give directions to the one wearing the blindfold. They must trust each other completely to follow the directions given to them, because even one wrong step can make the person fall off and get both of them eliminated.”

One of the walls slowly decreases into the floor, leaving an open space in the room and revealing what’s been hiding behind. The space in front of you looks dark. Everywhere you see, there’s complete black, other than the tens of trails shining in pearl white, each one a few meters long and curvy. The trails are narrow and the curves are steep– one wrong step and you’re bound to fall off.

“After completing the course, there’s one last thing to do to solidify your trust, and that is a trust fall. Seems easy enough, right?”

Licking your lips in anticipation, you start to prepare yourself for the difficulty of the challenge in front of you. “The trust fall is not as ordinary as it sounds, though. The person that’s been guiding the other one through the course has to stand at the bottom, under the course itself. The platform is only a few meters wide, surrounded by nothingness. If your person doesn’t guide you well enough and you don’t trust them enough to let them catch you, you fail the game and get eliminated.”

Eyes following the beams of light under the course, you find the platforms. The distance between the pearl-white path and the dimly-lit platforms is around 20 meters and around it, there’s just pure nothingness. You wonder if Mark’s strong enough to catch you at the bottom, worrying that even if you’d be guided correctly, you’d break his arms with the force of the fall.

“Now, please take your blindfolds and cover your eyes with it. The people guiding will follow the trail and get to their platforms, while the ones being blindfolded will wait in this room and our team will get them to the other side. After the sound signal, the game starts. We wish you all good luck.”

It sounds like everything happening after his moment should be in a hurry. The opposite’s what happens, though, as the motion around you is slow and hesitant, teams murmuring between each other and sharing worried glances, watery eyes shaking above the futuristic horizon. Your eyes quickly meet Mark’s, chewing on your bottom lip as you try to stay focused and calm. 

Admittedly, it’s getting harder and harder to be so sure of yourself in this situation. Of course you trust Mark– in this game, though, you have more pressure to trust yourself, though.

“I’m gonna be the one catching you, right?” he speaks firmly, placing his hands on your shoulders, as if to steady the both of you and shield you from the danger for one last time.

You hurriedly nod, sure of your decision. It was clear from the beginning that this would be the way you’ll be doing things and not the opposite way– with you guiding Mark– because there’s no way you’d be able to catch him at the bottom of the platform. 

“Okay.” 

Taking a few steps towards the glass box filled with blindfolds, Mark reaches in and takes one out, standing behind you and moving the hair out of your face. “Allow me.”

Fingertips brushing along your face, the silk fabric is quickly pulled across your eyes. The darkness that drapes over you like a weighted blanket is not a welcomed visitor, but it’s the one you have to accept and get through anyways. Mark ties a neat knot at the back of your head, his palms once again finding your shoulders and resting there for a moment, lips next to your ear, brushing against your skin with every word that comes out of his mouth.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course I trust you, Mark,” you chuckle, your voice trembling just the slightest bit. If he didn’t know you that well, he might as well not notice it, but the slightest shift in your behavior is very apparent to your partner, leading him to run his hands over your shoulders in a calming manner.

“Then don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll do great,” he mutters, trying to find the previous feeling of fake confidence you two shared on the bus coming here.

“Will we?”

“Yeah,” his voice is ever-so reassuring. “Wanna know what the number on your bracelet is?”

Humming, you find yourself nodding, holding onto that single number alone, because that’s what determines your fate from now onwards in the first place. 

“It’s 92,” he whispers into your ear, “and mine’s 90. That couple next to us is only on 75 right now. So don’t worry.”

Chuckling, you nod again. Of course you trust him. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. 

“I’m gonna go now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Just trust me.”

“I do.” 

The skin on your shoulders feels cold when there’s not the weight of his touch covering it and your body no longer feels his presence behind your back. You feel stranded, like a lost kid in the grocery store. You feel vulnerable. Standing in a foreign place blindfolded isn’t the safest thing to do, after all. 

This game isn’t safe in the first place, though. And standing here alone, wearing a silk blindfold, is only the beginning of the game and perhaps the safest you’ll feel in the next few minutes.

The voices around you slowly start to muffle, the room fills itself with silence. The guiders must be all at their places right now, you think, and your assumption must be correct by the way the door behind your back opens again and the room gets filled with the sound of heavy footsteps. 

A cold, leather glove comes into contact with your shoulder, turning you around in your place and leading you out of the room you’ve been standing in for the last few minutes. Darkness envelops you as you and the other people get through a corridor, taking a sharp turn left and then another one a few seconds later. You feel abducted.

You hear the buzz of a door again, the strong hands pushing you forward, when you see just the tiniest bit of light shine through your blindfold, meaning that you escaped the darkness of the alleyways and you’re now in the main game room. The contact on your shoulder retreats as your legs feel glued to the place you’ve been pushed into, a foreign object suddenly covering your ears, making you shudder in surprise.

There’s a moment of stillness following those actions, your body frozen in its place. You don’t dare to even move your fingers, the image of you standing at the beginning of the tall course imprinted in your brain warning you enough not to do so, when a tone in your ears– efficiently explaining the object on your ears as earphones– makes your heart jump in another wave of adrenaline. A familiar tone rings through the space.

The game of trust begins.

“Y/N?” you hear.

“Yes.”

“Can you hear me?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay. So,” Mark starts, “I’m standing a few meters in front of you. The platform acts like an elevator, so I can see you clearly right now. How interesting-”

“Mark,” you grit your teeth, making the boy shut up and cut off his nervous rambling.

“Okay,” he says. You can only imagine him nodding to set himself in the right direction– the action he repeats every time he needs to focus himself on the task at hand. “The first thing you’re gonna do is take two steps forward.”

“How big?” you ask, your voice shaking.

“Just.. your regular steps. The way you always walk,” he mutters. 

Nodding to yourself, you reach your leg forward and take one step, taking a second to compose yourself before you cross the distance and take another one, stopping in your place and waiting for Mark’s next directions.

“Amazing. Now, there’s a slight curve to the left. You’re gonna start turning to your left and when I say stop, you stop. Alright?”

“Okay.”

Turning your body slightly to the left, you move in your place, waiting for your partner to halt your movements. After what feels like a mere second, you hear his voice in your ears again, firm and quick with his actions.

“Stop. Now, two steps again. Okay?”

Humming, you put your trust in him and take another two steps, the same way you did before, although now, you feel a little more sure in yourself.

“Good job. Now, we’re gonna turn right. Turn and wait for me to stop you.”

Following his directions, you wonder why he doesn’t take the lead more often. Sometimes, you feel like you have to protect him from everything, but in this situation, you feel as if he should be the one taking care of everything every time– there’s no other person you’d leave to do it anyway.

“Stop. Four steps now.”

You don’t know how far into the course you are, but you feel yourself slowly relaxing into his voice, shutting off all your other thoughts bugging you in the furthest corners of your brain.

“Now, you’re gonna turn left again….. okay, stop. And take a step,” he says and you follow– a comfortable pace now, “and now, there’s like… a gap. You have to cross it.”

“Oh no-”

“Relax, relax. You’re gonna take a big, BIG step forward, okay?”

“Mark…”

“You got this! Go for it, Y/N.”

Taking a deep breath in, you clear out your mind. You’re gonna do it. It’s now or never– everything or nothing at all. And so you go for it, you take a big step, and hearing your partner in the headphones cheering you on and telling you that you can cross and it’s okay, you feel your legs firmly on the ground again, ready for the next obstacle.

“Now, another big step. The same as before.”

A big step.

“And a turn left… perfect. Five steps.”

Five steps.

“And another big step. Two in a row.”

Two big steps.

“Now turn right. This is the last one, and then you’re at the end.” 

Turn right. Mark’s directions in your ear start to sound easier and easier, the image of finally being done with this challenge making your soul feed the adrenaline, hoping to get it over as fast as you can.

“Good, good. Now three steps and you’re at the end!”

Taking the three steps, you feel as if victory has overtaken your senses. You feel as if you’ve already won, but this is not the end– not at all. 

There’s silence in your ears, Mark’s voice not present as you wait in your place, once again afraid to move. Your breathing hitches in your throat as you call for him, feeling like you’re lost in the woods and can’t find your way out.

“Mark?”

“I’m down below now. You have to move a little to the left, or you won’t make it.”

“To the left?”

“Yes.”

The way your legs shakily take the tiniest, mice step to the left, feels like an out-of-body experience. Trembling in your place, you listen to your next directions. 

“A little more.”

“Here?” you ask, hoping to get an approval. 

“And now, just turn around.”

“Mark, I’m gonna fall,” you muse, voice trembling just as much as your knees now, even the breathy chuckle escaping your throat not able to mask your nerves.

“And I’m gonna catch you. Just do what I say, okay? Trust me.”

His words work like magic as you twirl around like a ballerina, hearing him order you a firm Go! as you breathe in and out, preparing for the fall. Your ears ring as you finally let go and let your legs fully give out, leaning into the trust fall as your arms stretch out and you let out a squeak out of your mouth– the fall lasting for forever, your body trapped somewhere in the middle. You feel like you changed dimensions, everything appearing slower to you than it is in reality, when your body falls with full impact into something hard, but fleshy, earning you a scream out of your throat as a reward.

“You made it!” Mark screams, his voice more present now than it was in your earphones. 

His hands hug around your middle as you feel your body at the cold ground, supported by his limbs and bones laying under you. Desperately trying to catch your breath and calm your heart, you notice the headphones no longer present on your ears; they must have fallen on your way down. 

Mark’s trembling, but excited fingers untie the blindfold on your head, your eyes meeting with a tearful glory full of relief as you plop your chin into the crook of his neck, feeling his skin. You’d be cheesy to say that the safest place in the world for you is inside of his arms, but in this instance, you could even take it literally. 

You wonder how the hell his body is still intact after the weight of your fall into his arms. There must be some technology supporting that. Maybe they can shift with gravity. Again, you would never know. There’s only so much that’s known about this place.

“I made it,” you grin.

“You did. You did great.”

Breaking apart from his hold, you stand up and take his hand into yours, tugging him up. You hesitantly take a step towards the edge of the platform, looking down, expecting to see nothing but darkness seeping into your eyes.

The view doesn’t fit your expectation, though, instead seeing pools of bodies, all twisted into unhuman positions, blood puddles under each of them and terror flashing behind the lifeless eyes of the ones guiding them that had been thrown down off their platforms in the process of elimination.

Chills run down your spine as your eyes snap above you, following another body falling to the ground, a scream of pure despair piercing through your eardrums making you believe that the headphones you were wearing were noise canceling, so you could only focus on your game.

Everything goes still for a while. You just saw another life end in front of your eyes. 

A C, a G and an E ring through the place, a robotic voice clinging to your insides. 

“The first challenge is now over. Congratulations to everyone that made it through the first stage. You did well. You will now be escorted back to your rooms, where you’ll all wait for lunch,” the woman says, making you clench your jaw, “good job at proving your trust, everyone.”

Mark’s hand slips into yours, squeezing it tightly as the door behind you opens with a buzz, tugging your body with him as you march through the white halls, following the small crowd back into your room. 

Everything goes silent. You won, but you feel defeated. 

Glancing at your wrist, you read the numbers on your bracelet, the double digits reassuring you that everything you’ve been through so far has been worth it.

99%.

Of course. 

After all, you promised Mark you’ll win no matter what.

Looking around the pearl-white dorm room almost feels like a déja vu, Mark’s body sitting on the bed in the same position as when you first arrived. Not many words are shared between the two of you, the weight of the situation you were in finally settling and making you rethink all your decisions.

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

Glancing up at him, your head moving slowly to the side so you were face-to-face with your partner, you shrug and reply with a voice full of determination.

“No.”

“...all of those people died.”

“It was not our fault,” you deadpan, set on your decision, “they came here because they needed money. The same way we do, Mark. They knew what to expect, we see this all the time on the TV.”

Your explanation seems to be enough for Mark, because his face visibly relaxes and his body falls into the bed, letting his muscles recharge and finally being at peace enough to get his thoughts to stop running and making him rewatch the game in his head over and over again. 

You two passed. And that’s enough for him, after all. 

“You can’t keep thinking about the other people in this. We are here to win,” you mumble, laying in your bed as well, settling under the covers. 

Your goal is set. And everyone best believes you are going to achieve it. Because in the depths of your soul, you owe it to Mark. You owe him all the money you’re going to win in this game, for everything you’ve done and for what you put him through. 

You and Mark have known each other since you were little. Neither of you ever really had much– the neighborhood you grew up in was small and known for being one of the poor ones. You’d be lying if you said your parents always provided you with everything you needed. Some days, you were left hungry. And that often resulted in you shop-lifting and stealing food from your local grocery store. 

Who knows if God, if there is one, will judge you for everything you had to do to survive when you reach the heaven’s door. Is it still a sin, if you had no other choice?

You and Mark were a team, ever since either of you could talk. You went everywhere together– he had your back and you had his. You two and his brother were often a trio everyone could always find together. You shared secrets with each other, you made memories together. 

Mark was always very fond of his younger brother. You vividly remember the day he was born, with Mark running down the street with his brother’s little body in his arms, a cheerful smile plastered onto his young face. He always called him his best friend. The bond the two of them had was strong. Sometimes you even think he loved him more than he could ever love you, but you could never blame him for that. Blood is thicker than water, after all. 

You wonder if Mark ever blames you for what happened that day, a few weeks before you had to sign up for this game. You wonder if he knows what really went on. 

You wonder if he hates you.

He must hate you. Right?

Sitting in a circle, you scan the faces around you with much interest. The amount of teams in the pearl-white, spacious aula is significantly smaller than before the first game. You think at least half must have been eliminated– due to a lack of trust, or due to them not being fast enough, or due to the one walking stepping wrong and falling down to death. 

The faces around you no longer look as scared as they did before. After eating your breakfast, it’s the third day of your stay in this strange-looking building, and it’s also a few minutes before your second challenge. The time here seems to be passing faster than everywhere else and you wonder if it’s the adrenaline that’s making it feel this way.

Counting the contestants in your head, you find out there are only 21 teams left. When you counted the teams back in the bus, you were almost sure there were around 70 of them– the place was packed with life and people. 

Turning your head around, scanning your eyes through the crowd, you try to examine the room and find any clues about your second challenge. The tension seems to be higher, since after this game, you’ll be more than halfway past the money hunt, the air growing thicker as the silence makes your ears ring and your heart beat quicker. 

Every single one of the teams is sitting behind a white, stone table. It’s big enough just to fit the two of you, each one engraved with a number starting anywhere from one to seventy. You quickly learn it’s corresponding to the number of the room you’re staying in– the number your team was given in the whole game, it seems.Your number was 28. Noticing the camera in the far left corner, you wonder how many people are watching you right now. You wonder if you’re on live television, if everyone is betting on your team to win, or if their favorites are the ones opposite of you or the team sitting to your right… You wonder if they know your names, or if the number you were assigned is the only way they can refer to you with. 

In the heat of the moment, you almost forgot this is an entertainment broadcast. 

Each of the white stone tables has a border in the middle– a wall big enough to only show the head of the person sitting next to you over it. There’s nothing else in the room that could help you find out what you’re waiting for, but you can only imagine that the next challenge is going to be held in this exact room, sitting at these stone tables.

Meeting your eyes with Mark, you see him raise up his brows at you and flash you a hesitant smile. “Ready?” he whispers, not wanting to break the silence.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, leaning over so your lips are close to his ear, almost brushing against the gentle skin coating his earlobes.

As if you two were the main characters, a sound erupts through the space, the melody so familiar in your brain that it might as well be repeated in your dreams when you sleep at night. Everyone’s heads turn around to try to find the source, but they’re quickly left focused on the robotic voice explaining the rules of the next game, their interest going elsewhere.

“Dear contestants,” it says, as if greeting you with a malicious smile, “welcome to your second game. The first one was rather physical, so now, we decided to let all of you rest by preparing a game that doesn’t require you moving anywhere. This game will test your trust in a whole another way– right from where you’re sitting right now.”

Cracking your knuckles from nerves, you listen further. At least you were right in this one thing. 

“One person from each team will acquire an image. The image is an easy line art work and each team will get a different one. The difficulty of the image depends on your current trust score; the higher the trust, the less difficult your job in this game will be,” glancing at your bracelet, still shining with a proud 99%, you feel just the slightest amount of relief washing over you, “the person with the image will then describe it to the person sitting next to them. Their job is to recreate the picture only by listening to their partner’s descriptions at least to a 90% success. The images will be scanned and compared by our high technology, which will determine if you pass this test or get eliminated.”

“Now, you have 20 seconds to decide your roles in this game. As soon as the time limit is over, a tone will ring to start off your game. At that moment, you can reach under your table and take the image prepared for your team and start your sketching. Good luck to everyone.”

Once the voice is quiet, you can almost use your heartbeat to measure the 20 seconds left until the game starts– that’s how fast it’s beating. Your eyes meet with Mark’s, nervousness making you lick your lips, the hard decision sitting in front of you. 

“What’s your number?” you ask. 

“94,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. 

Nodding, you show him your bracelet, hurry present in your actions. “Mine’s still at 99. We need to make your score higher, so… let me describe that picture for you, okay? I think that’s the better way to go around this,” you explain your idea, earning a nod from your partner.

You trust Mark completely. There’s no way your percentage could fall, because you know he will try his hardest. And you could only imagine that the trust he has in you to describe the image perfectly will make his number rise. At least you hope it works this way…

A C, a G, and an E. The game starts.

You reach under the table and get the image that had been pressed against the surface on a magnet, eyes shakily running over the lines and shapes created on the hard paper. Mark’s table is now a tablet with a touch-screen, waiting to be used as you try to think of the best way to describe the artwork in your hands in a simple way. 

“Y/N?”

“I’m on it!” you hurriedly exclaim, taking a deep breath in, “start off with a big circle in the middle. Just- just draw a big, big circle. The biggest you can fit.”

Mark only gives you a reassuring hum, signaling that you can continue with your directions. If this is one of the easier pictures– judging by the trust percentage you two have– you wonder how the other contestants are doing with the Piccasso worthy creations on their papers.

“Now, divide that circle into four sections. Like cutting a pizza,” you say, “and in the top left triangle, you will draw three raindrops.” 

“Raindrops?”

“Yes. Got it?”

“So far so good,” he mumbles, leaving you to continue.

“In the top right, you will draw another three horizontal lines that are equally far away from each other.”

“Horizontal?” he asks, as if to reassure himself that he heard right. One wrong line and the whole challenge is failed for the two of you, so his actions are not hurried, but rather thought-out and slow, calculated.

“Yes, horizontal.”

“Okay. Next?”

“In the bottom right triangle, you will add a spiral. The spiral has 3 turns in total and it fits right into the triangle.”

“Good.”

“And now, leave the bottom left empty. There’s nothing there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now, around the big circle, you will draw lines, as if you were drawing a sun. Four on top and then four on bottom, got it?” 

Chewing on your cheek, you wonder if you’ve done a good job. While looking at the picture, it seems easy. You already know what it looks like and you’re sure you’d be able to recreate it if you were asked. But if you’ve never seen it, you really have to trust the other person to be your guide, because even with an enormous amount of imagination used, you could never do it 100% right. 

And that’s what you gotta do. 

Get it at least 90% right.

“Is that all?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Taking a deep breath in, scanning the picture with your eyes one last time to look for any details you could’ve missed, you agree with determination. “I’m sure. We’re done.”

“Alright, so I guess now we just wait?”

“I mean… they didn’t tell us what to do after we’re done, so I’m assuming we wait.”

Eyes scanning over the other teams in the room, some of them look relaxed. It seems like the challenge has been easy for them as well– you assume their trust score is high as well and they’re your main competition. A blonde girl and a boy with a dimple in his right cheek. You try to remember their faces for later.

Other teams seem to be struggling, terror shining in their faces as they try to bite through the task, shaky hands gripping the sheet of paper and clammy fingers dancing at the screen with much hurry. You wonder if they’ll do well. It’s a selfish thought, but you hope their state is equal to their score in this challenge. You hope they do bad, because that means you have a higher chance of surviving. 

Games like these slowly start making everyone feel like a sociopath. There’s no empathy when it’s a stranger’s life. You only care about yours and the money on the line. That’s something your brain has learned in the past few hours, after you found it hard to sleep when you saw the people eliminated in your first challenge.

You can’t feel bad for them. That would be your weakness.

“There are three seconds left in your challenge. Finish up your drawings now. Three, two, one-” the jingle runs through the room again, making the screens freeze and the rustling of voices quickly disappear.

Only a few seconds of complete, utter silence pass, causing everyone to have terror running through their veins. Looking at Mark’s face peeking through the wall, the stone barrier slowly starts to decrease into the surface of the table, making it disappear. You get a clear look of Mark’s drawing on the screen, relief washing over you when the squiggly lines look almost identical to the ones you received at the beginning of the game.

You knew you could trust him. You knew it.

“Now, our technology will scan your drawings and determine your success in this game.”

You feel Mark’s hand finding yours and squeezing it under the table, his grip so hard it makes your palm hurt. With eyes pressed into the screen, you await the result, hope swimming through your veins as you think that there’s no way you failed this challenge.

The screen goes dark, the outline of Mark’s drawing shining only subtly through the screen, a big number appearing in the very middle, a smiling 93% dancing across the screen. You almost let out a scream of happiness, a noise filled with joy and relief, but rather than showing everyone how you really feel, you result in shaking your intertwined arms and biting down your grin with much secrecy. 

“Contestants with a success rate higher than 90% can leave the room. The others will stay inside and get eliminated.”

Jumping out of your seat, you almost forget about the second part of the announcer’s message. You make yourself forget about the elimination. You make yourself forget about the broadcast. Because that’s the only way to stay sane in this place. 

Tugging Mark with you, you escape through the open door, walking down the white ailes with your hands intertwined and a smile flashed on your face. 

You made it.

When you make it to your room, Mark shows you his bracelet, a shining 98% glimmering on the screen in front of your very eyes.

There’s no way you’re not winning this game.

SEVEN WEEKS BEFORE THE GAME

Looking around, you continue running as fast as you can, the world blurring in your eyes as your brain is no longer able to make out the scenery around you with how fast you are sprinting across the narrow alleyway. You feel your breathing getting short, noticing the wall of the building covered in graffiti in front of you– you reached the dead end. 

“Luke!” you scream, looking over to see Mark’s younger brother by your side, eyes wide and shaky with panic. 

Mark was right. You shouldn’t have brought him along to do your dirty business. What you and Mark did to get money to keep living wasn’t a secret in front of the younger boy, and you should’ve known that the sympathy in his heart wouldn’t get him from desiring to go help you with everything, since he didn’t have any success with finding a job on his own and therefore, felt bad for not bringing money home on his own. You should’ve known he would want to go with you and you should have stopped him. 

Turning around, your eyes scan through the street. It’s dark and scary, but your body gives you no time to be afraid of the dark as you have a bigger issue at hand. 

Your plan didn’t work like you wanted it to. The carefully planned burglary backfired at you as soon as the owner of the house woke up and started chasing you with a knife. You were behind the whole plan and it was all your fault– the owner wasn’t supposed to be home at this time of the day. He always had business going on at midnight and rarely ever locked his front door. You followed him around for weeks– you were sure that you knew your victim well enough after he offered to sell you drugs on the street one day and you chose him as your next object of your crimes. 

But you were mistaken. And now, you have a big, big problem at hand.

“Didn’t get far, did you?” he grins as he runs over to you, teeth almost sparkling in the moonlight. Maybe if you screamed hard enough, someone would come to help you. But that would mean they would call the police. And with what you were previously supposed to be doing at this hour of the day, you were sure you were all going to get jail time. And you really didn’t need that at this point of your life. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” you keep muttering. Mark started running the other way– a smart choice, you must say, and suddenly, you feel terrible to have Luke by your side. 

You knew Mark would handle this well. He was good at everything he ever tried, he saved you from situations of crisis way too many times already. But now, you’re left alone and helpless. Your only priority is to stay alive.

Seeing the glimmering blade of a knife in the man’s hands, you pat your pockets and take out your own. You’ve never had to use it before– being too sneaky to not get caught, or always having Mark by your side that took care of the dirty business– but now seems like a good time to learn some self-defense. 

“What do we do?” Luke asks, voice shaky with stress and nerves.

“Don’t- don’t do anything, just… just try to escape, okay? I will handle this. Run and try to find Mark,” you order, noticing the man getting closer and closer, desperately wanting him to go after you so Luke could escape and go find his brother. You needed Mark by your side right now, you needed him to help you and take care of this. But there was no way you could run away right now. One of you had to fight.

Hearing Luke’s footsteps hit against the gradel, you prepare for a fight. His tall figure runs along the alleyway, when the attacker runs into his way and corners him against the wall, the blade of his knife swinging dangerously close to Luke’s neck. 

You can’t let him hurt Luke. You can’t let him do something to the boy. 

From now on, your actions are all on auto-pilot. There’s too much adrenaline in your system to keep thinking straight. 

Hurrying over, you jump behind the man and try to prey his arms away from Luke, your grip on the blade rock-tight as you scream in what feels like agony. Your vision goes dark for a moment, your brain choosing to black-out, as if to save you from the trauma of repeating what you’ve done in front of your eyes for the rest of your life.

Finally thinking straight, you look around and see the man on the ground, a pool of blood under his limp body, Luke’s hands dirty as he holds his knife in his hands. Your body's laying on the ground and you can’t remember how it got there, but all you see is Mark’s little brother with the blood on his hands and his fingerprints all over your weapon, marked for the rest of his life.

There’s a siren, blue and red light glimmering through the silent alleyway. Mark is standing near the corner, eyes seemingly empty. 

Someone in the neighborhood must have called the police.

Breathing heavily, you kick the covers off your feet and stumble awake, pacing around the room. 

You had that dream again. You dream about that night often, the memories you have haunting you every time you think they slipped away, terror waking you up with a thumping heart. 

Mark squints his eyes at you, waking up to the rustling of the sheets and the havoc you caused because of the panic in your heart. Standing up from the bed, his figure reaches you and envelopes you in a tight hug, already knowing too well what you dreamed about in your sleep. It happens a lot and he’s always there to calm you down, no questions asked, no words shared. He just holds you until you stop shaking, petting your hair and pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple, slowly leading you to a feeling of safety.

Neither of you go back to sleep, since you don’t think you’d be able to with the amount of stress you feel with the last incoming challenge. The room quickly blinks with the white light above your heads, signaling that it’s time for breakfast– the last one you’ll have in this place– legs dragging you to the cafeteria.

Looking around, you see that there are only three teams left. Six people eating quietly together, six people sharing the same terror, six people lost in their thoughts and scared. You wonder where the courage you had before, sitting in the bus, went. Are you having doubts? 

When all of you are finished with your meal, escaping the cafeteria together, a quiet “good luck” is shared with whispered words as you drag your feet back to your dorm rooms for a last moment before the robotic voice calls you up and brings you to the last challenge. You know all of their faces, recognising them from the previous games, and even though you know nothing about their story, you still feel a sense of community with them, the sympathy you lost along the way finding its place back to you for a brief moment. 

As if to reassure yourself with your fate, you glance at your bracelet. 

A shining 100%. There’s no space for doubts.

“Dear contestants. First things first, allow me to congratulate you for coming this far. There is only one team that can win today, however, and that team has to have a trust percentage of 100%. The prize is big, and to ensure that your team deserves it the most, we prepared the most difficult challenge for you, the one that can’t be based on luck, therefore, the one that proves your trust the most.”

Looking over at Mark, you see him smile at you reassuringly. It seems that he’s the one that’s becoming calmer and calmer as the game progresses, while you’re the one that started off strong, but is getting weaker with every passing second. The only thing you want right now is to have the game over so you can fix everything you need with the money you win, and what happens after doesn’t matter to you at all. Desperation flows through your insides, your hands trembling as you think that you can’t lose now, when you’ve come this far.

“The last game is fairly easy. Every team will enter a closed room in front of them, where they will be left alone for a few minutes to complete the last task– share their deepest secret with the person in front of them. It has to be something they don’t know about yet, something that’s in the deepest depths of your souls– simply said, something that will prove that your trust with the other person is a complete 100%, the amount you need to win this game and earn the prize money.”

Chills run down your spine at those words. 

Panic overtakes you.

Is this where your time in this competition comes to an end? Is this the moment when you’re going to fail? 

The thing is– you trust Mark Lee. You would trust him with everything in your life, you would trust him with everything on your mind, you would trust him with every single thought in your brain, with every single idea or plan. You know he would never judge you, he would never hate you or make fun of you. At all times, you were completely transparent with him. He knew everything about you and you always knew everything about him.

But still, there was one thing, just one thing he’s never known about; one thing you’ve never told him, just because you wanted to desperately save yourself. There is only one dark, deep secret you’ve never told to this male. 

And now, you have to tell him, or else you will both fail. And you can’t do that. You can’t be the blame for this as well, because even though you’d be eliminated and dead, you’re certain it would haunt you in the afterlife as well and wouldn’t let you rest.

“Please, enter your designated rooms and start with the challenge after hearing the tone. Good luck, contestants.”

You drag your feet to the room opposite of you, Mark’s figure following your side. The door shuts behind you, leaving you in a pearl-white room made out of what seems to be stone, with two pedestals coming out of the wall, acting like chairs. The room is no bigger than a few square feet, providing a sense of intimacy and secrecy for the two of you. 

Taking a seat, a tone flows through the space, the sound so familiar to you that you will remember it forever, signaling the start of the game. 

Glancing up at Mark, still unsure of your decision, you chew on the inside of your cheek. 

“Wanna start?” you ask, nervously picking at the skin of your cuticles.

“You can go first. I think you really need to share something,” he mumbles, staring you deep into your eyes. His eyes on your skin burn, almost making you feel like he knows everything, that he can read you like an open book and he knows you’ve been lying to him all this time. 

But that can’t be true, right?

“O-okay,” you stutter, your leg bouncing up and down with nervousness. You can’t even bring yourself to look him in the eyes as you start talking, the guilt making you want to crawl outside of the room and never show your face to him again. 

Even if this was your end, you have to tell the truth. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you went without getting this off your chest. He deserves to know.

“I-I should have told you this sooner, but I just- I just couldn’t bring myself to it because I was so scared-”

“Y/N, it’s okay. Tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm down your racing heart, you still don’t meet his eyes and continue. “That night… that night when we were running from that guy and the police came and arrested Luke… he- he wasn’t the one that killed that man. He wasn’t the one that was at fault, I was. He followed us and- and I got so scared and I panicked because he went after Luke and I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to your brother, so- so I killed the man.”

You pause, cracking your knuckles. “I killed that man and then… Luke touched the knife and- and the police came and saw him with the blood on his hands. There was too much proof that he was the one who murdered him, but I was the one who slit his throat.”

Looking up, you are met with Mark’s cold eyes. You can barely read what he thinks right now, but you know you have to say the last words to his eyes. 

“He got arrested for murder I was to blame for and I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to go to jail. It was all my fault and I am incredibly sorry, Mark.”

Silence overtakes the both of you. You don’t know what to say, speechless after telling him this information. 

Right after the police came and arrested both of you, you didn’t tell anyone who was at fault. After taking all the evidence, the police said Luke was the killer and ordered him 15 years in prison with a chance of being bailed out with 700 000 dollars. Neither of you had the money and you were too scared of going to jail and losing everything to say the truth. You just watched him going to jail, both you and Luke remaining silent about what happened that day. 

Perhaps Luke didn’t want you to go to jail either. Still, what you’ve done wasn’t right.

“Anything more you have to say?” Mark asks, voice cold.

You hesitantly shake your head, awaiting his reply. Does he hate you now? Does he not trust you anymore? Will you lose? Does this mean you will never be able to undo your mistake and bail Luke out?

“My turn now, right?” he asks, chuckling.

“Yes,” you nod.

Mark licks his lips, scoffing. Tongue poking his cheek, he looks you dead in the eye, stern eyes with no lack of sympathy. 

“My secret is that… I knew all this time, dear Y/N. I knew it all.”

With his words, the tone rings through the space again, signaling that your time is over and that you have to come out of your rooms now. You turn panicky, his face showing no mercy sending you into a state of deep distress. 

“What- what do you mean Mark? Mark?” you keep repeating, but you just get ushered outside, all of the teams standing in the big, spacious aula again, the white on the walls making your eyes hurt with the brightness. 

“Dear contestants,” the robotic voice announces, “to keep the tension going, we will not be showing you the percentage on your bracelets right now. Instead, we insist that you take the guns laying at the table in front of you now. These will be used in case that only one of the contestants was successful in the game of trust.”

“Let me repeat the rules again for you. The last team standing has to have their trust numbers at 100%. If both of them have a number lower than 100%, meaning that they don’t trust each other completely, they both get eliminated.”

Glancing at Mark, seeing his face not change as he takes the gun sitting on the desk, the voice continues. “However, if one of them has a number lower than 100% and the other one trusts them at 100%, the one who completed the game can choose to eliminate the other one in order to get the cash prize, so the team percentage is still equal to 100%. The elimination will be done with the guns provided. If this doesn’t happen, they will still both get eliminated.”

You feel like the weight of the world is crashing down on you. The nearing of death creeps behind your back, because in this moment, you know that there’s no way you aren’t getting eliminated. With what you said to Mark, you are fairly certain he won’t trust you ever again. 

“Now, please, everyone get your gun and stand on the white marks on the floor. The last part of the game will start shortly.”

You act on autopilot. Your brain is no longer conscious and you feel like you are looking at yourself from a 3rd person’s perspective, completely dissociating. Everything is happening too fast and your brain has barely any time to process what’s happening around you. Your hands grip the cold metal of the gun, keeping it by your side, knowing way too well that you won’t be able to bring yourself to use it even if you had to. Limbs limp, mind hazy and eyes a little blurred– that’s how you glance at your partner for what feels like the last time, feeling like you’re going to pass out at any moment.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

There’s no reply coming out of the man’s mouth as he stares you down. You think you’ve never seen him more confident, more content with his choice and with what’s running through his head right now. The view scares you just the slightest, but you don’t dare to give it too much thought, not wanting to mess with the percentage on your bracelet. 

The room goes still for a second. The silence makes your ears ring, the thumping of your heart sounding louder than ever before; you wonder if the contestants standing next to you can hear it and if they think you’re going crazy, because you surely feel like you are.

There’s three of you in the line, all your partners standing a few meters in front of you. The room is spacious, yet, it seems like you are stuck in the very middle, taking only so much space. Now, more than ever, you realize the presence of the cameras and grit your teeth. You don’t know who’s watching, but you desperately don’t want one of the people to be Luke, in the prisoner’s cell, watching his brother and his friend fight for life.

“Now, we’ll begin announcing the trust percentages of all contestants. We will be going from the team that scored the lowest amount of points to the one that scored the highest.”

Closing your eyes shut, you hang your head low and await the announcement. Terror runs down your spine and you suddenly find it hard to breathe.

“The team that scored lowest is the team number 54,” your breathing hitches in your throat, chasing the momentary feeling of relief as you realize it’s not you yet and you have a chance of living for a few more minutes, “neither one of the contestants in this team reached the number 100%. Therefore, they will now be eliminated.”

You don’t know what’s happening around you and you refuse to open your eyes. You don’t want the last image before your death to be someone being killed. You refuse to peek behind your eyelashes, but the sound of a gunshot is enough for you to know how they went.

“The team in second place scored a percentage higher than the one before,” the robotic voice calls, “yet, it was still not enough for them to get to 100%. Therefore, elimination awaits the two of them as well. Goodbye, team number 21.”

The lack of sympathy in the voice makes you furious. It’s still not you that’s going, yet, you don’t feel at ease even for a second. Numerous lives were taken just because of a game. Sure, it was their decision to come and they knew what was waiting for them– just as you and Mark did– but it still drives you crazy to think that they died just for someone’s entertainment. Who knows what would happen if they stayed outside. Maybe they could’ve made it work in a different way. They could’ve tried something else. There’s still hope, right?

But now, they don’t have the chance to. And maybe, you won’t either. Your whole view on the whole game managed to shift in a few seconds and you’re starting to regret everything.

Another gunshot. The sound of bodies being dragged away. You wonder if Mark’s looking. You wonder if he hates it just as much as you do.

“The team in first place is the team with the number 28,” the voice says. It does nothing to calm your heart or to make you feel better. You even dare to say that it makes you feel worse. 

“They’ve done amazingly throughout the whole game. Their percentage of trust was already one of the highest ones when they signed up for the game and it only progressed to get higher and higher as the challenges went on. They did amazingly,” the voice says, a hint of pride masked behind the roboticness making you want to puke. Speaking about you in 3rd person is the thing that makes you conscious of the broadcast again, making you dissociate. “Congratulations, you two.”

“However, there are sad news coming your way, dear contestants,” goosebumps appear all over your skin at this message, tension filling your spine. You shut your eyes harder, not wanting to see or hear what’s coming next.

“Only one person from the team managed to get their trust percentage to 100%.”

Taking a deep breath through your mouth, your brain starts running laps at enormous speed. 

If it’s you who got to 100%-- which is more likely, considering you were the one that already had their trust at 100% already before the last game– you would have a difficult decision to make. Would you kill Mark to get the money? Would you kill Mark to undo the mistake you made with his brother? Would that be fair?

Would Luke want it like that? You think he would never forgive you if you did that. And you would never forgive yourself either. You’d lose both of them at the same time. 

And you love Mark. You love that man with your whole heart, and you know you wouldn’t be able to live on without him. If you go down, you go down together.

If anything, you trust him to do the same. You two are a team. A pair. You’re like sugar and salt, yin and yang. You complete each other. There can’t be one without the other. 

“Dear contestants. Now is the time that you will be able to look at your bracelets and find out just how much you trust each other right in this moment.”

Opening your eyes, you don’t dare to look at Mark as you glance at your bracelet. It’s dark for just a second before it flashes in front of your eyes. It feels a punch in your gut, making you taste blood on your tongue. Disbelief makes you blink a few times, as if to make the number go away, but it stays, and it’s the reality you have to face.

87%.

The number is too low. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach. How did you go from a number so high, to a number this low? What made you trust Mark less?

Was it the way he seems so sure of himself? The way he looks at you with eyes that lack their usual spark, lack their usual glint of fondness behind them? Was it the fact that he knew all along, but never once talked to you about it? 

Or was it all of this combined?

“So now, dear contestants, is the time when our one rule comes into play. If your bracelet shows a 100%, you are now able to eliminate your partner and keep the money, since you were successful and you are rightfully entitled to the prize. If this doesn’t happen, however, and the sacrifice isn’t made, they both get eliminated.”

Hands shaking and heart racing, you dare to glance up at Mark again, not knowing what to expect and how to act. The truth is, you will die either way– the only difference is that you might die on the hands of your lover. Is that a good way to go?

“Mark-”

Your breathing catches in your throat again, the sight in front of you thrusting tears into your eyes. 

Mark is standing there, right in front of you, the metal head of the gun pointing your way. His face is stone cold and his hand holding the gun is steady, as if he waited for this moment his whole life. There’s no mercy in his eyes. 

This is truly the way you’ll go.

“Mark- I- I’m-”

“Shh,” he shuts you up, scoffing, “it all worked just how I imagined, dear Y/N. You trusted me so blindly that you thought that there’s no way we both won’t win the game; you overlooked the fact that I could read you like a book all along. I didn’t trust you then, but when you shared your secret with me in that room, I knew I could put my everything into you. I trusted that I’d get 100%. And I did.”

Speechless, you only stare into his eyes and feel the tears run down your cheeks. 

“Don’t cry now. You ruined my brother’s life, it’s only fair for me to do this.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you try to blink away your tears. “I trusted you,” you spit out, chest heaving with desperation.

“So did I!” he yells. “I trusted you to take care of my brother! I trusted you to own up to your mistakes, to go to jail and to make it work.”

“Why didn’t you tell them, then? Why did you let Luke go into jail?” 

“Because I knew the evidence was all against him and I knew that I could make the money to bail him out with you much easier than I could for you if Luke was by my side. I never wanted him to get into this. You were at fault, you let him go with us.”

“Mark, that- that doesn’t even make any sense and you know it-” you shakily get out. 

Staring at your lover in front of you, you see a broken man. A man that no longer knows who to believe, a man that no longer knows what he feels. The trust you had in him was broken– not the primal one, though, because the truth is, you would still trust him with everything. You just didn’t trust him enough to trust you. And even though he does right in this moment, you know he won’t ever be able to trust you again. 

A stray tear falls down his cheek, a sniffle barely louder than a whisper escaping his figure. There’s a mess in his head and his opinions are torn. 

You will die either way. Maybe it’s better to let Mark keep living; to let him live for his brother, to let him bail him out and continue his life with the rest of the money, picking up right where he left. He will do it without you. He will sacrifice you, full of hate for bringing his brother into this. Maybe that’s the better choice anyway. The more logical one.

But deep in your heart, you know you don’t want to go with the sound of his gun. All along, you thought that if you go down, you go down together. It’s selfish, but you trusted him in this, at least.

But you know what they say– don’t trust everything you see. Even salt looks like sugar, and Mark had it all planned all along.

In another universe, you couldn’t really blame him. But here and now, in the deepest depths of your heart, you know that two wrongs won’t make it right. 

“I’m- I’m gonna die anyway, Mark, so… it’s okay. I just- I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. And that I love you. Okay?” you heave out, shutting your eyes and waiting for your last moment. You feel that he’s already decided, and there’s nothing you can do now. 

He goes with logic. And maybe even with his heart. Luke was always more important to him than you anyways, and that’s okay. Blood is always thicker than water.

“Y/N-”

“Dear contestant,” the voice announces, “you have 3 seconds left to decide. The time starts now. Three-”

“Mark?”

“I wish I could say I’m sorry. But… but I’m not.”

“Two-”

“Thank you for trusting me all this time.”

“One-”

“Goodbye.”

A gunshot rings through the place. It’s finally silent and your heart’s at peace; you feel yourself relax into the whiteness around you, letting go of everything. 

The game is over and Mark Lee won. 

The hate inside of him brought him to your sacrifice.

[heavenstocharlee]

Winterbreak // m.lee

Characters: Mark Lee x gender neutral!reader Category: angst / fluff if you squint Word count: 500+ (first poetic blurb!) Song inspiration: Winterbreak by MUNA

Writer’s notes: I am coming out of retirement and posting this blurb I wrote solely because the song reignited my love for writing. It was exciting to write in a more poetic style than usual, and I hope you appreciate it! More life updates soon, but for now bon appetit!

Just as the snow on your windowsill slowly melts, you observe time fracture through bits of fleeting moments. The cold never struck you in such a way as it did. More so than ever before, you felt the winter breeze emanating from the drywalls of your apartment into the warm comfort of your epidermis. The break was not supposed to be this long, you thought. The tugging exchanges between you and Mark lasted for eons, and now numbness fills the spaces between each thread of tension.

You always knew you'd find your way back to him. "One more try." But the winter winds convince you otherwise. 

You and Mark were well aware of the reparations for parting ways. The consequences, however, outweighed the benefits. The break was transparent, and every day it was a struggle to stay still. You desperately depend on the ice beneath your feet to keep you afloat.

You haven't seen Mark since last winter break. A little over a year of hearts moving farther, albeit your love growing fonder. The last memory you shared with Mark consisted of you picking up clothes scattered across the floor and slowly making your way onto the freezing front porch. He wants to walk you home, but you refuse. Tears then started to trickle down his face, indicating that it was over this time. Despite all the bones in your body wanting to wipe all his tears away, you left his residence. His warmth. 

You broke Mark's heart. 

This love was just not fitting at the moment; the love the both of you won't get right. No matter how hard you try.

Habits were hard to break. Your soul respond to each other like the ebb and flow of glacier lakes. Turquoise in color—organic, bright, and untouchable. Ethereally calm in some days, raging in others. But every time his lips parted and his eyes were filled with painful aches, it was all just covering up what was lying underneath. Despite knowing every single thing, it was not going to fix anything. It was not going to repair the cracks or turn back the clock of what was once more. 

"One more try." You often muttered when even a hint of longingness prevailed on your mind. Constantly, until you were sick of it and had to truly just let go. From days to weeks, and now a year. The calendar has turned a new leaf, and all of the frost reminds you of the warmth you once had. 

Would it be different this time? 

You both know you won't get it right. 

Will the winter winds carry you into a change of mind? 

You both know that the trial season is over. 

Magnetic, isn't it? 

Like a force dragging you to greener pastures, as the thin ice resurfaces the underlying intentions.

One text message you send to Mark responds in tentative ellipses. To continue.  To hope. 

You make your way onto the bridge that you once held your memories on. As the vapor out of your mouth comes into existence on that coldest day of the year, you admire winter in its full glory. This time up close and personal, far from childish admiration.

With light and warm footsteps, you hear Mark making his way over to you.

Still, you both know.  This time, alas, it is right. 

[thru-the-grapevine]

[2:43 PM] “You, my friend,” Donghyuck said as he came to stand next to you, “are morosexual.”

“Shut up.”

Donghyuck smirked. “You know I’m right, though. Right?”

You glared, watching Mark Lee desperately trying to pull open a door that clearly read “PUSH”. “…I will admit nothing.”

“Go ahead and let him in, Chenle,” Donghyuck called. “He’s suffered enough.”

Chenle shook his head and walked over to the door, opening it.

Mark stumbled back in surprise. “Oh. Whoops. Thanks, man. It must have gotten stuck.”

Gotten stuck? Really? You groaned, glaring at Mark.

“I’m so in love with him, I don’t know what to do,” you muttered in defeat.

Donghyuck burst into hysterical laughter, drawing Mark’s eye.

“What’s so funny?” Mark asked, grinning.

You turned your glare on Donghyuck. “One word and I suplex you into the next dimension.”

Donghyuck shook his head at Mark, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh, you know, nothing.”

[rnjfy]

request for established relationship!mark pls where reader comforts him while he’s in quarantine and reassuring him about the whole tds2 situation :((((

omg omg this is so !! i feel so bad for the dreamies, and i really hope they were able to find their own comforts through this situation :( thank you for the req op ! i hope you enjoy < 3

warning/s : hurt / comfort, sobbing!mark :(

you are enough — lmh.

in which you being there for him was simply all he needed.

“baby? what’s going on?”

your tired voice filters through mark’s phone. he hears the confusion and exhaustion clearly even though he’s not with you physically. he tried to look for any sign of annoyance in your voice but—

“mark? are you there?” your continuous sincere concern could’ve brought him to his knees.

a sob rips through his lips, “y/n—“

and it was as if a bucket of ice cold water was dumped right on you. your eyes widen as you hurriedly sit up with your phone pressed to your ear.

“baby, hey. why’re you crying?” your tone is light as mark listens to the ruffles of your sheets. he faintly hears you moving about before his screen lights up with a notification.

y/n <3 is requesting to video call with you!

a small smile tugs itself onto his lips as he hesitantly presses the camera icon on his phone. he’s wearing a black jacket with the hoodie up and despite him only showing half his face, you could tell that he’d been crying for a while before calling you.

“there’s my favorite boy. what’s going on, hmm?” your face was illuminated by the yellow light of your lamp. your hair was a mess and your eyes were so so tired, but all mark could do was sob even more at the love and concern you had for him that seemed to overpower anything else.

you watch as his face crumples, his head tilting lower so you wouldn’t see him.

“i-i just feel like i’ve disappointed them, our fans.” hearing his pained voice even just through your phone was excruciating. you wished of nothing more than to hold him in your arms.

“they’ve been waiting so long—we’ve been waiting so long. the guys and i have been practicing so hard and yet i just had to go and mess things up—“

“hey, hey. none of that now.” your gentle voice stops his spiralling thoughts as he stares at you through his phone. he sees the light frown you now have on your face and how you’ve started so pout a little at the conversation you two are having.

“you didn’t mess things up, okay? these things happen for a reason. no one’s disappointed in you—especially your fans. they love and care for you so much and prioritize your health just as much as the guys and i do.”

he watches as you smile gently at him, “have you opened twitter? everyone’s wishing you a speedy recovery. not one person is saying anything about being disappointed in you.”

your words were slowly putting his heart at ease. he was always surprised at the way you seemed to be able to calm his heart down no matter how far you seemed to be from him.

“i love you, my sweet boy. and they do too. we all just want you to get better and we know you’ll be able to come back even better than ever!” your giggles fill his quiet room as you imitate his opening performance of ‘beatbox’.

“i love you so much, my y/n.” he whispers into the phone, more tears pricking at his eyes—but now, they were because of your abundant love for him.

your smile warms his heart, the look in your eyes was something he wished to cherish forever. “i’m sorry i can’t be there with you.”

mark immediately shakes his head, his eyes shining towards you.

“your presence is more than enough for me.”

—

rather short !! but i hope you enjoyed this nonetheless op ! :DDD

[yootaesowlwrites]

Horribly Wrong - Mark Lee

A5— “Well this has gone horribly wrong.”

A/N: Okay, so I took inspiration from the one time I dislocated my arm and waited for X-rays for 2 hours, and yes… after a few times of the things dislocating, it stops hurting and becomes annoying.

Warnings: Mention of reader dislocating their arm, mention of needles, mention of hospitals, reader getting high from pain meds at the end.

W/C: 1K

“Well this has gone horribly wrong,” You say, you sit in the emergency room, holding your arm, Mark was standing next to you, concern in his eyes and running his hand through his hair, you watch him as he goes through the phases of blaming himself, even though it was neither one of yours fault, he still blamed himself, because why did you go there and try to climb a tree when they had a perfectly safe rock climbing spot.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry this, happened, Y/n,” He says, you could hear how sorry he was in his tone. “Gosh, you must be in so much pain right now,” He moves to touch you, only to stop, afraid he would hurt you.

“It doesn’t hurt, Mark,” You say. “This isn’t the first time the thing dislocated,” And it wasn’t it was now probably the fifteenth time, and you were more annoyed that it dislocated instead of being in pain, it was almost like you had grown accustomed to it. “Wait, is this your first time witnessing it?” He nods his head, his eyes widening.

“How many more times have you dislocated?” He asks, you give him a sheepish smile before the curtains were pulled open and a doctor steps inside.

“Apologies for the wait, I’ll give you something for the pain, and then we will take you to x-rays to see how much damage has been done,” The doctor says, you let out a sigh nod your head, it wouldn’t help to argue with the doctor, pain medication never helped, well… not when it was supposed to, it kicked in four hours after you had it, and then you had sleepless nights because you kept dreaming that you were falling off a cliff, you look away, and the needle was brought to your arm, you close your eyes and Mark quickly takes your other hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “A nurse will come and take you to the X-rays.”

“Thank you, doctor,” You say, the doctor nods their head before leaving the room, you look at Mark. “It is not as bad as it seems, Mark,” His lower lip pops out as he looks at you. “What will it take for you to finally believe me when I say it’s not your fault?”

“Well… I don’t think there is anything, I’ll still feel like it’s my fault,” He says. “Because you’d have been okay if I just insisted that we go to the rock climbing area,” You want to roll your eyes, you want to, but instead you squeeze his hand.

“I climbed the tree, you didn’t force me to,” You say. “And it’s an accident, it could have happened to you also…”

“But it didn’t, it happened to you,” He says, you let out a sigh and shift on the bed. “No, you’ll hurt your arm.”

“I don’t think it can get hurt any more than it already is,” You say, you sounded sarcastic, but you needed him to understand that it wasn’t his fault, it was just a freak accident, but just as you were preparing your speech, a nurse pulled the curtain more open and announced that she was there to take you the x-rays, you and Mark follow her out the emergency room and towards radiology, finding a few people ahead of you.

“Just wait a few moments for these few patients to be helped, and then they will help you,” The nurse says, you nod your head and take a seat on an empty chair, Mark sits with you, he was becoming impatient as he waited for the people ahead of you to be helped, while you on the other, was waiting patiently.

“Could they really not help you first?” He asks. “I mean, your arm is literally dislocated, and you came from the emergency room also,” You look at him, watching as he was becoming frustrated, the last person enters the x-ray room, and it was only you two left.

“Calm down, it’ll be my turn soon,” You say, he looks at you and lets out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not your fault, it’s not my fault, it was just an accident,” He places a hand on your knee, his eyes softening. “I’ll walk out the x-rays with my arm back in place, you just wait and see.”

“Now isn’t the time to joke, Y/n,” He says. “Gosh, they’ll probably need to pull it back into place,” You shake your head, wincing at the muscle pulling at your shoulder, you were finally called to enter the room, and you left Mark alone in the waiting room, you winced a few times you had to move your arm in a certain position, but when it came to the last one you had to do, which was pressing your arm against the wall, it suddenly popped back into place, and you let out a sigh of relief as the tension that was pulling in your shoulder and neck faded away, you exit the x-rays after the doctor had said that your shoulder was indeed back in place and you that you could go home.

“See, told you it would be back in place,” You say, although you weren’t going to tell him that you were supposed to wear a sling, something that you would not be doing because then he would insist on buying one for you, and make you wear it also. “Come on, let’s go back to the dorms, I’m tired, starving also,” He couldn’t believe how tough you were acting in front of him, was it all an act? Or were you really okay?

“Are you seriously okay?” He asks, you nod your head, slinging your other arm that had not been dislocated over his shoulder.

“I am, although… I won’t be sleeping much tonight, so I won’t be okay tomorrow,” You say, you could feel your body beaconing loopy as the medication you had received earlier was starting to kick in.

“Why? Are you supposed to be awake?” He asks, concerned once again, you giggle and shake your head as you exit the waiting room.

“No, silly… the pain meds are kicking in,” You say. “I’m going to be falling a lot tonight in my dreams,” He looks at you confused but decided to let it go and take you back to the dorms where he can keep a close eye on you.

[raspberriesoda]

teacher’s pet » mkl

genre | smut (mdni!!), college professor!mark x student!reader

word count | 1.7k

summary | you’re infatuated by your english literature professor, and your grade is suffering because of it, so you decide to talk to him about it

warnings | smut, afab!reader and female pronouns, oral (f receiving)

now playing 💿 teacher’s pet by melanie martinez

“professor lee,” your words are delicate as they fall from your lips, and you do nothing to suppress the nervous smile that appears on your face when he looks up at you over the rim of his glasses.

class has just ended, and the other students have just finished filtering out. the air feels thick despite the fact its now only you two in the room. “may i talk to you about something, sir?” you fiddle with the cuffs of your sweater as you stand at the front of his desk.

“of course,” he replies with a friendly smile. he sets down his pen and rises from his chair, moving swiftly around the desk and taking a seat on the edge, right in front of you. suddenly you’re hyper aware of how he’s now at eye level with you. he clasps his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees, and leans forward a bit to hear what you have to say.

“what’s on your mind?”

all of a sudden, you seize up. you’ve never had to talk to him in private before, and you’re frozen under his kind brown eyes that are fixed entirely on you. you attempt to get any coherent string of words out, but your mouth will just not respond. after a second of silence he lets out a gentle chuckle, and your cheeks flare with heat.

“taking a wild guess here, this is about your grade, yeah?”

a little ashamed that he already knows, you give him a timid nod. “yes, sir.”

“i’ve seen your transcripts, i know you’re a very smart girl, y/n. but your grade in this class just doesn’t reflect that.” as he speaks he adjusts his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. you stare at his fingers as they move. “i’ve been meaning to ask you about it for a while.”

“i, i-huhm,” you gulp, praying that he can’t tell how nervous you are in his presence. your chest begins to tighten up, attempting to stutter out any morsel of an excuse. you lower your head in embarrassment, fidgeting with the fabric of your skirt. he must have noticed the way your breathing involuntarily stutters.

“hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” you hear him say, and you feel his fingers brush against your hand. your heart flutters as you feel him gently pull you forward, closer to him. a gasp catches in your throat as you snap your head up to look at him, your eyes wide and body temperature rising as you’re now standing between his legs.

his hand holds yours gently on his knee, thumb brushing across your knuckles. his free hand rises to brush your hair off your shoulder. you swear your legs could betray you at any second.

“i’m here to help you, okay? but you have to tell me what’s going on.” theres a tone in his voice and a warmth in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. his aura is so… loving.

“i think- uhm,” you swallow hard. “i think i’m just a bit distracted is all.”

he hums in thought. you feel your resolve starting to crumble at a pace that’s impossible to recover from. as your eyes dip down to his lips, you notice the way they tip up in a teasing smile.

“what’s distracting you?” his words are slow, heavy.

hot blood rushes through your veins. you can practically feel your pupils dilate. “i wish i could answer that,” you breathe.

english literature had never been your forte as it is, but now that mr. lee- the genuinely most heart stopping man you’ve ever seen- is teaching that subject, it was as if you couldn’t write an intelligible sentence to save your life. you never would have expected a simple professor your sophomore year of college to have such a destructive effect on your grade, as well as your sanity.

coursework is something you can just never will yourself to focus on when he is in the same room. how he sticks the stem of his glasses between his teeth while he grades papers, the way his forearms flex when he leans against a table, that deep voice of his rambling on and on about god knows what while you’re sat in your seat, practically drooling on the end of your pen and rubbing your thighs together as you can only dream of the things you wanted him to do to you.

how can you tell him that he is your distraction?

“you can tell me, i promise.”

your brain is full of fog. you no longer have enough sense to decipher whether or not you’re being completely delusional in thinking he wants exactly what you do. but theres such a strong force pulling you in, weighing you down that you just can’t bring yourself to fight it anymore.

so with not a single thought in your mind other than just your utter need for him, you can’t stop yourself from swiftly leaning forward and stealing his lips in a kiss.

you pull away as soon as you realize what’s happened, ready to babble out some sort of justification for having done something so inappropriate, but you notice one of his hands now lays on your cheek, and the other that held yours has pulled you in even closer, your fingers now resting on his upper thigh. his eyelids are low, breath heavy, glasses fogged.

in a split second you’ve gripped his button up shirt in your fists and pulled your chests together with full force, your lips moving desperately against his. he slides both his large hands around your waist, venturing down to where your skirt falls. you feel his fingertips brush against your skin, digging into the plush of your thighs just below your underwear. you groan into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and practically rutting against him for any sort of friction you can find.

he takes this as a hint, gripping the back of your legs and hoisting you up as he stands. you cling to him, fervently kissing him as if he’d disappear if you separated. his hands knead your flesh under your skirt, kissing with you with equal messy hunger.

the kiss breaks once more when he makes it to the other side of his desk, plopping you down in his wheeled office chair. you squeeze the fabric of his collar in your fingers, chasing his lips when they pull away from yours.

“i’ve got some extra credit for you, sweetheart,” your professor says, your chin held between his fingers as you gawk up at him towering over you. face flushed and lips raw, he grins deviously at you from above. you gaze at him like he’s an angel in disguise. “you think you can earn it?”

“yes, sir.”

“good girl,” he purrs, lowering himself to the floor in front of you. your breath quickens, pussy beating with desire at just the mere image of your professor on his knees before you. the loving aura he had is now gone, replaced with nothing but lust.

his eyes are trained solely on your face as he flips your skirt up, revealing your lacy white panties that are already soaked, leaking onto the faux leather of the seat.

“is this okay?” he asks you. you nod frantically.

he smirks at your eager reaction, hooking his fingers under the hem of your panties to pull them down your shaking legs. you whimper sweetly as his fingers trace ever so lightly against your dripping entrance. but you whine as the tender friction disappears, and he’s suddenly right next to you, hot breath tickling your ear.

“you have to be quiet, pretty girl, do you think you can do that for me?” he warns. you arch your back, nails digging into the arm rests, begging for him to continue.

“yes, sir,” you mewl once more.

he hums in satisfaction, placing a hot kiss on your jaw. sweat collects on your hairline as you watch him loosen the black tie around his neck, whipping it off his shirt so harshly it cracks against the tiled floor. the silky fabric covers your mouth as he presses it to your face, and ties it in a tight knot at the back of your head.

needy whimpers of anticipation bleed into the cloth around your mouth as he lowers himself between your legs. the moment his tongue finally meets your weeping core you choke out a muffled cry. as his tongue delves in he groans against your skin, the deep vibration making your head fall back and your eyes squeeze shut. he keeps his hands on your trembling thighs to keep the wheels from moving, sinking his fingers into your soft skin.

your own hands move from their place on the arm rests into his blond hair, raking and yanking as you mercilessly attempt to ground yourself despite the bold pace he’s already moving at. your breath feels muggy against your skin as its trapped in your mouth as you moan.

each second that passes as your professor devours you makes it harder to keep yourself quiet. his tongue swirls faster and faster with little warning, his nose brushing your clit with every bob of his head. a dull buzzing begins to simmer inside you and you just know you’re making an absolute mess of his face.

rapidly approaching release, one of your hands finds purchase on the edge of the desk, gripping so hard your knuckles burn white. the other stays in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer to your core. he notices you’re close, and shifts his tongue up to focus solely on your clit. tears start to spill through your lashes and down your red cheeks as you cum on your professor’s face, and he works you through your orgasm while lewd, pathetic whines are stifled by your makeshift muzzle.

panting heavily, you shiver as he tugs the tie down to hang loosely around your neck, a string of saliva connecting to your lips. you open your eyes and blush when you’re met with his face, covered and glistening from your juices, the lenses of his glasses still cloudy. his pretty wet mouth grins at you, a hand coming up to wipe away the tear stains.

“such a good student, you’re my sweet little teachers pet, yeah?”

[daydreamingyuta]

[10:12 PM] | Mark Lee

summary: fluff, drabble, mark loves it when you wear his clothes. wc: 200

“Mind if I borrow your shirt?” You ask, already putting it on because you know Mark never minds sharing anything with you. You get your head through the neck hole fast enough to see Mark nod his head as he makes his way off the bed and towards you. “Cute.” He says quietly, as if only talking to himself.

The ends of your hair were still stuffed into the shirt and he takes it upon himself to gently pull it all out, tucking a few strands behind your ear. He tugs a little at your collar, “Did you take your necklace off?” 

You didn’t remember taking it off but you scan the room looking for it when Mark sees the gold chain peeking out underneath his shirt. “Found it.” He says, pulling out the ‘M’ necklace that he bought you for your first anniversary together. He toys with the pendent for a second before his eyes meet yours again. You’ve been with him for so long but his stare still manages to make your cheeks hot. He smiles and his eyes make their way down to your lips, pulling you in close so he can show you just how much he loves seeing his girl in his clothes with his initial on her necklace. "My girl..." He whispers in between his sweet kisses.