•M엠•

they/them•2006 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓲, 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮♡

[hfcjwrites]

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE INTERACTING!

blank/ageless blogs = blocked

-FIRST! LISTEN TO TEN’S SONG STUNNER!! ITS SO GOOD ANDDD ITS ONLY ONE CLICK AWAY!

-Okay so some information about me⬇️

-I’ve been into kpop since early 2018

-My non-writing (regular) account is @hoeforchannie

-The fineeee man in my pfp is Xayden(제이든) from ALL(H)OURS (go check them out rn)

—I can write for the following—

•P1Harmony (all members) Jiung bias

•WayV (ot6) Xiaojun bias secret xiaodery enthusiast

(First and foremost, I am not a Lucas hater, but it’s been so long since he left that I feel as though I can no longer write accurately for him.)

(I don’t write for 127, dream, or wish bc I feel like I don’t know them well enough; I’m not a solo stan, promise) (I probably can for some members though. Stay tuned)

• ALL(H)OURS (excluding Hyunbin and ON.N) Xayden bias

(I am older than them and I got into them when they were still minors, so it might be a minute no pun intended before I feel comfortable writing for them)

•&TEAM (eventually all members) Taki bias

(I JUST got into them so I’m not sure I can accurately write for them yet. (Some members may be possible.)

•AMPERS&ONE (eventually all members) Jiho bias

(Same as with &TEAM)⬆️

•ATEEZ Seonghwa bias

I’m not as into them nowadays but I have some older fics to rework and post that include them

•Stray Kids Han bias

Same as with ATEEZ⬆️

-Here’s the obligatory…don’t spread hate of any kind, please do not create fanwars, do not talk about tae*l, and most importantly ⬇️

Minors Do Not Interact!!

-As I post, I’ll link a mini masterlist to the groups on the bulleted list.

-Also important, I know 100% I am NOT ready to take asks😭 it’s a possibility in the future but for now just use that feature for whatever you may want to talk about. Chat like we're besties, ask some questions, confess something🫣, whatever you'd like.

↓ ↓ ↓

Although, if you want to share your thoughts on certain people in certain situations, it may inspire some writing…feel free to do so…I love seeing it

↑ ↑ ↑

[hoeforchoijiung]

tweaking out over my ampers rn

[hoeforchoijiung]

fuck bro I can’t repost this all the time bro no bias of mine is gonna be saying the korean equivalent to the n word😭😭 I’ll find another pic ig

[smidare]

my page is absolutely no place for hateful people. the only time hate is ever acceptable is when its towards people who find joy in hurting others. writing fanfiction does not harm anyone.

creating stories, exploring “what ifs,” and sharing joy with fellow fans is harmless, beautiful, and can be healing for some.

that includes stories tagged with dead dove: do not eat. if the warnings are clearly marked and you choose to click anyway, that’s on you—not the writer. adults writing fiction for other adults aren’t your enemies. if you cannot separate fiction from reality, that is on you as well. fiction has always been a safe place to explore the darkest corners of the human experience without hurting a single real person. that’s the whole point. if dark, taboo, or morally gray stories aren’t your thing, you are free to close the tab and move on. no one is forcing you to read them. no one is actively harming anyone if they choose to write darker content.

a lot of people miss that tumblr smut is quite literally porn made for women. mainstream visual porn is almost always created with the male gaze in mind, which is why so many women don’t actually enjoy watching it. but fanfiction? a lot of it id made by women, for women. women should have a safe space to explore their sexuality without worrying about the actuality of harm to them.

if you can’t handle people expressing creativity in safe, fictional spaces, then this isn’t the page for you. hate comments, purity policing, and baseless attacks will be deleted and blocked. let’s keep this space kind, fun, and full of good vibes instead! there is no room for hate in a community thats already looked down upon.

[hoeforchoijiung]

tweaking out over my ampers rn

[hoeforchoijiung]

again😔

[i-hate-fruits]

NCT JNJM | JAEMIN 'BOTH SIDES' Trailer

[fricks]

do you have a clitoris

no i was born with one singular ball and that’s it

[zhaozi]

jaeyun talking about his love for the fans

[sincerelyneo]

i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to fuck you | l.mk

“you are the girl that i’ve been dreaming of”

📀now playing: i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you by black kids

❯ summary: Asking your best friend to take your virginity because you have a crush on someone else and want experience is totally normal, right? Mark doesn’t think so. If he’s taking your virginity, it’s not for practice—it’s for him. He’s nobody’s wingman—especially not when it comes to you.

❯ pairings: mark x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, friends to lovers

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, corruption kink, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, hand jobs, praising, body worship, protected sex, back scratching, brief possessiveness, pet names, reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, love confessions, just fluffy smut because it’s what i do best lol.

Mark swears he’s a good listener. Considering he’s been friends with Zhong Chenle for years, the world’s most dedicated yapper, he doesn’t really have a choice. He has to be a good listener. But Mark almost does a double take when he hears the words ‘my virginity’ and ‘you’ come out of your mouth.

His best friend. With the biggest, prettiest, most innocent eyes and sweet little mouth that could barely stammer through conversations about flirting—asking him about sex. No. Not just asking. Wanting him.

After nearly choking on his own spit, Mark tries to regain his composure—but fails miserably. Especially when your cheeks flush, and you start chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a crime. No, worse. It’s sin in human form. You’re sin in human form. Looking this cute, blushing like a maniac, like you didn’t just drop that question on him.

“You want me to take your virginity, Y/N?”

You cringe the second he repeats your question back to you. It sounded a lot better in your head—practical, reasonable, totally fine. But now, with his brows furrowed and that ‘are you insane?’ look on his face, you’re starting to think maybe you are insane.

But when you came up with this plan last night, none of that crossed your mind. All you knew was that Mark never says no to you. Ever. Not when you asked him to be your first kiss in middle school. Not when you made him take you to your first frat party. Not even when you guilt-tripped him into helping with your dissertation.

"Look, forget it—" you say, pushing to your feet, desperate to escape your shared living room that suddenly feels way too hot under Mark’s stare. "I totally crossed a line by asking. I’m sure I can find someone on Tinder—"

"No."

You blink. "No?"

Mark wants to curse himself for the hasty reply, but who could blame him? There’s just no way he’s letting you swipe right on some douche bag looking for a quick fuck—some guy who’ll take you to a lousy bar, probably make you pay for your own drinks, and then expect to take your virginity like it’s nothing.

It’s ridiculous. It’s not happening.

Not when you just handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“What I meant to say was,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, “Don’t you want to lose your virginity to someone you trust—someone you love?”

You nod without hesitation. “That’s why I asked you. There’s not a single man I trust more than you. And I love you—platonically, yeah, but it’s still love.”

Platonic. 

If Mark could rip that word out of the dictionary, set it on fire, and launch the ashes into space, he would. Anything to stop you from thinking whatever he feels towards you is platonic. Was it platonic when he kissed you when you were eleven? No. Was it platonic when he drove ten miles just for your favourite snack on your birthday? No. Was it platonic when he worked on your final thesis at the same time as his own? No.

And if he’s going to be the first one to have you, it sure as hell won’t be platonic. That’s for damn sure.

His eyes squeeze shut as he sits forward, clammy hands rubbing up and down his jeans. "Okay, so you want me, your best friend, to take your virginity? Why?"

You chew your lip. This was the part of the scenario that kept you up at night—explaining why. How the hell are you supposed to tell someone you want them to take your virginity just so you can be ready for someone else? There’s no handbook, no online forum, for this kind of thing.

So you settle for:

“It’s stupid. A dumb reason. Don’t even worry about it. Will you do it or not?”

Mark gives you a knowing look, exactly like you knew he would. He’s one of those perspective fuckers, especially when it comes to you. Normally, you love it. Right now, not so much.

“Y/N,” he draws out your name, “What happened to me being one of the most trusted men you know? Tell me.” 

You suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. After all, it’s just Mark. Sweet, kind, nonjudgmental, Mark. 

“I have a crush on my co-worker, Xiaojun,” you blurt out. Mark just blinks, completely still, like he’s trying to process. You, on the other hand, keep rambling. “And there’s rumours that he’s amazing in bed, and he asked me out for drinks this Friday, and I just feel really…unprepared.”

Mark feels his blood pressure spike—because fuck your co-worker, fuck those rumours and fuck that little date your planning to gone on this Friday night. Look, he’s not a prude or anything. Mark knows people fuck on a first date—but not you. At least not you with some asshole making you think you need to be prepared for him.

"If that asshole makes you feel less than just because you're a virgin, Y/N, he’s not worth your time."

You narrow your eyes. "I don’t think your opinion holds any weight here, considering you don’t think any guy is worth my time."

Mark relaxes slightly and smiles at that—because it’s true. No man deserves to talk to you, touch you, kiss you—no one but him.

“Besides,” you perk up again, trying to sound more confident. “This isn’t about what Xiaojun or any other guy thinks. This is about me… being comfortable having sex with someone that isn’t myself.” You chew your lower lip. “I want to be comfortable having sex with other men.”

Mark almost growls, a caveman-like urge pounding in his chest at the thought of you wanting to be comfortable with other men. He’s changed his mind. He’d take the word platonic any day over hearing other men leave your mouth.

“Let me get this straight—you want me to teach you how to fuck, to please other men?”

Your cheeks flush, not just because the idea sounds so ridiculous when he puts it like that, but because it’s the first time you've ever heard him talk like that. Mark is always so careful, so delicate with you, keeping his foul mouth and sex life locked away. But hearing the phrase "how to fuck" leave his mouth in that deep, husky drawl,  sends a pulse right through you, straight to your clit.

You chew your lip again, hesitating. “I don’t know… I just wanna be good... at it… at sex.”

Mark’s head tilts back as he stares at the ceiling, a string of mumbled curses slipping out before his Adam’s apple starts bobbing against his throat. He pauses to think—and so do you. You can’t figure out why he’s interrogating you like this. The proposition is a lot, yes, but if you’d crossed a line and made him uncomfortable, he could’ve just said so, you wouldn’t have taken it personally. There’s no reason for him to poke and prod like this.

Just as you're about to squash this whole thing, Mark speaks again. He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, his brows furrowed like he's still deep in thought, but his eyes, dark and blown wide, pin you in place.

"I'll teach you, Y/N," he says, standing up slowly. "I'll fuck you if that's what you want and if that’s what you're asking me for," he continues, moving closer until he's right in your personal space. "But I won't fuck you just to get you ready for someone else."

"Mark—"

"No, Y/N, I’m talking," he cuts you off, his long, tantalizing finger tracing from your cheek down to your neck before he whispers, "I don’t mind teaching you how to be good at sex with me, angel, but I’m sure as fuck not teaching you how to be good at it for someone else. If I finally get to fuck you, I’m gonna teach you how to be good for me."

Your mouth parts in a soft gasp, just from his words and that innocent touch alone. Mark’s eyes track the movement, and his irises darken with something you can’t quite name—want, lust, need... you don’t know. All you know is that it’s fucking hot, and it almost makes you miss what he just said.

"Finally?" you breathe out.

The corner of Mark's mouth twitches into a smile, and a low, silky laugh slips from him. "Don't pretend like you don't know I want you." His finger slides to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re too fucking smart to be playing dumb with me, Y/N. You know you could have me on my knees if you just asked. I’d do anything if you just asked.”

You always knew you had Mark wrapped around your little finger, but you never realized it was because he wanted you the same way you’ve wanted him. Yes, you’d only asked him to help you with this plan because you know he struggles to say no to you; but a small, twisted part of you wanted Mark to be the one to take your virginity. Because he’s him—hot, lean, experienced, sweet, loyal Mark. Your Mark. 

It’s all too much. His breath is too warm on your skin, his words too heated, his proximity too hot—he’s too hot. You whimper, and you watch as his pupils soften in response.

“Y/N,” he says softly now. “I need you to use your words to tell me what you want. If you don’t want to do this anymore—because, to me, it’s more than just practice—that’s fine. But if we do... this, us, it becomes real.”

Your mind goes fuzzy. Words? He thinks you have words after just confessing that this—that you—are something he wants? Almost like he senses your hesitation, he nuzzles deeper into your neck, his lips feather-light, dusting over your skin in a way that sets your nerves alight. It’s erotic, it’s intimate, it’s so damn sexy. 

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His voice is soft, breath scorching against your skin, thumb grazing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing you. “I’ve imagined you—craved you—for years. If you want me to take your virginity, I’ll do it. Happily. But I’ll be your first and your last—not Xiaojun.”

The mention of your coworker feels irrelevant now—a distant, meaningless fantasy compared to this. The stupid office daydream you’d clung to seems laughable because the man you thought only saw you as a friend is standing right here, offering himself to you. Completely. Utterly asking to be yours. And who are you to deny him?

“I want this—”

Mark doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t let you finish your sentence—because he’s wasted too much damn time already. Too much time waiting, hoping, aching to hear you want him. Not just need him for something, but actually want him. Crave him. Desire him.

He has to kiss you. Now.

It starts slow, soft, and sweet. Both your mouths take their time exploring one another as his hand tenderly cups your face, holding you to him. But in no time at all, the heat builds, kisses stretching longer, deeper, until it’s not enough for him. Not nearly enough for you. A hum of approval slips from you the moment his tongue grazes yours, and he takes it as permission, sweeping in and taking control.

“I have fucking dreamed about this,” he pants against your lips. “About kissing you. About touching you. Tell me to stop if it’s too much, Y/N.”

Stop? He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks you want to stop. You shake your head against his lips, legs winding around his, and he takes the hint without hesitation. His hands find your waist, lifting you with ease until you’re resting around his hips. His eyes are fully dark now, black, and locked onto you. They never waver as he carries you both to his bedroom.

Mark lays you down carefully, like you’d break if he was any rougher, but his gaze tells a different story—intense, burning, desperate. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and he just stares, eyes roaming every inch of you like he’s savouring the moment before he ruins you completely. 

You’ve never been this intimate with a man before. Sure, you’re no stranger to your own fingers, to vibrators, and okay—maybe you don’t mind the occasional steamy make out session at a party. But this? In his room, under his stare, is different. You’re not even naked yet, and somehow, you already feel so bare, so exposed. 

“I want to take my time with you, Y/N,” Mark murmurs, as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying flat, his body hovering over yours. “I want to savour every inch of this pretty little body of yours... and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, nodding at the same time, and Mark smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips.

His hands slide up your legs, gliding over the fabric of your sweatpants, until they reach the hem. His eyes search yours, silently asking for confirmation, and you nod, breath catching in your throat. He tugs at your pants, so slow, so deliberate, and when they finally slip off, he lets out a low, groggy "fuck" at the sight of the pink lacy panties you’d chosen for this—for him.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, heat creeping up your chest.

"Knew I'd say yes, huh?" Mark coos, his hand tracing the band of your panties as he looks over your body, studying it because it's the first time he’s seeing you like this. Displayed for him.

You blush, squirming beneath him, overwhelmed by how new, how unfamiliar this all feels. Mark senses your discomfort and smiles softly.

"Don’t go shy on me now, pretty girl," he murmurs, "I’m losing my shit knowing you wore this with me."

His hands graze over your hip bone, fingers brushing gently, soothing as they explore the small hint of flesh you're revealing to him. The softness of his touch, of him, makes you ease up just a little.

“I wore the matching bra too,” you say on an exhaled breath.

Mark groans, his eyes closing as he takes in a slow, intentional breath of his own, nostrils flaring slightly. “Did you? Can I see, baby? Please?”

You nod, and those exploring hands of his glide up your stomach, fingers brush over your skin as he tugs the tight fabric of your tank top over your head. When it falls away, you're left in nothing but the matching set. The pink bralette, almost see-through, giving him a clear, vivid view of your pebbled nipples.

"So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice strained, almost painfully. "Can you take it off for me?"

You smile, teasing, as your hands find the clasp at the back. "After I went through all this effort to put it on for you?"

He shakes his head with a small scoff of laughter, the sound easing your nerves a bit. That familiar banter, the playful back-and-forth, reminds you why you asked him—why you wanted him to do this in the first place. You trust him. 

“Is this the part where I learn that you’re a fucking brat?” he mutters, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“I can be, if you want me to be.”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark, predatory—and he leans in closer, his tone dropping an octave. “Take the bra off. Now, Y/N.”

And you do, the flimsy fabric slipping from your breasts and meeting the same fate as your sweats and tank. You feel so exposed, which is ridiculous considering how little modesty the bralette was offering in the first place. Still, your hands instinctively cross over your chest. 

"Hey, don’t," Mark murmurs, his hand gently reaching up to move yours, his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles around your wrist to reassure you. "You don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me, Y/N. If you want to stop—”

"No," you interrupt. "I mean, please... I want this... I want you, Mark. I’m just nervous."

His eyes soften at your words, and he licks his lips. "Can I touch you?"

You nod, and his hands steadily, gently travel up and down your stomach, hovering around your sternum before they rest beneath your breasts. You suck in a breath as his touch lingers. "Can I touch you here?" he asks, and again, you nod. 

Mark’s hands gently cup your chest, the softness and weight of your tits filling his palms. The pad of his thumb teases over one of your nipples (pretty peaked nipples that are practically begging for his mouth) in a steady rhythm that has you arching into him. He continues, flicking over the sensitive bud until he elicits the reaction he wants: quiet, breathless whimpers and tiny darling moans from your mouth.

“You’re so damn perfect, Y/N,” he mutters, his eyes glued to your body as he tests his touches, watching in awe as your eyes flutter, roll, or widen. “So damn perfect for me.”

You moan, and his head dips to the valley between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to trail a slow, heated path up your skin. His mouth, warm and wet, captures your pebbled nipple, sucking and licking with a hunger that makes your body shiver. It’s then that you remember why Mark is perfect for this—he’s experienced. 

“Pretty fucking tits,” he groans, “I’ll fuck these one day. Promise.”

He focuses entirely on your nipples, squeezing your breasts, and you swear you're already on the verge of coming undone for him, writhing beneath him. Terrified it’ll end too soon, your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him away from your chest to capture his lips in a desperate kiss. 

His chest hovers over you, so close to you, but still hidden beneath layers of fabric. His jeans, too tight, too impeding. You want to feel him—skin to skin. It’s not fair. You’re lying here in nothing but your underwear, exposed and vulnerable, while he’s still fully dressed—his clothes a frustrating barrier that keeps you from feeling him the way you need to. You can’t stand it anymore.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, desperate to rip it off and close the damn distance. "Mark," you breathe. "Take it off. Please."

“You want it off, huh?” He teases. 

You’re beyond patience now, body aching for him. “Yes. I do.”

Mark’s eyes darken at the desperation in your voice. He sits up slightly, pulling away from you just enough to shed his shirt, the fabric tugging over his head and revealing the toned muscles of his chest. You can’t help but watch, your eyes glued to the way his hands move, but he’s taking his damn time. Frustrated, you reach for his belt, but he stops you, his hand brushing yours as he undoes it himself. The sound of it unbuckling makes your breath hitch. 

Finally, his jeans slip down, revealing the taut curve of his thighs before he kicks them aside, leaving him in nothing but his black boxers. His bulge is prominent, straining against the tight material, and you swear you can’t take it any longer.

But before you can pounce, before you can touch him and feel him the way you want to, he’s hovering back over you, his body pinning you down, forcing your back flat against the bed.

“So eager, pretty girl,” he muses with a teasing smirk. “But you asked me to teach you, didn’t you? I’m in charge.”

He’s so controlled, so assertive, it sends a flood of need coursing through your body. His hands are back on you, gliding over your now fully exposed body. Well, not entirely exposed—his fingers toy at the edge of your panties, tracing, testing, taunting, as if waiting for your permission. And you’d give him it immediately, only he wants to ride this out, prolong it. 

His fingers move to dip just beneath the fabric, but then he stops.

“I know you said you wanted to be good at this, Y/N,” he hums. “But I want to be good for you. Tell me what you like. Tell me how to touch this pretty pussy.”

Heat floods your cheeks and pools between your legs. From the way Mark smiles, and the fact that he’s cupping you through your underwear, you know he can feel it too.

“I-um—”

“I already told you to stop being shy with me, Y/N,” he says. “Don’t think I overlooked that comment about you getting yourself off. You wanna learn, so do I. Let me be a good boy for you.”

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the seriousness. He wants to know what makes you tick, what works for you, what gets you off—wants to be the one to do it. His breath hitches as he studies you, chest contracting with focus. 

“I-I start with my clit,” you instruct, and his fingers follow suit, finally dipping under the fabric he’s been teasing for the last ten minutes right to the spot. You want to feel embarrassed telling him all the dirty ways you play with yourself, but you can’t. He won’t let you feel that way, because, like you said, he’s him—sweet, loyal Mark.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re dripping for me,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Aching for me, aren’t you, baby?” You nod pathetically. “Then tell me, what do you do to your clit? Teach me.”

“I like small circles,” you whisper, your breath shaky.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice low as he carefully follows your instructions. It’s almost too careful. Too slow. You need more—so much more.

“Faster, Mark.”

His fingers speed up, the circles on your clit growing faster, the pressure he applies intensifies with each stroke. You moan, squirming beneath him, your hips shifting in desperate need for more—more of him.

"Can I try a finger, baby?" he asks, and you nod, wanting everything he has to give right now.

Mark shifts his gaze from your face down to where his hands are stuffed inside your panties. He watches as he trails his index finger up and down your slit slowly until it’s circling around your entrance before finally easing it inside. You gasp, feeling the initial stretch, and his eyes lock back onto yours, waiting for the sting to fade and the lust to take its place again. Once it does, he begins to move, his finger sliding in and out, in and out, faster and faster until your breaths come heavier. 

“Mark,” you gasp on a moan, a thrill coursing through you as he picks up the pace. 

Mark adds his thumb back to your clit, the combination of his fingers easing in and out of your drenched pussy and the attention to your sensitive nerves send waves of pleasure crashing over you. Because cumming has never felt like this—so close, so quick, so desperately needed. Mark must sense your closeness too because his lips quirk, devilish and taunting.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, but it’s clearly not a question. The cocky bastard knows you are. “Or should I say finger? Think you could handle two?”

Your mind is incoherent from the pleasure, the foreign stretch of his fingers. Any thoughts you have dissolve into a haze of need, only capable of a frantic nodding at him because you want more, need more, need to cum. He eases in his middle finger, both digits slowing down as you adjust to him. Then, the world around you blurs; all that matters is the rhythm of his fingers and the growing knot forming in your stomach as his pace picks up. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel the waves of your orgasms building, until it finally, deliciously, crashes over you. 

Your vision blurs, and sounds you didn't even know you could make slip from your lips. All you can hear is Mark's incoherent, muffled praise—telling you how pretty, how perfect, how good you are for him.

When you come down from your high, he’s watching you intently, his hand running through your hair as you refocus back on him with hazy eyes. You’ve never experienced an orgasm like that, and as you notice the strained bulge in his pants, a surge of eagerness wells up in you. You want to return the favour, to please him, to learn how to be good the way you asked him to twach you.

You reach for his boxers, fingers trembling as you strip them off, revealing the thick hard length of him. Your breath catches at the sight of his cock, angry and needy and desperate. Mark looks down at you with his own haze-induced eyes. 

“Please, Y/N.”

The heat radiating from him ignites a fire within you. You take a moment to admire the way he looks at you—hungry, eager. With a newfound confidence, you lean closer, your lips brushing against his skin, ready to give him the pleasure he’s so generously given you. You press soft, delicate kisses to his abdomen, watching as his stomach flexes in response.

You know you probably should suck his cock right now; that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Almost as if he can sense your hesitation, Mark’s fingers clamp around your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to, not yet, not ever if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “But you can touch it. Touch me, Y/N, please.”

That feels more like your speed, so you wrap a firm hand around his cock, giving it a slow, steady long tug. Mark's head rolls back from where he sits on the bed. Your hands tremble with nerves, this is all so new to you, and you desperately want to please him. But before you can overthink it, Mark’s words soothe your insecurities.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “Just like that... so fucking good, Y/N.”

He's like a fucking mind reader, because that one comment, that small ounce of reassurance, has you stroking him faster. Your hand moves in a messy rhythm, feeling the weight of his cock in your palm. 

As you continue to stroke him, you start to experiment with different techniques, trying out gentler touches and firmer grips. Mark's reactions are your guide, and you watch as his face contorts in pleasure, his eyes screwing shut as he lets out low groans. He sounds so sexy, you like it, you want more of him like this. 

You feel a sense of power, knowing that you're the one bringing him to the edge. Your strokes become more insistent, your hand moving faster as Mark's breathing quickens. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hand, the veins standing out as he gets closer.  Mark's body tenses, his muscles straining and that’s when suddenly, his eyes snap open. 

“You gotta stop, Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and husky as he pulls your hands off his length. For a moment, you almost feel scorned, but then he adds, “I want to last until I’m at least inside of you...”

You both laugh, Mark's eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckles, and you feel a flutter in your chest. He gently lies you back on his bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it underneath your hips. As he fumbles with his nightstand, he rips open a condom and slides it along his cock. You can't help but watch, mesmerized by the sight. It’s oddly sexy. Your body responds instinctively, your hips arching upwards as if seeking him out. 

As Mark positions himself between your legs, his head dips down to kiss you. It’s sweet, like the first time, and you think you could get used to them—you want to get used to them. The feeling of his lips on yours, on your cheek, the top of your head. 

When your lips finally break apart, he holds eye contact with you, aligning himself with your pussy. He teases you, brushing against your folds, occasionally grazing your clit—his eyes watching your reaction, a smirk on his lips. Sensitive, he notes. And he has to note because there will be a time for more, a time where he’ll make you work for it. But today isn’t that day. Today is about you and him—together.

“Tap my arm if it’s too much. If you want to stop—”

“Mark,” it’s your turn to be stern now. “Please, just fuck me.”

He smirks, liking this side of you—the impatience, the newfound dirty mouth of yours. Something else to note for next time, he thinks.

Rubbing himself up and down your slit for a final time, Mark presses the head of his cock to your entrance, hips shifting forward to slowly push into you. His nostrils flare, and his teeth clench because he has to be careful, he has to be in control. He cannot—he will not—hurt you any more than he has to. 

So, slowly. Torturously slowly. Mark eases into you, inch by tantalizing inch, until his tip coaxes past the small ring of resistance. You’re so tight—so impossibly tight—that he almost regrets letting you jerk him off before hand,  because he’s already teetering on the edge of cumming from merely the first few inches. He’s waited far too long for this moment; the last thing he wants is to blow his load before he’s even begun to move.

He shifts his focus from his own pleasure to your face, keenly observing for any signs of discomfort. When he catches the slight scrunch of your nose, he leans down to kiss you, wanting to distract you from the sting of you stretching around his cock for the first time.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You were made for me.”

He feels your body relax into the mattress at the praise and your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer. It’s a silent invitation, a clear signal that you’re okay with more—that you need more.

His hips finally press flush against yours, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him, all of him. Your fingers dust up and down his spine as you get used to this, how full you feel, how complete. 

“Move, Mark,” you whisper barely above a whisper. “Please.”

And he does. He rolls his hips, pulling out of you completely before sinking back in, slow and sensual. You moan—right into his ear, because he’s buried in your neck—and he nearly loses the last thread of control he’s holding onto. Mark quickens his pace, keeping his body flush against yours—like he needs to be as close as possible. Needs to consume you the same way you’ve consumed him for years.

“Yes, Mark,” you cry, your nails raking down his back, scratching, digging, marking into his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.”

He reaches for your hand, prying it from his back to lace his fingers with yours, pinning them to the mattress. It’s gentle, it’s sweet—it’s so Mark. He fucks you slowly, his hands holding yours as he kisses you. Intimate, tender, and so fucking hot.

You tighten around him, and the squeeze makes something flicker in Mark’s eyes—something determined, something feral.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, yes—please,” he groans. “Cum around my cock, pretty girl. I need it. I want it.”

Hearing him just as desperate, just as needy as you, sends you over the edge. Your lip trembles, your lashes flutter, and then—your second orgasm takes over you, ripping a scream of his name from your throat.

It’s the prettiest thing Mark’s ever seen, ever heard—the best thing he’s ever felt. And he swears this moment will be etched into his memory until the day he dies. He holds you close to his chest as you ride your high, feeling every desperate breath you take, swallowing every moan with wet open mouth kisses. And when he senses you’ve finally come down, he chases his own orgasm—greedy for it, for you.

He becomes ravenous for his own release, his hips pistoning faster, harder, as he drives deeper into you. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his chest contracting as his fingertips anchor your hips in place. With every thrust his cock throbs with an almost unbearable intensity until he lets out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with pleasure. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispers your name, over and over again, like a mantra and he spills inside of the condom. 

The room fills with a silence, punctuated only by the sound of your mingled breaths as he comes down. Your hands are still entwined, hearts still racing, and you both can’t do anything but look at each other. Eventually, Mark leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away. He eases out of you, removes the condom, and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

You watch him as he moves, and when he turns back to you—his gaze a mix of awe and satisfaction—you can’t help but smile.

“You know when I said I loved you platonically?” you ask, and his brows knit together. He looks like he’s about to have a full-blown panic attack, so you quickly put him at ease. “I lied. I actually just love you.”

Relief washes over his face before it melts into a smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because, I love you too. Always have.”

[zhangjiahaos]

just found out james from cortis is the same age as me and the rest of them r my sister’s age or younger bruh why have I been seeing grown adults be weird abt them they’re like actually literally children oh my god

[ilykati]

i need to like. do evil things to seongil and yechan from 82major

[v4mpnicho]

THIS IS SO SICK AND TWISTED

[hoeforchoijiung]

IM GONAN SEE MY PIWONS WTFQ WTF WTFWTF WTFWTF

[hoeforchoijiung]

and my ampers literally kilI me rn

[hoeforchoijiung]

tweaking out over my ampers rn

[hoeforchoijiung]

I’m going to be reposting this a lot I think

[hoeforchoijiung]

I was right

[hoeforjungwooyoung]

ten lee

Yes!

[hoeforchoijiung]

😛😛😛😛

[weishenvicons]

↬Like/reblog if you save 𖹭

[hoeforchoijiung]

THE LAST ONE. THE LAST ONE.

[tenleeusa]

cr. nyanten0227

[kambun]

pairing brian ho x fem reader

word count 3027

warnings party games, seven minutes in heaven, drinking alcohol (neither brian nor reader are heavily intoxicated), slight feelings of jealousy, virgin brian, kissing, brief tongue kissing, making out, neck kisses (m rec), coming in pants, no dom/sub dynamics but reader takes the lead, no p in v, not even dry humping he’s just kind of pathetic, one single tear

taglist @somedaykyrell @tmrwsuns @kpxpseoul @yiisfreaky @et-unum @sqrclouds @dolorrous @starryjens apply here!

notes at this point i think i’m incapable of writing porn without feelings involved lol happy birthday brian (its already the 27th kst) | hope you all enjoy the very first brian fic on my blog <3 isn’t that so crazy that this is the first i think that’s wild | mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

You’re not exactly sure who suggested the game — an empty bottle being placed directly in the center of a circle of mostly sober or barely tipsy people in attendance at Brian’s birthday party for a juvenile game of seven minutes in heaven. Truthfully, you hadn’t played this game since high school, or maybe even middle school, when everyone would gather around acting far more drunk than they were, desperately wishing that they’d get paired up with their crush. Even if all you’d do was make awkward small talk, the important thing is what people thought you had done. That being said, watching the circle be set up and a random linen closet in the apartment being designated as the ‘heaven’ causes a wave of nostalgia to wash over you. You join the circle, sitting in an empty spot between a couple of acquaintances. 

The first few rounds go smoothly, other partygoers retreating to the linen closet and coming back seven minutes later. Some with lipstick smeared across their faces and necks, others returning the same exact way they left. You watch in anticipation, amused, as the bottle spins and picks the next couple to go into the room. 

After a while, just about everyone in attendance had their turn except for you and Brian. So, like any good friend would, they bent the rules a little bit. They passed the empty bottle to Brian, encouraging him to spin it. Rowdy cheering and shouting, encouraging him by chanting ‘Birthday boy! Birthday boy,’ until he stands up on his knees and leans forward to place the bottle back in the center of the circle. He flicks his wrist to spin the bottle and you watch it closely. You mentally count the full turns the bottle makes to distract yourself from what you’re feeling. Maybe jealousy? That everyone else has gotten their turn and you hadn’t yet, and probably wouldn’t, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t force the bottle to stop and point at you just by glaring at it. The thought of being jealous that you hadn’t been picked yet makes you feel childish, but perhaps you could blame it on the fact that you’d had a few drinks. Or maybe it’s hope that you feel — anticipating that the bottle would choose you, especially now, when Brian has spun it, and you’d be swept away to do whatever in that tiny closet. 

Truth be told, you harbored a little crush on Brian for years now. Ever since you’d met him a few years ago, actually. And admittedly, you could try to blame it on the alcohol, but you feel like deep down, there’d be an ugly jealousy bubbling in your throat if the bottle pointed at anyone other than yourself. The thought of Brian going in that closet with someone else makes you feel weird. Unhappy. 

But those thoughts are cut short, because as soon as you begin to get lost in your thoughts, the bottle stops spinning. And it’s pointing at you. 

Your friends in the circle all begin to cheer, clapping Brian on the back and pushing you to get up. You glance at Brian, whose face mirrors the shock on yours. For a second, you wonder if his shock was actually disgust, but then he moves and the light shines on his skin in a way that shows you the redness of his ears and the blush on his cheeks. Was he flushed from drinking or was he blushing from the situation at hand?

The two of you slowly stand up from your spots on the floor. Beside each of you, your tipsy friends scrambled up and began to shove you toward the linen closet, still cheering and encouraging you both. You’re not entirely sure if you willingly walked toward the closet or if your friends pushed you all the way there, but before you know it, the door was closing and you were left in the dimly lit space with Brian. You could hear your friends giggling outside, almost as if they had planned it. And maybe they had. But you can’t seem to be upset with them for planning this when you sit back and realize that you’re in there with your crush of all people. 

“Come on, birthday boy! Don’t be shy,” someone shouts from outside, which makes Brian visibly cringe. It’s quickly followed by someone else adding on, “Yeah, get some!” 

You stifle a giggle as Brian squeezes his eyes shut and makes a face. Get some? What exactly do they think the two of you could do in seven minutes?

Brian turns toward you, cheeks still pink and hot, an expression that you can’t quite read etched on his face. “Hi,” he breathes. “Sorry.” 

You whisper back, “Hi. Why are you sorry?”

“For being so awkward.” He shrugs and purses his lips. “Or the way they’re acting, maybe?”

Unable to stop the chuckle that escapes your mouth this time, you shake your head. “It’s fine,” your hand waves him off. “I mean, that’s what friends do. They tease each other. Especially so when they’ve been drinking and someone suggests a game like this — and you’re the birthday boy.” 

“Yeah,” he trails off. “And the fact that you’re my crush and I’ve never done this before.” The latter part slips out before he can stop it. He tries to whisper, but in the close, confined space, you heard it clearly. When he realizes what he said, the blush quickly spreads across his skin, reddening it even more than it already had been. The tips of his ears were now a deep, burning red that you were sure you’d be able to feel the heat from if you got any closer, and he flushes with pink from his neck up to his forehead. He can’t believe what he just said. He hopes you didn’t hear it, or you were too drunk to register his words, but your unwavering gaze on him, searing into his skin, lets him know that he wasn’t quite that lucky. 

He begins to open his mouth to apologize, but as soon as his lips part, you cut him off. 

“Are you being for real?” Brian looks at you with wide eyes. “That-That I’m your crush? And you’ve never done this before? Done what before?”

His face flushes even more, if that were even possible. You watch as he weighs his options. Should he tell you the truth? That yes, he’s had a crush on you for a while now and all his friends know? And that he’s a virgin, the furthest he’s ever gone in past relationships being just a kiss? Or should he pretend that he didn’t say that and claim that he’s drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying, although he’s far from it? 

Suddenly you’re a lot closer to him, slightly crowding him against the nearest wall. He swallows thickly. His eyes flicker over your face, the dim lighting making it feel far more intimate. Before Brian could either answer your question or attempt to wiggle himself out of the situation, he’s not sure which one, you’re asking him a question that makes his breath catch in his throat. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The next few moments are a blur. He’s pretty sure that he nodded, maybe, and within seconds, your lips are on his. For a second, Brian freezes. His body tenses, like he wasn’t expecting the sudden contact, and he has half a mind to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But he isn’t dreaming. And you’re actually kissing him. And he’s being awkward by not kissing you back. 

You press closer to him and use your own mouth to part his lips, slotting your lips together to deepen the kiss. Since you got the go-ahead, you were going to kiss him like you mean it. Like it’s more than just a quick hook up in some random closet at his birthday party. Well, maybe like it’s like that, because you were desperate after years of silently crushing on him and his confession that he felt the same opened a dam that was holding back your feelings for him. All of your feelings. Including the now barely concealed lust for him. 

He finally kisses back when you tease your tongue against his plump bottom lip. His arms that were previously frozen at his sides reach out to touch you, finding your hips, large hands resting there like it’s where they’re meant to be. He tilts his head ever so slightly to get a better angle for the kiss and parts his lips enough for you to slip your tongue into his mouth. As you lick into his mouth, he lazily kisses you back, mouth mostly hanging open and letting you take the lead. Every now and then, he’ll move his lips in tandem with yours or brush his tongue against yours. 

“Five minutes left!” Someone shouts from the other side of the door. Had it really only been two minutes from the time the door was closed to now? It felt like so much longer than that, between the sudden confession and getting lost in finally kissing Brian’s lips like you’d wanted to do for ages. 

You pull away from him and take a step back. “Why don’t we get a little more comfortable?” Brian watches as you gesture to the, quite frankly small open space on the floor and squeezes past you to sit there. 

Once he’s settled, as comfortably as he can be in a space so small compared to his large frame, you quickly find purchase on his lap. Sitting on his thighs, knees on either side of them. This time, neither of you wasted a second and your lips connect again in a kiss, even more heated than before. There was no tongue. Only the desperate movements of your mouths trying to find a rhythm. His hands rest on your hips, yours draping over his shoulders. 

You tilt your head to kiss him deeper. Harder. Pressing closer and closer to him until your entire fronts are pressed together. Brian’s blunt fingernails dig into your sides through the fabric of your top, squeezing as he tries to keep up with your desirous pace. He can’t focus on anything except you — the euphoric feeling of finally kissing you after wanting to for so long, your scent flooding his senses, the feeling of you pressed so closely to his body it felt like you could meld into one, and the taste of your mouth as you kiss him. You were much the same, thirsting to be as close as possible and memorize every part of this moment. The rhythmic movement of your mouths, the smacking sound of your kiss, and the way his fingertips lightly dig into your skin and his thighs flex every now and then, a full body reaction to the way you’re kissing him. 

A tightness in your chest makes you pull away breathlessly. The sight in front of you is perfect — Brian panting, his lips slightly swollen and spit glossed as he looked at you with half lidded eyes, face flushed. Heat creeps up, blooming on the surface of your skin, all the way down to your chest and everywhere that your body is in contact with Brian’s. Unable to make eye contact with him anymore with how intensely he was looking at you, you dip your head to kiss at his jawline. 

He bites his lip as you mouth at the skin there. You attempt to scoot closer to him, which was nearly impossible, so now you’re seated directly over his crotch rather than resting on his thighs. The pressure, along with the gentle suction of your lips on the sensitive skin of his neck, makes Brian groan. 

For a while, you stay like that. Kissing and sucking little marks into Brian’s unblemished flesh. Listening to his muffled moaning through his lip tucked between his teeth. 

“F-Fuck, I—” he tries to speak, only to get cut off. 

“One more minute!”

You kiss your way back up to Brian’s mouth, cupping the other side of his face and using your thumb to pull his plump lip from between his teeth. Pressing your lips to his, you slide that hand back and thread your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He grips your hips, alternating between cradling and digging the pads of his fingers into your supple skin. He’s torn between trying to kiss you back or attempting to pull back and telling you what he tried to earlier — that the pressure of your center on his lap as you kiss him, claiming his skin and mouth as your own, was beginning to be too much. 

He felt like he could come. Just like this. Just from you sitting on his thighs, directly on his clothed hard on. 

There’s hardly any time to warn you before it happens. You’re lost in the kiss, lips covering Brian’s own and hungrily swallowing every noise he makes, so you barely notice the way his thighs tense and his fingers flex against you, pressing so deeply into your skin that you’re sure it would bruise. The twitching of his cock goes unnoticed as well. He can hardly focus on kissing back when he’s this close to the edge. 

Brian had never felt like this before. Sure, of course he’d had plenty of orgasms before, though only by his own hand. He’d never had someone else’s body heat and weight sitting directly on his cock, even through multiple layers of fabric, sucking marks into his neck or kissing him like this. Everything is overwhelming to him. Even the way you smell floods his senses and he can’t focus on anything except you. So, before he can do anything, before he can push you off or pull back from the kiss to confess about just how affected he was by this situation, he feels himself slipping over the edge. 

You can feel his cock twitching against your thigh. Until now, you’d never really taken the time to notice his reactions to everything, though subconsciously your own body was responding. You were focused on finally kissing Brian after yearning for what feels like forever. But the incessant twitching of his cock brings you out of your kissing-Brian-induced-haze and you can’t help but notice it all. The way his fingers create dimples where the tips squeeze your skin. And how his mouth all but hangs open, hardly kissing you back and instead moaning against your lips. And of course, now, his hardness straining against his pants and twitching under your weight. 

It’s only a matter of seconds before it happens. All it took was you pulling back from the kiss, dragging your lips across his face to whisper in his ear. “Do you like this?” Goosebumps prick at his skin as your breath fans over his ear. “You gonna come like this?” 

It feels like all he needed was to hear your voice, feel your cool breath on his warm skin. A shiver runs down his spine and his thighs stiffen once again. The movement jostles you in his lap a bit, shifting you and making you briefly rub against him in a different way. Your center is seated right at the bulk of his bulge now, and he has to bite his lip, so hard he thought it would start bleeding to keep from moaning too loudly. 

Everything, all together, was too much for him and he couldn’t stop it. White hot pleasure floods his senses as he comes, creating a sticky mess in his pants. His eyes water as he holds back every pleasured noise, teeth digging painfully into his already swollen lips. His balls tighten and his length twitches. He feels slightly pathetic for it — spilling into his pants from this, not even any proper stimulation, just from being kissed and having your body pressed against him. No grinding. Only your body pressed against his and your lips on his skin, leaving a trail of fire behind where they touched. 

He’s not sure how long he was zoned out, pleasure clouding his mind and making him screw his eyes shut, but realistically it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. And that few seconds was long enough. You watched the pleasure wash over his face, admiring the orgasmic expression as he tried his best to keep quiet. Although a few stray noises did seep out of the corners of his mouth where they weren’t tightly pressed together. A lone tear slipped out of his eye from how he was squeezing them shut and you watched as it trailed down his skin, wanting to lap it up, but instead watched. Observed. Pride swelling in your chest from the fact that he was able to come, that you were able to make him finish, just from your kiss and body weight. 

And you watched as the bliss began to wear off. His grip on your hips loosens, his teeth let go of his lip, leaving an indent from where he was biting down so hard, and his eyes finally open. He makes eye contact with you and you softly smile at him. His eyes were still watery and you can vaguely feel the wet patch in his pants from how you’re sitting. 

“Was that good?” 

He begins to nod and open his mouth to respond, but was interrupted. On the other side of the door, the timer beeps, signaling that the seven minutes had ended. Brian is a little embarrassed that he’d come in seven minutes — less, actually — and his face burns hot at the realization. Then the doorknob starts jiggling and he scrambles to push you off of his lap, not wanting to be caught in such a compromising position. Unfortunately, for him at least, it completely slipped his mind that there was a very obvious patch of sticky cum soaking the front of his pants and beautiful red marks blooming on his neck that give away exactly what you had done in that short amount of time.  

[hoeforchoijiung]

THIS WAS SO GOOD K!LL ME RIGHT NOW