Nct Mark Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

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

BAD TASTE — MARK LEE (마크이) (DRABBLE)

✧ MDNI (18+)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧

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

Two Birthdays

I wrote this piece today in honor of today’s birthday celebrators, one of which NCTzens should know by heart. 

Mark Lee has been my gateway to the world of NCT, and now I am fully immersed in it. Well, not so much with the Dreamies but I appreciate them.

Then, who’s the other one celebrating their birthday? I guess you have to find out who! Johfam knows – don’t embarrass me, guys.

As always, I put a GIF to hype you up – here’s Marky with black hair, which is the best color on him. 

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

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Summary: This piece is dedicated to Mark Lee and Mama Suh, who share the same birth date of August 2. Johnny and Essie prepare something for them, and then get emotional at the end. Aren’t they such attention-hogging drama queens? 

POV: 3rd person as usual. 

Word count: 1,160 words 

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August 2 is an important day for Johnny Suh – not only is it the birthday of his dearest eomma, but it was also the special day of his bro Mark Lee.

Since Essie Park has been living with the two boys for quite some time now, those days have also become important to her. She loves both of them – Johnny is her boyfriend, while Mark is the little brother she never had.

She woke up early to prepare a feast for the birthday celebrators, which in turn, made her partner do so as well. Both of them were puttering away at the kitchen at five in the morning, preparing a mixture of both Korean and Western dishes.

“Baby, why don’t you check on the birthday boy?” Johnny suggested after placing a newly cooked omelet on a plate with mashed potatoes and vegetables on it. Essie gave him a thumbs-up and silently ran to Mark’s room, whose door was slightly ajar. She could see that he was cocooned in his comforter, and she couldn’t tell if he was still asleep or pretending to be.

“I can’t tell if he’s still sleeping or not,” she whispered once she was back at the kitchen. The couple glanced at the clock – it read 7:40 a.m. – and giggled. “Probably not yet,” her boyfriend said, who picked up the French press nearby to make their coffee. “Let’s give him a few minutes, and then we’ll surprise him.”

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At around 8:30 a.m., Essie led Johnny to Mark’s room as he carried a small tray of breakfast food. She opened the door carefully and saw that the young man was still asleep. This time, they can see his bare face – he always had a mustache forming – and they could hear him snoring lightly.

She went to the left side of the bed while Johnny went to the opposite side, placing the tray at the foot of the bed. The couple looked at each other first before they decided to surprise Mark by screaming their birthday greeting.

“Happy birthday, Mark Lee!”

The birthday boy, who is now 21 as of writing, was startled and kicked the comforter off the bed. “What the hell,” he grumbled, looking at his hyung and noona in disbelief first, “but thank you, guys. You didn’t have to scream into my ear like that.”

“But that wouldn’t be fun, right?” Johnny snickered, which earned him a glare from the younger guy. “Happy birthday, Marky!” Essie squealed, messing with his hair. He bit his lip as his hyung joined in on playing with his hair, trying his best not to be annoyed at the situation.

When they were done, Johnny reached over to the small tray and placed it closer to Mark. “Of course, you know how it is in this household when someone has a birthday. We made you breakfast fit for a king like yourself.” Essie made dramatic hand gestures to emphasize that, as there were three plates crammed into the tray that contained a full-course meal.

“Thank you again, Johnny hyung and Essie noona! I truly appreciate it,” the birthday boy said, now less grumpy than a few minutes ago. Once he got his utensils, he dug into his majestic breakfast. The couple patted his back affectionately as he bit and gulped his food.

After he finished eating, Johnny left the room briefly to grab his Polaroid camera. Then, they took pictures – the couple’s favorite was of them kissing Mark on the cheeks with the guy completely flustered in the middle.

“This is so cute!” Essie gushed, staring at the newly-developed photo lovingly. “I’m going to hang it up in my gallery. May I, love?” Johnny winked at her, which meant she could. She replied by tackling him in a hug, in which she also included Mark after.

“I love you boys so much,” she murmured while still in proximity with them. “We love you too,” they said in unison, and everyone giggled at their harmonization.

They spent a few more minutes in bed talking and teasing each other until Mark had to go home to his parents’ house to spend the rest of the day with them.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, guys. I might spend the night there,” he said as he tugged at the straps of his backpack.

“It’s okay, Mark. You deserve the time off with them. And I’m sure it has been a while you went to Mass with your family too,” Essie said softly, remembering the time that she and Mark went to church recently to pray for their intentions.

“Yeah, that’s true. Well, I’m off then. Have a nice day ahead!” Mark waved at them until he was out of their eyesight.

\\\

“Then, that leaves us with the next thing on our agenda – call Mama,” Johnny said once they retreated to the couch.

“Check what time is it there first, dummy,” Essie teased, flicking the space in between his eyebrows. “I’m sure she’s awake at this time,” he replied, rubbing the part she hit. “Come here, my big baby,” he patted the space beside him, “and let’s call her up to say our birthday greetings.”

It was already late in the evening in Chicago when the couple called Mama Suh, who was already in her pajamas. “Happy birthday Eomma! I hope you had a fun and fabulous day there,” Essie said while she waved enthusiastically at her boyfriend’s mother.

“But of course, my darling! We went to this hotel and had a nice steak and wine dinner,” the older woman shared, which got her son ‘ooh’-ing and ‘aah’-ing at the details of her day.

Johnny and Essie snuggled closer to each other as they listened to Mama Suh talk about her day and more. “I wish you two could go here again, I’d love you to experience what I had too,” she said wistfully, making the couple hug each other tighter.

“We’ll fly there again once things are better, Mama. We promise that,” her son replied.

“Yes, Ma. You can count on that. We miss you so much,” his girlfriend added.

As much as they didn’t want to end the call on a sad note, Mama Suh got teary-eyed, and soon, they were crying and sniffing.

Although it has been years since Johnny decided to work in Korea, he always made it a point to fly back to his hometown in Chicago yearly. However, given the current pandemic, he couldn’t.

The couple held each other for a while after their call, saddened by the effects of the global situation and a million other thoughts.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?”

“Promise me we’ll be together forever?”

Essie looked at her boyfriend’s distraught face, and she kissed him squarely on the lips. “Yes, I promise you that.”

He returned the gesture and carried her to their shared bedroom, presumably to make sure that she will stay true to her words.

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FIN

P.S. I know, it doesn’t feature enough Mark! Don’t worry; I have another post to make up for that.