who in nct? https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-m6SUNRVx8/?igsh=MXVsMXZnaDJ2dGxzOQ==
── ࣪ . 🎱 𖦹 ⋆ ࣪. nct dream when someone paid for your nails
lowkey chenle 💀 but in a numerical order: mark, jisung and haechan
first of all, he doesn't believe you one bit. mean and distrustful are his middle names. you just wanted the laugh but now you'll have to listen to him get jealous over someone who doesn't even exist. “next time he recommends a color, remember to tip him, honey. he's just doing his job.” chenle.
either he gets dead curious of who this friend is or if he knows him so he can decide if he's mad or not, or sulky of why didn't you ask him when it comes to these things. overpowering you once he's made his mind, you'll recoil from joking with him “next time ask this to the one who ends up with them buried in his back, yes?” mark.
the funniest thing of pulling this prank on him is that things can go very well or very badly. he'll be pouty and whiny all afternoon until you shower him with kisses and assure him it's a joke... or, equivalently, until you agree to post a photo with him for your friend to see. “wait, let's also put a ring on it.” jisung.
he's so petty the joke ends up backfiring you. you'll be grateful that he doesn't have the phone number of the friend you just made up because otherwise he'd be getting something like “thanks for paying for my girl's nails, friend. i'll make sure you receive a picture when she's holding it.” haechan.
this makes me want my friend @ohmygs-blog to write this !=$+ 😫🙏
in a relationship where your boyfriend finds physical affection rather awkward, you’d best believe it would’ve taken some time for him to warm up to the idea of skinship- skin to skin, a hand on his, cheeks crashing together as close as possible. but the patience comes at a good cost- mark has several ways to close the distance between you.
previous (lightswitch)
summary: it shouldn't be this hard to go about kissing mark.
-
something you never expected at the start of your relationship was mark’s initial hesitance to kiss you.
of course, naturally, it takes some time for two people to cross their own boundaries of comfort, to enter, invade, and conquer another’s territory of personal space. some people forego this careful caution in a budding relationship, and dive right into one another. neither you or mark are some people.
and it’s not that you think mark is particularly bold: you know he isn’t very upfront and confident in expressing his feelings for you. you’ve known this from the very start, when his friends had to literally push him to ask you out, and the very awkward first conversation you had. you know he can get a bit shy, but part of you always thought, that every now and then, he’d have bursts of the courage that he has when he’s on stage. mark can definitely be suave, and cool, and charming, but mostly when he’s in his element and knows exactly what he’s doing.
right now, in this moment, he has no idea what he’s doing.
the credits of the Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle are starting to roll, and you’re stuck frozen in the burrow you’ve made in the fold of the sofa, head resting on his shoulder as his arm is wrapped loosely around your side. it’s been holding you like this since the halfway point of the movie- you didn’t notice, but he let out a sigh of relief and satisfaction when he succeeded in placing it there. he stretched, arms going as high as they possibly could, before his limb wandered and found its way pulling you closer to him. cliche, he knows, but a win for him nonetheless. he had to hold back his grin when you leaned into his body.
at first, you could feel his fingers ghosting the frayed threads of your jean shorts, like his wrist was stiff and his hand was afraid to open up so his palm would make full contact with the skin of your thigh. but as the movie progressed, and he constantly broke into his cute, little, hearty giggle that somehow sent his entire body into motion, his hand started to ease, fingers drumming on your supple skin, drawing circles on it, accidentally hitting it when he laughs a bit too hard.
he gulps, and breathes, “wow, that movie was not as bad as i thought it was.”
“yeah, it was pretty good.” neither of you make an effort to move out of the position. a slight shift could mean this rare moment of comforting proximity that you waited so long for would vanish in an instant, like a bubble popping after floating around in glee. so you force your head to continue facing the screen, eyes boring into the tiny, white words that are scrolling away.
before you know it, even the credits have finally come to a close, and your eyes are fixated on the next netflix recommendation, Jumanji: The Next Level that’s about to play in 5, 4, 3, 2,
your head snaps up to turn, still balanced on the ball of his shoulder. when you face him, you’re staring right at him. he does that stupidly attractive thing where he turns his head towards you before his eyes land on yours, and your eyes are now locked on his. you bite your lip to ease just a little bit of your restlessness, and this movement causes his eyes to dart to your lips for just a split second.
he gulps again.
screw it, you’re gonna have to say something.
“are you gonna kiss me?” oh my god. not that. stupid, stupid, self-sabotage.
his hand flies away from your leg, retreating back to him so he can make huge, sporadic gestures that speak for his panic and awkwardness.
“uhhh, i-” his hand is rubbing at his nose, and though it’s dark and his head is turned away from you once again, the light from the television lets you see the pink tint that begins to dust his cheeks. “i mean, if you, if you, um, want me to,”
you don’t know why you find this so cute- you literally felt just as awkward as he does a second ago, but seeing him freak out somehow fortifies you to prod at him a little more. besides, you realise that if you don’t make a move now, after at least a month and a half of going out with him, mark’s probably never going to.
your face scrunches up into a chuckle and you don’t take your eyes off him- “well, do you want to?”
“i mean, i-i totally do want to,” his hand is on his chest, and it comes down as he points at you with his thumb, “i’m just really scared that you- don’t? i don’t know,” mark leans forward from the couch to run his fingers through his hair, and you tug at his shirt sleeve multiple times to pull him back.
“i do, mark, i really do.”
“um, okay! great. cool,” he squeaks out, and his movements to almost close the gap between your faces are so mechanic, and panic settles onto his mind and his features, “oh, but i, uh, sorry if i’m a bad kisser or anything, i don’t really get much uh, practice in this, haha.”
you have to turn your face away to hold back a giggle at this cute, shy mess of a boy, before you finally compose yourself, and let one hand gently cup the side of his jaw, and reassuring, “it’s fine. sorry if i’m no good either.”
you smile, and plant the briefest kiss on the corner of his mouth. then you let go.
“now, how was that?”
“t-that wasn’t even a kiss!”
“really?” you laugh, bringing your legs up onto the couch to kneel and face him completely. this time, you hold both of his cheeks in both of your hands before closing your eyes and pressing your lips on his, for a while longer now, and you’re just about to pull away when you feel fingertips ghosting up your jaw, and feel him tilt his head so that his mouth fits perfectly in the crevices of yours.
“what about now?”
“better.”
he shifts his body to fully face you too, and your mouths meld together just a few more times, and the feeling of his fingers gripping at you, lips chasing after yours, drowns out the background noise of kevin hart bickering with dwayne johnson. you’re melted into this moment, and you don’t want it to end.
-
another thing you never really expected from mark was- well, his fear of sudden pecks, those that catch him off-guard, those that come when he least expects them to. they don’t give him any time to react, or prepare, or take a breath so he doesn’t combust when your lips touch his skin.
you’ve made out a few times with him so far in the couple of times you’ve seen him since that very night, and so you thought that he’d appreciate the quick, little kisses, but you probably shouldn’t have assumed.
he’s getting ready to leave your apartment after another movie night, and just before he walks out the door, he hugs you goodbye, and before he can pull back, you sneak a kiss on the tiny corner of his mouth that’s turned up into a smile. or at least, you try to.
he flings himself out of your grasp, head jerking back so fast and hard that you almost tumble into him from the momentum, and both of you stare in complete shock at one another.
“oh, ummm, sorrysorrysorry, haha, awwwkwaaaard!” your hands fly to the air in surrender as if you’ve been caught red-handed, and your feet take slow, tiny steps away from him.
“that’s my bad, oh my god i’m sorry,” your words are drowned out by his, and every cell in you is cringing from embarrassment and from worry and fear that you’ve done something wrong, something you shouldn't have done, did you go too far? are you stupid for thinking that would be okay?
“sorry, i, uh, i think it’s like, muscle memory to move away because haechan and the guys, well, mostly haechan, always tries to do that kinda thing. i-it’s not you! i swear! you’re great! haechan, not so, you know what i mean? like i wanna kiss you too but in that moment my body prepared for fight or flight, you know? oh my god i’m so sorry.” he’s doing that thing with his gestures again, frantically waving his hands to ensure you visually comprehend that it’s not your fault.
this revelation comes like a knife slicing through the tension that once was, and you hide your face behind your hands in relief, giggling at the stark weirdness of it all, but you also can’t shake off the tinge of sadness from the rejection. it wasn’t directed towards you, you know, but you just can’t help but feel a little taken aback by what happened.
he grabs your wrists, pulling you towards him, and encouraging you to try again.
“okay, go on. i’m ready now. sorry. just not used to this.” his cheeks are a deep shade of red, and his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
you’re smiling throughout the entire, brief, kiss goodbye.
nearly six months have passed, and you try to give him a peck every now and then, just to see if he still retracts in fear, and you can see him tense up every time you try.
so you stop.
the last time you’d tried was right before he left for tour, and in your endless contemplation of your relationship (you had way too much time on your hands not to fall down the rabbit hole of thinking), you come to the conclusion that maybe it’s just something you don’t have to do to mark. with mark, for mark. besides, there are other ways to express your love for him anyways- he doesn’t cringe when you run your fingers through his hair, or when you wrap your arms around him in a bear hug from behind. probably because he doesn’t mind when his friends do it too. and it’s not like you can’t kiss him entirely, you just have to make sure he’s fully aware of the sparks that are about to fly when your lips touch, instead of the little zaps of static that come when he least expects them to, the ones that he shies away from.
-
it’s been a week since he’s returned. a week since your suffering has finally come to an end, a week since the longing that filled your entire being to the brim finally drained out when your body collided into his when you embraced after what felt like an eternity. it took everything in you not to jump at him when you saw him at your door, so instead of fighting against your growing excitement, you run straight into his arms, hopping as his hands link together to prop you up.
it’s hard not to tear up- the sight of mark in the flesh is overwhelming and sensational and you’re burying your face into his neck, hands playing with the hair at his nape. what used to be short, clipped ends that pricked at your fingers have now grown into something like a mullet- you remember when you saw photos of him online the other day and started crying because it was a reminder of just how much time was passing without him around. you’re crying, now, too, and mark starts to giggle you can hear just how tired he is from the grogginess of his voice- “aw, babe, are you crying?”
“no.” he tries to nudge at you so you can pull your head back, but you stick to him like a koala wrapped around a tree until he lets go of your legs and tries to tickle you.
“awwwww, nooo! you’re making me want to cry too!” he whines, and you wipe your tears away on the sleeve of your sweater before finally looking up at his face through your glossy eyes. his face has changed, too. his eyebags are puffy, his cheeks are sunken in the slightest bit, and his jawline is more prominent than you remember it to be. his face feels just a little smaller in your hands when you hold him, and you’re staring, wondering if it’s been so long that you’ve simply forgotten the tactile sense of touching him, feeling him.
before this can spur any more tears from escaping, you’re sent into overdrive, since he crashes his lips into yours. the initial shock flickers out and you take in the jolts of electricity coming at you, the storm of repressed zeal and yearning unleashing between the two of you. it’s been so long and yet you can still remember how mark kisses- when he turns his head to nip at more of you, his arms link around your shoulders, and then the next time one hand cups your face, his thumb trailing up and down your jaw, and eventually his mouth strays away from yours, and he plants kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, and then… he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you for you to know.
you’ve seen him almost everyday since he’s come back- he likes to come over just to catch up on sleep in your room as you study. just so you can spend a little more time in your day with one another. there have been more cuddles, more back massages (you even gave him one this time), more sitting in his lap, and he even tries to pick up the skill of braiding your hair. so far, you’ve stuck to your resolution of not stealing pecks out of the blue- so the only thing there isn’t more of is kisses. it’s good, you think- you let him initiate and then you return, so you’re sure you don’t have to take him by surprise.
tonight, you’re in the middle of submitting an assignment, when you hear your phone ping from across the room. then it pings, again and again, in succession, and you’re about to go over and read the messages before it blows up into a full phone-call, the marimba ringtone blaring through the speakers.
it’s johnny, and in the split second before you answer the phone, you can only assume the worst has happened- you know mark’s with him, they had a company dinner to celebrate the end of their tour- what, did he get into an accident? did he pass out? did he-
“hello? y/n?” there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, and the curiosity is really starting to eat you alive.
“hey, john, what’s up? is everything okay?” you hear a groan in the background, and it turns into a long, howl-like wail that subsides into sob.
“yeah, uh, not really. you heard that? that’s uh, it’s mark. i think he’s had too much to drink, and it’s not like he’s never gotten drunk before, he’s definitely had more before, but i’ve never seen him this, uh-”
“is that y/n?!” you can hear mark hiccup, “y/n! baaaaaaby babe y/n!” he’s still crying, and you’re so worried. mark hasn’t really expressed much sadness ever since he returned, and most of the time he’s very frank with his emotions- so if he was ever sad about anything, you’d think you would’ve heard about it by now.
you can hear someone else shushing him, and johnny continues- “i think he really wants to see you right now, so can we just drop him off at yours? you can just text me your address, i don’t think he’s in a state of mind to give directions right now.” the sobbing is still ongoing, albeit a tiny bit more muted than it was before.
“um, yeah. of course. i’ll send it to you. is.. is he alright? what happened?”
“well, i’m not very sure, actually. he was fine at the start, and then started to get all giggly like he normally does when he’s had a few glasses, and then he had a tiny bit more, and got all sappy. and now we’re uh, we’re here. he does keep mentioning that he misses you, though. which i don’t get- since i’m pretty sure he spent the entire week with you, so….”
“right….okay. thanks johnny. has he like, thrown up or anything?”
“uhh, nope. don’t think so. hopefully he doesn’t. or hopefully he does. he’ll probably feel better after.”
“yeah. you can call me when you get here, i’ll buzz you in. see you!”
you hang up, and are left alone only with the many questions you have, and wow, you’ve never felt more nervous in your entire life. not when you did that interview for a scholarship, or when you had your finals, or when you drove for the first time. this imminent fear is much more terrifying- especially because you were under the presumption that you knew exactly what was happening. in everything else you feared the unknown, the uncertainty of it all, but this, you feel like you were supposed to know- you thought there was nothing between you and mark, thought he was just as transparent as you had been with him.
this week had been complete bliss for you, having him in close proximity again. you’re treasuring every moment with him much more now, holding everything right to your heart, actively storing every scene of him in your hippocampus for later viewing. what could’ve gone wrong? was that not enough? what’s changed? you can only wander around your apartment as your mind runs wild. is he stressed? is this some cathartic release? does he suddenly hate what he’s doing?
the wait is painfully long- almost making the four months without mark cease to nothing, and you try everything not to think about him. you submit the assignment, you try to beat your record on minesweeper, you watch a couple of youtube videos but lose interest, and text a close friend for emotional support. before the soul-crushing impatience can actually kill you, you hear the ringing on your intercom, and you’ve never pressed the accept button so fast.
you don’t even wait for them to ring your doorbell. that would just cause more delay. you open the door right away, and peek outside, and the lift doors burst open and mark’s whines reverberates along the tight corridor. johnny’s carrying him piggyback, and the sight of him like this makes you so, incredibly sad- it pulls at your heartstrings and you feel suffocated by the tightening hold that it has on you. if he wasn’t so upset, maybe you would’ve laughed at how cute and snug he looks stuck onto johnny’s back.
mark’s face morphs into a giddy smile when he sees you, letting out a garbled call for you, and you greet johnny as he slips his shoes off to carry him into the living room and plop him onto the couch. you begin to untie his shoe-laces so you can get his shoes off, and you sigh, “thanks so much for your help johnny. do you need anything? need a glass of water… or?”
you walk him to the door with mark’s shoes, placing them right at the entrance. “right. well, um, thanks again! hope you guys get back safe. i’ll see you around.”
“yup, see you. hope he’ll be okay.”
the door is shut, and you can finally focus all your attention on the boy that’s caused you so much concern in the past thirty minutes. you sit right by his head on the couch, and when you try to get rid of the denim jacket he’s wearing, he stirs.
“baaabe?”
“hey, markie. what’s got you all upset?” you kneel on the floor so you can slip the jacket right off of him, and his swollen, tear-filled eyes are following you as you move. when you get close enough, you’re taken aback because he smooches you, missing your lips completely, and the sweet, gentle kiss lands on your chin.
it’s the first time he’s ever done that- first time he’s ever gone in for a kiss without you looking- and you have to sit and blink to try and figure out if you’re imagining things.
his hand reaches out for you, lips still puckered as he tries again and again to kiss you anywhere on your face, and as intriguing as it is, it’s more concerning since it’s mark. your mark- the one that didn’t really seem to like it when you did this, the one who pretty much repelled away from any of the sudden pecks you gave him.
you sweep his hair to the side, and before you can even try asking again, his hand falls limp, and he drawls, “you don’t wanna ki-kiss me anymore.” tears are starting to well in his eyes again, and you have to force yourself not to give up on how confusing this entire situation is.
“what? babe, who told you that?” you’re chuckling, but trying not to, because he’s literally about to cry ohmygodwhat.
“yoooooou,” he whines, “you haven’t kissed me since i, i got back!”
you brush a tiny droplet from his eye with the pad of your thumb, and then go back to stroking his hair. you try not to show your incredulity, but it’s a little hard when you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. “but i have! we even kissed yesterday, mark! remember?”
“yeaaah we kissed! but i kissed you.” he’s so funny- even as his eyes are closed and he faces the ceiling, he still has to point at himself and then at you when he says this, and then he pauses and continues, “you haven’t tried to kiss me since i left. like, reeeaaally tried. and i can’t figure out whhhhhy.”
oh. what?
“well, markie, right now i don’t really wanna kiss you since you’re kinda stinky,” you try to joke, but his eyes shut even tighter and he’s about to burst into tears again, “noooooo! i’ll go brush my teeth-”
“but didn’t you say you’re not used to it? i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. you didn’t seem to like it very much.”
“but i diiiiiid! i missed you so much when i was away,” a hiccup. “and then i felt so sad,” another hiccup. “because i remembered how sad you got the first time,” and another hiccup. “and then when i got back i was soooo excited for you to do it, so i could do it back to you, and you never did.” his mouth turns into a pout, and his nose sniffles.
this is what he was upset about? no way. there is no way he got so sad because you decided not to kiss him out of the blue anymore. it makes your heart swell in confusion- because, what the hell, mark is just, for the lack of a better word, so darn cute. you can’t believe that this, out of everything you could’ve had a miscommunication about, is what he was hiding from you.
“awwww, i’m sorry babe. i really thought you didn’t want me to.” you coo, and lean in closer to press your lips to his forehead. “look! i’ll give you sooo many right now!” you kiss him all over his face, and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile, and he starts to giggle, complaining that it tickles.
“but why didn’t you tell me? i would’ve done it if you’d asked.” you begin to trace your finger all over his features, stopping at his nose to boop at it.
he heaves out a sigh, and you can tell he is a mere minute away from dozing off to sleep with how slowly he speaks, “i dunno, it just seemed silly to tell you. but this, it’s probably even sillier.”
you pinch at his nose. “yeah, i’m glad you know, mark.”
you know you once said that a small peck on the lips didn’t mean much to you, but right now, it’s your favourite way of showing him you care. just the thought of both of you unknowingly reciprocating the exact same yearning for each other is so amusing, and it gives you butterflies to know just how similar you are to one another. it’s more than simple skin on skin- it’s when two lines, so parallel and alike, tend towards one another and meet in an oblique. and though these lines have to part afterwards, they curve, bend, and loop to find their way back. you’ve never believed in infinity- it’s stupid to think that anyone or anything is completely limitless- but in this moment you can only wish for your lines to join and travel endlessly.
when you return with a face towel to wipe his dried tears and snot away, you give him your sweetest, last kiss goodnight.
-
a/n: ahhhhh lol sorry for taking a while for this update (if anyone's been waiting hahahah) i was busy with exams and decided to finally take a break to finish writing this! i've started to realise that every time i start writing i feel so accomplished, and then by the time i get to the end i just feel like the end product is disappointing aaghdaghag lol
if youre up for a challenge can you try writing enemies to lovers with mark lee
I feel like you say challenge, because who in their right mind would hate mark lee right? well I don’t hate him, but I do operate under the belief that if I ever met him he would hate me. so there’s that and that’s what I’m channeling in this. thank you
Warnings: reader causing problems on purpose, choking, face slapping, oral (reader giving)
also I feel like with every one of these blurbs Im just exposing myself for being a freak but whatever.
——
——
“For the last time,” Mark starts slowly, turning towards you with his index finger pointing towards you, his demeanor calm enough that it’s slightly worrying, “leave. Me. Alone.”
“Oh what’s wrong Markie,” you all but howl, grabbing his finger with one hand as you reach out and tug on his ear with the other, “am I getting on your nerves?”
To say you and Mark never got along would be an understatement. On your first few initial meetings you were fine, polite to one another and completely cordial, but once you continued to be forced into each other’s presence, things started to get a little tense.
Did you enjoy picking at the boy more than you probably should have? Yes, but in your defense, teasing people who you considered your friends was just second nature to you. You thought you and Mark knew each other well enough at that point that you could cross that bridge, but when his cheeks turned bright red and his eyes narrowed in your direction, you thought maybe you had taken it too far.
So, with Mark’s hint that he did not want to be teased coming through very clearly, that would mean that you eased up right?
Wrong.
The issue was, Mark was very cute. With his big eyes and crooked smile, one of the first things you thought when you saw him was, there’s no way a boy can be that fucking cute. But he was, and it only got worse when he was mad.
So you kept it up, teased him and teased him to watch as his ears turned scarlet and his hand morph into fists. It was pure, but harmless, entertainment, that somehow down the line turned into bickering. He started to fight back, and you were definitely game for a fight, but as time went on things turned a little too serious. And now whenever you and Mark were together, the tension was thick enough that you’re surprised your mutual friends didn’t suffocate on it.
“You’re always on my nerves,” he bites back, pushing your hands off him, disappointment on his face as he clearly didn’t want to encourage you with a response, “literally since day one you’ve been on every nerve in my body.”
You smile, the cogs turning in your mind quickly, but as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at you, you wisely choose not to make the argument sexual… yet.
“That’s not true, Mark,” you pout at him, moving closer as discreetly and innocently as you can manage, “we got along really well the first time we met, then one day you just decided you hated me.”
“I didn’t decide,” he groans, not stepping away from you like usual, the lack of action not going unnoticed by you, “it’s like one day you just started pushing my buttons while practically begging me to hate your guts.”
“Strike one,” you respond bluntly, holding a finger up as he makes a small noise of confusion, “I would never beg you for anything.”
“That’s not my point.”
“Well it’s my point now,” shaking your head stubbornly, until he starts to grit his teeth at how childish you can be, “you can hate me all you want, Mark. Just at least get the facts straight.”
“So what?” He shrugs, playing along with you for once, even if he’s not aware, “you asked me politely to hate you?”
“No,” you shake your head, reaching up to grab his ear again, “you hate me all on your own, I’m just having a little fun.”
“You’re a brat,” he announces sternly like he’s had an epiphany, his eyes shifting in a way you’ve never seen, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve flipped dimensions and stand in front of a different Mark entirely, “you’re just a fucking brat.”
“Wow, big words Mark,” you reply sarcastically, throwing your hands up on faux surrender, hiding how his sudden shift of tone makes you feel, “do you kiss mommy with that mouth?”
You’ve seen Mark angry far more than your fair share of times, but something about you being just flat out juvenile is what always sets him off. But this time he looks ready to snap, with his shoulders tense and his tongue rolling over his teeth. He looks so incredibly pissed off at you, that it makes you giddy in a way that you’ve never experienced, and you just want to make it worse.
“Shut the fuck up,” he finally spits out as he takes a step closer to you, his fingers flexing and digging into his arm.
“Make me.”
You don’t have a smart remark for what Mark does next, you don’t even have a verbal one. All you can do is gasp loudly as his hands grab you around the sides of your throat.
He walks towards you as he pulls you closer, your hands moving to wrap around his wrists as he gently shakes you and walks you to the couch behind you. He kicks your feet out from under you when he gets close enough to the piece of furniture, and when you hold tighter onto him as you’re forced to depend on his hold for balance, he lowers you down to the floor until your neck curves and you rest your head on the cushion.
He gets visibly more angry when you smile up at him, his eyes narrowing and his hands shaking when you start to happily giggle. He can’t wrap his mind around you, and as you seem to beam from the way he holds you, he wonders how you can even be real.
“What’s your next move, Mark,” you ask as excitement floods your veins. If you thought he looked so cute when he got angry, you learn now that he looks even better when he’s livid, and you want nothing more than to see how far you can push him.
“I said shut the fuck up,” he commands again, his head spinning as he tries to figure out what to do. He’s shocked that he even grabbed you in the first place, but he’s more shocked that you seem to be liking it.
“Why the fuck are you enjoying this?” he asks, his tone showing his genuine bewilderment. He shakes you more as he questions you, and you revel in the deep blush that takes over his features when you let out a soft moan.
“Hit me, Mark,” you tell him softly, your thighs tensing as you beg the universe for him to listen. You just want it once, the feeling of his palm cracking against your skin, and you hope your eyes fluttering and your face showing signs of you becoming light headed will be enough to convince him.
“Are you insane?” he coughs out, knowing the answer to the question before he even had to ask, but as you squirm and pant below him, he starts to feel an itching in the center of his palm.
“I’ll be good,” you try, pleading in your head that this doesn’t turn south and you don’t end up feeling like a fool, “I’ll be really good, I promise.”
“Fuck,” he swears as his eyes shut tightly. The response makes you sigh happily. And when you glance down and see the bulge that starts forming in his pants, you know that regardless of where his hands are, you know realistically he’s in your trap.
Your eyes close when you see him reel back, his hand raising hesitantly off your neck and past his shoulder as he mentally weighs his options. He could let you go, tell you to fuck off again and watch you try to play whatever is happening between you off. Or he could hit you, watch you react in a way that he can’t even imagine now. And one of those options is starting to sound a lot more fun.
The initial impact of his hand against your cheek is so shocking you don’t feel it at first, the stinging grows gradually until the skin is hot and tingling, but that doesn’t stop the gasp and elated moan that you let out and he stares down at you in surprise.
“I-“ he tries to start, his brain feeling jumbled as his mouth repeatedly opens and closes, before he clears his throat, “did you like that?”
You’re not sure if he intended for his voice to sound so concerned, the words coming out in a fumbled message as he watches you melt back into the couch. But you smile in response, the look on your face being dazed and lazy as you draw your knees up and together. And with a gentle nod against his flexing fist, you quietly ask for more.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admits as he swallows roughly.
“Kiss me,” you encourage, chewing on your lip as you stare at his, before fumbling to correct yourself, “do whatever you want to me.”
For the first time in a long time, Mark smiles at you. A soft smile that tugs on his lips but keeps his teeth hidden as he watches the way your eyes gloss over. He’s always thought you were pretty, aggravating as hell, but unbelievably pretty. But as you lay beneath him and shift your neck under his hold, he thinks you’re the prettiest he’s ever seen you.
With a quiet huff of disbelief, he moves down, pressing his lips against yours. Your lips are slick from the small amount of saliva that dribbled out from his slap, and the way you kiss back is more eager than he’d ever thought you could be. You taste like the candy you had consumed earlier, the small pieces of sugar he knew would hype you up and make you a bigger problem from him later lingering on your tongue and turning you into his own personal treat.
He bites down on your lips harshly, making you squeak and thrash in pain as he sucks the flesh into his mouth, and when your jaw drops to let out a quiet cry, he shoves his tongue in your mouth to lick at the back of your teeth.
A small drop of your combined spit trickles down your chin as he kisses you roughly, and as he pushes his palm deeper against your neck, your hips start to tilt and move as if they have a mind of their own.
A string of saliva connects you as he pulls away, his eyes wild as he sees this and the way you pant and whine. His free hand lands roughly on your cheek as he licks his lips in hunger, and as you look at him with begging eyes, his thumb presses into your bottom lip and admires how messy you’ve become.
“Do what I want,” he mumbles as if to remind himself of your earlier words, and when you rapidly nod in agreement, he moves his hand from your face and begins to fumble at the button of his pants.
He lifts you slightly with the hand around your neck, dragging your back up the front of the couch as he steps closer to your face. His own breathing sounds quick and shallow now, and he lets out a small his when he pulls his length out from the confines of his pants.
“Open your mouth,” he tells you with determined eyes, his hand wrapping around his shaft as he brings the head of his dick to the corner of your mouth. He taps his length a few times against your cheek, and when your tongue flicks out to try and roll against his skin, he slowly pushes himself down until he hits the back of your throat.
“You need to put this mouth to better use than just talking all the time,” he grunts as he lets go of his length to push his palm against your forehead. He shoves your head back into the cushion beneath your head, and once he feels his grip on your body is enough to keep you stationary, he starts to roughly rock his hips down into your face.
You breathe deeply through your nose as he fucks your face, trying to stay calm as you gag slightly and drool. The way he stretches your lips and drags across your tongue making you overly excited as you feel your arousal dampening your underwear and making the fabric stick to your skin.
“Who knew all it took to get you to behave was smacking you around a little,” he says in mock disbelief as he shoves his hips forward with more force, his body shuttering and his eyes fluttering a bit when you let out rhythmic squeaks, “just had to shove my cock down your throat to get you to shut the fuck up.”
Tears spill quickly over your water lines as you try to keep your eyes on his twisted up features, your heart squeezing and beating quickly as you can’t help but be endeared by how his eyebrows draw together. You try and reach up to grab at his belt loop, but with how dizzy his hold and your uneven breathing makes you, your hands fumble and struggle as they try to keep up with his movements.
When he lets go of your neck, you let out a muffled whine, and when he moves his hand to wrap around himself as he slips from your mouth, you whine louder. If it wasn’t for the hold he still had on your head, and the way he cages you in with his legs, you would have chased after him with your tongue as it still hangs from your mouth, but instead all you can do is watch him with teary eyes as he moves his shaky fist up and down his shaft.
“Do you want me to come on your face?” he asks in a way that makes it feel like a warning rather than a question, and when you mumble out slurs of confirmation he looks at you with a dark grin, “beg for it.”
You hum out in confusion, your shoulders twisting as you pout up at him, and when you scowl at him and shake your head against his palm, he shoves his shoed foot between your thighs to press against your crotch.
“You’re not in a position to disagree,” he tells you, taunting you by bringing his length closer to your hungry mouth before pulling away, “you wanted to talk shit earlier, but now you’re sitting here all pathetic and whiny. So fucking beg.”
“Mark, please,” you finally choke out, your voice rough in a way that has you shaking in embarrassment as you take advantage of him standing still to grab at his hips, “please I want your come on my face so bad. Need you so bad.”
He starts to move his hand again as you beg, groaning out in pleasure when your voice becomes watery and distraught. He already seems to be teetering on the edge, locking his eyes onto your messy face to get off to, but when you reach a hand up to scratch deeply into the skin of his tense stomach, his hips stutter forward until his tip bumps into the bridge of your nose.
You open your mouth wide when he lets out a telling groan, his hand moving faster as he keeps his eyes trained on you and your wiggling tongue. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and as his skin flushes bright and warm, you watch him slowly fall apart at the seams.
The first bit of his come that hits your skin makes you jump, the sticky substance landing on where your cheek blends into the skin at the side of your nose and slipping slowly down. He moans out, low and long as he continues to coat your face, and when some of it lands on your lips and waiting tongue, you moan out with him with a grin.
He finishes with a rattling intake of air, his eyes shutting and his head tilting down as he collects himself and you just vibrate below him in excitement. When his eyes finally open again, he fears that he could get hard again, as you stare up at him expectantly, your face and tongue still marked with the evidence of his orgasm. And you looked so genuinely happy, he wonders for a moment how he ever managed to get frustrated by you.
“You’re something else, you know that?” He asks, his voice gruff as he matches your teasing smile.
You make sure he’s watching as you bring your tongue back into your mouth, swallowing dramatically before you lick at what’s left on your lips, and humming before you respond proudly.
pairing: hybrid!donghyuck x gn reader x hybrid!mark
word count: 152
tags: smut. threesome. hand job. rim job. pegging.
donghyuck thought he was going to cum right then and there once he sunk onto your strap, moaning as the tip went in. his cock twitched, watching you flick your wrist on mark’s cock, the cheetah hybrid sitting on your face. the bear hybrid whined, his body shaking as he went deeper.
you grabbed onto the flesh of mark’s ass, moaning and lifting your hips, your strap pushing farther up into donghyuck as he slumped onto mark’s shoulder. he closed his eyes, lips parted as he panted, everything felt too overwhelming. you shoved your tongue into mark’s rim, your pussy clenching around nothing when both hybrids started to ride on you.
mark wrapped his arms around donghyuck as your hand went faster on his cock, both of their bodies shook uncontrollably. high pitched whines, bodies slapping against yours, it was only a matter of time before they came undone all over you.
20:40 — we were a sonata, thanks to tight-lipped fathers, yeah, living under that was hard, but i loved you harder. | high school in jakarta by NIKI
spiderman!mark pulls the mask from his face, panting heavily as he grabbed the second pair of clothes stuffed into his backpack webbed against the fire escape of the restaurant the two of you were supposed to meet.
"shit, i'm late, i'm late, i'm late." he swore, tying the tie quickly before he climbed down the side of the wall, landing on his feet in an alleyway and running around to the front door of the restaurant.
in his hurry, he pulled himself back a bit, slowing down to catch his breath, greeting the hostess and walks past, as if he owned the building.
he saw you sitting at the table, pulling out the chair to sit across from you, "oh, look who showed up." you mumbled, using the straw to poke at the ice cubes at the bottom of the glass.
mark sighed, throwing the napkin on his lap, "i know, i'm late." he held his hands up in defense, "i got held up."
you scoffed, "mark, i get it, you're busy with work, but you made this commitment when we started college."
mark rubbed his eyes, letting another sigh escape his lips, "you're right. i'm sorry."
you smiled, "thank you." you grabbed his hand across the table, "i ordered you your favorite, i'm still waiting for it to come out."
"thank you, baby." he smiled.
lights echoed off the reflective buildings and through the restaurant's windows. all patrons turned to look at lights as the sirens screamed.
mark knew that if he had left his seat in the moment, he'd have hell to pay from your wrath.
"what's going on?" you questioned, standing up before mark held his hand out to have you sit.
looking up at him, mark wandered out the door, past the building.
you sighed, following him out after dropping the cash on the table. your coat only did so much, your cheeks burning as the cold wind hit them.
and as you made it around the corner of the restaurant, a suit of red and blue zipped past you, the webs remaining behind from the hero.
➸ request from anon; hii! if you have time and like my request could you do it? thanks!!! my request: mark, lucas and noah being whipped for maeve and protective of her. aksjdkfjsk why do i actually see mark like this lol anyways thanks again!!
➸ note; thank you so much all you incredible people for waiting so long for me to come back. i’ve had a really difficult couple of months as you can imagine so my writing pace has been quite slow, but i am getting back into it! i’m sorry if this isnt the best, but i wanted to get something out because i know everyone has been waiting a long time for me to come back! as always i love and appreciate you all for being so patient and loving <3
➸ word count; 1521 words
➸ lucas; aged 20, noah; aged 18, maeve; aged 16
nct masterlist
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Mark Lee always wanted to be a girl dad. Ever since you had your first baby, Lucas, and you would discuss having more, Mark would picture having a little girl to spoil. Having sons was still incredible - Lucas and Noah were Mark’s doubles and his chest filled with pride whenever he saw them. Despite this, watching his members spoil and dote over their little girls and made him want one of his own. So when Maeve was born, he felt so complete, as if he had everything he ever wanted.
‘Everyone’s nice, right?’
‘Everyone’s nice, right?’
‘Everyone’s nice, right?’
‘So far,’ Maeve smiles, twirling her fork around. She’d just started middle school, and Mark was worried sick. He knew how those kids could be, and Maeve was just so nice, an easy target.
‘You’d tell me if they weren’t, wouldn’t you?’ Mark checks, and Maeve rolls her eyes playfully.
‘Yes dad.’
High school was the first time Maeve had been in school with Noah for a while. The Lee siblings, while they did bicker like normal siblings, they liked seeing each other around school and knowing the other was there. Noah was in his final year when Maeve started. While she still had her friends from middle school, it was difficult integrating with the kids from the other middle schools.
Namely how cliquey everything suddenly was.
‘Hey Maeve.’
Maeve looks up from her notes to see a tall boy looming over her. Her mind fills with questions, who was this boy? How did he know her name? With all of that, she doesn’t form any response, so he presses further.
‘It is Maeve, right? Eunsol said that was your name.’
Maeve notices a gaggle of other boys standing a distance behind him, trying to appear as though they weren’t listening in.
‘I was just wondering if you wanted to go out this weekend? You’re so pretty, and I’ve been trying to get your snap from the other girls but they said you don’t have one.’
‘I don’t…’ Maeve tries so hard to seem polite, ‘I’m sorry.. I don’t know you at all…’
‘Wha- I’m Chanhyung. I’m a senior.’
‘Oh,’ Maeve still has no idea who he is, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I can.’
Chanhyung’s eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly regains composure.
‘Ok, uh, fine then.’ And he walks away.
Maeve doesn’t think too much of it for a while.
‘Is it true you rejected Hwang Chanhyung?’ Minji, Maeve’s seat mate in history asks her.
‘What?’ Maeve straightens up in her seat, ‘oh, I wouldn’t say rejected.’
‘Huh? What do you mean? Apparently he asked you out on a date and you turned him down big time. I mean apparently he’s really pissed. No girl has ever turned him down before, especially not a freshman.’
Maeve feels the panic set in, redness crawling up her neck and heat settling in her veins.
‘He didn’t seem pissed at the time-‘
‘Yeah well he is pissed now. I’d maybe watch yourself today.’
Fuck off Minji, Maeve thought just as the school bell blares, prompting everyone in the class to start packing away their belongings.
Maeve speed-walks out of the classroom, keeping her head down and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone else. She stops in front of her locker, hair still forming curtains around her face as she unpacks and packs some things into her bag. Maeve swings her locker door shut, only to reveal Hwang Chanhyung himself.
‘Hey Maeve,’ he grins, singing her name in a sort of taunting tone.
‘Um, sorry, I can’t talk right now,’ Maeve mumbles, trying to turn on her heel, but is stopped when Chanhyung grabs her wrist, whipping her back around.
‘It’ll only take a couple minutes,’ he doesn’t let go, even when Maeve experimentally tries to wiggle out of his grip.
‘Good,’ he muses when her movements stop, ‘are you ready to say you’re sorry?’
‘What?’ Maeve murmurs in disbelief, ‘I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just don’t know you.. and-and I’m not really looking to date right now, so-‘
‘HEY!’ Maeve jumps about a mile in the air at the sound of another male’s voice booming and echoing through the hallway.
Chanhyung turns his head slowly to look to the source, where he sees Noah Lee storming towards him.
‘GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY SISTER!’
Everyone in the corridor is completely silent now as Noah marches up to Chanhyung, grabbing him by the collar and pinning him to the lockers.
‘Noah, stop,’ Maeve begins to plead, but Noah takes no notice.
‘Oh look, how sweet,’ Chanhyung taunts, ‘Noah come to save little Maeve-‘
‘Leave her the fuck alone,’ Noah seethes, ‘she’s not one of your toys.’
‘I don’t want her to be anyway,’ Chanhyung chuckles darkly, ‘she’s a prude anyway.’
Noah is deadly silent for a moment, eyes darkening before he grabs and slams Chanhyung into the locker, hard.
‘I’m going to fuck you up,’ Noah threatens, pulling Chanhyung towards him, and then throwing him into another locker on the opposite end of the corridor.
’Noah! Seriously, stop-‘
The small group of onlookers quickly forms into a crowd as Noah begins throwing and landing punches onto Chanhyung’s face, traces of blood appearing on his fists.
‘Noah, it doesn’t matter, just leave it!’ Maeve shrieks, trying to pull at her brothers shoulders but failing.
Chanhyung, on encouragement from his surrounding friends, leaps to his feet and momentarily overpowers Noah, landing a few kicks and punches. Noah quickly retaliates, pinning Chanhyung to the ground, swinging punch after punch to his face.
‘Oh god,’ Maeve holds her head in her hands, already predicting the fallout from this.
Suddenly, a shrill whistle sounds, and the crowd of students swiftly part like the Red Sea. Three teachers march through the gap, screaming and yelling for the two boys to stop. Once they reach them, Noah and Chanhyung are quickly torn apart, arms still swinging and flailing.
‘All of you! Class, now!’
‘Maeve, go,’ Noah mouths, and she complies, turning on her heel and rushing to her third period math lesson.
-
‘I don’t even know what to say,’ you shake your head in disappointment at Noah, who is sitting on your living room sofa.
‘Why on earth would you just start a fight like that? I didn’t raise you to be.. violent like this.’
‘I’m sorry, mum/mom.’
‘I can’t believe you got yourself suspended. Noah Lee, you better have a good reason for this or I swear-‘
Maeve shakes like a leaf in the corner of her bedroom, listening in at the door.
’There was no reason, he just pissed me off.’
Maeve sometimes wishes Lucas hadn’t moved out to college. He would have handled this much better.
‘Ok, well, you’re so, very, grounded,’ Maeve hears you say, followed by some thuds and footsteps.
Three knocks sound at Maeve ’s bedroom door, and she jumps about a mile in the air, running back to her bed.
‘Come in!’
‘Hey Maevie,’ Mark pokes his head around the door, ‘are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ Maeve lies, ‘just tired.’
Mark sits himself down at the bottom of Maeve’s bed, sighing deeply to himself.
‘I don’t know what’s gotten into your brother,’ he shakes his head, ‘you know he punched this kid in the face!’
‘Yeah, I heard-‘
‘God knows why he even did that, I mean-‘
‘It’s because he was harassing me.’
Mark goes silent, looking at Maeve incredulously.
‘Who?’
‘The boy Noah punched… Chanhyung. A couple of days ago he asked me out and I said no, but earlier today he came up to me and was all pissed off, and then he tried to touch me, and Noah saw so-‘
Two minutes later, Mark and Noah are sitting across from Maeve on her bed.
‘Noah, thank you for protecting your sister,’ Mark murmurs, taking his sons hand in his own, and clapping his other hand around it, ‘why didn’t you just say?’
‘It was worth getting in trouble for Maeve,’ he shrugs, ‘I didn’t think she needed to be reminded of what she’d just gone through.’
‘Noh,’ Maeve sighs, ‘I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that for me.’
‘Mae, you’re my little sister,’ Noah sighs, ‘it’s basically my job to protect you and and beat the shit out of anyone who disrespects you like that bastard did.’
‘It’s the same for me, being your dad. Although maybe violence isn’t the best resort,’ Mark side-eyes Noah, ’I would have done the same.’
[mark takes care of u when ur sick. roommate au. pure fluff. alt version on ao3 is also mine]
-
So, you’re sick. It’s just a small bug, nothing you can’t handle. Sure, you can’t keep food down and you’ve got this chill you can’t shake, but you’re not dying or anything. This is the disclaimer you gave to your worrywart of a roommate, Mark, when you had asked him to bring home some plain crackers and gatorade.
You’re sitting on the couch during sundown. The house is clean, save for the plastic bag of used tissues leaning against the couch. There’s a documentary about some obscure cult in the sixties on the television, and you’re wrapped up in your most comforting blanket. It happens to be Mark’s, taken from his room. The weight of it feels like a hug, and it smells of him, like that vanilla lotion his mom ingrained into his head to use after showering.
With the volume of the television, you barely hear Mark walk through the door. When he sets a takeout bag onto the coffee table, you finally look up, “Oh hey, Mark. What’d you get?”
“I got you soup, Dork,” Mark says. He sits on the table, long legs causing his knees to brush against the edge of the couch and subsequently, your sock-covered toes. When you look at him, you realize he’s pouting. “You said it wasn’t that bad.”
“It isn’t,” you assure him, but you follow it with a cough to your elbow. You wonder what you look like to make him think it’s worse than it is. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sweating.”
“But I’m cold.”
Mark hums. His cheeks and nose are rosy from the winter air, which makes him look even more adorable than usual. “Tell you what: eat your soup before it gets cold. I’m gonna go set up the bathroom and run a bath. I’ll put some salts and oils in there that are good for congestion, and when you’re ready you can come warm up. Maybe it’ll draw the fever out.”
“I don’t have a fever,” you argue.
Mark opens the soup container and hands it to you, along with a spoon. “Whatever you say.”
You try to take your time with the soup, but it takes you a little less than ten minutes to drain the bowl. You're left with a weight in your stomach that chases away the nausea you’ve been feeling all day. You dump the bowl in the sink and head into the bathroom.
Mark had grabbed a pair of your comfiest pajamas and underwear, and set them on the sink counter along with a fluffy towel. The overhead light is off, replaced with a lavender scented candle on the rim of the bathtub. The water is practically steaming, and he’s set up one of those bath pillows so your neck won’t get tired. You’re so thankful the two of you ordered that thing one drunken night.
“Don’t undress yet,” he calls from down the hall. He comes in with his tablet and hands it to you, along with the stand he usually uses when he wants to watch videos. “You can finish your documentary on here!”
Thank God for shared accounts, because Mark sets the tablet up so that it’s right where you paused it in the living room. You watch him work, fiddling with the buttons and fitting the stand on the closed toilet so that it won’t fall into the tub. With fondness, you realize he hasn’t even shed his coat yet, his only goal to make you feel better. He’s often doing that: sacrificing his needs for yours.
And it warms you from your head to your toes. Even more so than the fever, you’re dizzy with the realization that Mark loves you, in whatever way that may be, enough to do all of this for you. You want to repay him, but it will have to wait until you get your energy back.
You do what you can, though. When he stands up, you hug him tight, loving the small sound of surprise that escapes him.
-
Mark turned down your blankets while you were in the bath. There’s a bottle of water on your bedside table and two small pill capsules. You take them, thankful he didn’t get the liquid medicine your mom used to make you drink. You end up draining the water bottle, not realizing how thirsty you were.
You’re almost ready for bed when you realize you still have his tablet, so you make your way across the hall and knock on his door. A sudden shyness overcomes you and has you averting your eyes when he opens the door, finally dressed for his own comfort. “Here’s your tablet back. Thanks for taking care of me, Mark.”
“Always.” Mark isn’t smiling like usual. He’s got this sincere look on his face, furrowed brows and straight mouth, just daring you to defy his gestures of love. “I’m always here for you. You know that.”
“Of course I do,” you assure him with your own look of surety. Some voice in the back of your head is calling it love.
He leans down to kiss your head. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll keep my ringer on in case you need me.”
