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@reverieco
♡ REVERICO || i write a little bit of everything || certified freak || full of sorrow and despair
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Please bare with me while i learn how to set up a tumblr page and get everything under one post, this is my first time truly navigating tumblr.
the shoto ones are SO accurate, pls moreee 😭😭 love your content
~ MY HERO ACADEMIA LINKS
pls don’t read this if you don’t like porn links know that the characters are up to age meaning they are either adults or teen ages 18-19
~ KATSUKI BAKUGO
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~ KIRISHIMA EIJIRO
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Texts with best friends izuku and katsuki !
pt 3! pt 2! pt 1!
an: heh lwk disappeared again but chat ive been visiting a friend for the past 3 weeks and ive been so stressed and literally could not think of what to write but im locking in for you guys 🧘♀️
notes: f! reader, bkdk, use of senpai, mommy and kitten as a joke, more friend like banter
so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god
okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
i need all the help i can get for finals
Hey so
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
So you know.
This might be the real one, y’all.
I could use some luck
| Haunting the Haunted | Aangst(?)
synopsis: She was twelve when she left the Southern Water Tribe. Young, dumb, and broke enough to mistake hope for courage.
Years later, when people asked how she met the Avatar, she made it a joke. It was easier that way. No one wanted the truth — the jealousy, the humiliation of hope, the quiet, graceless way love can make you smaller if you're not careful.
But the truth has a way of surfacing. In the air that answers her like breathing. In the spaces between Aang's words. In the name she calls out when the fever takes her.
This is not a love story. I dont think so
wc: 10,879
ps. I crashed out while listening to laufey like a sad girl when i dont even have a love life to begin with
a/n: english is my second language. im sorry for any grammatical errors made. I will change the banner soon, when I finally get enough sleep.
next>>
When people asked how she met Avatar Aang, she would smile and say, lightly,
"Oh, I invited myself and then forgot how to leave" or "I saw my sister crack an ice, and there he was sleeping inside."
People laugh.
It was easier that way since no one wanted the truth.
No one wanted to hear that she had followed him across the world with a half-packed satchel, boredom, and a ridiculous crush, believing that maybe if she stood close enough to the sun, it might one day turn and look at her too.
No one wants to hear that story!
The jealousy. The humiliation of hope. The quiet, graceless way love can make you smaller if you are not careful.
So she made it a joke. She had always been good at that. Because back then, she had been ordinary.
Painfully, aggressively ordinary.
Katara bent water like she owned it.
She, however, bent it like she was asking for permission from a dragon to take atleast one of its gold.
She was not useless. Just disappointing in the sort of way people were too polite to say it out loud
Gran-gran would smile kindly and say: "You're patient enough" "You worked hard" "You will learn it in time"
She learned very young that if you made yourself a joke first, no one would turn you into a punchline.
Sooo... she smiled. She laugh when she fail. She joke when things don't go her way. She said things like "It's fine," she'd joke, shaking the water off her sleeves "The spirits clearly have their favorites"
Everyone laughed. Katara would throw a snow ball at her. Sokka would tell her to abandon magic and be just like him.
That was easier.
If you made them comfortable, they wont witness your shame.
She brought that skill with her when Katara said: "You should come with us"
Like it was simple and the most obvious choice she could make. As if she was asking her to join dinner and not leave the only home she had ever known.
"And do what? Become an emotional support?" Sokka snorted and shrugged,
"Puh-lease. We already have enough of that"
Katara smacked his head and said, "I'm serious."
"I know. That's what scares me" she answered with a gentle smile a twelve years old could ever offer.
Let's just say… she just couldnt be apart from her family so she joined them.
She should've said no. She had every reasons not to come.
She's no prodigy. She's not smart and couragous. She only knew household chores.
She has her staff and various books and scrolls their mom left her.
For goodness sake, she can hardly bend the water the same way Katara does!
She's no Sokka who is a quick thinker. She's certainly not the Avatar. She was just… there.
Ordinary.
But ordinary girls are the most vulnerable to impossible things.
Heroes have purpose. Ordinary girls have hopes.
And hope, dangled in front af an ordinary girl with extraordinary dreams is dangerous.
So she took their hand. Smilling like it was an adventure instead of the beginning of her own hardship and heartbreak. Left home before she became wise enough to think this decision through.
At first, she thought she might survive it. Travel made everything temporary.
Cold nights on Appa's saddle. Bad camp food. Villages she would forget and forage. Fights and flights too urgent for self-pity.
Quit nights, and slow days were scarce. Ugency was mercy. It gave longing for a place to hide.
And Aang, he was kind… and that was the problem!
Cruelty woul've been easier. Cruel people can be hated. Kind people became saint worthy of prayers.
He noticed when she fell behind and slowed without saying anything. He handed her fruit first because he remembered how she hated the bitter kind. He laughed at her self-depricating jokes like she was genuinely funny and not just using humor as a personality tourniquet.
He made space for her, which is the beginning of her demise.
Because lonely people are reckless around being welcomed.
One evening, somewhere over the Earth Kindom, Appa drifting through the wide sky, Aang sat beside her at the saddle's edge and asked casually:
"Do you ever feel like everyone else got instructions for life and yours got lost?"
For a moment she stared at him, then looked back ahead, thighten her hold on the string manouvering Appa and said "Yeah,"
"Most of the time"
He looked relieved, "Right?"
He sat cross legged beside her, his elbows on his thighs, his face craddles on his fisted knuckles, and looked ahead of him as well.
"Everyone seems to know what I should be doing and expects me to know each one of them just because I'm the Avater" he grumbled.
"But you are the Avatar" she answered without thinking
"Exactly" he flatly said "A terrible idea to be honest. Who died and decided I should be the avatar? Huh? Huuuh?"
She can not help but chuckle. "Maybe you should've told Rokku that when you had a conversation earlier"
"Oooh, you dont know how badly I wanted to complain to him earlier!" he said broodingly "But Rokku was fast and distracted me with more pressing matters" and then he blew a raspberry.
She laughed— real laughter not just a chuckle that almost throw her off balance. She could've flown down had he not caught her on time.
He smiled at her as she laughed, as if he was aiming for it.
She remembered that moment for years. The complaining avatar and her ever helpful insomnia.
That should've warned her.
She noticed the way he looked at Katara in pieces.
Not all at once. That would've been mercy. Instead it arrived slowly.
A glance half a second too long. The way his body turned towards her like she's the first person he wants to see. The softness in his voice when he said her name. The way his laughter changed when she was the reason for it. The way he wants her attention on him.
The way hope sat in him, bright and fragile and obvious.
Love, she learned, was often obvious only to the person it excludes.
Or maybe she was just blind to not see them before.
Who can even blame her? She was a child. She still is, if you dont count her age and think that the war and adventure took her childhood away.
The realization came by a campfire in some forgettable village with excellent noodles and terrible weather. Appa asleep nearby, the world briefly quieter.
Katara was laughing at something Sokka said.
Aang was watching like sunset had personally agree to happen only for that moment.
And there it was.
Simple Final. Oh
Suddenly every moment before that rearranged itself into clarity.
Every blush. Every awkward silence. Every excuse to stand a little closer. It had always been there. She had just been too selfish to not see it.
She sat very stil. Smiled when spoken to. Nodded at the right time.
Then lay awake that night staring at the branches of trees she would never remember and quietly mourned a love story that had never actually existed.
By morning, she was composed again.
She had years of practice.
The air found her by accident or maybe she found it. Or may be it has always been with her but she was constantly looking for other things.
Aang insisted it was destiny. She countered that destiny was just a bad decision-maker with better marketing strategy.
They were in some valley so green that it made the Southern Water Tribe feel like a myth someone else had told her.
Aang was showing off. Again. The usual.
"Air is about freedom" he said, spinning leaves in circles with infuriating ease. "You can't force it"
She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes "Sounds fake to me"
"It's not fake. You're just skeptical"
"Phu-leaase" she elongated, "add charming before skeptical"
He chuckled and stepped towards her
"Here"
And because the universe hated her specifically, he moved behind her.
Too close. Warm. And unfair.
Her entire nervous system went haywire. His hands settled lightly on her shoulders.
"Relax," which felt more like a trap than a guideline.
"Aang—"
"Trust me"
Which was rude, because she does! Always. She just dont trust herself to be able to do it though.
He adjusted her stance. Patient Oblivious And far too gentle for her continued emotional instability.
"Dont push it, dont force it," he murmured. "Listen. Air doesn't like being controlled."
"I relate to that"
He laughed softly, close enough that it felt like a secret.
Then the wind shifted. Like something in her answered.
The pile of leaves in front of them lifted. Rose. Then swirled.
Both of them froze and stared.
The leaves dropped
Then Aang shouted so loudly that Appa was startled awake.
"You did it!"
"No! I absolutely did not" denial is heavy on her voice, "There was probably a strong gush of wind that's why it moved"
"Yeah right" he gave her a deadpanned look "And we were so numbed that we didn't feel it"
"Glad we came in to an agreement then" she nodded in finality and walked towards where she left her staff leaving Aang who was buzzing and giddy behind.
He grabbed both her hands. Looked at her eyes like she had hang the moon herself.
"You absolutely did it!"
She laughed too because she couldn't not. Because joy was contagious when it wore his face.
"I think I would've known if I was secretly an air bender."
"Well, apparently you're full of surprises." He looked at her like she was something astonishing.
And there it was again. Stupid. Persistent. Leach. A terminal illness called Hope.
Because now they had something that was theirs.
Not Katara's Not Sokka's Not the group's. Theirs. Air.
Air bending.
She learned it too quickly. At a frightening speed. Frightening everyone. Especially her.
Born to water, she should've been bending oceans, tides, and ice. Instead, air answered her like breathing. Air answered her without prayer and bargaining required. She learned the forms she had seen in scrolls.
The breathing. The meditation. The philosophy. Then she moved beyond the forms.
Beyond what the world deemed to be tradition.
She could pull cold from the atmosphere so sharp that water froze obediently at her fingertips. Sometimes she carry water in the air and drink from it.
She could strip oxygen from flame until fire folded on itself and dies.
She could move sand, mist, ash— enough that people sometimes swore she was bending every element when really she was just terrifyingly good at lying and playing with the wind and air in her vicinity.
What even is a tradition for a practice that has been lost for more than a century?
She jokes once that she was the world's least impressive Avatar which Toph replied with:
"No, you're just terrifyingly good at committing fraud."
Even Aang looked at her sometimes with quiet awe.
The only other airbender. The only person in the world he could teach this way. The only one standing beside him in the shape of something he had lost. The only person he could hand those ghost to and know they would be held carefully.
He trusted her with pieces of himself he did not hand out lightly. His grief. His culture. His loneliness. He shared everything.
Late nights were filled with conversations about Air Nomad temples, artifacts, monks and stories no one else asked for.
He thought her games from his childhood.
Made her meditate with him even though she's bad at it as her mind would wander off.
He laughed every time she complained, and corrected her posture with the unbearable sincerity of someone who had never learned to be embarrassed.
Morning training became theirs.
Before sunrise, barefoot on wet grass. They practiced forms older than kingdoms while the rest of the world lay asleep.
Sometimes he would stop mid-lesson and grin at her with such uncomplicated pride that she forgot how to breathe.
It should've been enough.
Friendship. Trust. History.
But proximity is dangerous when your heart is stupid. She started believing in maybe.
Maybe love could grow where devotion and shared practice lived.
And hope is humiliating. It teaches you how to survive on crumbs and call it faith.
Everyone knew. She hated that too.
Not because anyone said it. Because no one did.
Sokka would pause sometimes when Aang and Katara sat too close together, glancing at her with the kind of pity people thought counted as kindness.
Toph understood everything immediately because apparently blindness only improved her ability to witness emotional disasters.
"You're all exhausting," she said over dinner.
No one asked, because they didnt need to.
Even Zuko, who is permanently one inconvenience away from violence, looked at her once in sympathy and understanding when she said too casually that Aang and Katara had always been like this.
Only Aang seemed untouched by it. Or maybe… he was simply better than her at pretending.
The strangest thing she and Toph ever built were letters. Neither of them understood how it worked, but that made it theirs.
It started during training.
She had been practicing carrying sound through the air currents— trying to move and amplify voice farther without shouting.
Toph, meanwhile, was being Toph.
"Can you stop breathing dramatically? I can hear you in my sleep"
She laughed and sent a small gust at her. In return, Toph blocked it with floating thin wall of earth.
But something shifted. The gust carried more than air.
A feeling. A shape. A thought.
Not words exactly. Intetion.
Toph froze and said "… Do that again."
"What? Fan your royal face?"
"Nooo. I heared something in that gust you sent"
"I guess no more ghost stories tonight then"
And she did as she was told. Actually no, she doesnt even know what she did.
But she tried attacking her with air that has some dust in it.
Again. And again. And again.
Until somehow, the impossibility became a possibility.
Messages carried through air pressure and vibration and stubborn intent.
Not perfect. But enough.
Enough for short letters folded into the wind. Enough for thoughts sent across impossible distance if both of them concentrated hard enough. Enough for both of them to have secret codes and secret jokes to laugh about. Enough for Toph to insult her from three villages away without inconvenience of travel.
Before she left, Toph had said:
"If you disappear dramatically and dont use this, I will personally hunt you. "
She smiled.
"Comforting"
"I'm serious"
"I know. That's why its comforting"
Katara was the one who finally said it. They were sitting by the river at sunset, the world unfairly beautiful. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then Katara said softly:
"You should tell him" then she belatedly added, "You love him"
It wasn't a question.
She felt her whole body lock and denial is as automatic as she breathe "Who? Sokka? Of course I do, he's our—"
"I meant Aang"
Katara looked at her. Not accusing. Not pitying. Just knowing.
And somehow that was worse.
"It it that obvious?" her voice came out smaller than she wanted.
Katara sighed, looking down at the water, "Only if someone's paying attention"
She chuckled once. Bitter. "So everyone, then"
"No." Katara shook her head. "Mostly just me"
That should have comforted her but she knew how things are within their circle. No secret remains a secret for that long.
'Sis, if you know, then Toph knew then Sokka noticed and while Zuko can be dumb but he have eyes and ears too,' she thought
She stared hard at the river so she didnt have to look at her.
Then she laughed. A sharp, wrong sound.
"Absolutely not." she answered resolutely. "I wont tell him a single thing"
Katara looked at her and countered, "He cares about you."
"Yes," she said "And that's exactly the problem"
"You dont know what he'd say"
She turned then, Really looked at her.
At this girl that she loved and envied and resented and would still defend with all her life.
And because honesty was easier when disguised as humor, she smiled.
"Yes,I do."
Katara's face fell but she reached for her hand regardless.
Warm and steady.
Just the same way she remembered when she was shaking from her nightmares when they were younger.
"You're allowed to want things"
She almost laughed.
"But apparently I'm not allowed to have them."
Katara's grip tightened.
And for one horrible moment, she hated her. Hated her for being kind. For being worthy of kindness. For being loved so easily by the person she would have bled for.
She hated her because she could not hate her enough. So instead, she pulled her hand away and said the cruelest truth she had.
"Do you know what the worst part is?"
Katara said nothing.
"He tells me about you."
She hated how her voice cracked a little there.
"He asks me what you mean when you say certain things. If I think you're upset. If I think you'd eve—" she laughed, sharp, and ugly. "I help him try to love you better"
Katara looked like she'd been struck.
But she kept going because once pain starts speaking, it rarely stops politely.
"He teaches me airbending like it means something. Like maybe I'm special because I'm the only one who is somewhat like him. But I'm not. I'm just convenient. I'm just there."
"That not true"
She looked at Katara again and said "Is it?"
She softened immediately because cruelty was easy and she liked Katara too much to deny it.
"He loves you"
Silence.
She looked back at the river.
"And before you say anything noble and tragic, please dont. I dont think I can handle your guilt on top of everything else."
"That isn't fair!" Katara countered.
"No" she said lightly "It really isn't." she chuckled, "None of this is, actually."
Then, because if she didnt joke she might drown:
"Beside, imagine how embarrassing rejection would be. I'd have to relocate to another nation."
Katara made a helpless laugh despite tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
"Your awful"
"Oh phu-lease. I'm hilarious"
And because she was very, very good at smiling, Katara almost believed she was fine.
Almost.
It ended quietly. No storms. No screaming. No dramatic declarations under moonlight.
Real heartbreak is usually administrative. And jealousy, when masked flawlessly, is dissolved to something polite.
Katara was impossible to hate, which frankly makes this inconvenient.
It would have been easier if she was cruel and vindictive. If she was arrogant or selfish or blind to the devotion orbiting her.
But Katara was good.
She was warmth, and competence, and strength held together by stubborn kindness. She notice when people are hurting. She remembered who needed what.
She deserved to be loved. That was the problem.
Because if Katara had been terrible, resentment would have felt righteous.
Instead it felt shameful.
Like being angry at the sun for rising from the East instead of the West.
So she said nothing. She helped with dinner. She laughed at Sokka's jokes.
And once again, she listened when Aang talked about Appa and the Air nomads, and old memories that still hurts.
And when he talked about Katara— because of course he does— she listened then, too.
"Do you think she's mad at me?" "She seemed tired today" "What do you think would be a better way to catch her attention?"
Each time, she answered like a good friend should. Each time, she hands him the knife and thanked him for trusting her enough to hand it over.
The worst part was he never seems to notice she was bleeding. Not because he was cruel. It's because it never occured to him that she likes him.
To Aang, she's safe. Easy. Certain.
And there's nothing lonelier than being loved like a furniture.
Useful. Comforting. Convenient.
It was late. Everyone else was asleep.
She was laying on Appa's saddle, staring at the stars, willing it to fall on her, allowing the mosquitoes to start treating her like a buffet when Aang sat beside her.
Easy. Familiar. Dangerous. Like he owned the place beside her.
"You've been weird lately"
She smiled and with a snort she replied, "I'm offended that the weird one tells that to the normal one"
"You seized being normal when Sokka called you a magical girl" he countered, chuckling at the memory.
"I'm serious though. Are you ok?"
There were so many answers to that question. None of them were survivable. So she sat up, folded herself into something manageable.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
She's pretty sure she heard Toph send out a noise that sounded suspringly like a snort.
'Traitor. '
For a while, neither of them spoke. The fire across them crackled softly between breaths.
Then Aang said, very quietly, like it would break whatever fragile china there was. "Katara spoke to me."
"Did she?"
"Yeah"
He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. She wanted to laugh. How considerate of him.
"She said…" he hesitated. "she said I might've been making things harder for you without realizing it"
She stared at the fire. The flames blurred.
"Well," she said calmly, because apparently self-destruction is her hobby now, "that sounds like her."
Then, softly he said "Is it true?"
She could lie. She will lie. She had planned to, for years, to lie forever.
But exhaustion is honest, And she was tired of carrying it alone.
So she looked at him in the eye.
Calm. Composed. Smilling, because of course.
And said: "You already know the answer."
His face changed. Not surprise. Worse.
Recognition.
And suddenly she understood. All at once. "You knew"
He looked away.
And there it was. The final cruelty of this charade. Not ignorance.
Awareness. Choice.
She laughed. Not because it was funny. Because if she hadn't, she might let herself break.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she asked, "Do you ever wish people were different?"
He blinked.
Confused, "What?"
"Like…" She looked at the sky again and asked "… do you ever look at someone and think that if they were a little different, if you had met them first, maybe you could have love them?"
The words hang between them, naked and terrible.
Aang went still.
For the first time in years, the air they shared felt torn and absent.
She didnt look back at him. Couldn't
Instead, she settled in locating the north star, willing it to guide her in life.
And when he spoke, his voice was soft with the kind of sorrow that only made things worse.
"I think," he started carefully, "People are not puzzle pieces you fit together to define love. It just happens."
Her throat burned. Her eyes blurred. Her heart ache. Her gut hurts.
She laughed anyway. Because that was kind. That was honest. That was enough.
"Right." she took a deep breath, "Of course. That was a stupid question"
"No—"
"Aang"
His name had never sounded so tired.
"I dont know what to do. What to—"
"Of course you didn't"
"I didnt want to hurt you"
She shook her head and looked at him this time. She smiled wider. Sharper. Sharp enough to tear.
"And yet" she pointed at him then back her and look around their surrounding, "A remarkable outcome we have here."
A laugh escaped her, soft and humorless one.
"That ship sailed, crashed, and sank somewhere around Ba Sing Se"
He flinched.
Good. Let him
She slid down from Appa's saddle.
He followed suit.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she said, "If that helps?"
His voice small and asked "When?"
She smiled at that, because of course, he would ask like there was a clean beginning.
Like love arrived politely and announced itself.
"I dont know. Somewhere between you flying to teaching me how not to trip over my own feet, probably."
He made a week sound that might have been a laugh. Who knows, really.
She swallowed, continued and started listing things that made her hopeful.
"But you were kind to me. And then… you trusted me! Then there was airbending, and all those moments shared between us. You just made me feel…" She paused and searched for the least humiliating truth and failed miserably "Seen, I guess"
The fire popped. And somehow Appa flipped over in his sleep.
"I know you didn't mean anything behind it. That's the problem. You were just being you. I was an idiot who turned kindness into hope"
"No"
She looked at him.
Aang was starring at her with something raw and stricken in his face.
"No, don't do that. Don't make it sound stupid"
She blinked, because she was expecting pity.
Awkwardness. A gentle rejection wrapped in kindness.
Not this. Not conviction that might mean something.
He dragged a hand over his face.
"I knew." he admitted. His voice cracked on the word. "I knew"
Aang, apparently is committed to ruining both their lives tonight, continued. "But I was selfish"
He looked younger when he's ashamed. Smaller even.
"I knew, and kept pretending I didnt, because if I admitted it, I'd have to do something about it. And I didnt want to lose you!"
His words landed between them like fire landing in a forest, destroying the life around it.
Her throat tightened. Her smile almost slipping.
"Aang—"
"I loved being with you"
His voice was so quiet she almost missed it.
"I still do." he whisphered, "You make things easier. You understand parts of me no one else does. With airbending, with the Air Nomads— with everything. You make me feel less alone."
Hope really is a vicious, vicious thing. Because even now, even here, when the veil has been lifted. Even when the illusion of the mist has shifted. It craves and is hungry for validation For confirmation. For a confession.
"And?"
He closed his eyes then looked at the sky, took a deep breath, then look at her again.
And she knew. Before he said it, she knew. Before this entire confrontation, she knew.
"But it wasn't the same"
There it was!
The knife. The deadly stab. Clean and familiar.
Not enough. Never enough. Not the way he love Katara.
She blinked multiple times, letting her eyelids swallow the burning tears inside.
She nodded once. Let out the air she was holding in. Because what else was there to do?
"I know," she whispered.
"No— you don't! because if I could choose—"
"But you can't," she looked at him and offered him another smile. The kind that you knew is holding everything in. "No… " she shook her head, "you didnt even have to."
He stopped. Because that was the truth, wasn't it?
Love was not fairness nor effort. It was not proximity or history or practice. It was simply where your heart arrived.
And his had arrived somewhere else, somewhere named Katara.
"You know what the worst part is?"
Aang looked at her like he already did.
And for once, she let herself be angry. Not loud. Not cruel. Just honest.
"You let me stay in the maybe"
His face broke.
And she kept going because pain, once invited, rarely leaves politely.
"You gave me closeness. Trust. Just enough affection to make hope feel reasonable enough. And all that time, you knew— No, I knew it would never be me."
"For years, I ate and built a life in that maybe. And you knew!" she exclaimed, "You knew and you couldn't be brave enough to pull the plug on it"
She laughed bitterly. Her voice shook, tear sthreatened to fall. She ignored them just like how she ignored the mosquittoes feasting on her.
"And… its not even your fault. I knew you love Katara. Devastatingly so. I'd be blind to not see it. I'd be deaf to not hear it from you" she paused again, trying to gain control on her emotions.
"I was the one foolish enough to put meaning in those moments that we shared. It was selfish of me to think because we both have airbending, because we have our own thing, because you share with me things you dont share with others— that maybe, maybe you might look at me and choose differently. That you might see me"
Aang whispered, devastated:
"You are worth choosing."
She smiled then. Small. Sad. Final.
"But not by you"
Silence. That was enough.
"I think…" Then she stepped away from from him, and said, with all the gentleness of a closing door:
"… I will always love you a little. I wish I didn't. But I will."
He looked like grief had introduced itself and kissed him.
And for the first time since she had climed onto Appa's back all those years ago, she chose herself over staying.
"And I think," still smiling she said, "that's the last thing I'm ever going to give you."
Then she walked away.
And this time she did not look back.
The war ended. The world celebrated.
Aang kissed Katara beneath a sky that finally belonged to tomorrow.
And she smiled. Of course she smiled.
She clapped when eveyone clapped. She laughed when everyone laughed.
She stood beside them in victory and looked exactly like someone who had made peace with all of it.
Maybe she had. Mostly.
But peace was louder than war. Because now there was time.
Time to notice. Time to remember. Time to ask herself who she was when she was no longer trying to be enough for someone else.
That question terrified her.
So she stayed. Because leaving immediately would make it look like heartbreak.
No. If she leaves, it will be on her own terms. Own reason, own choices and benefit.
So she stayed.
Long enough for peace to become believable and normal. Long enough for Katara to stop watching her with quiet guilt. Long enough for Aang to stop looking like the embodiment of apology. Long enough for Appa to have children.
That part, oddly, mattered the most.
Because if Aang was the last airbender, Appa had been the last sky bison. Because if she's leaving, she would need a cuddle buddy.
She would not leave him alone inside extinction if she could help it. So she helped fix that frst.
It started as a joke. Mostly.
They were older now. Not old, but older— at that dangerous age where everyone around you starts talking about permanence like it is a reasonable thing to attempt and have.
Aang was talking about rebuilding Air Nomad culture. Again. He always was.
Some things just never changed.
He talked about the weight of being the last and desperate need to stop being it.
She listened because she always had.
Then, over tea she said lightly,
"Well… if we're rebuilding things, perhaps start with Appa" she said, acting as if she pittied Appa's singleness. "Poor Appa has been carrying your entire emotional instability for years. He deserves a wife! He needs a mate!" she exclaimed, determination clearly visible in her eyes.
"His carnal needs havent been met for a hundred years. He lived more like a monk than you ever could Aang! Don't you pity that giant flying caterpillar?!"
Aang nearly choked. "G-giant caterpillar?"
Katara chortled into her cup.
Sokka said with a raised eyebrow, "And how are we even going to achieve that, my dear flying sister?" a bit skeptical, like he always is. "We travel far and wide and we havent seen a flying bison anywhere!"
"Hohoho" she chuckled like those obnoxious princess in some play they've watched few days ago.
"You're creeping me here" Sokka sweatdropped.
"Maybe you haven't but I have!" she exclaimed
Sokka pointed a finger at her and called bullshit, "Don't lie! You were hardly apart from us. So what time do you even have to see them alone?"
"Zukko, bring me the map"
"What now. Did you somehow made the big bad fire lord as your lackey?" crossing his arms, Sokka grumbled.
Instead of answering his question she looked at them playfully then covered her mouth, then looked at the side avoiding their eyes and said "Hoho~ Who knows~"
If she had a cat tail, they would've seen it swishing playfully.
"Wha-What? Zuko, what's the meaning of this?!"
Poor Sokka was ignored as Zukko laid out the map that for some reason have a drawing on a certain region of the Fire Nation.
"Why is there a cat drawing here?" Sokka pointed out in which she chirped happily with "That's a Appa!"
"Gurl, are you drunk" Toph, bless her soul, asked as she looked wearily at the tea cups.
"Nope. Just giddy hehe. Imagine, more fluff balls in town"
"And we lost her in her merry land"
Since she seems to be lost in her imagination, it was Zuko who had to explain how they found the hidden herds of the flying bison.
"I can't believe I'm hearing a discussion about Appa's love life before mine" Toph grumbled.
"That's because your ideal type dont exist!" she countered pointing finger at Toph "Dont you dare oppose my flying bison repopulation plan! I need a cuddle buddy. It isn't fair that only Aang have one" she grumbled before drinking her tea.
And because the universe love surprises.
The proposal was approved. Contacts were established. Ancient records were dug up. Hope, once again, arrived disguised as logistics.
She threw herself into it with strange kind of devotion. Everyone thought it was because she cared about Aang and Appa.
Which was true. Partially.
Toph, of course, understood. Because Toph undersood everything she wish she didn't.
One afternoon, while she was painting, Toph dropped onto her studio's floor and watched her paint for few minutes before she spoke;
"You're planning to leave, aren't you?"
It was a statement disguised as question.
She paused. She didn't look up. Then continued painting again.
"Whatever do you mean Toph?"
Toph snorted. Then silence.
She watched her drown in the painting she's pouring her mind and soul into. It had always been like this whenever she tried running away or if she need to hide something. She poured them in painting, in art, or music that only the air could carry and remember.
"You've been wanting to leave." she paused, "For the longest time, you've been looking for your way out."
She stilled and looked at her, because it wasn't a lie. Because hearing it aloud made it real.
Toph, now layed on the floor, popped a grape on her mouth.
"The second Appa stopped being the only one, you got hopeful. Like an excited child waiting to open her present" she chewed.
"That's dramatic" "You're dramatic" "Excuse you, I have flare" she rolled her eyes. "Yeah right. Its that exact same diseased as Sokka. Dramatitis" Toph popped another grape on her mouth
She laughed despite how ridiculous everything sounds.
And Toph, with an emotional subtlety of a landslide, continued:
"The students were a dead giveaway, by the way"
That made her pause
"Huh? Isn't that the most subtle one? Teaching aspirants how to airbend. I've got good reputation to boot" she's not even denying anything anymore.
"To others yeah. But I know you" another grape to her mouth it is. "For someone who likes her freedom so much that she would rather drift around, you sure follow a strict schedule for teaching."
"I had too. You cant have random time to teach, you know. I dont want them budgering me around for which day and time I would be free"
Toph pointed at her and said "That's the thing. Its too logical. Too clinical. Totally not like you. Its like a final hoorah for something." she said in finality. "I feel like I'm the only one with functioning eyes here. How can I see things they couldn't see? Are they blind?"
The irony caught her off guard that it made her fall from the chair she was seating at. The blind woman complaining about their abled friends blindness will never get old.
"If you had stick to just selling your painting and sculptures, it would've been less obvioust yknow" Toph added as she added another grape that would go down her stomache in no time "You've been doing that since we've been on the run or on the fly? You get what I mean. And hey, anything made under your name inflated in price value"
"Should I stop teaching then?"
"Nah. Apparently they are too blind to see the obvious. Stopping now would be like telling them they're dumb"
Toph turned her head towards her. Her eyes somehow sharper than sight.
"Just dont forget that you can come home to me when the going get tough. I can hide you from them too, y'know" she said with outmost sincerity.
"My reputation exceeds me, dear. I doubt you can hide me in your little hut" she jest, but she's thankful.
They both knew that.
Because somehow, someone noticed her silent plea. Someone noticed her closing the door before shutting it close and let the ocean swallow the key.
And they were kind enough to reach out and ask for a duplicate.
They didnt listen to everyone's congratulatory messages. They didn't mistake her competence for contentment. They didn't allow her to disappear just as easily.
They made sure that there was a tether connecting them, regardless of how thin it may be.
She told everyone she was taking a vacation. That was the official version.
Sokka complained and told her to take him with her. Katara hugged her and told her that she deserved it. Aang smiled softly and asked where she was going. She smiled back and said:
"Away from you, obviously. I cant handle your brooding nose anymore"
Everyone laughed. Because she made it sound like a joke. She had always been good at that.
Only Gran-Gran knew the truth.
And even she knew about it just few days after she left the warm embrace of Katara and the ventured on her own journey.
She stood before them at dawn with one bag, enough money and souvenirs with her. and the kind of calm that only comes after a decision has been made so thoroughly it no longer hurts.
She knelt down to hug Gran-Gran the moment she saw her. Its been so long since she's been home. She missed her scent, her voice, and her embrace.
"What brought you home child?" Gran-Gran asked as she enveloped her in a warm embrace in contrast to their winter season.
"Can't your grandchild see you just because?" she joked, her voice croaked. "I missed you so much Gran-Gran" she nuzzled deeper in her embrace.
Gran-Gran did not ask much. She let her cry in her embraced, wiped the snot off her face, and laughed at her when she noticed how puffy she had looked.
She let her stay, cooked her favorite meal, let her play they with the pequins the way she used to. She let her teach the kids, now turned into a teenager. She tell them tales of their adventure, of the places they've been too, showed them drawings and gave them gifts that are timely but timeless.
Kanna let her be her own person in their own home, because at the back of her mind, she knew that this might be the last time she will see this child. She let her babble like the kid that she once was, she allowed her cuddle times that she was so shy to ask. They braided each other' s hair, exchanged stories over meal time, knitted together.
They made the most of their 'borrowed' and limited time.
One dinner Gran-Gran finally asked "For how long will you be gone?" with no preemptive plan to stop her or to tell her stay. It's like she knew this child would just fly and disappear if she doesnt find her anchors.
She smiled, "I dont know yet"
"Will you come back?"
That made her pause, she looked at the food on the table filled with dishes Gran-Gran knew she loved. The house is no longer a temporary tent but is a wooden cabin, much sturdier than the one she grew up in. She looked at the neatly scattered knitted, finished and unfinished project they both started.
Then she looked at Gran-Gran. She aged so much over the years. There are more lines on her face than the ones she used to trace when she was younger, hoping to smooth them out then pout when they sag back.
She can't fully leave this yet. She cant leave her yet. She can't leave the mother that raised her yet.
"I'll come back here each year" she said in finality, "But I dont think I'll go back there anytime soon"
Gran-Gran did not ask. She was used to this child's vague and stubborn ways.
She sighed though "You told them you're taking a vacation didn't you?"
Chopstick stucked on her mouth. Her eyes wide, and she smiled awkardly just like how she does when she's caught taking another slice of the meat that was supposed to be preserved for another meal when she was younger.
"Uhm… Uhhh" she looked like a gaping fish in front of her mother grandma.
Gran-Gran just looked at her and shook her head. She was pretty sure she heared her say "This child" in a low voice.
At that moment she thought of Katara. Of Sokka. Of Aang.
She thought of Zuko too, but she's can bet Sokka's broken heart that he knew what she was planning. After all, he handed her a weaned child of Appa saying "That can't carry you yet, but you can train her when you're on the run"
T'was a scary exchange to be honest. She was half-asleep when they decided to meet and when he handed the baby to her. She thought she was wanted in some nation or something.
She thought of Toph too, that kid almost foiled her plans! Kept hiding her maps and notes. Then sometimes made it impossible for her to sell or trade her craft by making the middle man arrive days late.
Those two can survive without her. Maybe she'll pop up every now and then, who knows.
But Katara, Sokka, and Aang?
"I think they deserved honesty. And I dont think the me right now is kind enough give them that" her thoughts spilled out causing her Gran-Gran to look at her across the table.
"They will ask questions"
"Well… Maman, make up an excuse for me hehe" she asked sheppishly.
The next day she left before sunrise. No dramatic farewell. No tears. No one last look.
Just a note on table bidding her mother farewell and a bag of cash she might need in case of emergency.
Just her. A bag. A future. And the ocean, for the first time, opening for her without needing to ask for permission.
They noticed after three weeks of silence from her. There should have atleast been a letter by now.
Sokka complained first. Because Sokka noticed absence like others noticed the incoming storm.
"This is suspicious," he announced over breakfast.
Katara barely looked up, "What is?"
"Her vacation. It's been too silent." he answered, suspicion is creeping on his tone.
"Let her be. She cant possibly report every moment she had on us" Katara countered, but she too is concerned, after all, this is the first time that their youngest have been away from them on her own.
"She organized my kitchen before leaving. Then left multiple paintings and sculptures she made in my house, saying that if I'm short for money I should sell them in months or years time. The price appreciates or something" he stabbed the pork on his plate then continued "That's not the behavior of a woman seeking peace. That's a behavior of someone who's saying goodbye!"
Katara looked at him, hard, like she was a little bit convinced by his reasoning because she did the same at her place. She redecorated her living and dining area. Placed her paintings and sculptures in places that visitors could notice. Then asked her if she could house some more of her piceces, sell them during emergencies if needed.
But she brushed that feeling off because… it can't be true. Right? Or rather she tried convincing herself by telling him that:
"Maybe she's just looking after her older brother. You know how she gets"
Aang smiled faintly at the exchange, but there was something restless there.
Like there was truth in what Sokka was saying.
"What if she eloped with Zuko?!" Sokka's voice raised as his brain went on some weird tunnel "They were oddly chummy the last time I saw them. They were whispering like they have their own secrets" he grumbled, "There has got to be something going on between those two"
"If they did, then the world would've known by now" Katara reasoned, "It would've been on the papers. A headline saying "Fire Lord Zuko Ran Away with the Avatar's First Student" but there's no paper yet"
"He could've been hiding her in that huge mansion of his." Toph for some reason just popped out of nowhere and decided to add her two cents "It's huge enough to hide anyone without being found. It would've been easy for him to keep her there" she said, adding fuel to Sokka's overthinking overprotectiveness.
"Exactly!" he exclaimed, "Toph, lets go to the Fire Nation now!"
"Toph no! Don't feed into his delussions." Katara exclaimed back, "What are you even doing here?"
"I was hungry, so I decided to pop by"
Aang chuckled at the whole exchange .
Guess its just one of those typical morning of theirs. Just like back then. Ever so cheerful. Ever so jolly.
Three weeks of silence turned to a month. A month turned to two. Two months followed by another week. But nothing. No letters were received.
Finally, concern outweighed assurance, and they went to the Southern Water Tribe. The one place they knew she would stop by.
When they arrived, they saw remnants of her. The same way she left hers at their places.
They saw her trinkets. Her little figurine's that the kids are playing. Saw multiple paintings on Gran-Gran's house. Some of them seems to be newer than the ones left at their houses.
She must've stopped over. They were relieved, cause maybe. Just maybe, they could find her here.
But there was no shadow nor a strand of her hair.
There was, however, a ghost of her intigrated in the tribesmen's daily life.
Finally, on one lunch time, Sokka was so feed up that he finally piped up and asked:
"Gran-Gran, hypothetically, if you leave remnants of yourself in someone else's house, how long do you think you will be gone?"
The elder looked at him then scooped up some soup and put it in her own bowl.
"How long? That wouldn't even be my question"
Katara blinked, confused and alarmed.
"… Yes?"
A pause. Then:
"I'd ask: Is she ever coming back?" and suddenly you could hear a pin drop as silence engulfed the dinning table.
It was Katara who broke the silence by asking hurriedly:
"What do you mean, Gran-Gran? She's just taking a vacation, right?" she asked for assurance. "That's what she said."
The elder looked at them pointedly and said "I know a runaway when I see one"
"No"
Aang had gone very still.
"Trust me, I know. I was one" she then looked at him, confused "You ran away once as well, were there no signs?" she paused "I'm sure there was. I saw some when she was here. They were so evident, that you would be blind not to see them."
And that cuts the deepest. Because they didnt see.
Because apparently she was just fussy and looking after them like she would usually do.
Sokka laughed sharply. Like he had just heard some bad joke across the pub. "That's not funny Gran-Gran"
He started hitting the side of his head where his ears were "Some snow must've melted in my ears when I played with the kids earlier"
"No," the elder said softly. "It isn't."
Aang said nothing.
Because there it was. The thing he feared and believed wouldn't happen.
She's really gone.
Not for time. Not for distance,
Gone.
And she hadn't told them. Not because she forgot Because she choose not to. That was the wound. Not absence.
Intention
Toph found them found them afterward. She was conveniently asleep during the entire lunch, which was unusual for her.
They were sitting outside, looking like grief had physically punched exhaustion in their system.
She walked towards them, took one look, and said:
"Sooo…You found out huh" she said it so brazenly as she brushed the gunked she got off her ear.
Sokka gawked and pointed an accusing finger at her "You knew and didn't bother to tell us?"
Toph shrugged. "Obviously"
Katara looked stricken, what could've had happened that made her younger sister trust Toph more than her?
"And you said nothing?"
"Its not like she told me" she shrugged again, plopping down the snow covered earth "She said nothing, and I respected her little game."
Aang finally spoke and said "You knew she was leaving?"
Toph snorted, "I didn't knew. I witnessed it myself" she paused as she thought of something "If it helps, Zuko figured it out before I did. I think"
"After all, she's been on the look out for years"
Years. Years.
That word hit like a bruise.
Sokka's voice tightened, "What are you talking about?"
"Those two are kindred spirits. Always wishing to run away from something. I just couldn't figure out what she was running away from" she said looking at them or in Aang's perspective, at him "Maybe she felt suffocated by something, but what could she even be suffocated by when there's no longer any war to fight?"
Toph said it like it like she was discussing weather.
"Zuko and Iroh gave her a gateway. Appa and the flying bison. To be fair, I think they thought it would ground her, made her less flighty. You know, an anchor" she trailed off as if looking back on a memory so precious that if she kept looking it would lose its charm
"When everyone was discussing it, she was giddy. Like a child waiting for her candy. Everyone witnessed that. Those two thought so as well. She was practically glowing when her ridiculous idea was approved" she chuckled at the memory and rubbed the tip of her nose with her pointed finger.
"Then her paintings and sculptures kept popping up on the market, the auction. She started teaching . That was the most ridiculous thing she had ever done. I was mildly surprised that none of you clocked that" she scoffed and smirked at them.
Then Toph pointed vaguely towards Aang
"I think repopulating Appa was her final gift to you so that she dont have to feel guilty about leaving you with your extinction issues. Being one of the last Air Bender and all that."
Aang looked like someone had struck him.
But Toph kept talking as if she's been holding this in for far too long.
"Personally, I just think she wanted a cuddle buddy. She can be selfish that way" she chuckled, "The students? Teaching? Selling art? Dude, those weren't a cute hobby of hers. That was funding. She was building her runway before she flew away"
Silence engulf them as her words finally sunk to their system.
Sokka was the first one to break
"How are we so blind?" he said as he finally recall their last moments together "It was fucking obvious" his hands scratched his head, messsing with the perfectly tied hair of his.
"The kid, if given a permission to do so, would just sleep or float all day. Her dream was to be a slob or be eternally dependent on to her dependable siblings. She doesn't even wanna work!" he said exasperratedly. "Why didn't I think it was suspicious when she was always busy?"
"That's the entire reason why she trained so hard with Air Bending. She told me that she wanted to command the air to do her bidding" he said in defeat.
Toph looked at him flatly confused, not sure if he's insulting or praising his sister, but ok. Whatever makes his guilt softer…?
"Zuko and I did wonder how blind you all were to be honest. It was so obvious that it could slap you in your faces"
Katara sat down like standing had become impossible.
And Aang—
"Why didn't any of you told us?" he asked sharply.
"Because she didn't have to tell us anything. We asked, she never answered. She allude to thee. What can we even tell you? Our speculations?"
"What we couldn't understand is how were the three of you so blind?" she left them with that question to ruminate from or to hollow in.
Indeed.
How can they be more blind than Toph when they have perfectly working eyes?
We're they so lost in their happiness that they didnt even notice her crumbling?
Why? What was she even running away from?
Amidst all the questions, Aang understood something terrible.
She didnt leave suddenly. She had been leaving them for years. Quietly removing her presence.
Patiently and surgically limiting their interactions. Right in front of all of them,
And because she smiled— because she stayed— because she made things easy—
they had mistaked her endurance for permanence her compliance for contentment.
He thought of every dawn she trained alone. Every joke that had been a goodbye. Everytime she said she was fine.
And the night she told him she was done giving,
She had meant all of it. She had not been waiting for him to come after her. She had already choosen herself. Long before she walked away.
She came back for a funeral. Of course it would be something like that.
Not for him. Not for closure. Not for nostalgia.
For death.
For Gran-Gran. For the woman who understood her soul more than anyone. For the woman who raised her. For the woman who didn't ask questions but comforted her silently. For the woman who took her in when she didn't have to. For her mother, Kanna.
Years had passed.
Enough for Appa's children to have children of their own. Enough for the world to stop waiting for her return and start speaking of her like weather— something that existed, occassionally touching your life before moving on again.
Enough for Aang to become less of a boy and more of a history. Enough for regret to stop being sharp and settle into something permanent.
She stepped off the boat at dawn looking older, yes, but not softer.
Sharper.
Like she had been carved down to only the necessarry parts.
She wore travel like it belonged to her.
Like home had become a direction instead of a place.
Katara saw her firts.
Across snow. Across years. Across silence.
For one terrible second, neither of them moved.
Then Katara crossed the distance and hugged her so hard it was almost violent.
She laughed. Real laughter. Startled somewhere deep.
"Well," she amusely said into Katara's shoulder, "I see subtlety is still dead, huh" Katara started crying.
"I hated you."
"I know."
"I'm still considering it."
"That feels healthy."
Sokka cried too, loudly and with immediate denial when it was so obvious on his puffy eyes.
Toph only crossed her arms and said:
"Took you long enough."
Her answer came immediately.
"You're still unpleasantly comforting."
And then—
there was Aang.
He found her last, near the shore at sunset.
Of course.
She stood at the edge of the water with her shoes abandoned somehwere behind her, coat open to the wind, looking like she had never belonged anywhere except places she were about to leave.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Finally, he said quietly:
"You came back"
"That's old news already. I've been here for couple of hours now."
She smiled faintly.
"I'm here for maman."
"Maman?"
"Gran-Gran. Kanna. Whatever people call her. She had always been Maman for as long as I can remember"
She gave him a stinky yet playful side eye. As playful as time could get "Don't make anything out of it, Avatar"
He laughed. Soft. Tired.
"Too late. I already had a whole scenario in my head"
She chuckled. Then silence.
"Are you staying?"
She turned then. And there it was—
affection.
Real. Warm. Gentle.
But no hunger. No waiting. Nor ache.
The kind that no longer asks to be chosen. The kind that no longer care.
"No" she said.
And strangely— it did not hurt. Not for her.
Mayber for him. But not for her.
Because it was not rejection. Just the truth.
She had left once to save herself. She would not unlearn that lesson for sentiments.
He nodded.
Like he had expected it. Like he had spent years teaching himself how to survive answers he did not want.
Then, because maybe honesty only arrives after it can no longer ruin you—-
he said it. Quietly.
Like holding a fragile china Like a confession wrapped in grief.
"I love you"
She didnt move.
Did not gasp.
Just stood there, watching him with the calm of someone looking at the tornado she had predicted years ago.
Aang swallowed.
The words came easier once they existed.
"I think I have for a long time. Maybe not the way you deserved then. Maybe not in a way I understood when it would have mattered. But I do."
His voice shook.
"I loved you in all the places I thought didn't count. In trust. In dependence. In certainty. In reaching for you first and not understanding what that meant until you were gone"
She said nothing.
So he kept going.
"I thought love was supposed to feel like lightning. Immediate. Obvious. Like what I felt for Katara when we were younger. I thought if it wasn't that, it wasn't real
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"I was a teen and stupid."
"Yes, you were," she smiled softly "We all were."
"But losing you— watching you leave and realizing you had been walking away for years and never saw it because I thought you would always be there…"
He looked at her fully.
No Avatar. No duty. Just him. Just Aang.
"I loved you in your absence. I think I will for the rest of my life."
There it was.
The line that once would have ruined her.
Would have made her stay. Hope. Shrink.
Now—
she only felt tired tenderness.
For him. For herself. For the younger versions of them who had loved badly, strongly, and too late.
She stepped closer. Touched his arms.
Once. A pity.
And smiled. Sad. Soft. Final.
"I know."
His breath stuttered.
Because somehow, that hurt more than anger. Because somehow, that hurt more than her absence.
She continued gently, "You loved me too late."
"…Yeah"
"And I loved you too early."
The truth sat between them like something sacred yet contagous.
"There was a time I would have given up everything to hear you say that"she said
A pause. A lifetime inside it.
"But that girl… she doesn't exist anymore"
He nodded. Because what else was there to do? Beg?
She had spent years learning how to belong to herself. She would not abandon herself again.
"I dont love you that way now," she said.
Not cruel. Just clean.
"I care for you. I always will. Like how family care for each other. But I am no longer waiting for you to choose me. I dont even want you to do that. I stopped building my life around that a long time ago."
Tears threatend to leave his eyes. And he let them. For the first time in a long while. He cried.
And she smiled.
"You thought me something important, Aang"
His voice was barely there.
"What?"
"That love is not always a place you should stay."
Silence. Then, almost lightly:
"And for the record, confessing to me while married is incredibly selfish of you"
He laughed.
Wet. Broken. And human.
"I know"
"Very terrible timing and choice"
"My specialty"
"That and emotional desparation"
"That too"
She squezzed his arms once before letting go. A goodbye. Not a maybe. Just kindness.
"I'm glad you loved me," she said.
His face broke quietly. She smiled.
"But I'm more glad that I learned to survive when you didn't."
And that, more than anything— was the truth.
Katara knew.
Not the word at first, but the shape of it. Because love changes the way people grieve.
And Aang grieved her absence like someone mourning a future he had only realized he wanted after it was already gone.
Years later, one quiet night, with the children asleep in their room, and the house too honest in its silence, she sat beside him and asked:
"Did you love her?"
Aang went still. Then, honesty gave courage to his coward mouth:
"Yes"
Katara nodded once.
"For how long?"
A sad laugh.
"I'm not sure if it stopped"
There it was. Truth opening an old wound she thought had healed. Or maybe a knife giving her a new one? There was no betrayal.
Just truth.
She thought, absurdly, 'I won… Didn't I?' She got the life. The marriage. The children.
She was chosen.
So why did it feel like she just lost a fight she didn't even stand a chance on?
Because sometimes first love is sunlight. And greatest love is air. Forever present, not seen, but is felt greatly.
And Katara was perceptive enought to know the difference.
Did she hate her?
Sometimes. In the quitest corners of herself. Because she understand exactly why Aang loved her.
She was freedom. She was movement. She was the air he once breathe.
And there is something cruel about being the one someone stayed with while they spend the rest of their life haunted by the one who didn't.
Did she hate Aang?
No. Sometimes she wants to. Mostly when she's tired.
Because love is complicated and marriage is often just choosing which truths you can live beside.
One night, much later, she asked him:
"If she had stayed… would you have choosen differently?"
Aang closed his eyes long enough that she almost told him not to answer.
Then he whispered
"Ye—Maybe"
Katara cried silently, because hearing it aloud turned suspicion into history.
He reached for her. She let him.
Because despite everything, she loved him.
And because love is sometimes not forgiveness, but the quiet decision to remain.
After a long time, she said into the dark:
"I think I will always be a little angry with both of you."
And Aang, voice breaking softly said "I know"
She laughed through the tears. Sharp and tired.
"Good. I'd hate for this to be graceful"
And somehow, that was the marriage.
Not perfect. Not tragic.
Just raw. Just humane.
She left again.
No dramatic farewell. Just one morning. A bag. And the wind.
Toph, half-asleep from her doorway, muttering:
"If you die somehwere stupid, I'm haunting you."
She grinned
"If I die somehwere impressive, you have to brag about me."
"Deal"
And Aang, he stood farther away.
Not asking. Not stopping.
Finally understanding that love is sometimes the decision not to reach out.
She looked at him once.
Warmly. Kindly. Gratefully.
Like someone honoring a grave and not a future.
Then she turned to walk towards the horizon.
He loved her still. He would love her when his hair silvered.
When his children laughed. When history turned him into a statue and memory into myth.
He would love her in quiet places.
In the wind. In regret. In gratitude. He would love her forever.
And she— she would keep walking.
Not lonely. Never lost.
Just free.
Some people are homes. Some people are storms
He had spent trying to make her into the first. Only to realize— far too late—
She had always been the second.
And storms, even when loved, Were never meant to stay.
The first thing she felt was heat.
Not warmth— heat. Suffocating, feverish, the kind that made her bones feel too heavy for her own body. It pressed against her skin, crawled down her throat, sat in her chest like something alive.
And voices. Too many voices.
Far away at first, like she was underwater.
"—she's burning up—"
"Amihan—hey, hey, baby, look at me—"
"Katara, is she supposed to be shaking like that?!"
"No, Sokka, obviously not!"
"I'm just asking!"
The world tilted.
Something wet touched her forehead.
A hand.
Katara?
Amihan wanted to say she was fine. It sat on her mind, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a broken sound— small and humiliating and far too close to a sob. "Ma… Maman?"
next>>
a/n: I hope you had a blast reading this chapter! my hands cramped up when i typed them! some inaccuracies were deliberate (except for wrong spellings and grammar) and pls give me artist and song reco. listening to laufey is not good for my single ass. next chapter will be next week! hopefully. pls like, comment, reblog, and follow!
INVENCIBLE LINK ¡ P
warning: contains pornographic links to Invincible. not recommended for minors. links taken from X (formerly Twitter). reader with vagina
Mark Grayson
• He likes it when you're in charge.
• He pants heavily when you proboca him.
• Mark is impressed when you do that to his penis.
Mark Sinister
• He loves you silently and using accessories.
• Love will strengthen you.
• He would definitely do it.
Omni-Mark
• He likes to fuck you while you watch him.
• Suck her pussy like a champion.
• Sometimes, he lets you take charge.
Viltrumite Mark
• Want to fill your pussy with cum
• He does NOT like to use condoms.
• He wants to drive you crazy with his dick
Mohawk Mark
• He's definitely going to use his own fingers to widen her vagina and anus.
• You just have to accept it silently.
• Did I mention that he loves playing with his anus?
Masked Mark
• He likes to feel you with his fingers
• You can use it, he likes it.
• He loves to worship you.
Atomic Eve
• ✂️
• Maybe she likes sucking pussy too much.
• Play with her pussy too s2
Author's note: Hi everyone! How are you all doing? I hope you're well. Well folks, I'm in heat, my libido is through the roof, and I decided to bring you this slightly different chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.Do you want other characters? Let me know here and I'll take care of it 💓 See you next time!
AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES!
— series masterlist.
pairing: kiribaku x reader
★ series synopsis : your landlord kind of fucked you over, so you end up stuck with two rising pro heroes as your roommates for the rest of the year.
(OR — chronicles of living together!)
content: roommate!au. smau! fluff, crack. some suggestiveness. potential minor angst. college student!reader & UA grad!krbk.
★ part one. RUMOR HAS IT . . .
featuring... rumors and kitchen disasters (+ redemption)
★ part two. *LADIES AND KIRISHIMA!
featuring... a date of spite & lessons learned! (+ morn after)
★ part three. NEW YEARS RESOLUTION!
featuring... gym sessions or torture sessions ?!
★ part four. DRUNK WORDS, SOBER THOUGHTS!
featuring... problem: you're drunk. without a ride.
★ part five. TIMEZONE WOES!
featuring... an internship abroad and roach duty ( soon! )
★ part six. VILLAIN ON THE LOOSE!
featuring... villain attacks and hospital visits ( soon! )
. . . AND MUCH MORE TBA !
note: there's not much of a solid plot or chronological timeline hehe, all u really need to know is the synopsis above! (there may be written fics for this au at some point - we'll see)
MAIN MASTERLIST | TAGLIST BELOW . . .
TAGLIST: @kirishimaeijiromyman , @drageonix24 , @sloppyjoesandwich , @teeesthings , @cphlo , @blessedblemishes , @batinthebelltower2 , @themultifandomgirl , @strawberryjyam , @c00k13sandcr3am , @dabi-vakarian , @acecardexe , @direimpgrail , @papijean , @anunfortunateoutcome , @d4wnofnight , @lamathelazer , @katsukis-lilbunnywhore , @anabanana-26 , @kalan1z , @katscherry , @its-opossum-sauce , @shittingonyourgrave , @star-3214 , @l3eknow4evrr , @l-nectarine-l , @snore-3 , @mrssuna , @seishoyo , @theetheralone , @drabby-abby @amira-44820 , @extremebookreader , @d34ly , @katzukisss , @smelliottle , @lottiepop07 , @nanakamii , @sourpom3los , @catsooky , @ipukegiltters , @ariiiiee , @brekkielukiel , @kookiieeswirl , @accheolie , @mythicaloutlier , @citrustsuki , @addaberry , @asht0n-fox , @ssun4lifer — if you want to be added, send an ask!
TAGLIST PT. 2: @lavenderloss , @m-meraki-ii , @alateful , @cocoballsblonde , @butlereyepatchbunny , @justheretobinge , @nnxhhz , @abeenaa , @potatofamilyu , @lovelyevange , @strayruway , @xinkybeesx , @rollssas , @inkycapps , @fragolaviolw , @lover-no-lover61 , @dq1215 , @katthekat1234 , @azizxxxah , @its-opposum-sauce , @astralravenix , @whoreforeverythingspice , @hironosushiis , @l4nnisworld , @redgie-69 , @astermwah , @indino-lets-not , @gracklecake , @bunichuu , @heaven-f0rged , @sunnyl1ght , @ivydoesit23 , @koreluvsspring , @erensslut , @junie-5 , @kikismultifics , @1-555-damian , @drowzziw , @pookynknowntranger , @hereforchifuyu , @ilovemyselfhehehehehhe , @aphroditeadores , @vixenvienn , @itzzmj420 , @moond0llie , @lucijeni , @kalihrts , @mxvoid26
(can't be mentioned here due to tag limit, but i will tag you in a reblog when new chapters are posted !!)
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🌼wc. 681🌼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
"Are you ever gonna offer to get on top?"
Mark's brows bunch into a scowl, his elbows braced on either side of your head.
The late afternoon sunlight pours in through your window, streaks of golden light dance over your bare flesh, his carved hips pressed firmly against yours. His brain fuzzy with how your fingers feel, tangled in the raven hairs at the nape of his neck and you scoff, letting out a huffed breath.
"Fuck no."
"Dude, I literally just came from space. I was on a whole different planet for like, two months."
"Yes, and?" You huff. "You literally ghosted me for two months, came back with a purple baby."
Mark tucks his face into the curve of your neck, his chest flush against yours, and he shifts, muscles shifting beneath his flesh as he wraps his arms around you, calloused fingertips curling around your waist and digging into the softness of your body.
His Thraxan garb tossed messily onto your deskchair, your clothes scattered across your room and your panties ripped to literal shreds.
"For the last time: he's not mine." Mark groans into your neck.
"He has your eyes." You argue.
"Because he's my brother." He deadpans. "Do you really think I'd cheat on you? Like, do you actually think that?"
And you purse your kiss-swollen lips, your nails tracing patterns over his sinewy back, your legs shifting and your thighs wrapping snugly around his hips.
"With an alien? Definitely. You popped a boner during Fifth Element."
And he whines. "She was an opera singer. It was a totally different thing. Unrelated to the alien thing."
Mar lifts his head, shifting juntil he's resting his chin on your sternum, peering up at you with those big brown eyes, lashes flutettering and you watch the way the honeyed sunrays form a bronze halo on the crown of his tousled hair.
He looks at you like you're his whole world and it makes you weak.
'Fuck.' You suck your teeth.
"Please, baby." Mark sighs. pressing a kiss against the valley between your breasts, trailing his lips along your chest in those sweet, shy pecks. "I'll do that thing-"
"Oh my God, you big baby. Just flip us over." You grunt, and Mark switches your positions with ease, lips curled into a dorky grin as he watches you, his gaze dropping to whee you're seated so prettily on his hips, your knees dimpling your mattress and your sheets pooling around your hips.
"Score." He whispers under his breath, eyes nearly rolling back in his head when he feels your hips lift, your hands braced on his broad chest.
And his phone rings.
And his eyes shoot open, and he stares up at you, brows curling in frustration.
"No-no, no- don't ans-"
"It's Mr Cecil." You hum softly, the device grasped between your fingers and you listen attentively.
"He says he needs to see you."
Mark's expression crumples.
"Oh my God," His voice cracks and he lets his head fall back against the pillow, "I hate these fucking people."
And he sits up, his tongue brushing across his lower lip as he stares at you. Soft, pliable and still with his leaky cock buried in you, and he sighs.
"When I get back," Mark's fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your lips into a puckering pout, "you're on top."
And you snort.
"Wouldn't count on it, pookie." Your lips press a sweet peck against his, before you lift yourself up, and Mark winces as the cold air hits his still wet and still hard cock.
"If you don't, I will, actually crash out." Mark states. "Viltrumite style."
"And the goverment can't stop me." His dimples deepen.
"Because as you know, I'm-"
"Indestructible." You interrupt. "We get it."
"It's literally right there! The word is right- you know, I'm done. You're on top when I get back." Mar grumbles, already rifling through your closet for something to wear before settling on your robe.
"I'll be asl-"
"Ahhhhh," He interrupts, effectively cutting you off, "I don't care. You're on top."
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🪻wc. 🪻୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“Awh, sick! It looks like the Coraline stone-thing!”
“Don’t,” You swats at Mark’s hands, “fucking spread it! You sick freak.”
“Caroline, Caroline.” Mark snickers, the edges of his lips curling as he pushes your thighs further apart, guiding them to rest on his broad, sinewy shoulders and his breath ghosts over your exposed cunt. His hands massage the softness of your legs, fingertips sinking into the plush before he presses a kiss against your sloppy folds.
Peering up at you through his lashes, seeing the way your neck does that little double chin from the way you’re propped up on your elbows, the edge of your SeaWorld T-shirt pushed up just above your navel and Mark’s brows furrow.
“We’ve never been to SeaWorld?”
“I punched a kid because he kept slapping the stingray on the back. So I took his T-shirt.” You hum quietly, lifting one of your hands to thread through Mark’s hair, watching the way obsidian strands slip from your fingers like fine grains of sand. And Mark snorts.
“That doesn’t explain why you were there?”
“I was protesting. Well, I protested for 20 minutes, and then, I went to go get a snack and like... I was escorted off the premises by security.”
“Is that why Omni-Man came home smelling like salt water?” Mark hums quietly, his chin resting on your mound, fingertips tracing idle patterns around the faint lines in your skin.
“Yeah, he came to come pick me up.” You respond with a huff of laughter, the apples of your cheeks turning rosy at the memory before you swallow, the room filling with a silence that’s just a bit too heavy for your liking. And your nails scratch at Mark’s scalp. Just to soften him up before you say something that’s... Undoubtedly gonna upset him.
“Mark... You can still say ‘dad’...” Your voice is soft. “He was still, you know, your dad.”
“He called my mom a pet.” Mark states, expression hardening as he meets your gaze, brows furrowing into a frown.
“Mark, me and you both know your mom walked him like a dog.” You let out a heavy breath. “The pet thing was probably just a—”
“You don’t know what it felt like.”
The room goes dead silent. Quiet enough for Mark to hear the way your breath halts in your lungs, quiet enough for him to hear the way your heart constricts the tiniest bit and you swallow.
“I didn’t mean i—”
“No, it’s okay.” You suck your teeth. “You lost your dad. It hits... Harder for you. Because like, the last thing he did to you was yell at you, and the last thing I got was a kiss on my forehead.” Your eyes begin to sting. “Like he wasn’t about to beat you to death afterwards.”
There’s the most uncomfortable pain that begins to settle in your belly, and before you know it, your thighs are moving from Mark’s shoulders, the warmth of your body eluding him and you shift.
“I— I’m sorry but I don’t think we should do anything tonight. I kinda just wanna be alone.”
Mark pushes himself up, his shirt strewn tightly across his broad chest, but right now, you can’t even properly appreciate the way his muscles flex with each of his movements. Not with the heaviness in your belly that seemed to drop onto your spirits like an anvil crushing glass, piercing shards sticking into your heart.
“Are you sure?” God, he even sounds like him.
“Yeah.” You nod your head, mustering a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Viltrumites are the bad guys. Aren’t they?” Your voice is tiny as you settle in the spot beside Nolan, your leg bumping against him just a little bit. Your hands still damp from the chilly condensation of the glass you had handed Nolan. The half empty glass that had dripped a little circle onto the varnished wood.
Nolan’s thick brows furrow, before he looks down at you. At the way you stare up at the sky with those wide eyes, flashes fluttering and chubby cheeks rosy from the slight frost in the air.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because sometimes, making things ‘better’, is like... Code for ass—as-assimil— ugh. Ass—smili—lation.” You respond quietly, sounding it out.
You’ve always been smarter than Mark. By a shameful longshot. You saw things for what they really are and right now, Nolan’s seeing firsthand.
“We’re not like that.” He hums.
“Promise?” You peer up at him with those doe eyes, innocence swirling along the flecks of light that reflect off the glossiness of your eyes and Nolan swallows.
“Promise.”
Your hands flip over the smooth ridges of the Omni-Man figurine, your lips curled into a frown, teary doe eyes focused on the painted face, that friendly smile and stupidly iconic moustache.
“I got you one of those... Boyband hoodies.” Nolan hums, tossing the thick, cotton at you, his gaze lowered to the letters in his hands as he continues to sort through the male.
“Which one?” You hum quietly, your nails tearing the thin, almost clingy plastic that protected the fabric.
“The Korean ones.”
“BTS?” Your lips curl into a wide gleam, excitement buzzing beneath your skin.
“Yeah, those ones.”
And you stare down at the hoodie in your hands.
“Mr Nolan, I think you were scammed.” Your brows furrow. “These are random Korean guy— who are these people?”
Your laughter bubbles.
“Are you sure?”
“Mr Nolan, these people aren’t even celebrities...”
Soft, choked sobs manage to escape you, mixed with teary huffs of laughter.
“Who the fuck’s that?” Mark questions, brows furrowed as he stares down at your hoodie, watching the way you remove all your stationery from your bag, setting your desk ready.
“They’re a super underground Korean group.” You hum.
“They look like BTS but not quite there.” William interjects, elbows braced on his desk.
And you gasp. “William! Not all Korean people look alike! I’d expect this from Mark but not you.”
“I’m literally half-Korean!”
You can feel the way the piercing pain in your belly gets worse and you can’t help but think of how lucky Mark is. The rug was ripped out from beneath him abruptly, paired with copious reasons as to why he can and definitely should hate Nolan.
You just… couldn’t.
Every day, the rug was pulled a little bit more and every day, it hurt more. Every day, you send the same ‘good morning’ text with the sunrise emoji, every day. You never fail to do it. Not even when you have a flu.
And every day, you can’t help but hope for that ‘morning kiddo’ at the top of your screen. But it’s never there.
He's never there.
And you have to get used to it.
“Your mom slipped Debbie a dollar, which she slipped to me so…” Nolan clears his throat, wiping those burly hands along his jean-clad thighs. Before he inhales sharply.
“When a man—”
“Mr Nolan, I know how sex works.” Your brows furrow, expression pinching into a distasteful grimace.
And Nolan gleams.
“Great. Pass the knowledge on.” And with a heavy pat on your back, Nolan pushes Mark towards you.
And you swallow. “Well. When your mom and dad—”
“NOLAN! MAKE HER STOP!”
“Yourdadplowedyourmathroughthemattress!”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Mark, what did you do?”
Debbie folds her arms across her chest, eyes hardened into a frown, and lips twisted.
She watches the way Mark shifts underneath his covers, a ratty GDA T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, fabric tight around the curves of his biceps and he pushes himself up, covers pooling at his hips.
And his brows furrow. “I didn’t do anything?” Mark answers, although, it’s more like a question than a statement.
“That’s the 18th time ‘No One Noticed’ has played since you left there.” Debbie huffs, her slippers shuffling across the floor before she sits at the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping just a bit beneath her weight. And she places a hand on his calf, the warmth of Mark’s body tangible through the thickness of his comforter.
And Mark swallows.
“I told her she didn’t get it.” His gaze flickers down towards his lap, shame visible in his expression. “When Omni-Man—”
“Markus Sebastian Grayson.” Debbie spits his name like a slur. “If I could, I’d slap the ever-loving shit out of you.”
Debbie brings a hand up to cover her face, in what Nolan would call ‘the Korean Shame’ cover and she inhales a sharp, shaky breath.
“Mark—”
“I know, m—”
“No, you don’t know, Mark.” Debbie interrupts. “You, didn’t lose more than her. Maybe biologically, but not more. You know her parents aren’t home a lot, and when they are, it’s like, nitpick nation.”
She shifts comfortably, powdery blue robe shifting as she crosses her legs, making herself comfortable, elbows braced on her knees and she lets out a low, exhausted huff.
“Your father—”
“Omni-Man—”
“Your father,” Debbie pauses, eyes narrowing as she waits for Mark to interject once more, before continuing, “did a lot of good. Yes, it was a literal pyramid scheme but, nowhere in that pyramid scheme, did he have to be that good to her. He wanted to be good, and she knows that.”
“But he wasn’t—”
“Mark, just because he ended up the way he did, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to miss the memories.” Debbie sighs. “When you hit your first homerun, when you had your semi-formal, the pumpkin carving contests, trick-or-treating. When he took you to get your costume—”
“It’s a supersuit—”
“It’s gay. Your mouth and fingers are the only things sticking out. It’s a colourful gimp suit.”
“So, I’ve got notes—”
“No she doesn’t, sir. The suit’s amazing.” Mark grins at Art, before continuing to look around, examining the other suits that have yet to be coined and worn. Tracing his fingers along breastplates and gauntlets.
“What’re the notes, girly?”
Your lips purse as you plop down in the seat beside Art, your gaze lowered to where withered fingers push fabric underneath the jittering needle of a sewing machine. Slow and controlled.
“Why’re the suits so tight?” You question.
“They’re aerodynamic, doll.” Art smiles. “Maximum movement.”
“Why don’t the suits have… prints?”
And he snorts. “Codpieces.”
“Then why does Omni-Man have a print?”
“Please stop talking about my dad’s dick, dude.” Mark interjects, his voice distant as he continues to wander around the shop, his footsteps quiet on metallic floors.
“He didn’t want a codpiece. Wanted to ‘show off’ for wife.”
And you coo, pouty lips tugged into an adoring frown. Before you glance towards Mark.
“How does your mom only have one kid?” You question. “You could not pry me—”
“Don’t finish that thought.”
You purse your lips. Letting silence settle in the air.
“—off with tongs and tweezers.”
“Ew!”
“You invalidated her feelings and her experience with mourning.” Debbie’s voice snaps Mark back from the memory, her arms folded over her chest.
“When you know she feels it just as much as you do. She’s a strong girl, Mark but she’s not….”
There’s a heavy silence, tension swelling in the room, anticipation builds with each passing seconds and Debbie lets out a quiet sigh.
“Invulnerable.”
“Invincible, mom!” Mark groans. “You’re supposed to say ‘invincible’.”
“Why? They’re basically the same word.”
“Because,” Mark motions to himself wildly, hands moving with emphatic gestures, before groaning, throwing the covers off himself before huffing.
“I’m gonna go work my jaw, before I get an ulcer in this house.”
And Debbie nods her head, before his words register, and her eyes widen.
“What.”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Listen, I’m sorry and I know I was a dick and—”
“—Get out!”
“Are you masturbating?!” Mark’s voice is a loud guffaw, head tipping back as he lets out a bark of laughter. “You don’t even have your pants off— are— what are you even doing—!”
Mark watches as you pull your covers over your head, your body curling up and he can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in thick, shame-capped waves. And he snorts, shuffling closer to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants and you feel the way your mattress dips under his weight.
And you feel the steady heft of his head resting on your shoulder, his chin digging into the soft flesh and you can feel him tilt his head.
“Do you forgive me for earlier?” He questions quietly. “You didn’t lose him any less than I did.”
“No.” You scowl under the blankets, brows furrowing and annoyance burns beneath your skin. “You made me feel bad, and then proceeded to laugh at the way I masturbate.”
And Mark snickers.
“You looked like you were trying to scratch in the glove compartment from outside the car.” He buries his face in the softness of your duvet and the scent of your fabric softener wafts over him, mixed with the faint smell of your lotion.
“There shouldn’t be that much concentration to it. It should be easy.”
“Uh-huh, because you’re the expert.” You bite back, eyes still narrowed when you poke your head out from beneath your cocoon, glaring at Mark. And those dimples in his cheeks deepen.
“Actually, yeah.” He shifts, sitting up just a bit. “I’m a professional Master Bator. Ask any of my socks.”
And you grimace. “Literally, ew.”
“I can show you.” He murmurs. “A free lesson, you know, to make up for earlier.”
And you swallow. You’re still mad but…
“Okay.”
You can be mad later.
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Over or under?”
“Over.”
Mark hums softly, shifting his body until he’s wedged between your thighs, broad shoulders forcing the supple flesh apart almost uncomfortably and he keeps his gaze focused on your panties.
A sticky gusset, a few shades darker than the rest of your panties and he brings a hand up, hooking a thick, muscular finger around your gusset, before shifting your panties, pulling them flush against your core.
“Lemme just… Pop the hood.”
He peers up at you through his lashes, a dorky grin plastered on his face, only widening at the way your eyes narrow slowly the longer your gaze is on his.
“Get it? Because—”
“Mark, I’m gonna stuff a sock in your mouth.”
“Fine.” He huffs. “No car talk.”
His pretty brown eyes lower to where your pussy is flush against the cotton, the visible outline of your velvety folds, tucked safely between plush, glossy lips has his breath stuttering in his lungs and he leans forward, pressing his lips against your clit. Feeling the puffy and already overstimulated bundle twitch against his lips.
And he swallows.
His cock twitching in his boxers, definitely leaking sticky precum and staining the front of the strained fabric, but it’s about you.
And you clear your throat.
“So, are you gonna teach me anything?” Your voice pulls him out of his pussydrunk reverie and he’s shaking his head, dragging a finger between your folds, brushing over your clit before coming to a stop at your slit, feeling the way you pulse against his digits. Slick clinging to his fingers, and he swallows. Hard.
“No.” He breathes out. “Fuck, no.”
“Then you don’t have any business down t—”
“Dude, I lost my dad.” Mark peeks at you, his cheek resting against the smooth flesh of your inner thigh, one hand cradling your thigh against his cheek and the other resting on your mound, pudgy thumb pressing against your twitchy clit through your panties.
“Bitch, I lost your dad too?” You retort.
“Exactly.” Mark breathes out. “Let’s find comfort in each other. Help me, help you.”
And the laughter falls from your lips with ease, giggles slipping free and your cheeks turn rosy. “Bitch, be so for r— shit…”
Your brain feels like it’s melting when Mark’s drags his tongue over your fabric-covered panties, the hand on your mound moving and resting against your inner thigh, a calloused index finger trailing over your slit. Pushing slightly, shallowly dipping into your cunt by barely an inch, but being pushed away by your stretchy panties.
And you swallow hard.
Feeling the way he laps at your stickiness, his brows bunching and his lashes fluttering as his eyes shit, fingertips pressing against your aching core, his tongue dragging over your pulsing clit. Pulling your folds and cotton into his mouth alike, before he frowns.
“S’not enough…”
Your panties are nearly soaked.
Pillowy thighs press against his ears, your belly dipping and twisting at the way he presses his face into your messy cunt, like he’s trying to paint his skin with the smell of your slick.
“How do you even—”
“Fingers, Mark.” You deadpan. “And like,” you let out a huff of breath, bringing up one of your hands to rake through his hair, pushing the raven strands out of the way before you sigh softly, “okay, if I take off my underwear, it defeats the purpose.”
“The purpose,” Mark hums, “is for us to heal. And to find inner peace.”
“You’re trying to find peace in my ‘inners’.” You scoff. “That’s not the purpose.”
“My dad left my mom and I. I’m being raised by a single mom.” Mark lets a heavy sigh, his forehead resting against the swell of your thigh, and he watches you from the corner of his eye.
“I’m gonna have to step up.” He swallows. “I’m the man of the house now… I’ll need to do taxes and—"
“If I take off my panties, will you stop talking?”
“Immediately.”
As soon as your panties are flung across your bedroom, Mark’s spitting at your cunt. Watching as the wad drips down between your already sticky folds, before he’s sliding his tongue between your puffy pussy lips, heat blossoming behind his flexing abs, hips shifting and twitching uncomfortably against your sheets before he’s sucking on your clit.
Needy and whiny noises leave him as he motions for one of your pillows. And with bleary eyes and fuzzy thoughts, you hand it to him with your free hand, your other buried in his hair, fisting obsidian strands and he mumbles out a muffled ‘thank you’.
As he wedges the cushioning between his thighs, and under his hips.
Mark laps at your cunt needily, hands braced on your inner thighs, keeping your legs spread as he drags his tongue along your puffy folds.
His chin and lips are smeared with slick, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide as he watches your cunt twitch, hole clenching around nothing and the sight makes his brain so fuzzy.
“Your pussy’s so perfect.” He breathes out, tongue outstretching before he’s pushing the wet muscle into your spasming channel, moaning at the way your thighs tense and quiver beneath his warm palms. And Mark tonguefucks you like he gets paid to do it.
Like it’s on his vision board. Like he had it on his T-shirt for career day.
Your orgasm is rapidly approaching. That burning feeling in your belly, the way your tummy clenches each time his nose bumps clumsily against your clit, the way the edge of his tongue rubs against those sensitive, gooey walls.
“…fuck,” you gasp, “m’gonna come…”
You fist at his hair, your hips bucking and twitching against his mouth, and Mark feels like he’s drowning. You’re all he’s breathing in, you’re all he feels, his hips rutting against the pillow beneath him as he continues lapping at you.
And when you’re coming, he’s coming.
He’s creaming in his boxers while slobbering over your sloppy cunt, licking up every droplet of your cum, his hips rolling and when Mark pulls away, he looks like he’s walked through Narnia.
Dazed, confused and satisfied with how things ended.
“Did you do something different?” Mark smacks his lips just a bit and your brows furrow.
“What do you mean?”
“No, it just tastes different.”
And there’s a silence.
“Mark, why the fuck would you say that!” You fling a pillow at his face, and his nose scrunches, eyes shutting as it collides and he grins.
“M’just kidding.” He reassures. “It tastes good.”
And his hands bracket your hips as he leans forward, his chest brushing against yours, his lips ghosting over your jaw.
“You… taste good.”
Mark’s hips slot between your thighs, his still hard cock pressing against your core and he rolls his hips lazily, lips pressed against your thrumming pulse.
“Please, let me fuck you.” He breathes out, pressing sweet and soft kisses against the supple skin at the side of your neck, his hips rutting against you with no rhythm, hands pawing at your hips and waist.
“Uh… no.”
And Mark’s whole body freezes, before he’s pulling away, gaze flickering over your expression before he nods, sitting back on his haunches and he takes his fingers through his hair.
Pushing the strands back.
“I respect your decision to… not take it further. Do you wanna cud—”
“Mark, I wanna blow you.” You deadpan. “You can hit afterwards.”
Those big brown eyes widen as he stares at you for a moment, his brain rewiring and his heart pounding in his chest, before he holds up a finger.
“Give me like, a minute.” And he’s pushing himself from your bed, moving into your bathroom. “Don’t change your mind!” And you hear the sink running.
“What are you even doing?” You sit up, reclining on your elbows as you look towards the shut door of your attached bathroom.
“Washing… Something.” Mark calls back, his voice a bit lazy and its very, very clear that he’s preoccupied with something else and you let out a huff.
“Don’t dip your dick in my basin.”
“You want these balls clean or not?”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Are you ready?” You hum quietly, lips pursed in contemplation as you sink to your knees, the soft tufts of your carpet tickle the skin of your knees and shins. And you’re chewing on your bottom lip, rubbing your hand over the bulge in his sweatpants, and Mark nods. Swallowing hard.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” His hands twitch nervously at his sides, fingers flexing as they twist and clench the bedding, fabric crinkling under his grip as he stares down at your hand. The way you palm him through his sweats, his ruined boxers discarded into your laundry bin.
And he swallows again, lifting his hips just enough for you to peel the waistband away, lowering it just enough and his cock springs, sticky precum glossing his tip and running down his shaft in little beads.
His breaths stutter when you wrap your hand around his base, your thumb tracing over a vein before you stroke him. One, tantalizingly slow stroke, and he feels the way your grip tightens, forcing out another droplet of pre and he whines.
“Mm—fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”
“Already?”
“I’m sensitive!” Mark argues, and he gasps when he feels your thumb trace along his sensitive and nerve-packed frenulum, and his head tips back, his throat bobbing. Before he swallows, shaking his head and his hand moves to grasp your wrist, his palm’s sweaty and hot against your skin.
“I don’t—”
He’s in the middle of his sentence when he sees the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes. Your cheeks warm and reddened, big doe eyes focused on him and your lips are so, so fucking soft when you press a kiss against his tip.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”
Mark’s tapping the head of his cock against your bottom lip, his brain going fuzzy when you make those sloppy spit bubbles, lathering his cock in saliva, before your lips are parting, wrapping around his flushed and leaky tip. And his eyes roll back his head.
“Holy— shit... Your mouth feels so good…”
Mark goes boneless when your cheeks hollow, a hand moving to cover his mouth but it’s pointless when it comes to muffling those moans, he whimpers like you’re touching his soul’s prostate. Your tongue dragging along the underside of his cock, tracing along the veins, your eyes focused on Mark’s expression, watching the way his brows furrow.
Watching the way his lips part and the way his chest heaves, deep, ragged breaths leaving him breathless.
“Fuck— I can’t— your teeth—”
You always wondered if Mark’s invincibility extended to his dick. And now you know it does. Because every time your teeth scrape him by accident, he whines. Lashes fluttering and hips twitching, pushing his cock just a bit deeper into your mouth.
And you inhale through your nose, before you lower yourself. Your throat bulging just a bit, your eyes watering and your lungs stuttering when you hear that pitchy whine Mark lets out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck— ‘m coming.” He pants, a hand fisting your hair as he comes, hot spurts of pearly cum painting the inside of your mouth and throat. Hips twitching, fucking into your mouth and your nails dig into your sheets, gripping for dear life and you honestly think you’re about to pass out before Mark’s pulling out of your mouth.
Cock slick and glossy, coated with cum and spittle, and he swallows hard, looking down at you with bleary eyes.
“How… lon—”
“Five minutes.” You hum quietly, wiping the mess away from your chin before you rest back on your haunches. “I’m not gonna lie, I lost a little respect for you. Quickshot.”
Mark scowls. “Fuck you.”
And he pants, wiping away the drool from his own chin before he lets out a sigh.
“Can I hit?”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
If Mark had told his younger self that he’d be watching your ass bounce off his carved hips, your face tucked into your pillow and your whines filling his ears, his younger self would say….
‘What ass?’
Mark’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet each brutal thrust that has your nails digging into your pillow, your back arched like a ski slope and your bottom lip wedged between your teeth.
You’re basically a puddle beneath him, panted mewls and breathy praises fall from your lips with ease, your voice so sickeningly sweet while your cunt clamps down on Mark like a vice. Forcing him to push out sticky beads of precum, and one of his hands move to the small of your back, putting you a deeper arch and you moan.
“Holy shit—” You gasp, “—you’re s’fucking deep. Oh my God—!”
Your TV plays some stupid movie that neither of you’ve bothered to look at what it is, and Mark’s lips are parting, ready to spew some nasty bullshit before a moan echoes from your TV screen.
His hips halt just a bit, and you’re pushing yourself up to glance towards the TV, and you both forget what you’re doing.
“What? What— what is he touching?” Mark’s brows in confusion, one hand grasping your hip while the other rests on your spine and you look towards the screen.
“Haven’t you seen this? Okay, wait— So, this guy’s like, in another guy’s dick. He’s a Supe.”
“What’s a Su— Oh, holy fuck!” Mark’s fingers dig into your hips, his eyes wide and expression pulling into a disgruntled and disgusted grimace as he stares at the blood-clad man on your screen. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s The Boys.” You answer, looking at Mark over your shoulder. “You’ve never it before?”
“I think I’d remember seeing the inside of a dick.” Mark grimaces, before sucking his teeth. “Is it good?”
“Literally, so good. It’s so fucked up but like, it’s so good.”
And there’s a quiet, almost contemplative silence that fill your room, the flickering of your TV and the soft humming of your fan and Mark’s expression twists with thought.
“Raincheck on the sex?” He questions.
“If you can keep your boner, we can keep fucking.”
“I can keep it.” Mark reassures. “Let’s spoon.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Aren’t— mm— aren’t you gonna watch?” Mark’s hips grind into yours, his elbow hiking up one of your legs, hooked under your knee while he fucks into you. Big brown eyes focused on your TV, moans bitten back into quiet groans and you shake your head.
Your face tucked into your pillow, biting down on your bottom lip to keep quiet.
“I’ve watched until like, season 4, I think.” You respond breathily, your eyes rolling back in your head as you’re pushed towards your fourth orgasm and you whine.
Mark’s fucking you lazily.
His attention entirely on the TV screen because once again, that nerd in him wins. And it’s as refreshing as it is frustrating. You’re rendered to a cockdrunk mess, drooling into your pillows and creaming like a whore, while Mark’s focusing on men in capes and heroic escapades.
All while stuffing you full of his cock.
“Black Noir’s supposed to be like, their Batman, right?” He whispers in your ear and you shake your head.
“N-no…” you breathe out. “Their Batman’s this —mm.. fuck— this other guy and he’s a fucking w-weirdo…”
You’re gushing, so much that you don’t know if or if you’re still coming. You’re so sensitive, and each twitch of Mark’s cock has your brain pouring out of your ears, feeling the way he grinds against that spongy spot, making your lips part to let out saccharine moans.
And Mark glances down at you.
You’re so weak against him. Curled up, face burning and drool soaking into your pillow, teary eyes and puffy lips, raw bitten and shiny with spit. And he swallows hard, bringing his free hand down. Calloused fingertips circling your clit and your brows pinch as you moan.
“Shhhh. Focus on the TV.” He instructs quietly, his head dipping to press a kiss against your tear-stained cheek.
You’re so dizzy. You’re so close to passing out and your heart’s beating like you did 4 lines of coke. And Mark’s lips are brushing against the shell of your ear, tugging at your lobe playfully before he’s whispering to you. So sweetly.
“You look so pretty.” He’s circling your clit like he’s got all the time in the world. Fucking you into another dimension and he inhales sharply when he feels you clench around him, rhythmic spasms milking his cock and he whines, his face tucked against your neck.
Hs heart’s pounding and he thinks that right now’s the time to ask you. When you’re barely coherent and you’re greedily sucking his cock into you.
Now.
It’s perfect. And Mark inhales sharply, lifting his head and angling it so those big brown eyes are focused on yours.
“Can I be your boyfriend?” He whispers quietly. “Please?”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🌼wc. 🌼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“You know, I’d really fuck the shit out of Riddler.”
“Can we bring back shame?” Mark lowers his comic book, expression scrunched into a grimace as he stares at you from where he’s lounged on your bedroom floor, the edge of his T-shirt raised just enough to showcase his rippling abs and that deep, deep V.
“I’d suck the tip clean off.” You’re unbothered by his audible gag, simply focused on the crack of paper as you turn the page, your legs extended and crossed at the ankles, your toes wiggling in your socks and you let out a bashful giggle, biting lightly down on the nail of your index finger as your eyes rove over the panels. Your eyes focus on the bright colours, occasionally flitting towards Mark’s seething expression.
“I’m disturbed.” He announces, before lifting himself from the floor, muscles flexing as he stretched his arms overhead and he sets his comic down on the bedside table, before prying yours from your hands and tossing it into your desk with freaky accuracy.
Gorgeous brown eyes stare at you from beneath long lashes, gaze roving over you and the way you lounge so lazily across your bed, a double chin formed at the way your head is propped up by pillows.
“You’re gonna get a neck pain like that.” Mark huffs, before moving to stand at the edge of your bed, hands wrapping around your ankles and he tugs you roughly, your head sliding off the pillow and he moves to straddle your hips. Hands slide up your arms, fingers lace with yours and he pins your hands to the soft covers and he cracks a grin.
“How’s college?” Mark inquires. “Mom says you’re an overachiever.”
“Define ‘overachiever’.” You peer up at Mark through your lashes, your gaze locked on his, and goddamn, your brain’s melting the more you focus on how warm his hands are against yours. Fingers laced with yours, folded over one another like they belong there, his lashes fluttering with each blink and the curve of his smile as he just looks at you.
Not doing anything.
Just looking.
And you’re starting to think Pinterest was right when he brings a hand up, gently picking an eyelash from your cheek before he fists his hand, brushing it against your chin and he mimics an explosion.
And the laughter just bubbles from you, your head tipped back as giggles fall from your lips, and he shifts his body, wrapping his arms around your waist and he pulls you onto him. Your knees dimpling the sheets on either side of you, his face pressed into the curve of your neck, lips ghosting over the supple skin that has an indentation by a bra strap too tight and Mark’s teeth bite into the elastic, tugging it from your shoulder and he presses his lips against the mark left behind.
His lips are soft.
Hands cradle you like you’re something delicate, like you haven’t been his biggest bully for majority of his life, and you melt against him.
Muscular arms keeping you pressed against him, your soft thighs bracketing his hips and you press your lips against his temple.
“I didn’t think heroes had the free time to dick around like this.” You hum with a snort, your hands shifting, cupping Mark’s face as you lift yourself, pulling one of the pillows absentmindedly to prop his head up and he watches you with soft, heart eyes.
“It’s Saturday.” He answers you, hands bracketing your hips. “I’ve got all the time in the world.” He pauses. “Until night time. Then I have no time.”
“My mom said we can patrol tonight if it’s okay with your mom.” Your giggle is melodious, it’s sweet and messy all at once. His eyes rove over the curve of your lips, the dimples in your cheeks and the way your eyes crease at the corners. He likes the way your necklace dangles so carelessly, he loves the way your eyes watch the sun and he just loves.
He's known you for over a decade and he can’t think of a single thing he hasn’t fallen in love with.
“When did you get so… pretty?”
Mark’s voice is a soft, almost theatrical whisper, his thumbs brushing along the soft flesh of your hips where your shirt had ridden up. “You look like an angel…”
“It’s the sunlight.” You snort at him, a grin curling your glossy lips. That warm, summer-y smile that has his breath stuttering in his lungs, your hand shifting to cradle his cheek, your palm warm against his flesh.
“No.” He lets out a breathless laugh. “No, like… you look like a fucking painting right now.”
“Wait, like, really?” Your brows furrow.
“Yeah, like… that painting of— you look like a Monet.” He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to the softness of your palm. And there’s a warmth that burns at his belly when your head tips, a light and easy smile creeping onto your face.
“You’re really beautiful…”
The sweetest silence settles between the two of you, and Mark hums softly. He never thought loving someone could be this easy. He knows it’s not too soon. It never could be when it’s you.
“Which painting?” You hum softly, leaning forward and your lips press against his cheek.
“Bitch—” Mark huffs. “Just touch my wiener.”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“I’m not a furry but—”
“You’re gonna say the most furry thing ever.”
“The shark could get it.”
Mark lets out a heavy breath, eyes shutting and he takes a moment. Before looking at you, expression distasteful and he grimaces.
“Can we never watch ‘The Reef 2’ without you wanting to fuck an actual shark?”
Mark watches the way you shovel a handful of chips into your mouth, your gaze locked on his and he should be turned off, but the way your grin grows as you shake your head, mischief in your actions as you giggle.
“No.” You snort. “No we can not.”
“Sick freak.” He grunts under his death, reaching over, a pudgy thumb wiping away the crumbs from the corner of your mouth, absentmindedly bringing his thumb to his lips, licking away the salt before turning his attention back to the screen of your TV.
And your lips purse and you try to ignore the way your pulse flutters, instead focusing on shuffling more comfortably, your back pressing against your puffed up pillows and you swallow.
“That’s gross. I don’t know where your thumb was.”
“It’s gonna be in your ass if you don’t stop fucking with me.” Mark takes another handful of chips, his toes wiggling in those stupid fucking Hot Wheels socks.
And you swallow.
“Say ‘no homo’.”
The leer Mark gives you is something nightmares and very, very dark fantasies are made of and he takes a slow slurp of his smoothie, lips pursed around the straw. And he simply turns his attention back to the screen, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile hidden but the dimple in his cheek pops.
“Mark, say ‘no homo’!”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Oh my God.” Mark grunts. “Why did I agree to this?”
His knees and palms dimple your mattress, powdery blue sheet refusing to bend to his will, edges popping off the corners of your mattress and you hum, lips curled as you keep your eyes glued to that stupidly perky ass.
“I don’t know but I’m loving the Invinci-cheeks.”
Mark glares at you over his shoulder, the tips of his ears burning a furious red as he clenched his jaw, annoyance only spiking at the way your grin widens.
“Yeah, look back at me.” You tease.
And Mark huffs. “Same way you looked back at me?”
The silence is deafening, your obnoxious slurping stilling and you swallow, sucking in your cheeks and Mark doesn’t know why the act makes him a little breathless. He’s seen you do it countless times when you’re speechless, unable to come up with an immediate retort but he swallows hard.
“That’s a pretty fucked up thing to say.” You whisper, your heart beating erratically pounding behind your rib cage because did you actually look back at him?
And Mark lets out a huff, finally managing to spread the sheet comfortably enough, and you plop down, internally gloating at the way he silently stews at the creases that form in the sheet.
“Why’re you making me make your bed?” Mark huffs, muscular arms crossing over his chest. “It’s the middle of the day.”
“Because, dear, naïve Mark, when you leave, I’m gonna take an 8 hour nap and wake up on a plane of existence higher than yours.” And you stretch your arms overhead, letting out a yawn and Mark’s eyes drop to where your shirt rides up, exposing the soft skin of your belly, and his arm reaches out, a warm hand splayed across your tummy. It’s sweet and a little weird, but you like the way the heat seems to sink into your navel, warming you up like some kind of humanoid toaster.
“That’s nice.” You sigh softly, your lashes fluttering and you rest back, your back flush against the memory phone and your head lolls, gaze falling on Mark and the way he looks at you like you’ve personally designed and hung the stars in the sky.
“You’re so—”
“Do you have a foreskin?”
Mark’s expression falls. “Can we not have a single nice moment without you ruining it?”
Your lips purse and your brows furrow like you’re deep in thought before you shake your head. “No, m’sorry. I can’t see that happening for us.”
He would be annoyed if that devious little smile on your lips didn’t make his tummy tense, and his hand reaches for the front of his jeans.
“You wanna check if I have a foreskin?” He questions and once you nod, you’re wishing you didn’t. Because seeing Mark undo his buckle with one, nimble hand, is a religion you weren’t sure you’d ever find yourself being a part of but holy fuck, you could watch him do that for hours.
Mark frees his cock. Easily, and lazily pushing the waistband of his boxers down and he shifts comfortably. You’d think it’d be less impressive because he’s soft but no. Not at all.
A pretty, flushed pink head, just a little bit darker at the base with a teensy bit of skin that overlaps just the ridges of his tip and you purse your lips.
“Is now a bad time to tell you I can’t tell the difference between cut and uncut when they’re soft?” You peer up at Mark through your lashes, shifting a bit more comfortably and he lets out a huff of a laugh.
“Here’s the scar,” He hums, moving just a bit closer and he shows you that barely imperceptible scar, right near his tip, “see?”
You don’t know what convinces you to do it. You really don’t.
But you’re tracing your thumb over the scar, peering up at him through your lashes and your eyes are so soft, so concerned.
“Who did this to you?”
“Oh my fucking God.”
The laugh bubbles from him easily, his head tipping back and you watch the curve of his throat as he laughs, shoulders shaking and lips curling. Pearly teeth showcased, and the dimples in his cheeks deepen, accompanied by a healthy little flush and he snorts, before looking back down at you.
He watches the way you watch him, teeth biting down on your bottom lip to hide your smile but he can see the way your cheeks turn rosy the longer you watch him.
And you look back down, tracing your thumb over the scar once again. Feeling the subtle change in texture.
“It’s a cool scar though.” You hum. “Kinda makes your dick look like a hammerhead.”
Mark nearly loses it when you begin to hum the Jaws theme, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle the laughter but it all comes to a grinding halt when his dick twitches, and your lips part, watching as a bead of precum slowly drips from his slit. And he swallows.
“Do you get hard when people make jokes?” You raise a brow, scooping up the bead and watching the way it rests so comfortably on the pad of your index finger, and he shakes his head.
“Only you.” He inhales sharply when you trace that divot with your finger, his brows furrowing and he tries to keep his hips from twitching, anchoring them down to the bed instead of letting them crave the contact.
Your lips purse in concentration, before you hum quietly.
“You gave me head but I never got to do it to you.” You state with a hum, nails tracing patterns on his thigh, and he can feel the ticklish sensation through the denim of his jeans and he swallows.
“You— uh-um… You don’t have to. I don’t mind if you’re not into that…—”
“I am.” You reassure, eyes lowered and watching the way his cock stiffens, blood rushing all the way to the appendage as it flushes a pretty, rosy pink and your hand wraps around his base.
Your hand’s all warm, all soft and delicate-fingered. The cool metal of your rings make his skin prickle and his hips are jutting before either of you can say anything, cum spurting across the front of your T-shirt, as well as creamy ribbons that reach all the way up to the curve of your jaw.
And you swallow.
“I— fuck, m’so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Mark’s breath stutters when your head dips, your eyes locked on his and your tongue drags along the tip of his cock, wet muscle flicking against his slit. And his hands fist the sheet.
“Finish making my bed.” You lift yourself from where you’re resting, unbothered by the mess on your throat and you make your way towards your en suite, closing the door behind you and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
Internally panicking and you have to fight to get your nerves steady.
And your lips purse, an intrusive thought causing you to drag your digit through the messy spent on your throat, and you bring your finger to your lips. Tasting the peculiar taste. Brows knitting as you try to place the flavours. Sweet. A little bit bitter, and so, so warm.
Mark stares at the bathroom door, his heart pounding in his chest before he grabs his phone, bated breaths slipping past his lips and he pants hard. Thumbs flying across his keyboard and his leg bounces.
Invinci-bitch: “Tell Cecil I’m not coming.”
Invinci-bitch: “Space flu or whatever.”
Rex takes a while to respond.
Rex Splooge: “Space herpes. Got it 👌”
Fuck. Mark discards his phone, tucking himself back into his boxers before continuing to make your bed, although, big brown eyes keep glancing towards the bathroom door.
He’d really prefer to not have ‘space herpes’.
But he’ll take what he gets.
Especially if what he gets, involves that plush, shit-talking mouth wrapping around his cock.
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“William, she’s making my hands sweaty.”
Mark’s voice is hoarse, wiping his sweaty palms on the surface of his shorts for what could be the eighth time this hour, eyes darting towards where you’re helping clean up the kitchen, a mess after Mark’s 13th birthday party. A few neighbours kids, maybe a handful of classmates he liked and a mess of wrapping paper that you’d suggested he keep.
“Yeah.” William slurps on his milkshake, blueberry tinting the inner bits of his lips a slight blue. “Me and your dad were mocking you for it.”
And Mark huffs.
“Of course you were.” And he glances back towards you, your arms submerged in soapy hot water, lips curled into a grin as you chat so easily with Nolan, who’s rough hands remain drying the dishes. “She’s so… pretty.”
Mark’s lips curl at the memory, eyes focused on you as you continue swiping through your For You page, attention entirely captured by the sight of makeup brushes, gently brushing against some stupidly overpriced mic, accompanied by gentle taps against the stand. His arm remains tossed over your belly, cheek pressed against your shoulder and a leg wrapped around yours. His warm palm, pressed against your even warmer tummy.
And he swallows.
“I think Mark’s got a crush on you.” Nolan’s voice is quiet, hands wrapped up in a plaid kitchen cloth, the bright crimson standing out against his muscular forearms. “Look.” And you follow Nolan’s gaze towards Mark.
Surrounded by kids, opening birthday presents and giving toothy grins and sweet ‘thank you’s.
And your expression softens.
“Mr Nolan, if Mark likes me, it’s because he’s never spoken to another girl before.” You snort. “He’d have a crush on William if William was a girl.”
And you glance back towards Mark, catching his gaze and you watch the way his lips curl, perfect teeth displayed and God, your heart clenches in your chest. And you smile back, trying to play off the way those rosy apples make your face heat up.
“Your heartbeat got sooooooooooooooo fast.” Nolan whispers, almost conspiratorially. And you glare up at Nolan.
“I’ll make him dress up as Duct-Tape Man.” You threaten and Nolan’s eyes narrow at you. And you snort out a laugh.
“Why’d you get so mad about that in the first place, sir?” You question.
“He used the good tape.”
“It wasn’t because you were the only girl I spoke to.” Mark speaks up, swallowing heavy and he glances up towards your face, eyes roving over your features and ultimately, landing on the curve of your bottom lip. So plump. So inviting.
“Huh?” You question, a brow raising and you pause the video on your phone, screen displaying, ‘GRWM FOR CONFRONTING MY BF ABOUT CHEATING ON ME W/ MY BD’.
“When you told my dad I would only like you because you’re the only girl I spoke to.” He whispers softly. “That wasn’t why.” His warm grip tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into the soft, squishy flesh.
“It was because you were the only girl I wanted to talk to.”
There’s a knot in your belly, your lashes fluttering with each slow, cat-like blink you give Mark and you feel the way his heartbeat gets faster. His breathing deepening and his eyes flicker towards your lips, brows knitting in a way that could only be described as longingly before he meets your gaze again.
Puppy eyes soft and loving.
“You’re still the only girl I wanna talk to.”
Your expression softens, lashes fluttering so prettily and you swallow, the corners of your lips tugging downwards and you can feel your eyes becoming a little bit glossier.
“What about William?” Your voice is sweet, and so soft, and it would’ve sounded earnest if he didn’t understand you. And he snorts.
“William doesn’t count.” He huffs out a laugh, his hand leaving your belly to cradle the side of your face, wiping away that fat rivulets before it an even reach the curve of your cheek and his lips curve into a soft smile.
Before he teases you.
“Now say something nice about me.” He nudges you, shifting over you until your thighs are on either side of his hips, one hand bracing your hip while the other presses against your cheek.
“You too, are the only girl I wanna talk to.” You snort and Mark rolls his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the grin that threatens to make his cheeks dimple in that adorably dorky way.
“I’m a man.” He corrects.
“You’re a boy at best.” You huff.
And he leans in, the ball of his nose brushing against yours, breath ghosting over your lips.
“Oh really?” He hums. “You wanna see how much of a man I am?”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🌹wc. 🌹୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“Yeah.” Your voice is soft, fingers carding through Mark’s hair, the silky feel between your fingers is the only thing keeping you from wearing your excitement on your fucking forehead.
“Wait, really?” He perks up, pretty brown eyes focused on your face, searching your expression for a hint of deception but all he finds are kiss swollen lips curled into a sheepish smile, fluttering lashes and a tongue that swipes across your bottom lip with the same fluidity he wants to feel against his leaky tip.
“Yes, really.” You snort.
And Mark’s excitement is palpable, lips curling into a wide grin, and he sits up, blankets pooling at your hips and you glance down at the very, very prominent shape in his boxers. The fabric pulled so taut that you’re beginning to think he might actually lose circulation and you watch as Mark reaches over, grabbing your phone from beside his and he unlocks it.
Fingers flying over the cracked screen guard, and he taps his fingers impatiently against your cover.
“What are you doing?” Your brows scrunch in confusion, thighs tossed over his ones and you feel the way warm muscles tense and twitch under the weight of your legs.
“Playlist.” Mark whispers, his fingers scrolling through your Spotify, adding just the right songs.
“Are you serious?” You groan, laughter tinging at the edge of your voice, as you stare at Mark. Clad in a President Nixon T-shirt and black boxers, raven strands tousled messily from the way your fingers carded through the strands so incessantly, a dopey grin formed by lips reddened from kissing and his fucking eyes.
So dazed, pupils blown wide and long lashes fluttering with each half-blink. Light reflects off the pretty brown of his eyes, and you could stare at him like this forever.
“Okay, done.” Mark whispers, setting your phone back down and he adjusts the sound just a bit until he’s hovering back over you, lips ghosting over yours. The ball of his nose bumping against yours in sweet butterfly kisses, his hand moving to rest on your waist while the other supports his weight above you.
“Do you have condoms?” Mark questions softly, lips pressing against yours in sweet, gentle kisses. Slowly trailing his lips along your jaw, his hips pressing into yours and you feel the way he grinds his clothed cock against your pussy, the flimsy fabric of your nightshorts doing nothing to obscure how you’re soaking through the cotton.
“I— hah…” A weak sigh leaves your lips when Mark kisses the hollow beneath your ear, and your thighs wrap around his waist firmly “I don’t think we wear the same condom size.”
A breathy laugh against your neck has your cunt oozing slick, a pool beneath your hips and you’re trying not to whine whenever his ridge catches at your sloppy folds. “Yeah.” Mark murmurs. “Your dick’s so much bigger than mine.” And he kisses the curve of your neck. “What size are you?”
“Magnum.” You whisper. “Extra large, with extra ribbing.”
And Mark laughs, his head lifting. “Why do you know so much about condoms?”
“I don’t.” You snort. “I pulled that out of my ass, but.” You hum. “How couldn’t you guess that? Don’t you know about condoms?”
And Mark shrugs. “No. I always thought that with the right person, I wouldn’t have to wear them.”
His voice is quiet as he looks down at you, pretty eyes roving over your features and he swallows, lips curling into a dorkish grin that has you weak, your belly clenching at the way he slips his hand under your shirt, giving your waist a gentle squeeze before his hand slides up further. Stopping until his thumb traces over the curve of the underside of your breast.
“Call it alien instincts.” He whispers, pressing another kiss to your neck and you sigh. “M’still waiting for you to dry out and get all gross.”
“I’m not like ET. I’m basically like… Kryptonian.” He answers softly, sucking a mark into your skin and you gasp at the sudden sharpness of the action. A slight pinch that makes your heels press into his lower back.
“And what’s your kryptonite?” You hum softly.
“I’d tell you to take a guess but that’s kinda cheesy.” Mark whispers against your skin. “So, it’s comic books.”
You let out a giggle, your lips parting to say something but Mark’s thumb brushes over your nipple, teasing the velvety soft bud until it stiffens beneath his grasp and you take a shaky breath, your lashes fluttering shut as you feel the way Mark’s kisses trail lower and lower, until he’s pushing your shirt up, past your belly and tucking it beneath your chin.
And he stares.
Unapologetically.
Muscular fingers flexing as they grasp at your hips, brilliant chestnut pools focused and trained on the way your nipples harden, pebbling under his gaze. And you swallow.
“Is something — bitch, wait, are you playing The Weeknd?” You attempt to sit up, shifting enough for your elbows to support your weight but Mark presses a hand on your chest, pushing you back down and he dips his head. His tongue’s hot as he drags along your nipple, eyes glancing up to watch your expression as his lips find purchase, tongue flicking and his other hand moves back to palming your unattended tit. Your body nearly leaves the surface of your mattress at the way Mark attends to you, pandering to your body and you whine.
“Are you sensitive here?” Mark breathes out, but it’s like you don’t hear him immediately.
Your fingers are raking through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp and Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut as he shifts his attention to the other.
He’s impeccably good at it.
But clumsy enough for you to know that this is his first time.
His hips rut against your thigh desperately and you let out a low sigh, your eyes rolling back.
“Shit…” You whisper, swallowing hard before you nod. “Apparently so.”
And he grins.
“Score.”
Mark tugs at your nipple with his teeth and he lifts his head to admire you.
Glossy, swollen nipples, a belly that’s dipping inward with every shallow breath you take and Mark’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one go and Mark tosses them aside. Before grasping at the edge of his shirt, pulling it overhead and tossing it aside.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect.” He breathes out, desperately as he shifts, kisses and hickeys scattering themselves across your torso with each desperate press of his lips, fingers wrapped around your thighs and Mark pushes your legs apart. His lips pressing a kiss against your fleshy, plump mound before guiding your legs to part comfortably.
And your hands immediately go to cover yourself, and he lets out a little hum, before shifting, peering at you with a confused expression. “You okay?”
And your lips purse as you try to find a way to say you’re a little nervous about that. “Are you like….” You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Does— do you have to like… do that?”
Mark lifts the covers, hands moving to support his weight as he stares down at you. “If you’re not comfortable with it, we don’t have to do that. It’d just make it easier for later, you know.”
“It’s not that I’m not comfortable, it’s like… You don’t have to, if you don’t like… wa—"
“I want to.” Mark interjects. “I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me. I gotta put me first.”
You snort, loudly before looking at Mark. Your brows furrowing as you remember your anxiousness. What if it doesn’t… Like…
“What if it’s like not… You know?”
And Mark lowers himself back to between your thighs, his chin resting on your mound and he watches you with soft, empathetic eyes.
“The worst possible thing that could happen, is you tasting like pennies because you don’t drink water.” Mark deadpans. “But I like the taste of pennies.”
And your lips purse. “We’ll get back to the penny tasting part later but are you sure?” Your voice is quiet.
“I’m sure.” Mark whispers back. “Can I show you how sure I am?”
When you nod, Mark’s head dips and he sighs in delight.
Thumbs move to spread your puffy lips apart, your glossy cunt being stared at so intently that you can feel it. But it doesn’t make you any less horny. And Mark groans quietly when he watches the way you twitch.
“Demogorgon.” Mark breathes out and you gasp. “Mark, you fucking asshole. That’s not fun—…nnyyyyy..”
You whine weakly when you feel the way his warm tongue drags through your sloppy folds, slick pooling on the wet muscle and Mark groans as your thighs press against his ears.
Mark feels the way your cunt twitches against his tongue, and he tugs a folds into his mouth, eyes focused on your chest and the way your breath stutters, rather than the whines you’re muffling with your hand.
You’re writhing. With the way you’re trying to simultaneously get away AND closer to his tongue, Mark’s finding it hard to keep the smile from his face. Your fingers sink into his hair, fisting the raven strands and he groans, tongue lapping needily at your dripping pussy and when Mark pays attention to your clit, you squeal. A hand on his forehead, pushing him away.
“Not there—!” You hiss, your voice a weak whine and Mark lifts his head, staring at you from beneath heavy lashes.
And Mark huffs. “Listen here,” He swallows, pushing the covers out of the way and ultimately, leaving them bunched at his waist instead, “I can lick a pudding cup clean in like, a minute. This, this is my calling.”
And you pant, bleary eyes glancing down at him, your cheeks flushed and hot.
“You’re a literal superhero.” You remind him. “I think that’s more … Your calling.”
“Well, lucky for me, I don’t pay you to think.”
“You don’t even pay me.”
And Mark lets out a boyish little giggle, peering up at you and this time, he can make out your features properly. So much better than when the covers were obscuring his vision.
“Shhhh.” Mark shushes you. “I’m busy eating.”
You roll your eyes, although it’s to the back of your head but you’re pretty sure your point is across. Fingers remain clutching your thighs, Mark’s lips find purchase around your clit and he’s suckling at the sensitive bud, only stopping to drag his tongue along the nerves and you whine.
Your body feels like it’s on fire.
“Is it good?” Mark whispers softly. “Do you like that?”
And you nod weakly. “Uh-huh, keep doing that. M’really close…”
Your belly dips in shock, lungs taking in deep breaths of air that just don’t seem enough when you feel his tongue drags along your slit, your toes curl and your brows bunch. And your hips jerk upwards.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” You pant. “Mark, m’gonna—”
You don’t get to finish your sentence when your orgasm’s ripping through you like a tidal wave, slick bursting from your gooey walls and trickling down your already sloppy cunt. Your body shivers, nerves wracking and you’re trembling with each swipe of Mark’s tongue. And he groans.
“Fuck, you taste so good. What are you eating?” And he peers up at you, his chin glossy and his eyes hazy.
“Uh— berries? I’ve been eating a bit healthier. You know, more juices, less soda.” And Mark nods his head, tongue out and dragging sloppily against your cunt, before he raises his head.
“Keep doing that.” And he buries his face back between your thighs, latching onto your clit and he shakes his head, hands shifting to the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs to your chest. And you’re spread out like a meal. Something for him to admire and feast on until either of you pass out.
And Mark drags his tongue from that furled hole, all the way up to your pretty, puffy pearl and you gasp.
“Way too close!” You huff. “You can’t go that close to my ass.”
And Mark groans against your pussy, looking up at your from beneath furrowed brows and his words are barely audible.
“Boo, tomato, tomato.” He slurps at your cunt, and the sound is loud enough that it drowns out your weak mewls. You’re a little bit oversensitive, your thighs still a bit unsteady and with the way Mark keeps prodding his tongue, you’re guessing he’s not stopping anytime soon.
“Have you ever been fingered?” Mark whispers, using one of his hands to push his hair out of his face, and he melts when your hand replaces his, fingers sliding through the strands and keeping them from falling to his face.
“Where would I have found the time to be fingered?” You breathe out, body twitching whenever his breath ghosts over the slick, a chill breeze that makes your toes curl in your socks.
“Your parents aren’t ever home, you don’t have any hobbies other than sleeping.” Mark shrugs.
“You described an extremely busy schedule to me just now, and I’d like for you to find fingering time on there.”
And he huffs.
“Yapper.” And his middle finger slowly pushes into your cunt, and gorgeous, blown out brown eyes focus on your face, watching every twitch o your brows, every part of your lips for even a lick of pain and discomfort. Your body shifting until your feet are planted on the bed, on either side of him.
“How does it feel?” Mark whispers, tongue tracing over your clit and you swallow hard.
“Like… a little uncomfortable but it doesn’t really hurt-hurt.” You answer softly.
“And if I do this?” Mark’s finger curls, the calloused pad of it brushes against that gooey spot you’ve never reached before and you gasp, nails dragging against his scalp when you fist his hair.
“Do that, please.” You sigh. “S’good.”
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Mark whispers quietly, his brows scrunching and he can feel the way his cock aches in his boxers, precum soaking through the fabric and he ruts against your bed like a fucking animal. But he’s subtle about it.
Mark sucks at your clit, finger thrusting and brushing along that gooey spot, pressing down until there are stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you squeal.
“Fuck, fuck, right the—!”
You’re coming around Mark’s finger, slick pooling beneath your hips, dripping down the crease of your ass. And you’re fine with it being there.
But Mark isn’t.
He forces your knees to your chest again, head dipping lower before he’s dragging his tongue from the edge of your spine, along your furled entrance, your oozing slit and all the way to your clit and circling it with the point of his tongue.
And you gasp.
“Mark. I swear to God. If I get an infection—”
“I’m not sticking my tongue in your ass, oh my God.” He groans. “But fine. I guess you’re just not about that life.”
And you giggle, bringing your hands up to your face to hide your blush. “You fucking dork.”
“Do— do you think you’re ready?” Mark questions, a hand reaching up to push your face slightly. “Look away.”
“I should probably be ready.” You murmur quietly, your gaze lifting to the ceiling but you can’t even deny that the back of your eyeballs are burning to catch a glimpse of what’s been causing the print you kept eyeing.
For the last couple of years.
And Mark peels off his boxers, before flinging them in your direction. And your mouth falls open. “Why are they wet?” You giggle, a snort slipping past your lips as you pick up his boxers, setting them to the side and you look down at where Mark’s hand is wrapped around the base of his cock, ruddy tip ghosting over your folds. You begin to fear for your organs.
“You know, now that I’m looking at it—”
“I won’t make it fit.” Mark deadpans, dragging his cock along your leaking slit, slick coating his cock and he lets out a shuddering breath when he aligns himself with your hole.
And he swallows heavily.
“Take a deep breath…” Mark breathes in.
And your brows bunch.
He looks… Stressed.
Eyebrows knitted, lips parted to let out calculated breaths, his chest heaving and— oh my god, his hand’s shaking.
“Mark?” You call softly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.. I’m just like… hyping myself up— fuck, your hand’s so warm…”
Mark sighs, a whimper slipping past his lips when he feels the way your hand wraps around him, gently guiding his tip towards your fluttering cunt, peering down at you from beneath hooded eyes, his skin prickling and he swallows hard. His body shivering, and muscular hands move to rest on your knees, fingers digging into your flesh as he pushes forward.
Your hands are so much daintier than his, softer, smaller and he feels the way your walls clench, cunt snugly wrapping around his flushed and bulbous tip, and Mark’s brows furrow.
And you snort.
“Are you okay?” Your voice is a breathy giggle. “You know, seeing as you’re losing your womanhood.”
Mark’s scowl makes you laugh, your muscles clenching around him and Mark gasps, his hips surging forward a good 3 inches and your eyes widen.
“You motherfucker—!”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” He breathes out. “I’ll pull out.”
His cock drags against your soft, plush walls, him in that way that makes his lips form a pretty ‘o’ shape, brows raising.
“You’re so warm…” He sighs. “For a heart so cold.”
The laugh slips effortlessly from your lips, your lashes fluttering and one of your hands move to rest on his lower belly, fingertips ghosting over the muscles of his abs but the contact’s enough for his stomach to flex, the sight so painfully delicious that if you didn’t feel like you were being split in half, you’d have slid a dollar down his torso, and Mark leans over you, the silver chain dangling in front of your eyes.
Lips pressing against yours, and your arms slink around his neck, thighs parting to accommodate him better and you feel that uncomfortable burn as he slowly pushes into you. Your nails drag down his back, a satisfying purr slipping past Mark’s lips and he shushes you.
“It’s okay, its okay.” He coos. “It’s gonna feel better in a minute, yeah?”
A hand slips down between you, fingers gently circling your clit, the sensation makes your body thrum and Mark groans, face pressed into the curve of your neck when he hears the lewd way your pussy squelches around him.
“You’re so… Tight… Fuck, shit—” Mark swallows, “—I need to pull out.”
His chest heaves, and he lifts himself just a bit, hands shifting to your hips and your brows bunch.
“Now?”
“Yeah, right now...” He swallows hard, chest heaving and a sharp breath leaves his nose. “…s’too much. I’m gonna come.”
He looks down at where your pussy swallows him, plush and glossy lips busted open, slick trickling down the sides of him and he swallows, expression damn near pained and he lets out a whine.
“I don’t wanna.”
Mark leans forward, sweaty torso pressed against you, his face buried in your neck and you whine when he pushes deeper into you, mushroom-y tip pressing sloppy French kisses against your cervix, your fingers sinking into the hair at his nape and Mark whimpers when he feels the way you clamp down on him. Precum smearing against your slick walls with each shallow thrust of his hips, desperate humping as he whines into your neck, needy and his arms wrap around you, fisting the fabric of the shirt you have yet to take off.
He doesn’t mind it.
It’s his shirt.
“Don’t pull out.” Your lips brush against his ear, and Mark swallows hard. His heart beating against his ribcage, body prickling with nerves and he nods his head.
“Okay.” He breathes out.
Mark sits up, watching the way your thighs are strewn lazily across his, his cock buried deep enough that he can make out the little bulge just below your navel and he pulls out slowly. Watching as each inch of his cock emerges coated in a gloss that reflects the light that creeps through your curtains, before pushing back in.
Your body keens, nearly instinctively curling into yourself and he brings his hand back down, his thumb pressing tight circles on your clit and you gasp, nails digging into his forearms and your head tips back, your throat bobbing.
“Fuck, right there.” You pant out.
Mark’s slowly picking up speed, gentle thrusts that push him closer to the edge and when your body spasms, belly dipping inward and your knees pull themselves to your chest, he knows he’s a fucking goner.
Mark’s hands bracket the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees to your chest and he pushes into you, feeling the way your pussy clenches and Mark comes.
And God, he pulls you out of your reverie with the pornographic moan he lets out. Plump, pink lips parting, brows scrunching into a twitching frown, eyes squeezed shut and his hips keep moving. You feel the way his cum paints your insides, pearlescent droplets slipping out of you and pooling beneath you. His thumbs press into the fat of your thighs, pushing your legs just a bit further apart and he fucks into you deeper, faster.
“Fuck, you feel so good—” Mark gasps, peering down at you with hazy eyes and blown out pupils.
“Play,” he pants, head lolling and tipping back, moonlight dancing on the crown of his head, “play with it while I fuck you.”
Mark has your brain turning into mush, your fingers moving to lazily swipe over your clit, dainty fingers swirling over the bud and Mark watches the way your toes curl, pussy squelching and gushing around him as you come. Your legs shaking, your heart beating so much louder than he’s ever heard it before and you’re whining. Squealing, nails dragging at his forearms and leaving streaks behind in the flesh.
When your hand falls away, Mark simply takes over.
A true friend, pinching your clit between calloused fingertips, rolling it until you’re swatting at his hands, the overstimulated bud swollen and he groans when he feels you push at his belly.
“N-no….” You whine. “S’too much…”
“Move your hand.” Mark huffs, before he pins your hands above your head, leaning forward and you gasp when his hips grind against yours, his face pressing into the curve of your neck. He sucks marks into the flesh, sweet hickeys and his hips meet yours in a messy cacophony of plap! plap! plap!
“It’s too much…” You pant out.
“But you look so pretty, though.” He coos. “You can take it, can’t you?”
Mark kisses away the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks as you nod weakly, your chest heaving and glossy lips parting.
“You wanna switch positions so you can cry in peace?” Mark whispers and you nod.
“Mhm.”
You’re flipped onto your belly effortlessly, a pillow stuffed beneath your hips, and Mark slowly pushes into you. Your back’s arched so deeply, your face pressed into your pillow and your hair’s a bit of a mess as Mark gently tugs the T-shirt from your body.
“Shit, ‘s big.”
And Mark grins.
“I’m big, huh?” He taunts you, hand moving along the curve of your spine and he feels the way you clench down on him.
“Yeah, your fat head’s big.”
And Mark sighs. “Not fucked out enough to compliment me?”
You shoulders shake as you snort with laughter, lifting yourself just enough to peek at him over your sweat-slicked shoulder.
“Not even close.” You lie and he hums, his hands moving to palm the fleshy globes of your ass, spreading the fat and he watches your furled hole clench as a thick wad of saliva travels down the cleft of your ass.
“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck the niceness into yo—”
“Want a break from the ads?”
Marks expression falls, his attention moving towards the illuminated screen of your phone, bright green on display and he swallows hard.
“How fucking cheap— Just get premium!”
“Premium’s expensive!”
“I’m not even kidding right now, I’ll give you my actual bank account if you get premium.”
“I’m not getting premium. That’s like, the ultimate final boss of consumerism.”
Mark groans loudly when the ad finishes, and he lets out a breath. Before he waits, impatiently tapping at the base of your spine, eyes narrowing at the back of your head the longer it takes. And then, something plays.
“What shit is this?”
“No, no, leave it. I like this.” You swat his hand away, your head moving to the stupidly catchy tune and Mark shuts his eyes.
“I’m actually gonna choke you out. What is this?”
“It’s ‘Year of the Ca—’ mmph! ”
You’re interrupted when Mark pushes your face into your pillow, hands gripping the fat of your hips and he shifts closer, cock churning your insides with each thrust he gives, cum leaking down your inner thighs and he groans. The lewd squelch of your cunt nearly drowns out the soft voice of Al Stewart, but not enough. Mark’s brows are furrowing, swallowing hard as he feels another coil begin to form is belly. Aggressive and fiery, Mark’s snapping hips have the fat of your ass recoiling of the sharp angles of his hips, one hand moving to grasp the back of your neck while the other clutches at your headboard.
His hips are unforgiving, brutal thrusts that has your walls spasming, nails clawing at the sheets of your bed, your back arching and you’re pushing back against Mark, ass flush against his hips and you’re letting out weak, muffled whines into your pillow. Drool, and tears mix and you raise your head, looking over your shoulder at Mark.
“Mark…” You complain, your body breaking in a cold sweat when he pulls out of you, leaving your drooling pussy to clench around. And your expression falls when you watch the way he picks up your phone, swiping through the various musical options.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” You hiccup.
“I cannot fuck to this. I’m so sorry, it’s just—”
“Markus!”
“Fine!”
Mark’s shoving his cock back into you, the warmth is inviting and that fucking stretch has you gasping, eyes rolling back in your head and you whimper.
You don’t know how long you’re gonna last with his hips thwacking into you like you owe him money.
You probably do, but you have no intention of paying him back.
Your belly’s coiling, your toes are curling and your body’s threatening to go slack and Mark leans forward, pressing a kiss against your back.
“M’gonna come inside, yeah?”
“Uh-huh….” You nod weakly. And a pitchy sound rings out when you feel the way his cock pushes out thick, pearly ribbons that leave streaks across your gooey walls, and your body goes limp, his following and you’re grasping at your pillow. Letting out panted breaths and he kisses along your shoulders, warm and affectionate presses on his lips that have you sighing.
And his hips roll against yours. Slow and deep, and you’re whining weakly.
“It’s too—”
“You can give me one more.” His breath ghosts over your ear, arms wrapping around your midsection and he pulls you closer to him. He can feel your heart beating as erratically as his, your body warm and sweat, skin flushed. “I’ve heard you come 5 times, back to back. You can do it for me.”
And you whine, pressing your face into the sheets as his hips roll against yours, grinding into you and fucking his cum deeper.
“You wanna get on top?” Mark coos softly and he watches as you shift almost uncomfortably, raising your hand weakly and you flip him off.
And Mark hums, a snort of laughter slipping past his lips and he lets out a soft moan at the way your fleshy cunt squeezes him, before he pulls out of you, flipping you onto your back.
“You’re so pretty.” Mark coos, hands brushing along your hips and belly, sliding up to your chest and he ghosts his thumbs over your perky nipples, still oversensitive and he watches the way your body twitches.
Big doe eyes are tear-filled, your lashes fluttering and your lips are swollen. And Mark glances down to where your glossy pussy remains unattended and he sighs softly, biting his bottom lip as he pushes back into you, inch by inch. Watching the way your back arches off the bed.
“Can you put your legs on my shoulders?” Mark speaks softly, hands massaging along your thighs and his gaze flicks up to yours, and the way you’re staring at him makes him smile, dimples deepening in his cheeks.
He looks…
'Radiant', as zesty as it is, is the only word to describe him.
Muscled body coated in a thin sheen of sweat, droplets traveling down the delves of his muscles, broad chest heaving, a thin silver chain glittering in the faint light. His hair falls over his face, a few strands stuck to his forehead and his eyes. They’re glittering like ponds of honey, framed by dark lashes and his lips curl so deliciously into a grin.
“Right.”
He murmurs, before guiding your legs onto his shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss against your lips as he sighs when your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He purrs when your fingers disappear into his hair, sweat-slicked strands moving between your fingers as his hips grind against yours.
That scratchy tuft of hair above his cock tickles at your clit, overstimulating the bud even more, his chest presses against yours and he keeps his eyes on yours.
“Why’re you —hah— looking so deep into my eyes?” Your voice is soft, and Mark lets a breathy giggle fan across your face, his hips pressing into yours, timing each of his thrusts with one of your perfect, rhythmic pulses that slowly speed up.
Your orgasm impending.
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re as in love with me as I’m in love with you.”
Mark’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. His lashes fluttering as his lips keep ghosting over the apples of your cheeks, pressing sweet kisses to your rosy and flushed face.
And you swallow.
“I am.”
It’s the first time you’ve admitted it to anyone without there being a comedic undertone, without some… Discrete joke of self-loathing because Mark was looking in every direction except yours. And you swallow, your gaze focused on his.
“Really?” He whispers softly, a hand cradling the side of your face, and he’s drinking in every sensation you have to offer. And you weakly nod.
Only snorting when he presses his rosy face into the curve of your neck, his knees causing the bed to dimple and you feel the way his arms wrap around you, forcing your hips to angle a bit more upward.
And his hips rut.
Hard.
Mushroom-y tip pummelling against that spongy spot, your toes curling and your nails scratching at his back. You’re effectively folded in half, folded in a way that would have lawn chairs jealous because of how much space you’re saving but you can’t even think of that.
Not with the panted praises in your ear, the flurry of “you feel so good” and “fuck, you’re so pretty like this”s making your mind melt. Your body's pliable and weak, electricity pulsing just beneath your skin and your cunt’s oozing, wet shlick! shlick! shlick! sounds accompanying the sounds of his thighs slapping against the fat of your ass.
And you tuck your face in Mark’s neck, nails digging into his skin, biting down on the muscle of his shoulder as you stifle the scream that threatens to tear your throat as you come, gushing and soaking the tops of his thighs, his pelvis and tightly toned lower belly.
Mark wrings you dry. Fucking into you until you’re a weak, trembling faucet and he pulls out, looking down at the creamy mixture that trickles out of your gushing cunt.
And he swallows, panting just a bit.
“Are you okay?” Mark coos, his thumb tracing over your swollen clit, peeking out from between velvety folds and you nod weakly.
“Mhm…” You breathe out, your body prickles with goosebumps, your sheets soaked and you look like deflated sex doll.
“You wanna go again?”
And you stare at him incredulously.
“No.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🌼wc.🌼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“Do… do you think we’re friends in every universe?”
Mark’s voice is quiet, back pressed against freshly mowed grass, eyes focused on the starry sky above you. It stretches endlessly, an abyss dotted with the faintest glows, celestial pools that reflect off your pupils and you hum. Chewing on your bottom lip.
“I think so.”
You shift on the grass, your shoulder bumping against his and your head bumps lightly against his, and Mark bites back a grin, but you can see the dimples that threaten to appear in his cheeks. “Yeah?” He whispers.
“Mhm.” You swallow. “It doesn’t seem right that I’d only know you in one life.”
Mark’s fingers lace with yours, his pudgy digit tracing over the pretty ring that adorns your thumb.
“I think we always find each other. Even if, like, I don’t know, different worlds. Or timelines. Or species.”
His eyes remain trained on the black above him, wind rustling at the cypress branches, blades of grass tickling the back of his neck, the backs of his legs and he glances at you, pupils dilated so much that you’d think he was on something.
Lashes fluttering shut, the ball of your nose brushing against his and your lips brushing over his. In a sweet, chaste promise that managed to toe the line between friendship and something neither of you could comprehend.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“You fought and won, against Godzilla. Like, literally.” You deadpan. “But an off-brand kraken with toenails and spikes, rocks your shit?”
Your scoff breaks Mark from his reverie, his eyes moving to where you’re perched on the closed lid of your toilet, arms crossing over your chest and obscuring nearly half the image of your oversized sleeping tee.
Mark’s never seen that fucking T-shirt leave your wardrobe.
Ratty, frayed at the neckline. A faded print of some presidential candidate from how many years ago. He knows you couldn’t even vote then.
“I didn’t get my shit rocked.” Mark speaks, clearing his throat to get rid of the lump because this is the closest he’s been to his best friend in a while. No arguing, no tension. Just you taking care of him, like you always have.
“Fine, you got your shit jostled.” You correct yourself and he snorts, the cut on his bottom lip doing nothing to prevent that dorkish grin from spreading across his face.
“I won, didn’t I?” He brags.
“Barely. Vincible.”
He rolls his eyes at your chide, before resting back against the edge of the tub, soaking his aching muscles in the concoction of Epsom salts and hot water, bubbles frothing at the surface because Mark refuses a bath where he doesn’t get to use your bubble bath.
The scent clings to his skin, and he lets out a breath, taking in that sweet smell before peeking at you from beneath his lashes.
“Put those ladyfingers to work.”
He hums, eyes fluttering shut and he cocks an even wider grin at the sound of you shuffling, wetting your hands before squeezing a generous glob of shampoo into your palm, griping all the way as you rub our palms, waiting patiently until it emulsifies.
Snowy cream is strewn from between your hands before you massage it onto Mark’s scalp, scratching and watching the way his eyes roll back in his head.
His hand moves to grip your thigh, brows scrunching into a pleased frown at the way your nails rake against his skin, scratching at the nape of his neck and your palms work a thick lather into his hair.
“Your hair’s not even dirty.” You huff. And Mark groans in a ploy to shut you up and it works. But not because he’s interrupting you.
But because you’re watching the way suds slide down the side of his neck, settling in the crevice of the muscle and your watching his broad chest heaves, pink lips parting to let out relaxed sighs and you’re questioning everything you’ve ever known.
You know you have a thing for Mark, that’s for sure. You’ve basically lived on the manifestation side of TikTok in an attempt to get him to dream of you, but you never followed up on if he ever did. You’d do little rituals to make him think of you, forcefully but still.
But never once, did you consider the possibility that Mark’s beginning to qualify as ‘fine shyt’.
“Scratch at the crown.” Mark groans quietly, eyes shut to keep out the shampoo and you comply with a silent ‘uh-huh’, scratching at the crown of his head. Inky strands are messy and soapy, and you drag your nails along his scalp one last time, before you’re reaching for the showerhead, and covering Mark’s eyes with one hand, while the other rinses away the suds.
And he sighs, thumb pressing circles into your thigh and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the squeak that threatens to spill.
And Mark peers up at you, a perfect brow raising and he hums.
“What’s wrong?”
You know damn well.
“Nothing.” You answer, still chewing on your bottom lip as you rinse his hair. “Just hungry.”
That’s not exactly a lie either.
You’re not too hungry. Well, not hungry enough to be considered hungry but you can eat.
“Big back.” Mark whispers under his breath.
“I’ll drown you.” Your eyes narrow. “Don’t test me.”
You try not to focus on how the scalding waters make his skin flush so prettily, how the light of the bathroom dances on his features and makes the flecks in his iris look golden. And you try not to notice that the smell of him, him and him alone, is mixing with steam and your body wash, and your shampoo.
And you think that having sex with Mark might smell like this.
Heady, sweaty and refreshing. Sweet and musky. Calloused hands pressing your thighs apart, soft lips pressing at your erratic pulse and the way he’d breathe you in like you’re his next lungful of life. The thought makes your skin prickle and you feel an empty ache between your thighs that you’ve never quite felt before.
Your mind drifts to the way his lips would ghost over your ears, the way his biceps would shift to pull you closer, the way a veiny hand would wrap around the base of his swollen, leaky cock, lining him up at your messy cunt before—
“Your heartbeat’s getting fast.” Mark comments. “What’s that about?”
“I’m thinking about holding your head underwater.”
And a smile stretches across your lips.
Under your waters.
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Why do you have so many T-shirts from elections?” Mark questions, rifling through you drawers before settling on one. He pulls it overhead, and you watch the way the muscles of his back flex beneath his skin, and you pull the covers up, over your chest.
And Mark look down at his T-shirt.
“They’re not even all from the same country.” He snorts, muscular legs carrying him over to your bedside before he creeps beneath your blankets, tugging them up to his neck and he presses his face against your shoulder.
Inhaling the scent of your skin, the scent of the sheets he hasn’t been wrapped up in for far too long and he throws an arm over your waist, tugging you into his orbit before pulling you into his chest.
The worn fabric does nothing to tamper with the furnace that Mark’s become, claiming your title as the warm one, and you feel the way he melts against you. Legs entangling with yours, and his nose brushes against the nape of your neck. Calloused fingertips slip beneath the edge of your shirt, tracing along where the ribbed elastic waistband of your shorts cuts into the plush of your hips. Fingers draw patterns on the soft pudge and you turn into a puddle when his lips brush against your pulse.
He's so gentle. Drawing little flowers around your navel, hearts on your lower belly and his fingertips trace along your ribs.
You don’t know how long you’re laying in his arms.
Feeling warm breath fan across the curve of your neck, feeling even warmer fingertips clutch at you like you’re his whole world and for the first time, in a long time, it doesn’t feel like you’re second choice. Not to Eve, not to Amber, not to anyone or anything.
The world quiets down until it’s just you and him. Mingling breaths in the comfort of your bedroom, the soft thud of raindrops hitting the ground, slightly louder when they patter against your windows. And you shift in his grasp, turning to face him instead.
Mark’s heart stutters when your arms wrap around his midsection, your legs following and wrapping around his thighs, your face pressing into the slope of his neck. The ball of your nose is cold, icy almost, he feels the way your lashes flutter as you shut your eyes, and he can hear the steady thrum of your heartbeat.
His hold tightens, chin resting on the crown of your head, feeling the way strands tickle at his face, and Mark inhales. Deep enough until you’re settling in his lungs, fingers clutching at your T-shirt and he curls his body around yours.
And there’s a silence that settles in the room, only interrupted when Mark’s voice breaks it, quiet and so, so very boyish.
“So, are we gonna talk about you peeking through my window, yet?” He whispers teasingly, his hand shifting to the back of your neck where he traces patterns on your nape, the action ticklish enough for you to act on impulse. Tucking your neck, and you peer up at him with narrowed eyes.
“Are we gonna talk about the panties you stole yet?” You bite back, a brow raising and you watch Mark’s lips purse.
“No, we are not.” And he ushers your face back to his neck, his cheeks burning a bright red when e feels your hushed giggles against the sensitive flesh and he breathes out. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’m a gaping asshole.” You correct. “Respect my truth.”
And Mark laugh. Loudly, and you hear that breathy little hitch in his voice, peeking up at him to watch the corners of his eyes crinkle, to watch the way pink lips part and reveal pearly teeth and you linger on his canines. Before moving over to his dimples, to the rosy apples of his cheeks and finally, you drink him in as a whole.
Damp raven strands that fall over his forehead in perfect strands, a sharp jaw and you feel the way his muscles flex as he readjusts his grip on you.
“My bad.” Mark huffs out a snort. “My bad for mischaracterizing you. How can I fix it?”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“This isn’t what I meant.” Mark grumbles, muscles flexing with each movement as he continues to fold, and bend different articles of clothing, brows scrunched into a furrow as he organizes your closet.
“Yeah, but it’s what I want.” You respond with a snort. “An besides, you should be comfortable handling my clothing. You know, since you’re like, half-Korean.”
Mark stares at you, watching the way you take another bite of your cookie. His expression is blank, lips falling open in shock at the easiness of what you just said.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Mark’s brows bunch and you can tell he’s not offended, so much as confused and trying not to laugh.
“You know,” You shrug, “Koreans tend to open dry cleaners.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s like… Family Guy, they go to a Korean dry cleaner. In American Dad, when Stan opens a dry cleaners with a bunch of strippers, he complains about the Koreans. It’s a statistic.”
Mark’s lips twitch and he curls them inward, trying to stifle the laugh.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“You folded more than half of my closet in like, 15 minutes. It’s in your DNA. The D stands for—” “If you say dry cleaning, I’m gonna hit you in the mouth.”
And your lips purse.
And you take a slow, and loud bite of your cookie. And he shuts his eyes, letting out an even breath.
“I hate you so much.”
Mark goes back to folding before he lifts one of the shirts. And he gasps. “You dick, you never gave this back.”
“You kinda left me on a building, so you know.” Your lips purse and Mark winces at the memory. Before looking almost sheepishly ashamed, brows scrunching and his lips tug downwards into a frown.
“I’m sorry about that.” Mark murmurs.
“It’s chill, I got a happy meal out of it.”
He tosses the Seance Dog T-shirt at you. Pretty brown eyes focused on the way you catch the fabric like it’s something precious, holding it to your chest.
Mark doesn’t glance away as you turn your back to him, hands reaching for the edge of your shirt and you pull it overhead. He stares at your back, the curve of your spine, the way your waist curves and suddenly, he’s hiding an erection behind a Pinocchio T-shirt, eyes locked on the way your back flexes as you pull the Seance Dog shirt on, and he watches the fabric fall just below your ass. Fleshy globes only obscured by your ridiculously short cotton shorts and Mark swallows.
Gaze flitting up to meet yours.
“Looks g-good.” He nearly sputters, hands fisting the fabric of the top in his lap and your eyes lower to the veins that bulge at his hands and forearms.
“Did Pinocchio’s nose always look like that?” Your brows furrow.
Mark begins to sweat, droplets forming at his neck and disappearing behind the neckline of his shirt.
“Yeah.” Mark lies. “You got this at that 3D shirt place, remember? You wanted his nose 3D so it looks like you could poke kids in the eye.”
And while you can’t remember, that does sound like something you’d say.
And you plop into your bed, wriggling beneath the covers before you peer at Mark, watching his muscles shift as he continues and you sigh at the sight, bottom lip wedged between your teeth. And your lips part to make a quip, most probably something offensive but you’re interrupted by Mark’s phone, buzzing incessantly and you glance towards the screen.
And it’s the superhero equivalent of Hailey Bieber.
Your lips purse at Eve’s contact, eyes narrowing and you’re already shifting in bed, internally readying yourself for a brief ‘gotta go’.
Mark’s shoulders stiffen as he shifts, his body nearly throwing itself across yours as he reaches for his phone, swiping at the red button. And he turns his phone off, crawling beneath the covers alongside you and his body blankets yours. His face nestles in the curve your neck, his arms tuck themselves beneath the small of your back and he holds you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
And right now, it feels like it is.
For the first time, in a long time, Mark feels… Complete.
Complete and very, very hard. Cock straining against his boxers, precum staining the stretched fabric and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of you. God.
“You’re so warm…” Mark whispers against your skin, his body shifting and your gaze flicks up to your ceiling, and you’re gonna bite off your bottom lip at this point. Every hole of your body is clenched, your mind is working overtime to commit every sense you’re feeling to memory.
You swallow hard when you realise Mark’s hips are wedged between your thighs, layers of fabric doing nothing to make him feel less of the heat between you, and Mark presses his lips against your pulse. The ball of his nose brushes against your earlobe, his hips press against yours and you’re feeling all of him and simultaneously not enough.
Mark’s pressing sweet kisses against your neck, a low sound leaving the back of his throat when he feels the way your head tips back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat. And Mark sighs against your skin, dragging his tongue up your jugular before lifting his head, shifting until his face is above yours.
Lashes fluttering and his head dips.
Mark’s lips meet yours in a soft kiss. Uncoordinated, so unpracticed, and so, so hot. Mark’s lips move against yours in the sweetest way, hands pawing at your waist, pulling you closer and he loves the way your thighs press against his waist, soft. Inviting.
And so warm.
He loves the way your fingers sink into his hair, nails dragging and carding through his hair, strands slipping from between your fingers. The covers keep the two of you entangled, and Mark can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be than here.
With you.
In your dimly lit room, while your TV plays as background noise. Unable to drown out your sighs, Mark’s hums and the way your body feels against his. He can feel the way your nipples harden beneath that oversized T-shirt, and with each shift of his chest, he hears that whine you let out.
And he swallows your syrupy sweet whines, your tongue tastes like cookies and he feels the way your thighs tremble at his sides.
“Wrap your legs around me.” Mark breathes out. “Please…” His breaths are so hot, fanning against your neck and his hands shift, grasping at your hips with so much want that the action alone has your panties clinging to your cunt.
He lifts his head, soft eyes focused on the way your cheeks are burning even hotter than his, your lashes fluttering and your legs are following his command, wrapping around his waist and he nearly moans at the feel of your heels digging into his lower back, bringing him closer.
And Mark’s head falls against your shoulder.
His hips roll against yours, messy and so unpracticed. You feel the way his cock presses against you, and you nearly whine.
Swallowing hard when he speaks softly. No... Not speaks.
Begs.
“Can I fuck you?”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🌼wc. 🌼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“I want my panties back.”
Mark’s pretty sure your words rank up there with Nolan calling Debbie a pet.
You’re standing in front of him, arms crossed over your chest, glossy lips pursed and he’s surprised by the fact that you found the energy to put lipgloss on when he spent the entirety of last night screaming into his pillow, sobbing, choking on spit and ransacking his closet for his passport because he felt like he needed to leave the country and change his name.
Shit, he still feels like that.
The hard part being, he doesn’t think he could pull off any other ethnicity.
Maybe a pale half Asian, half Latino?
No. He doesn’t have the hips for it. Or the rhythm. The K-Pop gene completely skipped him.
“Markus!” You hiss, frown lines deepening into an adorable pout and you tap your manicured nails along your cotton-clad bicep. “Give me my underwear, or I’m telling your mom you’re having premarital sex and you’re a sex pervert.”
“I’m not having premarital sex!” He hisses defensively. “You should know that, considering you saw me….” Mark trails off, lips curling in cringe as he tries not to think about the fact that he came so much more when your eyes were on him.
“Sex pervert still stands.” You argue and he huffs, shifting on his feet, before he grabs your wrist, tugging you into the house and out of the 8AM morning light. And Mark presses you against the door, your back against the redwood, and his hands brace on your shoulders, head lowered to your level and he keeps his eyes on yours.
Which is hard.
You both suck at eye contact.
“How do you feel about maybe, I don’t know, going to Germany? Or Switzerland? You like chocolate, right?”
“Listen Willy Wonka, emphasis on Willy.” You huff. “I don’t wanna talk to you. I just want my underwear and then, I’m gonna go home. End of story.”
Mark chews on his bottom lip.
“No.”
And you stare up at Mark, brows scrunching into a confused, and puzzled frown. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?”
And Mark winces at your tone, bringing a hand up to push messy raven strands out of his face, before letting out a heavy breath.
“I said no. You already have so many pairs, just give me that one.”
“Mark, it’s mi—”
“Please. Please. Please. I’m actually willing to go on my knees.”
“Markus Sebastian Grayson, you are arguing to keep my fucking panties that you stole—!” You nearly yelp when Mark clamps his hand over your mouth, the warmth of his hand smearing your lipgloss just enough for you to be conscious of it.
And instinctually, your lips part and your warm, wet tongue slides across Mark’s palm, and in the back of your mind, it clicks that you definitely shouldn’t have done that. Not to either of his hands.
But when your gaze flicks up to Mark’s, and you see the way puppy-ish brown eyes widen, his breath stilling in his throat. And he bites the inside of his cheek, the act causing his jaw to pull taut in that way that would always have you drooling just a bit.
And you’d be stupid to not exploit him.
So, gathering all the pussy you can muster, you rest back against the door, your tongue laving at Mark’s palm lines and you watch the way his perfect brows twitch when your tongue peeks between his fingers. Your hands wrap around his wrist, thumbs pressing against his erratic pulse and you tilt Mark’s hand, dragging your fingers up his middle and ring finger, before taking them into your mouth.
“Oh…fuck.” Mark breathes out as you suck his fingers, adorning his digits with the attention he knows would have him painting your face in less than a minute and you pull away, your tongue cleaning up the slick sheen of your saliva from his fingers.
His chest is heaving, his cheeks are so fucking rosy and he’s letting out sweet breaths from between his parted lips, and his tongue brushes across his bottom lip. And he steps closer to you.
Mark’s chest brushes against yours, his forearm braces on the door above your head and he pushes those fingers back between your lips, pressing down on your tongue.
Don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t gag.
“Even if you had to walk around ass naked, I still wouldn’t give you those panties.”
You’re forced to peer up at Mark while he stares at your lips like they hold the answers to everything because right now, they just might. His eyes watch the way the soft tissue purses each time he fucks his fingers into your mouth, he feels the soft suction of your mouth and he’s so painfully hard in his sweatpants that he feels like a gust of wind could make him cum.
And then, footsteps.
Mark’s pulling his fingers out of your mouth, swallowing away the husk in his voice and you watch, mouth agape, as he licks your spittle from his fingers before wiping his damp digits on his sweatpants.
“Oh, Mark, I didn’t know you were awake.” Eve’s voice is stupidly airy in the morning, gingerish hair hanging past her shoulders and you know damn well her tank top could qualify as a sports bra. Shorts cling to her hips, and you’re pretty sure they come from BabyGap with how tight they are.
“Uh— yeah, my friend came to say hi.” Mark speaks sheepishly, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck and he glances towards you as you watch Eve. Eyes slowly narrowing and he watches the way your face screws up when she meets your gaze, before continuing to ignore you.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.”
Your lips part to say something, but Mark’s hand is pressed over your mouth before you can even call Eve a soulless and disrespectful brat.
And you huff, pushing Mark’s hand away before you make your way up the stairs.
“Oh my god, can anyone just walk into your house like that?” Eve gasps, green eyes focused on where you’re moving up the stairs.
And Mark runs his tongue along his teeth, stopping at his pointy canines before he breathes out.
“She’s not just anyone.”
And Debbie’s voce rings out, unusually chirpy for the morning.
“Get in, get in, I’m watching Grey’s.”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“So, Mark fingerbanged your mouth? I thought we hated him?” William questions, his attention focused on where your manicured hands are kneading dough, rings discarded into a nearby saucer, and you’re trying not to sob into the dough.
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” You huff. “I saw him send you a message on your gamertag thingy.”
“I’m guessing you don’t know what it’s called?” William snorts.
“I’m sorry that I have an actual life.”
“Because flicking your bean and sleeping is so much better than gaming.”
You dust more flour onto the countertop, coating the rolling pin as you begin to flatten out the cookie dough, and you’re pressing down hard enough to cause the veins on your hands to peek out. And you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek, brows bunching into a frown and you let out a low whine.
“His fingers were so gentle, but so rough and like, his eyes. Oh my god, his eyes.” You groan. “It was like he was looking into my soul.”
“I didn’t think you had one of those.” William comments, shoving a spoonful of sprinkles into his mouth before looking at you, noting the way the corners of your mouth twitch upwards and your cheeks burn rosy at the memory of Mark.
“I do. It’s in a wooden box in the basement.”
“Next to your grandpa’s Playboy’s?”
“Yeah.” You snort. “Why do you remember those?”
“It was a moment of self discovery for me.” He shrugs, before shifting, his attention moving to where the screen of your phone lights up with a news update, and William reaches over, before clicking on the article.
His eyes skim over it before his brows raise and his lips purse.
“What?” You question.
“There’s a massive lizard monster terrorizing Tokyo.”
You bring a hand up to your mouth, bottom lip quivering and you feel your eyes sting with the laughter that you refuse to let slip.
“No fucking way.” You breathe out. “Turn on the TV.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Look at Mark.” You whistle. “Facing his fears.”
“Mark’s half Korean.” William snickers, slumped on the sofa as he continues to shove spoonfuls of sprinkles into his mouth.
“Rice is rice.” Debbie takes a sip of her wine glass, nonchalant as she takes a bite of another cookie, and your mouths collectively fall open at her comment, before you stifle a snicker, hiding your face in your hands.
“I don’t know how to follow up on that.” William murmurs, his voice soft as he shifts closer, his cheek pressing against Debbie’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, you can laugh.” She snorts. “It’s not racist when I say it.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“So, you lost your friends because you wanted to hang out with me and Eve?” Rex questions, biceps bulging as he continues to lift weights, emerald gaze shifting to watch as Mark continues to huff out breaths, attention focused on the ever increasing speed of the treadmill.
“Pretty much and like, me and William are on… good-ish terms now, but the other one…” Mark trails off. “We were gonna be on really good terms if Eve didn’t walk in.”
The frustration is evident in the way Mark’s jaw clenches, hands fisting at the metallic handlebars of the treadmill, veins bulging beneath the surface and Rex’s eyes narrow. The metal cracks under his grip, raven strands fall over Mark’s forehead and rivulets of sweat trickle down the delves of his muscle.
“How good were the terms gonna be?” Rex’s eyes narrow in question. And Mark stops, letting out a heaving breath.
“Really good.” His voice cracks the tiniest bit. “Like… life-changing.”
And Rex winces.
“Eve’s a grade A cockblock.” Rex hums. “When I was with Kate—”
“Weren’t you cheating on Eve?” Mark interrupts.
And Rex’s lips purse, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps.”
And Rex lets out another huff, setting down his weights before reclining.
“Just go see her later.” He shrugs. “What’s the worst she can do? Say no?”
And Mark stares blankly at Rex.
“Have you ever had your spirit murdered? Because that’s what she does.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“She doesn’t say ‘no’, she says ‘ew’. Her job isn’t done until you’re fetal.”
Rex grimaces. “That’s… God, that’s fucked up.”
“She could make Omni-Man question his life’s decisions. Fuck, she has.” Mark deadpans. “I remember, we were fifteen and she asked him like, ‘oh, does that make you feel like a big man’, and he went to Italy for the rest of the day.”
“Oh… Shit. But just, trust me. Look a little bit like a loser, chicks love that shit.”
And Mark huffs.
“She’s not dumb enough to fall for that.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼🌺🌻୧₊˚⑅⋆
For the rest of the day, Mark’s brows are scrunched in contemplation. Is he really the kind of person who would trick his best friend into a little bit of shared intimacy? Maybe a bit of gentle touching?
And besides, you’re not that easy, are you?
Mark needs to have tact. He needs to be smooth.
He needs to finesse it.
Hovering above the Eiffel Tower, Mark’s lips purse, fingers drumming on his biceps as he looks over the bistros and outdoor cafés, streetlights that look like lanterns, cobbled walkways and fountains. Pastel rose bushes and he hums.
Not enough.
He spends the better half of his evening flying all over the world, looking for any place that could distract you enough from the fact that he’ll definitely be fumbling his words. He’ll definitely be sweating and the front of his suit’s gonna show his boner because you’ll be glaring at him for making you leave your house past 9PM.
Mark’s so distracted that he barely notices the massive sea beast that rises off the coast of Mexico, clawed feet and a spiked tail and Mark’s lips purses.
“...huh.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Mark, get off my wind—”
“I really need you right now.... please..”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🌼wc.🌼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
“College break doesn’t start until Monday.” Debbie chirps, eyes following the way William so easily navigates his way through the kitchen, three mugs lining the kitchen counter.
“Gotham U’s aware of the crime rates. So, they give you a year planner with the curriculum and they give you the semester’s topics and stuff.” William hums, continuing to carefully dust cinnamon across the top of frothy white foam.
“And if you finish your tasks prematurely, you get to go home afterwards.” You explain, before plugging the vacuum cleaner into the wall, glossy lips pursed in concentration as a soft silence fills the lounge.
Nobody’s ready to address the elephant in the room. The fact that it’s been months since you’ve spoken to Mark, having saved his name as Gotye in a clever and sleep-deprived haze because he was, in fact, somebody that you used to know.
William places Debbie’s mug in her awaiting palms, a plate of pastries in her lap before he hums softly, lips pursed.
“Are the gutters clean?” He questions and Debbie shakes her head. “Mark didn’t get around to it before he left for college.”
And William lets out a sound, like a huff but he makes no comment.
“Like Eve’s vagina is amazing enough to neglect your mother.” The low hum of the vacuum acts as the sweetest ambience, Debbie’s attention on the book in her grasp as you continue to quietly seethe about Mark and his stupid, stupid choices.
“I don’t know. She’s got like… a whole feminine hygiene label named after her.” William shrugs his shoulders, standing on one of the kitchen stools to clean as he begins to dust at the light fixtures, gloved hands carefully unscrewing at the cover.
“What?” Your brows scrunch.
“Summer’s Eve.” William answers and there’s a quiet silence, only filled by the bubbly and airy laughter that slips from Debbie, her face obscured by the hard cover of what you can only assume, looks deviously innocent.
“Man, fuck you.” You huff, but the corners of your mouth twitch with amusement.
And before Debbie can reprimand you, you’re already sliding a dollar into the swear jar in the centre of the coffee table.
“It looks empty.” You hum softly.
“You two stopped coming around as much and after Nolan…” Debbie trails off. “Safe to say, no one cusses much anymore.”
There’s a sad silence that fills the once warm home, and you swallow, the corners of your mouth tugging downwards just a bit before you inhale.
“I’m… Sorry about Mr Nola—”
“He can suck a dick.” William slides a dollar into the jar. “I never trusted him. He’s got a porn stache.”
You cup your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles.
“Dollar.” Debbie points at the jar. Pretty, peeling flowers painted by cheap acrylic, and you make a mental note to fix it.
“I didn’t swear twice.” William defends.
“You said ‘pornography’.” Debbie hums.
“I didn’t say ‘pornography’, I said ‘porn’.”
“We can’t say ‘porn’?” You question.
“No. And a dollar.”
And you purse your lips, before sliding a 20 dollar bill into the jar, gaze averted.
And Debbie grimaces.
“Why have you spoken about pornography 20 separate times?”
“Miss Debbie, I don’t know why I speak about half of the things I do.”
Debbie let’s out what can only be called a low groan, a headache brewing but for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel like she’s out of her depth with a teenager.
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆
“Eve, you’ve met my mom.”
Mark ushers Eve into the lounge, their shoes swapped out for the slippers that sit comfortably at the door and Debbie gives Eve a sweet smile, crinkles at the corners of her eyes.
“It’s nice to see you, Eve.”
Mark glances towards the jar on the coffee table, brows scrunching in confusion at the cash that nearly spills over the edge, stuffed haphazardly and he stares towards the blossoms. Freshly painted baby pink peonies and snowy tulips, staring back at him. Almost menacingly and he glances back at Debbie. Eyes narrowing.
Watching her and Eve before he hums. Almost offhandedly.
“M’gonna go shower.”
Mark trudges up the staircase, speedy steps as he makes his way towards his room and he feels almost… nostalgic.
All of this, all of the easiness was before it all happened.
Before he felt what it’s like to choke on your own blood, to see his father’s fists stained red and that… Crazed, empty look in his father’s eyes.
Before it all when to shit. And he takes a breath.
Walls littered with Seance Dog posters, shelves stuffed with comic books and figurines, a small mirror on the wall, and Mark hates the way his gaze lingers on your features, pretty face encapsulated by film and stuck on his mirror. Cheeks sucked inwards, glossy lips pouting cutely and a bedazzled cowboy hat on your head. He remembers the way the three of you clamoured into that tiny, crammed photo booth.
And much to his dismay, he had found himself on William’s lap, despite the fact that he really, really wanted to have you on his lap instead.
“Why do I have to sit on William’s lap?”
Mark grumbles, arms folded across his chest, brows knitted into a frown as he watches you readjust your bearings. Both of them, making sure you’ve got just the right amount of cleavage for the picture. He makes an active effort not to stare.
And you gasp. “Is it because he’s gay?”
And Mark groans.
“It’s because he has a dick.”
He tries to bite back that memory, as well as the painful burn behind his eyes and he runs his tongue along his plump bottom lip, before hopping onto his bed. Face planted into the pillow and he takes a heavy breath.
“Fuck me.”
Your smell is strong on his pillows, his bedding. And he almost feels stupid that it took him so long to smell that sweet scent that he’s basically had a lungful for all of his life. The smell that clung to his clothing so comfortably. And his heart clenches, hands moving out of their own accord and he pulls one of his pillows towards him, wrapping muscular arms around the cushion before letting out a breath.
You’re everywhere.
His walls: “This colour would look really good. It’s in Séance Dog’s palette, so nothing should ever clash.”
His floors: “You fucking animal. Why do you even have coffee stains on your floor?”
His ceiling: “Maybe we should put a mobile up there. Since you’re such a giant baby.”
Fuck, even his shelves were lined with things that reminded him of you. Paper crafts, those stupid little seashells and turtles that would line your For You page, framed pictures of you and William. Comic Cons, fan signs and even a stupid talent show.
“You guys look gay.” You snicker, hands tucked into pockets of your fuzzy onesie, the black dot on your nose and drawn on whiskers made it obvious you were a cat.
“Fuck you. Magic’s cool.” William defends and Mark nods. “Yeah! Besides, what are you even supposed to be doing?”
“An interpretive dance, duh.”
A laugh slips past Mark’s lips when he recalls the hesitant applause that came from your performance.
You basically just sat in the centre of the stage, contemporary music playing from the speakers and you licked your leg. Mimicking a cat washing itself.
He thinks of the way you had to defend him and William from bullies because magic is, in fact, pretty gay. Especially with the amount of glitter on William’s cape and his waistcoat.
Mark takes a deep, shaky breath to steady himself.
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆
Biting down on his bottom lip, Mark rifles through his drawers in the dead of the night. Muscles flexing, body tense and so, so wound up and he’s downright embarrassed by the way his body loosens at the sight of cotton.
A flash of violet, accompanied by lavender lace and Mark fists the fabric, veins raising on the backs of his hand because of his iron clutch and he glances towards the tent in his boxers.
Shuffling back to his bed, Mark props himself up on his pillows, before he lowers his waistband.
His cock leaks copiously, translucent trickles down onto his tightly toned belly, abs flexing with each breath as he brings the cloth to his nose, taking a deep whiff.
He used your fabric softener. So the smell of you clings to it but not in the way he wants, not in the way he needs.
He needs to smell your cunt after a long day, he needs to lick a stripe up your slit before pressing down on your clit, all while his eyes are on yours. Watching, learning what you like. Before he gives it to you. God, the way he’d give it to you.
Mark fists his cock, beads of precum running down the length of his cock, pooling in the crook of his thumb, before he swipes the pudgy digit along the edge of his flared tip. A stuttering breath slipping past his lips and his brows furrow in an attempt to keep quiet.
His room is dark but fuck, the moonlight soaks his bedroom, his window open and whispers of icy wind makes his skin prickle and he’s just so fucking sensitive.
He misses you. Bad.
He misses the way his cock would nestle in the crease of your ass when you spooned, separate by layers of fabric that did fucking nothing to hide how warm you actually are. He misses his nose being buried in the curve of your neck, the way he’d subconsciously push your tits up when he wrapped his arms around your body, pushing them up just a bit. And he likes how you never noticed his peeking.
Mark thumbs at his flushed tip, brushing just along that divot and he stuffs your panties into his mouth.
He really doesn’t wanna get caught by his mom and his teammate with his best friend’s panties in his mouth.
And motion in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Mark’s head whips at the sight of you walking past your window, before doing a fucking double take.
A double take and your gaze meets his.
And Mark’s fucking expression crumples, but not with sadness. No….
Mark’s eyes roll back, drool soaking through the fabric of your panties and he knows that you watch the way pearly cum shoots out of him, lazy ribbons coating his chest and abs.
Mark’s panicking through his pleasure-filled haze, especially at the way your mouth is agape and the corners of your mouth twitch upward. A wide ass, open mouthed smile. You’re looking at him like you’re about to call him a dirty dog and slap his arm.
“Uhhh…”
He doesn’t know why he gets up, but he hates himself for it when he does, his cock still hard and glistening and it’s actually in your eyeline, your hand moving to cover your mouth, your head turning away and fuck, that flash of vibrant satin on your head makes his cock twitch.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He breathes out, panicked as he grabs his sheets, fumbling to wrap them around his waist.
His chest is heaving, his cheeks are flushed and raven strands are tousled. He hope the Earth swallows him.
But he also wishes you’d swallow him too. The way your tongue would rove over his skin, and the way you’d clean it up.
And yet another ribbon shoots from him, this time, all the way up to his jaw.
“Mark! Stop cumming!”
“I’m trying!”
wc. 𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
You’re not really sure when things start to go south. If it’s after the death of the Guardians, or when Mark joined a stupid team of teenage heroes.
But the inseparable trio slowly grew into a duo.
“Well, uh… Kiddo, Mark’s… meeting new people. People with… Abilities and such. And he’s… apart of a team. Of heroes. And you might not see him… As much.”
Nolan’s voice is quiet, fingers laced and brilliant blue eyes lowered to the spinning turbines, windmills that pierce the fluffy clouds above and you nod your head. Gaze fixed on the rolling hills, fresh meadows and pasture fields as far as the eye can see.
“Mr Nolan, are you telling me that Mark’s outgrowing me?” You cock a brow. “I’m not a snowflake, I can take the bad news in stride.”
“He’s outgrowing his human age group.”
And you let out a low, bellowing whine. “My Shayla.”
Before a snort of laughter breaks the façade of heartache, and Nolan scoffs, rolling his eyes at your dramaticism. Before bumping his shoulder against yours, glancing down his nose at you, watching as you continue to nibble on some stupidly sugary treat.
“You okay, sport?” Nolan raises a brow and you hum. “No.” You answer. Honest and transparent, before bringing up one of your fingers, a manicured and glittery nail scratching at the bridge of your nose. “But it’s fine’s. It’s not that deep.”
Nolan’s face tugs into a frown, your expression of nonchalance faltering just a little bit as you continue to try to occupy yourself with your treat. Trying to ignore the sting in your eyes, as well as the lump In your throat and the heavy pit in your belly.
“You’ll still have Debbie. And William. And you know, normal people.”
“Mr Nolan, you’re not very good at trying to make me feel better.”
“Well, we don’t… on Viltrum, we don’t deal with things like these.” Nolan hums softly.
And there‘s a silence between the two of you before you break it.
“I know you killed the Guardians.” And you glance towards Nolan, taking another bite of your ice cream sandwich. And he lets out a sound from the back of his throat. Before letting out a breath. “You probably had a good reason though, right?”
You stare up at Nolan from beneath your lashes, brows scrunching and he lets out a breath.
This makes him feel a little bit guilty.
Nolan thinks back to Mark’s baseball game. Barely to his hip, tiny legs carrying him on the wind, sunshine beating down on everyone.
But Nolan particularly thinks of the way he scooped Mark up into his arms. The moment his humanity grew.
“Did you see, Dad? Did you see?” Mark chirps with excitement, toothy grin plastered on his chubby face as he stares up at Nolan, feeling as he sets him down on the soft, emerald hued blades of grass.
“Sure did, champ.” Nolan beams, meaty fingers ruffling Mark’s hair before the seven year old trudges towards you, bouncing on his feet as he stands in front of you. Just a few inches shorter than you.
“Did you see? Did you see me run?” Mark cheers, voice bubbly with excitement, dimples in his cheeks and you nod, enthusiasm oozing from you.
“You ran like a motherfucker, Mark!” “Hey!” Debbie’s ears burn with embarrassment, Nolan’s brows raise. “No cursing, young lady.”
“But Mark did run like a motherfucker.”
“Yeah, I ran like a motherfucker!”
“SHHHH!”
Nolan remembers the way Debbie stressed, trying to keep your foul mouth shut with incessant ‘shushing’. But parents’ head still turned in your direction.
Your excitement was contagious if anything. Especially when you whooped.
“Marky ran like a motherfucker!”
Nolan presses his lips against the crown of your head, heart clenching as he hums.
“Yeah, kiddo.” Nolan nods. “A good reason.”
There’s a soft silence, comfortable but it belies more to come. Worse to come. And you swallow, eyes staring ahead at the emptiness of the pasture fields, green grass and bright turbines and windmills that break the horizon.
“Mr Nolan?”
“Hm?”
“Can you run like a motherfucker”
“Yeah.” Nolan snorts. “I can run like a motherfucker.”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🥀🌼🌺୧₊˚⑅⋆
You never really expect yourself to get caught in the middle of villain attacks. But you’re eternally unlucky.
Except now.
“Any last words, girl?” The Mauler twins gleam at you, meaty blue arms crossed over broad chests before a stupidly large gun is pointed at your forehead.
And the dread mixes with a twisted sense of ‘they mad sexy’, all in the pit of your belly, and you think. Long and hard as to what you’d what scrawled on your tombstone.
“B-O-A-F.” You spell. “Boaf.”
Your eyes squeeze shut when a chunky digit rests over the trigger, readying itself as deep, burly chuckles echo around you. “Funny girl, aren’t you?”
The air around you whips.
“Can you ever be serious?”
Mark’s voice breaks the tension, and your body nearly melts, and you stare up at him. He flies effortlessly, easily gliding through the sky like he’s been doing it all his life. He's a flash of blue and yellow, a bold beacon in the shining afternoon Sun, and you can’t help your intrusive thoughts.
Reaching a hand up and you begin to flick at his earlobe. Teasingly and the giggles that slip from you annoy him a much as it makes him wanna smile. Mark bites the inside of his cheek to bite back a grin, craning his neck as far from you as he can without dropping you.
“Stop-stop it— hey—” he glares down at you from behind his goggles, “—stop it.”
But you can’t take Mark serious when the corners of his mouth are twitching, and his fingers flex as he looks down at you.
Just a bit frazzled, but what really catches his eye, is that Seance Dog T-shirt you’re wearing.
His.
“Klepto.” “Dork.”
Mark lets out a huff, shifting you in his grasp and he presses you tighter against his chest, your ear placed right over his beating heart. And you can hear that unsteady and rapid thumping.
But you just chalk it up to the adrenaline.
“Where do you want me to put you down?” Mark questions you, his gaze fixed on yours and all he can focus on his how fucking cool it’d be to kiss you at the top of the building his hovering right above.
A 50 story high corporate building. Not the Empire State, but meh. Make do with what you have.
“Anywhere you think is—"
“Invincible! I need you!”
A flurry of pink assaults your eyes and within a second, Mark’s setting you on the roof of the corporate building below you. “I’ll be back, promise.” He flies off, and you swallow.
Hard.
“She could’ve said something else…” You mumble to yourself, before settling down on the building, resting your chin on the banister that keep people from tripping over and you watch.
And watch.
And watch.
You even watch as Mark flies off, and your lips tug downwards into a frown.
Brows knitting, and you run your tongue along your bottom lip, taking a sharp breath to even out your voice as you fish your phone out of your pocket.
“What’s up, sport?” Nolan’s voice is just a bit staticky, the sounds of thrashing, followed by bone crushing as well as demonic gurgles.
“Are you busy, Mr Nolan?” Your voice is tiny.
“Never too busy. What do you need?”
You go quiet, teary gaze locked on the way the sin disappears behind the horizon, a golden and bronze glow emanating in the sky above you.
“Can you come get me, please?”
“Sure thing, kiddo. I’m on my way.” Nolan’s voice is considerably softer. “You want a happy meal?”
A teary laugh slips from you, and you sniffle, wiping at your nose with your sleeve.
“Yes, please.”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆
You fiddle with the toy in your hand. Appropriately, it’s an Omni-Man action figure who karate chops. Never once have you seen him do it, but you’re not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.
Especially when you fiddle with it, making it chop against your knee before you take a bite of your burger.
“I’m… sorry, kiddo.” Nolan whispers softly. “I’ll have a talk with—”
“It’s okay, Mr Nolan.” Your voice is soft, quiet as you chew, gaze lowered to where cars occupy the previously blocked off road, a construction team already at work where the twins had fucked around. “Atom Eve needed him.”
“You did too.” Nolan whispers. “You were at the top of a building for Christ’s sake.”
“I know.” Your voice cracks and there’s a heaviness in your heart that you didn’t have before. A pit in your belly that makes it hard to chew properly and the lump in your throat makes it hard to swallow. And your brows knit into a little frown, features scrunched and you wipe at your nose. “I know.”
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆
Your attention is firmly on the screen in front of you, your thumbs working at the controller in your hands, jaw clenching and your brows are knitted.
“Psst! Pssssst!”
Mark stares out of his window, hands braced on the pane as he waits for you to turn him.
Dorkish grin plastered on his face and when you face him, your grin doesn’t mimic his.
And the lack of your crinkling eyes, your rising cheeks makes his brows knit and he swallows.
“Hey, what’s wr—”
Your hands move to shut the window, shutting the curtains and effectively, ignoring Mark.
He swallows again. Hard.
Your face… it was so cold. No warmth, not a lick of kindness in the way your brows were knitted. No amusement. No offer to play alongside you. Mark’s throat tightens and there’s a lump there. So, so very heavy and he trudges out of his bedroom, eyes glossy and wet.
You haven’t closed your window in roughly 12 years.
Why now?
Mark steps down the stairs, his footsteps just a bit too slow to be normal and Debbie raises her gaze from the book in her hands, pristine brows furrowing in confusion.
“I— I don’t know, Mom…”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
wc. 𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Really feel the pottery in your hands. Feel the clay as you shape it.”
The sound of the teacher is drowned out, your attention on Mark and literally, only Mark.
Your nipples are pebbled, charcoal pencil between your teeth as you watch the muscles of his forearms flex with each movement of his hands. His wet, messy hands that shape clay so sensually. God, your palms are already sweaty.
You’ve long abandoned your art project, your incomplete drawing remaining just that. Incomplete.
And you feel your belly dip inward when you watch his middle and ring finger push into the centre of where the hole of whatever pot he’s making. And you nearly moan when he shifts his position, his arm reaching into the pot to shape the inside.
You feel like a pervert. A creep. A weirdo.
Like if Mark didn’t know you, he’d move to walk on the side of the street furthest from you, because your thighs are pressing together with each gentle circle he makes to the outside of the pot, middle finger pressing into the malleable clay to form patterns.
And you cover your lips with your fingers, dragging them down your chin as you try to grab a hold of yourself.
Mark glances towards you, a snort falling from his lips before he motions to your mouth, and your brows knit. Before reaching into your pencil case, pulling out a compact mirror and you grimace.
Charcoal smeared like a fucking goatee.
You rifle through your bag, pulling out a small package of tissues before you wipe at your face, checking your reflection to make sure you’re getting all of it.
“Young lady,” the teacher’s voice breaks your concentration and she looks down at you, “less vanity, more drawing.” And she plucks the compact from your hand, before continuing to walk between the aisles of students.
Looking between their different projects and you feel the back of your neck burn with embarrassment as well as annoyance.
“Dirty old bitch.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“You weren’t there to stop me from making an ass of myself, you dildo.” You hiss, watching as William continues to clean away the barely perceptible streaks of charcoal from your chin.
“I told you to take welding.” He huffs. “Only way you can make an ass of yourself there is if you lose a finger.”
You glance towards your reflection in the bathroom mirror, only satisfied once you’ve reapplied your lip liner, as well as your gloss.
And William steps out of the bathroom first, before backtracking, turns to you. And he presses his palm against your mouth, smearing your lip combo across your face.
“Oh no. Guess we’ll have to stay here for a while longer. Shucks.” William sighs, dramatic and you seethe. “You asshole. What’s so—”
You poke your head out of the bathroom, your eyes widening.
“She’s literally never even acknowledged his existence unless he’s validating one of her stupid opinions!” You hiss. “The fuck does she want with him?”
Your hisses are whispered and William shrugs, wiping at your lips before reaching into your pocket, pulling out your lip combo.
“I don’t know but it’s probably just—”
“William, she’s touching his arm. Oh, God, the world is spinning and I’m smelling pennies.” You groan, leaning back against the cool frame of the door and your hand moves to clutch at your heart over your shirt.
“Someone took my bitch, Willy.” You whimper, bringing your fist up to your mouth, teeth digging into the flesh as you bite down on your knuckles.
“I’m gonna end up on Channel 5, I just know it.”
William watches Amber and Mark, seeing the way Mark smiles. All sweet and bubbly, watching the way Amber laughs and the hand on Mark’s shoulder gives a nice, lingering squeeze.
“No, no one’s taking your bitch. I promise. Look at me.” William reassures, before his hands move to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him.
“Look. At. Me.” He takes a breath. “That is your man. You’ve listened to Seance Dog lore for fucking hours. No one deserves to ride that… Awkward, socially anxious… Permanently stressed… nerdy pony more than you.”
“You’re really bad at— oh, Willy, she’s really close. Girl, I’m gonna crash out.”
And William huffs.
“Amber doesn’t have shit on you. So what if she’s pretty, and smart and she always smells like the Bahamas. Or actually like... More specifically a daiquiri I had when I was eight and my family went there for vacation. But listen to me."
William forces you to look deep into his eyes.
"She does not have shit on you."
And you glance back at Amber and Mark, your spirit crumbling like a cookie when you see the way she pats his chest, her hand lingering and sliding just a bit to ghost over his abs as she passes him. And you nearly throw up.
"William, is this what Beyoncé felt like?"
"Yes." William answers immediately. "But this is your Lemonade moment. Babe, look at me."
And William sighs, his tone almost sympathetic as he whispers to you, "We be all night."
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆
"Don't be an asshole. Get me a job here." Mark whines, brows knitted into a furrowing frown as he watches you weave between customerw and aisles, continuing to restock various shelves of comic books and paraphernalia.
"No, you're like, one of the biggest customers. Every time you buy a comic book, that's a dollar added to my end of year bonus." You cross your arm over one another, ignoring Mark as he trails behind you, plopping down in the chair near the register and he continues to nurse his Slurpee.
"What are you even gonna use the money for? My mom buys your groceries." Mark huffs and you whistle.
"Wow. First of all. The money my parents send me goes into my college fund, and secondly, your mom forcefully buys my shit. And thirdly, I pay her back." You defend.
"How?"
"I do her hair, I mow your lawn, I wash her car in jean shorts and a backwards baseball cap, not to mention, when she works from home, I'm her assistant."
And Mark scoffs. "You just bring her snacks and take her calls."
"Because her own son doesn't even wanna feed his loving mother."
Mark can barely muster a response, his jaw going slack at your retort and it takes him a few moments to recuperate. "How dare y—"
"I dare easily."
Mark rolls his eyes, pink lips wrapping around his straw once again as he watches you interact with customers. You've got the sweetest smile, pointing out which comic franchise each aisle is dedicated to. And his eyes fall to where your palms are braced on the glass counter, limited edition comics displayed underneath and he watches the way your manicured nails tap at the glass absentmindedly.
You've got pretty hands.
Nice fingers, well kept and the softest palms, and you always know how to accessorize without looking tacky.
And he clears his throat.
"You got that limited edition Seance Dog yet?"
"Yeah, but can you afford it?"
And Mark scoffs. "How much?"
"110." You raise a brow in amusement when you watch Mark swallow heavy, his Adam's apple bobbing. Before he purses his lips. "And you can't hold it for me?" And you shake your head, lips tugged downwards into a mock sympathy expression.
"You know, I can buy it for you. But then I need a favour." You lean forward, elbows braced on the counter and Mark's pretty sure his ears stop working because all he can focus on, is how that pretty pendant dangles from your neck, right above your cleavage. You're giving him the minimal view down your shirt, and he's acting like a damn dog.
"Uh huh?" He squeaks out.
"Everytime I change my sheets, I want you to put the fitted sheet on my mattress." You cross your arms over your chest. "No matter where you are, what you're doing, who you're with."
"Deal!"
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌻🌼🪻୧₊˚⑅⋆
"You spent... A hundred and ten dollars... On a picture book?" Debbie deadpans, eyes narrowing at you from behind cucumber slices, her hand in yours as you continue to file at her nails. She rests back in the recliner, her legs stretched out, foam separaters between her toes as she allows herself to be pampered.
"It's a Seance Dog comic." You hum. "It's got like... Extra panels as to how he became like... Seance Dog. I don't know why, but Mark seems to like it."
And she lets out a breath.
"What even—" "He's an anthropomorphic dog. And he's kinda based on Doctor Strange. Like, costume wise."
"Who?"
"It's a Marvel character. He's like, a wizard."
"Then why's he called 'doctor'?"
"Because he's a doctor."
"Then why is he still a wizard?"
"Because he's a surgeon and a wizard."
"Do his parents know he's running around in a cape?"
"I think his parents are dead, Miss Debbie."
And she winces. "Died of shame?"
"No..." You snort. "They don't really... Go into much detail about that. Or they do, I don't know. I'm not very into Marvel."
And Debbie lets out a quiet sigh, toes flexing and she lifts one of the slices from her eyes, glancing towards where you're busy with her nails.
"Could we try an almond shape? A little bit longer." You note the way it's hard for her to meet your gaze and you gasp.
"Miss Deborah, you dirty dog." You snicker. "Gel build?"
And she nods her head. "The nude pink."
"Can I expect Mark sleep—"
"Without a doubt."
"God—" Mark pants. "Are you just randomly helping people put up water towers?"
"No." Nolan hums, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Mark steady the metallic storage item. "However, these people needed help and you were in the area."
"You were too."
"Who's the hero and who's the rookie?"
And Mark huffs, arms crossed over his chest before his phone buzzes in his suit and Mark fishes the device out of his pocket.
Number 1⭐: 'your mom's gonna get her 🐱 ate'.
He stares at the text, his expression faltering before he stares at Nolan, his lips pressing into a thin line that slowly morphs into a grimace. The longer he stares at his father, the more his expression crumples.
And the more his expression crumples, the wider Nolan grins, already having a mild idea of what the text read.
"You know, you ought to marry a girl like that." Nolan hums. "Smart, funny, likeable."
"She's a massive dick." Mark huffs, sliding his phone back into his pocket before he crosses his arms over his chest. Lips tugged into a disgruntled frown.
"That falls under 'funny', son." Nolan states.
"Well, that's too bad. I've already got a girl I like. Her name's Amber and—"
"Can Amber fight, Mark?"
The question is abrupt and Mark's brows knit in confusion.
"Huh? I— I don't— I'm not sure."
"Cause Amber's gonna need to." Nolan states. "At some point... in the near future."
"Why would Amber need to know how to fight?"
"Because, Mark, one day, she'll need to." And he coughs. "One day soon."
"Soon?!"
"Well... Soon by Viltrumite standards."
⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆
Mark spends yet another night in your company, his shoulder against yours as you both stare up at your ceiling. Phones on charge, the lights shut off and the only other light being the slivers of moonlight that creep through your curtains.
"You know, you never told me your hero name." You state softly, your voice just as quiet as the raindrops that patter down onto the grass outside, pelting against your window and Mark hums quietly.
His hair's damp from his shower, his broad shoulders stretching yet another of your shirts although this time, it's an 'I Heart GILFS' T-shirt.
"Invincible."
There's a quiet silence between you and Mark glances towards you, only to see you already looking at him. Your expression is blank, unreadable and he can't fight the laughter that bubbles from his lips when you turn your back to him.
Pulling the covers up to your chin.
"Oh come on, it's not bad!" Mark giggles, a muscular arm wrapping around your waist and he pulls you towards him.
And the room gets quiet for a whole new reason.
The warmth of his body is intense, the way his breath fans across your neck and the way his fingertips press into the softness of your belly.
And he dips his head, lips ghosting over your jaw as he cranes to meet your gaze.
He's grinning, dimples in his cheeks and shadows playing on his features.
"You're just jealous."
"Jealous of what, Vincible?"
"Jealous of my aweso— man, fuck you."
wc. 𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“What’re you doing here?”
Mark mumbles, brows knitting in confusion, tugging his goggles and tossing them onto the kitchen counter, watching as you tip your head back, emptying out your glass of water.
He shouldn’t be getting hard in this suit.
It’s skin tight. He’s surprised that there isn’t even much of a print. And he’s smart enough to know he’s not the problem.
So instead of watching the way your throat bobs as you swallow, he turns his attention towards the counter, admiring the natural detail as he taps his fingers on the surface, waiting for you to answer.
“I did your mom’s hair.” You answer, before taking a good long look at Mark’s suit, reaching for his wrist and you tug him out from behind the counter and you carefully examine his suit.
“Damn, no print?” You snort with laughter. “Guess you’re more human than I thought.”
Mark’s hands move to hide his crotch from your view, cheeks flushing a deep red and he scoffs.
“Fuck you, the suit just doesn’t show it.” Mark defends but he knows it’s pointless. You’d argue over anything and win. Even if the better half of your argument would be pure bullshit.
“Then how come your dad has a print?”
And Mark grimaces.
“Don’t look at my dad’s dick.”
“I’m not looking at your dad’s dick.”
“How do you know he has a print?”
“How DON’T you know?”
“Because I don’t look at my father’s penis!” Mark hisses and Nolan snorts as he walks into the kitchen, blue eyes lowered to his wrist as he clasps the Rolex into place.
“I hope not.” Before he places a muscular hand on Mark’s shoulder, giving his son an affectionate squeeze. “There’s no shame in being a grower, Mark. I was a grower when I was your age too.”
Mark’s lips curl into a disgusted frown, staring up at Nolan from beneath his brows.
“I hate this conversation. Please make it stop.”
Debbie’s heels click on the wooden floorboards, and Mark’s heart melts at the sight of his mother all dolled up. Long, black hair taken down from a and instead, framing her face with pretty curtain bangs and curled edges.
“How do I look?” Debbie shifts, tugging her dress into place.
“You look beautiful, Mom.” Mark coos, dimples deepening in his cheeks and you watch with soft eyes as Nolan presses a kiss against Debbie’s cheek. Lips brush against her ear as he whispers something intelligible and Mark groans.
“Dad, ew.” Mark gags. “Never say that again.”
“Your mother deserves to know I’m aroused, Mark. It’s how we show our love.”
Your nearly choke on your saliva, brows raised and you clear your throat. “So, this is where I leave.”
“I’m spending the night at your place.” Mark grunts. “I don’t need to hear any more than I’ve already heard.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
“Why would you give my mother curtain bangs? You know what they do to men.” Mark whines, as he steps out of your bathroom, a steamy mist following him out and you glance up from the screen of your phone.
Before staring at him.
“Damn it, Mark. You’re stretching out my shirt!”
Mark stands in the centre of your room, arms crossed over his broad chest, stretching out your cropped shirt. On you, it’s a sliver of belly. Not even your belly button is exposed.
But on Mark, it’s just below his belly button. Exposing that thin, dark strip of hair from his belly button, to where it disappears behind the waistband of your Powerpuff Girls nightpants.
“Don’t be selfish. You’ve got a shit ton of other shirts.” Mark huffs, glancing at himself in the full length mirror right beside your vanity, visibly checking himself out.
“And you could’ve picked any of them.” You frown before gasping. Mark raises his arms, flexing and you can hear the seams threaten to rip with each bulge of his muscles.
“Markus!” His neck snaps to face you so fast.
“Don’t fucking rip my shirt. I swear, I’ll tell your mom you nutted on your sheets in 7th grade and you came to wash them at my house because you were embarrassed. And then you made me wash them by hand because you wanted to be eco friendly.”
Mark’s eye narrow. “You wouldn’t.”
But his arms are lowering and it isn’t long until he’s crawling beneath your sheets, tossing an arm over your belly and resting his cheek against your shoulder. Sharp eyes focused on the screen of your phone, as you continue to scroll through your TikTok For You page.
“I wanna watch fidget board videos.” Mark mumbles, breath ghosting over the soft, creamy skin exposed by the wide neckline of your shirt and he pulls you closer, one of his thighs moving to slot between yours, his leg hooking around one of yours.
“Watch them on your own phone.” You grumble, but you’re already swiping, heading towards the search bar. “My phone’s charging.”
You don’t know how long you and Mark are staring at your screen, shrouded in darkness but you’re hyperaware of when his hand slides under your shirt, fingers tracing lazy patterns on the soft, sensitive skin of your belly. And you swallow. Before glancing at him.
He's not even paying attention.
Even breaths slip from his lips, enraptured by the way acrylic nails drag along beaded surfaces, open and close the caps of serums and Mark looks up at you through his lashes.
You watch as his pupils dilate, his puffy cheeks rosy with sleep and he’s fingers stop tracing those little infinities on your belly and he swallows. And you swallow. And he swallows. His eyes dart towards your lips and he takes a deep breath.
God.
Bad idea.
You’re in his lungs, you’re all he can feel, all he can smell and he’s so enamoured by you. And his hand shifts, fingertips dipping just past your waistband. And his fingers brush against the elastic trimming of your panties.
Mark thinks you’re so beautiful when you’re looking at him the way you are.
The pictures of your phone reflect off your pupil, and your pouty lips let out hot puffs of breath that fan over him just enough. And your pretty hair’s obscured by a bonnet. He can’t remember when you haven’t slept with them on and it’s like a part of you.
God, the way the light plays off the silk makes his brain fuzzy.
“You’re really pret—”
“Am I the asshole for having sex with my stepbrother at my dead grandmother’s wake?”
Your collective focus shifts back to the device, attention focused on the way Mahjong pieces are formed while you listen intently to whatever Reddit story you’ve found yourself on. Completely enthralled.
“That piece looks really pre— Wait, shit, did they get nut on the corpse?” Your eyes widen, and you shift just a bit.
“I don’t know, the subtitles cut off. Go back.” Mark instructs, his eyes focused and brows knitted.
“It doesn’t have that option.”
“Wha— what TikTok do you have?”
“Lite.”
And Mark groans.
“I’m embarrassed for you, you cheap ass.”
“I needed to save space, Mark.”
“But you’ve got all the megabytes of regular Pinterest, huh?”
“Pinterest is important. You know it helps me organise my wants and needs in life.”
“Gay.”
And you stare at Mark, eyes narrowing. But before your lips can even part to let out an insult, Mark’s phone beeps on the dresser and he glances towards the device.
“Bank robbery on 8th.” Mark’s already lifting himself, letting out an exhausted huff as he pulls the shirt overhead, and you watch, entranced by the way his muscles move beneath his skin. Rippling with each movement of his lips and your eyes follow the curve of his spine.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” Mark tugs on his suit, the elastic waistband of his boxers disappearing behind a flurry of blue and yellow, and he leans down, pressing a messy kiss against the side of your ace. “Don’t scroll too far. And check the doors!”
Mark’s disappearing out the window before you can say anything, wind whipping around him and you swallow.
He kissed you on the corner of your mouth.
And Mark only realises when he can taste the hint of coconut-flavoured lipbalm and his flight nearly falters.
And he grins. Dorky and so fucking adorably.
“Nothing can ruin my night.”
𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌻🥀🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒
Something did, in fact, ruin Mark’s night.
Mark sirs in your tub, hands obscuring his crotch from view as you pour yet another cup of baking soda in the hot water of his bath and he clears his throat. He’s hoping that this is the time the earth swallows him whole, his knees poking out the frothy surface of the water and his ears burn a bright, blushing red before he coughs.
“I didn’t know it was a skunk guy…” Mark murmurs quietly, and you don’t say anything, simply throwing in another cup for good measure.
“Mark, my house smells like the inside of a skunk’s asshole.” You huff and he flinches before glancing up at you.
Your brows knitting into a frown, your hand submerged beneath the water as you make the solution froth just a bit more. And you glare at Mark as you rise to your feet, your attention moving towards the porcelain basin instead. Where his suit is soaking in a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish soap.
And you sit on the closed toilet lid, arms crossed over your chest as you lean back against the cistern, watching as Mark soaks even further into the water. And you let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you okay?”
And Mark’s lips curl at the corners, a cute, sheepish smile donning his face and he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
You don’t wanna seem… Unhappy that he’s well and you know, ungrateful that he’s alive but you kinda wish he was slapped around a little bit.
And you let out a heavy sigh. No you don’t.
“Your goggles don’t smell.” You hum, drying the plastic with a fluffy towel before you slip them on, eyes narrowing and you examine the slight tint that they give the world around you. And your lips purse.
“So, these keep the wind out of your eyes?” You question, brows knitting because the tightness of the goggles feel a bit weird. But that’s probably because they’re made to fit his face.
“Uh…Uhm… Yeah, they k-keep the wind out my eyes.”
And Mark is CLUTCHING his shit.
Cheeks burning a rosy red that he hopes he can chalk up to the heat of the because goddamn, he’s so fucking painfully hard.
Just at the sight of you wearing his goggles and his mind is piecing together how you’d look in his suit.
“Uh— can you- Uhm… Can you leave? I need to pee.” Mark tries hard not to sputter over his words, but the way you look in his goggles is making his brain fuzzy. And he swallows, murmuring the softest ‘thank you’, when you get up, your footsteps quiet against the tiled floor before you shut the door behind you.
“Save me a cup!” You chirp and he groans. “Ew, you’re so gross!”
Mark swallows. Before looking around your bathroom, resting back against the edge of the tub and he lets out a heavy breath, glancing towards your ceiling.
“M’so fucked…” He groans quietly before glancing towards his lap, and he looks towards your laundry hamper. A pretty faux basket, plastic strips weaved and decorated with little plastic flowers.
And Mark’s brows knit into a little frown, a low moan leaving his lips.
“No… Mark, don’t do it…” He mumbles under his breath but he’s already leaning over the edge of the tub, reaching into your hamper and pulling out the first pair of panties he feels.
A pretty purple pair, lace trimmings and surprisingly wide gusset. But then again, he knows you’d never play with that pussy lip slip bullshit.
Mark swallows, staring down at the cotton and lace before he brings it to his nose, fisting his cock beneath the water.
“God, I’m disgusting.”
