#male!reader

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔗𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔱 Leon Kennedy (RE2,RE4,RE9) x male reader

Summary: inside the ruined R.P.D. together with your long crush best friend, time fractures and Leon keeps finding you. Younger, older, hardened by years you haven’t lived yet, every version of him seeming to have a deep and intimate connection. Soon, once all three counterparts come into contact, protectiveness from each one of them sharpens into possession and than in a heated, unspoken competition, each of them determined to prove they know you better, can make you unravel faster.

Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Older men. Age gap. Top and dominant Leon Kennedy. Resident evil 2 Leon. Resident evil 4 remake Leon. Resident evil Requiem Leon. Implied established relationship. Implied marriage. Protective behavior. Possessive behavior. Jealousy. Anal sex. Blowjob. Riding. Hand job. Overstimulation. Cum inflation. Multiple penetration. Overstimulation. Triple penetration.

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ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 8000

The R.P.D. lobby felt cavernous but not from its size but rather for the lack of survivors or police force, leaving behind a hollow silence that pressed faintly against your ears.

Dust hung everywhere, faintly visible in the dim, fractured light filtering through high windows and the marble floors were now streaked with grime and darker stains you refused to examine too closely.

Leaning back against one of the wooden desks, edge digging faintly into your lower spine through the layers of your gear, arms wrapped tightly across your chest. The tactical vest felt heavier with its straps that snug across your shoulders.

Your fingers tucked under your arms, gripping your sleeves, more for something to hold than warmth.

Leon stood a few steps away, hands raised slightly as he adjusted his own vest, tugging at the straps and outlining the firm lines beneath in a way that was hard not to notice even in a situation like this and his brows furrowed as he glanced around, blue eyes wide with disbelief and tension.

“This place is completely empty,” he muttered, voice echoing.

Tilting your head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as they stared toward the ceiling for a moment before answering.

“Considering what’s happening outside,” you muttered, shifting your weight and glancing toward the shuttered entrance, “I’m not surprised.”

Your gaze drifted back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened just a fraction as he processed that.

“We should check if anyone’s still here,” you added after a beat, pushing yourself off the desk just slightly. “This is where we were supposed to start, right? First day.”

There was something faintly bitter about the way the words landed.

Leon nodded quickly, almost reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

His attention shifted toward the gate leading to the est side of the station, shoulders squaring just a bit in instinctive readiness.

He stepped closer, eyes scanning the mechanism and you followed more slowly, arms dropping from your chest as you approached.

His fingers hovering near the big red button there and, when he pressed it, the mechanism groaned to life with a grinding sound that echoed down the hallway beyond.

The gate began to lift, slow and uneven, metal scraping faintly as it rose just enough to create a narrow gap before it abruptly stopped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Irritation in your tone flaring sharper than you expected.

Leon lowered himself down onto the floor without hesitation despite the dark smears that streaked across the tiles, metallic and stale smell hitting faintly.

He didn’t seem to care, or maybe he was just better at pushing it aside.

Lying flat, he angled his body toward the gap, one arm stretching forward as he clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting into the darkness beyond.

You should have been focused on that but, instead, your gaze betrayed you as it dropped and lingered.

The vest hugged his back and stretched over defined lines of broad but not bulky shoulders.

Leon shifted, then quickly pulled himself back from the gap, pushing up onto one knee.

“I’m gonna check it out,” he said, lowering the flashlight slightly as he looked up at you. “There might be people down there.”

“What?” The response came out sharper than intended as you dropped down to one knee yourself, instinct kicking in. “No—no, I’m coming with you.”

Angling yourself toward the opening, ready to follow him through the narrow space despite the mess and smell. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

For a split second, surprise flickered across his face along something softer underneath it that made his eyes warm.

He reached out before you could move further, his hand settling on your shoulder.

It wasn’t rough or forceful, warm even through the layers of fabric.

“Hey,” he said, voice dropping just a little, gentler, like he was trying to ease you rather than argue. His thumb shifted slightly where it rested, the corners of his mouth lifted to form a small.

“I’ll be back in no time,” he continued, his tone carrying that quiet confidence that made it hard to argue, even when you wanted to. “You stay here, alright? If anyone comes in, they’re gonna need someone to help them.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly before he pulled back.

And you hated how easily that look in his eyes unraveled your resolve.

So you nodded and watched him disappear through the narrow opening.

Time stretched as you tried to convince yourself that he’d be back any second.

It felt like hours had passed of barely shifting your weight, pacing a short line near the table to somehow make time move faster.

“Idiot,” you muttered under your breath, though whether it was directed at him or yourself wasn’t entirely clear.

Probably both.

Scrubbing a hand over your face, exhaling sharply as frustration coiled tighter in your chest.

All because, when he looked at you in that soft and earnest look, it felt… too good.

He wanted to protect you because you mattered to him.

That was the closest thing you were ever going to get, wasn’t it?

A hand on your shoulder, a promise he might not even be able to keep.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the sharp sting grounding just enough to break the spiral.

Enough.

Waiting wasn’t doing anything.

If he wasn’t coming back, you needed to find out why.

Turning on your heel and moving toward the lobby’s computer system, fingers moving quickly over the controls as you pulled up the camera feeds. The screens flickered to life one by one, each showing a different part of the station as you cycled through them, faster and faster, scanning for any sign of him.

Faint gunshots echoed through the speakers from one of the west side cameras.

You had trained for this, graduated alongside him and gone through the same drills and expectations.

That bright and determined smile will not be the last thing you’ll see of him.

Turning toward the taped gate, your eyes caught a knife half-hidden near the base.

Crouching and picking it up carefully before using the blade to slide under the tape with a satisfying rip, sound loud in the quiet lobby as you worked through the layers, peeling them away one by one until the controls were finally exposed.

A large red button sat at the center and, once pressed, the mechanism groaned, gate lifting steadily and fully without stopping.

Standing there for a second as the opening widened before stepping forward.

The room you forced your way into was smaller than you expected, more of a cramped connector than a proper office.

Gun forward and flashlight aligned just beneath it as you advanced, beam cutting clean lines through the dimness, illuminating overturned chairs and a smear of something dark dragged across the floor, breathing staying controlled even as your pulse pressed harder against your throat.

At the far end, a door that you already knew where it led with the map you’d studied moments ago burned into your mind, that long hallway stretching across the west side.

Your hand reached for the handle slowly, fingers tightening just slightly before you turned it.

Rather than rapidly invading the room, you shifted to the side, pressing your back lightly against the wall as you pushed the door open to create a narrow angle, your head tilting so you could peek through first, minimizing your profile the way you’d been taught.

Two figures at the far end of the hallway, slumped awkwardly against the wall, head tilted at an unnatural angle, skin pale in the weak wash of moonlight spilling through a distant window.

Your breath caught at closer look on the other one.

Even in partial shadow and the distortion of low light, your heart recognized Leon immediately.

Pushing the door open wider and stepping in, feet quiet against the floor as you approached, closing the distance carefully until you were no more than ten feet away.

He was kneeling near the body of a cop, from the look of the uniform, sprawled across the tiles and as your boot made the faintest sound against the ground Leon moved insanely quick, surging up from his kneeling position in one fluid, coiled motion, pivoting sharply as his arm snapped up, handgun already aligned with your center mass while his flashlight flared directly into your face, blinding in its intensity.

“Don’t—!” The word cut sharp and rough, far more hardened than the voice you had heard in the lobby.

Everything about him was different, stance much tighter and efficient, the way he held the gun was fluid and practiced under pressure.

The jacket he had on hit you first.

A thick B-3 bomber, shearling lining spilling out at the collar in pale, dense curls that brushed against his neck.

Scuffs marked the surface, subtle creases worn into the leather.

Beneath it, his frame was… bigger.

Not just lean like you had always seen him, but built. Arms filling the sleeves, faint strain across his chest when he shifted his aim.

His hair was slightly longer, falling just enough to frame his face differently.

But his eyes were still blue and unmistakably his, cold at first.

Recognition morphed his features as tension in his shoulders faltered and his gaze locked onto your face.

His gun lowered, flashlight dipping with it, no longer blinding you but instead casting a softer glow that revealed his expression fully now.

Not just recognition swarmed his face, something warmer as well came in that settled low in your chest.

“You’re here too, Babe?” He said, voice rougher than anything you’d ever heard from him before.

Heat flooded your face instantly, sudden and overwhelming, brain stumbling over itself trying to process that along with everything else.

“What?” Your eyes narrowed despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Leon, what are you talking about? We came in here together.”

That only made his confusion deepen, brows pulling together, gaze flicking around the hallway as his jaw tightened, like every inch of this place held memories you couldn’t see but he could feel pressing in on him.

Your gaze broke from his haunted one, dragging instead toward the cop with his jaw completely torn on the side and hanging awkwardly, his head lolled back against the wall.

“Did you see who—” You swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down but stopped talking after seeing Leon’s attention fixed upward, body tense again in focused attention.

There were a jagged hole in the ceiling before something too large and wrong, tipped with elongated claw-like fingers, erupted from it.

An inhuman shriek split the air, vibrating through your bones as the thing pulled itself into view.

Its body was flayed, muscle exposed in slick, glistening strands that stretched and contracted as it moved, skin entirely absent as if peeled away to reveal the anatomy beneath. Its head was made of an exposed brain that pulsed faintly, vulnerable and yet somehow more horrifying for it.

A long tongue snaked outside of his mouth as it crawled forward with unnatural speed.

Leon’s large and gloved hand found yours.

“Yeah,” he muttered, already pulling you with him, pace immediate and urgent as he dragged you down the hallway. “Because one nightmare wasn’t enough.”

His tone was dry, edged with a sharp sarcastic bite that felt completely out of place.

You stumbled slightly trying to keep up, grip tightening on your gun as your feet scrambled to match his speed, the world blurring at the edges as adrenaline surged and from behind that tongue lashed out.

A violent tug came at your back as it latched onto your uniform, fabric stretching and tearing as the force yanked hard, ripping away fully your gears and layers beneath, the sudden exposure sending a sharp chill across your skin as the creature lost its grip just as quickly.

Leon didn’t let you go until he hit hard two doors, bursting through with brute force as they slammed open and dragging you inside with him in one continuous motion.

Soon after he pulled you in his arms, back colliding with his chest in a solid impact.

The thickness of his chest pressed against you through the layers acting like a pillow, pecs firm and broad, rising and falling with controlled breaths that you could feel against your back. Beneath that, even through the tight shirt, there was no mistaking the defined strength of his torso.

This was not the same Leon you’ve known for many years, not even close.

His arm wrapped around your chest, bicep thick and swelling as they locked you in place against him as his other hand raised the gun again, aiming past you toward the doorway just as the creature dropped down.

One shot and the bullet precisely struck its exposed brain with a wet impact, the shriek it let out was high-pitched and furious before it skittered back, retreating with unnatural speed.

Leon moved fast, pulling away just long enough to slam the doors shut, grabbing a chair and jamming it under the handle as guttural groans from zombies echoed from the other side.

Heavy banging followed relentlessly.

Adrenaline faded away and your legs crashed all at once, dropping you to the ground as the reality of everything hit in a dizzying wave.

Before you could fully process it he was there, kneeling in front of you.

“Hey…hey,” his hand came up to cradle your cheek, large and warm, thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a way that felt impossibly gentle and intimate. “Babe, look at me.”

“What year is it?” he asked.

The question, like everything else happening, hit wrong.

“1998,” you answered, confusion twisting tighter as the pounding on the door grew louder. “Why are you asking me that?”

Something shifted in his eyes in understanding.

Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket quickly and draped it around your shoulders, pulling it snug around you with careful hands, fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it.

It was warm and soft on the inside, shearling lining cushioning against your skin, scent of leather and his wrapped all around your frame.

“There we go,” his lips quivered slightly as he muttered, almost to himself. “You always like to take it from me. Still cute.”

The chair behind him shifted as it toppled over once the doors burst open, two figures stumbling in, decayed and groaning.

Leon moved instantly up on his feet, gun raised and the first shot snapped clean through one of their skulls, impact jerking its head back as it staggered.

He didn’t wait, closing the distance in a flash, knife in hand, so similar to yours it made your breath hitch, and drove it into the creature’s neck with brutal precision before pivoting sharply.

His leg came up in a powerful roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the second zombie’s head, force snapping it sideways as it collapsed.

“Go,” he said, voice sharp and commanding without even looking back at you when he spoke. “I’ll catch up.”

Reluctantly you followed his command and the door on the other side gave way under your hand with a reluctant creak, hinges whining low and the moment the gap widened enough for your body to slip through, the air changed.

Another hallway narrower than the last. Two doors sat on either side, one to your right the other on the left, both shut tight, undead police officers lurked further down the corridor.

Three or maybe four of them. One brushed against the wall with a dull thud, leaving behind a smear that caught the weak light while another let out a wet groan that echoed enough to make the space feel smaller.

Your heart hammered so hard it felt like it might give you away on its own, each pulse loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second as your mind raced.

Fingers tightening around your handgun, familiar weight grounding you enough to push past the spike of panic clawing up your spine.

You lifted the weapon slowly, arms steady despite the tremor trying to creep in, lining up your shot on the nearest one.

One trigger and the muzzle flashed in a brief burst of red-orange light for a split second before the bullet hit clean, tearing through rotted flesh and bone.

Zombie’s head burst open as the body collapsed instantly, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap that twitched once before going still.

A high and piercing screech followed down the hallway, claws scraping fast on concrete until the Licker came into view above like some grotesque parody of a spider.

Its brain pulsed, fully exposed, shifting slightly with each tilt of its head to listen and figure out where the noise came from.

Engaging that thing with the amount of ammo you had left was suicide.

So you moved slowly with agonizing care, boots barely whispering against the floor as you edged along the hallway, gun still raised but your finger easing off the trigger.

A low, clicking sound left its throat, tongue twitching faintly between rows of jagged teeth, tasting the air and searching.

Almost there at the other side of the hallway, a sudden bang on the window shattered everything.

Your head snapped toward the source instinctively, eyes widening as you caught glass exploding inward as a zombie forced its way through, collapsing into the hallway in a mess of limbs and broken shards, a guttural groan tearing from its throat as it dragged itself forward.

Above you the Licker froze, its entire body snapped toward the noise with terrifying speed, attention locking instantly onto the new arrival and moved fast.

It dropped from the ceiling and landed directly onto the zombie with a crushing impact, claws sinking deep as it let out a shriek, claws ripping through decayed flesh.

It was right in front of you blocking your path completely.

Behind a groan came and you turned sharply just in time to see another zombie lunge forward, arms outstretched as, in turn, it grabbed the Licker’s attention.

This was it, your grip tightened on your gun, breath catching as you braced for impact.

Something moved fast from behind the zombie, soon followed by a wet, slicing noise from an hatchet that pierced the back of the zombie’s skull, bursting through bone and rotten flesh in a spray of viscous blood as the creature’s body jerked violently, head tilting upward in a final motion.

For a second all you saw was the hand wrapped tight around the metal handle, veins faintly visible beneath the skin, grip steady and controlled.

Then he stepped forward fully into view and twisted in a brutal 180-degree turn of the wrist along the blade that followed, head coming off clean and body dropping in a useless heap as the hatchet came free.

Behind you, the Licker snarled, dragging your attention back and instincts screaming as your gun came up again, finger tightening on the trigger but he moved first.

Stepping in front of you and for a moment all you could see was a broad and solid back that filled your vision, a tight black shirt clinging to him and stretched across wide shoulders.

They rolled slightly as he adjusted his stance, the motion slow and controlled that made the muscles beneath that shirt ripple.

The Licker’s tongue attacked fast as a whip but he reacted faster, hatchet intercepting the strike mid-air and not only pairing it, but fully slicing the tongue.

It hit the ground writhing, twitching violently like a snake and the creature let out a shriek of pure agony, stumbling back as both of its clawed hands came up toward its ruined mouth, movements almost human in their panic.

“Follow me.” His voice, just like the last figure you met, felt familiar in a way that hit somewhere deep in your chest, even if your mind couldn’t place it yet with how much rougher it was.

He moved forward, closing the distance in two quick strides before driving his boot up straight into the exposed brain.

The impact was brutal, forcing the creature on the ground for him to bury the hatchet deep, infected blood spilling out around it in heavy, dark rivulets before he ripped it free in one clean motion.

“Move.”

Up the stairs, your legs barely keeping pace with him as he led the way without hesitation like he knew every inch of this place.

The upper floor opened into another corridor, steam already hissing somewhere ahead, thick clouds spilling out and blocking the path entirely except, he didn’t stop, swinging the hatchet against metal that gave way under repeated strikes, damaged pipe bursting further as the pressure shifted, steam redirecting, clearing just enough space for him to push through.

You hesitated just for a second before a gurgle from a zombie cut through the air that gave reasons to your legs to move past the showers and around the corner just in time to see him drive a punch into a zombie’s spine, forcing it down before that hatchet came down again, ending it with the same efficiency.

He checked behind him again rapidly still not seeing your face with how dark the hallway was.

The door at the end opened into a small room with bright light and the statue of a gazelle right at the center.

His gaze lingered on it, something unreadable passing through his expression before he turned to the creaking of the door.

“You the only survivor in h—” The question came out low and rough before he stopped, pupils tightening before widening again.

“…No,” he exhales under his breath, barely audible. His grip tightens slightly around the hatchet.

The same reaction erupted on your face as well at seeing Leon again, though much older. His face carried lines that hadn’t been there before, jaw stronger and scruffy with the stubble that decorated it. Same hairstyle but slightly longer, falling just enough to frame eyes that were duller now.

And his body was bigger by the look of that dark shirt stretched across his chest, arms thicker, veins faintly visible beneath skin.

Aged like fine wine didn’t even begin to cover it.

“…Alright,” he breathed, more composed now, though the roughness hasn’t left his voice. “Either I finally lost it or something’s seriously wrong.”

His eyes flick briefly around the room before turning and walking outside straight into the library, waiting for this nightmare to end immediately.

What else could you do beside following him?

The vast space had shelves towering high the more you got closer to them, filled with books and an atmosphere that seemed almost normal despite the hell outside.

Of which you got immediately reminded of when something cold and rotten grabbed your leg.

A corpse on the floor jerked to life, fingers tightening that didn’t get far as Leon’s (?) foot came down hard, crushing the skull as his weight pressed into it fully, thick muscles of his thigh flexing with the motion, muscle tightening under the fabric as he applied more pressure, grinding the remains into the floor before pulling back, wiping his shoe clean in one smooth motion.

“You really haven’t changed,” he said, a hint of dry amusement threading through his voice now. “Still walking into trouble, sweetheart.”

Heat flared up your neck instantly.

“What do you—”

From behind him there was movement done stealthily so well you’ve only now registered it, knife already raised and angled for a clean slice across the throat.

The older Leon in front of you didn’t needed a warning, arm suddenly wrapping and tightening around your waist as that large bicep locked in and dragged you alongside him, body pulled flush against his side as he pivoted sharply out of the attack’s path.

The knife cut through empty air where his neck had been a fraction of a second earlier before charging again and his hatchet came up, both hands bracing it for control.

Metal met metal with a biting clang fore his leg snapped forward to send a brutal kick to the attacker’s chest, forceful enough to send the man flying back into a stack of old books that collapsed under him in a cascade of dust and paper, sound loud in the enclosed space followed by a grunt.

Your eyes snapped to the Leon who gave you his jacket as he recovered with frightening speed, already pushing himself up and reaching for his weapon, bicep viewable from the short sleeved compression shirt he had on bulging in the process.

“Back off,” he said, voice tight and restrained. “Leave him alone. Now.”

A protective tone that hit harder than the gun pointed forward.

Another sound of a safety disengaging followed and all three heads in the room turned towards it.

Your Leon, one you had walked into this nightmare with, with his Matilda raised in both hands, stance just a little too stiff and textbook compared to the others, but his aim didn’t waver as he pointed it at both of them.

“D-don’t move!” he ordered in a firm voice, blue eyes not scanning tactically but locked specifically on the hand at your waist, gaze lingering there a second too long, jaw tightening just slightly, fingers adjusting on the grip of his gun like he needed something to ground himself before his eyes flicked back up.

“Let him go,” he added, quieter but more pointed.

The arm around you tightened as he pulled you back against him by a fraction, spine brushing his solid chest.

“M’not keeping him hostage,” he said dryly, tone edged with something almost amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “‘Sides… M’not the one waving a gun around.”

Your Leon’s grip flexed as a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes and you shouted his name the moment you saw the movement near him from the one now jacketless who closed the distance in a blur, his hand snapping up to knock the gun off its aim.

A shot rang out loud, slamming somewhere into the shelves above as the weapon was forced upward and, in the same motion, he disarmed him completely, twisting the gun free before shoving him hard to the ground.

“Shit—!” You broke free without thinking to rush forward and drop to your knees beside him.

“Leon are you okay?!” Up close he looked worse than when you left him, dirt smeared across his uniform, streaks of grime and something darker along his sleeves, hair slightly disheveled and breathing heavier.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, voice tight with concern, scanning you quickly. “Did they—did they hurt you?”

“Why would I hurt my boyfriend?” A low, almost amused voice cut in, dry in disbelief while the figure extracted the magazine of the Matilda.

“What?” The man right next to you snapped, pushing himself up quickly, anger bleeding into his tone as he turned toward the speaker.

“What the hell are you talking about—” Arm moving before he seemed to think about it and wrapping around your waist to pull you back toward him, firm enough that you felt the way his bicep tightened against your side, holding you close.

The other Leon juggling a knife in hand tilted his head slightly, watching him with an expression that bordered on entertained while the hatchet-wielder leaned casually against a desk, dragging a sharpening stone along its edge in strokes that sent small sparks of orange flickering in the dim light.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice carrying that same rough, worn edge, though there was something almost nostalgic in it now. “You’ll get there.”

The younger one’s grip on you tightened slightly.

“Get where?” he shot back.

The man with the hatchet didn’t look up immediately, continuing the motion, metal against stone, the rhythm steady.

“Still before the train, huh,” the other Leon in a tight compression shirt and knife in hand said, almost to himself, though it was loud enough for all of you to hear. “Our first time together.”

Words loaded with meaning as he looked at you almost dreamily and it made heat spike through your chest.

The older one just huffed quietly, finally glancing up with something knowing in his expression.

“Yeah,” he added, almost fondly, as another spark jumped from the blade. “I remember that.”

Heat, heavy and dizzying, crawled under your skin under those six blue eyes, each a different shade but all carrying hunger locked onto you.

The much older one had pushed you on top of the first desk available with a quiet grunt, hatchet set aside without a second thought as his attention settled fully on you.

“Still got that same look… every time.” He murmured, voice a gruff baritone while his gaze dragged and took in every detail

Everything happened too fast.

The one near your age had his grip on your waist now, tightening like he was grounding himself before he let instinct take over. His fingers slid under the edge of that jacket still draped over your frame currently displayed on the desk for the three men around, brushing your now bare skin in a way that was almost shy and hesitant compared to the others.

A gloved hand caught your chin, tilting and forcing your gaze to meet his forward. His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip, pressing enough to part it as his eyes darkened with amused.

“Didn’t think you’d look this good in my jacket even now,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, teasing, that familiar edge of cocky charm sharpened into something far more dangerous.

The same culprit who took pleasure at slicing away the remaining of your clothes with his precise experience with that knife.

Your stomach flipped at the sensation of blunt and wide fingers pressing in with a knowing confidence that made your breath stutter, his chest brushing your back as he leaned in enough for his stubble to graze your neck.

“Easy,” he muttered against your skin, lips ghosting over the spot right below your ear before his teeth caught lightly in a teasing bite. “We’ve got time… gonna make sure you can take it.”

Slowly, one thick finger invaded your hole and the stretch came immediate, his other hand coming around your front to wrap around your now exposed cock at the same time.

Body jolting as his grip tightened, thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the first slick hint of precome just his finger curled inside you, realizing how he knew exactly where to press.

“Still this tight,” he hummed, voice coarse with approval, breath hot against your neck as his pace stayed slow but purposeful.

Your head fell forward as all your muscles relaxed to get through this and that was all the invitation the other two needed.

Knife-welding-Leon took the moment your mouth gasped in need of more oxygen and claimed it hard, lips crashing into yours with confidence that stole the remaining supplies of oxygen right out of your lungs, tongue pushing past instantly, claiming space and exploring deep with a low groan that vibrated straight inside your mouth.

Hand staying on your face and holding you in place as his tongue fought against yours, going deeper and more insistent to savor everything.

Behind that another thick intrusion came together the already existing one, thick fingers scissoring slowly, stretching you with patience and devoted work.

His thumb pressed harder against your cock now, stroking in a steady rhythm that matched the curl of his fingers inside.

Your body didn’t know where to focus as pleasure sparked everywhere, overlapped and built from each touch feeding into the next until it felt like your nerves were short-circuiting.

“Christ…” the Leon assaulting your mouth muttered against your mouth, pulling back just enough for his lips to drag down your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.

Your Leon was observing you like you were something fragile and fascinating all at once, hands moving slower than the others at first, careful and exploring on unknown territory unlike his other two counterparts.

They slid up your sides, fingertips brushing over your abdomen, lips following his hands, pressing hesitant kisses along your stomach, each one lingering just a second longer than the last.

Your hips twitched, body leaning into him without thinking and it that was all it took as a shift in his expression came in focus and determination.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered before his mouth moved lower, kissing down your abdomen when a hiss passed through clenched teeth the moment a third finger pushed in.

The sound got swallowed instantly as RE4 Leon pulled you back into another kiss, deeper and rougher, tongue shaking against yours as his hand slid down to your waist, gripping tighter.

Older Leon groaned low at the sound you made.

“Yeah… That’s what I wanted to hear.” He muttered, pace picking up just slightly, fingers driving deeper, curling harder and hitting your prostate again and again until your legs trembled from the assault on that bundle of nerves.

“Gonna take all of us like this?” he added, stubble scratching along your neck as he spoke, lips brushing over the marks already forming there. “Lookin’ this pretty…all worked up already…”

Their presence surrounding you completely, every direction you moved there was one of them as hard things brushed against you, insistingly reminding you constantly of what was coming next.

Leon forward you ground against your hip subtly, breath hitching into your mouth as he deepened the kiss again, tongue sliding slower now, thick tent in his pants stabbing you with more effects than a knife ever could.

Behind you, older Leon’s arousal pressed heavy against your lower back every time his fingers pushed deeper, control slipping enough to let you feel how much he wanted this.

And your Leon shifted closer, his bulge pressing against your side as his lips finally dipped lower, right below your navel.

Warmth spreads through you instantly.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured softly, even as his hands slid up to your chest, fingers brushing over your nipples experimentally before pressing, rolling them between his fingers.

You gasped again and he froze for just a second before his expression shifted into something quietly thrilled.

“Okay… you like that.” He whispered almost breathless before doing it again, more confidently this time.

“‘Course he does,” older Leon behind muttered, a smirk in his voice as his fingers pumped deeper, faster now, thumb still stroking your cock in sync. “Been paying attention, rookie?”

The loss of those fingers working you open made you whine.

“Yeah… you’re ready,” hatchet-wielding-Leon muttered, his hand coming down to pat your ass.

The loud sound of zippers followed and you shivered in anticipation, immense pressure from a clothed bulge pressing against your gaping hole.

“Don’t tense up,” he added, voice softer now—but no less intense. “Or I’ll have to take my time breakin’ you in myself.”

The one in front of you leaned in, hand sliding over your shoulder, squeezing once.

“Nah, he doesn’t want your old ass,” he murmured close to your lips, voice confident and teasing as his hand moved to your face again, softer now, thumb brushing your lip as he held your gaze.

“C’mon,” he whispered, voice taking a husky edge to it. “Tell ’em you want me first.”

Body moving with importance to the heart as you shifted and presented yourself fully to your Leon before drifting back to the surprise but aroused slightly older version.

A satisfied smile spread across his lips as his hand cradled your face and guided you down until your lips hovered just in front of that big bulge.

“Keep me busy while I wait my turn,” he added, voice low, amused, thumb pressing gently against your lip again. “Yeah?”

One moment you were trembling, stretched open and aching, every nerve lit up from the way older Leon had worked you apart, the next a different pressure followed.

He didn’t push in all at once, especially now, there was carefulness in him always present when it came to you. His hands found your hips first, fingers spreading wide, gripping just enough to steady you as he lined himself up behind.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He murmured, voice lower than you’d ever heard it, roughened by want but still threaded with that unmistakable sincerity.

He started to push in and God, the first inch alone stole the air from your lungs.

A gasp tore out of you, sharp and helpless, your body instinctively tightening around him as the blunt head of his cock pressed inside, stretching in a way that felt entirely different from the fingers that had prepared you.

He eased forward inch by inch, length sliding deeper into you with a steady, controlled pressure that made your entire body tremble around him as that solid weight filled and warned you up gradually.

“God…” he breathed, the word barely there, head dipping forward slightly, forehead almost brushing your shoulder as he focused on the feeling. “You feel really good..”

Another inch and your back arched as a broken sound left your throat.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way, body struggling to adjust as he sank deeper until he bottomed out.

A small pull back followed by a push forward again.

And that was worse, body reacting instantly, a sharp gasp tearing from your mouth as the movement dragged along every sensitive nerve inside.

The Leon in front of you was watching but waiting as well and, once you did remembered the other presence who you were now entirely sure was the same man currently balls deep inside, your trembling hands moved, reaching for the front of his jacket, then lower, finding the last barrier between you and what you’d been staring at this entire time.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice low and amused as his hand came up to cradle your cheek. “Been thinkin’ about it this whole time, haven’t you?”

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fabric before finding purchase and pulled.

Fuck, he was hung.

Thick and heavy cock springing free, already flushed and leaking, head glistening under the light.

“Like what you see?” he asked, smirk tugging at his lips.

A question your mouth answered, leaning forward, closing the distance, lips parting as you took him in, tongue dragging along the underside as you guided him deeper, lips stretching around him until you sank down fully, nose brushing his skin as your throat adjusted around his length.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his hand instantly coming to the back of your head. “There it is…”

You swallowed around him and that broke him in a way. “Yeah…yeah, just like that,” he muttered, voice rough and strained, his hips twitching forward instinctively before he caught himself. “You’re—shit—you’re still perfect at this.”

Behind your Leon groaned at the sight of your throat bulging around his older counterpart’s member, hands tightening on your hips again as his thrusts deepened.

Each push drove him fully into you, length dragging along your walls in a steady rhythm that made your body jolt forward and take more of the cock in your mouth without meaning to.

The connection clicked.

Every thrust from behind pushed you forward onto Leon, mouth forced to take him deeper, throat tightening reflexively around him as his grip in your hair tightened slightly in response.

“Fuck—” he groaned, watching you closely now, his breathing uneven. “Taking both of us like that… you trying to kill me?”

His hands slid up your body, one of them coming to your chest, fingers brushing over your skin in a soft, grounding motion as he watched you carefully.

“Is this okay?” The one behind you asked, voice strained but still so gentle, even now. “You’re— you’re not—”

You moaned around the cock in your mouth.

That was your answer.

“…okay,” he breathed, confidence shifting in his tone, maybe, or just the realization that you wanted this as much as he did.

His thrusts picked up, each one rolling his hips forward just right, dragging against your prostate repeatedly until your legs trembled harder, grip on the table tightening.

In front of you, Leon lost the last bit of restraint.

“Yeah… Take it just like that!” His hips started to move too, meeting your mouth halfway, cock sliding in and out between your lips in sync with the way you were being fucked from behind.

Your Leon leaned closer, chest pressing against your back as his hot breath came against your shoulder.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t believe it, his voice breaking slightly as his pace faltered—then surged again. “I can’t—I can’t stop…”

In front—

“Don’t,” RE4 Leon shot back instantly, a breathless laugh mixing into his voice. “Trust me, he doesn’t want you to.”

Your body proved it as every thrust pulled another sound from you, cock twitching in overstimulation, but not forgotten as a hand wrapped around it suddenly.

“Don’t think I’m sittin’ this out,” he muttered against your ear, voice low and dangerous as his grip tightened just enough to make your hips jerk. “Go on… let go.”

Everything hit at once as a broken sound vibrated around the cock in your throat as you came hard, cock pulsing in his hand as release spilled over your stomach in hot bursts.

The sensation of your throat tightening pushing the one clogging your throat over the edge right after, grip tightening in your hair as he thrust deep one last time, spilling his load into your mouth with a low, strained sound.

Behind your Leon followed, a choked gasp leaving him as he buried himself fully inside you, hips pressing flush against yours as he came, warmth flooding deep inside.

Your body felt like it had been wrung out and put back together wrong, every nerve still buzzing, muscle weak, breath only just beginning to steady as the world slowly stopped spinning around you.

Yet, you were still painfully hard as a quiet, shaky breath left you, hand lifting to find its way to broad, familiar shoulders next to you, firm enough to communicate what your body couldn’t say out loud right away.

A low, knowing huff left him.

“Yeah… figured,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough but edged with that dry humor that never quite left him.

He shifted easily under your touch, turning and sitting back against the table in one smooth motion as you climbed into his lap, body sinking down onto his thick thighs, the heat of him immediately seeping into your skin.

Solid muscle beneath really told you how big he was, legs falling to either side of his hips and his huge tent nudged against your ass, heavy and insistent, blunt heat of it dragging slightly against your oversensitive skin.

A deep groan rumbled out of him instantly and you leaned closer once recovering, voice almost vulnerable.

“Did we… stay together for all those years?”

His grip on your hips loosened slightly, one hand lifting, fingers flexing like he was debating something before deciding and pulling his glove off, holding his hand up just enough for you to see a ring.

“…yeah,” he muttered, glancing at it briefly before his gaze flicked back up to you, a small, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “Guess I was dumb enough to put up with you every day of my life.”

Sarcasm dry and familiar buy those duller blue eyes softened completely when he saw the happiness on your face that bloomed there before you could even try to hide it.

That was all you needed, leaning in to kiss him, stubble scratching against your jaw rough.

Then his hands tightened on your hips again and he moved you up enough to line himself.

“C’mon,” he muttered against your lips, breath warm, voice dipping lower. “You know the drill.”

He guided you down slowly, body tensing instinctively as the head of his cock pressed against your already slick and stretched opening.

The remnants of the others still coating you, making the slide smoother and easier.

Your mouth fell open as you sank down inch by inch, your hands tightening on his shoulders as your body adjusted again to his size.

“Fuck…” he grunted low, head dropping forward slightly, grip firm but controlled as he guided you.

He bottomed out and felt him pressed deep inside, so far in it almost felt like he was in your stomach, his heartbeat faint but real where your bodies connected.

Whimpering softly and he exhaled sharply at the sound.

“Always take me so good like you were made for it,” he muttered, voice roughening further, hands sliding slightly along your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin as you started to ride him.

Slow and weak at first, legs trembling as you lifted yourself just barely before dropping back down, motion dragging his cock along your walls.

But you didn’t have the strength.

“Easy,” he murmured, large biceps wrapping around your frame to pull you closer, chest pressed against his as he took over.

His thighs tensed beneath you, hands guiding your hips as he started moving you himself, lifting you up, then pulling you back down.

Each movement angled just right, hips tilting slightly to meet you every time, cock brushing against your prostate over and over until your head fell into the crook of his neck, your breath breaking into soft, helpless moans.

His pace didn’t falter, only getting stronger, breathing growing heavier against your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted, pace picking up.

All until another presence came between your legs.

The other Leon older than you stepped in close, sliding between your spread thighs as you sat in his older counterpart’s lap, cock already hard again as it nudged against your entrance.

Older Leon stilled you instantly, holding you down firmly on his cock as his other hand came up to steady your hip.

“Hold on,” he muttered, glancing down briefly before looking back up at him.

“Relax,” the one about to join shot back. “I know what I’m doing.”

He pushed in, slow and careful, body of yours stretching again, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second intrusion pressed inside alongside the first, walls straining and adjusting on both of them at once.

“Fuck—” you choked, your face pressing into older Leon’s jaw as your body trembled violently.

“Yeah… breathe,” older Leon murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close. “You can take it.”

In front Leon groaned low.

“God, you’re tight,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly worked himself deeper, inch by inch until he was fully seated as well. “Missed this…”

Your body felt impossibly full and overstimulated, every nerve screaming as they both started to move.

Behind them, your Leon stood still, watching in absolute horny surprise.

Your head turned slightly, voice breathy and wrecked as you called out.

“…Leon…”

He blinked like he’d been pulled out of a trance.

“…yeah,” he answered quietly, almost dazed as the other Leon reached back, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him closer.

“Don’t just stand there,” he muttered, amusement laced through his tone. “Make him pleased.”

Just like that he was pulled in closer.

A hand of RE4 Leon’s gripped your ass, spreading you slightly as a thick drip of cum slid down.

Then your body git stretched again by a third presence pressing in.

You cried out, body shaking violently as all three of them filled every inch of you.

They moved together than, hips snapping forward, pulling back, thrusting again as your body was used between them, lifted, held, moved exactly how they wanted.

Kisses pressed against your mouth and neck… teeth grazed your skin along with hands everywhere.

Your mind went blank completely, moans breaking apart into nothing but sound, body giving in completely as they took over, driving you higher and higher again despite how sensitive you already were.

Your body tensed violently as you came again, cock spilling across older Leon’s abs, entire body shaking uncontrollably as the sensation ripped through.

They followed one by one, groans and grunts echoing along bodies tensing, followed by an uncontainable amount of heat filling you.

So much your body struggled to contain it as they emptied themselves inside you, movements slowing but not stopping until every last bit was spent.

Finally stillness.

Your body collapsed against them.

Completely used, full and theirs.

[rene-darling]

FKED-up n high

…jabbers high off his mind, out freaking you— in midst of what was supposed to be a training session soon turns into a fuck session…art credits [kurtiness on tumblr]

…cuming untouched…dry!humping…rough!fucking…mean!reader…hate!fucking…masochist!Jabber…

…JABBER…

“Hmm…hehe— we should—uh…let’s fuckkk” eyes lolling back as he mindlessly giggled into your neck, cheeks stained red from takin hits, a pout then a sniffle “still hurts y’knowwww— freak.—shit.”

You thought a harsh kick to the stomach would bring the bumbling fool back, but all you got in return were muffled giggles “fuckkk.. I’m so hard righttt now… wanna do it?” again with the requests, this wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. The same thing as always. He’d ask to train, ask for a fight, n it’d always end up with you on top of him, his fucked up face stuffed into the dirt.

Sitting on top of him, you could tell he wasn’t exactly..lying. “shit— you’re so fucking weird” your attempts at swiftly getting up were halted as he wrapped his legs around you, the sides of his torn up thighs encasing you,

hips jerkin up to you, or atleast— trying to, in his tired state n with your whole weight on him it was harder then usual- ‘SLAP’

“Mhm-“ a harsh jerk of his neck, his eyes flashing with surprise he grabbed your wrist, the hand that marked his cheek, you were fed up with his antics, his face stayed pressed against the dirt as his hazy eyes stared into yours his teeth bitting into his lips “harder.”

”you’re fuckin crazy.” Anger had your hands wrapped around his neck, his breath hitching as he threw his head back “fuucckkkk” a chocked out sound. hand digging into the dirt as the one on your wrist pressed into your flesh. Fingers digging into your skin.

“You like this dontcha’ fuckin whore.” His hips pushed up trying to find some friction but with his head in the clouds and you already having done a number on him it was an effort that remained unreciprocated. “hmm.. yeahhh— fuckkk”

his eyes rolled back as droll seeped down the sides of his mouth opening and closing like a fish, desperate for air. Blood seeped down your hands as his fingers continued digging into them, your flesh buried under his nails

Your fingers tightened against his neck, veins popping, those incoherent mumbling of his came to a stop, jaw slack, his fingers stilled their digging— did he just cum??? Looking down, there was a large wet spot on his pants, slimy globs of cum seeped through his pants and stuck to you. “Fucking disgusting.”

slapping his face to the other side, all he could do was giggle, childlike giggles muffled by the hands on his throat he gasped for air. With one final squeeze you let him go, watching as he gasped for air, chest rising up and down erratically, deep red hand prints were left on his neck already bruising. The hand that had buried itself in the dirt now waved around in search of something to grab onto, so you relented, grabbing his distressed hand, letting your fingers intertwine, with a sting you freed your other hand away from his grip, your blood stained hands went up to his face. Wiping away the tears that had welled up,

he nudged for you to come closer, apprehensively lowering your head all for him to whisper “admit it, you’re just as much a freak as me” then followed by those stupid fucking giggles of his. you should’ve just chocked him to death— maybe next time…?

[cece693]

DAMN, THAT ASS

Nightwing x Male Reader

synopsis: Being a hero is hard enough without having to constantly pretend you aren’t ogling your partner’s perfect ass every time he moves. Unfortunately, X-ray vision doesn’t come with an off switch and Nightwing doesn’t come with bad angles.

WARNING: 18+ SMUT

You’d been around the block with your fair share of awkward powers, but x-ray vision was the crown jewel in the “oh no” category, especially when it came to him.

Nightwing.

Dick Grayson.

The man was sculpted like some divine joke, and your traitorous eyes didn’t miss anything. It was bad enough that you could see every twitch of muscle under that skintight suit, but his ass? His perfect, crime-fighting, gravity-defying ass? It should’ve been illegal. You’d lost count of how many rooftop patrols had turned into silent, suffering thirst traps in your own head.

So you made a plan: avoid him. Act cool. Keep your eyes on literally anything else. Because if you didn’t, you were either going to combust or blurt something out that would make things very, very awkward.

The problem? Dick wasn’t stupid.

At first, he thought you were shy, then he thought maybe you were just distracted. But as the weeks passed and your banter went from warm and easy to clipped and professional, the gears in his head started turning. He’d been working himself up to ask you out, hell, he thought you’d been flirting back. Now? You barely looked at him.

So, naturally, he cornered you.

It was after a mission, both of you in the locker room. You were busy pretending to sort through your gear, avoiding eye contact like it was life or death. Dick, still in half his suit, walked right up and planted himself in your space. “Did I do something?”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze firmly on the wall. “Nope.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, stepping closer. The scent of sweat and clean soap clung to him, his bare chest still glistening from exertion. “You’ve been dodging me for weeks.”

Your jaw flexed. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Bullshit.” He tilted his head, eyes sharp. “You’re avoiding me, and I want to know why. If I screwed up, tell me. Don’t just give me a cold shoulder and pretend I don't notice.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “It’s not that you screwed up, Grayson. It’s that my powers make it really hard to be around you without—” You cut yourself off, realizing you were about to confess that you’d seen everything.

Without missing a beat, he smirked. “Without what?”

Your pulse spiked. “Without getting distracted.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, then slow, predatory amusement. He stepped until his chest brushed yours, the heat of his body making your brain short-circuit. “Distracted by what exactly?”

You clenched your fists, eyes darting anywhere but him. “You know what.”

“Oh,” he said, grin widening. “I think I do.” His hand slid to your hip, pulling you closer. “You’ve got x-ray vision, right? So you’ve seen it.”

Your breath hitched. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” His voice was a low purr now. “You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder because you can’t stop thinking about me naked?”

That was all it took to break weeks of pent up frustration. The moment your lips crashed against his, Dick’s breath hitched in surprise, then melted into a deep, hungry groan. You didn’t give him room to breathe, one hand tangled in the short dark hair at the back of his head, the other gripping his bare hip and yanking him closer until he was straddling your lap completely.

You could feel him through the thin material of his suit bottoms, hard and pressing insistently against you. Every flex of his thighs sent your self-control spiraling.

“Fuck—” he gasped between kisses, pulling back just enough to smirk. “So this is what you’ve been avoiding?”

You didn’t answer. You just hooked your fingers into the waistband of his suit and yanked it down, revealing exactly what you’d been torturing yourself over for weeks. He was thick, flushed, and already dripping.

Your smirk made him flush harder.

“Goddamn, Grayson,” you muttered, wrapping your hand around him and stroking slow just to watch him squirm. “You really have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

He bit his lip, hips bucking into your grip. “Then stop talking and—”

You shoved him back against the lockers mid-sentence, standing to tower over him. He didn’t even have time to protest before you were kissing him again, hard enough to make his head thunk against the metal. Your other hand slid down to cup the perfect curve of his ass—yes, the one you’d been obsessing over—and grabbed a fistful of it as if staking a claim.

Dick groaned, his hands flying up to your shoulders, nails dragging down your back. You manhandled him onto the bench, pushing him to sit while you knelt between his spread knees.

The first slow drag of your tongue from base to tip had him throwing his head back, a strangled noise ripping from his throat. You wrapped your lips around him and sucked deep, bobbing your head until you could feel him throbbing against your tongue.

“Shit—fuck—” His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling tight, but you grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his sides. You set the pace, taking him in until your nose brushed his skin, pulling back just to watch his face twist with desperation.

When you finally pulled off, he was flushed, panting, and staring at you like he wanted to devour you. “Get up.” you ordered, voice rough.

He obeyed instantly. You shoved him forward, bending him over the bench. His bare ass was right there in front of you, perfect and infuriatingly tempting. You palmed it roughly, kneading, spreading him open until he shivered.

“Always knew it was perfect.” you muttered, and then you were spitting into your hand, slicking yourself up before pressing the tip against him. He looked over his shoulder, eyes blown wide, mouth parted in a needy gasp.

“Do it.”

You pushed in slow, savoring the way his body stretched to take you, every inch sinking deeper until your hips were flush against him. He moaned, clutching the bench so hard his knuckles went white.

Once you were buried to the hilt, you didn’t hold back. Your hips snapped forward, hard and fast, each thrust making the bench creak under the force. Dick’s voice was a mess of gasps, moans, and broken curses, echoing off the tiled walls.

You leaned over him, one hand gripping his jaw and forcing his head back so you could kiss him while you fucked into him. “This what you wanted, Grayson? Weeks of teasing me for this?”

“Yes—fuck—harder.” he panted, pushing back against you.

You gave him exactly what he asked for, driving into him until your thighs burned. Every thrust hit deep, making him cry out. Your hand slid down to wrap around his cock, stroking in time with your hips until he was shaking under you.

“Gonna—fuck—I’m—”

“Do it.” you growled against his ear, pounding him through it. He came hard in your fist, spilling over your knuckles, body trembling. You didn’t stop, fucking him through his orgasm until you followed, spilling deep inside him with a groan.

You stayed there for a moment, both of you catching your breath, sweat-slick and shaking. Finally, you pulled out, watching your cum drip down his thighs before you smacked his ass, making him jolt.

“Next time,” you said, smirking as you grabbed his chin and kissed him again, “stop making me work so hard for it.”

He laughed breathlessly, still bent over. “Where’s the fun in that?”

[rawme-price]

Whenever you're unsure if you smell okay or not, you ask your roommate soap.

If he leans in for a quick check and shrugs "ye smell fine, dude." Then chances are you smell fine.

But if he gets so close he has to grab you and hold you still, shoving his face into your neck and practically shuddering when he groans "fuck, ye smell fuckin' amazing. Wait— hold still– let me enjoy it, yeah?" Then chances are you smell absolutely foul and a shower should happen within the next five minutes....or as soon as he gets done rubbing one off on you.

[invincibledc]

the people yearn for more catboy reader x robin

DAMIAN WAYNE x CATBOY!READER

Protégé of Selena sneaks into the Wayne mansion, just for his very own jewel of picking. Only to get scolded.

a/n: I went for Damian!robin instead of dick

straddling on top of an angry Arabic teenager, y/n snickers behind his hand. “Why so angry?” He teased, poking at Damian’s nose. Damian didn’t even flinch from the booping before grabbing y/n’s wrist and twisted it slightly.

Immediately y/n yelped, smacking Damian’s arm. “Okay!! Okay!! I’ll get off!” Damian eased his grip, leaving the boy to sit up in his own bed. He watched his so called “enemy” wince and pout before sticking his tongue at him.

“What was that for?” Y/n asked, rubbing his wrist. He was now on the left of the teen’s bed.

“You didn’t call me back after you affirmed you would last night.”

Y/n gave him a, “I did?” Look before remembering and now look sheepish

“Oops?” The catboy shrugged, he then sat straight up as he noticed Damian’s expression.

Damian’s face hardened. “You. Promised.”

“Dami… I .. I just forgot okay? I went on a heist with Selina and got side tracked okay?” Y/n spoke softly as he tilts his head carefully. He couldn’t see how the green eyed boy was clenching his jaw. He was waiting to hear his beloved’s voice, he just wanted to feel close in that intimate way of being on call with someone he cared.

Damian stayed silent, which was even worse than now being scolded slash called out from before. Jeez he’s just like Bruce. “Alright, alright. How about I stay tonight?” Y/n proposed. He just hoped Damian could at least ease up on him.

After a beat of silence, Damian laid back down. “Fine. I’ll accept the offer. But no funny business.” He said sternly. Immediately y/n’s eyes widen before smirking.

“Of courseee.”

As soon as y/n’s eyes were closed, he was knocked out, snoring softly as Damian turned to face him. Damian’s eyes softened, his eyes tracing over the cat like boy who seemed to curl up with his hands close to his face.

Damian pressed a gentle kiss to the boy’s temple before sleeping peacefully. Enjoying the peace between them both.

After math— dick walks in to wake Damian for breakfast only to find Damian holding y/n close to his chest. Damian was breathing softly against y/n’s neck while y/n slightly purrs in his sleep. Dick aww’s and takes a small picture. “He’s growing up so fast!” He whispers, closing the door quickly.

[moonyswritinq]

❝ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 ❞ — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓 𝐱 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

PAIRING ➢ jack abbot x Paediatric nurse! male reader

SYNOPSIS ➢ Stuck in student debts from your nursing school had you reaching out to more drastic measures, which meant signing up to be a sugar baby to none other than the Doctor Jack Abbot. Of course, you have no idea you’re working at the same hospital and thus never expect to meet up. However, it all comes to a head when you’re called down to the ER and sees a very familiar man in a SWAT uniform.

CONTENT WARNING ➢ no use of y/n, YEARNING, fluff, angst, panic attack (probably very incorrect), reader is mentioned to have muscles, age gap, jack calls reader ‘kid’, slightly ooc Jack, hurt then comfort, sexual innuendos, flirting, sexual tension, bad descriptions of hospital stuff

WORD COUNT ➢ 10.7 k [request]

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ as you can see, I absolutely RAN away with this although it is not exactly like the request, because the way the story flowed just worked out differently than what had been requested, but I hope I did it justice anyhow. I don’t like the end so much, because at that point I just wanted to be done with it, but hope it’s up to your standards anyhow!

MASTERLIST, TAGLIST

FEMALE DNI !!!

You had never meant for it to get anywhere, to be something other than a way for you to earn some extra cash alongside your work. Student debt was killing you, but that was nothing new. It was killing all of the other nurses, as well. Still, it would have been nice to afford a proper meal at least once a day.

You mentioned it to a buddy of yours who off handedly suggested you start selling feet pictures. He was joking, of course. You hoped he was.

But it got you thinking of another friend who had gotten a sugar daddy and was now living life without any worries of her student loans. Gods, you would have lied if you said you hadn’t been jealous. So you reached out to her and she directed you to the site she had used, which was an immediate shock. Here, you could see multiple entries posted by sugar daddies and mommies alike, all of them in various ages and requirements for their sugar baby. You hesitantly filled out your own profile to be put on the site so others could see you.

Suddenly, it seemed too much. You didn’t want to compromise yourself or your body just for money. No offence to those who do, but a pit in your stomach told you that it wouldn’t be worth it.

Before you had a chance to close the site, you had gotten a message.

Your eyes flitted to the edge of the screen, a small pop-up message showing that a ‘Jack’ had written to you. Curious despite yourself, you clicked on his profile. There was no picture, weirdly enough. You couldn’t blame him, though, as you had also chosen to refrain from using a picture. You didn’t want any random people finding you or recognising you. Your name, you could handle people knowing, but your face was uniquely yours. You supposed this Jack felt the same way, or according to his message, he did.

JACK You also hesitant of these websites?

You paused, looking at his profile again. He had the ‘Sugar Daddy’ status, but nowhere did it say he was requiring anything sexual from you. It couldn’t hurt to reply, could it, right? Your fingers typed on your keyboard before you even had the chance to think about it.

YOU Yeah, is it that obvious?

He responded immediately, and it almost made you chuckle. This guy must really want to write with you.

JACK Takes one to know one, I suppose.

YOU What? Sceptical and cynical?

JACK You could say that.

YOU What are you doing here then?

JACK My therapist said I needed a hobby.

YOU Funny.

JACK I’ve heard I have a great sense of humour.

YOU You’re not at all what I was expecting from a man on this site.

JACK What were you expecting? A creepy guy only wanting to jack off to younger men?

YOU Kind of, how do I know you’re not one of those creepy guys?

JACK For one, I am not asking for anything like that. I respect whatever your wishes are.

YOU What are you asking for then?

JACK Company I guess.

YOU What, the people in your life aren’t company enough?”

JACK What is this, a job interview?

YOU Well, kind of. Since I am the one who will get paid in this.

JACK Touché. But then shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions huh?

YOU Guess you’re right, but it’s so much more fun if I am asking them.

JACK Fun for you maybe.

YOU Exactly.

JACK Okay. To be honest, I guess I’m a bit lonely. I don’t have a lot of time for people outside of my work and when I’m working all I’m thinking about is, well, work.

YOU So you are still working? What do you do?

JACK Of course, how old do you think I am?

YOU Do you honestly want me to answer that?

JACK Now that’s just rude. And I’m a doctor. Pays pretty well you know.

YOU That’s impressive. What position?

JACK Attending physician at the ER. Not a lot of people ask for what position you work as when you say you’re a doctor. You in the medical field yourself?

YOU Hmmm, I’m not sure I should tell anything personal about myself to a stranger.

JACK I told you, man.

YOU Well maybe you have less self preservation than I do. And here I thought with age comes wisdom.

JACK Good one. Maybe I want to get to know you.

YOU I hope you know that no matter wherever this goes, we will never actually meet.

JACK Wasn’t counting on it. Like you said, I’m only a stranger. And like I said, I respect your wishes, whatever they are.

YOU And you’re willing to pay me to just talk to you? Nothing else?

JACK Yeah, nothing else. I promise.

YOU It seems too good to be true. Why?

JACK Listen kid, I respect how careful you are. The truth is I don’t have anything good to else spend it on and I like taking care of people. Probably why I’m a doctor.

YOU Sounds about right. But why me specifically? Unless you have a group of younger guys you’re entertaining on the side?

JACK Oh god no. You’re the only one.

YOU I must be special, then.

JACK Kinda. I mean you are the only one I’ve properly written to on this website. You seem interesting.

YOU If you are trying to flatter me then you’ll have to come up with a better compliment than that.

JACK If I’m the one paying you shouldn’t you be the one complimenting me?

YOU Maybe when I find something worthy to compliment.

JACK You’re funny.

YOU I try. Listen, I hate to cut this short but I gotta go to work.

JACK Wait before you go. Give me your Venmo info.

YOU Why?

JACK How else do you expect me to send the money? Now come on.

YOU Well, thank you.

JACK It’s my pleasure, kid. Until next time.

You watched with awe as you get a notification from Venmo that five hundred dollars had been deposited into your account. This guy must really want this agreement with you to spend that much only on the first conversation. You weren’t one to complain, however, as you could finally treat yourself to a good meal. Thank fuck to whoever this Jack was, and thank fuck that your friend had set you up with the site.

Over the next few days, you got to know him better as you conversed. You had told him that you worked in paediatrics as a nurse, and you learnt that he worked nights, which left you little option when to message him, mostly before your shift, when his was ending, and after yours, when he had just woken up. He was easy to talk to and you enjoyed his sarcastic humour.

And he kept his promise, never pressuring you into doing anything more. However, you had noticed that Jack would occasionally address you with something that wasn’t strictly platonic but also not forthcoming enough to be discernible as flirting. But you would be lying if you said you weren’t flirting back.

It was simple and he was easy-going, and charming. Whatever ego Jack has, he wore it real well. He was cocky but not arrogant, and a little self-deprecating. And gods did he know how to bring a stupid smile to your face. Your conversation flowed easily enough that you didn’t even have to think about what to respond to him.

You still couldn’t help but wonder why he had chosen to talk to you, out of all the other applicants, who actually were willing to do more than platonic stuff.

You chose to ask him that a week later, one night after your shift, when you had arrived home and successfully crashed on your bed.

YOU I still can’t really get over why you chose to talk to me specifically. I mean, I’m sure there are lots of other guys vying for your attention?

His reply came only a few minutes later. He had told you that he worked nights, so you guessed he was writing to you in between patients.

JACK I wouldn’t be so sure about that. And none are anywhere near as interesting as you.

YOU Still, my point stands.

JACK Are we not done with the twenty questions yet? Thought I showed I was serious about this arrangement.

YOU OK, that’s fair. I’ll stop.

JACK You are terrible at letting up control. Let me take care of you.

YOU I just feel bad because I’m getting so much from this and all you’re getting is sucky conversation from me.

JACK You better step it up then, kid. I told you I’d be expecting compliments.

YOU Wow.

JACK I’m only pulling your leg. Don’t sell yourself so short. You’re really great. I enjoy talking to you.

YOU Thank you. I also enjoy talking to you.

JACK Look at that, I knew you could take a compliment. I’m proud.

You couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your lips. Damn Jack and his easy charm.

YOU Maybe because this one was actually good.

JACK There’s more where that’s coming from.

YOU Shut up.

JACK Unfortunately I don’t know how to.

YOU Damn, guess I’m stuck with you then.

JACK Guess you are.

YOU It’s not the worst thing in the world.

JACK High praise. You really know how to warm a guy’s heart.

YOU What can I say? I’m a charmer.

JACK Oh I bet you are.

He was just so effortless in the way he spoke and complimented you that hadn’t you previously agreed to keep this professional between you two, you would have seriously thought there were something between you. The thought didn’t exactly displease you. Of course, you had no way of knowing if he even wanted more. His profile was suspiciously empty of any sexual wishes for his sugar baby and he had said he wasn’t expecting anything of the sort. Maybe he was the one who didn’t want anything non-platonic and was just acting under the guise of respecting your wishes to stay professional. Maybe you were the one who was going too far, flirting and acting this casual with him, perhaps even making him uncomfortable.

Fuck, the thought filled you with dread. Not only because you’d grown to care about Jack over the past couple of weeks enough to worry about making him feel uncomfortable, but also because this was technically supposed to be a business agreement. He was your client and you were making money from this. The agreement had been clear and you couldn’t let Jack’s personality lead you astray from that.

He had wanted company and conversation. It wasn’t his fault that it happened to make something stir within you, just by him being himself. You cursed yourself for letting yourself get in the way of yourself. Jack’s a good guy, genuinely caring and thoughtful, and he wanted to take care of you, so you couldn’t let anything ruin that what you had.

He just made it so fucking hard when he was such a gentleman.

YOU Hey, is there any possibility I could get an advance on this week?

The notification of your Venmo came before the notification of Jack’s reply and you inwardly cringed of how readily he sent you the money, without a second thought even. You knew he made more money than he had use for and was more than happy to spend it on you, but his willingness to help you still made your heart skip a beat.

JACK Of course. What gives?

YOU Just got in a bit of a bind. Needed the money quickly.

JACK Anything more I can do to help?

YOU You don’t have to do that, you know.

JACK Do what?

YOU You know, care so much.

JACK How do you mean?

YOU This is a professional relationship and you’re technically my client, Jack. Please feel no obligation to do any more than you want to.

JACK Well then, I want to. Simple as that, kid.

You rubbed a hand over the bridge of your nose, sighing in frustration. How was it that Jack managed to solve your problems that easily at the same time as he caused new ones? Because how were you supposed to maintain a professional relationship with him when he went around saying shit like that? He both infuriated and made you joyous at the same time.

Any hope of avoiding any growing feelings would have meant to avoid talking to Jack altogether, but that was impossible since your agreement meant literal conversation, and because Jack was impossible not to talk to. You kept your back and forth, messages sent between shifts and breaks, whenever you had the time over the next month. When you needed him, he was always there.

YOU Hey do you have a minute? You don’t have to pay me for it.

JACK Of course, is everything okay?

YOU Yeah, I just needed a distraction.

JACK And you came to me? I’m flattered.

YOU Shut up.

JACK Wouldn’t dream of it. Are you sure you’re alright?

YOU No. I’m not. I lost a patient at work today. A kid. I guess it just hit me heavier than I thought.

JACK Hey that’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all had those days where things feel a bit too tough to handle. You just gotta remember that none of this is your fault. You did the best you could but sometimes that isn’t enough.

YOU I know you’re right but it’s hard not to feel like this one is on me.

JACK I know you are terrible at letting up control but you gotta trust me on this. All you can do is focus on the medicine. The medicine is the only thing that saves the patient. And your sanity. You are excellent and there was nothing more you could do.

YOU Thank you, Jack. It means a lot coming from you.

JACK Anytime. Remember to breathe and try to take it easy. Even nurses deserve breaks you know.

YOU And god do we need it. I’ll try, but with the way people are getting hurt I can’t see me getting a break anytime soon.

JACK I hear you there. Hey I sent a little something as a pick-me-up. Enjoy it.

YOU I told you you didn’t have to do that.

JACK And I told you that I want to take care of you. Accept it and shut up.

YOU Sir, yes, sir.

It felt good to confide in someone like this. He could relate to the feelings and trauma that came with working at a hospital; that, sure, you saved and helped a lot of people, but you weren’t magicians. There were bound to be people you couldn’t save. Every hospital worker learnt not to take it personally, 

Like Jack, you worked a lot of long shifts after each other, rarely having a free day for yourself. It didn’t exactly allow you to socialise or make friends with a lot of people outside of your work. You supposed you and Jack had that in common.

 He, however, liked to keep much busier than you. Since he worked nights, you had figured he would sleep most of the day, but no, he was just as quick to respond to your messages during the day as he was in between your shifts. You started to suspect that he didn’t sleep much, since he had also mentioned he usually tries to keep tabs on the police scanner he owned in case of any emergency. You had asked if he had anything outside of saving lives to keep him busy and he had suspiciously avoided the question with a clever quip. So, you decided not to push it, allowing him to share however much he wanted to with you.

Eventually, you exchanged numbers with him, when you felt that you were more comfortable with him. Despite yourself, you had grown to trust this man, with his easy remarks and charm, disregarding all the safety measures surrounding strangers your mum had drilled into you since an early age. Jack wasn’t just a stranger anymore, but someone who you could confide in, trust with your doubts, and who could easily cheer you up with a simple message.

JACK Buy yourself something pretty alright?

You smiled when you saw the text, currently out shopping for things you needed. However, he changed that, and you decided to go get something you wanted. A nice top that fit your torso nicely. You took a quick picture in the dressing room, showing how the shirt wrapped around you, accentuating your muscles. Your face was still hidden, however, so you figured it would be safe to send to Jack.

YOU [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo] This pretty enough?

JACK Very.

That caused a smile to spread across your lips. You weren’t sure if he intended for it to have the effect on you that it did. It felt like he was flirting, but it could also be part of his natural charm. You didn’t want to be the guy who misinterpreted every interaction and thought he was into you when he wasn’t so you didn’t dare say anything. But you couldn’t help but play along.

Especially when you started calling, two and a half months in, and you heard his voice for the first time.

“Hey.” He said it almost like a whisper and he sounded almost out of breath, as if he was nervous? That couldn’t possibly be the case, however. You were probably just imagining it.

“Hey, Jack.”

Fuck, his voice was amazing. It was all melodic and low, sounding as if it came from deep in his chest, a light rumble to it. You couldn’t help but imagine all the things that voice could tell you.

“Feels weird actually talking now that we’ve been writing for so long, huh?” he said, and you nodded subconsciously.

“Weird is one word for it,” you agreed with a light chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you’re regretting it now,” came his quick reply.

You scoffed. “No, fuck, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” he asked. Perhaps you were imagining it, but you thought you could hear a teasing tone to his voice, almost as if he knew exactly what you meant but wanted you to hear it for himself.

“You know, you’re just as annoying to talk to as you are in writing.” Despite your words, a small smile formed across your lips.

“So I’ve heard.”

“It’s a wonder I’m still talking to you,” you muttered.

“And every day I thank God for that.”

You tilted your head, frowning. He didn’t peg you for a religious man, but you never knew. “You’re religious, Jack?”

“Not one bit.”

“Hmm.”

“Have I told you you have a very pretty voice?” Jack asked, a sweet roll to his voice. It was the most beautiful thing you had heard and you were sure he was aware of it.

That made something in your stomach flip. Stop it, you were scolding yourself. Jack had been the one that told you that what the two of you had was strictly platonic and professional. He was respecting your wishes, and you had to respect his. Still, with the way he was speaking to you, it was difficult to keep your heart in check.

“You have not, no,” you breathed out, careful not to let your voice shake with nervousness.

“Okay.”

“Aren’t you going to?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“God, you’re an ass,” you said, laughing lightly.

“I like to refer to it as my charm.” God, he sounded smug. Somehow that made him even more attractive.

“Hmm, don’t know if I would call it charming.” Yes, you would. But no way were you going to admit that to Jack.

“I would.”

“I know, Jack.”

You heard how he took a deep breath on the other side of the call, the silence being filled by his slow exhale, before he spoke. “You know, I do love hearing you say my name after all this time.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that except for with a witty remark, “Sure you do,” effectively letting the matter drop.

———

Jack was a busy man.

Anyone who knew him knew that, and there weren’t a lot of people who did know him for that matter. You had been recently added to that list, with the amount of time he spent texting and calling you.

He liked to work as much as he could, usually sticking to the night shifts but occasionally taking on a double or jumping in during the day when he was needed. And even when he was free, he liked to stay at home listening to the police scanner he had or going with his buddy’s SWAT team as their field medic. He liked to do as much as he could. Robby had called it an addiction of his.

Jack knew he was right, and so was his therapist when he had told him that he needed to find something else outside of work and outside of SWAT. He also realised that he was lonely, because all the people he conversed with were tied to those two.

He knew he didn’t need a lot, but someone who he could bond with outside of it and perhaps care for. Ever since the death of his wife, he had missed having someone to take care of. He had a ton of disposable income that did nothing but collect interest in his bank account so he might as well spend that on someone, he thought. He knew that he’s not in the right place to meet someone the old fashioned way, and after seeing an advert for sugar babies, he went that route.

Jack felt hesitant to do that, though. It felt perverted to use his money to require sexual favours of a younger person, like he saw other sugar daddies and mommies do on the website he had found. Could he put in no requirements to his page? All he wanted was company and conversation to feel less lonely. That’s why he didn’t see a point in putting a photo up either. Since he didn’t want someone to talk to him merely because of his looks, but rather someone who could match him in conversation.

That’s when he found you, a younger man who seemed decent enough based on his profile, but it was hard to tell because like him, you had no profile picture. You had also specified that you would not engage in any sexual activities as your role of a sugar baby, so he thought he might as well shoot you a message. It couldn’t hurt, right?

From the very first message, Jack found himself interested in you. You matched him easily in his banter, had fun quips ready to respond to his, and he found that he had fun talking to you. Despite the unnatural arrangement of him paying you for conversation, it felt weirdly natural between the two of you.

As time went on, your messages developed from the regular get-to-know conversations to more banter and comments that bordered on flirty. Jack couldn’t ignore it, the pull he felt towards you, and he couldn’t help but indulge in it. It was just too easy to compliment you, or tease you, because your personality drew him in with something he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

He found himself telling you things he didn’t tell a lot of other people, some things even Robby didn’t know about. Jack told you about his past; his time as a war physician, his leg that had gotten amputated, his late wife. You took it all in stride and somehow it didn’t feel awkward after he’d told you, like it did with most people, but he rather felt much lighter in the chest. However, he did not tell you about his problems sleeping, at keeping the trauma at bay, because he didn’t want to worry you. In truth, he didn’t want to be a bother.

It was ironic that he wanted you to be able to rely on him, so he could take care of you, but he was afraid of being a burden to you. So, instead, he usually sent you small comments each day, updates about his shifts or his coworkers, or just little observations about you. He could talk to you for hours if you’d let him.

You had told him about starting a new job soon. You’d still be a paediatric nurse, but it was in a new hospital because your last one hadn’t treated you so well, is what you had said. You hadn’t shared which hospital it was, and Jack hadn’t pried. It wasn’t like he wasn’t curious, because he was—when it came to you, he wanted to know practically everything he could—but he didn’t want to force any information you weren’t willing to give up. And you had made it clear that you weren’t ever going to meet, so what was the point? He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t the slightest bit of disappointed by that fact, but he refused to let it cloud his relationship with you.

It got you talking about your jobs one afternoon, almost three months in.

JACK I don’t think I could ever do pedes. I tried it during my MS days, but it’s way too boring for me.

YOU Hey, watch your words, old man.

JACK Oh I know you’re not calling me old man, kid.

YOU Keep running your mouth and I will keep calling you that.

JACK Okay, sorry. It’s way too… Advanced for me.

YOU OK, now you’re just being patronising.

JACK Alright, let’s just say it’s not for me. Don’t get me wrong, I do like kids. But there’s something about how busy the ER gets that keeps me coming back.

YOU And that’s fine. I love pedes because it’s so much calmer. The ER stresses me out. And well, kids can be really sweet. It’s just like night shifts are not for me. They sound brutal, I don’t know how you do them.

JACK My therapist thinks I find comfort in the darkness. I like nights. Don’t you?

YOU OK Batman. I like sleeping through them.

JACK I can’t argue with that.

YOU Damn right you can’t. I’m sorry, Jack, no matter how much I like you my bed will always be my #1.

His heart skipped a beat at that. You liked him, you had said. Then he shook his head, mentally berating himself. No, you had merely meant platonically that you liked him—nothing more than that. You had made it painfully clear that you wanted this relationship to stay professional, despite his unconscious attempts at flirting. He couldn’t help it! You were just too easy to compliment.

JACK That’s hurtful, you know?

YOU You can handle it.

JACK I’m not so sure, I might need some reassurance now.

YOU I think you’re being a baby. But, sure. [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo]

What you had sent had Jack choking on a breath, his eyes flitting over the phone screen in rapid movements. He could feel the beating of his heart as he took in the view before him. What you had sent him was a picture of your chest, your skin revealed by the top buttons of your shirt being unbuttoned, and your throat adorned by a silver chain. It wasn’t even that revealing—Jack saw plenty of undressed guys at work every night—but something about the thought of you posing for him to see this made his stomach tighten.

JACK You must be an amazing nurse because I’m suddenly all better.

Maybe he had read you wrong—or, well, right. Maybe you did want something more with him, despite what you had said. Or, were you only sending that because you felt pressured by him? Oh god.

He rubbed a hand over his neck, closing his eyes. Had he been too forward, too much? Had he made you  feel so uncomfortable you felt you had to play along with him in order to still receive the money? The knot in his stomach wasn’t from happiness anymore, but now from worry. He silently cursed himself. You had made it so clear to him and still he kept walking that line between flirtatious and platonic because he couldn’t keep his damn feelings in check. Sure, he was a flirt by nature, but you managed to draw it out of him so easily, and he wanted to with you.

Jack decided to try to keep himself in check from now on, despite how difficult it would be.

———

Today was the day: the day you started at your new job.

You were slightly nervous, seeing as this hospital seemed much better than your last and you really wanted to keep this job, so you couldn’t fuck up. Despite their ER being nicknamed ‘The Pitt’, you were impressed by their stats and by the few members of staff you had met at your interview. And besides, you weren’t going to be working in the ER, but in the paediatrics department.

A message from Jack and you smiling at your phone. Somehow, he knew you would be nervous for this without even having to tell him anything. That’s how well he knew you.

JACK Hey kid, good luck today. I know you’ll knock it out of the park.

YOU Thank you, Jack.

The message ended up not being needed, since your first day went swimmingly. You decided against telling Jack that, though, because any praise or encouragement was more than welcome from him.

To be honest, anything he sent was more than welcome. Usually it was banter, a flirty comment here and there that never failed to put a smile to your face and made you question the nature of your relationship, or some updates from his work and the occasional gossip about his colleagues. Sometimes it were heavier things, like things from his past that made you frown with sympathy for him, because no one deserved to have gone through all that. But it never got heavier than that.

That’s why it came as such a surprise when he called you in the middle of the day when you were at work, his breathing uneven and words clipped with a cadence that you didn’t usually hear from him.

“Hey, I— I’m sorry, it’s… fuck!” he started, then coughed. “I’m bothering you—”

You immediately put down what you were doing, rushing to go into an empty room. “You’re not bothering me, what’s up?”

“I—I just, fuck. I can’t—” He was breathing heavier now, sounding as if he was gasping for air but unable to take any in.

“Oh shit, Jack. Jack, listen to me. Just breathe. Hey, focus on me,” you tried, calming your voice to the one you usually used for patients in distress. Jack needed you, and that was all you needed to know for you to enter a deep state of focus.

“I can’t breathe, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you interrupted him. “Listen to me, I know you can do this. Just focus on my voice. Breathe in…and breathe out. Slowly. And again. In… and out…”

There were several minutes of silence, the only sounds being Jack’s breathing on the other side of the line. They were ragged, heavy and deep, with quiet sobs accompanying them every once in a while. You waited patiently, a steady presence for him to lean on. You only wished you could do more for him.

When the breathing had gotten quieter on his end you dared speak again. “Jack, how’re you doing?

“Uh, better. Not great.” His voice sounded like full of gravel, thick with unshed tears and sobs that he seemed to be choking down.

“Okay, that’s something,” you said. You took a breath before asking, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Jack sniffled. “I, uh, had a pretty bad dream. From the war.”

Ah.

“I was back there, and, um, I was getting shot at and, uh, shit, and—” His voice was getting unstable again, his words quivering as he got worked up again. You interrupted him before he had the chance to.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain more,” you said.

You heard a small laugh come out of him. “I just, fuck, all I could think about when I woke up was you.”

His voice sounded pained and heavy with memories of his time as a soldier and you could only imagine the trauma he carried with him from it. A stab of pain shot within you in empathy for him. A sudden urge to be there, physically, with him to be able to hug and hold him better.

“Listen, Jack, it’s OK,” you said, trying to stop any oncoming protests from him.

It didn’t work. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I know this is far beyond what our agreement was—”

“I don’t mind, seriously. I like being here for you.” You said the last part especially slow so that he could really understand how much you meant those words. You don’t even think you had known how much you meant them before that moment, but now you did.

“Oh, thank God.” He let out a relieved laugh, before sucking in a breath. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if you turned me down.”

A smile spread across your lips. “I would never do that.”

He cleared his throat and let out a small laugh. “I think I’m good to go now. I need to try to get some more sleep, and you should… go back to work?” His words were clipped and dismissive, as if he wasn’t telling the entire truth.

You frowned, but nodded. “Are you sure? Please, I don’t want you saying that just to not worry me.”

“I— thank you. But I am seriously alright,” Jack said, and you chose to believe him. “I’ll send the money later. Thank you.”

That made you pause. “Don’t you dare,” you said quickly.

“What?” came his shocked reply.

“Jack, you know I care about you,” you said, your shoulders relaxing. Did you really need to spell it out for him? “Let me be here for you, without the money.”

There was a small moment of quiet where you feared he wouldn’t respond. When he did, his voice was smaller, somehow. “Okay—I will talk to you later?”

“I can’t wait,” you chirped, smiling.

———

Jack was confused.

The way you had spoken to him and cared for him, without the expectation of money, made him feel all warm inside and as if your relationship had grown outside of your agreement. Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy thought to have. Jack found himself smiling more since he had begun talking to you and even imagining meeting you in real life, despite that you had said that would never happen on the very first day. He had to respect your wishes, because he was nothing if not a gentleman.

No longer was he only losing sleep because of the nightmares from the war, but he also found himself thinking about you. When he closed his eyes, all he could think about was how you would look and all he could hear was your voice, talking to him in that sweet way of yours. It kept him up, thinking about you, but he found that he didn’t mind one bit. Especially as it seemed that you were just as eager to talk to him as he was to talk to you.

YOU I’ve been thinking.

JACK Should I be worried?

YOU Thinking about you.

JACK Okay now that sounds more promising. Can’t say I don’t think about you either.

YOU I’m relieved to hear that. Well, I’ve been wondering what you look like.

JACK Wow is my sparkling personality not enough? You need to see my handsome face as well to satisfy your needs?

YOU I don’t know if I would describe your personality as sparkling.

JACK You didn’t deny about the handsome face part.

YOU I haven’t seen it yet so I can’t really judge, can I? That was sorta the point.

JACK No you don’t want to see this old face. Surely it’s got nothing on yours.

YOU I wouldn’t be so sure. What Jack, are you shy?

JACK I don’t get shy.

YOU Time to put your money where your mouth is, then. I’ve heard your voice and if you look anything like how you sound I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.

A warmth that had nothing with the actual temperature in his apartment spread across his body, feeling it colour his cheeks. How could you say those sort of things and not expect them to affect him? There was no way you weren’t aware at this point, but the thought that you were aware and still did it made his cheek grow even warmer. Fuck, what were you doing to him? And he hadn’t even seen you or met you! Not that he would ever do the latter thing, anyway.

JACK Jeez I knew you were a charmer but not like this.

YOU That isn’t a no.

JACK Fine. But only if you also send a photo of yourself. This is an equal partnership you know.

YOU That sounds fair, but you first since I asked first.

JACK If you insist. [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo]

It felt as if the beating of his heart thundered in his throat as he stared at the three dots on his screen. Despite his usual confidence, Jack was scared. He knew that he was good looking, if all the comments he had received over the years was anything to go by. But he felt an unusual sense of nervousness at the thought that you would finally see what he looked like and reject him—which was ridiculous, but still he couldn’t help it. He wanted so badly for you to think he looked good, because the alternative was too scary.

YOU You have freckles.

JACK How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted to hear?

YOU Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it. It suits you.

JACK Thanks? I hope.

YOU Yes, it’s a compliment. Thought you wanted more of them. Now take it.

JACK Wow bossy. I kind of like it.

YOU What can I say? I have many sides.

JACK I can’t wait to see them all. Now you go.

YOU Since you asked so nicely. [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo] Can’t wait to hear all your compliments now.

Fuck, Jack thought as he stared at the photo you had sent. He felt the threads that kept him together so carefully start to unravel, because it couldn’t be, could it? But he knew he was lying to himself, trying to convince himself that what he was seeing wasn’t true. There was no doubt about it, it was you. The same nurse he had caught a glimpse of in the hallways a few days ago at the Pitt. He had thought you were handsome, his eyes following your movements, and of course Robby had teased him about it.

But now that it meant that the guy he had been talking to and grown closer with over the better part of three months, who he was effectively dreaming and thinking about every free moment he had, who could put a smile to his face much easier than anybody else he knew, and who he had made peace with never meeting, was the same guy he was looking forward to seeing on the rare chance he’d come to the ER. Which meant that you could be meeting, which he was sure you did not want. Sure, you could have been flirting with him this entire time, but you had made it painfully clear that you did not want to meet up.

YOU Jack? Hello? OK, I was only joking, you know?

Fuck, what was he supposed to do with this now? He couldn’t ignore you and he couldn’t lie about the fact that he knew you worked at the same hospital as him.

A reminder popped up on his phone that his SWAT shift was starting soon and he cursed. He didn’t have time to think through what to say to you, but figured he would respond later when he was free. Jack thought that he could use the time on his shift to figure out what to respond with.

———

Fuck.

That was the first thought that flew through your mind. 

First it had been because of finally seeing Jack’s face because, unfortunately, he was unfairly attractive despite his older age. Second, it had been because he wasn’t responding to any of your messages.

What the fuck was Jack thinking, leaving you on seen like that? You had sent your picture, just like he had, and then he didn’t respond? Did he not know the effect he had on you? This was something that could easily send you spiralling, and it would have, had you not been called in for work.

It was looking to be a busy 4th of July, but without any other plans you might as well work and earn some extra pay. If nothing else, it would also keep your mind off of Jack and his lack of reply.

You had finally seen the looks of him and he was the very picture of handsome silver fox, someone you would dream about had you met them for real. The fact that the sarcastic and funny guy you had gotten to know the last three months was someone this good looking sent your mind spiralling somewhere too far for you to reach right now.

So, you did the only thing you could: put on some gloves and got to work.

You had been right, it was a busy day. Other than the normal chaos of a holiday, it was unusually hot today and Westbridge hospital had been closed down as well, so the PTMC was taking the brunt of it. It was difficult to keep track of everything amidst the chaos. A the beginning of your shift, you had gotten a call from the ER that they had a baby Jane Doe who needed tending, and despite your dislike for the ER you had gone down to check on her every once in a while throughout the day.

However, as you went down slightly after 12 PM, you were met with a sight you had not expected. You had just checked on the baby when you went to the reception to talk to Princess. Despite not working in the ER, it was difficult not to become friends with the other nurses here, as they were more than chatty and sometimes friendly..

A team in army uniforms, ‘POLICE’ written over their chests, rushed inside from the ambulance bay with a gurney carrying another one of them between them all. A figure you recognised as Dr. Robby moved to them immediately, looking to the man who was holding the ventilator balloon to the patient.

You followed his gaze and swore your heart stopped.

He was rattling off the words, looking increasingly stressed. “Intubated neck wound, sats not great. We were diverted here.” Then he turned to the reception, and you hoped against everything that he wouldn’t notice you. Luckily, he seemed to only briefly glance up and shout, “Is there a trauma room open?”

Princess pointed to a room to the right. “Trauma 1,” she replied.

As they all went into the trauma room, you felt your breath return to somewhat normal, the initial shock settling for something else. You had to be seeing things, right? It couldn’t be him.

But however much you tried to convince yourself, you knew you were wrong. Despite only having seen one picture of him, you knew you would recognise that man anywhere. It was the same salt and pepper curls, the same faint constellation of freckles smattered over his face, and that same voice. The voice you had so often heard on your calls with him and more often than not in your dreams about him, as well. And the fact that he was dressed in a SWAT uniform. It all checked out. There was no doubt on the matter. It was Jack.

You still had to make sure, however, so you turned to Princess and cocked your head to trauma room 1. “Who the fuck is that?” you asked.

She tilted her head to the side. “Who?”

“The guy in the military uniform.”

Her answer confirmed both your worst fears and your greatest hopes. “Oh, that’s Dr. Jack Abbot. He’s the attending on the night shift.” She glanced at your face, smirking smugly. “Smoke show, right?”

“Right. OK. Fucking great.” You nodded, absentmindedly, before turning to go back upstairs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You swore inwardly with every step that you took up the stairs. What were the chances, out of all the hospitals in America, or even in Pittsburgh, that Jack had to work at the very same as you? Technically, he had been working here longer than you, but that fact didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the man you had tried but effectively failed to get out of your head, was some kind of boss to you. Not directly, of course, since you answered to the paediatric department. But every once in a while, against your will, you would be called down to the ER when they were short-staffed, and that would put you under Jack.

You dragged a hand across your face, groaning. You couldn’t believe your luck, that the man you were practically dreaming about and definitely flirting with was your once-removed boss. Would you need to get HR involved? No, nothing had happened. Yet, a small part of your brain supplied helpfully. But you and Jack had agreed to never meet, so what you would do with this information now was as of yet unclear to you.

That was also when you remembered the fact that Jack had avoided answering to the photo you had sent him. You had never thought of yourself of ugly or anything of the sort, but maybe you just weren’t his type? Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t replied. The thought of then having to see him in person, knowing of all the times you had flirted with him and must have embarrassed yourself, mortified you beyond anything else. You weren’t sure if you could live with knowing the answer.

But not knowing was so much worse, you realised, and against your better judgment you stormed back down to the ER in search of him. You grabbed hold of the first nurse you saw, which happened to be Jesse.

“Hey, is Dr Abbot here?” you asked, trying to sound more cool than you felt.

He blinked at you before nodding. “I think I saw him go into Central 7.”

“Great, thanks,” you threw over your shoulder as you rushed in the direction.

Without allowing yourself a moment to hesitate, you threw open the door and pushed away the curtains. There, shirtless and tall, stood Jack Abbot in all of his glory. He had his back turned to you, showing off the broad muscles that rippled under his skin as he moved, as well as the constellations of freckles that extended across his shoulders and down his arms. God, he was in good shape, was the first thought that popped into your traitorous mind. The second being that there was a wound on his left shoulder, but that fact catalogued itself somewhere in the back of your brain in favour of the view of a shirtless Jack in front of you.

“Jack?” you said, before your brain had time to catch up with the fact that you were currently seeing him shirtless, of all things. “Oh, shit—” Here’s to first meetings, you supposed.

He turned around with a frown before his brows lifted in shock. “Yeah? Oh.”

You bit your lip, crossing your arms over your chest. Jack looked just as good from the front as he did from the back. You had to physically shake your head to rid your thoughts, focusing instead on meeting his eyes. God, he had a steady gaze, you realised. It was difficult not to feel put on the spot underneath it.

“Maybe I should be calling you Dr. Abbot, instead?” you asked, although rather unkindly.

Jack only nodded dumbly, his mouth still hanging open slightly.

You grimaced. “You know, for a man who can never seem to shut up you’re being unusually quiet.”

“Uhuh, well,” he croaked, his voice unusually unstable. Then he let a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. “I am just a bit caught off guard. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. Well, in pedes upstairs.” You gestured upwards, scoffing as if it was obvious.

“Right,” he replied, those beautiful hazel eyes narrowing at you. “What are you doing down here? Thought you said the ER stresses you out.”

“It does,” you said, frowning slightly. You were surprised he remembered that detail you had mentioned in passing. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, of course.” Something about those simple words twisted something in your stomach. The casualness that he said it with, as if it had been obvious that he would remember the small things you told him.

You cleared your throat, coming out of your thoughts to answer his earlier question. “Got an abandoned baby that I was called down to check on. The better question is what you’re doing here? As far as I’m aware, it’s not night.”

“Good solve, Sherlock.”

Even in person, Jack was quick to answer with a witty remark. Gods dammed his wit and his sarcasm and his humour. He was just as attractive in person as he was over the phone, if not more, and his intense stare made you want to avert your eyes. Was it always this intense, or did it just feel extra so under the circumstances?

“This is less than ideal,” he finally said after clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. You took in his shirtless torso, quickly looking away so that he wouldn’t notice your staring. “Do you want me to come back? Give you a moment?”

“No,” Jack replied with a small smile. He was sitting down now and putting forward medical supplies and bandages. “It’s okay.”

To avoid whatever that meant, you focused on the task his hands were doing, which also meant you had to keep your thoughts in check, because damn, even his hands were attractive. You cleared your throat. “What happened to you?

“Oh. Bullet grazed my vest,” he said simply, his eyes on his hands, as casual as if you had asked him about the weather.

“You got shot?”

“Shot at,” he corrected, eyes flitting up to yours. “It’s no big deal. I can take care of it myself.”

As Jack said that, you saw him reach a cotton swab with a lotion over his shoulder, struggling to get the angle right. After a few minutes of craning his neck, you sighed and stepped forward, relaxing from your tense posture.

“Let me help you,” you said, beginning to put on a pair of gloves.

His head turned in your direction as he grimaced, his hand gesturing as if to wave you away. “No, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

An eyebrow raised in his direction. “Now who’s the one being too stubborn to accept help. I’m a nurse, let me do my job.” You stepped around him, holding out your hand for him to give you the swab.

“A nurse in paediatrics,” Jack pointed out, but relented with a small sigh. The brief brush of your gloved fingers meeting his ungloved one caused shivers to travel up your arms, almost as if you had been shocked by electricity.

You scoffed. “That doesn’t matter. A wound is a wound.”

You began cleaning his wound, carefully inspecting him for any sign of discomfort. Instead, you only found how much more handsome he looked up close. You could see the small wrinkles on his forehead, the way his eyes stayed dutifully ahead of him, and his posture was as straight as a soldier’s. Not the only thing that remained from his war days, you thought as you sneaked a glance at his right leg. But it didn’t make him look old, no. He looked like a weathered man, with tons of stories held inside that pretty head of his.

Your thoughts went back to the conversation at hand, sighing as you swapped the cotton swab for another. “Y’know, I never pegged you for one to look down on other areas of medicine,” you mentioned.

“Sorry, I don’t,” he said, shrugging a bit as if bashful. “I’m just still surprised that I’m actually seeing you right now. That we’re finally meeting.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t sound so surprised.”

It took a second for him to answer, and it was with a grimace you could only half see has he turned his head away from you. “Well, I knew you worked here.”

You paused in your movements. What? “And you didn’t say anything? How long have you known?”

“Only found out when you sent your picture,” he admitted, craning his neck to meet your eye. “I recognised you.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to forget a face like yours.” Jack’s smirk was infectious and you had to fight your own from forming as he then shook his head. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“No, um,” you cleared your throat, “what do you mean by that?”

Jack shrugged sheepishly. “Just that I noticed you, even before knowing that you are, well, you.”

“Oh,” was your only reply, continuing to clean his wound. “Well, I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Very.”

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice, that tone that you had gotten painfully familiar with over the past couple of months. And God was it a blessing to be able to see it now in person, finally witnessing how it made his eyes scrunch up in delight, wrinkles forming around them, and it made him look exactly as self assured as you had pictured during your long talks.

You ignored it in favour of putting down the cotton swab and beginning to dress his wound, clearing your throat at the same time.

“So, care to tell me the story behind this?” you asked, just to get away from his burning gaze.

Jack looked down into his lap, his smirk dropping. “Geniuses thought today was the day to rob a goods warehouse. Didn’t think about how long it would take to load the appliances. They panicked. All hell broke loose.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, applying the wound dressing. “Why do you do this?”

“My therapist said I needed a hobby,” he said as he shrugged.

You scoffed. “Thought that was the reason you reached out to me, remember?”

“I can have two hobbies.”

Your hands smoothed out the dressing before you removed the gloves and stepped around Jack, shaking your head. “Not if one is putting you under active fire.”

“Careful, it almost sounds like you care.”

When you looked at him you saw a tiny smirk playing on the edge of his lips. You averted your eyes from them, raising an eyebrow and humming a reply. As you turned around to walk away, Jack’s hand shot out to grab your wrist.

“Listen,” he started, letting go of your hand. You already missed the warmth from his skin. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” Your voice was carefully devoid of any emotion that he had managed to stir up in you.

“For not answering, earlier.”

You merely hummed as a reply.

His eyes looked up to you, now shadowed by a hint of guilt and sadness, not unlike the eyes of a puppy. It made something twist inside you, a twinge of guilt suddenly shooting inside you from the knowledge that you were the cause of it. “It wasn’t cool of me, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me,” you said, way too quickly.

He ignored your words, still keeping that damned eye contact. “I should have just responded right away, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Or do. You said you didn’t want to meet, so…” He chuckled, sounding a bit unsure of his own words.

You tilted your head to the side, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, what, you figured you would keep it secret that we worked in the same hospital? Just so we’d never meet.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explained, a pleading tone now sneaking into his voice.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Jack, I’ve told you. You could never make me uncomfortable.”

Something in his eyes lit into a spark. “Really?”

“Please,” you chuckled, glancing to the side with a hint of a smile. “The fact that you were ever worried… is kind of attractive.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. You closed your eyes in frustration and berated yourself. It was one thing to flirt over text, because that gave you plausible deniability. But admitting he was attractive after he had effectively ignored you for the better part of the day after had had finally seen your face, was something else. If he really wasn’t interested and you hadn’t chased him away yet, you would surely have done it now.

However, when you looked back to Jack, meeting his gaze, all you could see was the mirth in his eyes.

“You think so?” he asked, and that smug smirk was back on his face.

Your eyes narrowed at him, taking in the way he was leaning slightly forward and looking up into your eyes, all open and honest. There was something in the way he was looking at you that made your stomach twist, but not in a bad way, as if he knew something you didn’t. You didn’t know what, but it felt like the air had suddenly gotten heavier in the room, your shoulders tensing and lips pressing together.

That smug smile on his face made you roll your eyes. “Fuck off, you know you’re good-looking.”

Jack’s head tilted to the side, but his eyes never left yours. “Hmm, is that so? And do you find me that? Good looking?”

He was enjoying this more than he should. “Perhaps,” you said and shrugged, despite yourself. “Although I must say your picture does not quite make you justice.”

“Now, that’s a compliment.” His smile had widened, reaching his eyes as well and the sight was almost too much for you.

“I do know how to give compliments, y’know,” you said with a scoff.

“Would love to hear more of them,” Jack replied with small nod.

You gave him a meaningful glare. “Don’t know if your ego could take it.”

At that, his smile widened into a grin. “I can take more than you think.”

Your narrowed eyes met his smug ones and you had to fight the urge not to smile. He really had a reply to everything, this man. Then your eyes flitted down to his body, noticing the army pants he still wore, remembering how good he had looked in his SWAT uniform earlier.

“In that case,” you started, “you fill out that uniform quite well.”

“You should see me as a flight attendant,” Jack said. He didn’t miss a beat, his eyes still trained on you, eyes flitting all over your face.

“Mmm, bet.” When you noticed he wasn’t saying anything else, but merely staring at your face, you spoke again.“Jack.”

He nodded. “Mhm.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m just looking,” he said, but he was definitely staring.

You lifted an eyebrow at him, taking in the way he was staring at you. More than once, you had noticed how his eyes flitted down to your lips and that made your stomach fill with warmth. “No, you’re looking at me as if…”

“As if what?” he asked, head tilted but that smile on his face that told you he knew exactly what you meant.

“No, forget it,” you countered, ever so stubborn.

Jack stood up, now looking at you from your eye-level. “Tell me.”

You tried to discern whatever he was trying to say behind those eyes, but all you could see was a hint of teasing and hopefulness in them, as if wanted you to say exactly what you were thinking. Could he really want the same thing as you, even after all this time?

You furrowed your brows but finally said what was on your mind. “As if you wanna kiss me.”

“Would that be so bad?” His smile formed into something kinder, softer, as he took a step closer. 

You shook your head before your mouth had a chance to catch up. “No, not really.”

“In that case, may I?” he asked, as one hand reached out to caress your cheek, the other landing on your small back. Your arms uncrossed themselves to grab his arms and the nape of his neck. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his question—the fact that he even had to ask.

“We’re at work,” you whispered, despite wanting to relent and press into him with all that you had.

Jack closed his eyes in frustration, forehead pressed against yours. He was so close, yet so far away…

“Fuck,” he muttered. Despite all his feelings for you and the desire to do nothing else than press you up against a wall right there and then, he still had some sort of decorum and professionalism in him. But when he gazed at you, looking so handsome in his arms, his resolve started to dissolve bit by bit. “I’m not on the clock, though.”

“But I am.”

Jack bit his lip as he looked away, swiftly stepping out of your grasp and going over to close the door of the room before he pulled the curtain closed as well. Then he stepped closer to you, the question written in his eyes as clear as days. You couldn’t help but grin at him, at the slight flustered breath as he leaned in closer.

“You’re such a dork. C’mere.” You saw his eyes soften as they traveled down to your lips.

“Thank god,” was all he said as he leaned in and met your lips with his.

Jack’s skin was warm as he pressed closer to you, his lips moving against yours with a hunger and firmness you weren’t expecting. The way he moved his hands over your body made you groan into his lips which only made him grasp you harder. He felt heavenly against you, the way his warmth seeped into yours.

You grasped the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss by pushing against him. It was hard to ignore his shirtless torso as well, so you made sure to run your hand down his back, noticing the shivers that erupted in your fingers’ wake. He let out a low moan at that and you made sure to file that information away for future use. When you pulled away, his full blown pupils were staring into yours with smirk on his lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed, his lips venturing further south as he placed small kisses against your chin, your throat, down to your collarbone.

You let out something that was a mix between a laugh and a moan. “I think that broke the rules of our agreement.”

“Fuck the agreement,” Jack said as he met your eye properly. “I want you, with or without it.”

Your smile turned crooked. “Does this mean you’ll stop paying me?”

“No, you should be prepared to be spoiled even more,” he replied, his own smirk widening.

“You don’t have to, Jack,” you said, meeting his gaze with a meaningful glare.

Jack merely stepped even closer, incasing you in his strong arms, his lips lowering to your ear as he whispered, “I want to.” And looking into those eyes of his, you think you finally believed him when he said that.

TAG LIST: @a-gay-dumbass @eunxhan @loverclear @shobolanya @edit-me-prettyplease @bookholichany @h3artfili4 @scriblezz @miaxturboto @ghostlyaccurate @bbybnnybee @remussl0vers @yokolesbianism

[stillwatervoid]

Insatiable | Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Summary: Mark Grayson dies of jealousy every time his flirty, easygoing, and perpetually exhausted best friend—who he may or may not have a huge crush on—makes out with random guys behind the school. Until the day you confess you’re a half-breed, like him. But not quite like him. Because while he’s half-Viltrumite, you are... half-incubus? Whatever that means… Mark’s more than willing to find out.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, making out, frottage/dry humping, (semi-public?) oral (Mark receiving), anal sex.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Fluff, Pining Mark, Mutual Pining, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 19.7k  |  a/n: Heeey, it’s been forever!!! DID YOU MISS ME? Because I definitely missed you! I’m really sorry for being so inactive lately. I've been so busy between a nasty case of writer’s block, college stress, and work chaos... yeah, life sucks. Anyway! Here’s a little big treat I managed to squeeze out between bursts of inspiration and writer’s block. As always, English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes here and there. Hope you enjoy it!

You have a reputation.

You know it. Mark knows it. Hell, probably half the school knows it.

It clings to you like a second skin—whispers in the hallways, smirks in locker rooms, giggles that trail behind you in class. You’re a flirt, and not the harmless kind either.

The kind who’s always leaning just a little too close in crowded hallways, disappearing behind buildings with someone breathless and flushed, only to reappear like they’ve won the lottery. But then a week or two passes, and you’re gone. Slipping out of their lives like it never mattered. Like they never mattered. One minute, you’re all sultry glances and lingering touches. The next, you’re onto the next curious set of eyes across the room.

People talk. Some resent you. And yet, no matter how many times you walk away, there’s always someone new, eager and willing, thinking maybe they’ll be the exception.

And today, Mark sees it happen all over again.

He watches from across the cafeteria as you chat up some guy in line. You’re leaning in close—closer than necessary. Your shoulder brushes his, and your head tilts slightly when you laugh. That slow, lazy grin slides across your lips like it’s effortless. The guy blushes. Of course he does. He leans in without realizing it, like he’s being pulled by a string.

Mark doesn’t even taste the food in his mouth anymore.

He stabs his fork into his tray, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the casual way your hand lingers near the guy’s arm, the light in your expression that no one else ever gets to keep. His stomach knots.

You’re just playing. Again. He knows it. But that doesn’t stop the heat from rising in his chest. Doesn’t stop the slow burn of something he doesn’t want to name.

Then you laugh at something.

The guy laughs back, awkward and eager.

Mark’s knuckles go white around his fork.

“Uh, Mark to Earth?” William says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’ve been talking to you for, like, five minutes.”

Mark blinks, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

William raises an eyebrow, following Mark’s gaze to where you’re now smirking at something the guy said.

“Oh. Y/N again,” William mutters, deadpan. “Shocking.”

Mark’s ears are already burning. He glances down at his tray. “What about him?”

William sighs like he’s had this conversation in his head a hundred times already. “Dude. At least pretend to be subtle. Jealousy isn’t a good look.”

“I’m not—” Mark starts, a little too fast. He swallows hard, tries again with forced calm. “Whatever. It’s just—I’m worried, okay?”

“Oooh, worried. Right. Sure,” William drawls, nodding slowly like he’s humoring a toddler. “Totally not jealous that Y/N’s out there reeling in his next victim while you sit here pouting and crying about it.”

Mark nearly chokes. “What are you even—oh crap, he’s coming back. Shut up.”

He watches, frozen, as you murmur something to the guy before breaking away, walking straight toward them.

Mark jerks his eyes down to his tray, only now noticing the fork in his hand bent clean in half from how tightly he’d been gripping it. He swears under his breath, quickly ducking his hands beneath the table to fix it. He’s midway through smoothing it back into shape when you slide into the seat beside him, smooth as ever.

You sigh, lazy and soft. “Hey, nerds. Sorry I’m late. What’re you gossiping about without me?”

Your head props in your hand, elbow on the table, eyes flicking between them with something like curiosity—but dulled, like even that costs energy.

It’s always a bit of whiplash when you’re around them. The version of you the school knows—the smooth-talking, flirtatious heartbreaker—melts away almost instantly. With them, you’re just you—that quieter, wearier version only your close friends ever get to see. Your posture slouches. The sharp smirk fades into something hazy. Your eyes, once bright and teasing, grow distant.

It’s like watching a performance end the second the curtains close.

Mark watches, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. He hadn’t been lying earlier—he is worried. Because behind the easy voice and sleepy grin, he sees it—that edge of exhaustion you try so hard to hide. That distracted look in your eyes, like your mind’s always somewhere else.

“Oh, we were just talking about Mark being jeal—ow!” William yelps, his leg jerking under the table.

Mark glares daggers at him, foot still pressed against William’s shin. His look says shut up so loud it might as well be spoken.

You raise a brow at the exchange, unimpressed. Even that tiny expression looks like it takes effort. Still, your gaze stays on William, waiting. “…About Mark being what?”

Mark straightens too fast. “Oh! Uh. Just—just excited! Y’know. About the tour. The Upstate U thing. It’s gonna be… fun.”

William grumbles into his food, refusing to look up. “Super fun.”

Your eyes light up just slightly—just enough to make Mark breathe easier. “Oh yeah! Right. Thanks again, William, for letting us crash your date with that hot pre-med guy.”

“Oh, well, since Mark insisted, how could I possibly say no? I love having my two best friends third- and fourth-wheeling all the time. Makes it so romantic.”

You snort, your posture loosening as you lean back and wink. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll make sure to drag Mark away the second we get there. I’m not about to cockblock my friends.”

William’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Good. Make sure you keep Mark busy all day. And by all day, I mean all night too. You two are sharing a room—trust me, you don’t wanna know what I’ll be doing in mine.”

“Done,” you reply breezily, nudging your knee against Mark’s under the table without thinking.

Mark jerks like he’s been shocked, spine going stiff as his leg instinctively shifts away. He pointedly ignores the smug look William throws his way.

But of course, William isn’t done.

“So,” he drawls, “what were you talking about with that guy in line? You seemed real into it.”

Mark stiffens, lips pressing into a thin line as he shoots William a warning glare, one William very obviously avoids.

You blink, like the question catches you off guard—like you’d already forgotten about that guy entirely. Then realization sets in, and you wince a little. “Oh—that. I was just… hungry,” you mumble, eyes darting away. “Wanted to cut the line. Said something dumb to distract him, but standing around that long kinda sucked. I got tired.”

“Hungry?” Mark echoes, the irritation draining from his face as concern rushes in to take its place. “You’ve already had, like, four trays. You still hungry?”

You glance at him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I have a big appetite?” you offer, lips tugging into a weak sort-of-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Mark catches it—the pout in your mouth, the barely-there glance toward his tray of food, the subtle tremble in your tone.

He doesn’t hesitate. Quietly, he slides his tray across the table toward you, nudging it close enough to make the offer clear.

Your eyes widen just a bit.

“You can have mine,” Mark says, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I’ve had enough.”

Your face lights up instantly, all exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by a bright smile “Seriously? Dude, thank you! God, I’m starving.”

Without another word, you pick up the fork—Mark’s fork—and dive into the food like you haven’t eaten in days.

Mark tries very hard not to think about how you’re eating off the same fork he used. That it’s kind of like—well, not a kiss. Not really. But also kind of not not one. He’s not five. He knows that. He tells his face that too, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down.

William snorts around a mouthful of his own food. “Jesus, you eat like you never did before. Got a black hole in there or what?”

You snort too, pausing just long enough to swallow. “Feels like it.”

Mark watches you. Watches the way your cheeks puff as you chew, the smooth motion of your throat as you eat, the quick swipe of your tongue across your lips between bites.

He swallows, too.

“Almost like you’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, without thinking.

You pause. Not for long—but enough. Your rhythm falters as you glance back at him, something unreadable in your expression. Like he just struck a chord you weren’t ready for.

It vanishes quickly. You laugh, not quite as bright as before. “Yeah,” you say, chuckling, “feels like it.”

But something’s changed. The words feel heavy now. Like a joke that isn’t really a joke. Like there’s something you want to say, but won’t.

Mark notices. Of course he does.

But, as always, he doesn’t say anything.

Mark never seems to know what to say around you.

So he sits there.

Watching you.

And in his own quiet way, maybe he’s insatiable too.

By the time you all arrive at Upstate U and meet Rick, you make good on your promise to keep Mark out of William’s hair. You wave William off with a cheeky salute and a wink, then drag Mark into your own version of a tour: one that includes skipping the official info sessions, sampling from half the food trucks on campus, and wandering through hidden places neither of you expected to find.

Mark doesn’t complain. In fact, he’s having a good time—a great time, actually.

He’s laughing too much. Smiling too easily. He tries not to notice the way his body jolts when his shoulder always ends up pressed against yours whenever you walk side by side. He tries not to focus on the way his chest swells a little too much every time you laugh at something he says. He really tries to ignore the way his heart picks up every time your eyes catch his and hold, just for a beat too long.

But what Mark can’t ignore—no matter how hard he tries—is the way your breath hitches after walking for too long. The way your pace slows, like your legs are dragging. The way your body leans into him like you don’t even notice you’re doing it—like gravity’s pulled you sideways and he’s the only thing holding you up. The way you keep rubbing your eyes, like you were trying to scrub the exhaustion out of them.

Eventually, Mark can’t pretend anymore.

“Hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing your shoulder to guide you toward the nearest bench. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

You blink, but let him. The second you sit down, your body sinks into the bench like it’s doing half the work your legs can’t anymore.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Peachy,” you mutter, voice low and strained. “Why?”

Mark watches you carefully, his brows pulling together. You’re sweating slightly, and your skin has that drained, almost translucent look to it.

“You’re pale,” he says quietly. “And kind of… out of it. Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back to the dorms. You don’t have to push yourself.”

You don’t answer right away, eyes darting to the ground, breathing shallowly like you’re barely holding it together.

And what Mark doesn’t get—what drives him a little crazy—is why you keep pretending you’re fine.

Especially with him.

“I’m just—” you start, then stop yourself, jaw tightening as you press your lips together in visible frustration “—hungry.”

Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, flicking over the stream of students walking by. You look like you’re scanning them. Assessing.

“I should eat,” you mutter, dazed. “I should… eat something…”

Mark straightens in his seat, alarm rising in his chest. “I can get you something,” he offers quickly, ignoring the fact you’ve already eaten enough for three people today. He just wants to help. “Something sweet. Maybe your blood sugar’s low?”

You look up at him then, and something in your expression knocks the wind out of him. Your brows pinch, eyes cloudy, lips parted like you’re about to cry.

“That’s not enough,” you whisper.

Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”

Then, without hesitation, without shame, you whisper, “I wanna kiss someone.”

Mark freezes.

“What?”

“I need someone,” you repeat, more firmly this time, bracing your hands against the bench like you’re about to stand. “I’ll find someone. Just—stay here, okay? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes.” You push yourself up, but stumble as you take a step forward.

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a second.

Kiss someone? Now? You were clearly unwell—too pale, too drained, barely standing—but even now, even like this, you were going to throw yourself at some stranger? After spending the entire day together, after laughing and joking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder like you actually wanted to be around him?

His throat tightens. A bitter coil wraps around his heart, hot and suffocating and impossible to shake. Something ugly rears its head in his chest. A sick twist of frustration and hurt and—

God.

William was right.

Jealousy.

Mark presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who gets angry about this.

He’s not entitled to you. He never was.

But that doesn’t stop his hands from curling into fists in his lap, knuckles white.

Because you’re clearly hurting. And you won’t tell him why.

Because you’re pushing yourself toward strangers, toward danger, when he’s right here.

Because, for once, he wants you to pick him.

And you don’t.

Before you can take another shaky step, Mark stands up and grabs your wrist.

“No.”

The word comes out sharper than he means it to—clipped, almost angry.

You stop, turning to him with startled, uneasy eyes. “I’ll be right back, Mark. I swear.”

“No,” he says again, firmer this time, his brow knitting. “You’re about to collapse, Y/N. I’m not letting you go to—what, kiss some random guy just because you’re feeling off?”

You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Look, I get you’re worried, but—”

“No, Y/N,” he cuts in, voice rising, frustration breaking through. “I’ve never judged you for the crap people say about you, alright? Never cared what they whispered in the halls. But this? This is insane. You’re sick, and your solution is to hook up with a stranger? We’ve been here less than a day!”

The next words slip out before he can stop them.

“Can you not act like some hormone-crazed idiot for five minutes and just take care of yourself?”

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. But it’s too late.

You go completely still, eyes going wide.

Then, slowly, your expression hardens.

“Hormone-crazed idiot?” you echo, voice low and cutting, disbelief flickering in your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Wait—Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

You tear your hand from his grip, expression stony. It’s like a dam breaks beneath your exhaustion, a spark of rage reigniting the strength that had been fading from you all day.

“What am I then, huh? Just some horny screw-up who can’t go a day without climbing someone? You think this is fun for me? That I like being like this?”

Mark shakes his head, panicked, but not quite understanding the meaning of your words. “No—God, no, that’s not what I meant, it’s just—”

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone else thinks I’m just some—some fucking slut who can’t keep it in his pants. But you—” Your voice breaks. “I thought you knew me better than that, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach drops. “I do! I swear I—”

Before he can finish, William’s voice cuts through the charged air, calling over the crowd, his arm linked with Rick’s.

“Hey, idiots! Having fun with—oh…” William’s voice trails off, sensing the thick tension between you two. He awkwardly lowers his raised arm. “Hey… is everything okay…?”

Mark barely holds back a groan, cursing himself for the words that slipped out so stupidly. He wants to apologize, to pull you aside, to fix it—

But then a sudden explosion shakes the ground beneath them, a cyborg-looking-monster crawling out of a hole.

What happens next is a blur of instinct and adrenaline. One second he’s Mark Grayson, desperate to take back his words—the next, he’s Invincible, saving his best friends from death.

And when it’s over, when he drags himself back, bruised and breathless, to where William and you are huddled in safety—

William stares at him, whispering under his breath, “Mark…?”

And you—you’re not surprised. Not even angry. You just frown, gaze deliberately avoiding his, eyes unreadable and distant.

It’s in that moment Mark knows he’s screwed up big time.

You don’t speak to him again until later, when the nightmare finally ends—Sinclair in GDA custody, William shaken but safe, and Rick badly wounded but alive.

“Can’t believe Sinclair nearly turned you into one of those things,” William mutters, arms wrapped tightly around Rick.

Mark stands off to the side, awkward and out of place in the fluorescent-lit room. You’ve long since excused yourself, mumbling something about sleeping this fucking day away. The words had been dressed up as a joke, but Mark saw through it—the way your hands trembled as you gripped the doorframe, the deep shadows under your eyes, the sheen of sweat clinging to your pale face.

He remembered the way you leaned on him earlier, how your steps had faltered, how you kept pretending you were okay.

You weren’t.

And now, after everything that’s happened, Mark’s worried sick.

“I’ll…” he starts, voice flat, drained. “I’ll go to bed too. You guys, um… get some rest.”

Rick nods. William does too, but his eyes linger—sharp, knowing, and meaningful. A silent get your shit together.

Mark tries.

The room is dim when he slips in, cold moonlight pooling faintly through the curtains. You’re already curled up on one of the beds, facing the wall. For a moment, he feels crushed because you’re still mad at him.

Moving quietly, he strips out of his clothes with mechanical, resigned motions, slipping into his pajamas—until your voice cuts through the silence.

“Mark?”

He freezes—mid-motion, halfway through tugging his jeans off—heart leaping to his throat.

He turns quickly to face you, finding you sitting up groggily in bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he breathes, almost stumbling over your name. He’s so relieved to hear you talk to him again, but the guilt crashes in just as fast. “Are you—did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You shake your head slowly, blinking away the haze. “No. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Mark hesitates by the edge of his bed, torn between giving you space and wanting to inch closer. “Do you… need something?” he asks softly. “Water? Food? Anything?”

You’re quiet for a beat, looking at him in a way that makes his heart clench—like you’re still tired, still hurt, but no longer angry. Just… worn down.

“Nah,” you murmur, voice low. “I’m fine.”

Silence stretches between you.

Mark sits there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He hates it—the tension, the awkwardness, the distance, especially when you were having such a good time today. The kind of fun that only happens when you’re with someone you really like.

And Mark likes you.

Probably a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Probably enough to get on his knees and beg if that’s what it would take to fix this. He’s already forming the words in his head, some clumsy apology laced with sincerity, when you speak first.

“So… Invincible, huh?” you mutter, the faintest edge of amusement cutting through your exhaustion.

Mark latches onto the sound of your voice—that tone—like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “That’s, uh. That’s me.”

You hum, noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the window. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

Mark’s breath catches. His smile falters. It would be easy to lie. To say yeah, eventually, of course.

But all that comes out is a quiet, “...I don’t know.”

You don’t say anything right away. You just rub at your eyes again, the way you always do when you’re trying to rub away sleep. It sets Mark on edge. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—check your temperature, get you water, make you take something, do something.

But he stays put.

Eventually, you exhale a long, slow breath. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about that.”

That.

Mark winces, the word cutting a little deeper than it should.

And then, finally, it spills out—earnest and clumsy and too fast.

“About—about what I said earlier…” he begins, voice low. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care what you do—or don’t do—with other people. I swear. I was just… I was just really worried about you. You looked like you were about to pass out, and then hearing you say you wanted to kiss someone—God, I didn’t know what was happening. And I panicked. And I said something shitty. I’m sorry.”

Your expression doesn’t change at first. And Mark waits, his stomach a mess of nerves, the silence dragging sharp between you.

Then you sigh—long and heavy—and finally meet his eyes.

“I know,” you murmur. “God, I know. You don’t understand—can’t understand what—who I am. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for not knowing. That’s not fair.”

Mark frowns. He doesn’t feel any better—if anything, worse—because it sounds like you’re taking the blame for what he said. And that doesn’t sit right with him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice quiet. “I was the one who basically called you a hormonal mess to your face. That’s on me.”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Yeah, well… I was the one who said I needed to kiss someone right there. Without context, that sounds…” You trail off, flinching, dragging a hand down your face. “I was out of it. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I was desperate. Still am.”

Mark’s frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of what he even wants to ask. But the question lingers in his chest, heavy and jealous and aching.

Desperate? Still?

“You still…” he starts, then hesitates. “Still want to kiss someone?”

You blink at him, startled—but not like he’s wrong. More like you didn’t expect him to say it out loud.

Mark clears his throat, awkward, trying to shove the twist of jealousy in his chest down, his imagination running wild with images of you seeking out someone else’s lips in the dark.

“I… I think I’m gonna need a little more explanation than that,” he says carefully. “Because if this is still about kissing someone, I’m—uh—I’m not following.”

You go quiet for a moment, just looking at him—eyes uncertain, troubled, teeth pressing into your lower lip like you’re holding something in.

And that’s when Mark really sees it.

It’s serious. Whatever this is, it’s eating at you. And suddenly, he’s crossing the room without thinking, settling gently at the edge of your bed like he’s afraid to startle you.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

You look at him, eyes wide and tired, like you haven’t slept in days. And then, with a dry, humorless smile, you shake your head.

“Well,” you whisper, “now that I know you’re Invincible... guess I owe you some truth too.”

Mark’s pulse jumps. “Truth?”

“Call it… an exchange of secrets,” you say, voice quiet, almost shy in a way that makes Mark’s stomach flip.

He leans in without thinking, drawn like gravity. “A secret?” The word comes out breathless. He’d thought he knew everything about you.

You hesitate. Nervousness is written all over you—tense shoulders, twitching fingers, the way you can’t quite sit still. But even so, you meet his eyes, refusing to look away.

“Promise you won’t look at me differently,” you whisper, so quiet he has to lean even closer to hear. “Promise this won’t change anything between us.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

Because really—how bad could it be?

You lick your lips, glance down at your hands, still fidgeting in your lap.

“Mark,” you begin slowly, “my family has... a curse. It’s been in our blood for generations. And—” Your hands fist in the sheets. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I need you to understand that. This isn’t—it’s not a choice, okay?”

Mark’s brows knit together, already twitching with worry as his mind jumps to every worst-case scenario. He’s heard of curses. He’s seen what they can do. Amanda—Monster Girl—was proof enough that they were never just quirky inconveniences. People suffered under curses. People died because of them.

And the way you’re speaking now—so serious, so insistent, practically pleading—hits something raw inside him and twists.

He nods, quickly, urgently. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I believe you.”

You swallow hard, hands tangled tightly in the bedsheets.

“I’m…” You close your eyes for a moment, like it physically hurts to say it. “I’m not—I’m not fully human, Mark.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Mark’s eyes widen, those words bouncing around his skull, impossible to ignore.

“Part of my bloodline—on my mother’s side—is something else,” you continue, carefully, assessing his reaction with anxious eyes. “We call it a curse, but it’s more like a... condition we inherit.”

Mark listens intently, piecing together the implications, nodding slowly along.

Finally, you exhale shakily, gaze steady but vulnerable.

“I’m part incubus.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

“That’s why I needed to kiss someone earlier,” you admit, fingers twisting in the sheets. Your cheeks burn even in the dim light. “Normal food... it’s not enough. I can eat it, but it doesn’t sustain me. I need—” A shaky exhale. “Arousal. Desire. Intimacy. The energy that comes with it.”

Mark watches as you shrink into yourself, the confession leaving you vulnerable in a way he’s never seen.

“And when I don’t...” You hesitate, then force yourself to go on. “When I go too long without it, my body starts to shut down. You saw it earlier today. That’s what it looks like when I’m starving. I was trying to hide it because I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to know this part of me.”

Mark just stares, stunned—not with disgust or fear, but with a dawning realization. His mind scrambles, trying to make sense of everything. Okay.You’re part incubus. He’s not totally sure what that entails, not really, but he can piece it together. You feed off arousal—off desire. And without it, you get sick. Really sick. Okay. That much he gets.

Then finally, softly, “You’re sick because you’re starving.”

You grimace at that, the words clearly stinging, and glance away. Still, you nod—just barely. A small, exhausted gesture.

“You kiss people to… eat?” he asks slowly. “So back at school—when you were with people—you were feeding?”

You don’t nod this time. You wince instead, tilting your head with an awkward expression.

“Not exactly,” you murmur. “I don’t feed from kisses. That’s not enough. I just…” Your voice dips, suddenly shy. “I just mess around long enough to make people feel... something. Get their arousal going. When things start to, y’know, heat up.”

The second that last phrase escapes your lips, you let out a groan and bury your face in your hands.

“God, I hate saying it out loud. I hate how it sounds. But it’s not like I can turn it off, okay? If I could, I would. Believe me.”

Your voice is muffled behind your palms, frustration and shame coloring every word.

“Hey, hey,” Mark says gently, reaching out to take your hands in his. He pulls them away from your face with soft insistence, making sure you see the sincerity written all over his expression. “I don’t care, okay? This isn’t something you chose. It’s not—it’s not your fault.”

Mark swallows hard, glancing at you again—really looking. You’re still pale. Still swaying a bit where you sit. There are dark, bruised shadows beneath your eyes, and you look one bad night away from collapsing.

“I mean… if you didn’t feed,” Mark says slowly, working through it aloud, “you’d be like this all the time, right? That sounds like it’d really suck. I mean, look at you now. You’re still…”

He trails off, his gaze drifting over you with a worried crease in his brow.

A short, dry huff escapes you. You blink at him, tired and a little amused. “Yeah. It sucks. I could even die.”

You say it so lightly, like it’s no big deal—like you’re joking—and it knocks the breath right out of him.

Mark stares, stunned for a beat, the weight of that sentence finally settling in.

Then he leans forward, closing the space between you, close enough that his breath brushes yours. His hands slide up to your shoulders, firm and grounding as he pulls you gently toward him.

“You could die?” Mark hisses, panic tightening his voice. His fingers dig into your shoulders, eyes wide with fear. “How—how much time do you have left? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit—we should find someone immediately. God, I was the one who stopped you earlier—I’m such an idiot. Oh my god, are you dying?”

“Mark, Mark, breathe,” you say, raising both hands in a placating gesture, a genuine—if tired—smile tugging at your lips. “That only happens in really extreme cases, alright? I’m nowhere near that point. I swear.”

Mark lets out a shaky breath, but his grip on you doesn’t ease.

“Then why not—” He swallows hard, hating the question even as it leaves his lips. “Why not stay with one person? Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly finding new people?”

What he really wants to ask is, Why aren’t you ever serious with anyone? Why not choose someone, stay safe, be safe?

But your eyes drop, the smile fades, and something heavy settles over your expression. You look sad.

Mark hates it instantly.

“Mark…” you murmur, hesitant. “You understand I feed off these people, right? What do you think that means?”

You don’t wait for his answer.

“There’s only so much I can take before they start breaking down,” you say, voice low. “At first it’s subtle—just a little fatigue. But after a week or two, it’s worse. They lose sleep. They get distracted. Their appetite drops. Their energy drains. And I’m not even feeding properly. Just kisses, Mark. Barely enough to keep myself upright, and it already wears them out.”

Mark’s brows knit together, the weight of your words hitting hard, sinking deep.

“And that’s me holding back,” you say, shoulders tense. “That’s me playing it safe. And it’s still not enough.”

You glance at him then, eyes glinting with something close to fear.

“What happens if I stop holding back? What if I lose control? What if I finally taste the real thing—and I can’t stop? I’m scared, Mark. I’m scared I’ll hurt someone. Kill someone.”

The raw honesty in your voice does something to Mark’s pulse. He should be shocked. Maybe even disturbed. But all he feels is an overwhelming pull—an urge to make you feel safe, to ease that pain etched into every word.

“The real thing?” he echoes, voice rough despite already knowing the answer.

You give a dry smile, raising a brow. “Sex, Mark.” Then your gaze drops, and color creeps into your cheeks as you mumble, embarrassed, “I think it’s the only thing that can truly sustain me. Maybe for months, if I’m lucky. But humans are—” You pause, frustration coloring your voice. “Humans are just so... fragile.”

Mark swallows hard, throat dry. He’s still holding onto your shoulders, the heat of your skin seeping through the soft fabric of your t-shirt. He can feel the tremor in your muscles, subtle but undeniable. The shallow rise and fall of your chest. Even now, even after spilling everything—you’re still trying to hold it together.

And he hates it.

Hates that you’re suffering.

Hates that he can’t fix it. Not unless you found someone to—

Found someone—

Someone.

Mark’s breath hitches. His eyes flicker from your face to his hands on you… then back up. The idea hits him like lightning—sudden, bright, impossibly simple and obvious.

His mouth moves before he can stop it.

“Can I help?”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”

Mark doesn’t back down. His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re starving. And I’m... here.” A beat. “Let me help.”

The offer hangs between you, trembling in the charged silence.

Mark can feel the heat rising to his face, nerves unraveling beneath his skin. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are—close enough to see the way your pupils swallow the color of your eyes, close enough to feel your breath hitch.

“Mark,” you breathe, stunned. Then you shake your head quickly, like you’re trying to shake the thought loose. “No. That’s—did you not hear what I just said? I don’t wanna hurt you. You could end up dying—”

“I’m not human!” he blurts out, voice rising a little in panic, desperate for you to understand. “I mean—I’m not entirely human, like you. I’m half Viltrumite—that’s why I have these powers. An alien race on my dad’s side and—” He stops, shaking his head hard. That’s not the point. “Anyway! I’m strong. Durable. I heal fast and have insane stamina. I won’t—won’t get hurt if you…”

He trails off, drowning in his own embarrassment. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate—just a friend trying to help. Nothing weird about it. Even if—shit—even if it means kissing you.

Mark nearly chokes on his own spit.

Yeah. Right. Kissing. That’s what he’s offering.

No—it’s more than that.

He feels it land in his stomach, heavy, hot, terrifying.

“If we have... sex,” he finishes, cheeks flaming. But the moment he says it, he feels stupid and awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but yours. “I—I mean, we can try. You feel awful all the time, right? And I’m strong. I can take it—I know I can. Because, you know…” He lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, too fast, too forced. “I’m, uh… I’m Invincible. That’s—ha—that’s me.”

The laugh dies a quiet death in his throat.

He bites his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. Silence settles between you again, thick and suffocating. Mark can hear the pounding of his heart, wild and humiliating, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. God—he sounds so stupid. You probably think he’s being weird. Or desperate. Or both.

Offering to—God. He can’t even say it in his own head without his face going up in flames. But he’s thinking it.

Worse—he’s been thinking it for a while now.

He starts remembering all those times you snuck off after school, slipping behind the gates with someone new, someone who wasn’t him. All those nights Mark lay in bed wondering what you were doing, what it would feel like if you picked him instead.

He remembers how you smiled at him in the middle of crowded hallways—just for a second—and how his heart would stutter in his chest like it forgot how to work. Only for that smile to shift to someone else a moment later, while Mark just stood there, swallowing disappointment like it was a habit.

He remembers how you flop onto his bed whenever you visited, casually thumbing through his comics and calling them lame with a crooked grin, even though you keep reading them anyway just because he likes them.

Your body stretched out in his sheets, your scent lingering in his pillows long after you’ve left. The way your lips tug into a smirk when Seance Dog does something stupid, or how you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, brow twitching every time a plot point annoys you. The way your smile sneaks in, helpless and honest, when you stifle a laugh just to mess with him.

Mark’s thought about kissing you before. Right there, in the quiet of his room, while you were sprawled across his bed, completely at ease. But he never dared.

And now, sitting here in the stillness of this dorm, you only inches away, the thought slips back in.

Mark thinks of kissing you again. Now. But he’s still too shy to try.

Then, soft and amused, you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence.

Mark’s head snaps up, lips already pulling into a nervous pout, bracing for your usual teasing.

But you’re not teasing.

You’re looking at him with something else in your eyes—soft wonder, a kind of startled tenderness, like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time. Your smile is crooked, small. “Invincible, huh.”

Mark swallows thickly and nods. “Invincible.”

A beat.

Then your fingers reach for his collar, curling into the fabric with a tremble he can feel, and Mark’s heart just stops.

“Mark Grayson,” you whisper, half awe, half fear, “do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?”

Mark’s never been more certain about anything.

“I do.”

You smile at him—soft, fond—and for the first time in what feels like forever, the exhaustion in your eyes eases, just a little. Just enough to make Mark’s chest tighten.

Then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and Mark’s breath stutters. Your breath mingles with his—warm, steady, grounding—while his comes out shallow and trembling, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, skin flushed with want.

You’re so close. So unbelievably close. The heat of your lips brushes his, barely there, and Mark leans in without realizing, drawn to you like a magnet.

You inhale deeply, and then let out a soft, pleased hum, one that shudders down his spine.

“You really want it,” you whisper, almost to yourself, voice tinged with wonder. “I can smell it on you.”

Mark doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means—how you can know. Because then your mouth crashes into his, and you groan into the kiss like it’s a relief, like it’s something you’ve needed just as badly.

Mark’s eyes flutter shut, and melts.

It starts slow—tentative. Testing. But Mark sinks into the kiss like he was made for it, hands finding your waist and gripping tight. You sigh into his mouth, lips parting, and Mark doesn’t even think—he just deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours, hungry and desperate and real.

And the noise you make—

God.

Mark’s never heard anything better.

He presses into you, completely lost in the moment—lost in the feel of your mouth against his. Slowly, your back meets the mattress with a soft thud, and Mark follows, bracing himself on his elbows and palms above you. But neither of you pulls away—not even for a second. The kiss deepens, tongues greedily tangling, hungry for more.

Heat coils low in Mark’s gut. His mind spins, thoughts breaking apart like static. It’s overwhelming—in the best possible way. Your mouth is warm, wet, desperate, kissing him like you want to devour him.

And maybe… maybe you do.

When he finally pulls back, gasping, the sight of you steals what little breath he has left. Color has returned to your cheeks, your eyes bright and focused now, dark with want. The transformation is startling—like watching a wilting flower spring back to life after rain.

Mark swallows thickly. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You inhale, lips slick and a little swollen. “Better,” you murmur. Then you raise a hand, fingers brushing tenderly along his cheek. “You?”

Mark pauses. He thinks about the warmth simmering in his chest, the way his skin tingles under your touch, how every nerve feels alive. If you’re better, that means it’s working—that you’re feeding off his arousal. Off him. But he doesn’t feel drained. Not really. Just the heady buzz of desire, the thrill of finally having you beneath him. If this is what feeding you feels like, he’d gladly offer himself up again and again.

“Still good,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Really good.”

Your smile lights up the dim space between you as you pull him back down. Mark groans into the kiss, body sinking against yours when your hand slips behind his back and pulls him in. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. The contact burns through his clothes, sending sparks dancing along his nerves.

This is for you, he thinks wildly as his hips jerk forward of their own accord. To make you strong again.

The moan you let out against his lips is downright sinful. Your legs part instinctively, guiding him to slot perfectly between them. “Mark—” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, “are you sure—”

His answer comes in another sharp roll of his hips, drawing a punched-out sound from your throat that goes straight to his cock.

Yes. God, yes.

No words could possibly capture the certainty thrumming through his veins. You seem to understand anyway, arching up to meet his next thrust with a filthy grind that has you both moaning into each other’s mouths.

The heat between you is unbearable now—the drag of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way your hardening lengths press together with each desperate movement. Mark’s never been this hard in his life, every nerve ending alight with the need to give you more, more, more.

“So good,” you slur against his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Mark, so good—”

The words go straight to his core, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut, hips moving faster, chasing that sound, chasing that praise. He wants to hear it again. He wants to earn it. Relishing the way your body trembles beneath him—not from exhaustion now, but from the pleasure he’s giving you.

He can feel it happening; the strength returning to your limbs even as his own energy wanes. It’s not unpleasant—just a deep, satisfying fatigue, like after an intense flight. More than worth it to see color flooding back into your face, to feel your grip on him growing steadier by the second.

So he keeps going, harder, faster, grinding against you like some hopelessly horny teenager.

Turns out the hormone-crazed idiot had been him all along.

“F-Fuck—” Mark chokes out, his voice raw with need, skin flushed and hypersensitive. “Y/N... god, Y/N...”

You moan in response, fingers twisting in his shirt as you drag him closer. The kiss turns messy—all biting lips and clashing teeth, the kind of desperate intensity that leaves you both breathless. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms scorching trails across the sweat-slick planes of his back. Mark shudders violently, muscles jumping under your touch.

“Mark—” you gasp, arching up against him, pleasure painting your features. “Mmh, Mark—”

And it hits him.

You’re in the dorms.

William and Rick are probably still very much awake. It’s the middle of the night. And both of you are getting way too loud.

Mark’s face flames with embarrassment.

And when you open your mouth to moan again, he panics—just a little—and presses a hand gently over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Your eyes fly open, dazed and confused, locking with his. And shit—the sight of you like that nearly makes him lose it right then and there.

“Shh,” Mark whispers, breath ragged, forehead pressing against yours. “They’ll hear us.”

You go still for a beat, eyes flicking to the door like you’ve only just remembered where you are. Then you nod slowly, locking eyes with him again.

Mark gives a shallow thrust, still holding his palm over your mouth, just in case. This time, with your lips no longer fused together, his eyes remain open—watching every microexpression of pleasure that crosses your face. The way your pupils blow wider with each thrust. The tension building in your jaw. Most striking of all—the life flooding back into your exhausted features as you meet him halfway.

The silent exchange is somehow more intense than the noises you’d been making before. Mark reads every hitched breath in the flutter of your lashes, every spike of pleasure in the way your fingers dig into his back.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the faint creak of the old bed, and the rustle of tangled sheets. Your gazes lock, dark and searching and hungry. And god, god, Mark has never felt anything like this.

There’s a thrill buzzing down his spine, a flutter in his chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with you. His heart pounds wildly, not just from exhaustion, but from pure, surging adrenaline—pumping heat into every vein, every muscle.

His muscles twitch and flex instinctively from the sheer pleasure wracking his body. His breath catches and his cock aches, hard and leaking into his boxers, needier than it’s ever been.

Mark wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The heat coils inside him, slow and molten, building pressure with every thrust and grind of your hips against his. Your eyes never leave him, and it wrecks him. That look—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you’re giving yourself to him, trusting him, wanting him.

Wanting him.

You want him.

The realization hits like lightning, and Mark’s whole body reacts—hips grinding harder, cock pulsing desperately, breath coming fast and uneven as the world narrows to nothing but you. His brain short-circuits, every rational thought evaporating under the weight of that need.

Then your hand slips down.

Past his waistband.

Fingers wrap around his cock, warm and sure and so willing.

Mark chokes on a breath, buries his face in the crook of your neck just as you stroke him—once, twice.

And that’s all it takes.

His whole body shudders violently as he comes, hard, gasping into your skin, cock pulsing in your hand, spilling over your fingers with a soundless cry. His hips jerk helplessly as you milk every last drop from him, until he collapses against you, sensitive and spent.

His breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, thighs twitching, mind blissfully blank. The exhaustion hits him like a wave—a deep, satisfying lethargy that weighs down his limbs, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice rough, fingers still lazily stroking his oversensitive flesh. Mark shudders, biting back a whimper, and instead sinks his teeth into your shoulder—not hard, just enough to ground himself. “Mark?”

“I’m fine…” he slurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “God, I’m so fucking fine.”

You chuckle, low and warm, but your grip tightens again, just for a second—just enough to have him whining, squirming, his spent cock twitching pathetically in your hold before you finally relent.

Mark forces himself up on shaking arms, giving you space to breathe. But in that exact moment, as your hand slips free of his boxers—fingers glistening with his release—he sees something that nearly undoes him all over again.

With zero hesitation, you bring those cum-slick fingers to your mouth—and lick them clean.

Mark’s brain short-circuits.

His mouth goes dry as he watches your tongue flick out, slow and deliberate, catching every drop like it’s something precious, your eyes locked on his the entire time—daring him to look away.

“Shit—” Mark chokes, his spent body throbbing weakly at the sight. “Y/N—”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the taste, lips curling into a sinful little smirk.

Mark swears under his breath, his energy draining further, vision blurring at the edges—but even now, even exhausted, he can’t tear his gaze away.

And all Mark can think is he did that.

He made you feel alright.

He gave you strength again.

Because you’re glowing—god, you’re glowing.

“Y/N…” he breathes, voice trembling. “Are you—are you feeling okay now?”

You hum contentedly, licking the last traces of cum from your fingers with a satisfied sigh. “Never been better.”

Mark’s answering smile is drowsy but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.” His eyelids flutter despite his best efforts to keep them open.

“Mark?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in his body—how it droops, how his muscles go slack.

He blinks at you, slow and owlish, trying to hum an answer. He’s fighting it—desperately trying to stay awake, to prove to you that he’s okay. That you don’t have to worry. That he’s strong enough to do it again, whenever you need it.

But he can’t.

It’s like trying to fight anesthesia—his consciousness slipping despite his will, soft and slow and inevitable.

To his surprise, you don’t panic. Instead, a tender smirk curves your lips as you guide his swaying body off of you, helping him roll onto his side so he lands beside you instead of collapsing on top. You tug the sheets over both of you with a quiet, satisfied sigh, then curl around him, limbs tangling comfortably with his.

Mark still has just enough strength to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you in return.

The very last thing he feels is the soft brush of your lips at the corner of his mouth.

And then, everything fades.

Since that night, nothing’s happened between you again.

The very next morning, you thanked him with a soft kiss to his cheek, all warm affection and casual ease. You seemed energized, almost thriving, while Mark woke up feeling sluggish and tired—though nothing serious enough to make either of you worry.

You even laughed when you noticed how drained he was. “If I tried that with a regular human,” you said thoughtfully, “they’d probably drop into a small coma, I think.”

So… yeah. Mark had to admit, his Viltrumite heritage did come with some perks beyond just strength.

And for a while, you were fine. More than fine.

Mark watched you through the days, then weeks—half expecting you to suddenly corner a random classmate and start making out with them just to feed again. But you didn’t. Not once.

Which probably had something to do with the fact that you’d… well. Eaten his cum. You mentioned it offhandedly once, saying it gave you an “energetic bonus,” like it was a protein shake or something. And Mark—Mark thought about that for hours. Days, maybe.

He’d let you do it again in a heartbeat. Every day, if you asked. At any time. Anywhere.

And that’s the problem.

You haven’t asked.

Apparently, whatever you got out of him that night was enough to keep you going for weeks. Which is honestly impressive, considering the two of you didn’t even have full-on sex. You just… grinded against each other and you gave the world’s shortest handjob—and he still passed out immediately after like some overwhelmed virgin.

Because, well, he was overwhelmed.

Mark tells himself he needs to work on his stamina. He can’t let that happen again—not if he wants to actually get to the next phase with you. Not if he wants to please you, the way you made him feel that night.

But it’s also true—you were starving back then. Maybe you pulled more from him than you usually would. Maybe the lust, the arousal, the craving he felt for you gave you a bigger energy hit than either of you realized.

Whatever the reason, ever since he tasted your lips, Mark’s been a mess.

The memory of your mouth on his, your body moving against his—it’s been looping in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted torture. Every brush of your shoulder in the hallway sends sparks racing down his spine. Every laugh, every look, every accidental touch leaves him dizzy and desperate.

But no matter how much he’s burning for it, you haven’t brought it up again.

And it’s driving him insane.

Until today.

Today, everything crashes in on him at once—final exams before graduation, the pressure of saving the world, the delicate balancing act of being both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And on top of it all, the world is still feeling the aftermath of his dad’s betrayal—cities still recovering and people still mourning.

Nobody’s surprised that he’s been... off lately. Tense. Angry all the time.

And today, today, he needs to forget. He needs to focus, needs to scrape his mind back together and make it through these tests. Needs to at least try to get into that stupid university where, in some far-off dream, he’d get to kiss you for the first time all over again.

So it happens that morning.

You’re standing by your open locker, flipping through your notes with a nervous sort of energy—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the pages like you’re trying to memorize your way out of a breakdown.

Mark drags himself to the locker beside yours, slow and heavy, his limbs weighed down by too many thoughts—things he doesn’t want to forget and things he wishes he couldn’t remember.

Then, his gaze flickers—unconsciously, inevitably—toward you.

Mark sees the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes dart over your notes, how your foot taps restlessly against the tile floor. You’re clearly stressed, just like him. But that’s not what gets him.

What always gets him—every damn day, at every damn hour—is your mouth. The shape of your lips. The way your tongue sneaks out to wet them. The soft pink-red shade. The memory of how they felt, how warm they were, how much he wants to kiss them again.

And again.

And again.

“Mark?” you ask suddenly, voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

He flinches, eyes snapping up from your lips to your eyes.

“Y-yeah?” he stammers, cheeks flaring with heat.

You stare at him for a beat too long—head tilted slightly, brow raised, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Then, your nose flares subtly, like you just smelled something... good.

But instead of saying anything, you just shrug and turn back to your locker.

“Man, these exams got me super stressed out,” you say, casually, as if you hadn’t just caught him staring like a lovesick fool. “I just want school to be over already.”

Mark exhales, trying to ground himself, shoving thoughts of your lips out of his head. Focus. Focus on the tests. On anything else.

He forces a grin. “Tell me about it. I’ve been studying and dreaming about studying. Like—actual nightmares about textbooks chasing me. It’s the worst.”

You huff, amused, tossing the last of your things into your locker before checking the time on your phone.

“We still have time,” you say simply.

Mark grabs a single book and looks at you, hopeful. “Wanna keep studying?”

But you snatch the book from his hand and shove it back into his locker, slamming the door shut. Mark blinks, wide-eyed, and barely has time to react before you step in—closer than close—close enough for your breath to ghost against his ear.

Mark goes completely still.

“Don’t you wanna do something else?” you whisper, voice a low, teasing purr that sends a sharp shiver down his spine. “Like… come with me behind the school. Just us. I can help you unwind. And, y’know…”

Your fingers trail down his chest slowly, making Mark swallow hard, until your hand finds his wrist and wraps around it, firm and sure.

“…I’m feeling kind of hungry.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief, a small smirk tugging at your lips like you already know the answer.

And you do.

Mark, predictably, nods dumbly, heart hammering against his ribs.

Your smirk deepens, and without missing a beat, you spin around and tug him along by the wrist. Mark follows—half dazed, half panicked—as you lead him somewhere behind the buildings, wherever it is you always take people when you’re like this.

His face burns, pulse racing—not just from anticipation, but from the very public nature of this. People glance your way, eyes trailing from your linked hands to Mark’s flushed face, some raising their brows knowingly.

Because you have a reputation.

And when you disappear behind buildings with someone flushed and breathless, it only ever means one thing.

And Mark’s flushed and breathless, alright—practically being dragged to that one secluded spot you always claim for yourself.

Is this... is this what it is? What he is? Just your new hookup to mess around with?

No—no. Because unlike the others before him, Mark’s your best friend.

You wouldn’t just discard him. Right?

Besides, Mark’s stronger. Better. He can handle you feeding on him, handle the drain, handle you. He’s not like the rest. He offered. He wanted this.

You chose him.

That’s what he tells himself when you shove him gently against the cold concrete wall behind the school, shadows swallowing you both whole.

You smile at him—soft, sweet—before leaning in and kissing him.

And god, that’s exactly what he’s been craving since the first time.

Mark melts, instantly, like wax under your touch, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer. You fit against him like you’re made for it. Your mouth, your kiss, your tongue—everything syncs with his like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. Like it’s natural.

Yet, a treacherous part of Mark’s mind—still conscious, still worried—whispers that maybe all the others you’ve kissed against these very same walls thought the exact same thing. That they were special. That they could handle you.

Only for you to leave them two weeks later when they couldn’t keep up.

And now Mark’s heart pounds, not with lust—but fear.

He has to hold it together. Has to prove himself.

He doesn’t want to be another body you use and then forget. Doesn’t want to be weak—doesn’t want to collapse every time you touch him.

He wants to be the one you keep coming back to.

And then—

Then your hands move down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans.

And Mark completely loses it.

He tears away from your mouth with a breathy gasp, eyes wide, voice ragged. “Y/N?”

You pause, blinking at him, fingers still lightly tugging at his belt. Your expression softens—almost embarrassed.

“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet. “I wanted to… suck you off. But I don’t know if—”

You stop yourself, shaking your head like you’re mad for even thinking it. Your fingers begin to retreat, pulling away from his jeans.

“Forget it,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “We have exams. You’re already tired. I don’t want to make you worse if I—ugh. Stupid of me. Kisses are fine.”

You lean in again, lips parted, ready to claim his mouth like before—but this time, Mark stops you.

Because the moment the words suck you off left your lips, he stopped hearing anything else.

“You can,” Mark rasps, voice thick. “I want you to. I can take it.”

You pause—eyes searching his face, unsure for just a second. But then your nose flares again, catching his scent, and you close your eyes like it’s the best thing you’ve ever breathed in.

“Fine,” you murmur, voice thick and hazy. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Mark nods—more a reflex than a conscious answer—because he couldn’t form real words even if he tried.

And then, with aching slowness, you sink to your knees in front of him. Your hands move to the waistband of his jeans, careful and deliberate as you tug them down, freeing his straining cock from his underwear.

Mark’s hands instinctively fly back, palms splayed flat against the wall as his knees buckle slightly. He needs the support, because if he doesn’t hold himself up, he’s sure he’ll collapse the moment your mouth touches him.

Your eyes flick up at him, half-lidded and glassy with heat. Then you reach forward and wrap your hot fingers around his cock.

Mark yelps, his whole body jolting, cheeks burning red from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears.

“Y/N—” his voice cracks embarrassingly as his cock twitches in your grip. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening.

You hum approvingly, pumping him slowly once, twice, watching with rapt fascination as a bead of precum wells up at his tip.

“Already so hard for me,” you muse, thumb swiping through the moisture.

The casual observation makes Mark’s head thud back against the wall, a quiet, mortified groan leaving him.

But whatever embarrassment he feels is drowned out by the overwhelming flood of arousal, lust, and whatever else it is you feed on coursing through him.

You probably enjoy it—how easily he falls apart for you, how effortlessly his body responds, like you don’t even have to work for it.

You probably love it. Because then you lean in, face close to his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you inhale deeply—drawing in the raw scent of his arousal straight from the source, your warm breath ghosting over the flushed, sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pupils blown wide. “You smell perfect.”

Mark doesn’t have the brain to process what that even means, not when the question gets stuck in his throat and dissolves the second your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock.

A choked groan tears from his chest as you start to lick, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum with deep, focused sucks. His knees buckle slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the maddening heat of your mouth.

But it’s impossible.

You’re shameless—licking and sucking him like this is just natural for you, like it’s not embarrassing at all the way it’s mortifying for him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft in wet, lazy strokes, then circles the head with practiced ease before you suck again, harder this time.

You groan, low and satisfied, and the vibration shoots straight through him.

Mark shudders, his hips jerking slightly, and helpless little sounds tumble out of his mouth before he can even think to swallow them down. And then—shit—then your mouth opens wider, lips stretching, tongue curling, and you take more of him in. Inch by inch, hot and wet, deeper and deeper.

Mark nearly loses it right there.

His back slams harder into the wall, his fists curling uselessly at his sides as he fights the urge to completely fall apart. But it’s not because you’re draining him—not yet, at least—it’s because it’s you.

Y/N. His best friend. The guy he’s been crushing on for way too long. On your knees behind the school, mouth full of him like it’s nothing, like it’s something you want.

It’s insane. He’s insane.

Shit—shit.

Mark dares to glance down, eyes wide and glassy with stunned pleasure, needing to see it to believe it.

And the sight nearly breaks him.

You, between his legs, hands steady on his hips, eyes half-lidded with hunger and focus. Your lips, stretched wide and glistening, moving up and down his cock with obscene wet sounds. His shaft gleams with spit and precum, slick and throbbing, disappearing and reappearing between your lips.

He moans again, soft and wrecked, unable to look away.

Meanwhile, you’re letting out soft, muffled sounds around the thick length stuffed in your mouth—like you really like it. Like you’re losing yourself in the sensation of having Mark buried so deep, your mouth full of him, nose flaring with every push of his hips. The wet, obscene noises echo in the tight space, and your brows furrow—not from discomfort, but something heady, something near-blissful.

It’s like pleasure for you. Something Mark can’t fully grasp, not when you feed off this—feed off him—like this is more than just sex, like it’s sustenance.

Then, on a particularly sharp thrust—Mark can’t help it, his hips moving on instinct—his tip hits the back of your throat.

You gag softly, breath hitching, teary eyes snapping open, glassy and dazed.

Mark curses under his breath, panicked, already pulling back, the apology forming fast on his lips—

But then you moan.

Loudly. Lewdly. Fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back in.

Mark nearly collapses.

“Oh—oh god—” he chokes out, his grip on the wall slipping as his thighs tense.

You don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You just suck harder, deeper, hungrier. Mark can feel the heat of your mouth wrapped around every inch of him, and it’s too much—it’s so much.

“Y/N,” he gasps, “God—I’m gonna—”

But you don’t let go. If anything, your pace quickens, mouth working him with precision and purpose. Mark’s knees shake, buckling slightly, and he nearly traps your head between his trembling thighs without meaning to.

“Y/N—fuck, I’m so—so close!”

You hum again, low and satisfied, like that’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Like his desperate moans and breathless whines are feeding you, pouring that raw energy straight into your core. And you take it, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, like this is your version of heaven.

“Y/N—” Mark gasps, a final, desperate warning.

But you don’t stop. Fierce and hungry, you take him in again—once.

Twice.

And that’s all it takes.

Mark comes with a deep, guttural groan, his head thrown back against the wall, hips jerking forward to bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. Hot, bitter release spills from him in thick pulses, straight down your throat—and you gulp it down without hesitation, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

The sounds you make—hungry, pleased, possessive—echo in the tight space, and Mark’s entire body trembles under the weight of it all.

His thighs shake violently, straining from the effort to stay standing. His vision flickers at the edges, a burst of white noise flashing across his mind. He’s faintly aware of the wall at his back, of the air that won’t quite fill his lungs, and the overwhelming, foggy pleasure that steals every coherent thought.

He’s fine. He tells himself that. He has to be.

Because he wants to prove he’s stronger than the others. That he can take it. That he can give and keep giving if that’s what you need.

Even as the lightness threatens to pull him under.

But just as his cock begins to soften, your mouth stays—closes tight around the tip, fingers curling around the base where your lips can’t reach. You start stroking again, firm and insistent, while your tongue circles his oversensitive head.

You’re milking him. Ruthlessly. Determined to get every last drop.

Mark jerks with a sharp cry, the overstimulation sending electricity through his nerves. His hands claw at the wall, legs quaking uncontrollably.

“Y/N—” he breathes, voice high and wrecked, “Jesus Christ, that’s—! I—I can’t—!”

And finally, finally, you stop.

You pull off him with a soft gasp, your breath hot and ragged. His cock slips free, flushed and twitching, coated in your spit and what’s left of his release.

You lick your lips lazily, and smile. That same satisfied, gleaming smile that tells Mark you got exactly what you wanted.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, flushed and glowing—energized in a way that almost radiates off your skin—while Mark’s left trembling, still caught in the aftershocks of his high.

“My god, Mark,” you huff a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. “That was—I’ve never felt anything so—” You cut yourself off when you finally take in his state—the sweat beading at his temples, the way his chest heaves. Concern flickers across your face. “You good?”

Mark immediately shakes his head, trying to clear the static clouding his thoughts. “M’fine... I’m just—overwhelmed,” he admits, voice hoarse but honest.

You pause, frown flickering briefly across your lips as you glance him over more carefully. He’s pale. Wobbly. Still fighting to steady his breath. A pang of guilt twists in your chest—maybe you took too much. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s going to drop right here and hit the damn pavement.

But Mark, breathless and clearly drained but stubbornly determined to prove a point, straightens off the wall on shaky legs.

“I’m fine,” he says again, firmer this time. “Really. That was—” he exhales deeply, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that was so good.”

Your face lights up again, the concern replaced by a beaming grin. “Damn right it was! Mark, you taste amazing. I’ve never tasted so much—fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have that much cum,” you ramble, fast and thrilled, practically buzzing with glee. “It energizes me so much, like—Jesus, I could live off you... Do you need help with that?”

You gesture toward his pants, still hanging open. Mark blinks, dazed and stunned by your casually filthy words, but still gives a small nod.

You hum, pleased, as you crouch slightly to tug his jeans back up, fingers moving with practiced care. You even take your sweet time buckling his belt again, still grinning to yourself like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.

Meanwhile, Mark struggles to steady his breathing, eyes half-lidded as he watches your every movement. He savors the careful way you straighten his clothes, tugging his shirt down gently before reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his damp forehead.

His breath catches when your palm lingers against his cheek.

“You okay?” you ask again, softly, trying to sound serious—but the buzz of energy beneath your skin, the high of feeding, makes your voice a little too bright.

Mark smiles, slow and fond. “Amazing.”

“You’re not, like… out of it, are you?” you press, brows furrowed. “Still with me?”

He lifts his hand to cover yours, holding it against his cheek as he leans into your touch like he never wants you to let go.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Better than fine. I actually feel…” He trails off, searching for the right words. There’s some drowsiness, sure, but it’s the good kind. “Relaxed. Like—really relaxed. Not anxious anymore.”

Your smirk is immediate, the faintest blush touching your cheeks. You look so alive—flushed and glowing, like the fatigue Mark had always assumed was your default had never really belonged to you. For months, he thought you were just… exhausted all the time. Turns out, you were starving.

“Good,” you say, lacing your fingers through his. The contact sends a fresh spark along Mark’s nerves. “Come on—we’ve still got time to meet up with William, Eve, and Amber. We can cram together before the test.”

Mark stumbles after you, legs still shaky, cheeks still burning, head still in a haze—but for entirely new reasons. The memory of your mouth on him lingers like a brand, and the knowledge that he alone can sustain you without breaking sends a possessive thrill through his veins.

He’ll be ready whenever you need him again.

When you need him again, Mark’s in the middle of arranging his things at the Upstate U dorms.

He’s been trying not to sulk about the dorm assignments. Really. It’s fine that you’re rooming with some random guy instead of him. Totally fine. And hey, it’s not all bad. He’s rooming with William, and you’re only three doors down.

However, when he’s strolling back with his Seance Dog action figure on hand, he spots it—the damn sock on the doorknob. The one William had declared as their “do not disturb” signal. Mark freezes, then groans loudly enough that a passing freshman gives him a weirded out stare.

Rolling his eyes, Mark turns on his heel and makes a beeline for your door instead. No knock. No warning. He just pushes it open like it’s a completely normal thing to do.

You’re in the middle of unpacking, back to the door, bent slightly as you shove clothes into your half of the closet.

“William’s having sex,” Mark grumbles as his greeting, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a startled laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “Already? It’s literally the first day of college.”

“Right?!” Mark perks up, pointing at you like he’s just been seen. “I was thinking the exact same thing! Who even has sex on the first day of college? I haven’t even finished unpacking.”

You snort again, amused, and turn back to your stuff. “Sucks for you,” you say with a teasing smirk. “But since you’re here, wanna help me put my stuff away?”

Mark’s shoulders sag dramatically as his eyes sweep over the room—half-open boxes everywhere, clothes spilling out, chaos even worse than his own side of the dorm. “Aw, man.”

“You chose to come here, Mark,” you say with a grin, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward the mountain of chaos you call your stuff. “Now suffer the consequences.”

Mark lets out a dramatic sigh as he lets you tug him along, but his protests are half-hearted at best. He grumbles the entire time—loudly and performatively—but never actually stops helping. He jokes through it, snickers when he finds weird stuff in your boxes, and keeps rearranging things the way he thinks they should go, just to mess with you.

He doesn’t really mind. In fact, Mark loves it—being near you, touching your things, asking dumb questions just to hear you talk. Every little trinket you pull out is a new excuse to stay a little longer.

By the time the bed is made, your desk is mostly arranged, and the floor is walkable again, Mark flops down face-first onto your mattress with a dramatic sigh. He rolls over onto his back, one arm slung lazily across his chest, and watches you fiddle with the last few decorations on your desk.

“What’s up with that thing?” he asks, nodding at a pretty trinket you’re setting in the corner. “Looks ancient.”

You glance over your shoulder, then shrug. “Oh, this? Just a stupid family relic. Supposed to bring me good luck or something.”

Mark pushes himself up on one elbow. “Family relic?”

“Yeah!” you nod brightly—then pause, eyes flicking to him with a slightly sheepish look. “Y’know. That side of the family, if you get me.”

That perks Mark right up. You rarely mention your incubus lineage, let alone the mysterious relatives who share it.

“Does it actually work?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. “The luck thing, I mean.”

You chuckle, fingers brushing over the trinket. “Sure it works.”

Mark straightens completely, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Really? How?”

You turn to him slowly, expression softening into something warm and deeply fond. Then you rise from the chair, walk over, and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don’t say anything at first, just smile as your hand reaches up, tenderly cradling his cheek.

Mark’s breath catches.

“Well,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin, “I met you, didn’t I.”

And Mark’s heart just—melts. There’s no other word for it. It swells in his chest and bursts behind his ribs like a supernova, a rush of feelings he doesn’t bother to hide.

Then he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering for half a second. “It must work both ways, then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh gently—and god, he loves that sound. It lights up your whole face. There’s something about it, that laugh, that smile, like it always bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Like you can’t help but be happy in his presence.

Mark watches you, eyes soft, his heart thudding like it’s trying to tell him something—like this is the moment. His hand is a little clammy against the blanket. He’s thinking about kissing you. Really kissing you.

But he doesn’t.

Because the truth is, aside from those two times you fed off him, you never actually kissed. Not once. And not because you didn’t want to—but because if you weren’t hungry, if there was no need to satiate that part of you, neither of you ever crossed that line.

Still, you liked touching him. You liked brushing shoulders when you walked together. Liked laying your head on his shoulder during long movies. When you visited his house, you liked sneaking into his bed just to nap together—curled into him like you belonged there.

Mark misses your lips. But if you weren’t hungry—if you didn’t have to feed—then both of you stayed in your safe little bubble.

Would it be weird if Mark kissed you right now?

Would you think he’s being a weird friend?

Mark doesn’t know where the two of you stand. Yeah—you’ve grinded against each other, you’ve sucked him off behind the school. But what did it mean? Just a way for you to feed yourself? Or did it mean more?

Did he mean more?

Mark can’t tell. Isn’t sure.

But when you look at him like this—all soft eyes, quiet smiles, that unshakable tenderness lighting up your whole face—Mark lets himself wonder. Can he believe for even a second that you feel the same way he does?

Can he kiss you?

“You can,” you whisper, soft as a secret.

Mark freezes.

Eyes widen just a little in surprise. For a moment, he thinks maybe you read his mind—but then he realizes…

He said that out loud.

And you said yes.

“…Really?” he asks, heart in his throat.

You laugh, soft and fond, thumb brushing along his jaw. With the same hand still cradling his face, you guide him closer, slowly, until your lips almost touch. “Really.”

Mark closes the distance.

He kisses you.

Not like before. Not the frantic, life-sustaining kisses you’d taken from him. This is something softer. Something given.

His heart races, hand rising to cup the curve of your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the softness, the warmth, trying to burn the sensation into his memory, into his very flesh.

You sigh softly, lips parting slowly as you deepen the kiss. Mark holds back a groan, turning it into a breathy gasp instead, his tongue meeting yours with a shy hesitation. He tastes the faint hint of chocolate from the snack you’d eaten earlier while taking a break from unpacking. Unable to resist, he gently sucks on your tongue, and you shudder against him, a soft moan slipping free.

God, Mark loved it. Loves it. Couldn’t get enough. Wanted this—wanted you—forever.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss further, teeth catching on your bottom lip in a playful bite. One hand sneaks around your lower back, pulling you closer—

Then someone knocks on the door.

You freeze against each other, lips still brushing as you pull apart just enough to share a wide-eyed look. Your cheeks are flushed, your breathing uneven—beautiful, Mark thinks, already mourning the loss.

“Probably my roommate,” you murmur, catching your breath as the knocking comes again. “I’ll check.”

Mark pouts, reluctant to let go, but quickly squares his jaw and puts on his best tough-guy face. If this is your roommate, then he’s definitely marking his territory. No one’s stealing his best friend.

You give him a faint, sheepish smile when he slides a protective arm around your waist, and then you reach for the door handle.

But the second it swings open, you both freeze again.

Right there, in the hallway, is fucking Seance Dog in the flesh.

Mark reacts immediately, stepping between you and the bizarre cloaked figure before him, grabbing its body. “Who the hell are you—?”

The creature—Seance Dog—launches into a rambling explanation, but Mark barely registers it. His attention is locked on the hallway beyond the open door, where students pass by, oblivious.

You spin on your heel, eyes wide, rushing to the window. “Go! I’ll find backup!”

Turns out “backup” is William, who stumbles after you through the wooded edge of campus, half out of breath and half-convinced this is some elaborate prank, while you yell, “Yes, the Seance Dog! No, I don’t mean cosplay!”

When you both catch up, Mark is standing in a clearing, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. Mark turns when he hears your voice and immediately starts explaining—Thraxa, billions of people in danger, yada, yada. It’s all so sudden, and he watches you both closely as the explanation sinks in.

William nods along, immediately agreeing. “Dude, you have to go. We’re talking, what, forty-two billion lives?”

Mark flinches, glancing toward you, searching your expression. You haven’t said anything yet. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

You finally speak. “For—for how long again?”

Mark hesitates, his heart thumping. “Just—just a few weeks. Give or take.” He turns to the bug alien. “Right? A few galaxies away?”

The bug alien nods solemnly.

Mark looks at you again, eyes quietly pleading. He wants you to say no. He hasn’t even had his first class yet. You kissed, for real, for the first time not even an hour ago, and now he’s supposed to just…leave?

If you said no, he wouldn’t go. Not for anything.

You fold your arms, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I mean… if we’re talking about that many people… and he came from so far just for you, then…”

You trail off.

Mark’s heart sinks. He wants to help, really—but he also wants to stay. Wants to start this new chapter with you, complain about professors together, compare how bad the cafeteria food is, sit next to you in class and whisper jokes under his breath just to make you snort.

And—and he hadn’t even fed you properly. Not really. Not the way you needed. Not the way he wanted to.

But then your eyes meet his again, steady and sure despite the tightness in your jaw, and you nod. “…Then I guess you should go.”

And that’s it.

He suits up. The blue and yellow slide over his body like second skin, and Nuolzot is already gesturing toward the sky, to the ship hovering in low orbit.

But Mark pauses. He turns back to you. In two steps, he’s standing in front of you again, gloved hands rising to cradle your face.

“A month,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A month tops. I swear I’ll be back before you even notice.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright, Invincible,” you say, trying for playful. “Go save that planet. Come back before you flunk out before classes even start.”

That makes him laugh, breathless—and then his eyes drop to your lips.

And he kisses you before he can second-guess himself again.

Your mouth meets his instantly, warm and sure, like you’re afraid this will be the last time you get to feel him like this.

When you part, breathless and close, Mark wants to say it. The words burn on his tongue.

I love you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he chuckles awkwardly, as if laughter might hide the way the words nearly slipped out.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “See you soon.”

And then, without waiting another second, he shoots up into the sky, trailing after Nuolzot and leaving the ground—and you—behind.

William’s voice echoes upward. “Wait, wait, wait—since when are you two together!? I need details!”

Mark doesn’t look back.

If he had, he might have seen the way your smile faltered the moment he turned away.

Mark returns to Earth two months later—twice the time he promised you. And somehow, that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.

He should be happy to be home. Should be focused on the fact that he’s safe, alive. And still, a small part of him is terrified. Terrified that you’ve moved on. That in the time he was off-planet, you got bored of waiting, maybe met someone new—someone who actually stuck around like they said they would.

So he doesn’t go to you. Not right away. Not even when every fiber in his body aches to.

First, he goes home. He sees his mom—because of course he does. She needs to know he’s alive. That he’s okay. That he’s now the older brother to a half-bug alien baby. He spends time there, takes his time, and tells her everything.

And then, finally, he makes his way to Upstate U.

Now he has to see you—has to face whatever version of you he left behind. The one who might hate him, or worse… be totally fine without him.

He stops by his dorm first, quickly changing out of his suit and into something more casual. The more he thinks about you, the tighter his stomach clenches with anxiety.

When William remarks, “You were gone a long time, like forever in college years,” it feels like salt in the wound.

Mark winces, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I know.”

Surely you’re upset.

If not upset, then… indifferent.

And Mark honestly can’t decide which would hurt more.

Still, there’s something bubbling in his chest—nerves, maybe. But also that warm, fluttery anticipation he always gets when he’s about to see you. God, he missed you so damn much. Thought about you more times than he can count while everything around him fell apart in space.

So he throws on clean clothes, rakes a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath to ease his nerves.

“Wait, where are you going?” William asks as Mark heads for the door.

“Y/N’s room?” Mark says it like it’s obvious. Because it is. You’re three doors down. Three doors he’s been counting since he landed.

William’s expression shifts. “Oh. Uh. Y/N’s not here.”

Mark freezes. “What?”

“Went home two weeks ago. Medical leave.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Medical leave?” Mark’s voice cracks. “What happened?”

William shrugs helplessly. “No clue. He’s been sick for weeks though. Like, really sick.”

Mark’s mouth goes dry. His pulse spikes.

Sick?

Sick?

His thoughts spiral—there are only a few things he can think of that would make you sick. And none of them make sense. None of them feel random. Not for you. Not with what you are.

“What—what kind of sick?” Mark demands, already striding back into his dorm room, his voice tight, too fast. “Like a cold? Stress?”

But he already knows.

God, he doesn’t want to, but the truth is already clawing up the back of his throat. Gnawing at his brain like it wants him to panic.

William frowns, thrown by the sudden shift. “I don’t know the full details, man. He just said he was feeling weak… too tired to even make it to class. He even passed out once—that’s why he asked for the medical leave.” William’s tone is a mix of concern and confusion. “Something about malnutrition or whatever, which is weird, right? I mean, he usually eats enough for twenty—hey. Hey, where the hell are you going?”

Mark is already halfway out the window.

“Where do you think?” he snaps, voice cracking with the edge of panic. “I’m going to see him!”

And then he’s gone.

The wind tears through the dorm behind him as he rockets into the sky, leaving William shouting something he doesn’t hear.

Mark doesn’t care. He can’t. Not now. Not when all he can think about is getting to you.

So he pushes himself faster—faster than he’s flown in weeks. His hands clench and unclench in the air, sweat slicking his palms, speeding toward your home.

He arrives within minutes, and in those minutes, his brain spins through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Why are you even sick? Why’d you stop feeding? You need it to survive. That’s what you told him. So why? Why would you stop? It makes no sense.

Why the hell would you let yourself waste away?

Mark doesn’t bother with the front door. Not when your bedroom window is right there—always open. Always left unlocked. For him.

Mark flies up to it without thinking, presses against the glass, peering inside. It’s dim and quiet. Then his eyes dart to your bed—rumpled sheets, blanket kicked off, and you curled up there, too still, too pale. His chest seizes.

“Y/N?” he calls, voice uncertain—like he’s afraid to startle you.

You don’t answer.

Mark climbs through the window on shaky feet, moving to your side with heart pounding. His hand hovers before gently settling on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he says, lower now. “Hey. It’s me. I came back.”

No answer.

His eyes scan you closer—the dullness in your skin, the dark shadows beneath your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, your cracked lips, the sunken look in your face.

Mark’s heart drops. His grip tightens on your shoulder, and he gives you a soft shake, panic bleeding into every movement.

“Y/N, please.”

Then—finally—you stir.

A soft, low hum escapes your throat. Your face scrunches weakly, like even blinking takes effort, and you crack one eye open, confused and half-dazed.

Mark lets out a shuddering breath, part relief, part fear, and drops to his knees beside the bed.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes out, his voice cracking, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m here, okay?

“…Mark…?” you slur, voice cracked and barely a whisper.

Mark leans in immediately, heart racing, face just inches from yours. “Yeah, yeah—it’s me! Are you okay? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You blink slowly, trying to will your eyes to stay open. Then, with some effort, you shift on the bed, uncurling from yourself like a bear out of hibernation—sluggish and disoriented. You squint at him, dazed. “Mark, hey.” A weak cough follows, your throat dry and raw. “How’re you doing? It’s been so long.”

The casual way you say it—like you’re not on the edge of passing out on your own bed—shatters Mark all over again.

“Y/N…” Mark says, voice thick with disbelief, worry pulling hard at his face. “Forget about me—what happened to you? You look…”

He trails off, unable to say it, but his expression says enough. His eyes, wide and glassy, trace every hollowed detail in your face.

“Oh,” you exhale, trying to play it down. “It’s fine. I’ve just been… a little weak, is all.”

“A little weak?” Mark repeats, voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not a little weak, Y/N. You’re—God, William said you’ve been like this for weeks.”

You grimace, trying to smile through it, to keep him from worrying. But Mark sees right through the act. He watches, helpless, as you try to sit up, bracing yourself on trembling elbows—only for your arms to give out, your head dropping back to the pillow with a soft thud.

Mark stands and shifts to sit on the edge of your mattress, hands settling gently on your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

“Hey—hey, don’t push yourself,” he says, voice low but firm. “Just—just stay still, okay?”

You don’t resist. Couldn’t even if you wanted to. You simply lie there, head sunk into your pillow, eyes barely open. You’re too tired to argue, too tired to even pretend you’re okay. Your breathing stays shallow, lips cracked, face drained of color.

Mark’s chest tightens. He watches you for a second that feels like forever before finally breaking the silence. “What happened, Y/N?” he asks, even though deep down, he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it. “What is it?”

You make a face, like there’s a million things you could say—but none of them are enough. Still, you force your lips to part.

“It’s just—” your voice wavers, then you let out a breath, helpless. “I haven’t fed off… you know…”

Mark’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.

You don’t look at him when you admit it—voice barely above a whisper. “Not since you left.”

There’s silence. A thick, awful silence.

Mark flinches like the words hit him in the chest. His heart starts pounding again, harder this time. “Why didn’t you go to someone else, Y/N?” he blurts—too sharp, too panicked. It comes out like an accusation, and he instantly regrets it.

You flinch too, like the words cut deeper than he meant. You look away, your features tight, skin grayed with exhaustion, eyes watery and dull. “…Should I have?” you ask, small and fragile.

And the answer is obvious. So obvious it makes Mark feel like a damn idiot for even saying anything.

No.

No.

Mark exhales shakily, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he leans down, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Of course not.”

Only him. You’d only ever wanted him.

And god—god—isn’t that selfish of him, when your life was literally on the line?

But you smile.  It’s small and tired—drained, really—but it’s a smile all the same. Like those words were exactly what you needed to hear. Like there was no one else you wanted to feed from anymore but Mark.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his in a soft exhale. “Then… kiss me.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. He bridges the last inch between you the second the words leave your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, careful—desperate in all the ways he won’t admit out loud. Your sigh against him is so content, so relieved, it almost brings tears to his eyes.

He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every lonely day he was gone.

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting it gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. His heart stutters at the way your body slowly starts to respond—weak, yes, but responding. When his lips part yours and your tongues meet, Mark groans softly into your mouth, heat coiling low in his gut.

He doesn’t rush, but the rhythm quickens just a beat. Enough to let himself feel your breath grow steadier against him, the slight tremble in your limbs easing, pulse pushing just a little stronger beneath your skin.

Then—God, your hands. They reach for him, still shaking, but purposeful. Fingers gliding up his chest, slow and searching, until they hook around his neck and pull him closer.

Mark obliges without hesitation, his other arm sliding beneath you to lift you gently against him. He feels your grip strengthen with each passing second, your kisses growing more urgent. And when you finally arch into him with a reawakened hunger, Mark knows he’ll give you everything.

Again and again and again.

The kiss breaks with a soft, wet sound, your shared breaths mingling in the thin space between you.

“Oh, Mark,” you whisper, voice rough and shaky, “I missed you.”

You look better already—cheeks touched with color, eyes less glassy. But it’s still not enough. Not even close.

There’s still tension in your brow, a strain in the way you lie beneath him, like it hurts to be hungry and still not full. Veins faintly shadow your temple. The dark bruises beneath your eyes haven’t faded. And the way your tongue drags across your lips—it’s need, raw and unfiltered.

“Missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

He knows one kiss won’t fix this. He knows better than to think you’d recover after just a moment of closeness. It’s been two months. Two months without feeding. Without touching. Without even knowing if he was coming back.

You needed more. Needed more than friction, more than mouth and tongue. You probably needed more than just getting him off like the last times—where you fed and then let him go, always asking for nothing in return.

You probably needed the real thing.

Mark’s throat tightens.

“I’m gonna—” he starts, breathless, almost shy, “—gonna make you feel good, okay?”

His hand trails lower, until it cups the heat between your legs, the bulge already thick and straining through your sweatpants. He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp, and the soft whine you let out snaps something in him.

Because for the first time, Mark thinks about it.

You’ve made him come—twice now. And afterward, he’d always been so wrapped up in his own high, in the rush of it, the haze, the way you looked so content with just tasting him... he never stopped to reciprocate the favor.

God, he’s been so selfish.

Mark’s throat bobs as his hand strokes you again, this time with more purpose—his thumb grazing the sensitive head through the fabric of your sweatpants. You keep making those greedy little sounds, soft and needy, and right then Mark decides—he’s going to make you fall apart under him. He’s going to make you shiver and whimper his name as you come undone.

“Mark,” you sigh, arching against his hand. “Oh, Mark.”

He picks up the pace, leaning in to capture every gasp and whimper straight from your mouth. Your tongues meet again—hungry and messy—as Mark begins grinding against you, his own arousal building, knowing you can feel it, feed off it, and revel in it.

It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his jeans to become unbearable—his cock straining hard against the fabric, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He can’t take it anymore. Can’t wait. And besides, this—this—is the fastest way to get you back on your feet, glowing with strength.

He pulls away from your lips just enough to murmur, “Let me,” breathless, fingers already hooking into your waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

Your soft, desperate moan is all the permission he needs.

With trembling hands, Mark peels down your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion, careful as he slides them past your legs. You shudder at the exposure, but you don’t hide—you open your legs willingly, inviting him in. Your face is flushed, the color blooming down your neck and ears. It’s the first time you’ve ever been this vulnerable with someone. And from the look in your eyes, you’re glad it’s Mark.

He drinks in the sight of you, chest heaving. Then, in one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside, eyes never leaving you.

“Shit…” You bite your lip, but there’s a glint in your eyes—a flash of mischief under all that exhaustion. “You’re so sexy, Mark.”

Mark flushes, his skin warming as your hands roam his chest, greedy and sure, fingers tracing over muscles that flex and shudder under your touch. It’s too much—almost overwhelming—and he has to brace himself, hands planted on either side of your head to keep from collapsing on top of you.

“Fuck—” His hips jerk involuntarily when your hand travels lower, undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down. “Y/N…”

You breathe out a needy sound when his cock springs free, hand wrapping around him without hesitation.

“Jesus,” you murmur hoarsely, licking your lips. “I’m so—so hungry, Mark. I can’t wait.”

Mark moans at the sight of you, the desperation in your voice making his head spin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stroke him with trembling fingers, and Mark’s hips move in time with your touch, his breath growing ragged. “Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been—starving for you.”

Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, undone by the way your fingers work him—confident, greedy, like you need him. And yeah, you do. He knows what his pleasure does to you. Knows how his arousal, his moans, even the steady pulse of precum leaking from his tip—slicking your fingers—is what makes you stronger. What feeds you.

But it’s not enough.

He wants to see you come for once. Wants to hear you gasp and writhe because he’s making you feel good.

“Can I…?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, his voice tight with restraint. “Can I fuck you?”

Your hand slows, eyes going wide, startled by the question—but then you smile, soft and full of something like fondness.

“Yes,” you whisper after a moment. “Of course.”

Mark exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, pressing his forehead against yours. When his lips find yours again, the kiss turns desperate—all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. You meet him with equal fervor, legs parting instinctively as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Should I—” Mark gasps between kisses, his voice thick with both desire and hesitation. “Should I prep you or—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m not some fragile human who needs coddling. Just fuck me, Mark.”

There’s something feral in your voice now—primal and wild in a way he’s never heard from you. The more energy floods your system, a spark of life returning to your features, the more your instincts take over.

“Okay,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Okay, just—”

Mark swallows hard, his gaze trailing down your body with a mix of awe and nervous hunger. His breath catches at the sight of your cock straining between you, at the way your hole flutters impatiently.

His eyes drop—slowly, hungrily—trailing down your body, pausing at the sight of your flushed cock, your spread legs, your willing entrance. He swallows thickly, breath catching in his throat.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, voice softening just enough as your hand continues to stroke him, thumb grazing the sensitive head, coaxing more precum from his tip. “I’ll guide you.”

And guide him you do.

You pump him a few more times, slicking him up while he groans, every sigh vibrating against your lips. Then you part your legs even further, just enough for his hips to fit between them snugly. One hand steadies his cock, the other resting on his hip as you line him up, brushing the tip against your entrance.

“Just like that,” you sigh, arching beneath him. “Push, Mark. Please.”

Mark’s hips stutter, his cock sliding between your cheeks with desperate, jerky movements. He’s achingly hard, every nerve alight with need.

“Is this—” His voice cracks as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. “God, Y/N—is this okay?”

Your answer comes with a whimper, head tipping back against the pillows. “Yes. Fuck me. I want you.”

Mark’s hips stutter, and then your legs hook around his waist, pulling him in—forcing him deeper.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice tight.

The head of his cock sinks into you, your body welcoming him in a slick, hot pull that makes both of you moan, trembling against each other.

“Yes—” you gasp, fingers curling against his back. “Push, Mark. I don’t care. Just do it.”

Mark bites down on his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes.

The glide is smooth, easy—thanks to the slick layer of precum and your guiding hands. He shudders all the way in, your body stretching to take him, tight and perfect around him. You groan, hands digging into his back as if to hold him there forever.

“Yes, yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, Mark, yes.”

For a suspended moment, when he’s fully buried inside you, all Mark can do is feel—the way you pulse around him, the desperate clutch of your hands on his back, the dizzying realization that this is happening.

He barely remembers how to breathe, barely manages to stay upright with how shaky his arms feel braced on either side of your head. His whole body is trembling—and maybe it’s not just the exhaustion from space. Maybe it’s not just the days without sleep, or the long journey back.

Maybe it’s you. Draining him with every moan, every squeeze, every drop of arousal he gives you.

And still—still—he doesn’t want to stop.

“Move,” you order, voice low and hushed.

Then you move beneath him first—hips grinding upward, taking him in deeper—and all of Mark’s coherent thought shatters.

“Harder,” you gasp, nails scoring down his back. “Please—”

Mark obeys with a broken moan, thrusting out and back in, out and in again. The pace he sets is clumsy and frantic, but it doesn’t matter—because you love it. You moan louder with every stroke, squirming beneath him, nails digging into his back, dragging down hard.

“So good,” you sigh, head tipping back as pleasure ripples through you. “God, Mark—so good.”

The room fills with the slap of skin on skin, the choked-off noises Mark makes when you clench around him, the way your shared breaths grow ragged and uneven.

Mark buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point as his muscles tremble with exertion. There’s a familiar tug at his consciousness, a slow drain of energy that should terrify him but instead sends a thrill down his spine.

Because when you moan in his ear like that, when you shiver around him, when you praise him in that wrecked voice—

“Like that.” Unsteady but sure. “Just like that.”

Mark couldn’t stop if he tried.

The renewed vigor in your movements—the way your fingers clutch at him with renewed strength—tells him it’s working. You’re coming back to life beneath him, flush with stolen energy, even as his own vision starts to blur at the edges.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, voice wrecked.

Mark doesn’t. Not when you feel this good around him—hot and tight and his.

So he fucks you through it, chasing your pleasure even as his body screams for respite, determined to give you every last drop until you’re sated.

Until you’re whole again.

Then Mark’s thrusts begin to falter—his rhythm stuttering, teeth sinking into your shoulder— and he gasps, voice wrecked and shaking, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—!”

You groan, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting.

“Come inside me,” you moan—half-whimper, half-command. “I’m so fucking close. I want you inside.”

Mark whimpers at your words, hips jerking wildly now, erratic and desperate. The thought of finishing inside you scrambles whatever’s left of his composure.

“Y/N—” he chokes out, barely audible. “I’m—I’m coming—”

And then he does.

His entire body goes taut, trembling, his hips giving one final, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt. His orgasm hits like a wave, a raw, broken cry torn from his throat as he spills into you, thick and hot. You arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, a moan clawing out of you as you feel it—every pulse, every drop filling you.

It’s that—the heat of his cum flooding you, the sheer intensity of his release—that finally pushes you over the edge.

You come untouched, back arching off the bed, spilling hot across your stomach as you cry out his name.

“Fuck, fuck,” you babble, shuddering. “Fuck, Mark—”

He’s still moving, just barely—his hips twitching in helpless, involuntary thrusts as he rides out every last wave of his orgasm, cum leaking from the edges of your hole. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s so good it makes you smile through the aftershocks, warmth blooming in your chest with every stolen breath.

“Fuck,” Mark sobs, forehead dropping against your shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe. “My god…”

His muscles spasm—thighs trembling, arms shaky and weak—and finally give out. With a groan, Mark collapses on top of you. You huff out a breath, wrapping your arms around him, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“Mark,” you whisper, voice soaked in satisfaction. “You good?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in your neck, breath warm and erratic against your oversensitive skin. He wants to answer, to lift his head and kiss you—because God, you felt so good, because you made him feel incredible, and for once, he knows he made you feel good, too.

But he can’t.

His limbs feel like they’ve turned to stone. Not just his head, not just his arms—everything. The weight of exhaustion hits him all at once like gravity’s been waiting for its moment to strike. The fatigue he’s been running from all this time finally catches up, drained utterly by you. He blinks, trying to fight it off, but it’s useless.

“Mark?” There’s concern edging your voice now, even as your fingers continue their soothing motions along his spine. “Mark.”

You’re warm, energized—glowing with renewed strength—and that, at least, feels like a win. He tries to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a slurred, “Hnng?”

Sleep is pulling him under fast. Even your voice—the one thing he wants to hear—is fading, like it’s coming from another room, another world.

You shake him once. Then again. But he’s already slipping, the darkness too heavy, too deep.

The last thing he’s aware of is the way his cock still twitches inside you, the way your thighs tighten reflexively around his hips, and the way you keep whispering his name—like a lullaby echoing in his ears.

If this is how he goes out, Mark thinks dimly as darkness claims him, it’s one hell of a way to go.

When Mark wakes up, he’s curled around a pillow that smells like you, drooling on it like a damn baby.

He blinks, sluggish and unfocused, head heavy, limbs like lead. His whole body aches—not in a bad way, just in that spent, used-up kind of way. He feels wrung out and dazed. Did he not die?

Groaning, Mark pushes himself up onto his elbows, muscles trembling under his own weight. He glances around, eyes squinting as the pieces slowly fall into place: the decorations on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, sheets half-draped over his bare body. He recognizes all of it.

And when he hears your faint humming from somewhere beyond the door, it all crashes back.

Oh. He had sex with you. Like—real sex. And somehow, he lived to tell the tale.

His eyes widen as reality slams into him. He jolts upright on your bed—your bed—heart pounding. Shit, did he pass out? How long has it been? What day is it? What year is it? He feels like he’s been out for decades, and yet somehow still not enough to shake the heavy fog pressing on his consciousness.

Then your humming gets louder. He snaps his head toward the door just in time to see it swing open—and there you are.

You spot him, freeze mid-step, and for a split second, the whole room holds its breath.

Mark’s dry lips part. “Y/N—”

“Mark!” you gasp, face lighting up with a wide grin. “You’re awake! Oh, thank god!”

You cross the room in three eager strides, arms open, all warmth and affection. You throw yourself into him without hesitation.

Mark lets out a soft oof as he catches you, the momentum knocking him flat on his back again. The room spins briefly, but the second he registers the weight of you on his chest, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice—he relaxes. He smiles, soft and dopey, and buries his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s never been more grateful to be alive.

“Hey,” Mark greets, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “How long was I out?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your face into his chest and hold him tight—like if you let go, he might vanish. Then, after a long moment, you pull back. But instead of replying, you cup his cheeks with both hands and kiss him.

Mark melts into it without hesitation, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. He sighs against your lips, groaning softly as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.

When you break apart, your smile lingers, bright and full of affection. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for at least a week,” you murmur, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. “Most humans wouldn’t. But you—it’s only been, like, sixteen hours.”

Mark jerks upright so fast he nearly headbutts you. “Sixteen hours?!”

You wince, guilt flashing across your face. “Y-Yeah. But—I called your mom! I didn’t exactly explain, but she knows you’re here. She told me to make sure you call her as soon as you’re up.”

Mark exhales, half in disbelief, half in relief. “Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.”

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have risked your life just to feed. Just to—be close to you like that.”

“No.” Mark cuts in, his hands sliding up to your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes are steady when you meet them.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, firm but soft. “No matter the consequences. Me. With you. Like... that.”

He blushes, and you blush, and suddenly neither of you can hold eye contact.

“The best thing?” you murmur, fingers fumbling with the sheets. “Really?”

Mark swallows hard, his embarrassment obvious, but the truth is already bubbling too close to the surface to hold back. Everything he’s felt for you, everything he’s been trying to keep buried, is rising—unstoppable now.

“Yes,” he says softly, voice a little shaky. “Having sex with the person who matters most to me... because you needed me. Because I—”

The pause stretches, fragile.

“Because I love you.”

Your eyes widen at that, the guarded concern melting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Really?” you ask again, a little breathless.

“Of course,” Mark says, a little more sure this time. “I love you, Y/N. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant seeing you like this—your real, bright, happy self—again.”

Your lips part in surprise, then you smile—wide and brilliant and so full of love it practically blinds him. Before his tired brain can catch up, you throw yourself at him again, arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed and deep.

“I love you too, Mark,” you whisper against his lips, soft and sure.

Mark kisses you back, slow and full of affection, even though his body still feels like it’s made of lead. His chest aches, but in the best possible way—because it’s full of you.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs between kisses. “If I hadn’t been in space, you wouldn’t have been starving. That’s on me.”

“Don’t say that,” you roll your eyes, but the affection in your voice makes it feel more like a caress. “It’s my nature, okay? Not something you can control. And I waited for you—because I knew you’d come back.”

You lean in and peck the pout off his lips, soft and loving, and then both of you just… look at each other. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward—it’s warm.

God—he loves you. Loves everything about you. And loves even more that you feel the same.

“So… does this mean…” Mark hesitates, cheeks pink, “we’re a thing now? Because I want us to be. I really do. I don’t ever want you kissing assholes behind the school anymore—or, well, now at college—because… you have me.”

You giggle, flustered, cheeks glowing. “Yeah—I have you.” You kiss him again, square on the mouth like you couldn’t possibly get enough of him. “And you have me.”

Mark grins, red-faced and beaming, before he pulls you tight against his chest and kisses you again—deep and slow and full of all the words he’s still too overwhelmed to say.

Like I love you.

Like I don’t ever want to let go.

Like don’t ever let me go either.

Then you say, casual as anything, “By the way, my parents want you to have breakfast with us.”

“What?!” Mark pulls back instantly, blushing so hard it reaches his ears. “They—they were here the whole time?!”

“What? No!” you say quickly, just as flustered. “But when they got home from work and saw me fine—you know, they kinda figured out what must’ve happened for me to be this fine. And, ugh—” you roll your eyes, groaning into his shoulder, “they wanna thank the boy who saved their ‘stubborn son’s life,’ or whatever.”

Mark exhales, still pink but processing. “Oh. Then… sure. I mean—do you think they’ll be okay with us? You and me?”

You smile, full of quiet certainty. “Mark, they’ve always liked you. Remember the cake my mom made you for your sixteenth birthday?”

“She decorated it with Seance Dog comic panels,” Mark mumbles, still flushed.

“Exactly,” you laugh. “I’ve been telling them about my crush on you since forever, Mark.”

And Mark flushes all over again, helpless to do anything but smile and pull you back in for another kiss.

A/N: thank you for readingggg, kisses and hugs and more kisses for dealing with me (●'◡'●)