Mark is hot. Mark is your roommate. Why must you realize both things during ovulation week...
wc: 5.3k
warnings: explicit sexual content, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v (don't do that), oral (f), spit kink i think, mark takes care of you, marks cums inside, mark knows, mark is mark, mark.
“…fuck, fuck, fuck…”
What in the hell did you walk in on?
Closing the door to your apartment behind you, quietly, twisting the knob to not make a single sound, you tip toed toward the kitchen table and set your purse down. Then your keys. Then, you jumped again.
“Fu-huck!”
His whine echoed from his room, out into the tiny hallway, into the kitchen, and up your skirt. Twisting your knees, squeezing your thighs together, you bit down on your bottom lip and cursed the fact you hadn’t gotten laid in months.
Having Mark for a roommate didn’t help.
Not when he sounded like that.
Pressing your hands into the wood, you sucked down a deep breath and shook it off. He was a male within a few feets radius of you, you didn’t want him, especially not right now, at the start of this week when you wanted anything and everything that walked. Just earlier on your walk home a street vendor complimented your legs, a catcall really, but you very well could’ve spun around and shown them to him up close.
You didn’t want Mark. You were ovulating and overstimulated and sensitive. And he’s an attractive guy, you’ve told him that before, he knows it, everyone thinks he's sexy.
His bedroom door swung open and your stomach dropped past your knees. He wore grey sweats only, and his headphones lived around his neck, his hair a mess from where they once sat on his head.
Games. Gaming. Gamer. He was playing games.
Not fucking someone into his mattress. Though it was hard to tell the difference, he sucked air harshly through his teeth just the same, no matter the activity.
Not that you listened. Or paid attention. Or touched yourself when you knew he had his hand wrapped around his cock thinking his sounds were muffled by the low beat of his nighttime playlist full of underground this guy eats, trust me rappers.
“Hey,” he smiled at you, a flash of perfect teeth with a boyish curl of his lips, “Thought I heard you come in.”
“Hi,” you sighed, standing up straight, composing yourself. Your eyes dropped to his toned middle, his perfectly sculpted chest, the silver chain hanging around his neck…
He swaggered for the fridge, coming closer to you, bodies separated by the table in the middle of the kitchen. The expanse of his back, just as honey, just as broad, just as built as his front, as his everything else. Mark wasn’t a big guy, but jesus god almighty did everything on him fit together in perfect harmony.
“How was work?” he asked, pulling a water bottle from a shelf, knobby fingers wrapping around the plastic. Arm flexing as he twisted off the cap and brought the spout to his lips, he turned to you and watched you while he drank.
A slight furrow of his brows beneath his undone hair, a pout in his lips, especially after he pulled the bottle away, the wide innocence in his eyes he wears as a facade, a trick, a ploy, because beneath that purity…
“Did you hear me?”
His smile settled into a smirk.
“Hm?” you hummed, and you watched him drag his eyes up and down your body. Glancing down at yourself you felt your cheeks flush of all color.
Bent over the table like you were, your knees had turned in. Thighs squeezing together, you practically trembled. Embarrassing. Humiliating really. Emitting a horniness reading absolutely off the charts, he could tell.
“Uh, yeah,” your voice almost squeaked. Pushing off the table you brushed your hands together and scooped up your things. “Work was… good.”
Mark leaned against a counter, his abs flexing ever so slightly. He crossed an arm over his chest and sipped his water, eyes narrowing.
“You’re lying,” he said, tongue darting between his lips, pointing at you with the bottle. Eyes glancing to his glistening lips, you withheld a whimper and shook your head.
You’ve got to get out of here.
“Not lying,” you said with the smallest of giggles, forcing some sort of smile onto your face. “I gotta shower.”
Starting for your bedroom that lived at the end of the hall, adjacent to Marks, his laugh paralyzed you. Sarcastic, knowing, sadistic. It bled into your ears, melted over your skin, and you despised what it did to your heart.
“You had your proposal today,” he started, pushing off the counter with his backside, padding over to the hall where you stood begging the bathroom to come closer to you so you wouldn’t have to withstand his presence any longer. “The big one. Your boss would be there, all the guys who think they have big dicks that own the company… Right?”
Turning slowly, very, very slowly, meeting his slightly confused expression, you nodded
“Riiiight,” he sang, voice going low and gravelly. A chill ran down your spine, one you’re hoping he didn’t notice. “I’ve listened to you all month. You’ve been dreading today, ‘cause you knew they weren’t gonna go for your team. They chose that asshole with the money, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” you whispered, and he tipped his chin up, looking down at you. The ache between your thighs, the heat beneath your skin, grew tenfold under his stare.
You could reach out, grab him, fall onto the floor, yank down his sweatpants, slip your panties aside and sink onto him. It wasn’t even about him, you think, maybe. He’s a guy. A man who chronically oozed sex appeal, who caught the eye of everyone walking down the city streets. He’d be something hot, and hard, to fill yourself with, to relieve yourself upon, getting you through this week so you didn’t have to succumb to your vibrator or your own fingers…
He licked his lips again, the tip of his tongue sliding along his bottom lip dangerously slow.
Back and forth… back and forth… back and-
“You still with me?” he asked within a breath, almost a whisper, pulling you out of a trance.
You needed to leave.
Gulping, you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Shook him out of your head. Him and his hot, shirtless self with his grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you knew he wasn’t wearing anything beneath them because the definition between his hips, down his pelvis winked at you.
“I’m fine.” Snapping your eyes open, you glared at him. “You’re right. Bad day. Thanks so much for reminding me.” You spun on your heels and stormed down the hall, stepping into your bedroom. He attempted to follow, arms shooting out at his side, eyes going wide, all signs of playing wiped from his cheeks.
“Hey, wait, I didn’t mean to do that, I was only trying to-“
You slammed your door shut.
In his face.
Mark Lee was not allowed in your bedroom, not right now. And probably not anytime in the near future. And then some.
This week sucked. A goddamned reminder that you had the worlds sexiest roommate and couldn’t do a thing about it. That the crush you’ve tried to swallow away for a year now was very much still real, very much still hanging over your head, something you can’t seem to escape. Not when your body quite literally begged you to reproduce with him.
Sighing, eyes falling shut, you threw your head back against the door.
Why Mark Lee???
Why your roommate you’ve grown tumultuously close to, closer than anyone else to you at this point in your life???
The Mark Lee who brings home girls some weekends, who goes out to party with friends he met in college, who works remotely, rarely has to leave the apartment, so he’s always here, always saying hi to you, always quick to greet you and bid you a good day when you leave in the morning…
Criminal really, how domestic it all seemed. How some days he’ll hint toward it, completely destroying weeks of suppression you worked oh so hard to build, only to now have to do it all over again.
You promised yourself you wouldn't get to this point.
That living with someone as attractive as Mark would work.
Guys and girls can be friends, you and Mark, you'd beat the stereotype.
Maybe it was time to move out.
Pushing off of your door to peel your top layers off, leaving a shirt and your skirt on to move to the bathroom with, you pulled pins from your hair and slumped onto your bed to pull your socks off.
Glancing about the space, your cozy bedroom you put together yourself, with Mark's help, he really etched himself into every part of your life.
A hoodie of his laid over the back of a chair, a pair of his sunglasses sat on top of your dresser, some of the earrings in your jewelry box were his... For gods sake, you shared the same shampoo and soap.
Digging your hands through your hair, splaying yourself backwards on your bed, you reached for your laptop and pulled it over your stomach. Opening it, you punched Apartments.com in to the search bar and let available places in your area, nearby work, pop up.
Scrolling for about a minute, eyeing the monthly rent in comparison to location and appearance, you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.
Now was not the time.
Tossing your laptop to your mattress, not bothering to log out or shut it, you snatched your towel and disappeared into the bathroom, allowing the hot water to wash away work stress, ovulating thoughts, and feelings.
Wrapping yourself in your towel, tucking it in so it stayed put, you smoothed lotion over your exposed skin, up your neck, down your chest, around your arms. Making note of where your necklace and earrings were on the counter that you'd have to come back for, you picked up your clothes, flipped off the light, and peeked out into the hallway for any sign of Mark.
Years you've lived here, and yet the act of running from the shower to your bedroom performed like some sort of humiliation ritual.
Not for Mark, of course. He'd wander around in his towel for hours.
The apartment was quiet. No games, no whines, no Mark.
Maybe he left.
Stepping out of the bathroom, leaving the door cracked, you took two giant strides toward your door and spun inside swiftly, turning the knob as you closed your door, just in case he was still here somewhere.
"What are you looking at these for?"
Jumping a mile, grabbing onto the top of your towel, you whirled around with a gasp.
He was sitting on your bed with your laptop on his legs that were folded under him.
"Mark!"
He glanced up at you, his brows furrowed and focused, paying no mind to how your cheeks flushed and your body still dripped. "When were you planning on moving?"
"I wasn't, I-I was just-"
Looking down at the screen, he squinted at something. "Looking for apartments in this building."
Stepping toward your bed, you held up a finger. "Everywhere, not just this building."
He scoffed, his lips perking into the tiniest of smirks. "So, you admit it. You're moving out." The way he looked at you...
Both hands held onto your towel, pressing to your chest for your own sanity and composure.
You were naked.
He was on your bed, half naked.
"I wasn't planning on it," you sighed, eyes wide, hoping to tide him over with your words so that he'd leave and you could continue your search, or, at least put some clothes on. "You saw me when I came in here, I was stressed, so it was the first thing I thought of to do to help my nerves, I guess, I-"
Setting the laptop aside, he rose to his feet, head cocking to the right. All of his accessories were gone, it was just him, his sweats, and that silver chain around his neck.
"How is a new apartment gonna help relieve your stress at work?" he asked, taking small steps toward you. His frame stood bigger than your own. More clothed than you, taller than you, you sunk backward, your body pressing against your door. "I did see you, you were..." His eyes flickered to your lips. "Upset."
Five inches separated you.
"Mark," you whispered, and he looked at you. "It's just a bad day."
"Is it?" he asked, closing two more inches, eyeing your parted lips as your breath hitched.
Gulping, you nodded, holding onto the cotton that covered you even tighter. "Bad day."
Narrowing his eyes, you could feel his warm breath trickling over your skin still damp from the shower. "So, you thought a new apartment would cure that bad day?" He didn't let you answer, cutting you off before you started. "Why don't you just tell me what you really need, sweetheart," he whispered, closing the gap between you, pressing himself against you, "And we can stop playing fucking games.”
His hands pressed against the wood of the door, his arms caging you in. Chest to chest, his nose nudged yours and he smirked as your eyes fluttered shut.
Intoxicating.
Every siren in your head shot off.
His warmth, his presence, his smell, his words, his lips.
"Look at me," he murmured, and you obeyed, meeting his proud smile. "Good girl," he cooed, nudging your nose with his. Your knees trembled. He let a soft laugh loose. "Yeah, you like that. I knew it."
"Knew it?" you breathed, your heart pounding between your lungs.
Mark licked his lips and popped his brows. "I hear you too, sweetheart." His lips ghosted yours, smiling as your face screwed up in disbelief. "Oh, yeah," he sang, "You're filthy. How many toys you got in that drawer over there? Wanna play?"
Writhing, pressing your legs together, your core slick already, you whined and shook your head. "Mark."
Parting his lips, softening his face, he pouted. "Oh, babe, you're not in trouble." Taking a hand to your chin, he danced his thumb over your cheek, swooning as you melted into his touch. "I'm teasing," he whispered, taking in how you stared up at him, unable to look at anything else since he said look at me.
Swallowing thickly, you took shallow breaths, your mind tuning to the sound of his voice. Mark pinched your cheek gently, his brows steadying over his deep brown eyes. The way you stared at him, like he hung the stars and held the answer to all of your problems...
"I know what you need," he said just above a whisper, his fingers drawing over your skin gently, dancing down your neck. "As soon as you walked in the door, I could tell." His finger hooked below your chin, lifting it more, your doe eyes deepening. "Fuck," he whispered. "I'll leave you alone, okay, you can get into that drawer-"
He stepped away from you, and you reached for him, hands grabbing onto his bare biceps.
"Mark-"
Your towel slipped.
He didn't look.
His entire being softened.
Waiting.
His eyes never left yours.
Sucking in a shaky breath, he pushed out, "Yeah?"
Clenching your jaw, you gave him the tiniest nod of your head, and he groaned.
"Tell me," he whispered. The feeling of your fingers digging into his skin made his lashes flutter. "Say the words," he shook his head, "Or, you get nothing."
Steadying your breath, breaking through the part of you that longed for him to just give in and swallow you whole, you said, “I need you.”
It was all he needed.
Pushing you up against the door, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other slipping down your body, Mark opened his mouth and pressed his lip to your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin as your arms hooked around his neck. Rocking with him, letting his weight push you to where he wanted you to be, you followed, body lax, under his control.
His fingers slipped between your legs, dragging through your folds, pressing to your clit. Moaning against your neck, grinding himself into you at the sound of your own whimper, he lifted his head and touched his forehead to yours.
“So fucking wet,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your lips, heavy yet slowly, his tongue poking through to meet with yours, “You’ve been pent up all day, haven’t you?”
“Three days,” you gasped, clinging to him, the massage of his fingers making you tremble.
His tongue dragged over your lips. “Three days?” Pressing wet kisses to your cheek, he muttered, “You’ve been this horny for three days?” Pulling away from you briefly, watching you writhe with every twist of his fingers, every brush of his thumb over your clit, he started to smile. The hand around your neck tightened, pressing into the sides.
“Mark,” you moaned, and the sound he made lit a spark in your belly.
Screwing your eyes shut, you thrashed against the door, knees going weak as he slid two into you, his thumb in a steady rhythm over your bud. Grinding into his hand, throwing your hips in a circle, his smile fell into a smirk.
“You want it bad,” he muttered, dipping down to nip at your neck. “What can I do to you, baby?”
Feeling your belly tighten every time you became aware that this was Mark doing this to you, touching you, making your toes curl, you couldn’t find it within yourself to hold back. Shame was lost on you.
Clawing at his back, gasping for air, a moaning mess, you babbled, “Anything, anything, y-you can do anything, I don’t… Fuck… Mark.”
“Good fucking girl,” he cooed, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth before his lips were latched to you once more. Pumping his fingers into you, curling them towards him, you shook. Bending at the knees, he pressed hot kisses down your chest, grabbing a handful on the way down, his fingers teasing your nipples. Searing his lips down your middle, over your belly button and below, he pulled his fingers from you on his knees and looked up at you. “You’re beautiful.”
Heaving breaths, your cheeks warmed. Covering your face with your hands, you managed to finally crack some sort of giggle. “Stop,” you whispered.
“Come here,” he breathed, gripping your hips, tugging your lower half toward him. Guiding one leg over his shoulder, he smoothed that hand up the back of your thigh, giving your ass a squeeze with a moan. Dragging his thumb through your slick, he curved his lips into the perfect ‘o’ and gazed up at you as he blew cool air over your core.
Sucking air in through your teeth, jolting away from him, one hand flew down to lace through his hair, giving him the harshest tug. Proud of himself, he beamed up at you and let his tongue roll through his parted lips.
“Where do you want me?” he asked, voice an octave lower than usual. He didn’t fight against your hold, but you could feel him start to try to. Letting him go, his smile wiped away. “No, hang on to me.”
“I didn’t wanna-”
He gripped your hip, his other hand sliding up your middle to grab a handful of tit. “Hang on to me,” he said through his teeth, nudging himself into your core, his nose pushing on your clit, his tongue sliding into your hole.
Both of your hands knit into his hair, holding onto him for balance as he held you up on one foot.
Lapping at you, his tongue swirling and twisting, the pressure in your belly growing tenfold, you cried out for him and allowed yourself to fall against him, all your composure gone. Mark pressed his fingers into your curves, pinched and toyed with your nipple while he moaned into your pussy soaking his face. Bobbing his head, tongue going flat, he moved with you, your hips circling on his face, riding wherever the pleasure wanted you to go.
Vision blurry, body on fire, you tugged at his hair but it wasn’t enough. You tried to reach down for him, but he wouldn’t move. You wanted to see him, to hold him, hold onto him, kiss him–
“Mark,” you whimpered, trying to pull him off of you. “Mark, please.”
Parting from you once, sucking in a breath, chest heaving, he gazed up at you with lust stricken eyes, his lips and cheeks a mess. “Wanna make you cum,” he groaned, soothing you with a circle of his hand on your thigh, “Doing so good, baby, please?”
“No,” you cried out, pulling him to his feet.
He let you.
Gently placing you back on the ground, holding you up, he pressed himself to you and cupped your jaw. You gave him a kiss, one small, one soft, one tasting like you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, giggling as he pulled a hand up to wipe his face clean, he kissed you again, longer this time, your breaths in sync, like the beating of your hearts.
“I’m right here,” he whispered. “You okay?”
Nodding, gazing at him, you licked your lips and gave him the quietest whine.
His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, his eyes flickering to it, and with the gentlest whisper, he asked, “Your bed or mine?”
“Stay here,” you breathed, and he smiled.
Taking his hands to your waist, he pulled you up, wrapping you around his front. Stolen kisses on the way there, a few strides backward toward your bed, he tipped over as you giggled and laid you down on your mattress. Tongue escaping, nasty kisses pushed to your neck, Mark pushed his sweats to the floor and climbed over you, his knees pushing yours open.
Taking both hands to your jaw, he tipped your head backward and coerced your lips open with his thumbs, holding them there. His cheeks sucked in, as his length prodded at your entrance, he pursed his lips and let a ball of spit drip onto your tongue. Moans trapped in the back of your throat, you arched against him.
Mark, eyes dark as ever, bobbed his head and stuck his thumb in your mouth, spreading his spit on your tongue. “I knew it,” he teased, “Again.” As if you were going to be able to question him, he looked you in the eyes and whispered, “Nasty.”
Eyes rolling, you wiggled your hips, the feeling of his tip not enough. Wrapping your lips around his thumb, giving him a harsh suck, you swore the devil flashed in his eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he grumbled, “Don’t get me started. I want you gagging every which way, I’ve pictured it, gotten off to it.” You moaned and he laughed. “But, I wanna fuck your pussy more than I wanna fuck your throat,” he dipped down to press a kiss to your forehead, pushing stray hairs out of the way, whispering, “That okay?”
“Please,” you mumbled around his thumb, digging your teeth into it. “Mark, please.”
He lingered by your ear, lips brushing your lobe. “Please, what?”
“Fuck me,” you cried, writhing under him. He pulled his thumb out of your mouth and gripped your chin. Meeting his gaze, you whimpered. “Please, Mark, fuck me. I need you so bad.”
“Thought you were gonna let me bend you over the kitchen table,” he said, reaching a hand between your bodies to grip himself, “Pictured that before, too.”
“Fuck,” you gasped as he slid his tip into you.
He winced at how you squeezed him already, his brows tipped in the middle, his lips curling under. “Let me in, baby, can’t give you what you want if you don’t breathe.”
Your heart beat in your ears. You could barely get any air in as his length pushed inside of you, the pressure too great. The stretch, too much, the thought, the knowing that it was Mark, this was Mark, your roommate, inside of you, his cock, the pleasure–
A long sigh, laced with a whine, washed over him from your lips. Pushing into the hilt, your thighs touching, his hips on your hips, your clit pushing into his pelvis, he laid on top of you, your chests meshed. Parted lips met yours, the brush of a tongue on yours, the stinging of tears in your eyes as he rocked into you– you could feel him in your throat.
His thumbs pushed into your cheeks, his soft touch keeping you with him, brushing over your bottom lashes as your lips parted and you sighed, gazing up at him.
A mess, both of you. His hair, pushed around in ways he’d never let you see, his eyes, glazed over with euphoria, his lips, parted and hungry. Teeth baring as he rocked into you, your breath hitching in your chest, you drug your hands down his back, your nails leaving behind plush red love marks as they came back up to his shoulders.
“God, I just wanna stay like this,” he mumbled, burying his head in your neck, moaning into your shoulder. “Feel so good, sweetheart,” he sighed, wrapping his lips in a kiss below your jaw.
One of your hands escaped to his hair, knitting into his locks, holding onto him for clarity. “You’re so… big…” you managed to gasp between snaps of his hips.
Smirking down at you, he pushed himself up to his hands, the silver chain on his neck dangling over your nose. “Yeah?”
Managing a smile with your twisted brows, you breathed through a laugh, “Knew it.”
“Fuck, you’re so cute,” he muttered, suffocating you with a kiss, his hands eager to hold you in anyway they possibly could. “You know what it takes to hold myself back?”
Your tongue wanted to pop out of your lips. Biting down on your lip, moaning without giving yourself permission, you blinked up at him, dazed, ignited with nirvana.
Relief.
Mark pushed up off of you, guiding your legs around his waist as he held onto yours. Picking your hips up off the mattress, he pistoled into you and tipped his head back, his groans echoing off the walls, lingering in the air.
“You know what it feels like… to have you walk around here… like you don’t know how hot you are?” He took a thumb to your clit, pressing down, grinning as you cried out and writhed, your hands gripping onto your sheets. “What it feels like… to hear you moan into your pillows… knowing that I could walk in here… and fuck you dumb?”
“Yes,” you gasped, voice broken, “Mark, yes, you drive me fucking crazy.”
He snickered. “Do I?”
Every twist of his thumb made you tremble, your high barreling toward you as you watched his body move. The arch in his back, the push of his hips, where your bodies met, the sound your bodies made…
“I wanted you as soon as I got home,” you babbled, fucking yourself back onto him as he thrust into you, “Wanted you to fuck me, wanted you to make me cum… Mark.”
His body let loose for a second, his composure dropping, his head lulling back, but then he grabbed your waist and pushed you both up to your pillows. Stretching his legs behind him, putting his hands behind your knees, he folded you in half and lowered himself on top of you.
Hair stuck to his forehead, your breaths tangled in shared air, his chain kissed your chin, your nose, your neck.
“Mark,” you whispered, your belly tightening, your legs shaking around him. Pulling him closer, landing messy kisses to his cheek, to his jaw, you gasped, right on the edge. “M’fu- Mark!”
“Come on,” he whispered, lazy lips brushing your cheek, “C’mon, babe. I got you.” You squeezed him, your body twitching under him, a tumultuous build up, a crash you needed three days ago. Fueled by his hands, his hips, his tongue, you cried out for him, barely recognizing yourself. “Cum for me, sweetheart, c’mon, you can do it.”
Almost missing your lips with a kiss, he moaned into your mouth as his own belly tensed.
“Need you to cum first,” he groaned, letting his fingers toy with your clit, his speed relentless, but he knew as soon as you went silent, he had you. “Be a good girl,” he whined, nose pressing to your cheek, “C’mon… Cum on my cock, baby, isn’t that what you want? Cum and I’ll fill you up, you want that?”
Nodding, fast, barely breathing, only able to suck air in, unable to push any out, you clung to him as your vision seared white, and you convulsed into him, body ignited with a pleasure brand new. You squeezed him tight, giving him little time to warn you he was cumming, filling you up with half a thrust as he dropped to his elbows and whimpered.
You’re not sure how long you laid in silence, spent bodies pressed together on a mussed up bedspread that now needed a washing. Then, he stirred.
Picking up his head of messed up hair, he looked down at you, eyes heavy, lips swollen. Surprised to see you already looking, he smiled, a flash of his teeth poking between his lips. Pulling out of you, taking his time, watching you closely as he did, he kissed you gently.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, shifting over your body to lay beside you, wrapping an arm around your back to tuck you into his side.
Unable to not look at him, you brushed your lips over his chest and whispered, “You’re incredible.”
Resting an arm behind his head, he looked down at you with a lazy smile. “You feel better?”
“Yes,” you answered quickly, making him laugh. “But, I think…”
He flipped his brows over, reaching his hand out to fix the mess that was your hair. “You think what, sweetheart?”
Curling up against him, you cowered and hid your face in his arm.
“Tell me,” he said softly, smoothing his hand under your chin, lifting your head. Pursing your lips, as if he could tell by the flutter of your lashes, he poked his cheek with his tongue. “Be a good girl and use your words,” he whispered, and you almost whimpered.
Your heart swelled in your chest, your cheeks heating as you whispered, “I don’t want you to go.”
Mark glanced around your room before looking at you crazy. “Am I… going somewhere?” Smiling as you giggled, he screwed his face up and tried to wiggle away from you. “Oh, wait, actually, that's you. How’s the apartment hunt going?”
“No!” Grabbing onto him, pulling him back into you, he rolled over on his side, hovering over you. Blinking up at him, you took a deep breath and shook your head. “I’m not leaving. You overwhelmed me, I thought I had no other option.”
Mark raised his brows. “Instead of just asking me to fuck, you were going to move out? To a whole new apartment? When this one is just fine?” Your smile faded, and your resolve clouded over. Mark tilted his head, curious. “Talk to me.”
Rolling your eyes, dragging your nails against his back, softer this time, you mumbled, “I… like you… Mark.” He didn’t move. “I was thinking about moving, ‘cause… I have feelings for you. And, after this… I want you. I wanted you before. I want to be yours.”
It took his six whole seconds to break into a toothy grin. “Great,” he huffed, catching your lips in a slow kiss, whispering against them, “Which room do you want to be ours?”
Eyes widening, he shocked you with another kiss.
Nudging your nose with his, he winked. “I wanna be yours.”
warnings: DUBCON! unprotected sex, non-consensual sex, spit fetish, spanking, bdsm, degradation, vaginal sex, creampie, allusions to new children, mark and (name) have an older child. betrayal (?), submission, mark with a big, thick penis, breeding kink
summary: Even after years, Mark can't forget you, he's obsessed — but upon learning something, he'll do anything to get you back.
❝ Mark’s fingers tap loudly against the massive table, his expression tired yet unwelcoming as he waits for the Viltrumite councilors to speak about some important mission.
Being Emperor isn’t easy, even after a few years of experience. He felt tired more easily now, but remained at peace with himself knowing that Thragg’s dictatorship had ended years ago, freeing the universe from Viltrum’s cruelty.
Well, he was at peace… at least temporarily:
“Sir?” the councilor calls out, drawing Mark’s attention. “Do you advise our fleets to head to Kynua?” Mark raises an eyebrow, clasping his hands together and sighing dangerously low.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he replies, his voice rough. The councilors whisper among themselves, inaudibly, when another man turns to Mark.
“Sir,” a sharp-minded councilor calls. “Are you… alright? You seem a bit distracted.” Mark takes a deep, heavy breath.
He had been distracted for a long time:
“Well, I suppose we can end the meeting, can’t we?” he asks cautiously, and all the councilors and war commanders agree—because no one would dare speak against the Emperor.
One by one, they leave, leaving him standing by his elevated throne, the Viltrumite metal structure unbreakable. His dark eyes analyze each being as they exit the room, and when the massive doors close, he allows himself to sigh.
His obsessive tendencies were getting worse.
Casually, Mark uses the command panel in front of him in the meeting room, his large fingers analyzing each point strategically—he had a map of the galaxy, of multiple planets, habitable or not.
But he always returned to his home. To Earth.
It had become an exhausting routine—analyzing Earth’s patterns, checking for possible threats to the planet he was born on, or simply… watching his ex-wife.
How pathetic had he become?
She didn’t need watching. She was a formidable hero. Hell, she handled herself better than he did in many situations and always managed to come out on top in critical circumstances.
But in Mark’s subconscious, it was just prevention. Just caution.
After all, ❪ name ❫ and Mark had once been married. They had a beautiful house in one of the best residential neighborhoods in Chicago, and they had a son together… a son who was one of the best—a prodigy.
This was just about the safety of his son’s mother, right?
Wrong.
He missed her.
When did everything change?
When Mark had to leave for Viltrum, when he became less and less present, and when she asked for a divorce for the sake of her own sanity.
It hurt—but he didn’t fight for it. Maybe that was his biggest mistake—he could have fought, but chose to be a coward.
Mark was so messed up mentally… the pressure of being Emperor, the fact he discovered he had a child with Anissa.
Terrible.
Then Eve came into his life and he allowed himself to… relax a little. It was temporary, because he still thought about you. The longing kept growing—and shared custody of Noah didn’t fulfill the real need to see her.
But he remarried, had Terra, and everything seemed to be going… fine. Markus was a good boy, Terra an energetic girl, and Noah had always been everything Mark never had—brave, a fighter.
Hell, even the way he dressed unconsciously resembled Mohawk Mark.
Mark didn’t consider himself a strict or conservative father, but he would never get used to the piercings on his 17-year-old son—or the fact that you allowed it:
“It’s style, old man,” the boy always said. And damn it, Noah was just like him—dark hair, the jawline, the nose, even the way he made that pleading face… but the eyes—
Incredibly, yours.
“Sir,” he snaps out of his thoughts, turning off the command panel that had been displaying Earth—or as he had mentally labeled it, Home.
“Yes?” he asks, his dark eyes focusing on the guard who had entered the conference room.
“Your son Noah has just arrived.” Mark gives a small smile, nodding as he rises from the throne and walks to meet his son.
It had always been like this—no one knew when it started, but it became… routine. Noah lived on Earth, being a teenager and helping fight crime alongside his mother, and during vacations, he visited his father on Viltrum.
Mark had considered placing Noah in a Viltrumite school—but he wouldn’t adapt. Viltrumite education was too strict, and the Emperor knew ❪ name ❫ would never allow their son to abandon his studies for such a harsh system.
His firm footsteps echo through the corridors as he heads to the main hall, where he spots his 17-year-old son.
Noah was practically a copy of Mark in many ways, but his eyes stood out the most… a color ❪ of your choice ❫ inherited from his mother, ❪ name ❫.
His muscles tensed every time he looked into Noah’s eyes.
The boy smiles upon seeing his father, wearing only a backpack and headphones. He was everything Mark hadn’t been—piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, earrings, spiked hair, and a completely punk style:
“Hey, old man,” Noah grins, just like ❪ name ❫—damn it. His sharp canines gleam. “Miss me?” he asks, and Mark smiles, stepping closer and crossing his arms.
“Always,” he replies, grabbing Noah by the forearm and pulling him into a hug. The younger boy grumbles, pulling away seconds later, slightly irritated.
“You don’t need to do that,” he says, a bit embarrassed, the tips of his ears reddening after being caught by the guards acting like daddy’s boy. “You see me every vacation and some weekends—you should be used to it.”
He would never get used to it.
Even if he saw his son often—on vacations or frequent trips to Earth—he wanted to see Noah every day. But not just Noah… you too:
“How is your mother?” Mark asks almost instinctively. It was always like this. Every time he saw Noah, he asked about you—it was automatic, and he mentally scolded himself for it.
“Perfectly fine,” Noah answers, as he always did. Perfectly fine. “She’s dating now, and for the first time in years… she seems happy.”
It takes a few seconds for Mark to process that information.
It starts slow. The words settle through his hearing, his mind working quickly—first, shock:
“Dating?” he repeats, lowering his arms, revealing the Viltrum symbol on his Emperor uniform.
“Yeah, old man, dating,” Noah replies, not noticing the way Mark’s jaw tightens, how his pupils sharpen. “By the way, where’s Eve?”
“We broke up a few months ago,” he states immediately, almost automatically. Noah raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lower lip.
“Damn, three kids and no relationship? Even I’m doing better than you, old man,” Noah adjusts his backpack and starts walking down the corridor Mark had come from moments earlier. “My room didn’t turn into a weapons storage, right?”
The Emperor shakes his head, swallowing hard:
“I just need to fix your… things,” he replies, swallowing again as he hears Noah’s boots echo against the polished floor of the palace.
And he stays there, for a few endless minutes that feel like eternity.
Dating.
❪ name ❫ dating?
His teeth grind to the point of pain, his expression darkening as Noah walks far enough away—his breathing shortens, his chest rising and falling, fists clenched.
Who the hell is the bastard dating my woman?
Mark swallows hard, realizing he was still in the hall, some guards watching with curiosity before quickly lowering their heads at the tension in his shoulders.
And he walks away—slow steps disappearing down the same corridor.
Dinner is one of the greatest personal hells Mark could endure in such a short span of abrupt information.
He really had separated from Eve months ago… yet she still lived on Viltrum, something about Terra (who was 9 years old) already being used to living on that planet, receiving proper education and training.
His relationship with Eve was very… peculiar. It had ended after countless ups and downs. Obviously, he didn’t regret what they had, but he knew things could have been different if—
Mark shakes his head, pushing the thought away.
Eve had always helped him, even with decisions involving Viltrum. And even separated, she remained a strong ally—the good part about it was that they no longer argued constantly, only seeing each other on important dates or during dinners Terra insisted on inviting her mother to.
And this dinner was one of them.
Terra ate happily, Markus—now 13—talking and eating alongside Noah (the oldest) about training and rock bands back on Earth.
Things with Markus had always been complicated… the entire situation with Anissa had left him uneasy, but over time he adjusted, and now he took full care of Markus, since Anissa had disappeared after the final confrontation.
Eve accepted Markus without hesitation and treated him well. Terra loved having two older brothers, especially Noah—who always brought something from Earth, like dolls or toys for the younger ones.
“And then the kid punched me in the jaw and I fell to the ground!” Markus finishes, chewing his food a bit too quickly.
“You should’ve punched that idiot back,” Noah starts, laughing. “Next time that jerk messes with you, tell me—I’ll kick his balls off.”
“Noah!” Eve scolds, gently covering Terra’s ears, who had been listening closely.
Noah laughs, shrugging.
“You know where to hit men, right, Terra?” he says, and the girl looks at him, her eyes shining like he was her hero. “Low, and hard.”
“Noah,” Mark reproaches, still tense from the earlier information.
❪ name ❫ dating.
It was as if the situation hadn’t fully sunk in yet. As if Noah would suddenly say something like, “Just kidding, old man! My mom still cries over you!”—anything that would make him fly back to Earth as fast as possible.
“Why is dad so serious?” Terra asks, and everyone looks at her, then at Mark.
At the same man, imposing, seated at the head of the large table. Mark hadn’t even touched his plate—his eyes unfocused from the actual conversation, fixed instead on random points across the dining hall.
Eve bites her lower lip, sighing softly at Terra.
“Maybe he’s thinking about his duties as Emperor, sweetheart,” she says, gently wiping a bit of food from Terra’s mouth, earning a smile from the girl. “By the way, Noah, how’s your mother?”
Damn it.
The question makes Mark let out a slightly heavier breath, though no one seems to notice—except the ever-observant Terra.
“Ah,” Noah crosses his arms. “She’s doing great… cutting back a bit on the whole superhero life,” he glances at the ceiling, thinking about what else to say. “And she’s dating.”
Eve’s green eyes widen, her red hair cascading like a waterfall. She immediately looks at Mark—because one of their biggest arguments while married was the fact that Mark had never forgotten ❪ name ❫, not even for a second.
“Really? Who is it?” she asks, slightly provocative, and Mark grits his teeth.
“Some guy named Liam,” Noah shrugs, going back to eating. “A banker from Chicago. He’s… a good guy.” Mark looks at his son, exhaling slowly.
“A banker? A good guy?” he questions, and Noah stops chewing almost immediately. “Are you sure? Because honestly… we can’t trust anyone these days.”
“Mark,” Eve calls, lightly reprimanding him.
“Am I wrong?” Mark snaps, a hint of accusation in his tone. “I don’t even know who this man is… my son could be in danger or—”
“Liam’s a cool guy. A bit flashy? Yeah. But cool—and above all… present,” Noah cuts in.
His son’s words hit something deep inside Mark, something that throbs painfully.
“P–Present?” he stammers, and Eve notices. Maybe Noah didn’t—but she did. She heard the tremor in his voice.
“Yeah, present,” Noah presses, almost… accusing. Like it was a jab. “You know? Romantic dinners, trips… I think she’s gonna take advantage of me being away and go on a cruise around Europe with Liam.”
Silence.
The only sounds are Terra and Markus chewing, cutlery clinking against plates—and Mark’s breathing growing heavier, shallower.
He starts seeing red. That burning anger rising again, his mouth turning bitter—the little creatures of jealousy, envy, and possessiveness had definitely bitten him now.
“Excuse me,” Mark stands, dragging the chair loudly across the floor. Everyone at the table looks at him, confused. “I just remembered an important conference… you can finish dinner without me.”
“Dad?” Terra calls, and Mark’s hardened façade softens almost instantly. He walks over, bending down to kiss her forehead.
“Dad just has to take care of something. I’ll be back soon,” he says, ruffling Markus’ hair in the process, earning a smile.
And as he passes Noah—he squeezes his eldest son’s shoulder before walking away, disappearing once again through the countless corridors.
SECURITY ROOM: VILTRUM — 21:23
Mark didn’t know what had come over him in that moment.
All he knew was that he had stormed into the castle’s security room, ordering the guards and watchmen to leave while he took responsibility for analyzing some… crucial information.
His fingers moved across every panel, carefully examining each point. It was almost automatic when he typed in the password—the date of his birthday—and suddenly, a file opened.
❪ name ❫ ❪ surname ❫.
His eyes softened as he saw the data he had gathered over the past years he had been away from you. Ten years exactly. Ten years of only seeing you through brief, trivial encounters. Ten years without kissing you, without feeling your skin against his.
Ten years wasted, thinking Eve—or the Empire—mattered more.
He had kept that stoic ex-husband façade, but he couldn’t hold it together the moment Noah said you were moving on.
After a marriage. After a child.
God… he had moved on too—but for a greater cause. He was Emperor, yet he still thought about you… And knowing that now you seemed ready to truly move on made him deeply uneasy.
He analyzed everything. Data, patterns—every satellite and camera worldwide connected to Mark Grayson’s system. He had seen you going out with other men recently… but Liam seemed… different.
His teeth clenched, his eyes widening as a Chicago park camera focused on you—wrapped in Liam’s arms. A man in simple clothes, neatly styled hair, carrying that typical air of arrogance.
Yet… gentle with you.
It made him feel like dying.
Liam’s hand rested carefully on your waist, pulling you closer. And you looked beautiful—the fine lines of expression gave you a mature air, yet it seemed like you hadn’t aged at all in ten years.
Just… more alive. More beautiful. More irresistible.
Mark’s composure shattered when Liam pulled you in, placing a soft kiss at the corner of your lips. And God, you smiled—those ❪ color ❫ eyes blinking so warmly, the same way you used to look at him.
Before everything.
Before the Viltrum War. Before the separation. Before he gave up on you, believing you deserved better.
Suddenly, his fist slammed into the panel, glass shattering. His hand began to bleed, but he didn’t seem to care—staring at the cracked screen still displaying you with another man.
“Another anger episode?” Eve’s voice cuts through as she steps into the room. Mark barely notices, his eyes still fixed on the broken screen.
Her steps are slow, heels clicking softly against the floor—green eyes shifting from his bleeding hand to the Emperor himself.
“Is this about ❪ name ❫?” she asks, and the tension in his expression becomes even more evident.
“Don’t say her name,” he growls, jaw tightening sharply.
Eve sighs, rolling her eyes.
“For years I’ve known you, and you still think about her,” her tone isn’t sad—it’s firm, knowing. “You still love her, Mark.”
Silence.
“Why don’t you go after her?” she asks, as if it were simple, and Mark scoffs, his bloodied hands dragging over his face.
“It’s not that easy, Eve…” he mutters, deeply frustrated. It’s clear he’s trying to control something inside himself. “I can’t just show up on Earth and pretend everything’s fine… when it’s not.”
“How about you stop being so obsessed and actually do something?” Mark looks at her, confused. “One of the reasons we always fought… is because you were always thinking about her. Consciously or not.”
Silence lingers, broken only by the soft beeping of the system.
“You’ve always acted like you’re obsessed with her… always using Noah as an excuse,” she continues, staring straight at him. “You can’t live in your son’s shadow forever, Mark.”
The Emperor takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as Eve’s words hit him harder than he expected.
“You need to be a man for once in your life,” Eve says, and Mark looks at her—his dark eyes widening for the first time.
“W–Why?” he stammers, voice low, almost hollow. Eve sighs again, her warm hands resting on his tense shoulders.
“Because I always knew you loved her, not me,” the redhead says, not saddened—but certain. “Do you remember all the times you mixed up my name?”
“Eve—” he tries to interrupt.
“No, Mark,” she inhales deeply. “Let me talk for once, okay?” He nods, lips forming that familiar pout. “Do you remember all the times you moaned her name instead of mine?”
A deadly silence falls, and Mark doesn’t know how to react.
“When you got angry and I didn’t know how to help you… and then I found out you were tracking her location?” her voice lowers. “And I kept wondering how I could be better for you.”
She exhales, her hands leaving his shoulders.
“But for ten years, I… hid, hoping you would love me, not her,” she lets out a small laugh. “But you’re obsessed, Mark. You love her, you idolize her, you’re in love with her… and please… be man enough to admit it.”
Mark exhales, his hands trembling slightly, his expression falling apart.
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t apologize. Out of all of this… Terra was the only thing we got right,” she smiles softly, and Mark nods, letting out a quiet laugh.
“So… how do I be man enough to do it?” he asks, a frustrated, almost desperate chuckle escaping him.
“Well…” she shrugs. “Go after her and… admit it, you know? Be honest. But don’t be pushy. And if she says no… just accept it,” she winks, stepping away. “Just don’t be so… Mark, okay?”
PLANET EARTH
It wasn’t like Mark.
This really hadn’t been in his plans.
The climate was different from Viltrum—Earth had a colder atmosphere, while Viltrum possessed a standard climate, always sunny in the mornings with a slight chill at night. Mark was wearing his classic Viltrumite Emperor suit, the garments polished and the symbol prominently displayed. Mark’s nostrils flared automatically when he realized where he was—home. He no longer knew what was right or wrong; his mind was racing at a million miles per hour. The conversation with Eve seemed to have lit a small flame of hope, and seeing the images of you kissing Liam made him... crazy. Irritated. He didn’t need much effort to enter your house; after all, he was a Viltrumite.
The house was large, with a decor that felt like you—picture frames of moments between you and Noah. In fact, Mark already knew this space a little, from the very few times he had... broken in during his moments of spiraling just to see you in the dead of night without being noticed. The doorknob turned, the sound pulling Mark from his thoughts. He moved away from the counter near the stairs, where a photo of you with Noah as a child at an anime convention sat. He had missed that. The door opened, hands fumbling for the living room light switch—the room flooded with light, and suddenly, Mark saw you.
It was too much. Too much. Mark felt his stomach churn; his eyes widened when he saw you after all these years—wearing casual clothes, jeans, a plain light blue shirt, and sneakers. Your hair was exuberant, and your eyes were so striking, almost glowing in those first seconds of light. You stopped, your eyebrows arching as you recognized the figure, and Mark noticed the fine lines of expression—a face slightly aged, yet still so sexy. Damn, he was already getting hard.
“Mark?” your voice came out confused, truly. You set your side bag on the hallway counter while approaching with slow steps. “What is happening? Why... why are you here?” Your chest rose and fell.
He approached with the firm steps of an Emperor, because in the end, that’s what he was. “I came... to talk to you,” he stated readily, swallowing hard. You looked more beautiful than ever, your scent filling the room and driving him completely insane.
Your eyes widened, and you moved closer but still maintained a distance. “Is it about Noah?” you asked, eyes still wide, breath hitching, your maternal instinct screaming at full volume.
He smiled, a minute and almost imperceptible twitch—obviously you would talk about Noah, obviously you would ask about Noah, being the protective mother you always were. “No,” he denied almost immediately, taking a step forward. “It’s about us.”
There was a silence so grand it seemed to last longer than usual. Your expression of worry shifted automatically, your brow furrowing slightly into a grimace—confusion, and a slight irritation as your pupils dilated. “About us?” you asked, your voice sharp and slightly mocking. However, Mark did not back down, taking more steps forward as he nodded.
“Yes, about us,” he emphasized, his dark eyes analyzing your face, your body, and all the time he had lost over the years.
“I believe there is nothing for us to talk about,” you replied, your expression serious. “I told you years ago, Grayson, that if you were to come talk to me, it should be regarding Noah.”
“I...” he interrupted her last sentence, his hands opening and closing. He needed to touch you. “Dammit, I know that, okay? I know you don’t want to see me even if I were painted in gold because you probably hate me...”
“Mark,” you called him, and it was clear how much his pupils dilated. “I don’t hate you, okay? You are a turned page in my life... I feel nothing for you, just... indifference.”
He bit his lower lip hard, to the point of a slight rupture and blood appearing. It was clear that this affected him; his gaze dropped like a kicked dog, his shoulders trembling. “Don’t act like my feelings are nothing,” he stated, hands shaking as he took another step. “Don’t act like we weren't anything.”
“We were something, before you vanished for days while I dealt with Noah in postpartum... before your commitments to Viltrum became more important than your family,” Mark felt his chest tear apart. “Look, Mark, I spent years of my life waiting and supporting you... there came a point where I wanted to support myself, do you understand?”
Mark swallowed hard, standing still, nodding. “We could try again,” he spoke with such conviction, with such willpower. “Fuck, I love you! I never forgot you! I tried, okay?!” he erupted, stepping forward. “But you won't leave my head! You never left!”
His eyes welled up—was the Emperor going to... cry? “I look at Noah and I blame myself every day for missing the most important stages of our son's life by your side.” His eyes flickered, he bit his lip. “You think I don't miss you? Your laugh? Your kisses? How much we used to fuck wildly anywhere?”
“Mark—” your eyes widened, swallowing hard, embarrassed.
“No!” He approached again, his pupils now heart-shaped, his breath becoming ragged as he stood very close to you. “Stay with me again, please... otherwise... I’ll kill myself!”
Silence.
“You can’t come here and say these things after all these years, Mark!” you shouted, and he felt a bit cornered but didn't show it. “Damn, aren't you married?! Get a grip!”
“Not anymore,” he replied simply, his tense arms falling to his sides as he scanned you from head to toe.
“What?!” your voice came out strained, as if you hadn't heard right.
“I’ve been separated for years,” he breathed in again, taking another step. “Because of you.”
“Don’t blame me for the failures of your relationships, Mark Grayson,” you spat, stepping toward the door. “If you’re not going to talk about Noah, get out of my house!”
Mark was faster; his super speed allowed him to grab your wrist, pulling you close—your body was pulled abruptly, and suddenly you felt the wall against your back as Mark pinned you down. “I know you miss me,” he exclaimed, pressing you against the wall. You felt that Mark was more muscular now, almost swallowing you with the tall, strong structure of his body.
“Mark, let me go!” you screamed, trying to break free. Even as a hero, Mark had always been stronger, and now the discrepancy in strength seemed even greater.
“Tell me,” he seemed serious, yet the desperate glint in his eyes said something else. “Are you with another man?”
Your eyes widened as you noticed Mark: his dilated pupils, the way his chest rose and fell, panting. His jaw was clenched, and he looked almost feral. “That’s none of your business!” You tried to pull away, but it was impossible; Mark had one hand beside your head while the other trembled, landing on your hip.
As Mark’s large hands touched your hip, he growled softly, as if physically controlling himself. “You aren't dating any other son of a bitch anymore,” his hands squeezed you with great force, and you gasped in pain. “You are mine, understood?! Mine!”
Suddenly, in a blur of motion, he scooped you into his arms. It was so fast, throwing your body over his shoulder as he began to climb the stairs. You were left speechless—and when you tried to speak, Mark slapped your ass. It was a loud, sharp crack that made you scream from the shock and the overwhelming sensation. Mark continued up the stairs, stopping in the second-floor hallway while you were still over his shoulder. You tried to wiggle out of his grip, your legs pinned by his arms. Your fists pounded against Mark’s back, but he didn't seem to budge—as if the blows had no effect on him.
“L-Let me go, dammit!” You squirmed, screamed, hitting his back, but he kept walking down the hall as if it were nothing. He didn't answer, opening each door—one by one. First, the bathroom in the hallway; then, Noah’s messy room; and finally... your bedroom.
He didn't hesitate to open the door, revealing your space. Mark inhaled deeply, as if taking in the scent, and his pants seemed tighter. With his foot, the Emperor closed the door, walking to the bed and throwing you onto the sheets. Your eyes widened, and you tried to flee—you really tried—but Mark threw himself on top of you, encaging you in his strong arms.
And he wasted no time; he kissed you. The kiss was desperate, savage. Teeth, tongue, and plenty of saliva—you tried to refuse, but your mind became distorted by the sensation of your mouth being devoured. Mark let out a groan of satisfaction as your mouths joined after years. It was too much. He rubbed himself pathetically, his hard cock brushing against the curve of your thigh, and you noticed how tense he was.
“Fuck,” he pulled back, realizing you needed air, then returned again, sucking on your lower lip and collecting traces of saliva with his tongue. “I missed this so much...” It was as if Mark’s restraint was snapping. His hands moved over your body, and God, it was overwhelming.
“No,” you cursed as Mark ripped your shirt with extraordinary force, tearing it away. It revealed your simple black lace support bra, which made Mark’s pupils dilate further.
“Fuck... fuck,” a string of saliva fell into the valley of your breasts; Mark was drooling. Literally. “You get hotter every single day...” His hands went forcefully to your breasts, squeezing—you gasped, your head falling back against the pillows while Mark simply pulled the bra down, leaving it still caught on your body.
He was at 220 percent. His fingers pinched your nipple, and you moaned, even if quietly, which brought a restless sensation to Mark. The Emperor swallowed hard, and it was clear how much he was controlling himself—or trying to. “S-Sorry, I should probably be courting you,” his breath was pained as his fingers went to your pants, sliding the zipper. “I should take you out... to... damn, to see the stars.” His eyes rolled back when his fingers passed over your panties, which were damp. “But I need you... I need this pussy sucking my fingers, sucking my dick.”
You trembled with anticipation. Dammit... you should be denying him, but your body, your entire being, belonged to him. In a sudden movement, because Mark seemed to be going mad, he pulled your pants off with force, leaving you only in your underwear—the basic black daily set making Mark’s pupils dilate even more.
“You won't be needing these anymore,” your eyes widened, and you tried to kick Mark, but he was strong enough, using his body to spread your legs while one of his hands pinned your wrists above your head.
“Mark,” you panted, feeling his finger pass over the lips of your drenched vagina. “Let's talk—”
“You won't need to wear panties anymore,” and he ripped the garment until it was just a strip of fabric. “When you go back to Viltrum with me, you won't wear panties anymore... because I’m going to fuck you in every possible place in the castle.”
You trembled... go to Viltrum?
“I’m going to get you pregnant again; this pussy is going to be leaking cum every day.” It was clear how ecstatic he became when his fingers caressed your folds, and you moaned softly when he automatically found your clitoris. “Right here, isn't it?” He smiled, but there was an adoration, a desperation—the way he looked at your pussy as if it were a work of art.
“Fuck...” he gasped, appearing both dominant and desperate. His fingers circled your dripping entrance, and he shoved two fingers in at once.
You screamed, startled by the sudden introduction. It was too much, feeling the ridges of his fingers going in and out—the sound of your extremely wet vagina, staining the sheet beneath you.
“You’re squeezing me,” he rasped, inhaling through his nose as his fingers worked. Mark managed to curve them, hooking your G-spot and making you see stars. “You missed me, didn't you? Missed me fucking you like a real man does.” His tone was incisive, and you could only moan patetically—it was bizarre how your facade crumbled, how you stuttered while Mark fucked you rapidly with his fingers, knowing all your spots just like years ago when you were young and exploring each other's bodies.
“M-Mark, calm down,” that spiral hit your stomach, your legs shook, and your eyes rolled as he started going too hard.
“P-Please,” he moaned pathetically in your ear, his pupils huge and watery while his big, thick fingers worked forcefully inside you. “S-Say you want me! Say you love me!” His thumb slid up to your clitoris, pressing down. You felt your body go limp, Mark’s other hand squeezing your wrists tightly, making it impossible to break free. Your legs trembled; it was too much. God, too much. Your eyes rolled back, your legs trying to land a blow on Mark—but he quickly intervened with his own legs, his hand leaving your pussy.
It was filthy how his thick fingers were smeared with your own lubrication, and suddenly, Mark slapped you across the face—the impact turning your head. “No.” His chest rose and fell heavily. “Stop resisting, dammit, you’re mine...” Those same smeared fingers shoved into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. “This pussy is mine.”
You choked, your eyes wide—your thought was to bite his fingers, but the way he was huffing, and how his erection remained prominent in his uniform, was overwhelming. Mark released your wrists, his other hand reaching down to grab your now-torn panties. With precision, he tied your wrists to the headboard with just one hand, while the other continued working in your mouth, shoving deep into your throat.
Mark’s fingers left your throat, saliva dripping down your chin—the pressure he began to apply to your neck made you see stars; his fingers covered almost your entire throat. “M-Mark!” Your eyes rolled, confused. It was all too much, and he moved close enough for you to feel his rigid dick hitting your groin.
“Do you feel that?!” he rasped, angry, and you swallowed hard. “Open your mouth, dammit.”
In that moment, your brain turned to mush—your tongue stretched out and Mark spat, a string of saliva running down the back of your throat. Everything was so visceral. So Mark. “I missed this,” he inhaled, his own hands going to his pants. Your eyes widened as you realized the situation, the reality sinking in. “I missed your smell... fuck, I couldn't stand masturbating while thinking of you anymore.”
And with a sudden tug, Mark lowered his pants and underwear at the same time—revealing himself, and damn, he seemed larger than years ago. Bigger. Thicker. Heavy. Curved upward in a way that always hit your G-spot, a light dusting of hair at the base and two veins circling, pulsing—your eyes widened, mouth falling open while Mark smiled at your reaction.
“Sorry... I need you,” he brushed the thick head of his penis against your entrance, and you shivered, truly shivered. “I promise to make it up to you later, okay? I-I’ll take you wherever you want,” he groaned pathetically, his arms trembling as he physically restrained himself.
And finally, he penetrated.
Your eyes rolled back, your hands flew toward Mark’s biceps, the underwear holding your wrists to the headboard ripping in the process—while you scratched with extreme force to the point of drawing blood, and he groaned, his hips thrusting forward and impaling you on his cock.
“Fuck,” he moaned, drooling. His eyes narrowed as he gripped the base of your thighs, lifting you and making you even more exposed. “I missed this pussy.” He tore off the bra that was still clinging to you, leaving you entirely naked—your clothes ruined, with only your jeans intact on the floor. It was too much. Mark’s dick seemed to be splitting you in two; you felt your pussy trying to push him out—even with the dilation from his fingers minutes ago, it still hurt, it still burned.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even seem to be in this reality—the sound of his balls hitting the curve of your ass, your wet vagina trying to suck him in as his enormous length disappeared inside. He was drooling heavily. Eyes glazed, moaning hoarsely, as if he couldn’t miss a single movement.
“L-Look at how well she takes me,” he exclaimed, voice breathless as he accelerated his hip movements. With every thrust, you felt Mark’s dick hit your sensitive spot, and you screamed, drooling onto the pillow. “Look at how well you take me...”
And he didn't delay in kissing you, his movements becoming even stronger. Your moans were muffled as he pulled you closer in a mating press. You felt him poke so deep that you saw stars, and his tongue in your mouth didn't hesitate to take your breath away, as if he were sucking out your very soul. His fingers moved away, going to your clitoris—and you screamed into his mouth, trying to pull away because the stimulation was too much... his dick hitting your G-spot while his fingers were firm on your swollen button.
“Scream more,” his hips thrust forward, and you whined. “Cum on my dick, darling...”
It was like a switch, that snap in your stomach dissipated and before you knew it—liquid covered Mark’s fingers, his dick, and even his abdomen. How long had it been since you squirted like that?
“Mark!” you screamed his name, hugging him, your legs flexed over his shoulders. The Emperor growled, snapping his hips forward three more times as he came. And you felt yourself being filled. Overwhelmingly. It overflowed; it was always like that... something about Viltrumite sperm, denser, creamier, and in absurd quantities.
However, he didn't pull away; he stayed there for a few moments. “I love you,” he began to kiss your shoulder, moving up your neck, nibbling the skin there, causing small red bruises. “I never forgot you, and I’m not going to let some random son of a bitch have you.”
He pulled back, withdrawing his still semi-hard dick from your pussy—as if a plug had been removed, it leaked immediately, sperm running from your vagina, down the curve of your ass and onto the mattress. You tried to pull away, really tried, turning onto your stomach and crawling toward the edge of the bed—but Mark pulled you back by the hips, bringing you close again.
“Fuck, you think you’re going to escape?!” His hands remained fixed on your hips, lifting them and leaving you arched, head muffled in the pillow. “I’m going to fill this pussy until it leaks... and I’m going to get you pregnant,” he spread your cheeks, revealing your pussy leaking cum and your anal opening shining with lubrication. Mark smiled dangerously, opening his mouth and spitting again—the ball of saliva running down your anus and mixing with Mark’s mess.
“I’m going to fuck every one of your holes,” he affirmed, brutal, giving your ass a slap that made you shiver and moan. “I’m going to cum in your fucking uterus and get you pregnant again... and again... and again...”
Suddenly he leaned over, brushing his already hard dick against your drenched vagina. “And again...” Mark exclaimed, repeating it as if he were possessed. “And you’re not running away from me ever again.”
NEXT CHAPTER: CHAPTER 2
Author's note:
Sorry for the mistakes, English isn't my first language lol.
Hey everyone! It took a while, but it's finally here! This chapter was written in two days, and I'm actually finishing it up right here at college lol. I'll admit I accidentally posted the draft by mistake—sorry, I'm still not great with Tumblr.
Did you guys like it? I hope so!
I wanted to bring in this trilogy involving Eve (I like her too much to make her a villain) and also introduce Noah! He’s going to show up a lot in my Invincible fanfics; I love portraying Noah as Mark's rebellious son.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
Until next time! ❤️
mark jerks off to his best friend’s voice during a late-night call.
❛ content 1.7k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, male reader, best friend! mark, phone sex (mark’s side), voice kink, masturbation, reader is oblivious at first.
━━━ ( part two )
mark’s hand was already slick.
it was shameful — he knew that — but by now, the thrill of shame was a part of the arousal.
mark sat hunched in bed, legs spread wide, phone pressed to one ear, breath shallow and uneven. the room was dim. just the soft blue glow of his laptop screen lighting his face, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile, bare thighs tense and trembling.
the call had barely even rung when you picked up, voice soft and just a little rough like you’d been napping.
“hey,” you said. “what’s up?”
mark’s stomach turned over. the second he heard your voice, his grip tightened, his rhythm stumbling on instinct. he sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“yo,” he rasped. his voice cracked. “you, uh… you busy?”
“nah. im just watching dumb videos. you okay? you sound weird.”
weird. yeah. that was one word for it.
he leaned forward a little, curling into himself, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder while his other hand kept working over his cock. he was flushed to the neck, chest mottled with heat, pulse visible in his throat.
every time he heard your voice through the speaker, it was like a jolt right to his cock — he could feel the way your mouth moved, imagine how your lips would wrap around syllables if he were just a bit closer.
he bit his bottom lip, hard.
“i’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly, then swallowed. “just… wanted to talk to you.”
he was already so close and that was humiliating in its own right.
your voice was casual, kind. “oh, yeah? what about?”
mark gritted his teeth, hips twitching upward into his palm. “i… i dunno. just missed your voice.”
a pause. you laughed softly.
“that’s weird. you literally saw me earlier today.”
“i know.”
mark closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against the base of his cock to try and slow himself down. it didn’t help. he was throbbing. leaking. his stomach muscles clenched tight every time you said anything.
“but… i like hearing you.”
you went quiet for a beat. “you sure you’re okay? you sound kinda…”
“i’m fine,” mark said again, but his voice broke in the middle of it, strained and raspy, like he was talking through gritted teeth.
he had to pull the phone back a little as a soft, stuttered moan slipped out of him.
shit.
his hand kept moving — too fast now, driven by pure instinct. he tried to breathe slow, tried to pretend he wasn’t literally jerking off with your voice in his ear, but you weren’t helping.
you chuckled again. “you sound like you’re sweating or something. hot in your room?”
“y-yeah,” mark gasped, closing his fist tighter. “hot. so, so hot.”
his knuckles were turning white around the phone. he pressed it harder to his ear, needing to hear every note of your voice. his eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the wall behind his bed. sweat was already gathering under his arms, on his lower back, on the backs of his thighs. jus toes curled into the sheets, ankles twitching with every slick stroke of his hand.
you kept talking. talking like everything was normal. like your best friend wasn’t secretly jerking off to your voice and biting his fist to keep from moaning into the receiver.
“you been staying up late again?” you asked. “you really sound tired.”
mark choked on a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob, wasn’t quite a moan.
“mmh—yeah. c-can’t sleep…”
“you should take melatonin or something. or stop watching porn at 3am.”
if only you knew.
mark was panting now, trying to keep it quiet, but every breath was a tremor. his thighs shook with tension, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a bowstring. he sped up again without meaning to, his body begging for release. it wasn’t just the friction. it was you — your voice, your laugh, the way you sounded like you were half-asleep and smiling through every word.
and fuck, he wanted you to hear. even if it ruined everything.
“hey,” you said again, more curious now. “you really okay? you sound like you’re—”
“i’m f—fuck,” mark hissed through his teeth, a broken sound slipping out before he could stop it.
his back arched. he turned his face into the pillow beside him and bit down, hard. his whole body jerked with need.
“s-sorry, sorry—”
you blinked on the other end. “mark… are you… are you sick or something?”
“n-no,” mark whimpered, voice cracking again.
his chest was heaving, cock twitching wildly in his hand now. the wet slick noises of it were starting to get louder — he was so close it hurt.
“just… ngh—just don’t stop talking. please.”
you paused, clearly confused.
“mark, you sure you’re okay? your voice sounds—like you’re in pain or something. you’re not crying, right?”
he almost was.
“no—n-not crying. j-just…”
his fingers slipped, the slick glide of his palm stuttering for a second. he couldn’t do this much longer. every syllable you said was like fuel thrown on the fire. his entire body was one big live wire, and all it would take was one more second of your voice, soft and unknowing in his ear, and he’d—
“oh fuck—fuckfuck—ah—” he gasped suddenly, louder than he meant to.
he couldn’t stop it. his hips jerked up off the bed, his legs kicked once, hard, heel catching on the sheet.
“shit—”
“mark?”
bit it was too late.
he came with a guttural noise halfway between a gasp and a whimper, hand still pumping as thick heat spilled across his abs, wrist, stomach. his thighs were trembling, whole body shaking, the pleasure rolling over him in uncontrollable, stuttering waves. he clenched the phone so tight it creaked in his palm.
your voice cut through the haze.
“…wait. are you—holy shit. were you jerking off?”
mark froze. his face was bright red, chest heaving, jaw slack as the last pulses of pleasure shook through him.
he didn’t answer. he couldn’t.
the silence stretched — the only thing in his room now was the sound of him breathing. hard and shallow. still a little shaky, his hand still cupped over the base of his cock, half-hard and twitching against his sticky palm.
the mess was cooling on his stomach, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating somewhere between orgasm and panic.
“…mark?”
you sounded different now. not angry. not teasing. just… surprised. confused. and a little quieter. your voice had dropped half a note, softer in a way that made his throat close. mark swallowed.
his voice cracked when he finally said it :
“y-yeah.”
one word. barely more than a whisper.
he shifted in bed, feeling how damp the sheets were under his thighs, how raw his skin felt, sensitive to the air now. still holding the phone, mark let out a low, shaky breath and forced himself to speak again.
“i was. i… i was jerking off.”
silence.
god, he wanted to disappear. the shame was burning. he shut his eyes and dragged a hand down his face, fingers shaking slightly. his cock gave a small, involuntary twitch in his hand even now. he should’ve hung up. should’ve made up some lie. should’ve said anything else.
instead, he added : “i couldn’t stop thinking about your voice. it—fuck, it made it worse. better. i don’t know. i just—needed it.”
there was a pause on the other end. but this one felt different.
“…damn,” you finally said.
the word came out low, cautious.
mark’s breath caught. he squeezed his eyes shut.
“you’re mad,” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “i get it, i’m—fucked up, i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have called—”
“no,” you cut in fast. “no, i’m not mad.”
mark blinked. “you’re… not?”
“i mean…” you hesitated. “that’s kinda… hot.”
mark sat up straighter, heart kicking into a full sprint again. “what?”
your voice was a little different now. lower. a little breathy. “you really called me… while you were doing that?”
mark nodded before realizing you couldn’t see it.
“y-yeah.”
he was still hard. somehow. his body didn’t know how to stop with you still on the phone, your voice suddenly filled with something heavier. curiosity? tension? hunger? whatever it was, it sparked like a live wire right in his chest.
“you… wanted to hear me that bad?” you asked.
and mark could picture the look on your face now — confused, pink-cheeked, maybe biting your lip the way you always did when you were trying to process something fast.
“i did,” mark whispered. “i wanted to imagine you in my ear. i already was. but when i actually heard you… i couldn’t stop. you sounded so warm. like—like you were laying next to me.”
“shit,” you mutter, your breath hitched now. “that’s…”
mark gripped the phone tighter. “what?”
“kind of really hot,” you admitted. “like, weirdly hot.”
something inside mark broke open at that.
his hand reflexively slid down over his cock again — not stroking yet, but holding it, grounding himself in sensation, in your voice and the feeling of still being on the edge, desperate for more. his stomach clenched, hips shifting under the blankets.
“are you…” he tried. “turned on right now?”
a soft exhale from you bedore you anwser.
“yeah.”
the sound mark made wasn’t even a word. just a needy gasp, like he’d been underwater and your answer let him breathe again. he rolled his hips forward a little into his palm, dragging his fingers lightly over the head of his cock. still sensitive. almost unbearable.
“can i come over?” you asked.
mark’s breath hitched. the thought was overwhelming, making his cock twitch even more.
“yes,” he said immediately, too fast, too eager. his voice cracked on it, raw and wet with want. “yes, please—fuck, i want you to.”
there was a pause — not hesitation, but heat. you were quiet for a second, and he could hear you shifting on the other end, probably sitting up now, heart racing like his.
summary: One night during freshers’ week, followed by a quiet disappearance. No promises, no numbers exchanged, no reason to ever see each other again. But when you run into Mark on campus two years later, it becomes painfully clear that some nights don’t stay in the past — no matter how hard you try to leave them there.
pairing: student!mark x female student!reader.
genre: university!au, fluff, crack, angst, strangers to lovers, smut! mdni!
word count: ~15k
warnings: emotional slow burn, blurred lines, it’s giving ✨situationship✨, mark is a sweetheart, like tooth-achingly sweet, alcohol consumption, lots of flirting and awkwardness, he’s shy but confident at the same time(?), he says ‘dude’ a lot (obvs), talks of pregnancy, menstruation and sanitary products, oc is one confused human being pls don’t judge her, smut: fingering, unprotected sex, pull out method is used (don’t be silly), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, light choking, lots of teasing, nipple play, he’s a hard!dom for like a sec and then pathetic again, multiple positions, oral (fem receiving), brief masturbation (he watches lmao), cumshot, cum eating<3, he makes her cum while she’s on her period bc he's a king (she’s wearing a tampon dw), probs more…ya'll should know how unhinged i am by now so read at your own risk.
a/n: hi hi hi hi!! After many many requests, I wholeheartedly give you Mr. top yearner himself, Mark Lee! This part is mostly smut and emotional turmoil bc I had to somehow introduce their backstory. The second part is where shit goes down, so there will be a lot more plot in that one. This story is very dear to me bc it’s basically inspired from real life events (yes, I used to be a messy bitch back in uni, sue me), but my Mark wasn’t as nice as the one in this fic. Anyway, I genuinely hope you guys love it as much as I do and pleaseeeee do let me know your thoughts!! I would also appreciate ideas and guesses for part two as I’m still currently working on it. I can’t wait to read your comments and asks. Please don't hesitate to bombard me.
Love always,
Cookie <3
Part 2 | masterlist | ko-fi
Mark squints against the morning sun, nursing the headache pounding at his temples. Coffee in hand, he trudges along campus with Giselle beside him, who’s already mid-rant about something he’s only half-listening to. Maybe a date? He’s pretty sure it’s not too important anyway.
Last night’s party is still hanging around in his skull like a bad song he can’t skip. Every step feels like it’s happening underwater — students rushing, bikes clattering, the faint smell of coffee — but Mark barely notices
“—and then he—ugh, I can’t even—” she huffs, flopping her arm dramatically against her tote bag.
“Mm,” Mark mumbles, focusing on nothing in particular, willing the throbbing to ease.
Out of the corner of his eye, movement. Someone rushing. Head down. Bag bouncing. Textbook late-for-class energy.
“Giselle!” a voice calls, sharp but friendly.
Mark freezes. Head still fuzzy. He glances over—and it clicks.
Y/N. Shit. What the actual fuck. No way.
His chest stutters in a way that’s both familiar and alarming. Two years ago. One night. One too many drinks. Memories creeping in before his brain has a chance to protest.
“Mark,” she says, gesturing to him, “this is Y/N. We…uh, go to the same Pilates class.”
Simple. Casual. Like nothing else exists.
You raise an eyebrow, calm, clear recognition. “We actually know each other,” you say lightly, voice teasing but neutral. “Small world, huh?”
Mark’s throat goes dry. Words stick. Coffee threatens to slosh. His hangover doesn’t help. He wants to say something witty, something—anything—but his brain refuses to cooperate.
You glance at your phone, already in motion. “Sorry, I’m actually so late. Catch you later Gi!” You pause for a moment. “Good to see you.” That last bit is directed at him and all Mark can do is bob his head like an idiot.
“See you tomorrow!” Giselle exclaims, her chirpy voice penetrating his throbbing skull.
You dart off without another word, back straight, long strides taking you in the opposite direction from the library.
Mark stands frozen for a second, watching the familiar sway of your shoulders disappear down the path, stomach twisting, headache forgotten.
Giselle nudges him. “You good?”
Mark snaps back, clutching his backpack strap like a lifeline. “Yeah…yeah, fine,” he mutters, voice rough. But inside? His heart refuses to behave.
This must be some kind of joke.
“Dude.” Mark’s voice comes out in a whisper. As though he’s wary of people hearing.
Giselle takes an inquisitive look at him. “Why are your eyes so big?”
Great, now he looks insane.
“How do you know her?” Mark asks, completely ignoring Giselle’s valid question. He needs to know.
“I literally just said Pilates?”
“Oh…right.” He keeps walking and Giselle quickly follows. Her expression nothing short of baffled.
“Umm. What am I missing here?” She speaks in a rushed manner as she tries to keep up with Mark’s quick strides. Who is he even running from?
“Nothing.” Mark deflates as he quickens his step. The library couldn’t feel any further.
“Oi, spaz!” Giselle grabs onto Marks elbow. “Slow down and fess up.”
Her demands get through to him. He halts his pace and turns to face his friend properly for the first time since you walked away from them. With a heavy sigh he accepts that even the slight attempt of hiding something from her, would be futile.
“We slept together first week of uni.” The words come out so jumbled, he’d be surprised if Giselle caught them.
“Pardon?”
“We fucked. Two years ago.” He rephrases. Slower this time.
“Sorry. What?” The question more of an indication of shock than a demand of clarification.
“Ever heard of sex?” He tries sarcastically.
“Uh-huh.” Giselle’s frown almost resembles an animated character’s.
“I’ve had it. With her.” He points a thumb towards the direction you earlier walked off to and he can’t help but feel amused at Giselle’s flabbergasted reaction.
“How-”
“A party. Fresher’s week. C’mon dude, switch on please.” He’s embarrassed. Maybe even slightly irritated that his reckless escapades from freshers’ week have become such a big matter of attention.
“Okay. Sorry, I just- I pictured it and now I need someone to reset me.” Giselle pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes closing as if trying to erase the picture from her brain.
Marks rolls his eyes at his friend’s exaggerated gag. “I could flick your big fat head.”
“Okay, okay. So…” She trails expectantly, completely dismissing his irritation.
Mark doesn’t really know what more he can say. He’s elaborated enough.
“Yeah..?” He gestures his hand for her to continue.
“Well, what happened after the…you know.” Giselle’s eyebrows shoot up suggestively.
“The sex?” Mark points out on purpose and snorts a laugh when his friend scrunches up her nose in disgust. He might as well make her feel as uncomfortable as he is.
“Yeah, that.” Giselle nods, the pained expression still on her face.
“I haven’t seen her since. Well, hadn’t.” He admits simply. It’s the truth.
“Shit, so you quite literally just fucked.” It’s a statement but it comes out more like a question.
“Pretty much.” Mark shrugs, struggling to keep an unbothered front. “She sneaked out in the morning and I just never saw her again.”
“You didn’t get her number or…?”
“I mean, I didn’t really get the chance. Plus…” He pauses to think. Or more like reminisce.
It was his first night out on campus, and you? You were the first person he noticed when he stepped foot in that house party. The first girl he brought back to his tiny, undecorated dorm at the time.
He didn’t really expect anything more than what he got. That’s what he approached you for initially. But he also didn’t expect you to disappear without so much of word after the night you had together.
Mark still thinks about it sometimes. Not because it was magical or anything of the sort. If anything, his performance could easily be described as bang out average.
What he really thinks about is how you two stayed up for hours. Naked. Talking, kissing, fucking then talking and kissing, then fucking again. He thinks about how he felt so comfortable. So at peace but also confused at the same time. How you’d only known him for a few hours but still trusted him enough to fall asleep on his chest, in that small first-year dorm bed.
Mark, never having been the naive type, he knew he couldn’t just date the first girl he met at the first party he went to on campus, but spending days typing your first name in his instagram search bar definitely wasn’t on his bingo card. Not only that, but unintentionally searching for you at pubs, bars, parties, uni corridors for weeks? Yeah, that certainly wasn’t on his bingo card.
“Plus, it wasn’t anything serious.” He concludes, sounding almost defensive.
“Aww, Markie poo. Did she break your heart?” Giselle pouts performatively.
“Tsk.” Mark kisses his teeth in annoyance, adamantly refusing to succumb to her mocking, as he resumes his quick steps. Giselle, of course, unfortunately for him, isn’t one to let things go. So she matches his pace.
“Oh, come on. I’m just playing-
“Wait. So, if you’re, like, friends,” Mark abruptly turns, index accusingly pointing at her, his steps coming to a halt again and Giselle exhales in relief. “How come you’ve never mentioned her?”
“I literally met her a month ago. She was on a year abroad last year.” Ah. Well, that certainly explains a lot.
“Damn, that’s cool.” He utters in surprise, as though he was hoping you were some kind of loser who was hiding out in a library. Meanwhile, you were out in god knows what country, doing god knows what and god knows who.
“Damn, you falling back in love already?” Giselle coos annoyingly and Mark starts walking again, dismissive of her teasing. “Wait! I’m sorry! At least tell me if the sex was good. Oh my god, is she like the best you’ve ever had? Is that why you’re hung up on her?”
“You’re a nuisance.” He mutters grumpily.
“Awh, really? I mean I could invite her to Chenle’s on Saturday but if I’m such a nuisance then I guess I won’t bother-
“Wait. Actually?” Mark’s head snaps toward his friend a lot quicker than he can comprehend, sounding too hopeful and probably a little pathetic, and Giselle’s sinister grin makes him realise his slip up.
Damn it.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
Mark’s patience started to waver about two days ago. Now it’s close to non-existent.
There’s no way you’re not toying with him. You’re everywhere. Wherever he goes. The library? Tick. The park? Tick. The main building cafeteria? Tick. The psychology building cafeteria? Tick. His favourite café? Tick.
How can someone go from not existing to occupying every corner of this plane earth?
He’d gotten accustomed to not worrying about bumping into you, but now he’s always wary. Always alert. He’s even started putting more effort in his outfits, just in case you see him. Even though, he’s pretty sure you never notice him. At least not like he notices you.
And however wary he is, he still feels taken aback each time he comes across your presence.
And now, Mark is annoyed. Because he simply can’t enjoy his Saturday night like he always does.
He can’t get absolutely plastered with his friends like he always does to forget about deadlines and assignments. Because what if you’re here, at this very party? Yeah, Giselle did invite you and of course, you gave a very vague response — something along the lines of ‘yeah, that sounds like fun’ — and of course, you’re allowed to do as you please, but what if you turn up out of nowhere while Mark is blackout drunk? What if he embarrasses himself in front of you? Or worse, what if his big gob utters something stupid? God forbid.
And so, he takes it easy tonight. Small sips. Slowly consuming whatever his cup contains. He thinks it’s vodka with some kind of tropical mixer. Not really his cup of tea, but he settled anyway.
“What sort of pace is this?” Chenle asks, sounding almost offended.
“Huh?” Mark looks up from his cup, one hand swirling the liquid in his cup, the other splayed on the back of the sofa behind Chenle’s shoulders.
“Your drinking pace is embarrassing.” The younger boy explains. “We got no practice on Monday, so the whole two-day hangover excuse ain’t gonna save you this time.”
“I got other commitments too, you know.” Mark side eyes his friend. “Basketball isn’t my only worry, I’m in final year.”
“Blah blah blah. Don’t give me that shit, you’re acing all your exams. Pretty sure you’re on for a first class.” Chenle babbles loudly, definitely tipsy by now and Mark can’t help but wrap his arm around his friend’s shoulders, playfully trapping him in a headlock. Chenle doesn’t even fight him off, comfortably resting his head on Mark’s shoulder.
“Since when do you worry so much about me, huh?” Mark teases, squeezing Chenle into his side.
“Since when are you so affectionate?” Chenle questions suspiciously.
“I thought you said being a little gay for your bros is acceptable.” Mark defends, referring to the time they spooned while having a drunk, deep meaningful conversation about their childhood trauma and then fell asleep.
“Don’t remind me. I’ll get hard.”
“Get off me.” Mark shoves a giggling Chenle away, squishing him against a random girl sat next to them. And just like that, in the midst of apologising, Chenle’s already compromised attention span works in Mark’s favour, because a few minutes later, the younger boy is entrapped in a flirty conversation with the girl that laughs a little too loud at his bad jokes.
Thankfully, Mark’s gaze catches Giselle’s, who’s stood by the kitchen counter. She excitedly waves him over, holding a shot of clear liquid in each hand and he can’t help but scrunch his nose in disgust. The tilt of her head along with the disappointed expression on her face does enough to convince him.
Fuck it. One shot won’t hurt. He’s a big boy.
He spills a bit of his drink as he squeezes through the swamp of people that occupies the living room. Pitbull blares through the speakers and Mark realises that shot is definitely needed. He’s too sober for this chaos, so he rushes for the kitchen.
“Honestly, how the fuck does Chenle get girls so-
Mark is pretty sure the colour drains from his face the second he steps in the kitchen vicinity. There you are. Again. Like his fucking shadow. Haunting him. Only this time you’re mid-laugh, perched up on the counter, a filled shot glass in your hand and Mark realises that he’s walked right into Giselle’s trap.
“Hey, loser.” Giselle interrupts his trance, casually shoving the spare shot glass in his free hand. “Here. Do a shot with us.”
“Umm. Yeah, okay.” Mark doesn’t have the time to ponder his actions. As though he’s on autopilot, the second you and Giselle down your shots, he tips his head back, doing the same. He doesn’t even flinch at the burn, probably in need of it and the second his eyes land on yours, Giselle starts violently coughing.
“Jesus.” He mutters, quickly grabbing an empty glass from the counter, filling it with tap water before passing it to his struggling friend. “Down it, you idiot.”
And Giselle starts doing just that, but before she can finish the contents of the glass, she’s covering her mouth in panic. Mark steps closer, and the second he touches her shoulder in concern, she’s running out of the kitchen and down the hallway where the bathroom is.
Fucking brilliant.
“Do you think she needs help?” Your voice penetrates his ears, urging him to turn around and face you. As always, taken aback by your presence.
“I- um- nah. Nah don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” Mark tries to sound reassuring, but his voice has a slight tremble to it. Get a grip, dude.
“I can go check up on her if-
“Honestly, she’ll be fine. The woman can never stomach shots. Trust me.” His words are rushed. Partly because he’s telling the truth, and partly because he refuses to miss the opportunity of whatever this is.
“Are you two together then?”
“What? No.” He shakes his head so fast his neck slightly cramps. “No, we’re not. Just friends. We live together.”
He relaxes a little when you nod. A tight lipped smile adorns your pretty face and for the first time in what feels like forever, Mark finally gets the chance to take you in.
Here you are, again. Right in front of him. So close. Looking at him. As pretty as he remembers you. Albeit looking different in a way, still carrying the same calm aura.
“What?” You ask softly, smile a little lopsided.
“Nothing. Just — don’t worry.” He shakes his head again, eyes drifting down to his hands, twirling his drink in his cup again to distract himself from his fast heartbeat. “It’s weird.”
“I like weird.” You’re still smiling when he meets your eyes again.
His eyebrows raise a little when you pat the spot next to you, silently asking him to join you on the counter as more people crowd the kitchen.
His shoulder brushes yours briefly when he hoists himself up, the warmth hard to miss. He does his best to steady his breathing but feels like he’s miserably falling when he breathes in your sweet perfume. “I dunno. Just weird seeing you. Feels like I’m seeing a ghost. Kind of.”
God, that sounds so lame. He almost winces in pain.
“Wait, how do we know each other again? I know we do, but I’m having trouble placing you.” You say in genuine wonderment and Mark feels his heart drop to his stomach. He miserably prays that you’re playing a horrible prank on him, but your perplexed eyes tell him otherwise.
“You don’t re- we- um- freshers week? C’mon. Surely you remember.” He tries subtly, hoping he won’t have to spell it out for you.
You shake your head in denial. “I honestly have no clue what you’re on about.”
Fuck. You have actually forgotten. Were you that drunk or was that night so insignificant to you?
This is fucking horrifying. A nightmare he's hoping he can wake up from. “Yo, seriously?”
“Remind me?” You suggest lightheartedly, with the most innocent smile. “I have the worst memory, I’m sorry.”
What the actual fuck.
“Wha- you actually don’t remember? Like no recollection whatsoever?” He checks one more time, hating that he sounds so desperate. He really finds it hard to believe that you’ve forgotten a night he remembers so vividly. A night he often has to lock up in the back of his mind.
You snort, a short laugh escaping as your face shows nothing but amusement. “You’re really gullible, you know.”
Jail. You belong in jail for that. He’s suing you for emotional damage.
He scoffs loudly, hating that he almost fell for it.
You laugh a little louder this time and he can’t help the little smile that curls on his lips. “You fucking- are you having me on?”
“Sorry, it was just too easy.”
“Dude.” He whines, hiding his face in his hands. “That is actually vile behaviour. You’re going to hell.”
“For being too funny?” Your comical expression would have normally pissed him off if you weren’t this captivating.
He doesn’t have a comeback. He just stares straight ahead, jaw clenching to retain a smile, hands struggling not to squish the plastic cup in them and he almost flinches when your foot kicks his. Intentional, playful, soft as ever.
“Of course, I remember.” Your gaze burning his side profile is so difficult to ignore. So he succumbs. Head turning to face you, eyes finding yours. “Kinda hard to forget.”
“Really? That bad?” He jokes, although, he’s worried he might be right.
You breathe out a cute laugh, eyes dropping to your fumbling hands, fingers playing with the rip on your jeans. “I’m not insulting your performance, Mark Lee.”
He’s positive he’s blushing. His face and neck feel hot, hands are sweating and he’s very aware of your proximity. The music is loud enough for you to lean closer to speak.
“What are you insulting then?”
“I could be praising you know.” You side eye him for a reaction he refuses to offer. “Unless you’re not into that anymore.”
He can’t help the shocked laugh that escapes his throat. How can someone be so forward? Bringing up a kink of his you clocked back then? Outrageous. Uncalled for. And honestly? Kind of sexy.
“Well, this is embarrassing.” Mark nervously downs the remainder of his drink in a big gulp at a failed attempt to cool down as he’s pretty sure steam is coming out of his ears that don’t fail to pick up at the loud snort you let out.
“See? I remember a lot more than you think.” You tap your temple with your index finger. A harmless gesture, which Mark finds inexplicably attractive.
“Why hard to forget?” He redirects the subject, refusing to have a nervous breakdown before he finds out what’s important.
You seem skeptical, as though you’re assessing your words before you utter them and Mark’s nerves resurface. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you now.”
“What?” He presses impatiently.
Did he get you pregnant or something? Oh god, is that why you disappeared? Does he currently have a two-year old child running about?
“Okay, don’t make it a big deal.”
“Shit. Do I have a kid?” He accidentally thinks out loud.
“What? No, Mark, what the- no!” Your loud laugh helps him relax a little and he can’t help but notice the way you lightly shove him by the shoulder as you throw your head back. At least one of you is amused. “I was just gonna say— that it was my first time.”
Oh.
OH.
“Huh?” It comes out louder than intended. He can’t help it. You’re definitely lying. “As in you never— before that?“
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” He can feel his eyes widening to the max as he looks around in shock. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” You’re clearly holding back a laugh and Mark feels like he desperately needs air. Or a whole bottle of vodka. Yeah, that would do.
“I don’t know.” He panics. “I just— I mean, your first time is— you know, important. It should mean something. No?”
You narrow your eyes at him for a second and Mark decides he’s going to die. Here, tonight, in Chenle’s fancy kitchen. “First of all. That couldn’t be more of a stereotype. Second of all. Who said it didn’t mean anything?”
“I mean, it was pretty obvious it didn’t.” The words roll out like waterfall.
“What?”
“How much could it have meant if you just…left?” That seems to shut you up, your eyes wider than before, mouth slightly open. “Without a word.” He adds. He had to say it. After all this time, he finally gets to complain about something that bothered him long enough and he feels relief. A weight lifted off his shoulders.
He expects you to argue. To defend yourself, and the little nod you give, somewhat shocks him.
“Fair point.” Your attention returns to the rip on your thigh, your fingers pulling at the loose threads.
“I didn’t do anything weird, right? Like, I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable in any way, or…?” He can’t help but worry that maybe it was all too much for you, considering you hadn’t been with anyone else prior to that. Maybe that’s why you quietly escaped in the morning?
“No. Not at all.” You quickly shake your head with a sweet smile. “If anything, I don’t think it could have been any better.”
Mark feels relief wash over him, his limbs instantly relaxing. He nods with a satisfied pout on his face but inside he’s proudly gloating.
“Well, I’m glad I—ummm, you know.” He realises that whatever he’s about to say, could easily be misconstrued.
“You’re glad you took my v-card?” You ask with an amused frown and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Mostly at his stupidity, but also at your relentless teasing.
“No.” He gives you a pointed look. “Just glad I didn’t ruin it for you.”
Your fond smile makes him feel warm. In a good way this time.
“Can I ask you something?” He blurts out, curiosity getting the better of him. You simply give him a small nod as you take a small sip of your drink. “How come you didn’t say anything? Not that you had to obviously. I just feel like I would have been more careful if you had.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t.” Your purse your lips in thought. “I would have. But, with you, I figured it was unnecessary.”
“Oh, sorry, was I a little too vanilla for you?” He complains sarcastically.
“I’m not gonna give you feedback.” You retort with a grin and Mark swears your cheeks weren’t as flushed a minute ago.
“I didn’t ask you to.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance.
It could be his delusion, but Mark feels tension brewing, and he wonders if it’s just him. Maybe it’s the alcohol finally catching up to him, but your silence betrays something he can’t quite decipher.
“Was it not obvious then?” You interrupt his inner thoughts, the question simple, easy to answer, but Mark’s brain short circuits for a moment.
“I mean, I wasn’t that experienced myself.” He clears his throat once. “I just thought we were both shy. Clearly that’s not the case for you anymore.”
“That a problem?”
“Nah. It’s been what? Two years? And you’ve spent a year in a foreign country. I’d be surprised if you were the exact same person.” He explains and he circles the rim of his cup slowly, suddenly a little bashful, but content at the same time.
“What about you? You think you’re still shy?” You slowly reach over, hand gently wrapping around his wrist gently before you bring his hand to your lap. Mark is about to question your actions but your fingers delicately untying the knot of his bracelet make him hold back his protest.
“At times.” He responds as he watches you fix the knot carefully.
And when you’re done and he’s about to remove his hand, your hold tightens, preventing him. His breathing stutters and so does his pulse. The heat of your skin on his, too much for him to handle, but he still obliges, letting his hand rest limp on your thigh, palm facing up, unable to properly touch you, but still enough for his brain to remember things. To remember how he touched you that night. How you touched him.
“What about now? Feeling shy?” You don’t meet his gaze when he looks at you, your eyes still on his hand as your thumb traces his pulse point. Goosebumps litter his skin, the tiny twitch of your lips telling him you’ve noticed.
“I don’t know. Do I seem shy?” Answering with a question is the only way his brain can muster.
“Hmm.” You finally eye him, carefully inspecting his face, and he feels exposed. “Maybe a little. I kinda think that’s part of your charm, though.”
His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “My charm?”
“Mhm.”
“You think I’m charming?” He can’t conceal the stupid smile that erupts on his face. Weak man. Maybe he does have a praise kink.
“You managed to get me in your bed. I’m not that easy.” You say with a casual shrug. Too casual. And Mark has to look away. If he could, he’d run away, but your damn hand is still wrapped around his arm, locking him down. It’s your fault he can’t escape and definitely not the fact that he doesn’t want to ever pull away from your touch.
“Dude, are you, like, flirting with m—“
“Do you wanna come back to mine?” Again, you’re too casual. No ounce of hesitation, just plain expectation.
“Now?” It’s the only word he can come up with.
“I mean, at some point tonight would be ideal, yes.” Your smirk irritates him. He wants to kiss it off your face. Maybe he can if he agrees to go back with you.
Should he?
“You want me to fuck you again?” He only realises he’s said the lewd words out loud by the widening of your eyes. Why does he always end up putting his foot in his mouth?
“To put it plainly, yeah, I guess I want you to fuck me again.” You say with the most demure smile.
The contrast scares him. You scare him. He should have been wise and ran for the hills the second he laid eyes on you two years ago.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He rushes to apologise but you cut him off with a squeeze around his wrist.
“Yay or nay?” You ask, a hint of impatience in your tone that makes Mark bite his lip to hide a smile. You’ve got one eyebrow raised, expression almost offended at the delay in his reply.
He quickly hops off the counter, empty cup forgotten on the surface, the skin on the arm you were touching only seconds ago, already tingling. But he’s made his decision.
You seem taken aback, the crease between your eyebrows betraying your confusion. And if Mark were to take a guess, he could say there’s a trace of disappointment in your eyes.
You’re about to hop off the counter when he cages you in. Almost in panic at the thought of you walking away from him. Your ass is on the edge of the surface and he can’t help but smile at the way you quickly grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Where you off to?” He asks quietly, only for you to hear. His hands settling on each side on you on the counter as he steps closer.
“Nowhere.” You match his tone, legs parting, allowing him to take up the space between them as your hands trail down to his chest. Your touch soft on his jumper, but he can still feel the weight of it.
He’s positive you can feel his insane heart trying to jump out of his rib cage. He doesn’t mind. Not when he gets to have you this close and feel the heat radiating off your body.
“Do you think about it?” His voice comes out in a whisper but he knows you hear him. “That night?”
“Sometimes.” You admit. Eyes anywhere but on his; avoidant.
“Are you embarrassed?” He leans down a little, levelling with you and you smile bashfully as you finally meet his gaze.
“More like flustered.” Your hands travel down to his stomach as your knees squeeze him in and he moves even closer, his torso flush against yours.
“Tell me. What do you think about?” He whispers, his lips brushing against the bridge of your nose as your hands slowly slide lower, until your fingers hook into his belt loops.
“Not here.” Your breath hits his chin and he desperately wants to lean in, but he refrains, enjoying your squirming a little too much.
“Why not?” He tilts his head, your lips just millimetres away. His hands decide to move on their own, finding their way to your waist as you inhale deeply. “Whatever it is, I’ve probably already thought about it.”
Your cocky expression annoys him. “Do I often occupy your mind?”
“You used to.” He admits openly as he delicately strokes along your ribs, thumbs smoothing over the undersides of your bra, your thin top making the touch more intense.
You smile smugly as you let your fingers slip under the hem of his hoodie, finding the bare skin of his lower abdomen and he hates that the simplest of touches affects him so much. It’s all effortless. Just a trace of a finger has him weak in the knees, his breath unstable, lips aching to be on yours.
“Mark?” You lean closer, your forehead dropping on his shoulder as you exhale a trembling breath.
“Hm?” He traces his knuckles up and down your spine, his other hand splaying on your lower back, where your skin is uncovered.
“I’m so wet right now, it’s fucking embarrassing.”
“Jesus.” He whispers, lips touching your ear and he feels your shudder as his hand slithers in your hair, lightly tugging to get you to look at him.
Your hands clutch at his belt, not really initiating anything, just holding. It’s enough for his blood to rush where it shouldn’t, heart pounding. Your hooded eyes don’t help either, and if it weren’t for the people occupying the kitchen, he’d be bending you over this counter right this second. The scandalous thought very unlike him.
“There’s a spare room here. I stay in it sometimes after basketball practice.” He suggests carefully, not really possessing the patience to go back to either of your apartments. Fuck being in an uber with a hard on.
You seem skeptical for a moment. “You ever fucked anyone in it?”
“No.” He answers quickly. “I don’t really do one ni—“
“Okay, yeah.” You nod, teeth trapping your bottom lip as you not-so-subtly stare at his mouth.
He knows what you want. He wants the same thing. But when he kisses you, it’s going to be private. No people staring or interrupting.
So he pulls away. Your shaky exhale makes him smile proudly. He made you nervous.
“Come.” He takes your hand in his when you’re back on your feet and he feels giddy at how easily you comply, how you follow him, naturally clinging onto his arm as he guides you through the crowd.
You squeeze on his bicep with the hand that’s not in his to get his attention and he slightly leans down to hear you over the music. You point your chin over to the occupied sofa, cheeky smile taking over your face as you take in the sight of a perfectly healthy Giselle, laughing her lungs out at something Chenle is so passionately rambling on about.
Mark shakes his head with a smile, but mentally makes a note to later grill his friend about the totally fake throwing up incident. He doesn’t even say anything, just keeps walking down the hallway, where both bedrooms are.
When you both enter the neat spare room, he shuts the door behind him and sighs at the loud crowd and music becoming nothing but a background noise.
“Is this Chenle guy rich or something?” You ask curiously as you look around, inspecting the spacious room.
Mark lets out a quick laugh, eyes following you around, observing you. “Yeah. His parents are loaded. Pretty sure his dad owns this whole building.”
You nod with an approving pout and all Mark can think is how adorable you look as you fumble with the bedside lamp, trying to figure out how it works. The second it illuminates, you let out an exaggerated gasp, your eyes widening and Mark doesn’t know what takes over him but he flicks the main lights off, surprising both of you.
He leans back on the door, resting his weight there, hands at the small of his back as he patiently waits for your next move.
“Smooth.” You comment with a small grin as you place the small lamp back in its spot.
He just shrugs, mirroring your expression as you slowly retrace your steps, walking back towards him. It’s difficult for him not to blush as you get closer and closer; his heart threatening to beat out of his chest again and again and he awkwardly lifts a hand to rub against his jawline. His eyes rake over you unintentionally, taking in the outfit you’ve got on tonight. It’s simple; an off-shoulder crop top and light-washed baggy jeans. Pretty. Easy to remove.
He feels hot at the thought of undressing you. What if he’s too clumsy? What if your earrings get tangled in your top? What if he accidentally pulls your hair?
“Are you just gonna stand there?” You speak tentatively, as though you’re enjoying the silence. You seem a lot more composed and calm than him. Not like someone who not too long ago uttered the words ‘I’m so wet right now. It’s fucking embarrassing’, but then again, maybe you’re always like this. Fluctuating.
“Where do you want me?” He asks, not intending for the words to sound sexual, but somehow, they do, and he has to close his eyes for a moment. Composure slowly slipping away.
“To be honest, you look pretty good just like this” You halt in front of him, but still out of reach. “But for tonight’s purposes, ideally, I’d want you on the bed.” Fuck. “Unless you have any other ideas.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Dude.” He exhales a pained laugh, hand covering his eyes in frustration. You simply just giggle at his misery.
Without him seeing, your hands are suddenly on him; one touching his chest, the other peeling his hand away from his face, forcing him to look at you. And he’s definitely not complaining. Before he has time to take in your pretty face, your palm is engulfing the back of his neck, pulling him down to your level.
He’s not sure who finally closes the gap, his mind too occupied with the softness of your lips and the way they slot with his. So effortlessly. Deja vu is inevitable when your arms wrap around his neck, holding him closer, and his limbs suddenly come back to life; the sliver of skin between your top and jeans so soft under his touch and so are your hands trailing from his hair down to the sides of his neck.
The kiss is slow, sensual, almost romantic and the little noise of satisfaction you let out goes straight to his already hardening cock. The way you kiss him, contrasts the demeanour you've held up until now. You’re going along with the pace he sets. You’re not leading and he wonders if it’s deliberate. Can he just do however he pleases with you or will you eventually take the upper hand?
He decides it’s worth a try by slipping a hand into your hair, tilting your head to the side so he can easily slip his tongue into your eager mouth and he’s rewarded with a low moan of yours, your lips parting for him, allowing him to taste you properly as you lazily glide your tongue with his.
He moves on autopilot, slowly walking you backwards. One hand still in your hair, the other hovering above your ass, keeping you close.
“Shoes—mph—off.” He mumbles against your lips before you obscenely lick into his mouth and he can’t hold back the grunt that escapes his throat.
It all becomes messy so quickly. His hands clumsily unbutton your jeans as you rush to kick your shoes off without breaking the kiss, both of you gasping and laughing as you stumble over your feet. You’ve somehow managed to turn the situation around and he only realises when the backs of his knees hit the mattress.
His back hits the covers with a push from you and within seconds, you’re straddling his thighs; bare legs on either side of him as you go back to kissing him. He surprises himself with the noise he lets out when both his hands grope your ass. Not just because it’s your ass he’s touching, but mainly because of the lack of underwear, and he’d love to comment on your hastiness but at this point he doesn’t really care. As long as he’s got you naked and in bed, he’s a content man.
“Take your top off.” He instructs in a whisper, and you oblige without a question, sitting up in a heartbeat and removing the last piece of clothing you’ve got on. No bra underneath and he mentally thanks the heavens. “Fuck.”
His hands caress your thighs absentmindedly as he takes in the sight above him. There’s something about the fact that you’re fully naked, while he’s not removed a single article of clothing. And you’re not rushing him either, patiently letting him enjoy the view, hands on his chest, ass directly above the very prominent bulge in his jeans. You seem comfortable in your nakedness and that turns him on even more, cock twitching in its confines.
“C’mon. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Your voice is sultry, patience clearly wearing thin as his hands remain on your thighs and he abruptly sits up, crashing his mouth onto yours. One hand holds the back of your neck as the other slips between your bodies, shamelessly cupping your entire pussy, the heel of his palm rubbing against your undeniably swollen clit.
“Fuck, you’re…” He’s not able to form a complete sentence, interrupted by the loud moan you let out against his lips.
“I told you. It’s embarrassing.” Your fingers thread in his hair, desperately pulling, driving him insane.
“It’s fucking hot.” He’s corrects, completely enamoured with the way your body responds to him. You’re literally grinding on his hand, seeking relief, kissing him like a starved woman, spit coating both of your lips as he sucks on your tongue, earning a cute whine from you.
“Feel like I’m dripping on your jeans.” You complain, breathing harshly as the pads of his fingers slide between your drenched folds, spreading your arousal, making a mess between your legs.
“Cause you are.” He whispers with a smug grin.
He purposely avoids your clit, in the mood to tease you as his lips drag from your jaw down to the base of your neck. His tongue makes contact with your sweaty skin, tasting salt, your scent engulfing him as his hold on your hair tightens, pulling your head back to gain full access to your sensitive skin.
“Please, I really need you to fuck me.” You murmur weakly, the hoarseness of your voice causing his heart to quicken and his cock to throb painfully.
He’s so fucked. Beyond salvation. And you’re so fucking needy. But he doesn’t want to give into you just yet. It’s his turn to torment you a little.
“In a bit.” He dismisses your pleas with another suck on your neck, your crazy pulse delicious on his tongue.
“Mark—“
“Shh. You can wait a little longer.” Two of his fingers tease your entrance, slowly circling, dipping shallowly before slipping out and repeating the action.
He almost feels bad when your body starts trembling, so he snakes his arm around your middle, holding you as close as possible. Your messy kisses on his neck are cut short the second his fingers ease into you, following the curve of your cunt until they’re knuckles-deep. And when he curls them slightly, your walls tighten and so do your arms around his neck, face burying in his neck as he starts to slowly pump in and out, making sure to repeatedly hit that spot that made you tremble.
“This feel good?” He whispers against your shoulder, arm tightening around you, the pads of his fingers almost reaching your side boob.
“Yeah.” You sigh, sounding wrecked already and that urges him to quicken the pace. He starts jackhammering his fingers into you, cunt greedily sucking them inside, your slick dripping down his wrist, smearing on his jeans and the sleeve of his jumper. The filthy thought of never washing his clothes again crosses his unhinged mind.
You’re both sweating unimaginably, and now he wishes he’d at least taken a layer off, but he pays no mind to that as your body tenses. “You close?”
“Yeah. Don't stop.” Your nails dig into the skin of his nape, most likely leaving crescent moons and he desperately needs you to come before he combusts in his trousers.
He starts slamming the heel of his hand into your clit, making sure you’re being stimulated to the max and your whiny exhale reassures him. “Cum.”
And you do. Body tensing up for a moment before you start trembling against him, the secure arm around you helping you stay upright as you gasp for air.
“Oh my god.” Your hips buck up, pussy spasming violently around his fingers as he fucks you through it all.
“You’re okay.” His knuckles caressing your spine, attempting to calm you down as your body gradually goes limp on him.
“I think I just saw god.” You mumble half-conscious, causing Mark to let out a little laugh.
“Did you say hi?” He steals a little kiss off your cheek as he slowly pulls his fingers out. Your shudder makes him smile fondly and he lets his fingers lazily caress your slit, before they gently circle your swollen bundle of nerves.
“You’ve definitely been in at least one relationship since l last saw you.” The statement catches him off guard, and he pulls back a little to look at you.
“What makes you say that?”
You blink lazily, sweat dripping down the sides of your face. “You found my g-spot. Real fucking quick as well.”
“I need a girlfriend for that?”
“Well, someone’s taught you.” Your smile is teasing and so is the light touch of your fingers on his jaw.
“Situationships, I guess. No girlfriend though.” He takes in your expression, heart beating a little quicker at your silence. “Red flag?”
You give him a sweet smile. “I just came. All your flags are bright green right now”
He mirrors your expression as he leans in, silently asking for a kiss, which you easily give, slowly dragging your swollen lips against his.
“Wanna keep going?” He speaks softly, praying for an affirmative response.
“Yes, please.”
He moans at your words, hands trailing up your sides until they’re cupping your tits, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. The whine you let out as he pinches your nipples, spurs him on, and he squeezes the supple flesh a little harder.
“Can I just fuck you? Please? I promise I’ll go down on you later.” The begging tone his voice carries almost makes him cringe. Pitiful.
You let out a yelp when he flips you over, your back on the mattress now, and he can’t help but notice the way your tits bounce a little as well as the slippery mess between your spread thighs.
“Yeah, no more foreplay.” You sit up as he stands between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed. “And take that stupid jumper off right now.”
He chuckles lightly at your frustration but obliges anyway. His jumper and t-shirt are off in one go and he quickly kicks his shoes off as you start unbuckling his belt, lust-clouded eyes gazing up at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He rasps as his hands join yours, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping.
“Like what?” Your seductive tone clouds his head and the kisses you start leaving down his happy trail make his hands shake.
You don’t give him time to answer, immediately shoving both his boxers along with his trousers down, deeming him incapable of thinking properly. Your warm exhale hits him straight where it hurts, his throbbing length twitching the second you wrap a hand around the base.
“Get on your all fours.” He instructs, tone purposely devoid of any warmth. He’s had enough of your games now. But still, his hands engulf each side of your face, thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. “Or I just cum on your face and we call it a night. Up to you.”
Your smirk is sinister as you scoot up the bed until your head hits the pillows and you swiftly turn on your front, knees spread wide, supporting your lower half as you arch your back like a pro, tits squishing against the mattress.
“Holy shit.” He exhales in awe.
You’re on full display. Ass up in the air, cunt staring right through his soul, inviting him in, and who is he to decline such an invite? As though the mental breakdown he’s experiencing isn’t enough, you shamelessly slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sliding through your dripping folds.
“Markie, please. It hurts.” You briefly look over your shoulder with a performative pout, shamelessly putting on a show for him.
“What the fuck.” He’s lost for words, standing there butt naked, staring at your fingers circling your clit before they slowly trail up, catching at your clenching hole and easily slipping in.
You’re an evil evil woman. He decides right there and then. And the moment you start fucking yourself, he sees red, any resolve left, completely forgotten.
He’s on his knees behind you within seconds. Hand ripping your fingers away before shoving your face against the pillows by the back go your head. His cock slips inside easily, walls vacuuming him in and he doesn’t wait for you to adjust; his free hand grabbing your waist as he starts slamming into you.
“You’re fucking filthy, you know that?” He grunts through your high pitched moaning. “Been torturing me since day one.”
Your muffled voice sounds like a song he’s been trying to find for a long time and he’s finally succeeded.
“M—markie,” You sound like you’re crying and he loves it. “Fuck, it's so good.”
“Shut up.” His thrusts become more intense, balls harshly slapping against your pussy, the wet sounds of your walls suctioning around him each time he pulls out, sending him into a frenzy. “I bet this is what you wanted—fuck—to piss me off. Huh?”
“N-no — I just wanted you.” You mumble in your delirious state, and of course, it goes straight to his head.
His eyes focus on the way his cock slips in and out of your sopping hole. A white ring of slick has already formed at his base and he’s afraid he might finish sooner than expected.
So he buries himself to the hilt to take a much needed moment. His head dips back in ecstasy, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he tries his best to compose himself and when he looks back down, your droopy eyes are already on him, neck twisted as you stare over your shoulder, face half-hidden.
You look nothing short of ethereal. Your skin glowing in sweat, back still arched beautifully, eyes glistening with want and unshed tears as they roll back briefly the second Mark experimentally grinds a little too deep.
“Mark?” Your voice is broken, his name sounding like a prayer.
“Hm?” He leans down, nose nuzzling against yous jaw as he keeps grinding his hips slowly, relishing in the mewls you let out.
“Want you close.” You whisper into the pillow, a little whimper adorning the end of your sentence. Your desperation breaks him.
“I’m here.” He reassures you with a sweet kiss on your cheek. “D’you wanna change positions?”
Your tiny nod pulls at his heartstrings in a way that’s foreign to him. He’s always been gentle by nature, soft spoken, sensitive. But this is untouched territory.
“Alright,” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder as he pulls out. Gentle hand patting your thigh. "C’mon, turn around."
With rushed movements, you eagerly flop on your back and his hips find home between your parted legs, the soft skin of your inner thighs dragging against his sides, making him shudder as he slowly slips back into you with a choked moan.
“You can still be rough. Just wanted to touch you.” You admit bashfully, eyes blinking up at him, eyebrows tensing as he bottoms out with a loud squelch.
Your hand delicately brushes the hair off his drenched forehead, your fingers threading through the strands and the clenching and unclenching of your velvety walls cause his eyes to flutter closed —the intense feeling of contentment clogging his brain up.
It’s unholy. The effect you have on him. It’s fucked. It makes no sense to him. He barely knows you, yet he welcomes everything you give him. Gives into everything you ask for, like it’s some sort of ritual. Something predetermined. A done deal with the universe. Like he’d burn in hell if he resisted.
“Do you actually want me to be rough?” He searches your face for a sign, but he only finds conflict.
“I dunno. I’m confused.”
“About what?” He carefully settles his weight on top of you, arm by your head, free hand caressing your ribs delicately, barely cupping the underside of your breast.
“I um—I liked it just now. How you were. But I kind of just—“ You sigh in frustration, hips slowly raising for some friction.
“Want it slow?” He matches your rhythm, grinding into you, going as deep as he can as he awaits for a verbal response. He doesn’t need it. Your bent legs spreading even further is enough confirmation, but he wants to hear it anyway. “You know I don’t mind vanilla.”
His joke lands. Your breathy laugh, hard to ignore as it hits warm on his shoulder.
“Don’t make jokes right now.” You scold with a little whine.
“Why not?” He gives you a chaste kiss before setting a slow pace; deep languid thrusts, his fingers fisting the pillow by your head as he tries to hold back from giving into the sensation of your warm, gummy walls enveloping his sensitive cock.
“You’re literally balls deep inside me.” Your hands pull his face closer, connecting your lips again, small pants mingling as you kiss him as slow as he’s fucking you.
“Whatever.” He mumbles dreamily in your mouth, palm finally engulfing your boob, gently squeezing the soft flesh and he involuntarily delivers a harsher thrust. “Shit, sorry.”
It’s not his fault. Your pussy tightening every time he does something new, has him reeling, losing the little control he’s got over his actions.
“No, keep going, it feels good.” You kiss him harder, holding both of his cheeks desperately as he quickens his movements a little, hips lightly slapping against yours, the lewd, squelching sounds of sex, loud enough to echo alongside your wet kisses and intense breathing. “Fuck—Mark—you—oh shit—right there.”
“Yeah?” He pants, unrestrained.
It’s pathetic. Beyond pitiful how your incoherent but praiseful words turn him into a whiny mess. He feels dizzy, and he’s pretty sure he’s drooling on your lips as his jaw goes slack, tongue slipping out a tiny bit, attempting to taste you in the hazy mess. His eyes roll back in raw bliss as your nails scratch down his back, arms trembling on either side of your head.
He feels helpless.
Your legs lock around his hips, only allowing him to pull a tiny fraction of his cock out before thrusting back in; quick short pumps seeming to do the trick for you both.
“Shit. You gonna cum?” He asks in awe. Your suffocating walls and trembling breaths a clear sign, but he still asks, needing to hear you as he looks down, taking in your flushed body. Your bouncing tits, a sight for sore eyes.
“Mhm.” You nod quickly, eyebrows tensing in a cute frown before your face nestles in his shoulder, your hot breath hitting his damp skin as he starts scattering a dewy mess of kisses up and down your neck. “Oh my god, I'm-”
“I know, I know.” He gasps as he puts extra effort in keeping up the same rhythm as your cunt squeezes him, his impending orgasm clouding his brain.
You go completely quiet for a few moments, before becoming a trembling mess beneath him and he knows you’ve reached your peak. He relentlessly pushes past the tight grip your walls have around him, desperate to keep your pleasure going as he starts fucking you harder through it, the cry you let out against his shoulder, a reward to his efforts.
“Shit—I’m close.” He feels lightheaded, breathing laboured as he tries to hold on for a little longer.
“You have to pull out.” You utter in panic, a thread of sensibility still holding onto one of you at least.
“Yeah, I will.” He rasps, hand grabbing onto your thigh, fingers digging. “If you fucking let me.”
“Shit, sorry.” You mumble in realisation.
You quickly unwrap your legs from his waist, the tremble in them still noticeable as he sits up a little, delivering three more stuttering pumps before dragging his sensitive cock out with a grunt, his release immediately spilling all over your pussy, a spurt landing on your inner thigh, a few on your tummy, while some of it drips on the comforter. He pumps himself empty, until he’s got nothing more to give.
You hold him close when he collapses on top of you with a tired huff, not even caring about the mess between your bodies.
It’s quiet for a few moments. Just muffled music and heavy breathing. Just your hands combing through his damp hair. Just his cheek squished up against your chest. Just his fingers tracing random patterns on your ribcage.
It’s only when his index accidentally brushes against your sensitive nipple that you whine, breaking the silence and causing him to breathe out a small laugh.
“My bad.”
“You’re good.” You pet his head gently. “Dude.”
He snorts at your mocking tone. A little surprised at how not awkward this feels.
“My guy.” He says casually, still a little out of breath, but joining the silly joking session regardless, and your chest vibrates under him in a giggle that makes him feel giddy.
“You got a really peachy ass you know.” Your unexpected comment makes him raise his head to look at you in question.
“Thanks, I guess?” His eyebrows furrow in a funny expression as his hand sneaks beneath your weight, playfully squeezing your asscheek, forcing a cute screech out of you. “I prefer yours.”
“Ah, of course. An ass man.” You state with a playful roll of your eyes. He likes it.
“Hmm, I dunno. I like your boobs just as much.” He drops his gaze to your chest in a very unsubtle manner. Intentional. An action which, of course, earns him whack in the head. “Yo, that hurt!”
“Stop being a guy.”
“I am a guy!”
“And for that, you’re suffering.” Your tone is sweet and so is your smile, but there’s an edge hidden.
“I’m actually having a pretty good time right now.” He retorts, making sure to add some smugness in his voice, though, it’s become abundantly clear that you’re not one to back down. Your free hand sneaks down his back, nails harshly digging into the muscle of his ass, making him yelp in pain. “Ow! Watch it with the claws.”
“I’m actually having a pretty good time right now.” You imitate his tone, mocking him.
“What kind of twisted way of flirting is this?” He hides his face between your boobs, nuzzling against the soft skin of your sternum as he allows his arms to circle around you, the gentle thump of your heart easing his nerves.
“Who says I’m flirting?”
Mark is aware of how oblivious he can be when it comes to girls, but he also knows a thing or two. And it’s the way your fingers scratch the back of his scalp soothingly that betrays you. Maybe even the goosebumps on your chest, just under the spot he kissed a few seconds ago. Or maybe it’s your legs tightening around him, holding him right where he wants to be. Could be the slight twitch of your hips under him as he moves to get more comfortable. Can it be the whimper you accidentally let slip when his lips start kissing across your chest?
“My bad, my bad.” He murmurs as he presses a wet smooch just millimetres off your clearly hardened nipple. “I must be losing the plot.” He continues, sarcasm intentional, and so is the light flick of his tongue against the erect bud. “You’re not flirting.” His words sound mindless, but he’s definitely aware of what he’s doing to you. And he’s loving your cute little squirms as his release from earlier smears between your lower halves. “You’re just being a brat, as per.”
“Don’t remember you being this annoying.” You complain breathlessly, back arching as you chase his tongue when he pulls back a little.
“Mm, things change.” He feels himself getting hard again, but he ignores it. He’s got other plans. Teasing you seems to have become his priority and you don’t seem to mind either. “I don’t remember you being this needy.”
“Fuck you.” There’s not an ounce of a malice laced with your tone.
A deep moan escapes your chest the second his lips wrap around your wet nipple, sucking lazily as his tongue licks obscenely. He releases it with a lewd pop before letting the tip of his wet muscle flick, forcing louder sounds out of you.
He hopes the remaining people in Chenle’s living room can hear you, discretion the last thing on his mind.
He lifts his body a little, creating space for his hand to slip between your legs. The wet mess even worse now, but perfect nonetheless, and he doesn’t hover this time. Two of his digits find your clit in no time, circling the same way his tongue circles your abused nipple. Slow. Gentle.
He can tell you’re still sensitive, overstimulated. But he wants more. Needs more. So he takes it. And you give it.
It’s sloppy, the mixture of both your essences making everything slippery and he feels the subtle pulse of your bud under the pads of his fingers as he rubs with a little more precision; your laboured breaths nothing but an encouragement. His mouth hangs open against your chest, lips dragging aimlessly, your skin covered in his spit and he can’t help but moan lowly when you tug at his hair a little too hard.
He really needs to feel you unravel again. The desire might as well be engraved in him by now.
“Can I go down on you?” He looks up, gauging your reaction and you’re nothing but hooded eyes and flushed cheeks.
“If you feel like tasting your own cum, go for it.” You respond casually, a lazy smirk forming on your lips.
“I’m an introvert, Y/N, not a fucking prude.” He mumbles carelessly as he descends kisses down your body, no hesitation behind his actions when he reaches parts painted in his release. He just licks it all up, like he’s done it a million times. And Mark realises he actually never has. Sure, he’s kissed girls right after they’ve given him head, but eating his own cum off someone’s skin is something he’s never explored before.
He greedily makes out with your pussy the second he settles between your thighs, tongue gliding gently up and down your slit, dipping a little when it reaches your entrance, your taste combined with his own, intoxicating him. The more he teases, the whinier you get.
You get so restless he has no choice but to wrap his arms around your thighs to hold you down — one hand splaying just above your pubic bone to ground you, the other just settling for your thigh — and when his fingers pull the hood of your clip up, just a tiny bit, revealing the cute nub, he sucks. Hard. Then he flicks. Mercilessly. And he keeps interchanging between the two, letting your sounds guide him. Hard sucks and vigorous flicks just where you ache the most. He doesn’t need to do much more.
Within a few minutes—maybe two, maybe three—he feels the quaking of your legs, hears the intensifying cries, relishes in the hard tugs on his hair and when you’re cumming on his tongue, just like he wanted you to, he’s moaning with you, helping you ride the high for as long as possible.
“Fuck, s—stop.” You beg helplessly when it gets too much and he delivers one last kiss on your swollen bud before climbing up your body again.
Your tongue is in his mouth, tangling with his before he can process what’s just happened, arms wrapping securely around his neck, as though he would escape otherwise. You flagrantly lick in his mouth, tasting everything like you need it. And maybe you do. He doubts you need it as much as he does though.
You don’t seem to have a care in the world that his chin is smearing your combines fluids on yours. It’s dirty. Filthier than anything he’s ever experienced. And he feels corrupt. You simply have corrupted him. Ruined him without even trying, like it’s some daily routine of yours. And he’s gobbling it all up like a much needed fix.
He needs air. Needs to breathe. But all he seems to be able to do is kiss you again and again and again, until you release him.
“Do you think we’ll have to wash the bed covers?” You ask with a sincere look of curiosity, albeit out of breath.
It takes a second for the random question to register due to his hazy state, but when it does, Mark can’t help but let out a weak laugh.
“I think we might have to buy new ones.”
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
It takes you a second to realise why you feel so warm when you wake up. At first, you assume it’s the sun slipping through the curtains and hitting the skin of your back where the covers have fallen off.
But then you shift slightly. Your eyes flutter open, looking for the real source of heat.
Mark.
He’s on his side, facing you, his face tucked gently against your bare chest like he drifted there without thinking. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, heavy and warm, hand resting at the small of your back. Not gripping. Just there. Like holding you is something he does without effort — even unconscious. Like even in a deep slumber he’s decided you’re something to hold onto.
You stay still. Still taking it all in.
He looks unfair like this.
Sleep has softened every sharp edge he usually carries. His brows, normally expressive and quick to knit together, are smooth now. His lashes rest against his cheeks — longer than they have any right to be — casting faint shadows in the morning light. His lips are slightly parted, relaxed, the corners tilted just enough to make him look younger. Gentler.
Pretty.
The word slips into your mind before you can stop it.
There’s something almost innocent about him like this. No teasing smirk. No knowing glances. Just warm skin and steady breathing and a boy who trusted you enough to fall asleep pressed this close.
The faint stubble along his chin brushes against you when he shifts, softer than it looks. You trace it lightly with your fingertips, watching the way his mouth moves in response — a tiny unconscious reaction. His nose nudges closer, breath fanning against your skin. It tickles a little.
Your heart speeds up.
You hate that it does. Why would it?
You hate that it isn’t just physical. That it isn’t just leftover heat from last night. It’s something else. Something quieter and far more dangerous. It’s odd. The way your chest feels tight just looking at him. The way you’re memorising the exact shape of his lips, the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek in the sunlight.
He’s too handsome first thing in the morning. Too warm. Too real.
Your pulse thuds harder than you’d like, and you swallow, trying to steady yourself.
This isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s too simple for it to feel like this. You’ve slept with the guy twice over the course of two years for crying out loud.
His fingers flex faintly on your skin, tightening for a brief second before settling again. Even asleep, he pulls you a fraction closer, like he’s afraid you might slip away. Just like you did last time.
Your heart betrays you again.
You brush his hair back gently, letting your fingers linger in the softness. He stirs at the touch, lashes fluttering before slowly lifting. His gaze is unfocused at first, hazy with sleep, and then it lands on you.
He freezes.
You watch awareness dawn in real time — the slight widening of his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. A faint flush creeps up his neck.
“Hi,” he murmurs, voice rough and small in the quiet room.
It’s so shy, it almost doesn’t sound like the guy from last night.
You don’t answer. You just keep looking at him, taking in the softness that hasn’t fully faded yet.
His lips press together briefly before he adds, quieter, almost unsure, “Still here?”
The way he says it makes something in you constrict.
Before you can respond, he ducks his face back into your chest, hiding like he regrets letting you see that vulnerable edge. His arm slides a little tighter around your waist, pulling you in closer. You feel the warmth of his cheek against you — and then, softly, almost absentmindedly, he presses a small kiss on the skin between your breasts before settling there again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You should say something. Make a lighthearted comment. A joke. Something. Anything.
You don’t.
Instead, you tilt his face up gently, fingers brushing along his jaw. He looks startled for a split second, brows lifting slightly.
And then you do something that you shouldn’t feel that comfortable doing. You kiss him.
It’s soft. Slow. Not teasing. Just your lips pressing against his like you couldn’t not do it.
He makes the tiniest sound of surprise against your mouth — a quiet, breathy little noise that’s so embarrassingly cute. His hand flexes at your waist like he forgot what to do with it.
But he kisses you back.
Careful at first. Shy. Still waking up into it. Then a little surer, lips moving softly against yours, warm and unhurried.
When you pull back just enough to breathe, he’s looking at you differently. Still flushed. Still flustered.
Still holding you close.
“You can’t just do that,” he mumbles, even though his thumb is tracing absent patterns against your waist now.
And your heart, traitor that it is, keeps beating too fast.
“Do what?” you whisper back, close enough that your lips almost brush his when you speak.
He hesitates. You feel it — the flicker of nerves beneath the warmth. His gaze drops to your mouth like he’s debating something with himself.
It doesn’t take him too long to decide, it seems. His lips are on yours in not time again.
Not shy this time. Not startled.
Just slow. Sensual.
His hand tightens slightly at your waist, fingertips pressing into your skin as if to anchor himself. It all starts soft — just the gentle press of his lips to yours — but there’s intention behind it now. A quiet hunger that wasn’t there seconds ago.
You feel the shift immediately. The undeniable throbbing between your legs. Your breathing matching his quickened one.
His mouth moves more deliberately, head tilting to deepen the kiss, nose brushing lightly against your cheek as his tongue grazes your bottom lip, asking for permission you instantly give. Mouth parting for him without a thought, too excited to taste him. The faint rasp of his stubble grazes your skin when he adjusts closer, and you can’t help the small inhale that slips out of you.
He hears it, of course. You feel the corner of his mouth lift against yours before he kisses you deeper.
Your fingers slide into his hair again, nails barely grazing his scalp, and he exhales into your mouth — warm, shaky, almost reverent. His arm around your waist pulls you flush against him, his thigh pressing between yours, the warmth of him suddenly impossible to ignore when his skin drags against your sensitive and already wet cunt.
The sound of it — soft breaths, fabric shifting, the quiet press of skin on skin — fills the room and it all feels… different compared to last night. Unrushed.
Like he’s not trying to impress you. Not trying to prove anything.
Just kissing you because he wants to.
Your heart pounds harder than you like. Harder than it makes sense. You barely know him outside of dim lights and late-night tension and shared heat — and yet the way he’s touching you now, feels careful. Thoughtful. Like he’s memorising the shape of you through his hands.
No one’s kissed you like this.
Not like they could do it for hours. Not like it could become routine.
His hand slides slightly higher along your spine, slow enough to make you aware of every inch it travels. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, leaning into him, hips shifting unconsciously closer, grinding, looking for release against the muscle of his thigh.
He makes that soft sound again — the small, surprised hum you’re starting to recognise — but this time it’s deeper. Less startled. More affected.
The kiss grows wetter, heavier, until breathing becomes necessary. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, lips parted, eyes darker now as they take in your lips. You can only imagine what they look like, judging from his swollen, glistening ones.
The innocence of it all has disappeared as his hand travels down your back, settling when it’s reached your ass, kneading softly. Once. Twice. And then just resting there. Intentional and comfortable.
Dangerously comfortable.
You realise, with a slow creeping clarity, how easy this would be. To wake up like this again.
To fall back into this again. Into him.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
Next time you sleep with Mark, it’s in your bed. The one after that, is in his bed. And the one after that, in your bed again. And the one after that is memorable because he makes you cum in any position you can think of. The time after that, he’s rougher than he’s ever been; manhandling you like it’s his job, fucking you so hard, pain mixing with pleasure, your tears blinding you, your cries deafening you, until his hand is around your throat, shutting you up.
It gets to a point where the nights (and mornings) you’ve spent together, blur into one. It all easily becomes a habit. Calling him, texting him, meeting with him between classes. It’s all normal. Like it would be with a close friend.
For you at least. You’re not really sure how he feels, but the fact that he’s never complained, comforts you in a way. Other times, it makes you doubt everything. You try not to dwell on those thoughts.
Random hang-out sessions, that turn into lazy movie nights, become a frequent occurrence between the two of you.
Much like right now.
“What the hell?” You exclaim all aggravated, sitting up a little from your lying position on the sofa. Your feet shift on Mark’s lap and you can’t see his hand under the blanket, but you feel its warmth around your calf, through the cotton of your sock. It’s comforting. “Is that it?”
Mark chuckles lightly.
“I mean, yeah.” He shrugs casually as he pops a piece of pop corn in his mouth. “Thoughts?”
“I’m fucking sad.”
“Aww, dude, why?” He sits up a little too, getting more comfortable so he can look at you better as the credits keep rolling. “They said they’ll meet again.”
“Yeah, but we don’t actually see that.” You complain loudly, making him chuckle again. At least one of you is entertained.
“That’s the whole point.” He squeezes your calf once. “It all ends before sunrise for them, hence the title, but they get to experience so much in just one night that they don’t really need to know if they’ll actually meet again.”
“Is that why it’s your favourite movie? You’re into the whole soppy, enigmatic love trope?” You tease with a smirk, loving his flustered reactions a little too much.
The cute roll of his eyes makes you smile wider, without realising.
“I guess we’re not watching the second one then.” He says with a playful pout and you can’t help the excited yelp you let out.
“There’s a second one?”
His eyes widen a little at your excitement, tiny amused smile taking place on his face. “And a third one. But I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, we have to watch them.” You catch yourself moving closer. His hand slips higher on your leg, just below your knee, the warmth seeping through your comfy sweatpants.
“Oh, we have to?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, making your heart skip a beat at his subtle way of teasing you.
“Yes, we.” You say stubbornly, refusing to let him have his way. “You’re the one who suggested this ridiculously sad shit.”
He stares at you for a moment, in thought as he spreads his legs a little, letting your own dangle between them, bent knees hooked over his thigh. You instinctively move even closer, one of your arms stretching behind his shoulders, against the back of the sofa, as your free hand starts playing with one of his hoodie strings.
The familiar scent of his after shave mixed with a hint of detergent engulfs you. It’s distinct. The kind that could traumatise you if things ever went south with him.
“Did you not like it then?” His voice comes out quite this time.
You purposely avoid eye contact, though, you can feel his gaze on you, and you have to actively force yourself to not focus on the way his hand caresses your inner thigh. It’s nothing but innocent, but that does something to you. It feels domestic. Absentminded.
“No, I did.” Your eyes are still on your finger twirling the string on his chest. “Just hoped for a happier ending is all.”
“Hmm, you can’t always have a happy ending, though.” He says skeptically and for some reason the words sit heavy in your chest.
You ignore the unpleasant feeling and force your eyes onto his. “When did you become so wise?”
“Tsk, I’ve always been wise.” His cute nose scrunches a tiny bit as his eyes narrow in a challenge.
You try your best to mirror his expression as you tickle his chin with your index finger. “Sure, you have.”
Your teasing gets interrupted quickly. A giggle erupts from you as he playfully tries to bite your finger off. His pearly whites making an appearance; a silly imitation of a cat making you act all giddy.
He’s too cute for his own good.
And so you give into the urge to drop a very sweet kiss on his cheek. Your hand cradles his jaw as he tries to pretend an escape.
When you pull away, you have to bite your lip to hide your smile, your cheeks hurting.
He looks away, attempting to hide his own smile from you, tongue poking the inside of the cheek you just smooched a little too loudly.
“You’re still so shy with me.” You observe quietly and his frown makes you let out another giggle.
“No, I’m not.” He pouts adorably.
“It’s okay.” You lean closer as he sulks. Another kiss on his cheek, this time a tiny bit closer to the corner of his lips. “I like it.”
“Do you really think I’m shy with you?” He searches for a reaction in your eyes as he wraps a hand around your wrist, urging you to wrap your arms around his neck.
You give in too easily. It’s too difficult not to with his face so close to yours.
“Not always.” You admit, as you start playing with the hair at his nape. “You’re shy, like, maybe fifty percent of the time.”
“Fifty?!” He shrieks with an offended tone. “Dude, that’s still high.”
“And I still like it.” You scold, arms tightening slightly around him as his hands rest on your thighs, still draped across his lap.
“You just like being a pain in my ass.” He states with a knowing smirk, and you can’t even deny it.
“See? You’re not shy now.” You deflect, enjoying the back and forth dynamic you have going on with him.
“Stop flirting.” He scolds, hand squeezing your thigh softly.
“Mm, no.” You cradle the back of his neck gently with one hand as your other arm drapes casually around his shoulders.
“No?”
“No.”
“Just like that?”
You simply nod. “Just like that.”
He nods back with an approving pout. “Fair.”
The second he leans in for a kiss, a dull pain in your lower abdomen reminds you of your state and you panic.
“You can’t stay tonight.” You blurt out. The surprise evident on his face as he pulls back.
“Umm, okay?” His confusion pulls at the strings in your heart. “Is something wrong? Like, did I—“
“No.” You interrupt him, before he can make things even more awkward. Arm still around him. “I’m just on my period. So, we can’t…you know.”
Realisation downs on him. Eyebrows raising slightly, lips parting. “Oh.” He nods once. “Right.”
“Mmhm.” You give him an awkward, tight smile.
You could have cancelled tonight. Should have. But you hadn’t seen him in almost a week due to a stupid essay you had to focus on. And you hate to admit it even to yourself, but you missed him. A little more than you a friend misses a friend. But that’s another story.
“Are you feeling okay?” He asks a little too casually, but still concerned.
The way he sneaks an arm around your middle, is too smooth. It’s with effort that you manage to maintain your composure as he pulls you closer into his side, his hand resting on your lower back. Gentle and reassuring.
Your heart does something weird at the intimate gesture. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s the third day, so, it’s not too bad.”
He nods understandingly. “Okay, well…I don’t know if I’m being too slow, but why exactly can’t I stay?”
The question definitely catches you off guard, but you manage to stay grounded. “I mean, you can. You’re welcome to. We’re just not having sex.”
“Yeah, fuck that, I’m off.” He moves to playfully shrug you off, but laughs at the way you childishly whine, refusing to move, stubbornly clinging onto him. He settles back with a huff and you bashfully hide your face in his shoulder. “Y/N, I obviously don’t care. I’ll stay if you want me to.”
His voice is too soft. Too sweet.
You exhale loudly, feigning annoyance. “Fine. Stay then.”
“Ugh. Fine, I will.” You feel the delicate nudge of his nose against your forehead and, inevitably, you look up at him, still tucked safely in his side with your legs comfortably resting on top of his spread ones. “So, like, is kissing out of the question too?”
You snort at the silly question. “No. Kissing’s allowed.”
You’ve realised over time that you have a soft spot for his cheeky side. It’s rare that Mark Lee drops his serious stance, but you’ve managed to break through a few times now and each one of those has felt like a special reward.
His lips find yours for the first time tonight. The hand cradling your jaw shouldn’t feel that good on your skin and the arm around your waist shouldn’t feel as safe as it does. But you savour everything, matching his slow pace.
The kiss becomes less innocent with each drag of his lips against yours, but you can’t bring your self to pull away. Blame the raging hormones, blame the way he’s holding you so close, blame the universe.
You need him to keep kissing you.
The whiny sound you unintentionally let out, betrays said need, but Mark doesn’t seem phased at all. If anything, he deepens the kiss. More intent behind his touches.
“Come here.” He mumbles against your lips as he tries to manoeuvre you, and you quickly oblige, throwing a leg over him, straddling his thighs without a second thought.
He doesn’t seem to approve of your hovering as he shamelessly pushes you down by the hips, encouraging you to properly sit on him. And you do.
He lets out a delicious sound, which you hungrily swallow as your crotch meets his. Hard length familiarly nestling between your thighs, nudging against your needy clit, and you’re glad you opted for a tampon instead of a pad earlier.
“Are you comfortable?” He asks, pulling away slightly, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.
“Yeah.” You nod as you allow your hands to rest on either side of his neck.
“Is there anywhere I’m not allowed to touch?”
You smile at the cryptic question. He’s clearly testing the waters, while trying to be respectful of any boundaries. You can see right through him.
“My boobs are a little sore still, so be gentle.”
He nods. “Anything else?”
Your breath hitches as his fingers sneakily slip under the waistband of your sweatpants, eyes silently asking for permission.
You give him a chaste kiss. “You can’t finger me, if that’s what you mean.”
“Not exactly what I meant, no.” He murmurs as his hands completely slip inside your bottoms, cupping your ass over your underwear, deliberately urging you to drag your hips against his, fingers slightly digging into the flesh of your bum.
He devours your lips in another kiss. Heated, but lazy. Slower than ever.
Your tongues gliding languidly makes you unintentionally grind a little harder, allowing your sensitive clit to drag against his clothed cock and you feel your underwear slipping between your folds messily. He’s got you all wet and needy when he really shouldn’t.
“Fuck, I really want you naked.” He whispers in your mouth, hands travelling up your back, taking the hem of your baggy t-shirt with them.
There’s nothing else to do other than give him what he wants. So you reluctantly break the kiss, letting him remove your top before you rush to do the same for him.
Your sports bra is gone in no time, both your top and his hoodie are somewhere on the living room floor and the second your tits are free, he’s got both his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, biceps flexing deliciously. Your nipples feel extra sensitive as they rub on his skin; breasts squished against his warm chest, the sensation comforting and arousing at the same time, you can’t help the sigh you let out against his lips.
“Don’t really know where we’re going with this.” You speak all muffled as he eagerly tries to lick into your mouth, lips a little uncoordinated but you love it.
You’re more than aware of the double meaning your words carry, and the hesitation in his eyes when he pulls away, tells you he is too. You both seem to ignore the complicated side of the statement.
“I can still make you feel good, no?” His fingers splay in between your shoulder blades as his eyes inspect your face, lingering on your spit-kissed lips for a little too long.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls you by the back of your neck, his mouth finding yours in another wet kiss, lips parted wide as tastes you with a quiet hum, and you feel more wetness seeping out of you, drenching your panties.
A buck of your hips forces a moan out of both of you as your hands bury in his hair, gripping tight, searching for an anchor. You lean your head back with a soft exhale when he starts leaving wet kisses along your jaw, down to your neck. He licks, sucks, bites your flushed skin, tongue swirling on each mark he leaves behind, turning you on more than ever.
This is so fucking inconvenient.
He takes you by surprise when he licks a stripe from between your tits to your collarbones, painting your skin with his saliva.
“Ah, shit.” You tighten your hold on his hair and he lets out a little grunt that vibrates against your sternum, his quick breaths hitting your damp skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your nipples harden uncomfortably, asking for attention and he must notice as his hand cups one of your breasts, gently massaging the underside.
His lips find the raised peak, kissing around it, teasing you, forcing needy sounds out of you, and when he softly sucks it in his mouth, tongue swirling, you can’t help but grind down harder with a loud whine.
“Careful.” You whisper weakly when his tongue flicks a little too hard, making you jolt.
“Sorry.” He apologises with a sweet kiss between the space of your tits, and for a few moments, he gives all his attention to your slightly swollen mounds. Licking and sucking, carefully massaging them in his palms until you pull a little too hard at his hair, singling that it’s too much for you.
You force him to lean back as you trap him between your body and the back of the sofa. The sound he makes when you wrap a hand around his throat, exhilarates you, and you give into another make out session as you let your fingers lightly press on his pulse points, loving the effect you have on him.
You’re completely lost in his kisses and the way his firm chest feels on yours. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time and you really just don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just try to relax on top of him, arms loosely wrapping around his neck as you relish in the wet smacking sounds of your lips.
It’s his hand that sneaks between your crotches that urges you to pull away, but he holds you there, his other hand on the back of your head.
“Can I try something?” He mutters as his fingers slowly start undoing the knot at the front of your waistband. “Stop me if it’s weird.”
Fuck Mark lee and his persuasiveness. “Okay.”
You probably shouldn’t. It’s too intimate. Too vulnerable. And you normally wouldn’t let anyone else, but when Mark slips his hand past the front of your waistband, you let him.
He’s careful. No rushed movements as he holds you close, lips brushing yours as he gauges your reaction and your mouth parts against his when you feel the warmth of his palm, engulfing the seat of your underwear. He rubs lightly over the drenched fabric until his fingers find your clit, pressing a little harder, evoking a half desperate half surprised sound out of you.
You self-consciously wonder if he felt the thin string of your tampon when his fingers brushed past your entrance, but whether he did or not, he doesn’t really let on.
He starts rubbing you in slow tiny circles, the gentle friction making you breathe harder, fingers shaking in his messy strands.
“Can I touch you properly or is that a bit too far?” He must sense your contemplation as his fingers come to a brief halt. “I’ll stay here.” His fingers press on your clit, signalling what he means. “Won’t go anywhere else.”
You pull back a smidge, the need to look at his face getting the better of you. His pleading eyes, full of adoration, overwhelm you and you cowardly hide your face in his neck, arms wrapping tighter around his shoulders.
“What if I bleed all over your hand?” You whine dramatically. The thought of that actually happening, too embarrassing.
He breathes out an amused laugh. “I’ll live.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t.” You joke halfheartedly, but inhale sharply when he presses against the swollen bud again.
“At least you’ll die happy.” He giggles at the warning bite you leave on his shoulder, playfully shrugging you away, but his arm around your middle holds you close. “You wanna cum. I wanna help. So let me.”
“Fuck sake.” You sigh in defeat, forehead dropping against his shoulder. “If you touch anywhere other than—“
“I won’t. Promise.” He seals it with an intimate kiss on your shoulder, making you shiver.
“Okay.”
He slips his hand inside the front of your cotton panties, quickly finding your pulsing bud and you instantly melt against him with a relieved whimper, the skin on skin contact already feeling a million times better. His two fingers send you reeling, making you moan in his neck, your jaw slackening when he speeds up a little, rubbing harder, more precise circles on the bundle of nerves. His hold around you tightens when you start slightly shaking on his lap and you feel dizzy when he starts flicking from side to side, bringing you closer and closer to a dangerous high.
It’s addictive. The way he touches you, holds you, breathes on you like he’s the one being pleasured. It’s all out of this world. Too good. Too mind-numbing.
“Mmph—f-fuck—right there.” You beg, all out of breath and flustered. His fingers keep brushing a spot on your clit, too sensitive, the pleasure so intense, you can barely handle it.
“Yeah? Feels good?” His breathy tone adds to the hot sensation between your legs, your toes and fingers tingling as your eyes inevitably roll back.
“So good, Markie.”
He grunts when your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulder. “Fuck, baby. Wanna see you cum.”
“Oh my god.” You whisper with a tremble, mouth ajar against his shoulder, your saliva smearing on his skin as you struggle to breathe, to keep a little bit of your sanity intact. “Mark. Ffffuck.”
Your release crashes into you with force. A muffled shriek erupts from your throat, resonating in the silence of the living room. You sound broken as he keeps rubbing fast and hard. Until your whole body shakes in ecstasy. Until the overstimulation is too much to endure.
Your walls are spasming so hard you’re worried they might accidentally squeeze the tampon out, and you have to grab his wrist in panic, forcing him to stop his torturous ministrations on your abused clit.
You slump forward. Body completely spent. Weight dropping on him in surrender as your brain floats somewhere unknown.
The gentle scratch of his blunt nails against your scalp, helps bring you somewhat back to the surface.
“Fuck, that felt—” You pant, struggling to form anything coherent. Your throat feels dry when you swallow.
“Intense?” He finishes your incomplete thought for you.
He has a tendency of doing that. Understanding you better than you can understand yourself sometimes. Unveiling thoughts and feelings you didn’t know you were capable of carrying.
You don’t like it. The grip he has on you — you feel it most when he's not even touching you. When he's not even with you.
And it’s too intimate. More than you can handle.
You often feel scrutinised under his gaze. Especially in raw, unfiltered moments like this. It never feels transactional. Whatever you have with Mark. It’s never just about fleeting pleasure. There’s always something underlying but undeniable at the same time.
Something undoubtedly there, but difficult to define in your head.
Something you wonder if his complex mind has been able to translate into words you always fail to find.
— an invincible fanfic // mark grayson is on thin fucking ice.
synopsis: dating a superhero wasn't easy, especially when they got on their knees and begged so well.
wc: 4.1k
cw: NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL. SLIGHT ANGST AND SM*T. MDNI. NSFW CONTENT AHEAD.
includes: kinda pathetic mark?? like mark is a BEGGER and a YEARNER and y'all argue. cannon-compliant relationship problems. dirty talk. f*ngering. or*l (f receiving). cunn*lingus. multiple org*sms (f receiving). overst*mulation. marathon s*x. squ*rting. piv. cre*mpie. tell me if i missed any :p
old m.list | new m.list
you first broke up with mark grayson after 2 months and 17 days of being together. you got together with him a month later, when he confessed his identity to you and begged you to take him back. you broke up with him again 6 months and 15 days later... well, err, no. you were about to break up with him but that day never came. you couldn't. not when mark grayson was so good at making up.
now, you had been dating for two years, 7 months and 2 days.
you knew dating a superhero wasn't easy. i mean, sure, him blowing you off to save the world stung but it was bearable. him having this huge secret that you had to protect with your life weighed on you but again, bearable. what wasn't bearable were the constant injuries - mark turning up with a black eye. or two. with bruised cheeks. with long gashes alongside his sides. with broken arms or legs. and all this was on an easy day. what wasn't bearable was the constant threat of losing him. to anything and everything around you.
he was invincible. you weren't. it weighed on you.
and god, it was getting repetitive. the fights. the justified helpness of his pretty eyes. the welling of tears in your blood-shot ones. your yells, pleas. the following, constant, jagged silence from him as he chose his duty over you. again and again and again. the sound of wind whooshing as he flew out of your window when he was confronted by the problems in your relationship. it was becoming a habit. a sick, twisted reality for you and the superhero.
you should leave each other, you pysche begged you as he brushed his teeth standing behind you in the early mornings, pressing his lean, muscular body to your back. you don't work together at all, it mused again when you poured him a cup of coffee. it's just gonna end in a heartbreak, you knew as you kissed his cheeks goodbye as told you he'd be home soon.
but you two were so good together. god.
you laughed at his jokes, hand in hand when out for a walk on the off-chance when he wasn't called on his superhero duties. you smiled up at him and ruffled his hair on cafe dates. you posed with him, all matching and shit, and kissed him stupid in one of the many photobooths you went to. he would get you pizza from italy and matcha from japan. he would give you his classic million-dollar smile and ask if you could forgive him. and you did. always did. only to come back to a shitty reality.
you knew it was doomed. you should have stopped. but you didn't... you couldn't. you loved him! you loved him! you loved him... especially when he always knew how to make it up.
you could still remember the first time he fucked up, before you knew even knew his identity.
you held your head in your palms after your very first big fight. you thought it was fucking over and fairly so. you had had it. you were done. he was so absent, and so full of shit. you and mark were just not going to work out and that was fine. that was fine. that was fin-
triiiiiing!
when you opened your gate, mike stood there.
"i'm sorry," he piped up, a whole cheesecake in his hands. giving you one of his classic mark smile, he asked. "please forgive me?"
and you did. but not before you mumbled about how he wasn't allowed to cancel on you again.
he promised you he wouldn't. he then cancelled on you atleast seventeen times. then, you broke up with him. and then, he won you back again.
after that, fight after fight, mark would find a way to make it upto you. extravagant trips, food, anything! but then, it got too much. you didn't want pizza from italy or matcha from japan or tteokbokki from korea. you wanted your boyfriend. and he was rarely there. "anything" for his baby started failing when he did everything and anything except reassuring you that he'd leave this superhero life behind and just live normally with you.
and so, it changed. it went from trips and food to begging. excessive begging. mark would tear up at the thought of losing you, at the thought of ever being parted. he couldn't lose you. not after all that he had lost. and you couldn't possibly put him through that pain. that ache of loss. so, you stayed.
and that's all you did. stay. any romance between you two had gradually fizzled out. a kiss on your cheek before he left wasn't affection, it was habit. you making enough coffee for two cups wasn't care, it was habit. you automatically leaving his dinner in the fridge to be treated when he got back wasn't love. again, just a habit.
and now, at one in the morning, two years seven months and three days later, you lay awake on the bed of your shared apartment.
the window was cracked open, allowing for a safe and seamless entry for whenever mark reappeared. you probably should have slept. but you couldn't. not with the dull ache in your heart.
an hour later, the sound of the clock going tick-tock was a source of comfort rather than annoyance. your chest rose and fell in steady breaths. your eyes stared at the wall in front of you. and then...
whoosh!
the curtain fluttered as your half-viltrumite boyfriend flew in through the open window. he took off his mask, barely even glanced at you as he immediately asked, "you're awake, babe?"
"yeah." you mumbled from your position, barely lifting your head to greet him.
"oh. shit, sorry. were you waiting up on me? sorry. there was this crazy interdimensional stingray and..." at your lack of response, he sheepishly said, "sorry."
"mark." your voice was feeble, barely audible to yourself. but you knew the viltrumite had super hearing, he could probably pick up on it.
if he heard you, he didn't react. instead, he quickly took off the rest of his suit, "uh, i'll take a quick shower and come. you should sleep, babe."
"mark." you said again, louder.
that made him pause.
"yes?"
you sat up, weary and lagged, "we... we need to talk."
he blinked at you before nodding, "yeah. sure. what is it?"
"this..." you took a deep breath, pinching your forehead, "this is not working."
mark's eyebrows furrowed. his eyes softened. he stepped forward, "what?"
"this isn't working." you repeated.
"no. i mean- i heard you." his words escaped him quickly, "i did."
"you know this isn't working-" you tried to reason.
he didn't even let you finish before he had practically teleported to your side, so close to you, with his face mere inches away from yours and his hands clamoring to stroke your cheek. "babe. i know... i know it is shitty and i work unreasonably long and- and listen, i'll talk to cecil. i'll take some time off—"
"no." you turned your head away from the warmth of his hand. "that's not it."
you felt his fingers twitch against your skin, "no...?"
you met his eyes again and swallowed, "this just isn't it, mark. we're done."
you expected some kind of rambling apology, some fake promise of a far off future when he retires and has all the time in the world for you, or some sort of compensation. but nothing came. nothing but radio silence.
mark grayson simply opened his mouth and closed it shut, again and again, like a fish out of water.
finally, he sighed, "you- you always say this. every once in a while."
you blinked at his words. fury rose to your throat, "yeah? because it's the fucking truth—"
he cut you off, putting his palm on your cheek again. it was soft. it grounded you. it infuriated you. "have i not been a good boyfriend? i mean... fuck, i mean... i try to do everything right. i make up when i fuck up and i always apologize—"
you shrugged his touch away, "and that's not enough. there's no point in those extravagant gestures when you're never fucking here." your voice quietened, packed with a punch, "you're never here."
"i'm here right now."
you inhaled sharply at his words. "at almost 1.30 at night? when i waited the entire night for you to show up? you don't get it mark. you can either be invincible or be mark grayson. you cannot be both."
he blinked at your words, "i- i'm sorry."
his apology hung low in the air alongside the thick silence. he didn't say anything, and neither did you. you couldn't forgive him again, not at the expense of your own ruination.
"it's just... over." you swallowed, looking away from him, "maybe... maybe you should just-" you stopped yourself, wincing, "maybe you should not be with a civilian like me. i clearly don't understand your work and—"
mark kissed you.
at first, you didn't react. didn't kiss him back. instead of backing down, he just increased his fervor, kissing you till he felt like his superhero lungs were on the verge of collapse.
when he pulled away for air, you simply asked, "what... are you doing?"
"making up." he pleaded, "for my mistakes."
"mark..." you watched as he clamored to get his upper half of the suit off. you reached forward and touched his bicep, trying to halt halting him. but he took your palm in his, throwing off his suit somewhere on the floor of your shared apartment. his voice weighed as heavy as the ache in his eyes, "please. let me."
and you wanted to protest, wanted to tell him that sex wouldn't solve any of your problems but your tongue weighed heavy in your mouth. it had been so long since you both... touched. did anything other than kisses or quickies because mark had to run.
"please." his eyes refused to leave yours as he pressed a kiss to the back of your palm. it was chaste but something molten stirred in your core.
"okay." you nodded once, and that's all mark needed.
he kissed you immediately. his hands were on you in a second, one of them cupping your cheek while the other palmed your chest through your sleepshirt. he pushed you backwards until your back was against the headboard, until he had somehow nudged his lower half in between your thighs.
you were sandwiched between the hard wall and him.
"fuck..." you groaned into his mouth, "i missed this."
he nodded, eager, already pawing at your tshirt and ripping it off.
"mark!" you yelped at the rip of the fabric, but he didn't care. his lips latched onto your breasts, his tongue permeating the fabric with lecherous wads of saliva whilst his hips driveled against your clothed cunt.
whatever arguments you had died on the tip of your tongue. this was too much. he was too much. mark was always good at sex, thanks to the viltrumite stamina but when he was needy like this? when he had something to prove... oh god, it was hard to believe you would make out of it alive.
your clothes were ripped off of you. actually. your bra, then your shorts and panties, with not even as much as a decent apology, just the promises of "i'll buy you more." as he threw around the tattered fabric.
his lips circled your nipple, his knee grinding carefully against the heat o your apex. you arched your back and gasped into the air. he grinned against your skin and drank you in feverishly.
"fuck... c'mere." you pulled him up, kissing him again, all while his knee built up that gutting pressure against your core. it was delicious. it was delirious.
kissing down the edge of your lips, and then your jaw and then your neck, he quickly replaced his knee with his fingers. god. his fingers. long, agile digits that knew where exactly to pet. to curl. to work. it was as if you were his personal favourite experiment and he knew exactly where to push and prod to get the most favourable outcome.
he pet your gooey spot, stroking the g-spot so tenderly that it had your thighs tremble and eyes roll back in bliss. he was methodical. in and out. in and out. in and out- and oh fuck, he ramped up the tempo. his fingers delved in and out of you like a machine - precise, deep and fast - until his fingers were all but a crazy blur slick with your juices. his lips still worked against your pulsepoints, sucking in bruises that made your head spin.
"fuck, fuuuck-" you cried into the heady air, head thrown back and shaking as you felt your core tighten. your orgasm built and built until it tore through you, hot and shaking.
mark came to kiss away your cries of pleasure, to drink them in as his fingers did not halt, just momentarily slow down.
"fuck," he groaned, heavy against your lips, "you're squeezing the fuck out of me, babe."
"s-sorry."
"no." he kissed you to shut you up, "don't fuckin' apologize. feels so good. feels like heaven." he panted like he was the one who just came, and then sped up his fingers again.
"mark, no." you winced, already trying to shimmy your hips away at the overstimulation of his doughy fingertips teasing your sensitive pussy again. he groaned at the thought of you escaping, "don't run from me."
"'senough..." you argued, thick-tongued and hazy, "i'm- it's enough."
"no." he kissed you again, and then, without missing a beat, lowered himself down your body. you felt his hot, open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your simmering skin as he went down - from your collarbone to the valley of your breasts and your belly, to your hip and inner thigh. his fingers didn't stop in the slightest, and now his sinful mouth had joined in the mix.
his tongue traced delicious patterns onto your clit, teasing and probing the nub until you were forcing his head deeper in and squirming your hips farther away.
the tremor in your thighs picked up pace, and before you could run, or even think of it, mark had his arms looped steadfast around your legs. he pinned you down, rendering you useless completely and utterly.
you pawed at his head, "mark— shit... too much— seriously!"
"no, no, no." he cried against your gushing pussy, kissing it intimately, "please don't run. i have to make up for this..."
you're sure your boyfriend was rambling on in the background, something about how sweet you were and how lovely you tasted but you couldn't hear any of it, not over the dull roar of blood in your eardrums. as your second orgasm washed over you, you felt your vision blank. your back arched, nails ripped into his shoulders and eyes rolled back. for a moment, all that existed was you and mark and the sexual limbo he had subjected you to.
you're not sure how long it took — seconds, or perhaps minutes — but when you caught your breath and felt your vision return to your body, you blinked back dark spots just to find mark still attached to your core.
"mark." your throat was choked, eyes heavy with unshed tears. "no more."
he looked up at you, eyes wrecked with lust and devotion. "one more. i wanna feel you cum again. on my fingers. on my face."
if his tongue wasn't enough to give you a blood rush, his words certainly were.
you shied under his intense gaze, "you don't have to— jus-just fuck me now. im ready."
mark blinked at you, as in disbelief. "and miss the feeling of my girl squirting all over me?"
your cheeks heated impossibly higher. you demanded through the embarassment, "but I want you inside."
"i know." mark gave you a smile, still unyielding in his pumps inside your cushiony pussy. "don't worry, I'll make you squirt on my dick too."
any chance of a protest were long dismissed as mark grayson dived into your core again, drinking the erotic liquid pooling from your honeyed sex.
with how overestimated you were, and how well his fingers and mouth worked in tandem, it took only a few minutes till your vision was going splotchy and head was feeling lightheaded.
an unreal pressure built up in your lower belly, then kind that had you gasping chants of your boyfriend's name in the hopes of ruination, or salvation, or both.
"fuck, fuck, fuck—" you panted, in heat and spiraling, "it's... fuck I think I'm going to..."
"yeah?" mark groaned, using his other hand to quickly swipe against your swollen clit. the strikes of his doughy fingertips only teased the burning geyser in your core and before you knew it, you felt your body shake with need and release. a jet of liquid splashed against marks face and like an indecent man, maddened with lust, he hung open his jaw and drank all of it.
you writhed against him, shaking and trembling and gasping in pleasure, and the man still had the audacity to come place kitten licks to your quivering sex.
when, ever-so-slightly, your sanity returned to you, you opened your eyes to find mark grayson cleaning up the mess between the juncture of your thighs with the softest strokes.
you pet his hair, which was now sweaty and sticking to his handsome face.
"too much?" he asked, nuzzling his face against your perspired skin. his face was still practically dripping with your essence.
managing a weak smile, you shrugged, "eh, I've had a viltrumite boyfriend for so long. I'm used to it."
he kissed up your body again, leaving the obscene trail of your juices on your body with every kiss.
when he finally made his way to your face, you wiped off his lips with your palm. he smiled against your skin, "are we good?"
you paused at that. were you? the sex was good but... was it enough?
you looked away to the side. mark gently pulled your face back to him.
"tell me if we aren't." one of his arms hooked your legs over his hips, quickly shuffling to his stifling cock to line against your entrance.
you swallowed, "i don't know." you paused again, feeling his oozing mushroom tip kiss your entrance in such a wicked game of teasing. "i just don't even know if you love me anymore."
that seemed to do it. he blinked at you, confused.
"what?" his expression was hard to decipher, even as someone who was very transparent. "how- how can you say that?"
"i..." you inhaled, sharp, "sorry. it just feels like it..."
he rested his forehead against you, "don't ever fucking say that. don't ever." there was a strain to his words, the kind that was followed by the sheathing of his cock right inside you.
you gasped, "mark!"
but it was done. as someone who loved missions, mark grayson had already found his next. he pushed your thighs to your chest, folding you in as he bludgeoned his cock into you.
"don't fucking say that." he grunted, his pupils blown with lust and resolve. every snap back of his cock was lined with a promise. "i love you."
"i—" words came hard to you. your core was already tight and burning. you were so close.
"i love you." he said it again, like clockwork. like saying it again and again made it any more true. "you don't get to fucking question that. please."
his cock was not in the slightest jilted by the rambunctious nature of his words. he dived his leaky tip to the deepest of your core, stretching you out on himself as if it were habit. his muscled erection massaged your walls.
"mark. fuck. again—nggh!" your sanity had somehow reduced itself to only one word — his name.
he nodded, feverish, bringing one of his hands to swipe at your swollen clit again. it throbbed under him, raw and overstimulated. despite his actions, his words didn't falter. "i love you. i am gonna— fuck, fix this. hah. fix it. all of it. i love you."
with each drag of his cock back into your perfect cunt, he babbled on like a madman. you, on the other hand, were struggling to retain your sanity, much less listen to his pleas.
"fuck— oh my god—" your breathy voice was enough of an indicator of what was to come. mark momentarily stilled inside of you, quickly swiping his fingers against your drenched cunt.
your back bowed, eyes clenched shut and jaw hung open as another stream of squirt hit the man's lower abs, travelling down in rivers of sin.
the juncture of your thighs were a mess of fluids — his, yours, his, and yours. the mixture did nothing but egg him on to increase his pace, to use the fluid as lube to fuck you senseless.
recovering from your fourth consecutive orgasm, you barely registered the tightening of his jaw and his irongrip on your body. he panted, "fuck— hah. god, can I cum inside? please—ngh baby?"
you nodded, not trusting your voice to be capable of much after such violent screams of pleasure.
at your go, mark grayson increased his pace to an unfaltering degree. he was inhumane — fucking you at a speed that almost coaxed another orgasm out of your spent body. your entire body jiggled at the force of his thrusts.
and then, with a few more, he spilled inside you with a unrestrained cry, "oh— holy shit."
mark collapsed on top of you, weighing his muscular body against yours as he took deep breaths. there was a mess in between the juncture of your thighs, and there he was — still buried.
instinctively, your hand flew to his hair again. you pet it, soft and smooth.
"fuck." he groaned into your perspired skin. "that was good." mark looked up, eyes big and doubtful, "yeah?"
you managed a nod, "it was."
he smiled, "are you okay?"
you sighed, still playing with his hair, "i don't think i can walk tomorrow."
mark laughed at that, airy and unserious. "I'll fly you wherever you want."
you rolled your eyes at that. you were in a post-fuck haze, not stupid.
"as if. cecil's gonna be ringing you up any minute now."
"no." mark picked himself up to press a kiss to your lips. a quick peck. "I'll take tomorrow off."
"i thought you said a superhero never takes a day off?" and though there was a teasing lilt to your voice, the two of you knew just how deeply the question flowed.
it wasn't a joke, it was a clever way to corner him, get him to admit the truth that he believed in.
"well, i can either be mark grayson or invincible, right? i choose to be mark grayson tomorrow." he flashed you a sincere smile.
you blinked, "seriously?"
mark nodded. "seriously."
you grinned, "i love you."
"i love you more." he pressed another kiss to your lips, this one a lot longer.
when you both parted, mark smiled against your lips. "i know i fucked up. I'd be better."
you smiled too, "thanks."
mark carefully removed himself from you. he then cleaned you up, offering you one of his tshirts to sleep in. you're not sure how quickly you fell asleep, but you fell asleep against his chest, listening to the rise and fall of his chest.
next morning, when you woke up, you reached out for your boyfriend but his side of the bed was empty.
groggy and sore, you blinked the sleep out of your eyes and sighed. cecil probably called. he probably needed to go save the world from an alien species for the fiftieth time this month.
well, it was fine. whatever. it was mark. why were you even expecting anything different? he was a smooth talker. and god, the sex was amazing but when had he ever kept his promises—
"i made french toast!" he announced proudly as he walked into your bedroom, a tray table in his arms.
you blinked, "you're... here?"
"uh, yes?" he looked at you, confused, "today, im mark grayson, remember?"
you blinked from him to the tray in his hands. "right... i just thought you left—"
"cecil called thrice." mark admitted honestly, "but I told him if my girlfriend breaks up with me, I'll probably go berserk and end the planet. and the GDA wouldn't want that." he added, sheepish, "probably."
"wow." you sat up, half impressed and half terrified. "that's a lot of responsibility on my shoulders. stopping invincible from ending the planet."
"it got cecil off my ass for today." he leaned in to kiss you.
you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.
maybe the relationship was doomed. but the sex was bomb. and so was his french toast.
a.n: GUESS WHO GOT INTO THE INVINCIBLE FANDOM AND ALSO raise your hand if you want me to do a part two with much more angst. originally, reader was gonna leave mark's sorry ass but then i felt like being nice. hope you enjoyed the filth.
(TO ANYONE WHO'S WAITING ON MEDDLE ABOUT, I'M WORKING ON IT.)
old m.list | new m.list
thinking about mark grabbing your neck while you ride him desperately because it feels too good, you feel his dick touching a place inside you that it makes you want more and more.
he grabs you by the neck with one hand and the other kneading your tits. "that's it your doing so good, keep going and you'll make me so proud."
genre / tags: fluff, smut, slight humor, established relationship
warnings: explicit sexual content, fingering, soft dom!mark, praise kink / pet name kink, lots of pet names, and overuse of the word "baby". (please tell me if i missed some!)
wc: 2.7k
a/n: this was supposed to be a very cute and fluffy fic but I got carried away (whoops) 🤭
You’re not a pet name type of person.
You tease him for using them. Roll your eyes every time he says babygirl or sweetheart or honey.
Always hit him with:
— “Okay, Romeo. Relax.”
— or a dry “Gross.”
You’re smiling, though. Every single time.
He knows you are. Doesn’t even need to look up anymore — just hears the edge of your voice, catches the tiniest upturn in your mouth, and it makes his chest ache.
This is just who you are. You love him with your whole heart.
But anything too mushy? Too sweet? Makes you squirm.
Too cheesy? Too sentimental? You’d rather set yourself on fire.
You fold his laundry, steal his hoodies, and kiss his forehead every morning—
but call him baby?
God forbid.
So he gave up on expecting anything back.
Not in a sad way — more like muscle memory now. A quiet acceptance.
Mark knows his role — he’s the nickname guy, you’re the pet-name grump.
He calls you angel when you look sleepy. Pretty girl when you’re mad at him.
Darling when you’re sick and curled up in bed, nose pink and pouty.
You just shake your head and mutter, “You’re so embarrassing.”
But you never tell him to stop.
He’s accepted it. Doesn’t need the words.
He has all the proof he needs in the way you touch him, look at him, reach for his hand under the table even when you're pretending to be annoyed.
He’s already so gone for you, it’s pathetic.
But then.
One day.
No warning.
You're in the middle of conversation, half-distracted, elbow-deep in a crinkly paper bag of fries, when you say it.
“Wait, can you pass me that? Thanks, baby.”
Just like that. Casual. Offhanded. As if you didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb onto his entire existence.
Silence.
You don’t even register it. Just keep rustling through your food, completely unaware of the spiritual event you’ve triggered behind you.
Mark freezes.
Hand halfway extended, holding the takeout container like it’s sacred scripture.
His whole body stills. Eyes wide. Jaw slack.
Soul... buffering.
“...What,” he breathes. “What did you just call me?”
You glance over your shoulder, chewing.
“Huh?”
He blinks. Slowly. Like he’s trying to reboot.
“You said—”
His voice cracks. “You said baby.”’
You shrug, lips full of noodles.
“Oh. Did I?”
“Did I??” he echoes, horrified. “Do you even understand what you’ve done?!”
You pop a spring roll into your mouth, already focused on unsealing the dipping sauce.
“Relax, Mark. It just slipped out.”
And that’s when he absolutely short-circuits.
“SLIPPED OUT?!”
He clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. Slumps against the back of the chair with the drama of a soap opera lead.
“I need to sit down—wait, I am sitting. Then why do I feel like I’m gonna faint?”
You snort into your drink, nearly choking on a sip of iced tea.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m writing this down,” he rambles, hand now scrabbling blindly for his phone. “I’m journaling this. This is the highlight of my fucking life. Our future kids are hearing this story.”
You shake your head, grinning into your food like an idiot, while across from you Mark stares at the ceiling in silent, reverent awe. Like he’s just heard the voice of God.
Later that night, you’re sprawled on the couch, stomach full, brain slow.
Wrapped in post-dinner haze and the sound of the TV droning low in the background.
One leg draped over the armrest, your hand resting lazily on your belly like a satisfied cat.
Mark’s on the other end, curled into himself, hoodie wrinkled, sleeves shoved up to his elbows as he wages war with a stubborn snack bag. His tongue pokes out in concentration, brows furrowed, completely unaware that you’re watching him like he’s the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.
You pass behind the couch to grab your drink, then pause —
just long enough to lean down, press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, and murmur:
“Thanks, baby.”
You don’t even look back. Just grab your drink like it’s nothing.
But behind you—something shifts.
You make it three steps before it hits you.
Mark hasn’t moved.
You glance back.
He’s frozen. Snack bag in hand, half-open, arms slack. He’s staring ahead, not blinking—like someone just whispered the secrets of the universe in his ear and he’s trying to process them.
“…Mark?”
He turns to look at you, slow and awestruck. Like you just performed a miracle in front of him.
“You just—” He swallows hard. “You said it again.”
You tilt your head, one brow lifting.
“Said what?”
He gasps. Full gasp.
“Said what?! Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what you said.”
You rest your elbows against the back of the couch, watching him with a smirk that’s far too satisfied.
“You mean baby?”
Mark doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
The TV hums in the background. Somewhere outside, a car drives by.
Then it hits him. Again.
The snack bag falls from his hand with a soft crinkle.
He recoils, clutching his chest like he’s trying to physically contain his heart.
“I’m sweating,” he mutters, fanning himself. “Do you feel that? That’s my soul leaving my body. You just—casually—called me baby like it was nothing. Like you didn’t just rewrite my entire DNA.”
You laugh so hard your knees buckle. You have to grab the couch just to stay upright.
“No, because what do I do now?!” he groans, sliding dramatically down into the cushions. “Do I sit normally? Offer you a ring? Should I faint? Do people faint romantically anymore?!”
“Mark—”
“I’m spiraling,” he moans, draping his arm over his face like he’s in the final scene of a tragic play. “You said it so casually. That was so unfair.”
You circle around to the front of the couch and settle yourself into his lap, straddling him like it’s second nature.
He stiffens beneath you, lips parting slightly—like your weight on him just activated some buried instinct.
You tilt your head, playful. “If I said it again… would you survive?”
“Absolutely not.”
You lean in, close enough to feel his breath catch, your mouth brushing the shell of his ear.
“Thanks, baby.”
Mark’s brain stopped working.
His body locks up.
Shoulders tense. Jaw slack.
You swear you can hear his heartbeat from across the room.
His hands grips your waist, hard and instinctive, like he’s afraid the moment will vanish if he doesn’t hold onto it. His head drops back with a soft, helpless whimper — the kind he’d deny with every breath in his body later, but can’t suppress now.
“I’m not okay,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “You’ve ruined me. Say it again.”
You’re still laughing, shoulders shaking, when his hand comes up and gently wraps around your wrist, pulling you closer— not rough, not demanding, just desperate.
Like he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Like he just needs to feel you to know this is real.
“Say it again,” he pants, pupils blown wide. “I need to know it wasn’t an accident.”
You shrug, smirk curling at your lips. “It was an accident.”
“Liar,” he whispers.
His arms wrap around you tight, locking you in place. “You said it like you meant it.”
You pause. The laugh dies in your throat.
Because something about the way he says it—quiet. steady. awestruck—makes your pulse stutter.
You drop your eyes to his lips.
Your fingers are on his chest now, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart under your palm.
“You like it when I call you that, baby?”
His breath shudders.
His grip on your waist tightens— like he can barely hold himself back.
You see the shift in his eyes.
The air between you shifts—turns weighty, electric.
Mark leans in, just enough that his nose brushes yours. He breathes you in.
The room suddenly feels warmer, your clothes feel suffocating.
“Don’t say that,” he warns, voice rough. “Unless you want me to lose control.”
You grin, tilting your hips against his.
“Maybe I do want you to lose control.”
That undoes him.
He grips your thighs, hard, and flips you underneath him in one swift, desperate motion. Your back hits the cushions with a soft thump, stealing your breath before you can even think.
His body hovers above yours, warm and tense and trembling.
He moves before he even thinks—
No more softness. No teasing.
His mouth crashes into yours like he needs to consume you—
tongue licking into your mouth like he needs to taste the word baby right off your tongue.
His hands are already under your shirt, sliding up your stomach, dragging the fabric with them.
He groans into your mouth when he feels your bare skin—
feels you tremble.
His lips leave yours, trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck to your collarbone.
“You don’t get to say that and act innocent,” he growls, nipping at your skin.
His fingers slide down, skimming just above the waistband of your shorts—
not quite dipping beneath, just teasing the edge.
“You’re fucking soaked through your shorts and I haven’t even touched you.”
You gasp, hips jerking.
“Want me to behave?” he hisses. “When you’re like this?”
You whimper.
He pulls back just enough to look at you—his hair falling into his eyes, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.
“You trust me?” he asks again, but this time it’s a whisper against your lips.
His fingers pause at the waistband of your shorts.
You nod, breathless. “Yes.”
You shift against him, guiding his hand lower.
“I want this.”
He shoves your shorts down with one rough tug—
underwear too—
not even bothering to fully take them off.
He slides his hand between your legs,
fingers slipping through your folds,
achingly slow.
He groans the second he feels it.
“Jesus fuck,” he breathes.
His eyes flick up to yours, hazy and dazed.
“You’re dripping. Did that word really get you this wet, baby?”
You can’t answer.
Can’t even think.
Your head drops back, and your hips lift instinctively into his hand.
He doesn’t rush.
He takes his time with you— running his fingers along your slit, collecting your slick and dragging it up in slow, lazy circles around your clit.
You jolt beneath him, letting out a broken noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.
“Greedy already?” he murmurs, voice hot against your skin. “Thought you didn’t do pet names.”
“Mark—fuck—please—”
“Oh, please now?” he teases. “Begging so sweet already. What if I make you say it again?”
He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Say it.”
You gasp.
“Baby.”
He groans—deep and guttural—like he’s unraveling from the inside out.
Then he sinks one finger into you.
Your back arches. Your walls clench instantly, the stretch rips a cry from your lips, and he watches—entranced.
His eyes are dark, locked on the way your body opens up for him, your mouth parting, breath stuttering.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing your pulse. “Say it when I’m inside you.”
He starts to move—slow thrusts, deep and rhythmic.
Each push of his finger drags a little moan out of you.
He curls his finger just right—presses deep and up—
and you gasp, hands scramble at his hoodie, digging into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
His second finger slides in beside the first. He drags his fingers just right, slow and deliberate, making your stomach clench. His palm grinds against your clit every time he thrusts.
The wet sounds of your pussy echo with every stroke.
“You hear that?” he growls. “You’re so wet I can fucking hear it, baby. That’s all you. All for me.”
You cry out, hips lifting to grind into his hand.
Mark’s eyes are wild. Possessive.
He watches you like you’re unraveling just for him— like your pleasure is the only thing that exists.
“Mark—oh my god—don’t stop—”
He doesn’t.
His fingers move faster now, smoother. Purposeful. Pressing again at that spot.
Your thighs tremble. Your breath comes in shallow gasps.
Every nerve feels tight, like a bowstring ready to snap.
He laughs, low and breathless, and kisses your neck, open-mouthed and hungry.
“Gonna cum on my fingers?” he breathes, curling them again. Dragging his palm over your clit in steady circles as his fingers fuck you deep. “Gonna fall apart just from my hand?”
You can’t answer. You’re too close. Too far gone.
“Say it again,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw.
“Let me hear it.”
“Baby—fuck, I’m—”
He groans, deep and broken, like it cracked something open inside him.
He’s gone. No hesitation. No holding back—just raw, hungry need as his fingers move faster.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Just like that—baby, fuck—cum for me— let me feel it.”
Your breath catches.
One more stroke like and—
You break.
The orgasm hits so hard it steals the breath from your lungs.
Your whole body jolts—back arching, legs locking around his hand. A cry rips from your throat, loud and raw.
Your walls pulse around his fingers as he fucks you through it, stroking you with deep, steady thrusts—like he wants to memorize every twitch, every moan.
“Holy fuck,” he whispers.
“That’s so fucking hot—baby, fuck,” he moans, like he feels it in his soul.
He doesn’t stop until your hips twitch and you go soft beneath him, whimpering from the sensitivity.
Then he slows, easing out of you with soaked fingers, his eyes drinking you in like he’s never seen anything more divine.
He sits back on his knees, eyes raking over you like he can’t believe what just happened.
You’re a mess—hair damp, skin flushed, eyes glassy.
Your chest rises and falls in shallow, shaky breaths — like your body’s still chasing the echo of his touch.
Mark exhales hard, staring at his wet fingers, trembling slightly — Then at you. Then—
without a word he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean
One by one.
Slow.
Obscene.
Eyes never leaving yours.
You make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, and he smirks.
He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple.
Then one to your cheek.
Then your lips—soft now, careful.
“You have no idea what you just did to me,” he breathes.
You smile, dazed and wrecked. “You’re dramatic.”
He shakes his head slowly, eyes locked on yours.
“No. I’m obsessed.”
You groan, hiding your face in his hoodie.
He laughs, warm and breathless, as he leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.
He lowers himself beside you on the couch, pulling you into his chest like something precious. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, this whole night will vanish into smoke.
The silence between you now isn’t awkward. It’s heavy in a good way.
Thick with something neither of you wants to say out loud yet.
So instead, he just holds you.
For a long moment, the only sound is the soft thrum of the TV. Your breathing syncs with his.
Then — quietly, tentatively — he speaks again.
“Baby,” he says again, like a prayer. Like a confession. “I’m gonna make you say that every time I touch you.”
You bury your face in his neck, body still tingling.
“You broke me. I’m changed. That word will haunt me—in the best way,” he says, grinning.
You curl into his chest, breath syncing with his, safe in the warmth of his arms.
Your fingers trace idle circles over his chest, hidden beneath the cotton of his hoodie. Slow and aimless.
He holds you tighter and breathes you in, like he doesn’t want to let go.
“Say it again,” he whispers into your hair.
You blink. Look up.
“Not for sex,” he murmurs. “Not to mess with me. Just… say it.”
He looks at you like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s asking for a secret. A promise.
You lift your hand to his face, fingers brushing his jaw, gentle.
He turns into your touch instinctively.
And you say it.
Soft. Sure. No teasing this time.
“I love you, baby.”
Mark exhales — a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob. Like relief, like peace.
Like he can’t believe you’re real.
Like you just gave him the world with one small word—
summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you've even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.
warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, comic book store employee!mark, retail employee!reader, really cute and fluffy until it's not, public sex (public space but no one is there), unprotected piv (DONT DO THIS), mark throws u around like a lil play thing, oral (fem recieving), fingering, use of a petname (baby), lmk if i forgot anything!
author's note: this one took forever yall i know its been a while! been going thru some shit irl but things are settling and i was deadset on finishing this bc it's so cute :'-) thank u to T and @hausofmingi for being my beta readers ( ˘ ³˘)♡
working at a mall can be really tiring, but it’s not so bad when you have a crush.
you’ve been working at a retail store at your local mall for a few months now. it’s boring, there’s too many people on the weekends, and you have the worst hours. you found yourself working open to close for far too many shifts. but at the end of the day, at least it keeps the bills paid.
on slow days during the week, you’re always sat at the register, scrolling through your phone or twiddling your thumbs, counting down the seconds til closing time. sometimes you would even stare off into space, watching people pass by all day long.
you went to work always knowing exactly how the day would go; set up shop, maybe help some customers, and do fucking nothing for 8 to 10 hours. maybe a wave to the employees at the stores surrounding you, but sadly, that was usually the most interesting part of your day. you became accustomed to the monotony though, watching the same employees open up their shops next to yours.
the store directly across from yours is a comic book store. you know the few people that worked there, usually just saying “good morning” and going on with your day. you swear, you have this store memorized, knowing when the employees take their breaks, who’s working, what they’re working on that day. you didn’t really mean to, but when all you have to do is daydream, you kinda picked up on the routine there.
so when you arrive in the morning for yet another brutal open-to-close shift, you expect to just roll up the security shutters and sit back at the register all day. but there’s something different today; or rather, someone different.
sitting at the register at the comic book store is a man you’ve never seen before. his hair is perfectly messy and his glasses framed his eyes, which are focused on reading a comic. he’s working all by himself, which is surprising to you since you’re certain he’s new. you catch yourself staring and try to brush it off. he’s a new guy, so what?
you try your best to go about your day as normal, but you can’t help stealing glances over at the man at the store across from you. he has a captivating energy, and it makes you want to know more about him. he seems charismatic, being friendly with customers and earning smiles, then resuming his doodling once they leave. you notice that when he looks really focused, he bites the corner of his lip gently.
you gotta stop staring, or he will definitely notice. you decide to actually work on something for once, organizing the stock and straightening the shelves. soon enough, closing time creeps up on you. you do all of your closing duties and grab your things from the back. you close the security shutters, looking behind you quickly to see that the man is doing the same. he notices your gaze, so you kindly wave at him. instead of a wave back, blush forms on his face with a shy smile. and with that, he walks away.
the interaction was unreadable. he seemed to be so extroverted with customers, having no issue having casual conversations with them. why is he getting all shy now?
you started to pick up on the new routine at the comic book store. from what you could tell, the man worked similar hours to you, often opening and closing too. he rarely worked with anyone else, so the majority of the time you glanced over, he was reading comics, manga, or doodling in his notepad.
you never really got into comic books like that, and only dabbled with reading manga, but the growing interest in this man made you curious about learning more on what he was reading. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check out the selection? perhaps get some recommendations? you just finished a short shift today so now was the perfect opportunity.
after grabbing your things and saying goodbye to your coworker, you make your way over to the comic book store. you approach the man, who’s sitting at the register as usual, reading. you see his name tag on his chest; a cute red pin with a spider-man drawing next to his name, “mark.”
“hi,” you say, pulling his attention away from reading.
“oh, hi,” he says, placing his comic down. “sorry, i didn’t see you come in.”
“it’s okay,” you reply, looking around at the goodies at the register. “i was wondering if you have any recommendations for a beginner at reading comics?”
“oh for sure,” he says, eyes lighting up. “marvel has tons of great ones. you could start with an ironman one, or maybe captain america? i personally like spider-man, but i’m definitely biased.”
“i’ll try spider-man,” you say after a beat.
mark gives you a nod with a warm smile before leaving the register to grab your comic. he searches through the spider-man section until he finds the first issue. he returns to the register, ringing you up.
“i think you’ll like it, it’s really good,” mark says, handing your receipt to you.
“i’m definitely looking forward to see what all the hype is about,” you chuckle. the conversation pauses for moment, clearly indicating that the interaction is pretty much over with. but you don’t want the conversation to end there, so you find something to keep talking about. “you’re new here, aren’t you? like you just started working here?”
“yeah, sort of,” he says, sitting back in his seat at the register. “i used to work here a while ago and i just came back ‘cause they needed someone.”
“oh nice,” you reply. “welcome back i guess?”
“haha, i guess,” he smiles, rubbing his hand on his neck. “it’s chill here, but it gets kinda boring.”
“tell me about it,” you chuckle. “it’s so slow during the week. i usually have nothing to do.”
“yeah, i just read or draw to pass the time,” mark says, pointing at his notepad on the counter.
“you like to draw?” you ask, curious.
“yeah,” he places a hand on the notepad, grabbing it. you can tell he’s getting shy again. “it’s just doodles.”
“you’ll have to show me some of those ‘doodles’ sometime,” you say with a sweet smile. you check your phone for the time. it’s getting closer to dinnertime and you’re starved. “i guess i’ll get out of here.”
“okay,” he stands again. “well, let me know what you think of the comic.”
“i will,” you say, turning to leave, then flipping back to look at him. “mark, right?”
he nods, asking for your name as well. he beams at you. “it’s nice to meet you. see you tomorrow?”
“see you tomorrow,” you say with a wave, walking out.
for the next week, you find yourself aching to talk to mark again. you read the comic he gave you, and it provided a little bit of insight into him… that he’s a bit of a nerd. definitely not a bad thing. it’s actually really endearing to you, knowing his life basically revolves around superheroes, free time and work alike. that he probably draws little comics in his notepad, and has sweet dreams about being superhuman. why is that so fucking cute?
you have a reason to talk to him again, of course: the next issue of spider-man. the problem is building up the courage again, which is ridiculous because he’s just a guy. a nerdy one at that, and you know that he would be putty in your hands if you really wanted him to be. but the longing you developed for him during those long hours of your shift, seeing him across the way, looking so cute in his round glasses… it’s making you nervous in a way that is difficult to explain.
you’ve been putting off going back to his store at this point. wouldn’t someone that wanted to get into superhero comics come back for the next edition? why aren’t you using your excuse to talk to him? not only that, but he even said he wanted you to come tell him what you thought of the comic. you’re just overthinking things.
you have another short shift one day, and decide today is the day. you gather your things and walk to the neighboring store, feeling the familiar butterflies you felt the first time you approached mark at the register. he’s drawing this time, crouched down and focused. he hears you walk in, lifting his head to meet your eyes. maybe you’re crazy, but it looks like his eyes light up.
“hey,” he says, closing the notepad in front of him. you present the spider-man comic to him, and he flashes a smile at you. “what’d you think?”
you chuckle, holding the comic close to your chest. “it was good, but too short. there’s another issue, right?” you joke, hoping it lands.
he lets out a giggle, “yeah, there definitely is. i’ll grab the next one for you.”
he walks over to a section near the front of the store, flipping through the excess of papers before he finds the 2nd issue. “if you liked that one, you’ll like this one even more.” he returns to the register with the issue, placing it on the counter for you.
“duel to the death with the vulture?” you read from the page. “i haven’t seen any of the movies recently so correct me if i’m wrong, but i don’t remember there being a vulture.”
“oh yeah, he’s in one of the later movies actually,” mark starts. “but you got a long way to go til you finally meet one of the iconic villians like the green goblin, or even the love interests gwen stacy or mary jane. it’ll be so worth the wait though.”
“how much do i owe you?” you ask, already pulling out your wallet.
“you can borrow it if you want,” he says.
“but this one belongs to the store, won’t you get in trouble?” you ask.
“just bring it back and it’s like it never happened,” he whispers, faking a shhh at you. “let’s just say it’s mall employee perk.”
you smile and accept it.
your new routine feels like a nice change of pace. every second of every day used to drag by, and yet at the same time, when you got home, everything that happened was so unbelievably boring that it all felt like a blur. nothing really significant happened to you. but something about trying something new, learning about a brand new niche interest, and even developing a crush… it’s finally something exciting.
you looked forward to the next time you got a new issue. not just that, but the next time you got to talk to mark. he has this charm about him that piqued your interest. it feels so easy to talk to him, as if you’ve already known each other for a long time and it isn’t just a budding friendship. you’d find yourself stopping by the comic book store a few times a week, anticipating the next comic and the underlying tension between you and mark.
like today, when you finally got off of work after a long shift. you were able to close up shop quickly and now you’re walking over to the comic book store, attempting to run in before mark locked up.
“hey, is it cool if i get the next issue real quick?” you ask, popping your head in the store.
“yeah, one sec,” he says, looking up from counting the cash in the register. “lemme just finish closing up the register.”
“are you implying that you’re gonna let me borrow another comic?” you ask, a flirty tone floating beneath.
“well of course,” he says, swiftly closing the cash drawer. “unless you want to start collecting, which by the way, SUPER expensive.”
“i think i’ll stick to being a casual reader for now,” you joke, approaching mark at the register.
“i don’t know, you might change your mind after this one,” he says, grabbing a comic from his bag. he holds it out to you, you grabbing it with your fingers briefly brushing past his. the motion makes you feel a little dizzy, and you can feel heat rising to your cheeks.
you shake your head, realizing this one doesn’t belong to the store. “wait, is this your own personal comic?”
“yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he says, half focusing as he’s writing something on a sticky note at the counter. “i brought it in so you can borrow it.” you can see the corner of his mouth turning up, as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.
“you didn’t have to do that—”
“i wanted to,” he says, lifting his head up to hand you the sticky note he was writing on. “just treat it with care.”
you take the note, which is pale blue with a cartoon spider-man in the corner. in the middle of the note is a scrawled out phone number. you look up to see mark rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“if you want to tell me what you think?” he says, almost like a question.
“or maybe when i get bored during my shift?” you ask, chuckling.
“i’d like that a lot actually,” he smiles, his previous nervousness quickly washing away.
“you’ll regret it though,” you say, sticking the note on the front page of the comic. “because i get bored here a lot.”
“don’t worry,” mark laughs, shaking his head. “i don’t think i’ll get sick of you anytime soon.”
you finally reached issue #14 of spider-man, the one mark is lending to you. you grab it out of your bag at the beginning of your shift, sitting back in your chair behind the register and getting comfortable. you realize what it’s about and immediately text mark.
sent 10:17 am
omg wait i didn’t realize this issue is the first appearance of the green goblin
you look across the way, seeing mark pick up his phone and smiling.
sent 10:18 am
mark: oh yeah, he’s fuckin sick
mark: you’re gonna love it
you click your phone off with a soft sigh, flipping back to your comic. you go about your shift switching from helping customers and checking them out, and reading. every once and a while, you’ll message mark with your comments and he would always reply with enthusiasm.
the end of your shift approaches quickly, and soon enough you’re closing the security shutters. you look behind you to see mark locking the doors and then doing the same. he must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he turns and flashes his famous smile to you. you walk over to him with the comic in hand.
“you were right,” you say, handing it him. “green goblin is super sick.”
“i told you,” he says, reaching for it, and your hands momentarily touching like last time. he gets flustered. “uh, i can give you the next one tomorrow if you’re working.”
“i am, yeah,” you reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “i am so curious though—when the hell does gwen stacy show up?”
“oh,” he giggles to himself. “you’re like, halfway there to finally seeing her.”
“i didn’t realize how extensive this series is,” you chuckle. “not that i’m complaining. i’m actually surprised by how much i like it.”
“i’m glad,” he says sweetly. “well, just come by tomorrow and i’ll give you the next issue.”
“i will.”
the following weeks, you became overtaken by superhero comics and stupid-fucking-adorable mark. you would read an issue of spider-man at work, and text mark with your reactions to certain scenes. at first you thought it might be annoying to him, but he actually seemed to encourage it, asking for your opinions on the characters and storyline.
it doesn’t help that every time you see mark, you get butterflies in your stomach. and it seemed to only be getting worse; you keep finding yourself smiling when his name pops up on your phone. you wake up excited to go to work, because you know you’ll probably have another interaction with him. sometimes, mark would even catch you staring at him and give a little nod with a smile. but what made things exponentially worse was when you catch him gazing at you too, catching you off guard but making a smile spread across your lips. you are smitten, and if anyone else was concerned, mark is probably smitten too. the issue is getting him to finally take the hint and making a real move on you.
he may get a little flustered around you, but he’s not exactly shy. after all, he did give you his number unprompted. but after weeks of going back and forth strictly talking about comics and work, you started to lose hope. you just want him. he must want you back just as bad.
after another closing shift, you watch the mall-goers pass by and file out of the building. the mall is basically empty now, most of the neighboring stores already closed and employees leaving for the day. you had to stay a little bit late, cleaning up a huge mess in the store from some rude customers. you thought you would have time to stop by to see mark, but with the amount of things you have to put away, your chances are looking slim.
you shuffle around the store, placing items back on the shelves and organizing the tables of merchandise. you eyes shift over to the comic book store, expecting to see it dark and locked up. but it isn’t; mark is still in there, half the lights still on, with him unboxing comics from their latest shipment. you already knew it was restock day for them (god you have way too much free time), but you didn’t realize how many boxes they got in.
you open the front door of your store, whisper-yelling through the security shutters. “mark!”
mark’s head turns to look at you and flashes a grin at you. “yo, you’re still here too?”
you nod, leaning on the glass door. you hold up a few of the displaced items in your hands. “go-backs,” you shrug.
he points at the pile of boxes in front of him, “restock. we got a lot of shit in early for christmas.”
“don’t say christmas please, i don’t want to think about it yet,” you say with a laugh.
you turn away to get back to work, putting all the merchandise back to their assigned spots. you don’t know what the hell got into people today; messing up all your organization you’ve done and putting things in all the wrong places. it didn’t help that you had to deal with some assholes with returns today too. you always theorize it’s from a full moon or mercury retrograde or something; those things must be the reason people start acting up.
after about an hour of cleaning, you finish up and can finally call it a day. you close up shop and turn to see mark still working on stocking at his store. you approach the security gate of the store, with its front door still propped open.
“i still need my next issue by the way,” you say to mark, who stands from his crouching position in front of an open box. he walks up to the gate and pushes it up, just enough for you to come through. you look hesitant.
“come in, it’s okay,” he says, motioning you in. you duck under the security gate, slipping into the store. “how was your day? looks like you had a lot to do.”
“yeah, the store was a mess,” you say, following him to the register. “i’ve never had to stay so late after close.”
“it’s only gonna get worse the closer it gets to christmas,” mark says while weaving around the boxes with you.
“what did i say about christmas?” you joke, nudging his shoulder softly.
“sorry, sorry,” he laugh, putting his hands up. you wait patiently for him as he kneels behind the register, looking for your comic. he pops back up with a stumped look on his face. “i swear i thought i put it up here to give to you but i can’t find it. i’m gonna go check the back.”
he starts walking to the back room, and looks back at you. “feel free to sit if you want. our stockroom is a wreck, this might take a sec.”
you nod to him, squeezing past the tower of boxes to sit in the chair at the register. it feels kinda funny to sit back here, like you’re seeing the store from a different perspective, from mark’s perspective. you look around behind the counter, seeing the little notes and cute super-hero knick knacks gathered around.
there’s a mini batman funko pop positioned in the corner, with a sticky note placed under his feet reading “no drinks at the register.” you look over to see a large iced coffee with mark’s name in sharpie. well, we all bend the rules a bit. his name tag is placed on the counter by a stack of comics. you grab it to take a closer look. it’s a plastic red pin with a white pop-art bubble. in the corner is a small piece of paper stuck on it, attached with office tape. on the paper is a spider-man doodle, made with red and blue marker and pen ink.
you’re sure this must’ve been drawn by mark. you have yet to see any of his drawings (despite your prying), so maybe seeing this one up close will give you a sneak peek into his style. it’s a little messy, with scratchy lines and colors bleeding outside the borders. despite that, it has a distinct style that you’re fond of. it’s not perfect, let alone does it look like the super-heroes you’ve been reading in your comics. but it has a quality to it that feels less polished and flat. it has character. the messiness makes it feel more… real.
you set his name tag down, placing it back next to the large stack of comics. these must be his go-backs. he’s been so wrapped up with his shipment he probably hasn’t had time to put them away. you think maybe it would be nice to help a bit. he’s been nice enough to let you borrow comics from the store, and you’re just waiting around after all.
you pick up the stack of comics, situating them into your arms, when you look down and see that under the stack is mark’s notepad. it’s not closed like you’re used to seeing it, opened to a clean white page with a drawing covering up a majority of it. it’s in a comic book style, you’re not surprised. but it has the same quality that his name tag doodle does; scrawly and messy, with no real precise lines. the colors are splashed across the page, with blotches of scribbled colored marker decorating it. then realize what it is—who it is.
it’s you.
the whole image captures you and a little bit of your surroundings. positioned at your normal spot at the register, you’re looking down at a comic with your fingers playing with the ends of your hair. but it has a dream-like feel to it, with the pages of the comic illuminating your face as if a source of power is emanating from it. and then the best part: the wings. placed behind your shoulders are pair of feathered wings, outstretched in a sketched black ink. it’s beautiful.
it’s beautiful and it’s you. mark drew you.
“yo, sorry that took so long,” mark says while emerging from the back, eyes still focused on the comic in his hands. “i finally found it, but dude i had to do some digging—”
mark’s words are cut short when he notices you holding his notepad, comics that were placed atop abandoned on the counter by you. he visibly gulps.
“mark…” you start, not moving your eyes from the drawing. “what’s this?” without a response for a few moments, you tear your eyes away to see mark with blush on his cheeks, mouth open but unable to let any words out. “did you… did you draw me?”
“look, it gets really slow during the day, i just did a little sketch to pass time—”
“mark, this isn’t just a sketch,” you say, looking back down at the notepad. “this is amazing.”
“y-you like it?” mark says, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
“of course i like it,” you say.
“you don’t think it’s weird that i drew you without telling you?” mark asks, nervousness radiating from him.
“i don’t think it’s weird at all,” you say. “i actually love it. i like that you drew me as a superhero too, and one with wings at that.”
mark stays quiet, looking at his feet and probably overthinking everything right now. you look back up at him, tension building in your stomach as you ask what you already know the answer to. “you like me, don’t you?”
mark lifts his head to meet your eyes. he bites his lip anxiously as he nods slowly.
a streak of courage overtakes you as you grab his arm to pull him closer, him tripping over his own feet and crashing into your chest. you’re leaned against the counter, with mark’s arm behind you and hand placed flat on the surface. your faces are close, and you can feel his breath. his eyes are glued onto your lips, and he swallows thickly.
“mark, just kiss me,” you mumble, aching for him.
he wastes no time, leaning in to slot his lips between yours. he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you as close as he can. you melt into him, goosebumps floating across your skin in all-consuming desire. you move your hand to hold his cheek, thumb swiping on his smooth skin and fingers tangled in his soft, messy hair.
he pulls away, breath still shaky. “i’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long…” he trails off before leaning in and kissing you again, this time with more passion. he swipes his tongue between your lips, with you willingly accepting him. his hands trail up and down your sides, then finally places a firm grip on your waist and lifting you to sit on the counter. he slots between your legs, his body pressed close to yours. your fingers card through his hair, earning a sweet hum from him.
his hands trail down to your ass, pushing you closer against him to where you feel the bulge forming in his jeans. he can’t even hold back his moan, it being muffled by your lips. he pulls away again, this time kissing from your cheek down to your neck. he sucks at the expanse of skin while he caresses the other side of your throat. you let out a soft hum in pleasure, savoring every bite and lick—
“fuck, you sound so hot too,” he says in between kisses. he moves a hand down to your breast, kneading it roughly. you throw your head back, soaking in the pleasure from just his hands alone. his beautiful fucking hands, the ones that drew you. his lips feel so good on you, but his hands feel even better. it’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment for eternity and he doesn’t want to let you go. almost as if holding you, touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. it doesn’t feel real to you either; that mark, the cute boy you’ve had a crush on for weeks and weeks is kissing you, holding you, and yearning for you all the same.
you feel so wrapped up in the moment that you almost forget that you’re in public. sure, there’s no one left in the mall and the only people left are probably mall security, but the risk of being seen is still there. it just feels too good to stop.
“mark,” you say, giving in to the anxiety. “are we really doing this? right here, right now?”
he pulls back to look at you, still holding you close. “it’s just us here, and if it’s okay with you, i don’t think i can wait any longer.”
“i don’t think i can either,” you respond.
suddenly mark is ripping your clothes off, all while pulling you both behind one of the comic display cases. it’s your turn to take his clothes off, and you’re yanking his jacket off and pulling up his graphic tee and discarding them both on the floor. the exchange is a jumbled mess of constant touching of skin and clothes flying in every direction, a true testament to how desperate you both want each other. he’s kissing you all the while, taking every opportunity to peck at you between the tugging of clothes.
he leans you against the display bookshelf full of comics, completely unbothered when an issue or two falls off. your hand travels down into this jeans, feeling him hard and pulsing against your palm. you stroke his length slowly, focusing most of the stimulation on his dripping head. he lifts one of your legs slightly to get better access to you under your skirt, then looks at you as if he’s asking for permission.
you nod your head profusely before leaning in to kiss him deeply. it doesn’t last long, because suddenly he’s pushing inside you and you’re gasping at the stretch—
“you’re so—fuck—so fucking tight,” he hisses, attempting to push in as slowly as he can. your mouth is fully agape in bliss as he finally bottoms out, reaching deep inside of you. he catches your eyes, lust filled in his own as he slowly starts to move.
he’s slow at first, knowing that his size is stretching you out to the point where it’s nearly painful. but it feels so fucking good, his cock dragging in and out of your tight walls. you can tell he wants to pick up the pace, with his breath shuddering with each stroke. you take the opportunity to kiss him again, wanting to taste his soft lips as he gradually begins to pound into you.
he’s groaning against your lips, and your moans are muffled against his. you’re trying to salvage any sort of public decency by holding back your sounds the best you can. it’s when he grabs your legs and lifts you to press you against the display shelf that you realize that that shred of awareness of your surroundings is about to be long fucking gone.
he’s holding you up by gripping your ass, pistoning into you at a pace that you can only describe as brutal. it’s no use trying to stifle your moans anymore, with him hitting your cervix over and over and making you see stars at each stroke—
“mark, it feels so fucking good,” you can only whine out to him, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter, tugging at his hair—
“you feel so fucking good, jesus,” he groans against your neck, heaving breaths tickling at your throat.
his pace is wild, but the force in which he’s pounding into you begins to cause the comic books around you to tumble off the shelves, creating a pile at mark’s feet. he doesn’t seem to care though. that is, until a comic book falls from a shelf above you and hits him on the head.
“ah!” he exclaims, realizing what happened. he stops his movements to look at you, holding back a smile.
you can’t hold back your laugh, giggling profusely at the ridiculousness of the situation. he laughs too, shaking his head and letting out a sigh.
“this is crazy,” he says, resting his forehead on yours.
“i know,” you reply, still giggling. with one last laugh, he leans in and kisses you tenderly, smile still formed on his lips. you melt into him, ruffling your fingers through his hair as he begins to pick back up the roll of his hips into you.
it feels like a sweet moment, the fact that you can be doing such a scandalous act and still giggle with him. the tenderness doesn’t last for long, however, when he hits that perfect spot inside you that forces you to release a sharp moan.
“mark, oh my god,” you whimper, attempting to roll your hips down onto him. “keep doing that, please—”
“fuuuck,” he groans, feeling your core clenching around his length. “you take me so well, baby.”
all you can do now is nod, whimpering and whining on him. you can’t believe that this man that has always been so endearing, so kind and lovable has this completely different side to him that you’re only now getting to experience. it brings a different sort of intrigue to him; that he’s more than just a cute boy that works at a mall. he’s complex. he’s a fucking man. he’s a fucking. sex. god.
his breathing starts to become irregular, and his pace is back to merciless. his groans, fuck, his moaning. he’s bouncing you on his cock in the perfect way to where your moans are matching his. you can feel his dick pulsing inside you—
“i’m gonna cum,” he can only breathe out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “can i?”
“yes mark, please,” you whine, tugging at the ends of his hair. all the while you’re clenching around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to his release.
with a low groan, his hips stutter and you feel his seed spilling into you, completely filling you up. the rocking of his hips stall, and he’s finally letting you down and kissing you sweetly, caressing your cheek with his hand.
“god, you are fucking perfect,” he whispers to you. you let out a giggle, leaning your forehead against his. “hey, i’m not done with you yet.”
he quickly moves you to the glass display counter, lifting you to sit you on it. he pushes your thighs open, lifting your skirt up to get a better look at you. he looks enamored, like he’s starving and the only thing to appease his hunger is by having you on his mouth.
he dives in, licking a stripe up your core with a groan. he repeats this action, as if he’s savoring every drop of your essence mixed with his release that’s slowly dripping out of you—
“so fucking hot,” he hums, releasing a hand from your thigh to tease at your entrance.
“mark, please,” you beg. “stop teasing—”
he attaches his mouth to your clit, swirling his tongue around in smooth, controlled circles. your hands fly to his head, body already twitching from stimulation. his finger is still prodding at your hole, wanting to enter but not just yet. he instead continues to ravage at your sensitive bud, intentional movements making your head spin. he knows what he’s doing and he knows he’s good, especially with the shaking of your thighs and high pitched moans escaping your lips egging him on.
he looks up at you, flattening his tongue out and doing long, drawn out licks. the eye contact is insane, the lust filled in them only making it that much hotter. he’s enjoying every second of this, seeing you shake and begging him to keep going. he loves the taste of you too, so sweet and almost addictive. he could die like this.
his teasing finger finally starts to deepen inside you, slowly at first. he can feel every pulse of your core around his finger, and it’s so hot that he can feel himself getting hard again. and you’re so wet, oh my god, so fucking wet. your arousal is dripping down his chin and his hand, making a sticky mess. when you start to roll your hips onto his face, he swears he’s in heaven.
he inserts another finger, feeling that tightness grip around them. it’s only getting more erratic now, clenching around him with each grind of your hips. he curls his fingers to prod at that sensitive spot, causing you to moan out his name—
“mark, don’t stop,” you whine, looking down at him basically making out with your pussy.
he continues the same movements, repeatedly hitting your g spot and swirling his dripping tongue on your clit. your back arches and legs unintentionally close around his head, making him push them back open with his free hand.
and then he starts humming against you. the vibrations send a shock wave through your body, that mixed with his fingers, his tongue, his hand gripping tightly against your thigh… it feels so intense and so so good. you cum on his tongue, with him desperately holding your hips down and he helps you ride out your high. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, and you have to grab his head and lift it.
“oh my god,” you gasp, slowly coming down.
he smirks up at you with arousal-coated lips. “yeah, oh my god.” he stands up, immediately going to kiss you and you accepting him, wrapping your arms around him. he pulls away and leans his head against yours.
“i can’t believe we just did that,” he says, sighing out an exasperated laugh.
“i know, what the fuck, right?” you giggle.
“are you- are you doing anything right now?” he asks. “like, do you wanna get food or something?”
“are you asking me on a date?” you ask teasingly.
“don’t tell me you decided you’re creeped out by the drawing now,” he laughs.
“yeah. suuuper creeped out,” you joke, leaning in for another kiss. you hear a noise behind you, and look out through the security shutters to see a mall security guard passing by, scrolling through his phone.
“looks like he just missed the show,” mark says, causing you both to try and hold back your fit of giggles.
a/n: thank u guys for reading! i rly enjoyed this one hehe :-) please leave feedback as i'm new to writing, and reblog to support me! it motivates me to write more!
