And the thing is, when Mark is fucking you into the mattress, drool dripping from the corner of your slack mouth and your eyes rolled back into your head, all he's thinking about is how just a few minutes earlier you were trying to convince him to "let himself lose control."
"I'm not gonna break, Mark," you'd pouted, giving him those big, pleading eyes. He'd just smiled down at you and nodded, then kissed you and gave you what you thought you wanted.
He knows though, if he actually let go, let himself lose control, he'd kill you or at the very least leave you permanently injured. There's something sick about it that thrills him. The way you feel around his cock makes him want to give into the Viltrumite part of his brain that's telling him if you're worthy of his seed, you'll survive what it takes to get it. He's ashamed of it and will never let those thoughts see the light of day, but he can't ignore them. You begging for him makes it even more difficult to keep that grip on his self control.
It's easy to see how much you trust him when you're gushing around his dick as it rocks in and out of you, Mark's hands pressing bruises into your waist and teeth leaving angry red patches on your neck.
So yeah, he could break you with one thrust- even less than that.
okay lets think about how mark would genuinely be so into free use but NOT in the traditional way in the “my girlfriend/wife is doing something where she cant focus on me so I’ll just…” KIND OF WAY. Like you’re gaming and he’s like picking you up to sit you on his face and if you’re like “what-?” he just shushes you like “don’t you have the game to focus on pretty girl?” AND AHHH work zoom calls, cooking dinner whatever he just wants to pleasure you while you struggle to not pay attention to you
NO BUT THISSSSSSS he is such a "I need to be providing pleasure at all times" type of guy. Like that boy is a fucking pleasure dom idc what anyone says. He will do anything he thinks will make you feel good or happy.
I am so unabashedly feral for him, and this is one of the reasons why. There's nothing better than a man who feels the need to prove he can be the best for you in every way possible. Lovedddd this ask
You're taking a break between work calls in your office, just on your phone leaning back in your desk chair for a little bit when there's a knock at the door. You look over, confused because Mark *knows* you're working right now...
Must be an emergency, right?
"Come in!" You call. When the door creaks open, your eyes go back to your monitor. Three minutes before your next project meeting.
Mark doesn't speak when he enters, just walks his socked feet silently to stand by your side. You can feel heat radiating from him, and you don't have to look to know that the grey sweatpants he's wearing are *not* accompanied by a shirt.
You give him a look from the corner of your eye, brows drawing together in confusion. "I have a meeting in like two minutes, is everything okay?" The question hits the air at the same time your fingers hit the keyboard, responding to your coworker's message about getting on the call.
'logging on right now,' you type and press send, and by the time you're moving to look up at him Mark has already hit the ground on his knees. Your pulse starts to race because you know what it means when he looks up at you like this.
You move to close your thighs, but he catches them before your muscles can even prepare for the motion. "Mark-"
"C'mon baby," he says, flashing that sharp-canined smile. His thumbs rub circles into the skin of your inner thighs under your skirt, your core turning molten.
Face burning, your hand flies to bury itself in his hair. Something in your panicked brain must've forgotten that your Viltrumite boyfriend can and will not be moved away from your pussy once he's decided that it's gone long enough without his attention. No, your fingers tugging on the silky, dark strands does nothing but goad him into tucking himself under the desk and pushing your skirt hem up. You can feel his warm breath on your covered core, trying to force yourself to accept that fact that, yup, this is happening.
You're getting eaten out on a Zoom call.
Mark doesn't wait for you to join- just waits for you to put on your headset with lightly trembling hands. He pulls the already damp gusset of your panties out of the way, then wastes no time licking a stripe straight up your center, from hole to clit.
And then he groans into your folds.
"Fuck, you taste so goddamn good," he growls. You tug at his hair again: a signal to say 'okay, you win, but you need to shut up right now.'
You feel the short puffs of air from his laugh. He's quiet and mostly behaving, pressing kisses to your folds and lapping up any wetness he can reach, silently as possible.
When you can't avoid it anymore, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, bite the bullet, and hit 'join call.'
Summary: Your ex boyfriend is a fucking loser. Hindsight is 20/20, but you’re really kicking yourself for not listening to your friends from high school and dumping him before you both went off to separate universities. Now it’s October at Upstate U, and you’re drowning your sorrows in vodka crans with some new friends-
New friends who have a very, very sexy guy named Mark Grayson lined up to be the perfect rebound.
THE SWEET ONES ARE ALWAYS FREAKS SORRYYYY
Part 1/2, (~5k)
Tags: porn with plot, no use of y/n, fingering (f recieving), dirty talk, vaginal sex, sweet Mark, Mark talks you through it tbh, reader doesn't know Mark is Invincible
August used to be your favorite month. You’ve been so pissed that of all things a man ruined it for you.
It’s officially been two months since you moved to Upstate University; two months since your boyfriend of nearly three years had called to say (a week after move in), "Long distance just isn't working for me,” which would've been easier to swallow if he hadn't started dating the girl from his chemistry lab less than a week later.
The bar wall is cool against your exposed back, your fingers wet with condensation from a half-finished vodka cran.
"Babe, this is getting depressing." William’s voice carries over the thumping bass and overlapping voices as you slide your phone into your purse. He’s in full judgemental mode, arms crossed over his chest.
You raise a brow, “I’m not following-”
"You've checked his Instagram four times tonight."
You scoff, "I checked twice."
"You checked twice," he echoes. "Then you looked at his new girlfriend's profile. Then her roommate's profile. Then you somehow ended up on his mom's Facebook."
"...I was gathering evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"That he's a loser."
William blinks.
"Babe."
"What?"
"You don't need evidence."
You press your lips together for a moment, then sigh and take a swig of your drink.
He isn't wrong.
Your ex is a loser.
Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, but maybe your high school friends had been onto something when they spent senior year telling you to dump him before graduation.
"He's kind of a dick."
"He never comes to your games."
"He talks over you all the time."
"He's literally making you cry in the Taco Bell parking lot."
In your defense...
Actually.
No.
You don't have a defense.
Your eyes scan over the crowded space: a single long room that’s only really accessible by a stone staircase leading up to the main street of campus.
You’ve been nursing your first drink for at least twenty minutes. William’s on number two, and just sent Rick off to get number three.
“Listen to me.” William grabs you by the shoulders. “You don’t have to take that shit anymore. No more deadbeat guys who can’t fuck and do the bare minimum.”
You laugh, but he doesn’t.
“I’m serious!” He shakes you a little bit, like it’ll make the point stick. “You’re hot! You’re smart! You’re funny!” He looks you up and down. “If I liked girls I’d want to get you out of that tiny little dress immediately.”
“Okay, okay!” You giggle. A smile cracks his face, and widens exponentially when his gaze drifts over your shoulder and locks on something behind you.
“Um, why do you look evil?” You ask, straw at your lips.
The expression stays.
“Did I not mention in my pitch that I had a gift for you?”
“What is it?” You try to turn, but his hands hold you in place.
“Your savior is here, my darling.” You don’t love the look he’s giving you.
“William-“
“Amber! Over here!”
You’re officially nervous, William’s hands falling away from you. The music is still pounding, one song transitioning into the edm remix of another.
Amber hugs you from behind in greeting, her bracelets clinking together. “Hey beautiful!”
“Hey honey.” You plant a kiss on her cheek, leaving a sparkly lipgloss print behind.
“William, you’re brilliant and I love you.” She says.
Words form then die on your lips in half an instant, a prickle traveling up your neck.
You can feel him before you see him. Like a mountain erupted from the ground behind you and is suddenly looming.
You’re sweating.
“Mark!” William exclaims. In half a second you’re able to surmise that,
A.) William is so fucking dead,
B.) Your friends might’ve gotten you a dick appointment to help you get out of your funk,
and
C.) You recognize that name.
Mark.
Fragments of conversions fill in little gaps: William telling stories from middle and high school, Amber talking about an ex that she’s still friends with. This isn’t some random dude from one of your classes, this is someone close to them. Someone they care about.
“-she’s really cool, I promise. She’s just bad at listening.” Amber’s elbow in your side catapults you back into the conversation.
The owner of the looming presence has moved from behind to in front of you, standing beside William.
Holy fuck.
Your eyes travel up his body unsubtly. He’s tall, towering over you even in your heels. He’s dressed simply in a pair of chino pants and a boxy short sleeved button down, left open and layered over a white t shirt.
You can see a peek of bicep out of his sleeves, and the cut of his jaw is sharp even with the ghost of 5 o'clock shadow.
Dear God, your friends are setting you up with a male model.
“It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot.” His voice is deep but light. Maybe a little shy. You meet his eyes, and curse the low light for not letting you see their color.
You smile at him. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard your name a few times for sure, but-“ you shoot a look at William , who is conveniently looking anywhere but at you. “Definitely not enough;”
Amber squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining when you turn to her. “William and I are gonna go grab me a drink at the bar and find Rick.” You bite back a smile when she winks, then wave them off.
“Yeah yeah, go help William get his man wasted.”
You watch Mark watch them weave through the crowd, linked at the elbow. His dark hair is fluffy, just a little bit of a wave to it.
“They are… not subtle, are they?” Mark asks when he turns back to you, smile crooked.
“Not at all.” Your eyes fall to his Adam’s apple, the low lights hiding your blush. “So… Mark-“
“Grayson.” He supplies.
“Grayson,” you echo. “What did those two say to get you here tonight?” Flashes of colorful light dance across his skin as he shifts to lean against the wall beside you.
He shrugs. “They just told me they had someone I should meet, is all.”
Your brows draw together. “You went to high school with them, right? That’s like three and a half hours from here.”
Something odd blips across his face, but it’s gone before you can discern it. He just stuffs his hands in his pockets, gaze searching yours. “I dunno, it’s the least I can do; I like being there when people need me.” He smiles crookedly. “Plus I drive 9 over the speed limit.”
You feign shock, a hand flying to your chest. “Woah there speed racer, careful not to enter hyperspace.”
He laughs, and the euphoria that floods through you at the sound is already addicting.
Conversation flows easily between your interests and learning his. ‘What do you mean you don’t know Seance Dog?’
Your little spot against the wall starts to feel like a bubble, the sounds around you fading into white noise. Mark’s cool. Fun, silly, and humble. He offers to get you another drink, but you wave it off. The idea of pausing conversation with him for something so trivial feels beyond unnecessary.
“I was actually here for school at the beginning of the semester, but…” he scratches the back of his neck, looking away as the conversation turns more serious. “My dad, we uh… lost him a few months ago. I decided to come home to help my mom. College will always be there, you know?”
Your brows draw together. “I’m so sorry,” you offer. He shrugs.
“It’s just normal life now. Honestly the thing I miss most about Upstate is the bars.” He leans in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he says, “William is a terrible roommate.”
Before you know it, the better part of two hours have passed. Over that time the two of you have moved exponentially closer together, now standing nearly forehead to forehead to hear each other better (allegedly).
You haven’t had any more alcohol, but you feel drunk on Mark. You’ve known him for all of a few hours and he has you questioning if your ex was a different species altogether. There’s just no way that this guy and that piece of shit share any commonality.
The satisfaction on his face when he makes you smile or finds out something new about you is radiant: it makes you feel seen.
This is how it’s supposed to feel, you think.
You brush your fingers over one of his forearms and see the hairs stand up in reaction. You giggle when he has the nerve to look embarrassed about it.
“Am I making you nervous?” You ask, teasing.
“Yes,” he answers immediately. “But I like it.”
He moves closer, his hand gently resting on your waist. It’s warm through the fabric of your dress, large and steady and makes the blood thrum under your skin. Your lips part, a whine escaping against your will that he should not have been able to hear.
“How about me? Do I make you nervous?” He asks, voice low and just the smallest bit unsure. It makes you melt.
“Nah, you couldn’t hurt a fly.” You reply, heart racing when you shift to wrap your arms around his neck.
He’s clearly contemplating something internally for several moments, eyes searching yours for some sort of answer. You cock your head to the side.
“What is it?” You ask.
He takes a shallow breath. “I really want to kiss you,” he says. “But I don’t want to mess this up.”
Fuck, he’s perfect.
Without another thought you push onto your toes, bringing your lips up to meet his in a chaste kiss.His mouth tastes like mint toothpaste and something that somehow seems like him.
Sparks blaze through you at the contact, and you haven’t pulled away more than a few centimeters when he’s pulling you back in, pressing his mouth to yours more securely. Claiming.
Mark’s hands dig into your hips, fingerprints pressing hard enough to brand your skin with bruises. You love it.
He’s kissing you like he’s been trying really hard to be respectful this whole time, which you honestly appreciate. You can tell he’s holding back though- he’s confident, but not pushing, making sure you know you can pull away and stop if you want to.
You absolutely don’t want to.
“I’m not gonna break,” you say when pulling away to catch your breath, looking up at him through your lashes, chest heaving.
Mark’s pupils have consumed most of his irises. Something in the way his grip tightens and his jaw works give the impression that he’s thinking something along the lines of maybe not, but I’d like to try.
You bite the inside of your cheek, want buzzing in the tips of your fingers. You’ve always been responsible, and good, and generally a rule follower; it feels good to push all of that away and take Mark by the wrist, pulling him away from your wall and down a secluded hallway. He doesn’t question you dragging him around the corner and beside a stack of boxes next to the door to the back office.
You’d stumbled drunkenly down this hallway by mistake enough times already while looking for the bathroom. One time you caught a couple doing exactly what you’re intending to do, so…
“You look fucking beautiful,” Mark drinks you in again, crowding you up against the wall. You feel his warm breath on your skin when you tilt your head up towards him. “Is this okay?”
Your heart skips a beat, hands pulling him closer. “You have no fucking idea.”
You moan when his hands move to grab your ass, the tips of his fingers brushing the skin of your thighs just under the hem of your dress. Warm lips trail down your jaw to pepper kisses on your neck in tandem, and all you can do is press yourself harder into his touch. The moment is an assault on the senses, between his hands, his mouth, the cold wall, the muffled thrum of music-
“Fucking Christ,” you choke out, eyes falling shut. Mark huffs a chuckle, hands moving lower until he’s hefting you into his arms.
Mark’s hands are strong under your thighs. His fingertips bite into the skin while he holds you snug against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist. It’s… incredible. He somehow isn’t shaking at all, like you weigh less than nothing.
His lips are a little chapped moving against yours, but you truly can’t care less about it. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, your free hand clutching at his shoulder through his shirt. He’s solid, the amount of muscle clear even through his clothes.
“Fuck-” You breathe against his mouth when you have no choice but to pull back for air- just a smidge. His breath is warm against your mouth, his brown eyes flitting to yours, half-lidded.
“Yeah.” He says, cheeks turning just a little bit pink. You can feel your own face warming as well, especially when you shift just enough to feel the solid press of his erection against your panties.
Mark lets out a soft grunt, fingers flexing. “Please know that this is the opposite of how I usually treat women I’m interested in,” he jokes, a half smile lighting his face. You hum in response, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his temple, then let your lips settle right next to the curve of his ear.
“Tell me, how would you normally treat me?” Teasing is something you’d usually find yourself too anxious to try. You’re always a little afraid of being rejected, but Mark makes it easy to feel bold, especially when he just met you and he’s already looking at you like that.
He ducks his head with an embarrassed laugh, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder.
"I would've asked you out first," he admits. "Probably severely fumbled over my words." His thumbs rub circles into the plush of your thighs, sending a thrill through you straight to your core.
“Yeah?” You let your head fall back against the brick, word escaping like a sigh.
Mark presses a gentle kiss to the bare ball of your shoulder.
“Definitely.” He grinds into you again, “And if I was lucky enough to have you say yes, I’d get you flowers. Bring you somewhere nice for dinner.”
You smile at the dim ceiling, eyes falling closed. “What if I told you I didn’t want to eat anything other than a fresh bowl of pasta from Florence?” You ask, playing with the soft hair in your hands.
You can feel his voice rumble through your body when his lips shift again, trailing feather-light across your collarbone to the junction of your neck and shoulder. His teeth are sharp against your skin; pinpricks of pain spark up your nerves when he lightly bites down before answering.
“I could make that happen.” A beat, during which a flash of every time a man had ever made a promise he couldn’t keep washes over your mind. “I’d bring you anywhere you want to go. Help you study for class, if that’s what you need. Dress up in shitty costumes for Halloween and go to haunted houses.”
“I think you might be setting yourself up for failure, Mark Grayson.”
He goes still at that.
You feel his face leave your skin and his body shift to put you down. Your eyes fly open in confusion, hands moving to rest flat on his chest when you’re deposited on your own two feet. He’s looking at you intensely, his head cocked to the side like a puppy. Shit, he has those puppy eyes too.
“C’mon, I’m being serious,” his voice is still low, body still radiating heat that you can feel through the thin material of your dress. One of those big hands brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, index finger crooking under your chin to tip your gaze up to meet his afterwards. “If I were lucky enough to have a chance with you, I’d do it right.”
You want to laugh, or do something to break the tension.
His eyes won’t let you.
“We just met,” You say, but it doesn’t have any humor in it. Just an observation.
“We did. And if I was actually a good guy, I would’ve just asked for your number.” He looks you up and down, his hand dropping from your face. “But it seems like William managed to set me up with someone worth being bold for.”
Now you snort a laugh, but it’s well received. His smile is like the sun breaking through stormclouds.
“How about I give you my number,” you start, stepping so your strappy heels are right up to the toes of his converse. You crane your neck to look up at him, looping your arms loosely around his neck. “And we give you a do-over. You can be the perfect gentleman, and jump through all of the hoops. Make me feel like a princess.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but you cut him off. “If you give me a free trial of what I can expect after that. Just for tonight.” His brows shoot up toward his hairline, but the smile creeps back to his lips. Those hands rest on your waist, fingers brushing where the band of your underwear is under your dress.
“I think I can manage that.” You notice that his canines look sharper than any you think you’ve seen before when they flash in the low light.
You push up onto your toes when he stoops down to meet you, lips brushing again. “Now show me what you’re gonna do instead.”
In a flash you’re in his arms again, being carried for a few seconds then deposited through a door that he closes behind him, bathing you both in only the red light of an ‘exit’ sign. It’s a utility closet, filled with dusty boxes of decorations that the bar puts up for holidays and university events.
You push him against the wood, a hand snaking between you to palm at the bulge in his pants. “How did you know this was here?” You ask, emboldened by the low moan you coax from him.
“Fucking Christ- friend works here.” He curses, but presses harder into your hand.
You feel powerful like this. A hot guy literally under your palm, and he really wants you. And he’s nice, he’s good, he’s-
Mark curses again quietly under his breath and your positions are quickly switched. His mouth is on yours, tongue swiping over your lower lip to ask for entrance. With a sigh you abide him, letting him press into you and claim every inch.
Your hands move, sliding up the back of his shirt and feeling the hard muscle hiding beneath the fabric.
“You’re killing me in this dress.” His fingers slide up the backs of your legs, pushing the hem up until it’s gathered around your waist and he’s looking down at the black lace of your underwear. You bite down on your lower lip, your nails digging into his skin harshly. It feels like he can see through it somehow; like he knows how fucking soaked he’s got you.
You whine softly at the feeling of his hand ghosting over the waistband, eyes meeting yours to confirm he can go forward. “Please,”
Finally he’s giving you what your body has been thrumming for. Your head falls back against the door, one of your forearms flying to muffle your cry when he pushes the drenched panties out of the way and glides his fingers through the slick around your entrance, then groans and uses that wetness to press circles into your clit.
Sparks explode behind your eyelids and race down your spine, back arching and nipples tightening to peaks.
“So wet… this all for me?” He whispers right into your ear, making your shiver.
“All for you.” It’s not worth lying, or playing games. You want him. He knows it, you know it.
Mark makes a sound of contentment. He uses his feet to knock yours apart more, giving him space to slot himself snugly against you while he keeps exploring, learning what makes you throb for him.
“You have no goddamn clue how bad I want to rip this off of you,” he continues, a long finger slowly entering you and crooking to find your g-spot. “Wanna kiss you until you can’t talk, eat this pussy until you can’t breathe. Make you come on my face until you fucking can’t anymore.” You clench on his finger, body wound like a goddamn spring.
“Fuck you open on this cock until you’re screaming.”
More moans, your hands scrambling at his shirt to get it off. “You have a deceptively filthy mouth,” you pant. Another finger slides in, stretching you deliciously.
“Seems like you’re enjoying it,” he teases. You can’t help but nod in agreement, feeling him hard against your hip. “Tell me,” goading you on.
Your face burns, but you try to comply even though your brain has turned into mush. “Need you so bad,” you breathe out.
“C’mon, you can do better than that.” He withdraws his fingers and you whine at the loss.
“Take your shirt off and I’ll think about it.”
He laughs- a real, full laugh that makes satisfaction fill your entire body. He’s so damn pretty, especially when he does exactly what you ask. The button down falls from his shoulders, then the t-shirt follows suit as Mark pulls it over his head and reveals his muscular torso.
He pushes the dress up higher until he’s feeling all over the smooth skin of your stomach, then switches gears to slide the straps down your arms and pull your breasts free, taking them in as he speaks.
“Making it so hard to decide if I wanna take my time with you now or just fuck you good, save the sweet stuff for next time.” He brings long fingers to his lips, licking them clean of your wetness. “Guess it’ll come down to whether I give you what you want or decide to make you work for it.”
You whine softly at the words, nails digging into the skin of his back when he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking softly and just barely pressing in with his teeth. His touch around the band of your underwear is driving you so insane that you almost cry in happiness when he pushes them down your legs to pool on the ground, out of the way and forgotten.
“Please for the love of fuck don’t make me work for it,” You concede when he switches to your other breast, leaving a trail of kisses over your sternum between them. You feel his smile against your skin, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass.
Your whole body feels like it’s on fire- or maybe like it’ll explode if he doesn’t satisfy the need between your legs.
You attempt to communicate this by pushing yourself up against him, attempting to grind against his thigh, or do literally anything to soothe the ache. His mouth detaches from your skin and he draws back up to his full height, a wicked glint in his eye as he looks down at you.
Staring straight back, your hands fall to the button on his pants.
“You sure?” He asks as you pull the zipper down.
“Very.” He twitches under your palm. “I’m clean, and on birth control,” you add. “I don’t have a condom, so…”
“I’m also clean, and… I also don’t have a condom.” He starts to laugh, but it gets caught in his throat when you reach into his underwear and grasp the hard length of him.
You run your thumb over the tip, feeling the moisture that’s already built there. He’s fucking massive, and you’re honestly starting to feel out of your league. After a few strokes of your hand, he’s already groaning and taking you by the wrist.
“You want this to be over already?” He jokes, then kisses you again before you can answer.
It’s another one of those claiming kisses- his tongue licking over your bottom lip, then into your mouth. I’m in control, it seems to say. And you don’t have a problem with that at all.
By the time he’s breaking away, you’re already being spun to face the door, your ass pressed against his erection. You can feel the slick on your thighs, and know it’s gonna be all over his pants, but you can’t give even half a fuck when you can feel the head of his cock pressing against your opening, stretching you wide.
Your breath punches out in pants, one of Mark’s hands grasping you by the hip and the other coming around your front to grip at the base of your neck- not squeezing, just holding you in place. You feel yourself being bent over, your pussy bared to him. He kisses your shoulder, muttering sweet words as he eases himself in;
‘There you go, pretty girl. Take it slow.’
‘Feel so good, shit-’
‘You’re being so fucking good. Let me know if I need to slow down, yeah?’
The meanings of the words are hard to distinguish in your current state of absolute bliss.
By the time you feel the brush of his public hair against you, you’re already drooling. He stills for a moment, presumably to let you catch your breath.
“I really want to make this last, but-” His breath hitches when you flutter around him. “Fuck- this place is closing soon.” You make a noise of assent.
Do your worst, it says.
He gets the message.
Mark’s hands steady on you, and immediately after you can feel the slow slide of his cock as he pulls out halfway, then punches forward again.
Stars explode in your vision at the assault on your senses.
Mark curses behind you, then repeats the motion.
Again and again and again.
He fucks you open like he has something to prove. Somehow he’s hitting every sensitive spot inside your body, the rhythm making you lose yourself in sensation. His body is a warm, solid mass behind you as he takes.
The door squeaks with every drive of his hips into you, the sound of your skin slapping bouncing off the walls. It’s dirty, it’s depraved, and you’re already obsessed with this man and with the cock that’s destroying your insides.
Your mind is nearly blank. All you can do is hold on for the ride, and try to suppress your moan when the hand that had been pressing bruises into your hip falls to your clit. He rubs tight circles on the nerves again, his hips never once faltering in their cadence.
“Wanna make you come for me,” He pants. “Can feel you getting all tight around my dick, shit-”
You feel so goddamn full it’s insane. You’ve never been fucked so well in your life, and this is only a quickie. You can’t even fathom how good sex in a real bed with this man might be.
“Mark,” your voice cracks out, bordering on a cry. His hips stutter at the sound of his name falling from your lips.
“Next time I’m gonna have you on your back so I can see your face when you come all over my cock.” he grunts, and you feel your orgasm building far too quickly at the insinuation of there being a next time. His fingers move impossibly faster (the dexterity on this man is insane), the end racing towards you. “See these tits better, too.” The hand around your throat drops to pinch one of your nipples, and you’re done for.
With a cry of his name, you break. Your orgasm washes over you so intensely that your ears start to ring, the assault on your clit not letting up for a second. You can vaguely hear him talking you through it, praising you with sweet nothings, but the words aren’t registering over the euphoria rushing through you.
“Shit-” He moans low, and somewhere in your body you register him pulling out, then the warmth of his come painting the skin of your ass.
The room is quiet, save for your combined heavy breathing and the muffled music from the bar. His hands let go of you but hover centimeters away, wary of your weak knees.
What a gentleman.
You stand straight, relishing the satisfied soreness between your legs while you drag your dress straps back up. He’s watching you, eyes still dark.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. He picks up his discarded button down, and turns you around one more time, carefully using it to wipe the evidence of his orgasm from your skin. Once he’s satisfied, he squats down to press a kiss to your asscheek, and you giggle as he pulls the hem of your dress back down.
“Thank you,” You say, bending yourself to shimmy your underwear up your legs while he puts himself back into his pants, then buttons them. When you turn and give him a once over, you can’t help but let out a laugh at the mysterious stain near the crotch. He follows your eyeline, then snorts.
“No, thank you-” T-shirt now in hand, he pulls the clean garment over his head. “So, how was the free trial? Think you’ll give the subscription a go?”
You lean back against the door that he’d just fucked you open against, feigning thought with a finger on your chin like there’s any chance you’d say no. “I think I could be interested,” you say.
His smile lights his face impossibly further. A slower, sweeter kiss is pressed to your lips that sends butterflies through your sated body. “Good.” Mark gives you a look over, his fingers bushing through a tangle in your hair. “You deserve to be adored.”
Summary: You and Anakin Skywalker have been... something for a while. Something real enough that Anakin has become protective. Maybe a little possessive.
Warnings: vaginal smut, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, possessive!anakin, jedi!reader, no use of y/n
You and Anakin Skywalker are… you and Anakin Skywalker.
When you started your odd attachment, there was a mutual agreement that not putting a label on it would make both of your blatant rule breaking less obvious to the Order.
Plausible deniability.
Now, however many months later, that method of detachment is becoming increasingly laughable.
The Clone Wars are taking a noticeable toll on him. He’s always been a little arrogant, definitely impulsive and always headstrong. It’s starting to feel like every time he comes back from a mission, Obi-Wan or Ashoka are trading concerned or frustrated looks.
And, either minutes or hours later, you find yourself getting fucked into your bed (or his bed, or the wall of a control room, or-)
You feel Anakin leave the room around the corner like a ripple in the Force. If he were a droid, he’d have smoke curling from the brackets on top of his head.
It’s common for the post-mission debriefs to get heated. Maker, you’re used to hearing Anakin yelling impassionately at his master, who rarely raises his own voice in reply. Like all of the other Jedi, you try your best to tune it out; it’s not your business, and if it is, Anakin will fill you in later (after he’s filled you up-)
Brow furrowed, you peek into the room he’s just exited. Obi-Wan is standing in the middle of the floor, pointer fingers massaging his temples.
“That boy is going to get us all killed,” he says in way of greeting.
An increasingly familiar ball of dread settles in your stomach.
Obi-Wan looks exhausted as you approach, bags dark under his still-closed eyes. You hum in agreement. “What was it this time?”
The master’s jaw tenses before he speaks. “The same thing that always happens. He’s fine for the first several days, and then one morning he decides to wake up and go rogue. It’s like he has a personal vendetta against every single enemy.”
Your gaze finds the door Anakin walked out of. He’s probably on his way to find you.
“Maybe he’s just exhausting himself by taking on all of these missions,” You muse. Obi-Wan chuckles, and you cross your arms over your chest, glancing back at him. “What, like it’s so unbelievable? Master Skywalker has been taking so many that I can’t remember the last time I went on one period, let alone without him.”
The older Jedi just shakes his head.
“I can only hope he knows what he’s doing.” He says, and you frown.
“Well that’s not mysterious.”
He offers no words of reply, just a tired smile. You take it as a hint and bid him goodbye.
You’ll get an answer one way or another.
—————————————————————————
Anakin is sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed when the door to his room slides open. The floor is cold under your feet, cotton dress swishing around your legs in place of your robes as you walk toward him.
When his eyes meet yours, you stop in your tracks: the only way to describe him in this moment is haunted.
You’re frozen in place there, by that blue you know can be gentle and warm.
“Ani-” You start, voice hoarse in your own ears. The cocktail of emotion swirling in your chest is confusing; a mixture of relief and worry and desire and maybe a little bit of anger-
He’s on his feet in an instant, expression morphing from that odd, unreadable, pained one to a mask of worry. Worry for you.
Anakin crosses the open space between you in two quick strides, one rough palm and one of smooth metal cupping your cheeks. He runs his thumbs over your skin, eyes searching for something on your face that you can’t decipher.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks. The words are almost frantic leaving his lips, your head already shaking as he’s speaking.
“There’s nothing wrong, I’m just worried about you.”
There’s no way to ignore the way his shoulders droop in relief, breath exiting his mouth in a sigh. You quirk a brow, arms moving to cross over your chest.
“Damn Skywalker, don’t look so surprised-” You let out a small yelp when he cuts you off, pulling you off the ground and into his arms. He’s warm even through his robes. Smells like motor oil and metal and man- “We both wield a lightsaber, you know.” You chuckle into the cook of his neck, the arms around you vicelike.
His answering hum doesn’t soothe the little knot of anxiety in your chest.
Your feet meet the floor again, his hands keeping a gentle grip on the muscle of your upper arms. You can feel your face heat as he looks you up and down.
“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about. I’m all in one piece here,” he says. You give a pointed look at his cybernetic hand where it rests on your skin, and don’t miss the roll of his eyes. ”Oh, ha ha.”
He pulls you closer together. Your heart is beating out of your chest, but this isn’t anything new. He’s your Anakin.
The smile on his face slowly melts away as he continues to take you in with marked focus, as if convincing himself that you’re actually real and standing in front of him. A pointer finger travels to brush away a lock of hair that’s escaped your loose braid, tucking it behind your ear.
The words “You’re beautiful,” are whispered against your lips before he fully closes the gap, kissing you with familiar intensity
This man does nothing halfway. He puts all of himself into the press of his mouth to yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip and tongue claiming you. His flesh hand cups the back of your neck, tangling in the bound hair while the metal one is holding your waist in a vice grip.
Heat courses through your veins, desire an ever present thrum beneath your skin. A low sound rumbles out of his chest that leaves you weak in the knees as he continues to devour and claim.
“Missed you so much,” He whispers when he eventually pulls himself away from you, lips bruised and puffy. His hands are everywhere, relearning the shape of you after several days apart.
“Mmm, you should tell the council to send me with, then.” You tease. He snorts a laugh, pushing you by the hips gently until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you land sitting. Anakin towers above you, face partially shrouded in shadow.
Instead of answering, he stoops down to press another chaste kiss to your lips then drops to his knees before you. His eyes glisten, full of mischief and so much need it makes you throb.
His hands find the hem of your dress, pushing the fabric teasingly up the length of your legs. For all of his impatience in just about every other part of his life, this is unfortunately one of the only areas he likes to take his time at. Mostly because he loves making you squirm.
“Ani-” You try to say it sternly, but it comes out as more of a whine. The twitch of his lips confirms that he read it that way too. He leans forward, giving the exposed skin of your knee little pecks while using his free hand to untie the belt of his robes, letting them fall open to bare the expanse of his chest.
His breath sends goosebumps up and down your leg. “Always rushing me,” he says. You open your mouth to snark back, but end up pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as his fingers push the fabric higher, the warm flesh moving to dig into the skin of your inner thigh. “You know I try to take my time-”
He pushes your legs further apart and slots himself into the gap between, holding them open with his body as you lean back onto your elbows. His hands explore you with confidence, skating up and down your thighs just to work you up. He knows it’s working too; you can tell by the satisfied lilt to his mouth, the creases around his eyes.
Asshole.
“You’re just too fucking pretty,” He sighs. A finger moves to skirt the soaked edge of your panties teasingly. “Can’t believe other people get to lay their eyes on you,” His gaze flicks up to yours for just a second, then back down to his hand where that digit is hooking into your underwear to pull it to the side, exposing your cunt to the air of his room. His thumb swipes reverently through the slick there, ending the movement with a swirl around your clit that has you panting. “-but never like this.” He finishes.
He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the heated skin, then pulls away just long enough to help pull your dress over your head and throw it somewhere else in the room. You’re left in only your soaked scrap of underwear, breasts heaving with every breath you take.
Anakin lets the robe fall from his shoulders, the scars on his chest shining in the Coruscant lights that stream through the window.
His mouth explores the expanse of your torso, satisfied little moans escaping him as he travels over the soft swell of your stomach, the compact muscle of your obliques, the supple peaks of your tits.
Gasping, your nails fly to dig into the muscle of his upper back when he sucks a nipple between his lips, circling it with the tip of his tongue until he decides to press his teeth in, just how you like. You arch into the feeling, and your head falls back when his fingers find their way again to where your body begs to be filled, the little bit of fabric acting as no barrier at all.
Fingertips tease at your entrance, your hips moving to try to goad him in and give you what you want.
“Can’t ever let me play, can you?” The words are near a hiss against your skin. “So gorgeous and wet and yet you just want me to get you off right away-” He plunges a finger inside in one move, your eyes going wide and a cry breaking free of your throat at the motion. “I thought Jedi were supposed to be disciplined,” he teases.
“You’re… one to talk.” You force out the words, trying hard to keep your composure as he presses against the spot inside you he knows makes you melt.
He adds a finger. “Well everyone already knows that I’m a bad Jedi,” his voice is like syrup sliding over your limps, thumb stroking your clit in time with the curling motions of his middle and pointer. “But you, you’re perfect.”
Despite the pleasure assaulting you, a frown meets your lips. You push back up onto your elbows to look down at him, absolutely mesmerized watching as his fingers disappear inside of you. “No one thinks you’re a bad Jedi.” You say. He just scoffs.
“Well, I’m a selfish one at the very least.” His smile glints for one second, your body suddenly empty, then his mouth is on you. Somehow you can’t remember what you were so worried about anymore.
Sensations crash together in the most incredible, most overwhelming way. You’re flat on your back now, Anakin holding your legs open and out of the way with secure hands on the backs of your thighs, knees in the air.
He doesn’t care what he looks like, what it sounds like, the absolute mess he’s making of the duvet below you. His tongue runs in flat, hard stripes from your entrance to the top of your clit, pausing every few strokes to suck on the little bud or tease hickeys onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
You know he’s playing with you, but you also know that you fucking love it.
Your fingers disappear into his wild hair when you’re drawing close, using it as an anchor. You pull his willing mouth until it’s positioned just so, satisfied groans rumbling through him and onto your flesh at every tug.
Orgasm building, your brain turns to mush. The grip on your thighs tightens every time your hips cant into the pleasure his mouth provides, keeping you still, making you take it.
“Anakin-” You gasp between clenched teeth, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’re so fucking close-
He pulls away, and all of the tension that had been building in your body collapses.
If you had the ability, you would’ve smacked him: unfortunately for you, you’re just about boneless on the mattress. “You’re evil.”
You can’t see the look that crosses his face, but it doesn’t matter because you can hear the rustle of his clothes hitting the floor, and the heat of the head of his cock against you.
The bed dips on either side of your head, and when you crack your eyes open he’s leading above you, caging you in. His weight rests on his elbows.
“Put your legs around my waist.” He orders, and you obey with a grumble.
“I’m not gonna break-” you complain. He’s rocking against you, grinding the hard ridge of his cock into the needy wetness between you.
“You don’t know that.” He replies. It’s a little… sharp.
Anakin shifts his weight, leaning fully on one elbow so that he can grip your ass with his cybernetic hand. He gives you a light spank, the pinprick pain making you moan and clench around nothing.
You wind your hands around his neck, urging him closer, wanting to feel his skin against yours. It’s soft and warm, and even better when you can sink your teeth into it.
“Fuck-” He growls out at the sensation. He adjusts himself, stopping his grinding to position his tip at your entrance and you think finally-
But he just barely pushes himself inside before he’s stopping. You huff and try to push yourself further onto him, needing the fill and the stretch, but he pulls away again.
“Anakin Skywalker I swear to fuck if you don’t-”
In a flash you’re no longer on your back, but on your knees in the middle of the bed with your chest pressed into the blanket, Anakin’s massive kneeling body looming behind you. He holds your arms behind you at your lower back, and somehow he’s gotten complete control.
“What were you saying, hm?” He says, pressing a kiss to your left asscheek. Your face burns feeling the way you’re dripping, presented to him. “I have to keep you from rushing, or you’ll hurt yourself.”
Before you can unpack what he means by that, he’s pushing his cock back in, barely giving you more than the head. He holds you in place by the hip with his free hand when you try unsuccessfully to push backwards and take more of him.
“Just wanna take care of you-” he grits out, pressing in just a little bit more. It’s so slow that it’s torturous.
“Then you should fuck me,” you beg. There must be a puddle forming below you. His slow motion stutters for just a moment, his length punching in a little deeper with a satisfying burn that makes your eyes roll back before he composes himself again. His grip on your wrists tightens.
“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He says it like he’s trying to be casual, but there’s something beneath it that feels wrong. And maybe you can’t help but think that it’s been a long fucking week and maybe you want him to hurt you a little bit.
“You can’t hurt me,” You say, voice bordering on a sob. “Satisfy me. Fuck me open, mark me, just do something-”
His resolve snaps along with his hips forward into you, a shriek falling from your lips and bouncing off the walls. You clench around Anakin’s cock as it throbs inside you, filling you to the brim. He moans low, smoothing his metal hand over your ass to soothe you, get you to relax around him.
“I wish I never had to leave this room with you,” He says, staying still for longer than necessary. “Nothing to fight; my only job making you come for me and protecting you.” You start to fidget a little bit, your walls fluttering around him.
Finally, he fully gives in.
The first few thrusts are slow, testing. There’s something small at the back of your head that says he’s never been like this, but you’re being fucked too good to hear it.
He lets go of your wrists with a direct order to keep them where he’d left them. He let both of his hands sink into the flesh of your hips, one of his knees moving him into a half-kneel for better leverage. You drool onto the duvet with every rough slap of his hips, every so often his balls will tap against your clit and stars will burst behind your eyelids.
The sound is nothing short of obscene- wet smacks and moans and grunts, and fuck, the things leaving Anakin’s mouth shouldn’t even be in a Jedi knight’s vocabulary.
“Take my fucking cock, there you go. So pretty.”
“Watching your pussy swallow me never gets old,”
“I must be the luckiest man in the galaxy, can’t believe I’ve got this cunt drooling all over me.”
“Wanna keep you here, safe. Fuck-“
“Never let the Order use you again. Secure, hidden-“
His words cut through the haze on your mind like an icy knife, confusing the hell out of your heated body. You can’t see the look on his face, but you can feel it: that crazed expression of desperation he usually reserved for after waking up from a nightmare.
His cybernetic hand rakes up your back from where it had been gripping the flesh of your hip. The warm metal still leaves a chill in its wake, a shiver wracking through you.
“I wanna make you come all over me.” He says. “You gonna let me?” He asks, but you know it’s not a question from the way he’s pounding into you, his fingers finding their way to your clit and pressing into it, rubbing tight little circles that make electricity zip through your veins.
“Yes!” You cry, and none of what happens next is voluntary.
Your body seizes as sensation takes over, mashing through you in a wave of bliss. Your limbs turn to water, and Anakin’s hands are the only things holding you aloft as he chases his own release and finds it with a grunt, pulling your back flush to his heaving chest, pressing reverent kisses to your sweaty skin.
“I love you,” he says. The words are like an electric shock.
You pull away from him gently, not missing the way his hands barely let you go. Your limbs still buzzing, you sit against the pillows, looking at him. He’s beautiful, but you can’t deny that he’s acting more wrong than usual. Falling down a spiral of weird possessiveness that you do not like.
“Tell me. What the hell has been going on with you?”
His eyes turn dull- you’re watching him rebuild his walls in real time.
“I don’t know what-“
“Bullshit.”
The glare you fix on him is harsh, and you know it. It’s hard to keep serious when evidence of your release is on his mouth, sweat still drying on your naked bodies.
It’s there though- a crack in his armor that you’d been working to widen. His chest rises and falls, the sheets fisted in his hands, the crease between his brows a chasm.
And then, like a geode, he’s split open.
“I’ve been… having these dreams.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. You just stay quiet, watching. “Nightmares.” The correction comes soon after.
His eyes find yours, dark.
“You die. And it’s my fault, every time.”
You can’t help the pit that forms in your stomach, but try your damndest to not let it show on your face. It can’t be a good sign when the Chosen One is having premonitions about your death, but…
His skin is warm and a little sweat-sticky when you gently lay your palm on his thigh.
