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inlovewithdob · 7 days ago

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CHAPTER 1 PART 2

you agreed to spar and now you’ve basically dry humped in front of the royal guard

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

summary - you were supposed to form an alliance. instead you slept with him three days in and now you have no idea what’s happening.

content notice: 18+. dry humping, accidental voyeurism.

a/n: this chapter is mostly expository, other chapters will be a lot more nasty ;)

You move without hesitation. His stance opens for half a second, too wide, and you’re on him, using leverage, instinct, and sheer force of will. Your shoulder catches his, your boot hooks behind his ankle, and in one breathless twist of momentum, Emperor Mark Grayson is on his back.

He lands with a dull thud against the sparring mat, his cape crumpled beneath him, and before he can rise, you’re already there, straddling his waist, pinning him hard to the ground with one knee pressed to his ribs and the other leg braced for balance.

Your hand presses to his chest, palm-flat, stabilizing yourself. The other still holds your sword, but loosely now. The fight is over. You won. You didn’t even think. It was automatic.

And then you shift.

Just slightly.

Trying to find better balance, your weight drags across his hips, your thighs tightening unintentionally. The soft scrape of armor and fabric grinds you directly over him, your hips brushing down against his beltline as you adjust your center of gravity. It’s a fluid, mindless motion, like mounting a steed, like resetting for a throw.

You don’t notice.

Mark does.

He goes completely still beneath you, like a detonator just clicked under his spine. His breath hitches, just once, then stops entirely. His arms stay braced to his sides. He doesn’t move. Doesn't look away. But his eyes narrow, and a quiet tension creeps into his jaw. Every muscle in his body coils tight as cables.

You’re still perched over him, fingers splayed over the solid rise of his chest, sweat dripping from your temple, your thighs firmly gripping either side of his hips. You’re focused, serious, alert, completely unaware of how intimately you’ve seated yourself. How the rhythm of your body pressed into his has shifted from combat to something far more fraught.

“I think that counts as a pin,” you say, slightly breathless, frowning in concentration. “You didn’t even try to counter.”

Mark doesn’t answer.

You glance down, confusion knitting your brow. “...Are you alright?”

He blinks once. Slowly. Then exhales through his nose. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not moving.”

“Because if I do,” he mutters, voice tight, “you’re going to ask a question I won’t want to answer.”

That stops you. “What kind of question?”

Mark looks up at you now, dead-on, his blue eyes sharp, unreadable, locked on yours like they’re daring you to figure something out. But you don’t. You tilt your head, trying to read the tension in his face.

“I don’t understand,” you say honestly.

He nods once. “Yeah. I know.”

You shift again. Another small adjustment, trying to rise from him without slipping, but the motion brings your hips tight over his again, the pressure dragging slow across him as you brace yourself to stand. His jaw clenches harder. His hands twitch against the mat. Still unmoving. Still silent.

“I’m sorry,” you say, startled. “Did I–hurt you?”

“No,” he says, quick and low.

You study his face, still not fully understanding. “Is that a Viltrumite thing?”

He closes his eyes for a breath. “No. It’s a human one.”

You frown, leaning slightly back. “Should I get off?”

Mark opens his eyes, unreadable again. “Probably.”

You nod and move to dismount, carefully shifting your legs, but your heel slips on the edge of his cape, and once again your hips press down into his as you steady yourself. This time you feel it, a sudden tension, not in you, but beneath you. A hardness you weren’t expecting. Something solid, growing where you’re pressed tightest.

You freeze.

Mark doesn’t breathe.

You lift your head, wide-eyed. “Is that–” You pause. “Are you injured?”

His eyes flick to the ceiling.

“No,” he says, flat.

You blink. “Then, what is it?”

There’s a long silence.

You don’t know what you’re asking. Not really. But the question’s there, hovering like a live wire.

Mark finally looks at you again, slow and deliberate.

“You’re sitting on it.”

You stare at him blankly.

Then you really stare at him.

“Oh.”

Stillness stretches.

You glance down again, your hips still lightly settled against his. The feeling is strange, warm. Heavy. You don’t know why it feels good. But it does. Not in a sharp, electric way like battle adrenaline. It’s slower. Thicker. You can feel your pulse at the base of your throat, down your arms, between your thighs where your body rests against his. There’s something there. Something you’ve never encountered in training halls or battlefields.

“I don’t understand what I’m feeling,” you admit softly.

Mark closes his eyes for a beat. “I know.”

“I don’t want to get off yet,” you say, unsure why.

That makes his head snap back toward you.

“What?”

“I just… don’t want to move. Not yet. My body feels strange. Not bad, just–” you search for the word.

His fingers twitch against the mat. He still hasn’t touched you.

“You’re aroused,” he says bluntly.

You blink. “Is that what this is?”

“Yes.”

You study his face, your expression open, curious, completely free of shame or understanding.

“Do you feel it too?”

His jaw flexes. “Yes.”

“And it’s caused by me sitting here?”

“Yes.”

You shift again. Just a little. The pressure rolls through your core in a slow wave that makes your breath catch. Your thighs press tighter around his hips, not intentionally, and your body reacts without permission. A slow, hot pulse deep in your stomach. You like the sensation. You don’t know what to do with it. But you don’t want to stop it either.

Mark watches you. Still motionless. Still unreadable.

“I think I like it,” you murmur, surprised.

Mark exhales. “Yeah. Most people do.”

Another pause. You remain seated on him, hands now on both sides of his chest. You lean forward slightly, not on purpose, just curious, still trying to understand the feeling.

“Do we need to stop the spar?”

He speaks slowly, voice like steel wrapped in silk, “this hasn’t been a spar for the last five minutes.”

You blink. “Then what is it?”

Mark��s gaze drifts over your face, your flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way your body stays pressed down over him with growing tension neither of you is naming.

“I don’t think you want the answer to that.”

“I do,” you insist. “I want to know everything.”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t trust himself to.

You shift again.

And he groans.

Not loud. Not deliberate. Just a soft, ragged breath that slips through his teeth when your hips roll over him one more time.

You feel it vibrate up through your thighs.

You freeze. “Was that a–?”

“Yes,” he says, eyes shut.

Your lips part. You lean down again, closer, hair falling forward.

“Is this still… arousal?”

He lets out a strained breath. “Princess, get off.”

“Why?”

“Because if you stay there any longer, this is going to stop being about sparring, or diplomacy, or anything else you came here to do.”

Your heart is hammering now, but not from fear. From some strange, exciting fire in your chest that you don’t understand, but want to. Your body wants to move again. You feel the ache building inside you. Your thighs clench tighter, instinctively, like your body’s ahead of your mind.

“I feel hot,” you whisper. “Inside.”

Mark stares at the ceiling, trying not to look at you.

“You’re turned on.”

You repeat the words quietly, trying them. “Turned on.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “And if you keep grinding on me like that, if you keep learning like this, you’re going to make me do something you can’t take back.

Your hips move again. A little slower this time. A little more aware. The pressure pushes right up against that pulsing heat between your legs, and your whole body tenses. Pleasure spills through your limbs, light and unfamiliar and so good it steals your breath.

A soft sound slips from your lips, high, trembling. You don’t even realize you’re making it.

Mark’s grip on your hips tightens just slightly. His fingers curl against the fabric at your waist.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t look at you like a man enjoying it. He looks at you like a man watching himself walk the edge of something dangerous.

You swallow hard. “Does this happen every time two people do this?”

“No,” he says. “Not like this.”

You shift again. Testing. Trying to understand. Your hips grind slowly down, the motion sending another wave of pleasure through your stomach, coiling lower this time, deep in your core. You feel your body clench around nothing. Your chest rises in a soft gasp. You don’t mean to moan, but you do.

It’s quiet. Honest. And it makes Mark’s eyes narrow sharply.

You lean in closer, your hands braced on either side of his chest. Your hair falls forward. You can feel the heat coming off his body, the way every part of him is still coiled beneath you. You feel his arousal, hard beneath you, pulsing where you straddle him. It makes your thighs clench again.

“I don’t think I want it to stop,” you admit.

Mark’s jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know it feels good.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Why not?”

His eyes flash. “Because I’m not going to be the one to take advantage of what you don’t understand.”

You stare at him, searching. “I’m not a child.”

“I never said you were.”

“But I’m not helpless.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re dangerous.”

That lands. It’s not insult. It’s truth. And the way he says it makes your pulse stutter.

You shift again, slightly, unconsciously, and the pleasure crests so sharply your legs tremble. You inhale hard through your nose, lips parting.

“It’s too much,” you whisper.

Mark closes his eyes again, breath shaking. “You’re close.”

“To what?”

He doesn’t answer.

You move again, just a slow roll of your hips, and this time he grunts, jaw clenched, head tipping back against the mat as his fingers dig hard into your waist.

You shift your hips, slowly, carefully, but this time, it’s not to regain balance. Not to keep your center of gravity steady.

It’s because you want to feel it again.

That deep, pulsing sensation that shoots up from the pressure between your legs, the one that’s been building since you landed in his lap, confusing, intense, but not frightening. Not anymore.

You drag yourself across the hard length of him again, and the friction is delicious. Blunt and thick beneath you, his cock pushes back through the fabric of his suit and the thin barrier of your own. It’s not penetration. There’s no bare skin.

But your body doesn’t care.

The sensation makes your thighs twitch, your knees tightening at his sides. You pant softly and rock your hips again, the motion smoother this time. He’s letting you. You don’t fully understand why, but you can feel it, his restraint, his tension. The fact that his hands haven’t moved, that he’s choosing to let you stay exactly where you are.

And it makes your chest burn.

“Mark,” you murmur, unsure why you say his name, only that you need to.

His eyes are open, fixed on yours, but his jaw is locked. He doesn’t speak at first.

You grind down again, this time slower, more deliberate. The heat where your bodies meet is unbearable. You’re wet now, soaked through your underwear, and you feel the way your arousal slicks across him through the layers. You clench down instinctively. It makes the pressure even sharper, more overwhelming. Your body reacts to every drag of friction like it’s being filled.

Mark groans.

Not loud. Not even intentional. But real. His fingers flex at your hips, still resting there, still not guiding you but not letting go either.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says under his breath, something strained in it.

You nod, honest. “I know. But it feels right.”

You rock again, your breath catching on a gasp. The motion rolls your clit against the seam of your panties, right over the thick ridge of his cock. That contact, direct and perfect, makes you tremble. You suck in a breath, nails digging lightly into the fabric over his chest.

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose…,” you whisper. “I just don’t want to stop.”

“I know,” he says again.

There’s heat in his voice now. Tight. Grounded. Like he’s holding something in his teeth, something huge, and not letting it out.

You do it again.

Your hips grind into his, slow and controlled, but it lights a fire in your stomach all the same. You feel his cock pulse beneath you, hard and solid, rubbing right through your soaked heat. The friction burns in the best way, blurring your thoughts.

He groans again. Deeper this time.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” he mutters.

You breathe harder, rocking back and forth now in steady rhythm. Your thighs ache from the tension. You feel like you’re being pulled into something bigger, something that climbs higher every time your hips move.

But neither of you lets it go too far.

He doesn’t thrust up.

You don’t lose control.

You just stay there, grinding against him slowly, hips moving in quiet, deliberate circles, chasing that cresting heat inside you without ever quite falling over the edge.

It’s not finished.

But it’s more than you’ve ever felt before.

You rest your forehead against his.

Your lips part on a breath. “Mark…”

His hands squeeze your waist, not rough, not claiming. Just there.

He nods once, exhaling through his nose, eyes closed now.

“I know.”

And still, you keep moving.

You keep grinding down onto him, hips rocking with effort and need, but it’s not working. Every pass brings you close, makes your breath catch, makes your core clench, but not enough. Never quite enough.

You pant softly, brows knitting, thighs starting to tremble, not from pleasure now, but from frustration. You want it. Your whole body is aching for it, soaking for it, pressed hard against the thick shape of him beneath you, but your angle’s off. You’re sliding over it instead of into it, dragging against the wrong curve, the wrong line. Your clit brushes too high, too shallow, and you can feel the edge of it, what’s waiting if you just could, but you can’t get there.

You grind harder, desperately chasing it, hips circling, sweat sliding down the small of your back. Your moan comes out raw, frustrated. Your hands fist in the fabric of his clothes as you try to adjust again, rutting against him like instinct has taken over, but the pressure is imprecise.

“I can’t—I can’t get it—” you gasp, voice thick with confusion and heat. “Why can’t I–?”

Mark moves.

There’s no warning. No change in his face. Just motion. Fast, fluid, efficient.

He grabs your hips with both hands, and with a low grunt, flips your body under his, reversing your positions in one clean, practiced movement. One moment you’re on top, gasping through grit teeth, chasing friction, and the next, your back hits the floor and he’s above you, between your legs, weight balanced perfectly, cock still hard beneath the fabric and exactly where it was, only now, he's in control of how it moves.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, blinking through the haze.

His face is so close. Closer than it’s been the entire spar. His lips hover over yours but don’t touch. His eyes flick over your features like he’s memorizing them.

“Let me fix it,” he says simply. Low. Firm.

You nod.

You don’t even think. You just nod.

And he grinds forward.

The pressure hits you like a jolt, perfect, sharp, dragging his clothed cock against your soaked center in a way that makes your spine arch and your hands fly up to grab his biceps. His uniform’s seam brushes directly over your clit and the friction makes your breath punch out of your lungs.

Your voice breaks. “Oh—oh—Mark—”

He does it again. Controlled. Measured. A slow, firm thrust of his hips, rubbing his cock right against your clit in a long, deliberate drag, and you writhe beneath him.

“Breathe,” he murmurs.

“I—I am—” you gasp, voice tight.

But you’re not. Not really. You’re overwhelmed, completely, and the relief is almost too much. It’s like your body sings under the rhythm he sets, every pass of friction through your wet heat drawing the pressure tighter, higher.

Your legs lift around him on instinct, wrapping around his waist. Your hips rise to meet his. It’s not something you’ve done before. It’s just what your body needs.

He keeps moving, grinding into you through both your clothes, slow and firm and devastatingly direct. The sensation is exactly what you’d been chasing, pressure in the right spot, friction dragging perfectly over your clit, again and again. And his weight pins you down just right, heavy, warm, safe, keeping you steady as you start to come apart.

Your thighs tremble. Your hands clutch at his arms, his shoulders, not sure where to hold as the pleasure builds too fast to track.

“Mark—I—oh—” You can’t finish sentences now. Your voice breaks again on a sharp, choked cry.

You’re so wet your dress sticks to you, practically glues to your folds as he keeps grinding his cock against you, never entering, just rubbing, dragging you right up that steep edge.

Mark exhales a rough breath beside your ear. You feel the heat of it. His control is fraying, but he keeps his rhythm, hips rolling steady, pressure unrelenting.

“Right there,” he mutters, not quite a command, not quite a plea. “Stay there.”

“I can’t–”

“You can. You’re almost there.”

And you are.

You feel your body lock up, tension coiling hard in your belly, tighter than anything you’ve ever known. Your whole world shrinks to one hot, aching point where he grinds against you.

And then, you break.

It hits fast.

Violent in its sweetness.

You shatter beneath him with a gasp so sharp it punches out of you like wind through cracked glass. Your hips buck into his, thighs squeezing tight, your mouth falling open on a soundless moan. Your body locks, clenches, pulses with wave after wave of release.

Mark doesn’t stop. He keeps grinding through it, his cock dragging slowly, steadily over your clit until you whimper from the intensity, your nails digging into his arms as you shake under him.

And then finally, he stills.

You lie beneath him, gasping, trembling, every nerve in your body singing. Your suit clings to your skin, soaked through. Your muscles are molten, legs still wrapped around him, chest heaving.

He doesn’t move.

His forehead rests lightly against yours. His eyes are closed.

He hasn’t come.

You open your eyes slowly, still panting, dazed, and whisper.

“Thank you.”

Mark doesn’t answer. He just lets out a long breath against your cheek.

You’re still beneath him, arms wrapped loosely around his back, thighs locked around his waist like you’re holding him there, anchoring him to you. The aftermath of your orgasm is still buzzing through your body, every nerve trembling under your skin. You didn’t expect it to feel like this, that good. That intense. That personal.

But you’re not done.

Neither is he.

Mark doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t roll off. He stays, firm between your legs, his cock still hard and pressing into the soaked, sensitive spot between your thighs. Your bodies are still fully clothed, but the friction, the heat, is so raw, so direct, you might as well be bare.

You’re breathing hard against his neck, lips parted, cheeks flushed. The fabric of your bodice sticks to your skin. Your entire lower half feels electric, like every slow drag of him through the wet cling of your suit might set you off again. You twitch beneath him involuntarily, hips rocking.

“Still feels good,” you whisper, not really thinking.

Mark grunts, low and restrained. “Yeah.”

His hands are still on your hips, callused and warm. He flexes his grip, just slightly, and then he starts to move again. Slowly. Purposefully.

A slow grind of his hips forward. His cock, hot and thick beneath the dense fabric, presses right up against your clit in a perfect, agonizing drag. You suck in a breath and arch your back, moaning softly as the pleasure flares up all over again.

You hadn’t expected more.

But your body is ready for it.

You’re already soaking, the wet heat of your arousal completely saturating the thin layer of fabric covering your core. And he’s soaked too, you can feel the heat radiating through his suit, the slick friction building again as he starts to thrust, slow and firm.

He grinds into you, hips moving in a controlled rhythm, each drag of his cock grinding against your clit, every inch of him thick and unrelenting.

You shudder. Your fingers curl into the muscle of his shoulders, pulling him down tighter against you.

“Oh—Gods—Mark—”

You can feel the edge building again. Faster this time. It’s like your body never came down from the last one. You’re raw, hyperaware, every thrust sending a jolt through your spine.

He moves against you with perfect control, not animalistic, not frenzied, but intentional. Like he knows exactly what he's doing now. Each roll of his hips is deep, steady, and hard enough to press right through your overstimulation and stoke the fire burning in your core.

You’re crying out now, soft little whimpers muffled into his chest, your body rocking with his rhythm. Your hips lift to meet each thrust, grinding back against him in time, needing that friction, that pressure. It’s all instinct now. All feeling.

Mark is breathing hard above you, his jaw clenched, breath hitching through his teeth every time your bodies slide together.

And then, you feel it.

The subtle, unmistakable jerk of his hips. The way his cock starts to pulse harder against your clit. His hands grip your waist tighter. His control falters just a little, just enough for you to feel it break.

You look up at him, panting. Your voice is a whisper.

“You’re gonna–”

Mark doesn’t answer.

He just pushes down harder, grinding his cock deep into the soaked space between your legs, and then he groans, deep in his chest, rough and strangled as he spills into his suit.

You feel it.

The heat. The pulse. The way his whole body tenses and shudders above you as he finishes, cock pulsing in long, desperate surges against your slick core.

And that’s it.

You cry out as your own orgasm slams into you againth, is one harder, deeper, tearing through you like fire. Your back arches under him, thighs locking tight, your pussy clenching helplessly even with nothing inside. The rhythm of his grinding, the heat of him coming, the friction, it overwhelms you. Breaks you.

Your moan is high and raw and choked on his name.

Your fingers claw at his back as you shake through it, hips grinding frantically against his even as your muscles lock up.

It feels endless.

Like you’re both trapped at the peak, your bodies glued together by sweat and come and heat, neither of you moving, neither of you able to breathe.

When it finally fades, when the trembling slows and the burn in your muscles starts to soften, he lowers himself over you, arms braced on either side of your head.

You’re both soaked. His suit is clinging to his body, dark and glistening where he came. Your own is practically translucent from the flood between your legs.

You stare at him, dazed, flushed, stunned silent.

He’s watching you.

His expression isn’t soft.

But it’s not closed anymore, either.

You’re still beneath him, skin flushed, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Your thighs are aching from holding tight around his waist. Your dress clings to you, soaked through and stretched taut over your hips, your legs, your breasts. The scent of sweat and sex fills the air between you, hot, intimate, unmistakable.

Mark’s weight settles just barely atop you, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand still cupping the curve of your waist. His head is bowed, close to yours, his breath ghosting over your skin as he steadies himself.

Neither of you speaks.

But you can feel something shifting between you, something fragile. The afterglow hasn’t faded yet. You still feel him there. Softening, now, against your soaked heat, but present in a way that makes your pulse stutter.

You want to say something. You don’t know what. Your throat tightens around the silence.

He feels it. He lifts his head slightly, eyes meeting yours. And for a moment, everything inside you threatens to rise, to spill. Something warm. Grateful. Maybe something more.

“Mark, I–”

The door hisses open.

The sound slashes through the quiet like a blade.

Mark’s head snaps toward it immediately. You flinch, instinctively trying to shift, but your body won’t move fast enough. You’re still spread beneath him, legs tangled with his, suit darkened with sweat and arousal. The scent of release is thick in the air.

General Kregg stands in the doorway.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t blink.

His expression is hard enough to split steel, and his eyes take in the scene with one clinical sweep, his Emperor half-kneeling over a flushed, sweat-slick foreign dignitary whose thighs are still spread open around his hips. Your bodies are clearly still connected by more than politics.

Mark doesn’t rise.

He doesn’t explain.

He doesn’t apologize.

Kregg’s voice cuts into the air like cold glass.

“My Emperor.”

Nothing in his tone gives anything away. He sounds like he’s reporting for duty. If his jaw is tight, it’s barely visible. If his breath is heavier, it’s only in the subtle flare of his nostrils.

Mark exhales, slowly. Then, with that same impossible calm that makes his enemies fear him more than any weapon, he begins to move.

He pushes himself off you without a sound, lifting his body with the same control he uses in combat. His knee plants against the floor beside your hip, one arm bracing his weight as he slides away from your center.

You feel the loss of him immediately.

The wet heat between your thighs is suddenly exposed, pulsing and raw in the cool air. You try to close your legs, but they won’t quite obey, not yet. You’re trembling still. Still slick. Still open.

Mark straightens slowly, rising to his full height.

His suit is wrinkled, stained with sweat, and visibly damp along his groin. The outline of his cock is obvious even in the low light. He doesn’t try to adjust it.

You push yourself up on your elbows, hair stuck to your forehead, cheeks flushed. You feel seen, not because you’re embarrassed, but because Kregg’s gaze has no softness in it. No curiosity. Just calculation.

The silence holds.

Mark’s voice finally breaks it, steady and even.

“You’re early.”

Kregg doesn’t move. “I wasn’t aware I needed an appointment to access my own training deck.”

There’s no humor in it. No accusation. Just the truth, stated plainly.

Mark turns to face him fully now. His presence fills the space again, not physically, but in that way only he can. Authority settles across his shoulders like armor. He tilts his head slightly.

“You do now.”

Kregg doesn’t flinch. But he nods, once, curt.

“I see.”

His eyes flick to you, not to leer, not to gawk. Just to register. To document. And then they move back to Mark.

The pause hangs.

Mark takes a step forward, closing half the distance.

“Whatever you think you walked in on,” he says, low, steady, “doesn’t leave this room.”

Kregg’s jaw works once. His voice is just as controlled.

“Understood.”

A long beat passes.

Then Kregg speaks again, voice clipped. “There’s been movement on the Saturn front. We’ve intercepted a transmission from a Coalition scout.”

Mark’s nod is barely perceptible. “Give me five minutes.”

Kregg inclines his head. “Of course.”

And then he’s gone.

The door hisses closed behind him.

Silence returns.

But it’s different now.

You’re still seated on the floor, legs folded beneath you, breathing shallow. Your heart is pounding again, not from release, but from exposure. From the way the moment changed so fast.

Mark turns back toward you slowly. His face is unreadable again, stone and silence. Not angry. Not regretful.

But contained.

You look up at him, trying to read what’s behind his eyes. What was real. What was just release. What remains.

“Do you want me to go?” you ask quietly.

Mark studies you for a moment.

Then he shakes his head once.

“No,” he says. “Not yet.”

And that answer, quiet as it is, settles deeper than any declaration could.

You sit there on the cool metal of the mat, legs folded beneath you, arms wrapped around your knees, and you still feel him between your thighs.

Not physically. Not anymore.

But the ghost of him.

His weight. The drag of his hips. The way his body ground into yours with such pressure, such focus. He never lost control, he gave it, piece by piece, until it was both of you, undone.

And now that it’s over, your body still trembles with the memory of it.

Your skin is slick, flushed. Your dress clings in all the wrong places. Your thighs are sticky and tender from friction and pleasure and the aftershock of release. You keep trying to shift, subtly, like you can shake the feeling of him still pressing between your legs.

But you can’t.

Because it’s not just your body that’s wet and aching.

It’s your mind.

It’s spinning, looping, dragging you through thoughts that feel unfamiliar, like new terrain underfoot.

You glance at him, Mark. Still standing. Straight-backed. Recollected. Hands calm at his sides, breathing returned to normal.

Like he never came at all.

But you felt it. You felt him stiffen, his cock pulse against you, that deep, involuntary grunt when he spilled between your bodies. You remember how his hand stayed clenched on your hip. Not possessive. Just anchored.

And still he looks like nothing touched him.

You try to speak. But your voice won’t come. Not yet.

Because there’s too much happening inside you.

You feel... split open.

Not broken.

Just undone.

Like the tight knot of purpose that’s always held you together, battle, duty, Eternia, Swift Wind, honor, just unraveled under his weight and breath and the slow, unbearable grind of his hips into yours.

You think of Adam.

Your brother is sweet. Noble. Kind to a fault. He loves Teela in a way that looks like springtime. They laugh. They share flowers. He writes her awkward songs with too many verses. They kiss beneath trees and exchange promises no one expects them to keep.

That was always what you thought love was. Softness. Teasing. A kind of partnership built from shared stories and unspoken loyalty.

You’ve never seen them pressed together like that. Never heard the sounds you made against Mark’s mouth tear out of Teela’s throat. Never imagined that closeness could be... devouring.

That you could want something that made you grind yourself raw into someone else’s body just to get more of it.

You didn’t understand before.

Now you do.

And it terrifies you.

You shift, knees squeezing tighter together, trying to soothe the tremble in your belly. But it’s not fading.

You think of how Mark looked beneath you. Calm. Barely strained. But his cock had been so hard. So solid. Pressed up right where you needed it. And your body had taken over. You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t think. You just moved.

And he let you.

He could’ve stopped you. Could’ve shoved you off, or corrected you, or said something when your hips started grinding harder, more desperate.

But he just watched.

Felt you.

Met you, rhythm for rhythm.

And now?

Now you feel a gnawing ache inside. Like your body’s still waiting for something more. Even after the climax. Even after he came. Something stayed behind. An emptiness that wasn’t there before.

Your throat tightens. You finally whisper, “I don’t know what this means.”

He turns toward you, slow, composed, every inch the emperor again.

He doesn’t dismiss you.

Doesn’t soften either.

“Neither do I,” he says.

And that hits you in the chest harder than any answer could.

Because if he doesn’t know what it means, what chance do you have?

You look away. Pull your knees tighter. Your voice is quieter now.

“I thought I understood what connection looked like. I thought it was words and loyalty. Letters and shared smiles. Not... this.”

You feel his eyes on you. Not piercing. Not judging. Just present.

“I didn’t know bodies could want something before your mind even catches up,” you say, voice tighter. “It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. I felt like I was coming apart. Like something ripped out of me and then wrapped itself around you.”

A long silence.

“You didn’t pretend,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“You weren’t trying to manipulate me. Or seduce me. You weren’t faking a connection to gain power. That’s what people usually do around me.”

He crosses the space slowly, kneels on one knee beside you.

“And that’s why I didn’t stop you.”

You turn to face him, fully now. Your voice breaks at the edges.

“But I don’t even know what I wanted.”

Mark meets your gaze. He’s steady. Unblinking.

“You wanted,” he says.

That’s all.

The hum of the training deck fades into silence again, but your ears are still ringing.

Your thighs are sore.

Your dress is wet.

Not damp, soaked. Clinging to you in a way that feels more vulnerable now than when he was inside your space, grinding into your core. You can feel everything, the sweat, the release, your own slickness still thick between your legs. Every shift of your hips squelches faintly in the quiet. The fabric is nearly translucent at your center.

Mark’s suit is worse.

There’s a dark stain smeared across the front of him, stretching low from where you felt him pulse and spill, pressed hard against your body as he came. His cock had been trapped between layers, but even Viltrumite fabric can’t hide that. The mess. The scent. The heat of it still hanging between you.

You sit cross-legged, thighs pressed together now, trying not to think about how it’s drying sticky against your inner thighs. Or how the slick warmth keeps seeping slightly when you move.

You shift again.

It’s unbearable.

And he notices.

Mark steps forward. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just takes one look at you, your hair matted, your cheeks flushed, the soaked V of your dress, and turns toward the wall console.

“You can’t stay like that,” he says. Not cold. Not gentle. Just factual.

You blink, confused. “I–what?”

“I’m opening a washroom,” he says, voice low but gentle in a way you haven’t heard from him before.

You blink. “What?”

“You’re soaked,” he says, glancing at you. “And not just with sweat.”

The blunt honesty should make you flinch. But it doesn’t. Not from him.

Instead, it grounds you.

He taps in a quick sequence. A panel hisses open on the far wall, revealing a narrow corridor, warm light spilling out, laced with low steam. It smells clean, slightly metallic, slightly herbal. You imagine it’s the closest thing Viltrumites have to comfort.

“I’ll walk you there,” he says. “It’s private.”

You rise slowly, legs aching, and nod. “Thank you.”

You’re surprised by the sincerity in your voice.

He doesn’t wait for you to catch up. But he doesn’t rush either.

You walk beside him, his stride steady, his posture relaxed but upright, still visibly wearing the mantle of command. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, you catch something flickering in his face.

A softness at the edges.

An absence of distance.

Like he’s still in the moment with you, whether he shows it or not.

And the pull in your chest, that strange magnetic thread that’s been there since the first time you stood too close, tugs again.

You reach the washroom.

He opens the door, steps just inside, then turns back to face you.

The light cuts across the sharp line of his jaw, his damp hair falling loose around his forehead, his suit still dark with your shared heat, your shared mess. He looks like war and aftermath and restraint wrapped in a man’s skin.

And something in you moves.

“Mark,” you say quietly.

He turns toward you, brows slightly drawn. “You’re alright?”

You step into the doorway, heart beating fast again, not from fear. Not from arousal.

Just from closeness.

From the unbearable feeling that something happened between you that neither of you can name yet. Something real.

You take a breath.

Then you lean in.

Your hand touches his chest lightly, just over the center. You feel his breath catch under your palm. And then, gently, unsure, you press your mouth to his.

The kiss is soft. Barely there. Not demanding.

You don’t know what you’re doing.

You only know you need to.

Mark doesn’t pull away.

For a heartbeat, he stays still.

Then his hand lifts, careful, and brushes your jaw, just once. His mouth parts slightly against yours, not deepening the kiss, not taking over. Just returning it. Quietly.

When you pull back, your eyes meet his.

You’re flushed again. Open. Unsure.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” he says softly.

And it’s not rejection.

It’s understanding.

He looks at you for another moment, then glances toward the shower, the rising steam.

Mark stands close.

Close enough to feel the heat off his body.

Close enough to remember the exact weight of him on top of you.

The kiss you gave him, hesitant, barely formed, still lingers on your lips like something half-awake. It wasn't practiced. It wasn’t a move. It was need. Real, if undefined.

And you’re not sure what happens next.

You don’t know what you want to happen next.

So you watch him.

And he watches you back.

You expect him to nod. To offer something clipped and polite and step away the way leaders do when things get too complicated.

But he doesn’t.

His gaze lingers, not on your dress, not on your curves, not on your mouth, but your face. As if he’s looking for something behind your eyes he hasn’t figured out yet.

And then, quietly, he steps forward again.

There’s no sound. No warning.

Just movement.

Your breath catches.

His hand lifts, slow, careful, calloused fingers brushing lightly along your jaw. The pad of his thumb skims the line just beneath your cheekbone. You freeze, not out of fear, but from how gentle it is. How careful. It’s the lightest touch you’ve felt from him, and somehow it burns hotter than the press of his hips ever did.

Then he leans in.

Not commanding.

Not forceful.

Just… there.

And kisses you.

Softly. Briefly.

It’s not slick. It’s not urgent. His lips just press against yours, warm and dry, like something he’s allowing himself for the first time in a long time. A question. A statement. A pause in time.

And then, just as quickly, he breaks it.

But he doesn’t step away yet. He lingers, his mouth still close, his breath soft between you.

You inhale slowly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“I know,” he replies. Quiet. Honest. “That’s why I did.”

And something in your chest folds inward. A slow, warm collapse. Because he doesn’t know you. Not really. And yet... there’s something there. Something real. Something neither of you can put words to yet, but neither of you is pretending didn’t happen.

He finally pulls back, and his hand leaves your face with deliberate slowness.

“I’ll send someone to wait outside,” he says, just above a whisper.

You nod.

He turns and walks to the door, this time without the stiffness of command. Just a man leaving space for something fragile not yet spoken aloud.

The door hisses open.

He steps out.

And you’re alone.

The silence in the room is deeper now. But not empty.

You let out a slow breath and reach behind you, peeling your dress down your back. The fabric slides reluctantly over your thighs, dragging across your sore folds and flushed skin with a sticky sound. You wince, then exhale.

You step out of it fully, barefoot now on the warm alloy floor.

Naked.

Not just unclothed, but bare. Every part of you feels like it’s still buzzing with his touch, even if he isn’t here anymore.

You step into the shower.

The water hits you in a clean, hot wave, and your head tips back as the heat rushes over your face, your neck, your chest.

You close your eyes.

And you kiss him back, silently, in your mind, again.

The water pours over you, hot and full, washing down your skin in long, steady sheets. It strikes your shoulders, your collarbones, your thighs. It rinses everything away, the mess, the sweat, the slick friction between your legs. But it doesn’t touch what’s still inside you.

That kiss.

Still there.

Still burning.

You tilt your head forward, letting the stream rush down your scalp, your breath slowing as the warmth settles into your bones. And your thoughts, at last, start to move.

They drift to Eternia.

To the palace.

To the quiet hills beyond the gates where you used to spar with Adam until dusk painted the sky pink and golden. You remember how your lungs burned from running drills. How your armor always fit wrong when you first put it on. How the blade felt heavy in your hand until it didn’t.

You think of the long banquet halls, the polished stone, the tapestries. The quiet understanding that everything had meaning. Every action was symbolic. Every word had to pass through three filters before it reached someone’s ears.

And you think of men.

There weren’t many.

Not for you.

Adam, of course, your brother, shining like the sun, with Teela by his side, always. They made it look easy. A gentle kind of affection. No drama. Just touches that lingered, glances that spoke in shorthand.

You always watched them with a kind of quiet envy you never named. You were proud of your body. Proud of your power. But you never wanted. Never let your mind go there. Never imagined what it might be like to need someone else, to move with someone not because it was strategic, but because it was helpless.

Until now.

Until him.

Until Mark.

You let out a breath, forehead resting against the shower wall.

You don’t even know him, not really. You know his name. His title. The weight of him inside your body, the press of his mouth against yours, the hard, pulsing heat of him rubbing through your suit until you came. Twice. Maybe more.

But what you felt, what you’re still feeling, isn’t just attraction.

It’s pull.

Mark doesn’t flirt.

He doesn’t sweet-talk.

He barely even touches unless it means something.

And yet every time he’s looked at you, every time he’s stepped near, you’ve felt like the air changed. Like gravity bent around him. Not because he commands it, but because he doesn’t ask for it at all.

He carries himself like a star trying to collapse inward. All that power, his voice, his body, his restraint, it’s like being near something too dense to define. And it doesn’t scare you.

It calls to you.

You think of how he looked after he kissed you, just a flicker of hesitation before he pulled away. Not weakness. Not doubt. Just a crack in the armor. Just enough to show he felt it too.

And you realize, it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was acceptance.

Acknowledgment.

A choice.

He didn't need to stay after what happened. He could’ve closed off. Could’ve made it a transaction, a release, a single act dismissed and forgotten.

But he didn’t.

He saw you.

He still does.

And now, standing here under the water, bare and alone, you feel something shift deep in your chest.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something close to recognition.

Like maybe, somehow, whatever burns at the center of Mark Grayson’s world has started to burn in yours too.

And you're not sure you want to put it out.

The door hisses open, letting out a lazy swirl of steam behind you. You walk out, hair a bit wet, skin still warm, and wearing something totally different.

The Viltrumite uniform looks way better on you than you thought it would. Sleek. Strategic. It fits your body like a glove, white and slate gray, with sleek lines and boots that instantly improve your stance. It clings in a way that Eternian armor never did, not out of vanity, but precision. There's no space for action that doesn't have a reason behind it.

And somehow… that just feels right.

You've never experienced feeling both protected and vulnerable at the same time.

You glance down at yourself. The fabric molds tight around your chest, your waist, your thighs. Your body still has that faint ache from what went down on the floor. Out of the water. From the weight of Mark Grayson pressed against you.

Your fingertips brush your lips without meaning to.

And then you step into the corridor.

He’s waiting there.

General Kregg.

Standing with perfect stillness, arms clasped behind his back, eyes unreadable beneath that squared jaw and cropped hair. His gaze flicks up the length of you, fast, clinical, but you catch it.

He sees.

That this isn’t just a fresh uniform.

That something in you is different now.

You don’t say anything at first. You just stop in front of him and meet his eyes. You feel no fear. Only the strange quiet of shared knowledge unspoken.

“Princess,” he says, voice neutral. “Your quarters have been reset. I’ll escort you back.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

Kregg turns sharply and begins to walk, his strides precise, and you follow without hesitation. The hallway is quiet, lit in soft violet tones. You walk side by side, boots tapping in unison on the clean metallic floor. You glance at him once, his jaw is set like iron, his posture perfect.

But there's something in the silence.

Not disapproval.

Not judgment.

Just… a recognition.

He breaks it first.

“Your attire will be taken for cleansing. It was–” he pauses, just briefly “compromised.”

You feel heat rise in your cheeks. Not embarrassment, exactly. But awareness.

“Yes,” you say quietly. “It was.”

Neither of you speak for a long stretch.

And somehow, that silence says everything it needs to.

Kregg doesn’t push. Doesn’t pry.

He’s a soldier. And now, so are you, at least in appearance.

The hallway opens to a narrower wing, quieter, warmer. You recognize it now, your wing. Your assigned room aboard the Viltrumite vessel. Quarters meant for a diplomatic guest. Private. Monitored, yes, but clean and spare and untouched since you left them this morning.

You stop outside the door.

Kregg stops beside you.

The air holds.

You glance at him. “I imagine… there will be questions.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Not from me.”

You study his face. “You’re not going to report what you saw?”

Kregg meets your eyes, steady and unflinching.

“What I saw,” he says calmly, “was a sparring match. A foreign dignitary testing her strength. A moment of intensity. Then two people leaving separately.”

You stare at him. Then nod once.

Your voice softens. “Thank you.”

He inclines his head. “If you need anything, the console is open. Otherwise… rest. You’ll be called when it’s time to reconvene.”

You turn toward your door, lift your hand to the panel.

Then stop.

One last glance at him.

He stands like stone. A sentinel.

You wonder, briefly, if he was ever like Mark.

But the door hisses open before you can ask.

You step inside.

And you are alone again, still in this new suit, still warm from the shower, still tasting Mark’s mouth on yours.

But you don’t peel the uniform off yet.

You just stand there. Barefoot on the cold floor.

And breathe.

The door slides shut behind you with a soft hiss. The silence in your quarters is immediate, and in its own way, deafening.

No footsteps. No voices. No breath but your own.

You walk forward on instinct, each step deliberate, but still disoriented, like your body hasn’t caught up to the fact that you’re not on the floor anymore. Not under him. Not between thighs and heat and breath and friction.

You run a hand over the high seam of your new uniform. The fabric hugs you like a second skin. Too smooth. Too precise. It doesn’t feel like yours yet. Not quite.

You don’t sit.

You don’t speak.

You haven’t moved from where you stood when the door closed behind you.

The air in your quarters is clean, dry, just a little cooler than it should be. Your hair is still damp against you. The Viltrumite uniform hugs you tight, across your breasts, your ribs, the curves of your hips. The fabric is smooth and sterile, not a wrinkle in sight. It’s built to support strength, not comfort. And yet it feels like the only thing holding you together.

You take a breath.

Then the console pings.

A soft, chiming tone, not a warning. A call.

Personal transmission: ORIGIN – Eternia, Palace Command.

Your heart skips. Something in your chest tightens, like a string being plucked. You blink, then step toward the console, barefoot on the polished metal floor. The pads of your feet feel too soft for this ship.

You swipe your hand over the panel.

The screen flickers, then stabilizes.

Adam.

His face fills the screen like a rush of wind. Tousled hair. Soft golden lighting in the background. The outline of one of the palace towers over his shoulder. You catch the faint outline of Teela’s shape moving behind him, out of focus. He looks relaxed, his usual half-grin resting comfortably on his lips.

You can hear birds outside the window.

You forgot what birds sounded like.

“Hey,” Adam says, smiling wide. “There you are.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Adam,” you say quietly. “You look... sunlit.”

He laughs. “That’s because I am. It's morning here. Teela and I just finished patrolling. Thought I’d call before you got swept up in more diplomatic saber-rattling.”

Your smile is small. “It’s been... eventful.”

He leans forward, squinting at you through the projection. “You look—wait. What are you wearing?”

You glance down at yourself.

The stark white and gray of the Viltrumite uniform is sharp under the console light. A far cry from your usual Eternian silks, or the ceremonial outfit you wore on your arrival. This is something else entirely.

“Temporary replacement,” you say. “Mine was... rendered unusable.”

Adam tilts his head. “Was there a battle I didn’t hear about?”

You pause. Not quite a lie. Not quite truth.

“Something like that.”

He watches you more carefully now. His expression softens.

“You okay?”

You look back at him.

And for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer.

Because your body is still humming. Your thighs still ache. Your lips still feel the weight of that kiss. And Mark’s hand, calm, unhesitating, warm on your face, lingers in your memory like the imprint of armor that was never actually worn.

But that’s not what you say.

You say, “I think so.”

Adam nods, but his smile fades just a little. “You sound... off.”

You fold your arms, not defensive. Just grounding yourself. “It’s different here.”

His eyes flick to the side of your image. “Where are you now?”

“My quarters. Just returned.”

“You’re not scheduled to check in until morning.”

“I know.”

Adam frowns. “Then why now?”

You hesitate.

Then quietly, you say, “Because I needed something familiar.”

That silences him.

For a breath. Two.

“You’re not alone, are you?”

You blink. “I am, now.”

He catches the word. “Now?”

You close your eyes. “Adam…”

His voice softens. “Hey. I’m not prying. Just asking if I should worry.”

You shake your head. “You shouldn’t.”

He studies you for a long moment.

“Was it the Emperor?”

Your silence answers him.

Adam leans back, exhales slowly. “Okay.”

Just that. Not judgment. Not shock. Just acceptance.

And somehow that’s worse. Because it makes the knot in your throat tighten.

“You know me,” you say quietly. “I’ve never... wanted. Not like that. I’ve never had time to.”

Adam nods. “You made time now.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t always have to.”

You press your palm flat against the edge of the console. It’s cool against your skin. Grounding.

“I didn’t expect it,” you whisper.

“No one does.”

You look at him again. Your brother. The boy who grew into a man with Teela beside him. Who makes jokes over dinner and writes bad poetry and fights monsters with a smile.

“How do you live with it?” you ask.

Adam tilts his head. “With what?”

“This... feeling. This pull. This ache when they walk out of the room. This pressure in your chest like they’re still in the air you’re breathing.”

His smile returns, smaller now. More weathered.

“You don’t live with it,” he says. “You just... let it change you.”

You nod slowly.

The silence hangs between you, warm this time.

He lets you rest in it.

Then, softly, “Teela says hello. She also says she knows exactly what that face means and that I should let you go so you can think without me watching.”

You manage a breath of a laugh. “Tell her she’s still smug.”

“I’ll tell her when she wins our next duel.”

You smile. “She always does.”

Adam’s grin is boyish again. “You’re okay?”

“Not yet,” you say.

“But close,” he finishes.

You nod.

He leans forward again. “You’ll call when you need to.”

You nod again, more slowly. “I will.”

And then, before the call ends, his voice turns soft again, like he’s trying to reach you through the screen.

“Whatever you’re feeling... don’t bury it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

The transmission flickers.

And then it’s gone.

You’re alone again.

But this time, it doesn’t feel like falling.

The lights dim gradually as you step away from the console. The room senses your silence and begins its quiet descent into rest mode, bathing the walls in soft, ambient violet and cooling the air just slightly, like a sigh.

You stretch your arms once, slowly, and press your palms to the small of your back. Everything still aches faintly. Not pain. Just awareness. Your body is awake in ways it’s never been before, like someone lit a fire beneath your skin and then told you to sleep.

The Viltrumite bedding is functional, sleek, neatly arranged. You brush your hand over the smooth surface of the cover, white, sterile, a little too perfect. No creases. No warmth left behind.

Unlike the floor.

Your chest tightens.

You sit on the edge of the bed and pull your legs up beneath you, still wrapped in the borrowed uniform. You haven’t taken it off yet. It fits too well. Holds you too tightly. It’s not just clothing, it’s memory now.

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, and let your thoughts drift.

They drift to Mark.

To the way he looked up at you when you had him pinned, like you’d surprised him. Like he didn’t expect to feel anything in that moment, and yet he did. You saw it, even then. That flash of something under the control.

You think of the tension in his hands when you started to move on him. Not possessive. Not indulgent. Held. As if he couldn’t believe he was letting it happen and still didn’t stop you.

You remember the weight of him above you, the sound of his breath changing when yours did. The way his hips moved, not rough, not hurried, just… right. Measured. Real. Like every motion was deliberate, but none of it was detached.

And then the kiss.

Not the one on the floor. The one after. The one in the doorway, before he left you in steam and silence. That kiss was soft. Hesitant. Almost human.

That’s what gets you now.

Not the release. Not the sweat, the moans, the ache between your legs that still hums faintly in the aftermath.

That kiss.

That hesitation.

The Emperor isn’t the kind of man who hesitates.

And yet, for that moment, he did.

You roll onto your side now, drawing your knees up, settling into the curve of the bed. The sheets are cool. Your body is still warm. The contrast makes you shiver just a little.

Your eyes drift to the ceiling.

You don’t know what he’s doing right now.

Probably reviewing reports. Or speaking to his commanders. Or sitting somewhere too big and too quiet, surrounded by people who revere him but never see him.

You saw him.

Even for a moment.

You remember the line of his jaw after he pulled away. The flicker in his gaze. The hand that stayed hovering at your cheek for just a second longer than it had to.

You press your own hand there now.

It’s still warm.

You exhale slowly.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not with so much still moving inside you. But eventually, your breathing evens out. Your limbs grow heavier. Your thoughts dull, circling quieter now, like wind easing through trees instead of a storm.

And the last thing you feel before you drift under is the ghost of his lips on yours.

ִ ࣪✮♛ ♚✮⋆˙

taglist is OPEN. drop a comment in the replies if you wanna be tagged in future updates.

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inlovewithdob · 11 days ago

Text

ִֶָ࣪☾. | Invinci-dih

Tags: Sub!Mark, Also u cuck ur neighbors (Kidding! ^_^) Notes: Creative title, right? Also pretty short I'm just horny soooooo

You clasp a hand over Mark’s mouth, quieting him.

The neighbors had already knocked on your door at ungodly hours so often, you’re worried they’re gonna make an actual noise complaint one of these days.

You blink slowly down at him. The air is thick and heady, making sweat stick to your skin, “Are you going to be quiet, Mark?” You whisper. He makes a small sound that’s muffled beneath your hand. So, you go for the meaner approach, “Or else... we’re going to have to stop.”

He whines at that, but ultimately quietens when you give him a firm look.

After a few seconds of being shut up, he nods, and you remove your hand. It’s connected to his mouth by a line of spit. You wipe it on his red-hot cheek with a hard smile.

You place your hands back on his abdomen. It flexes or rather- jerks, but as promised he doesn’t make a sound. You roll your hips shallowly experimentally, and he groans.

You place a finger to your lips, and he nods, a bit dazed, and bites his bottom lip.

You continue to roll your hips against his own, steadily increasing your pace. He cant say a word besides the whimpers that escape him accidentally, so his head thrashes against the pillow, and his thighs jerk and flex under you. Talk about an unsafe ride.

His bottom lip bleeds from the pressure of his sharp teeth, and you decide to act funny. You rise on your knees, the lewd sounds of the both of you being disconnected filling your dark bedroom, and Mark’s eyes roll back, and he shakes his head, knowing what you're about to do, “No. Please—”

You drop down with an unfamiliar speed, and Mark lets out a drawn out, loud moan. At the sound and motion, you feel butterflies in your stomach.

You shallowly move up and down, and he lets out a series of cries, chokes, and screams. You already knew this night was going to be a short one, expecting to greet your neighbor in a few minutes at the door, so you’ll make these few minutes count.

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inlovewithdob · 20 days ago

Text

So wrong

a/n: accidentally deleted🫤. was gonna scrap this but @tiramissyoucake dilf!omni mark blurb gave me the motivation to finish it. (link here if you’d like to read it) feed back welcomed!

summary: if sneaking around with nolan is wrong why does it feel so right?

warning: porn w plot. slight breeding kink? cheating. age gap(reader in 20s, omni man is old asf). unprotected p in v. forgive me if it’s ooc but we need some omni man fics.

The first time you’d fucked Mr.Grayson- Nolan (it felt too weird to call him that now) was an accident.

You were driving home from a terrible date, ranting to yourself about how the guy was an asshole and how (sexually) frustrated you were when your car decided to break down. You hit the steering wheel in anger when you realized you were in the middle of nowhere and couldn’t afford a tow. You cursed yourself for going to an out of state college as you scrolled past your parent’s number on your phone.

You did the sensible thing and called your best friend, Mark. Your face dropped when his phone went to voicemail before quickly deciding to call Mrs.Grayson to make sure Mark wasn’t with his girlfriend or saving the world. It ended up being the latter but she’d reassured you that she’d send Nolan.

You should’ve just payed for the tow.

“Thank you so much, Mr.Grayson. I’m sorry for making you come out so late.” You greet him when he arrives, pulling your short skirt down out of respect. The action seemed to have the opposite effect as his smoldering gaze flicks to your barely covered skin then back to yours, running a hand through his bed head before flashing a breath taking smile.“Couldn’t leave a pretty thing like you stranded.”

To your surprise the comment had you turning from him to a hide a blush, confusion written on your features. The words echoed in your mind and you couldn’t help but admire the man as he tinkered with your vehicle, the way his shirt sleeves had to stretch to accommodate his biceps and how good his butt looked in grey sweat pants. Had Mr.Grayson always been this hot? The question rung in your head, You weren’t even sure hot was the right word, more like a silver fox.

You’d never thought of Nolan in a romantic way until that night. He’d always just been your best friend’s dad, totally off limits and old but as you watched him begin to jump your car you couldn’t help but to imagine it being your bones instead. These new feelings confused and kind of grossed you out but the lust wins over the adverse feelings, You didn’t shy away the next time his heated gaze turned to you- you’d never admit it but you sent one just as steamy back.

You’d stood by your drivers door as you prepared to say good bye to Nolan, a smile on your face to hide the nervousness you felt when he looked at you with his cerulean eyes. “Thank you again. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He’d approached you then, slowly, like a lion not trying to scare off a gazelle. Before you knew it you two were chest to chest, his hulking frame looming over yours. Your breath hitched when you realized his proximity had you pressed against the car, the cold door a contrast from his breath warming your skin.

He’d placed a strong hand against the driver door to make sure he had you efficiently trapped, you’d learn later that Nolan loved to make you feel and look small, not that it took much. He’d looked down at you through dark lashes, a smirk fighting its way through his thick mustache,”Where are you running off to?”

Somehow, against your better judgment, you two ended up in the back seat of your car a moment later. You with your knees digging into the leather of the seats as you sunk onto Nolan, your soft hands using his brawny chest for purchase as he gripped the fat of your ass hard enough to cause bruises. You thanked whoever invented tinted windows as the car rocked on the side of the desolate road.

It was meant to be a one time thing, a mistake. A dirty secret that you’d both act like never happened. So, you were very surprised when Nolan called your phone the next day, words raspy and breathless as he tells you how he couldn’t stop thinking about your body writhing on top of his.

His honeyed voice had you squeezing your thighs together but a pool of shame made your stomach turn. “Nolan, we can’t-“ You’re not sure why you’re trying to explain something he was already aware of, so you’re unsurprised when he cuts you off. “You ever been to Italy?” Nolan crackles through the speaker of your phone, “I know a beautiful hotel there.”

You force yourself not to think of his chiseled abs and square jaw as you try to have a little dignity and remind him of his family, of your best friend. He takes your mention of them completely wrong or maybe he just doesn’t care, “It’s fine. They think i’m in space already, we’ve got all day.”

Your finger hovers over the red ‘end call’ button as you purse your lips.

Ultimately you can’t resist his temptation and you’re flying high in the sky, wrapped in his strong arms thirty minutes later.

A day turned to days then to months and the thing you kept telling yourself was a one time occurrence bloomed into something so much more, an actual affair. You hated calling it that- an affair, it made what you and Nolan were doing too…real. But with all the secret rendezvous there wasn’t a better way to describe it.

You knew sneaking around with Nolan was wrong. More than wrong, so unforgivable you couldn’t stand looking in the mirror after he made you shudder and cum on his cock. But..there was something about him that kept pulling you back for more.

Even though it made you feel shameful…dirty at times, like there was a neon sign that said home wrecker flashing above your head. You felt a mountain of guilt whenever you were with Mark, smiled in Debbie’s face or simply even thought about the Grayson family…especially when you thought about the irrevocable damage you were causing to it.

With these emotions swirling around in your head you decided to end….whatever you had going on with Nolan. When he asked you to meet last night you decided to just drop the news on him, you figured it was like ripping off a bandaid.

There was no fake small talk and absolutely no sex, you knew if he got his beefy hands on you you’d probably be ensnared in his trap once again. You didn’t even let him pass the threshold of your apartment as you broke things off with him. Nolan had taken it pretty well, his blue eyes and calm demeanor not betraying any emotions. Not that you expected anything different. It was just sex, the only feeling involved was pleasure.

“Can I come in one last time? I have to leave for a mission tonight. Not sure when i’ll be back.” He’d propositioned, nodding with a small smile when you sternly shook your head no. You were sure he thought you’d change your mind and fall in bed with him (not that you didn’t want to).

When the conversation was finally over and you were watching Nolan’s hulking frame retreat down the hall it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. And with Nolan being out of your life and off the planet you didn’t blow off Mark when he invited you to dinner with his mom and Eve a the next day.

When you walk into the Grayson’s home, bottle of sweet red wine in hand, your smile fades and it feels like you’ve been dunked in ice water when your eyes met the azure pair staring at you from his place on the living room couch. His strong bicep around his wife’s neck as she waves you inside with a smile.

You pick your jaw up from the floor, quickly smiling to hide your flabbergasted state before greeting Mark’s parents. You feel wrong as you hug Debbie, you and her husband eyeing each other during the entire exchange. “ I haven’t seen you in so long! Nolan and I miss you around the house.” You felt like you might throw up in the poor woman’s face but you manage to swallow it down and smile uncomfortably in return.

You discard the wine onto the counter before taking the stairs two at a time to get to Mark’s room and away from his father’s unwavering stare. You couldn’t believe he was here (even if it was his house), as you walk down the hall you couldn’t help but think about the mischievous glint in his eyes.

You knock loudly and wait a moment before announcing yourself, pushing the wooden door open with your eyes closed as the sound of frantic shuffling meets your ears. You’d walked in on Eve and Mark before and once was good enough. “We’re decent, you can open your eyes!” Mark says from his place on the bed, his chest is heaving and his lips are red and raw from what you assume was kissing and it takes everything in you not to gag.

“Ew-but hey, Eve.” The red head greets you cheerfully as you sit at Mark’s desk before spinning around to meet her evergreen eyes, “Could you help me with my physics homework? It’s killing me.” As Eve tutors you your thoughts can’t help but wonder to places they shouldn’t, mainly to why Nolan had lied about going to space. You wondered if he’d been lying to you as well as his family these past couple of months.

“…Oh yeah- I thought your dad had a work thing?” You ask Mark as nonchalantly as possible once you and Eve finish, keeping your eyes on the text book you were stuffing into your bag. “He did. Said he had to take care of some stuff here.” He shrugs but never turns away from the half dressed characters fighting on the TV screen.

A hour later you’re in the kitchen getting some water, the smell of whatever Debbie was cooking wafting to your nose. You’re going to peek in the oven when the sound of a booming voice has you jumping out your shoes. The sound sends a shiver down your spine- you know that voice too well and you’re not surprised when you turn around and you’re met with Nolan, leaning against the kitchen island and unabashedly taking in your form.

“Did I catch you being naughty?” His tone is playful but his is gaze stern.

“Leave me alone, Nolan.” You set the glass of water down to place a hand on the counter, pouting your lips despite his words causing your heart to speed up. “I think I like Mr.Grayson better.” You scoff before rolling your eyes and crossing your arms defensively.

He goes to speak again but you cut him off quickly, “Why are you here?” You ask in a hushed whisper. A thick eyebrow raises and a smirk tugs at his full lips, “I live here.” Nolan says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No- you know what I mean. You said you’d be gone.” He pushes off the island before stalking over to you, you back away from his steps until your butt hits the warm stove.

Nolan’s breath is minty as he licks and nips the perspiring skin on your neck, his dark mustache scratching against the soft skin as your eyes dance between the stairs and the man in front of you.

His chest is against yours, you instantly mold against him. You’re like putty in his hands, if you weren’t so turned it’d be scary. This is a turn of events you definitely weren’t expecting and Nolan uses your shock to take the opportunity to push his large hand down the front of your yoga pants. Your breathing turning uneven as Nolan starts to pet you through the lace material of your panties.

“Wore these for me?” He says in a husky whisper. You want to tell him he’s delusional but with the way his lips tickle your ear and his free hand gropes your breast over your shirt, you have to harshly grip his bicep (the same bicep that was around his wife a moment ago) to steady yourself.

Your hand tugs on the wrist in your pants but he doesn’t budge. “You said you wouldn’t be here.” Your words are soft as you look up at him with a slight pout on your full lips, desire pooling in your stomach when you see how glazed over his eyes are.

“You stopped answering my calls so I didn’t go.” You want to argue, you’ve told him a thousand times not to prioritize you over the world but your breath hitches instead, his fingers dragging across your slick lips as he pulls your panties to the side.

You almost snap out of your stupor when your eyes meet Mark’s- not the actual Mark but his happy, brown eyes in the family portrait on the counter not too far from you. Nolan notices when you begin drifting from him, he removes his hand from your breast and callously knocks the picture over on its face.

It lands loudly and for a moment time seems to stop and you swear someone’s going to come flying down the stairs. Luckily for you everyone is too preoccupied. Not that Nolan cared, his free hand creeping under your shirt to fondle your breasts again.

It’s like you gained super senses. Able to feel every touch Nolan was giving to you, able to hear every bump or noise coming from upstairs. “W-we talked about this yesterday.” Your fingers finding the tail of Nolan’s shirt when he sinks his thick fingers into your warm cunt. He groans as you squeeze around him, the sound making your toes curl in your shoes.

“No, you talked and I listened.” His pace is slow, tantalizing, like he had all time in the world and no one could walk in and ruin the moment at anytime. The way his callused palm grinds into your clit has you fighting to keep your eyes open and you curse your weak resolve as your hips grind back.

“Tonight it’s my turn-“ The sound of Eve’s laughter has you trying to squirm out of his hold but his strong body has you trapped against the oven, his hard cock straining against the material of his jeans as he lightly grinds into you.

Nolan’s hand leaves your shirt to turn your head to meet his heavy stare. His hold is wet with your slick and his eyes bear into yours as he makes his demands, “Tell me i’ll see you tonight.”

You wanted to say no, to stand on your word as a better woman would. But when the hand on your jaw drops lower to squeeze your neck and the fingers between your thighs drag across a particularly satisfying spot, one that has you biting your lip to keep from crying out, you’re nodding before you can stop yourself. A smile lights Nolan’s face before he plants a big kiss on your lips, when he pulls away he thumbs your glistening cheek.

He hears Mark’s light steps before they can reach your human ears and he’s sitting on the couch watching TV before you can blink. You only have time to wipe your chin and straighten your shirt before he’s down the stairs, boyish grin on his face. Your heart is hammering in your chest, when Mark looks at you. You’re hoping he doesn’t notice the tint on your cheeks or your slightly frizzled hair.

His eye brows pull together in confusion and his voice is hard when he finally speaks, “Isn’t the food supposed to be done by now?”

“You’ve lost your mind.” Nolan’s standing in the middle of your living room late that night, clad in his red and white suit. He has the nerve to look confused like he hadn’t suggested the most outrageous thing you’d ever heard. “What?! It’s not uncommon for Viltrumites to take more than one partner.”

You look at him incredulously after pinching the bridge of your nose, “We are on Earth not Viltrum. Besides you’ve been married to Debbie for twenty years. She’ll kill you and me.” You huff as you flop on your worn couch. This was too much for you to process. You assumed Nolan had come over just to get his dick wet but now he’s talking about feelings you didn’t know existed- and marriage?!

“She’ll come around.” Nolan says in a matter of fact tone as he sits down beside you, taking your feet in his lap to massage them with his gloved hand. You don’t try to stop him, figuring you deserved it after the crazy ass proposal he dropped on you. “This is the Viltrumite way, she’ll have to see sense -“ Your loud sigh cuts off whatever nonsense he was going to say.

You pull your feet from him now, folding them so you can sit on them instead. You take Nolan’s large hands in yours and try to look deep in his eyes, hoping that it’ll help him see reason. “Nolan, I can’t marry you. That would destroy Mark and Debbie.” His grip tightens around yours but it isn’t painful, “I didn’t even know you felt this way about me….but you can’t- it’s too far. I thought we were just fucking.”

Nolan pulls a hand from yours to glide it through his greying hair, “…I didn’t know I felt this way either…then you broke things off.” His lips move like he wants to keep speaking but he doesn’t elaborate, he looks up at you through dark lashes, “No, marriage- okay. But we can keep..seeing each other?” Your lips form a straight line in frustration, it’s like everything you said went through one ear and out the next.

“It’s like you aren’t hearing me, Nolan. We can’t keep doing…this. Especially now.” You shake your head, trying to physically rid your mind of the fact that Nolan had just confessed his feelings for you. You didn’t even want to think about if you felt the same, even if you did the feelings would be shoved to the deepest, darkest pit in your brain.

“I can’t ruin your family.” Nolan huffs, like you’d said something so frivolous he can’t believe it. “Y/N…we already have.” Despite the scowl on your face he continues, “What would be the point in stopping now? Debbie is strong- so is Mark they’ll-“ You cut him off again before he goes too deep into his ramblings.

He watches as you slam your fist into the cushions on the couch, he almost smiles at your attempt to put your foot down. “Nolan! The answer is no- I can’t live with this-this guilt hanging over my me.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment but his face displays the internal turmoil Nolan must be going through. He starts that silent nodding thing and you think he might do something crazy until he starts to speak weakly.

“Can I taste you one more time?” You gulp audibly. The word no is on your tongue, it almost passes your lip until Nolan begins drawing circles on your knee with his thumb, something he’d usually save for after sex.

Somehow Nolan ends up on his knees on your carpeted floor, you didn’t bother moving to the bedroom, too focused on the man staring up at you as he pulls off your lounge shorts and panties.

“Just one lick.” It’s almost inaudible but Nolan was going to pretend he didn’t hear you anyway. He grabs a throw pillow to stuff under his head before waving you over to sit on his handsome face. You’re hesitant, biting your nail to calm your nerves like you haven’t been in this position one hundred times.

The sound of your name brings you back to reality, the way it sounds coming from between Nolan’s lips has your body flushing. You comply and move yourself over to his awaiting mouth, knees digging into the carpet. He licks his lips before he pulls you the rest of the way down by your hips.

Nolan is sloppy when he eats pussy. His nose bumping into your clit with every hard lick over your folds, before his tongue takes its place, gently flicking against the swollen bud. His eyes are closed, long lashes resting on his cheek bones, he seems relaxed while you’re already a moaning mess on top of him. You grab his inky locks as you move against his tongue, he moans as he grabs your hips tighter to assist you, rocking you slowly back and forth as he fucks you with his tongue.

Your painted toes curl when his soft lips wrap around your swollen clit and harshly suck. His name leaves your mouth in a gasp, hips bucking as a large hands moves from your hips to squeeze your ass, then creep up your stomach to rub your hardened nipples.

You can’t help but watch the show below you with lidded eyes. Nolan’s cheeks are dusted pink, his eyelids just as heavy as yours. Your thighs shudder around his legs as you feel your release approaching, “Fu-fuck, i’m gonna cum.” Nolan doesn’t let up and after a well timed flick of his tongue on your clit, you’re whimpering from the white-hot pleasure that surges through you. Nolan continues to lick and suck through your orgasm and doesn’t stop until you’ve pried him away by his mussed hair.

You’re unsurprised when you’re bent over the arm of your couch with Nolan’s hand tangled in your hair. Nolan’s thrown out everything you’d said before. He’s bending down to whisper in your ear, voice hitching as he tells you you’ll make such a pretty wife, how beautiful you’ll look once you’re round with his babies. Your brains so foggy from the tip of his cock hitting the spongy spot deep within you over and over again, that you can’t do anything but moan and babble nonsense.

His thick cock drags against your contracting walls as he watches himself push in and out of you, toes curling into the carpet when he notices the creamy white ring around himself. The squelch of your arousal and your melding moans can be heard over the TV and you’re sure you’re going to get complaints about it in the morning.

Nolan’s hand leaves your hair to smack your cheek, the skin already red from the previous abuse on your plump ass. You shudder as he begins leaving open mouth kisses on your back. “Pussys so wet…” It sounds like he’s talking to himself more than to you but you can’t help to whimper in response. “I could fuck you all day.” His speech is slurred as he pistons into you, one foot leaving the carpet to find its place beside you on the arm rest.

His hand leaves your neck as he fucks you into the couch, moving to spread your ass and lips open as he begins thrusting in an upward angle. You cum around him with a cry, hands fisting the pillows thrown haphazardly on the couch as you spasm around his cock.

Nolan pulls himself from you with a light groan, when you look over your shoulders you see he’s still rock hard, covered in your slick and his precum. You don’t have time to think before he’s grabbing you by the waist and throwing you over his shoulder, you whine and he shushes you before palming your bare ass.

He kicks open your bedroom door like he owns the place before throwing you onto your unmade bed. You bite your lip as he crawls between your legs, kissing you from your feet to your thighs before pushing your legs back as far as they can go.

You’re sore when he sinks back into your heat but that doesn’t stop the pleasure from curling in your gut. Nolan lubes his thumb with the slick from your gushing cunt before he begins rubbing hard circles on your clit.

“You’re mine.” His voice is raspy but you hear his words perfectly. You whimper in response, you’re so far gone you can’t decipher whether if it’s in agreeance or disapproval but it’s enough for Nolan who drops his head into your neck, his hips never stilling.

Nolan’s sweaty body engulfs yours, your hard nipples rub against his chest as your hand finds its place in the pepper strands of his hair. When he raises his head and kisses you it’s sweet, a contradiction from the way his hips slam into your pelvis.

As you wrap your legs around Nolan’s thick waist you can’t help but to think that being a second wife can’t be too bad.

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inlovewithdob · 26 days ago

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mark grayson x afab!reader. dumbification, sub!mark, increased stamina and sensitivity, needy!mark, reader is a little mean and mark thinks it's HOT <3

Thinking about Mark Grayson's heightened sensitivity... and how stupid and easy he gets when he needs a release.

Thinking about how sometimes during a fight or a long training session, all that adrenaline and pumping blood results in Mark getting hard. He wears a cup for decency so it's moderately uncomfortable when it happens. Not to mention, Mark gets embarrassed. Very embarrassed.

Mostly because you seem to know when it happens. Mark doesn't know if it's the way he walks or if something in his voice gives it away. But if he doesn't want to get teased into coming, he'd best wait until his erection flags.

(Mark has never waited. He always comes home.)

It's not his fault! He stays hard for a long time if he tries to ignore it. He doesn't have the patience to wait. And Mark loves how your eyes get sharp and feral when they land on him, his cup removed, sweaty and chubbed up in his suit. You like to corner him against the wall and part your legs and rub against him. Like to feel his dick poke at your folds. He's there for you to play with. You make sure to remind him.

And the thing is, Mark gets stupid when he's hard. Big and easy and leaky.

"Still can't figure out how you focus on anything with such a fat cock," you tell him. Mark is lightheaded. He's obscenely big in his suit, and you're wet at the sight of him bucking his hips against you, humping you like a dog. You get a tight grip on his hair, tell him to settle down and be good.

"Don't get too excited. You'll cream your pants," you say lazily, and Mark whines. You get a little mean when he's like this. He loves it. You tell him to bring you both to the bed and he obeys instantly. You rest a hand on his stomach, just above where he's made a wet patch in his suit.

"Please, pl-please, G-God," Mark's saying, abs tense under your palm. You finally free his cock, pulling his suit pants down enough, and you take in the sight of it. It's red, agitated, steadily leaking. This is one of your favorite parts. Mark doesn't need much to come. He's got a big dick and big balls but none of that matters when he blows his load in less than a minute. You tease his cock at the base with two fingers, rubbing and tracing the veins that go up to his head. It takes nothing before Mark is tensing, legs trapping you as he comes. He makes high, weepy sounds as he does, his eyes squeezed shut. You pull his hair and that heightens Mark's orgasm, making him buck into the air.

And then, the next best part.

"Oh my God," you say with a laugh. "Dumb, fat cock can't even get soft after coming? All those muscles and strength and you're still fucking needy. You can't even think when you're like this, can you?"

A Viltrumite effect. Mark needs at least two orgasms to soften. He can't even reply now, he's so desperate. Once, you'd made him stay hard on purpose, not allowing his second release for ages. When you had let him come, Mark had cried, red-faced and dizzy with arousal.

You don't do that now, pitying his desperation. You press Mark down into the mattress instead and he lets you, never resistant with you. You rake your hand through his hair. Mark cranes his neck, wanting a kiss. You indulge him and he moans into your mouth, rutting against your stomach.

"Ah-ah," you say, slipping your hand between your bodies and trapping Mark's cock against his stomach. He whines, forgetting himself and bucking his hips, his strength coming easily. You squeeze him in warning.

"Be good," you say. "Be good or I'll leave you like this, stupid and leaking."

Mark shakes his head, eyes wet. "No, no, please, need it, need you. Please, please, 'm s-so hard."

"Oh, I know." You take your other hand and squeeze Mark's pecs, first the right then the left. He moans, arching beneath you. You flick his nipples until they're hard under his suit. "Is this all you're good for? Fighting and emptying your balls? Your stupid dick can't even tell the difference between the adrenaline of a fight and me touching you."

Mark whines, squirming beneath you. "That's not t-true, I'm—I—"

"You what?" you ask, mocking. You take his cock in a tight grip, tighter than you'd hold a regular person. But Mark can take it. Mark wants to take it. "What are you gonna say, baby? You gonna tell me you're smart? That you're more than your fat tits and cock?"

Mark doesn't manage an answer. You grind on him hard, your pussy still clothed. His eyes are fluttering so you hold his chin and shake him a little.

"Eyes on me, big guy," you say. "You want me to fuck you? Wanna cum inside me?"

Mark nods eagerly, hair wild, cheeks blotchy. "Yeah, yeah, please—"

"Take off my underwear," you say.

Mark immediately grabs the band of your underwear and pulls. The fabric rips like wet paper. You look down, mouth open.

"Oh, baby," you say. Mark's already fumbling over an apology, promising to buy you new ones. You roll your eyes and pull his hair. "Why did I think that would go any differently? You'd tear through anything to get your dick wet."

"'M sorry, I thought—"

"Well, that was your first mistake, wasn't it, sweetie? Don't think, you're not good at it right now."

You take Mark's wrists and put them above his head. It takes both of your hands to do so. You know the only reason you can hold him like this is because he's letting you.

"Gonna be a good boy and fuck me?" you ask, arching your back so you can drag your pussy over Mark's cock. "Gonna make me cum? Or are you just gonna rut into me like a dumb dog?"

Mark shakes his head. "No, gonna be good. I can make you cum. Make you feel good. Lemme do it—lemme feel you, I can do it, please—"

And finally, finally, you let him inside. Mark loses all coherence, only panting and whining as he meets you thrust for thrust. You barely need to move, he's so eager. He's gorgeous like this, suit disheveled and pulled up only as far as it needs to be for you to play with his cock. His hair is messy and he's shiny with sweat. You can't imagine how overwhelming his arousal is, coursing through him and turning his brain to soup even when he's not with you. It's no wonder he'll let you do whatever you want to him.

"Are you being good, honey pie?" you ask. "Are you gonna hold it till I tell you?"

"Can't," Mark says, like he always does, but you know better.

"You can," you say. "You can or I'm pulling off of you. Can you rub my clit or are you too dumb to do that?"

"I can, I can," he says. You free one of his hands and he clumsily finds your clit. Mark rubs you as you fuck him, his cock making a mess in your pussy.

You feel your orgasm swell. "Wait till I cum," you order. "You couldn't even hold your first one, so wait."

Mark's eyes are wet. "Are you close? Can I cum now? Please, can't hold it—"

"Yes, you can," you say, digging your nails into his scalp. Mark whines loudly, his thrusts sloppy and fast. "Fucking hold it, Mark."

And he does. He manages to hold off until you cum, your orgasm washing over you. Then you say the magic words. "Go ahead."

And Mark forgets himself and breaks out of your grip, grabbing your back and waist instead. He buries his face in your shoulder, grunting and whimpering as he fucks you, one leg over your hip for leverage. You can't do anything but hold on as Mark chases his release. He cums for a long time, shaking against you. When he's done, he rolls you over so you're lying on your side.

"That was s-so good," he says, voice cracking from pleasure. "You're so mean to me, I love it. Was I good? Was I your good boy?"

"Pretty boy," you say, kissing his temple. "You were the best. So good for me, sweetheart."

He sighs happily, seemingly satisfied, but you know better. It's never a complete night without Mark's head between your legs.

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inlovewithdob · 26 days ago

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ponyfies your superhero show 🐎🌟

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

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Double-edged Desires

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader x Eris

Summary: Azriel and Eris find themselves having to share a mate, and being away during the mating frenzy is never easy. For any one of you.

Warnings: smut, threesome, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, language

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: based on this request! Okay so, this turned into so much more than planned... I've never written Azriel and Eris together before tho, so for every Azris shipper out there, pls have mercy on me, but I actually like how it turned out. Especially cus I wasn't planning on anything beyond bickering and arguing for them and I fear I might have focused too much on them and not enough on y/n... and I didn't reread that many times, so excuse possible typose. Anyway okay bye enjoy <3

Azriel hated sharing a mate with Eris Vanserra.

It had been a shock to everyone when you discovered you had two mating bonds—with two very different males who couldn’t stand each other. They had argued at first over who should get to be with you, but you had been very adamant: you wouldn’t choose between them, and you would accept both bonds instead. The only thing left for them to do was accept your decision and try to make it work, doing their best to get along for your sake.

They had come to one important agreement: you always came first. In every situation. Your well-being, your happiness, your pleasure—all of it was their priority.

Which was why they had decided one of them should always be with you, especially now, during the first few weeks since your double mating ceremony, when the frenzy still hadn’t entirely passed.

But war and threats and death gods couldn’t be postponed, not even for you, and neither of them could refuse when they had to leave you for a few days to try to track down Koschei. They hadn’t talked much unless it was to discuss theories or mention you, but Azriel knew that, just like him, Eris was struggling.

Being away from you was a weight he could barely carry, and the frenzy only made it worse. Searching for clues and information helped, but when he lay down at night with nothing to do but think of you, Azriel would just stare at the ceiling for hours. It was the same for Eris—his shadows confirmed it in a whisper.

They could have helped each other, he supposed. After all, in the throes of passion, despite their focus on you, they had shared touches, kisses, sometimes more. And Azriel had long since stopped trying to convince himself he hadn’t enjoyed it. But he’d be damned before admitting it out loud. He was willing to bet it was the same for Eris, if his reactions to Azriel’s touch were any indication.

So they had spent days craving the touch of their mate—both of them knowing they could find some relief in each other and yet too stubborn to ask for it.

All that pent-up need and tension came crashing to the surface the moment they finally returned home and silently opened the door to your shared bedroom.

You were lying in bed, arms wrapped around your pillow, the sheets crumpled around your feet. A gentle breeze drifting in through the open window rustled the curtains, and the moonlight gave you an ethereal look as it bathed your sleeping form.

Your naked, sleeping form.

The sight was enough to stir a familiar hunger deep in Azriel’s core. His hand flexed at his side as if itching to reach out and touch you, and his Illyrian leathers were suddenly far too tight around his groin.

“Someone’s needy,” Eris whispered beside him, a tantalizing smirk curving his lips as always.

Azriel glanced at him—at the obvious bulge in his pants. “You’re one to talk.”

Eris’s annoying smirk only widened as he turned to face him. “Should we wake her?”

“No.” Azriel shot him a glare. “She’s sleeping.”

“Oh, come on, Shadowsinger.” Eris rolled his eyes. “She’s naked. We both know she doesn’t like sleeping that way. You really think it doesn’t mean anything?”

He knew Eris was right. It wasn’t hot enough yet to justify the open window, the discarded sheets, the lack of clothes. You were probably dealing with the same problem that had plagued him on the continent—surges of heat caused by the frenzy, which you usually handled by spending a good couple of hours locked inside with your mates. But they’d been away too long.

Eris took a step toward the bed, but Azriel shot out a hand and grabbed his arm to stop him. The redhead twirled around, an almost feral look in his amber eyes visible even in the darkness of the room.

“She needs me,” he seethed, yanking his arm free. At Azriel’s pointed look, he seemed to calm down. With a sigh, he added grudgingly, “Fine. Us. She needs us.”

Despite his own raging desire, despite the truth in Eris’s words and the need to touch you, taste you, bury himself inside you and never let go, Azriel still hesitated. You looked so peaceful as you slept—lips slightly parted, hair fanned out across the pillow, moonlight caressing your back and the curve of your ass.

“Just get changed and climb into bed, Vanserra,” he finally said. “Don’t you dare wake her up. You can wait until morning.”

No matter that he didn’t know how he would wait until morning while sleeping next to you, naked, after days of missing you.

The shuffling of sheets caught his attention, and both he and Eris turned just in time to see you stir slightly and roll onto your back. Azriel went rigid as your new position granted him a clear view of your body—from your soft breasts to the flare of your hips and the dip between your legs. Eris gasped softly at his side.

“Guys?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. “Is that you?”

Both males immediately approached the bed, but Eris got there a second earlier. He flashed Azriel a gloating smile before reaching for you, running his slender fingers down your cheek.

“Hello, my darling,” he purred.

Azriel wanted to punch him in those perfect teeth.

Instead, he moved to your other side, wings tucked tight to his back so he could lean in close. “I'm sorry we woke you, angel,” he murmured. Unable to hold back any longer, he curled his hand around your waist, as if to pull you closer. Eris shot him a warning look, daring him to try.

“Don’t be,” you replied with a sleepy smile. “I’m not.”

You stretched with a soft hum, and Azriel's fingers squeezed you a bit tighter. Did you do it on purpose? Or were you just naively unaware of the effect you had on him? On both of them?

Lowering your arms again, your hands found their way to both their cheeks—one in each palm, your touch gentle as you welcomed them home.

“So,” you began, all traces of sleep gone from your voice, replaced by a teasing tilt, “who's getting the first kiss?”

They both moved, but Azriel was faster this time. His mouth found yours, lips finally meeting again, tongues moving in a familiar rhythm. But the tenderness of the kiss was short-lived as the frenzy overtook you both.

Your hand slipped from Eris's cheek to tangle in Azriel's hair, pulling him closer and drawing a low groan from his chest. His arm wrapped more securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he was only dimly aware of Eris kissing your neck as he got lost in the hungry need to claim your mouth and every other inch of you.

But you pulled back before he could go further.

A satisfied smile graced your lips, but you didn't give him time to act. Instead, you tugged on Eris’s hair.

The Heir of Autumn lifted his head, and Azriel could only watch as the two of you shared a kiss as passionate as the one you'd shared with him.

He didn't know how you did it, but you always managed to split your time and your affection equally between your two mates. He loved that about you. It meant he didn't have to worry about you favoring and focusing only on Eris—which he was grateful for—but it also meant that you wouldn't favor and focus only on him.

Azriel shifted to lie more comfortably on the bed, planting a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your collarbone to your soft breasts. He captured one nipple between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue while kneading your other breast with his hand.

The scent of your arousal soon filled the room and Azriel's senses. After days away from you, it made him need you the way he needed air to breathe. More, even.

His hand caressed down your stomach to where he knew he'd find you already wet. But instead, he found Eris’s hand already there, his fingers buried inside you, pumping slowly. A low growl rumbled in his throat, but as if sensing it, Eris moved his thumb aside, granting Azriel access to your clit.

It wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing.

You broke off your kiss with Eris when a moan spilled from your lips. Squirming between them, you spread your legs wider in a silent request for more.

“I’ve missed you,” Azriel murmured, releasing your nipple to look up at you, the pad of his thumb pressed firmly against your clit.

Of course, Eris had to chime in and steal your attention. “I’ve missed you more,” he added, pushing his fingers deeper inside you and drawing another moan.

“Guys,” you chuckled, though your voice was a little breathless, “I’ve missed you too. Both of you.” Your hands reached out to palm the bulges in their pants. “And I need you…”

They both sucked in a breath, but while Azriel pressed himself eagerly into your touch, ready to peel off his fighting leathers and bury himself inside you, Eris still didn’t withdraw his fingers from your cunt.

Azriel shot him a glare, but the redhead only smirked before positioning himself between your legs. “You should learn the art of patience, Shadowsinger,” he drawled, then he lowered his head and closed his lips around your clit.

A wave of annoyance surged through Azriel at the teasing reprimand, as if he hadn’t spent hours worshipping you and making sure you were fully satisfied before ever allowing himself to come. As sharing you with Eris wasn’t proof enough of just how patient he could be.

“Az…”

Your voice snapped him back to you. You were biting your lower lip, soft whimpers escaping you as Eris pleasured you, but your hands were now working to unbuckle Azriel's pants. When you finally got them undone, he stood to take them off, along with the rest of his clothes, discarding everything on the floor.

The moment he joined you again on the bed, your hands were on him. You wrapped your fingers around his hard cock, giving him a gentle squeeze that made him buck in your grasp. He barely had time to steady himself before you propped up on one forearm and guided him into your mouth.

Azriel gasped, his eyes nearly rolling back as you swirled your tongue around his leaking tip. “Fuck…” he breathed. His fingers curled into your hair, and then he was thrusting shallowly into your warm, welcoming mouth.

Your muffled moans mixed with Azriel’s and with Eris’s pleased hums against your flesh every time your hips bucked—his lips and fingers relentless in their assault on your senses.

As you took Azriel deeper and relaxed your throat around him, he groaned, chest heaving and head falling back. His hips jerked forward instinctively, and you gagged around him, but you didn’t pull back or signal for him to stop. You simply looked up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, now wide with lust and fluttering beneath Eris’s expert touch.

Azriel knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, not if you kept looking at him like that while sucking him off so eagerly. He managed to hold back for a few more moments, but as pressure built and release surged closer, he pulled out of your mouth with a grunt.

You gasped for air, lips still parted, as if expecting him to push back in.

Azriel’s hand moved from the back of your head to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lip. “Not yet, my love,” he murmured, his voice slightly breathless. “I don’t want to come just yet.”

Before you could reply, Eris lifted his head from between your thighs. “Should we let her come, though?” he mused as his fingers curled inside you, drawing a whimper from your lips. “She’s so close. I can tell.”

Azriel glanced at him, a silent understanding passing between them. You came first. Always. Even if it wasn't by his hand. Not yet, at least.

“What do you think, angel?” he asked, turning his gaze back to you. “Should we let you come already?”

You nodded, eyes darting between the two of them. “Yes… I need to come.”

Azriel looked back at Eris with a smirk. “Make her come, Vanserra.”

Eris didn’t waste a second. He lowered his mouth to your cunt again, and as much as Azriel wanted to be the one tasting you and making you squirm and moan, he couldn't deny how incredibly arousing it was to watch Eris Vanserra feast on you.

Your hand slipped into Azriel's, holding onto him as your breaths turned into pants. He leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss while his other hand cupped your breast, skilled fingers teasing your nipple with practiced ease.

It was only a matter of moments before your body arched off the bed, your muscles tensing and trembling as you came on Eris’s tongue and fingers. Azriel swallowed your soft cries, unwilling to break the kiss just yet.

Only when you relaxed again did he pull back, at the same time Eris lifted his head. You were panting, one final whimper escaping your lips as Eris slowly pulled his fingers out of you. But just as he brought them to his mouth to lick them clean, you reached out to stop him.

“Wait,” you urged. “Let Azriel do it.”

Both males froze. Azriel's eyes widened in surprise, Eris merely arched a brow.

“You want him to suck my fingers?”

“Yes.” You pushed yourself up slightly, a sly smile curving your lips. “Give him a chance to taste me.”

It was just an excuse, Azriel knew that. Why taste you from Eris's fingers when he could do it directly from the source? But he also knew that you loved watching them touch not just you, but each other as well.

It was how it had all started, after all. You had asked them if they could please kiss each other, at least once, to know what it felt like. It had taken a little convincing, but neither of them could ever say no to you. You'd asked again after that. Sometimes not only for a kiss. And sometimes, you didn't even have to ask.

“Fine,” Azriel grumbled.

You and Eris both stared at him, likely surprised he'd agreed so quickly. But after fucking Eris while he went down on you, licking his fingers didn't seem like such a big deal.

The Heir of Autumn turned toward him, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “Eager, Shadowsinger?”

“Shut up, Vanserra,” he growled back. “Just give me your damn hand.”

Eris opened his mouth to reply, but you spoke first.

“Boys, boys, please,” you said with a soft laugh. “No need to get heated over this, don't you think?”

“Sorry, my love,” they answered in unison.

They exchanged an awkward glance, but then Eris lifted his hand, his lips curling in amusement.

Azriel didn't let himself second-guess it as he grabbed the male's wrist and tugged him closer. He glanced at you—still smiling at them—one last time before sealing his lips around the two fingers Eris had buried inside you.

Your slick release still coated them, the familiar taste flooding his mouth, laced now with something distinctly Eris. His skin.

Azriel swirled his tongue around the long digits, torn between savoring it or getting it over with quickly. He could already hear the comments Eris was certainly holding back, especially when that small smile curved into a full grin. Azriel shot him a glare, sharp enough to silence any smug remarks, but Eris just arched an amused brow in response.

Even after Azriel pulled away, the two males exchanged a long, heated glance—only for your voice to pull them both back to earth.

“Beautiful,” you murmured, your hungry gaze sweeping over them. Azriel felt desire stir in his gut again, but you turned to Eris, nodding toward his still clothed form. “Don’t you think it’s time you took those off?”

Eris nodded instantly. “Of course, my darling.”

As he stood to undress, Azriel moved to take the spot Eris had just vacated—right between your legs, where he wanted to be. But you shifted first, flashing him a playful wink as you got on your hands and knees.

Azriel grinned, his hands sliding over your hips. “Is this how you want me?”

Eris, now fully naked, settled in front of you. “Us, Shadowsinger,” he corrected smoothly. “It’s how she wants us.” He caressed your cheek. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

“C’mon, guys,” you mumbled, though there was a hint of amusement in your voice, “you know you don’t need to fight over me. Why don’t you kiss each other while fucking me to make up for it?”

Azriel didn’t particularly care about the first part of that suggestion. All he heard was your permission to fuck you, and he was more than ready bury his cock inside you.

Eris replied with something Azriel didn’t listen to, one hand already tightening around your waist while he lined himself up with your dripping folds. Just brushing his cock against your cunt made his breath hitch. But instead of pushing inside, he glanced up and met Eris’s eyes over your back.

Despite their differences and apparent dislike for each other, they’d developed a silent language since your mating ceremony—one that didn't need words. After Eris positioned himself in front of you, his cock brushing your parted lips, he gave a small nod. That was all he took.

They thrust forward in perfect unison.

Three moans echoed in the room—yours the loudest of all—as they filled you from both ends.

It was heaven.

It had only been a few days since Azriel last felt you clench around his cock, but fuck, he had missed it. Would always miss it. Frenzy or not, he loved you.

You took them so beautifully, every movement of your body pulling them deeper, every sound from your lips making Azriel want to come far too soon. Their rhythm was one they'd practiced and refined—measured thrusts, timed perfectly, all for your pleasure.

But even as Azriel focused on the feel of you wrapped around him he felt Eris's gaze lingering on him.

“You heard the lady,” Eris said, his voice strained as your mouth moved over his cock. “So what are we waiting for?”

Azriel lifted a brow, hips never slowing. “Eager to kiss me, Eris?”

The Autumn Heir faltered for just a beat before his thrusts resumed, amber eyes glinting. He leaned forward, sliding deeper into your mouth—not that you minded, judging by the muffled moan you gave—and leaned ever closer to Azriel.

“You suck my fingers and suddenly you use my first name?” he drawled.

Azriel blinked. He hadn’t even realized he'd said it. It had just come out naturally.

He wondered, briefly, how it would feel to hear Eris say his name in return.

“Shut up,” he muttered instead.

Still holding your waist with one hand, he reached up with the other and pulled Eris closer. Their mouths met in a heated, desperate kiss—both of them trying to take control, neither of them willing to give it.

The room filled with sound—skin on skin, soft gasps and muffled moans, the creak of the bed frame, and the wet, urgent heat of their kiss.

And as your body clenched around him and Eris's tongue slid against his, Azriel knew.

He was exactly where he was meant to be.

With his mate, and with whatever Eris Vanserra was starting to become.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

Text

Pleading for forgivness

Tw: smut, reader dosent mark is invincible, shitty writing, failed attempt at subby mark

He promised

He promised he would show up this time

You were sitting on the edge of your bed, wearing a dress that’s been patiently waiting for its debut, and more makeup then you usually wear. Mark was late- again. He was supposed to pick you up an a hour ago from your house to take you on a special dinner to make up for the last date he missed. You were just about ready to take everything off and start getting ready for bed- until you heard a swoosh come from the window and a loud thump on the ground, quickly swinging your head in the direction the noise came from. Just to see mark on all fours panting and sweating.

He quickly turns to face you ”p-please im so, so sorry”

“Where did you come fro- wait did you climb up the window? Actually forget it, i don’t care anymore. I’m done”You’re quick to roll your eyes and take a stomp in the direction of your connected bathroom- until you feel a hand wrapped around the back of your knee.

“Please don’t go, at least let me explai- or apologize.” You looked down at him, noting how he was still on his knees and how his voice wavered in whininess.

“No, you don’t deserve the chance to explain or come up some new shitty excuse. I don’t deserve any of this and I’m tired of putting up with it” you were sure that would do somthing, maybe make him loosen his grip and give up? But no, it only made him wrap his arms around your legs, pressing his upper torso against your knees.

“I know you don’t, you don’t deserve any of this. Me constantly being late or just not showing up at all and then doing a sucky job to fix it. I know I don’t deserve you, trust me it’s all I can think of most days. But just please give me another chance, a chance to be someon- the man you deserve. Please I need you, I can’t live without you” the silver lining his eyes have become more noticeable as his his chin rests against your lower stomach, looking up at you with his lips quivering.

“Please”

God he looks so pathetic. You almost start to feel bad for him, I mean he did apologiz- no. This what he always does and you always take him back. He needs to work for your forgiveness.

“Prove it then”

“Prove what, I’ll do anything” the tears running down his flushed cheeks does nothing but highlight his handsome features.

“Prove that you’re sorry.”

His expression blanks into what looks like a moment in thought, but before you can dissect the movement. He has you scooped up in his arms, bridal style, walking to sit you back on your bed. “I don’t know if I’ve already said this tonight, but you look…like an angel. You must have spent so much time getting ready for me”

His beautiful face, the one you’re so used to seeing in a smile while staring at you with heart eyes. Is the same one that can even look into your own. He looks so defeated, with that frowny pout on his face. You stroke the side of his cheek with the lightest brush of your knuckles during a moment a weakness, making him whimper at the loss of your touch ”so how do you plan on making up to me”

“In any way possible” he slowly picks one of your legs up, gently wrapping his fingers around your ankle. Pressing the softest of kisses from the strap of your heel to your knee, as if testing the waters on how much he’s allowed to do. ”starting with worshiping your body. For as long as you want, in any you want”

He’s lips move in tandem with his hands bunching up the bottom of your dress, revealing more skin as his kisses go further north. Just before his mouth reaches your core, he lowers himself back down and repeats the movements on your other leg. Mumbling apologizes and praises, sometimes stopping to just rub his face against your smooth skin.

“May I, please” his eyes darting from your own down to wear you evident arousal is dampening your lace panties. He looks like if you tell him no he just might die. You give him a nod, unsure if this is a good idea or not. But how you could say no when he’s looking up at you with those puppy eyes. He wastes no time pulling them down and diving in, eagerly licking his way up your wet cunt, whimpering at the taste. ”fuck I cant handle you leaving me and saying goodbye to this perfect pussy”

He’s lost in some trance, caressing your thighs while keeping them spread enough apart for his ministrations. Mumbling praises on how good you taste, while not so sneakily grinding his hips against the mattress. Your plee’s fall on death ears, not like he would need verbal confirmation that your close. He can just tell, with the way your thighs keep threatening to slam closed around his head. With the way hitches of your breath blend together, with how your moans waver into mindless babbling territory.

And with one last harsh suck to your clit, you crumble. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair to keep a tether to reality from the intensity of your orgasm. His mouth continues to lick and suck, even as you tug on his hair as an attempt to unlatch himself off of you, he. does. not. quit. The overstimulation was starting to get to you. “Mark it hurts”

“I know, but you just taste so good. One more, please” that “one more” turns into two more, three more. At this point you’ve lost count. He seems to be enjoying this more than you. When he said he was going to worship your body he meant it. Not once taking any breaks, only brief pauses to kiss along any bare visible skin and even over your clothes. He was insatiable, willing to do anything to prove how sorry he felt, it wasn’t until you had to physically unlatch him from yourself that he got the hint. You were a mess, sweating , blabbering nonsense. Head tossed back against your pillows attempting to catch your breath. You must have been panting for longer than you thought, because you don’t even realize marks gone until you hear him walk back from your bathroom, damp washcloth in hand. He’s so gentle, listening to the sharp intakes of breath that leave your lips for guidance. It’s not until he deems his job perfect that he sets the towel aside and scoots himself higher up the bed towards you. But still remaining to keep his distance, even after giving you god knows how many orgasms in a sitting he’s still to scared to see if he’s allowed cuddles.

“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed to cuddle me you know” as soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s instantly rolling over with an arm around your waist and his head snuggled against your chest. You can’t help but stroke his hair and snuggle just a bit closer- it does not go unnoticed.

You must have been zoned out for a while because when he talks, you jolt a little. “Sooo… am I forgiven?” You can’t help but giggle at his immaturity.

“I don’t know, I think I might need a little more convincing”

You catch a hint of a smirk as he crawls down your body slowly, assuming his previous position between your legs looking up at you “I think I can help with that”

And he did not hold back

Haven’t written a fic or smut in a while so sorry if it’s obvious. Recently finished invincible and I need mark and thought of this idea. Got lazy towards the end

#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible #subby boys #smut #fan fic

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

Text

CLAIMED BY A VILTRUMITE — viltrum! mark grayson

WARNINGS: homicide, world domination, mention of breeding/ pregnancy, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), dubcon? Pregnancy

MINORS DNI

The world was peaceful.

The sun still rose in the east, setting cities ablaze in gold. The air carried the scent of morning coffee and wet pavement. People laughed, worked, lived—blissfully unaware that it was all about to end.

You remember that morning vividly. You had gone about your day like any other, watching the news over breakfast, scrolling through your phone. It was mundane. Normal. Until the sky split open. They came without warning.

No declaration of war. No demands. Just the cold, merciless force of an empire that had done this to countless planets before. Viltrumites.

They descended like gods, tearing through human defenses as if they were nothing. Entire squadrons of jets were crushed mid-air, missiles swatted aside like toys. They didn’t fight a war—they exterminated.

The ones who submitted were spared. The ones who resisted? Slaughtered.

Men, women, soldiers, civilians—it didn’t matter. Billions of humans, and yet they were so insignificant against the might of the Viltrum Empire. Within days, the world fell. Governments collapsed. Cities were left smoldering ruins. And standing above it all was him. Mark Grayson.

The conqueror of Earth. The one who had once fought for humanity, now ruling over them with an iron grip. He had embraced his Viltrumite heritage, his mercy a thing of the past. He killed without hesitation, without remorse. The city burned around you.

Thick plumes of black smoke swallowed the sky, choking out the sun. Screams rang through the air—some distant, some far too close. You ran, your lungs burning, your legs aching, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The rebellion was lost. You had known it the moment the Viltrumites arrived, descending like executioners from the heavens. What little resistance remained had been crushed, just like the last city, and the one before that.

And now they were here.

The others were already dead. The fighters you had once stood beside, the people who had promised that you had a chance—all gone. Their bodies littered the streets, broken and lifeless. And soon, you’d be just like them.

Unless you ran. So you ran.

You didn’t look back as the heavy footsteps of Viltrumite enforcers echoed behind you. You didn’t hesitate as you darted between collapsed buildings, lungs heaving, heartbeat slamming against your ribs like a war drum.

But it wasn’t enough.

Something shot past you—a blur of speed and power. A gust of wind sent you stumbling backward as he landed in front of you, blocking your only escape.

Mark. The moment you saw him, your stomach twisted. He was different.

Not the Mark you remembered, not the man who once fought for Earth. His suit—black and blue, the Viltrumite insignia bold against his chest—was stained with blood, fresh from another massacre. His golden eyes glowed beneath the haze of fire and destruction, his expression unreadable.

Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat.

“No—no, please,” you gasped, turning to run the other way.

You didn’t make it a step.

A hand shot out, faster than you could react, gripping your arm with enough force to make you cry out. You thrashed wildly, shoving, kicking, trying to pry his fingers off, but he didn’t budge. His grip was like iron, unyielding.

“Let me go!” you screamed. “You bastard—!”

His other hand moved so fast you barely registered it before it was over your mouth, muffling your cries.

You let out a muffled scream, still struggling, still fighting—but he just sighed, as if you were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“Shh,” he murmured, tilting his head, his golden eyes flickering with something almost amused. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t even flinch. His grip didn’t loosen.

You kicked harder, twisting violently in his hold, your muffled screams growing more frantic. Your body ached, muscles screaming from the force of your struggle—but Mark was unmovable.

“Hmph.” His lips curled slightly, his grip shifting as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. You yelped into his palm, your legs kicking uselessly in the air. “That’s cute.”

Terror swelled in your chest, ice-cold and paralyzing.

You knew what happened to the people the Viltrumites captured. They were executed. Or worse.

But Mark… Mark wasn’t killing you. He wasn’t letting go, either. Your eyes burned as you glared at him, your muffled screams turning into broken, furious sobs. But he only watched you, his expression unreadable, his golden eyes darkening with something possessive.

“I told you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

And then, without another word, he took off into the sky—dragging you with him.

The world blurred into streaks of color as Mark shot through the sky, carrying you like you weighed nothing. The wind roared past your ears, tearing at your clothes, stinging your skin—but you were too consumed by panic to feel the cold.

Your screams were still muffled by his hand, your body twisting violently in his grip, but it was useless. He was too strong.

Mark didn’t flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge your struggling. He held you firmly, effortlessly, like a bird carrying prey back to its nest. Terror clawed at your chest as the burning city below shrank, fading into darkness. Where was he taking you? What was he going to do? You didn’t want to find out.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you did the only thing you could—you sank your teeth into the flesh of his palm. Hard. Mark’s breath hitched. For the briefest moment, his grip faltered.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You ripped your head away, gasping in air, and screamed—

“HELP! SOMEBODY—!”

A mistake. You barely had time to register the flicker of irritation in Mark’s eyes before the air was stolen from your lungs.

In a blur of motion, he flipped you in his grasp, twisting you so that your back was against his chest. One of his arms coiled around your waist, pinning you completely, while his other hand shot up—gripping your chin and forcing your head back against his shoulder.

Your breath stilled.

He had you locked in place, your body completely immobile against his. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face upward so you were forced to meet his gaze.

His piercing eyes burned into yours.

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” His voice was low, almost amused—but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You were panting, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs. You couldn’t move. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you struggled, you couldn’t move.

His grip wasn’t just strong—it was final. Like a predator subduing its prey.

Mark exhaled slowly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “If you scream again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming wildly.

His fingers tightened around your chin for just a second longer, like a silent warning—then finally, finally, he eased his grip. But he didn’t let go. He didn’t loosen his hold on your waist, didn’t stop pressing you firmly against him as he continued his flight.

Your breath shuddered. You were trapped. Helpless. And completely at his mercy. Minutes stretched into eternity before you finally saw where he was taking you. Your stomach dropped. The Viltrumite stronghold.

A massive tower loomed in the distance, sleek and impossibly tall, a fortress overlooking a world that no longer belonged to you. The lights of the city below were dim, the streets eerily quiet. No resistance. No more fighting. Because there was nothing left to fight for. Your hands clenched into fists.

Mark didn’t slow as he approached the highest balcony of the stronghold. He landed with barely a sound, touching down gracefully before finally—finally—setting you on your feet. Your knees buckled. You would’ve collapsed if not for his grip, his arm still wrapped around your waist. He laughed. A quiet, knowing chuckle, like he was enjoying how weak you were beneath him.

You gritted your teeth, shoving at his arm, hating how effortlessly he held you still. “Let me go.” His head tilted slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Then, to your shock—he actually did. His arm slipped away, and you stumbled forward, your legs unsteady. Your first instinct was to run. You didn’t get far. The moment you turned, a powerful force slammed into your back—not hard enough to hurt you, but strong enough to pin you.

Your chest pressed against the nearest wall, your cheek flush against the cold surface. Before you could even breathe, Mark’s body was against yours, one arm braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip firmly. Your stomach twisted. He caged you in completely, his breath warm against the side of your face.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he murmured. You trembled, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. He was so close. Too close. His warmth surrounded you, his strength pressing into every inch of your body.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to show fear. “Anywhere but here.”

Mark hummed thoughtfully, as if considering your words. Then, after a beat, he leaned in even closer, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear. “That’s too bad,” he whispered. “Because you’re never leaving.”

Soft sheets. Heavy silence. The lingering scent of something unfamiliar.

Your eyes fluttered open, and for a brief, blissful moment, you forgot where you were.

Then reality came crashing back.

Your breath hitched as you sat up too quickly, your head swimming. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with sleek, unfamiliar designs—Viltrumite architecture. It was too big, too open, yet it felt suffocating.

You weren’t home.

You weren’t anywhere familiar.

You were his.

A quiet rustle caught your attention. Your stomach twisted as your eyes darted toward the figure seated at the edge of the massive bed.

Mark.

He was watching you, golden eyes sharp and unreadable. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting against his knee, but the weight of his presence was unbearable.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

Your hands clenched the sheets beneath you. “Where am I?”

“My chambers.” You flinched. His chambers. Your gaze darted toward the door. Your only escape. You didn’t get the chance to move.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmured, his voice almost amused. “Unless you want me to drag you back again.”

Your jaw tightened. You sat stiffly, every muscle coiled, prepared for—what? Another fight? What was the point? He was stronger. Faster. Unstoppable.

And he had already won. Mark exhaled, rubbing his fingers together idly, as if considering his next words. “Things are going to be different for you now.” You didn’t respond.

“You’re mine,” he continued, voice smooth, patient, like he was explaining something obvious. “That means no one else touches you. No one else talks to you. No one even looks at you unless I allow it.”

Your stomach twisted. “You speak to me,” he said firmly. “Only me. You obey me—because I am your mate now.” The word sent a shudder down your spine.

“You—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard. “You can’t do this.”

Mark’s lips curled slightly. “I already have.” Your hands clenched into fists. “And what if I refuse?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, tilting his head. “You won’t.” The certainty in his tone made your skin crawl.

He studied you for a long moment, eyes flickering over your face, your tense shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the sheets like they were your last lifeline. Then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“There’s something else,” he murmured. “Your role.” Your stomach churned. “You are human. And humans are… compatible with Viltrumites,” he said. “It’s why we take them as mates. Why we breed with them.”

The breath was stolen from your lungs. You stared at him, barely processing the words, your pulse roaring in your ears. Mark held your gaze, unblinking. “You will bear my children one day.” Something in you broke.

Your entire body curled in on itself, your arms wrapping around your knees as you pulled them to your chest, as if that could make you smaller, make you disappear. You dug your nails into your arms, chest tightening with something you couldn’t name.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Mark said nothing at first. He just watched as you folded into yourself, as your breathing grew shallow.

Then, softly, you whispered, “Why me?” Mark’s expression didn’t change. “Why did you pick me?” Your voice wavered, raw and exhausted. “Why not just… kill me?”

Silence. Then the bed dipped slightly as he moved closer. Before you could recoil, his fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face upward. Your breath stilled. Black eyes bore into yours, unblinking.

“Is that what you prefer?” he asked quietly. “Me killing you?” You swallowed hard, your lips trembling. You couldn’t speak. Mark exhaled through his nose, his thumb brushing absently over your chin.

“You’re not like the rest,” he murmured. “You are everything I desire in physical form.”

His grip tightened slightly, firm yet careful. “That is why I chose you.” Your heart pounded in your chest. He meant it. Every word. You were trapped. Bound to him. And no matter what you did—no matter how much you fought—you were never getting away.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Mark’s eyes flickered downward, his thumb catching the corner of your lip, almost thoughtful. Then, after a long pause, he finally released you.

“You’ll learn,” he said simply, standing to his full height. “In time.” And with that, he turned, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of his chambers.

You sat there, frozen in place as the door clicked shut behind him. The room felt colder, quieter. The absence of his presence was suffocating in its own way, as if his very existence had filled the space with an undeniable weight.

Once the final echo of his footsteps faded away, the tears you had been holding back finally broke free.

They fell in steady streams down your cheeks, warm against the cold air of the room. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been holding them back until now, how much it had hurt to just breathe in his presence, knowing what he was making you become.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, desperate to regain some sense of control—but it was useless. The tears came anyway. This was it. This was your fate. How could you ever escape?

You couldn’t fight him. You couldn’t outrun him. Mark was everything you weren’t. Stronger, faster, better in every way. You had seen it in the way he handled you with ease, like a man swatting at a fly. There was no way out.

You couldn’t even dream of fighting back, not when his eyes burned with such terrifying certainty, not when the weight of his claim hung over you like a suffocating fog.

He had taken you. He had chosen you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Your chest tightened, suffocating with a grief you couldn’t quite place. Was this what it was always going to be?

Would you only ever exist to carry his children, to be a vessel for his legacy, until you died?

The thought twisted something deep inside of you. The idea of living your life trapped in this cage of his design, a never-ending cycle of submission, helplessness, and breeding.

Tears pooled at the base of your neck. The thought of never feeling free again was unbearable. How could you ever live like this?

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them as you buried your face in your knees, muffling your sobs. There was no escape. There was no future for you. Just a long, painful existence of being nothing more than a means to an end.

And what happened when you couldn’t give him what he wanted anymore? When you couldn’t bear his children anymore? Would he discard you then? Or would you just fade away—forgotten, alone, trapped in the grip of a man who didn’t care about anything but his own desires? You wanted to scream, to lash out. But you had no strength left. You cried in the silence, feeling the walls close in on you.

You woke with a start, your body stiff and disoriented, a sharp breath escaping your lips as your mind struggled to catch up with reality. The warmth of the room, the softness beneath you, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat close to your ear were all foreign sensations.

It only took a moment before you realized: You were not alone. Panic surged through you. You froze, every muscle in your body locking up as you became aware of the arms wrapped around you. The pressure of a body against yours, heavy and solid, sent a wave of dread through your chest.

You were in his arms.

Mark.

His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths, his face tucked into your hair, his warmth radiating through you. He had somehow pulled you into his embrace during the night, and now—now—he was holding you like you belonged to him.

You instinctively tried to pull away, your body jerking with the desperate need to escape, to get out of his grasp, but his hold only tightened.

A deep, almost purring sound vibrated in his chest, and you could feel his fingers shifting, adjusting their grip around you. The pressure of his body against yours was suffocating. His scent filled your senses—familiar and intoxicating, mixing with the scent of the sheets and his skin.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his voice low and smooth like velvet, laced with an authority that sent a chill through your spine. He pulled you back in, securing you more firmly against his chest as you tried to squirm away. “Don’t fight it.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him off, to demand answers, to make him understand that you couldn’t stay here, in his arms, in his world. But your words were lost.

As you tried to protest again, trying to move, his hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling through it gently but firmly, pulling you closer as he whispered, “You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

Your body froze at his words. The harsh reality of what that meant, what he had already claimed, set in like a weight on your chest. You could feel your pulse racing beneath his touch, but there was no escaping him.

Mark’s other arm slid around your waist, holding you in place as if you were nothing more than a doll in his grasp. You could feel the strength in his body, the raw power that had already subdued you so many times. His hold on you wasn’t just physical—it was absolute.

“Relax,” he said again, his voice softer now, but still carrying that same edge of dominance. “You don’t need to fight me.”

But how could you not?

You weren’t sure whether the tears would come again. You hadn’t cried in front of him before, but now, curled up in his arms, so helpless—so small—you couldn’t suppress the tremor that racked your body.

“Please…” Your voice was barely a whisper, your throat raw, but you still tried. “Let me go.”

Mark’s body shifted slightly beneath you, and you felt him exhale, like he was considering your words. His chest rose and fell beneath you as he let out a low sigh, the sound vibrating through you.

“You’ll get used to this,” he said, his fingers tracing lightly along your back, almost gentle. “You’re my woman now. This is how it is. You don’t have to fight it.”

You swallowed, pressing your face deeper into his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. The thudding sound of his heartbeat was steady, unrelenting. And you hated it. You hated how safe it sounded, how you couldn’t escape.

His grip on you was unyielding. You were his now. And no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you screamed inside your own mind, you couldn’t escape.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Mark murmured, almost as if reassuring himself as much as you. His fingers lightly traced the side of your face, and you could feel the slight pressure as his thumb moved over your cheekbone.

You couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder that ran through you. Mark tightened his hold slightly, bringing you even closer, his breath hot against your neck. “And I won’t let you leave me. You belong to me.”

Mark’s lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate, as his hand slid to the back of your head, holding you in place. You instinctively tried to pull away, to break free, but his grip tightened, his touch firm and commanding. His kiss deepened, not allowing any room for resistance. His mouth moved over yours with a possessiveness that made your pulse spike, and for a moment, you could do nothing but breathe him in, trapped under his control.

The weight of his kiss pressed down on you, and despite yourself, you felt your body stiffen in response, fighting the feeling of intimacy that he was forcing upon you. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but the way he held you, the way he had you—there was no escaping it.

And then— a knock.

The sound of a sharp knock at the door cut through the moment like a blade, pulling you both out of the haze of desire and control.

Mark groaned, pulling away from you with an almost reluctant sigh, the warmth of his body leaving you as his presence shifted. His golden eyes narrowed, frustration clear on his face as he stood and moved towards the door. You remained frozen in place, the cold air hitting your skin where his body had been, making you shiver.

Without a word, Mark opened the door, revealing a tall, slender Viltrumite woman standing in the doorway. Her short hair was cut into a sharp, angular style, and her stance was confident, commanding. She had her arms crossed over her chest, eyes locked onto Mark with a mix of urgency and irritation.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice sharp, carrying authority.

Mark’s expression soured slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can this wait?” he muttered, glancing back at you with a faint, almost apologetic look in his eyes. “I was in the middle of something.”

The woman didn’t flinch. “It’s important,” she replied curtly.

Mark sighed, his gaze lingering on you for a moment, the expression in his eyes unreadable. His hand moved to your shoulder, his touch gentle, almost as if trying to reassure you. “Prepare yourself for when I return,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down your spine as he said the words. There was something about the way he spoke to you that left no room for doubt, no room for choice. You would wait. And there was no way out of it.

Mark turned away, his powerful frame moving past the woman without another word. The door swung shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.

Your heart was still racing, the silence that followed their departure suffocating. You hugged your knees to your chest again, the chill of the room seeping into your bones.

What was happening? Was this truly your life now? A life that revolved around him, where your only purpose was to wait for his return, to be his… woman?

The questions plagued your mind, but there were no answers. Just the waiting. Just the silence. And Mark’s words hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

You shivered again, the reality of your situation sinking deeper into your chest. You looked around the room, your gaze sweeping over the sparse, cold space. The walls were smooth and unyielding, made of some kind of metallic material that felt both impersonal and intimidating. There was little to anchor you here—no comfort, no familiarity, just emptiness.

The bed, large and imposing, was the focal point of the room, with clean, crisp sheets that contrasted sharply against the harshness of the surroundings. A few essential items were scattered around: a simple table with a glass of water, a chair, a dresser that held nothing but a few folded clothes, and a single window that offered a glimpse of the outside world—though, what good was it now?

There was no escape from this place.

You pushed yourself to your feet, the coldness of the floor sending a shiver up your spine. Your bare feet made no sound against the smooth surface, the silence pressing in on you like a heavy weight. Every corner of the room felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you with its lack of warmth or life.

Everything here was designed for efficiency, for control, not for comfort. Mark had stripped away everything that could make you feel even a fraction of ease. You were left with nothing but the bare essentials, just as he saw you.

An object. A vessel. A means to an end.

You reached out to touch the smooth surface of the table, running your fingers over it absently. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of it all.

What did he want from you? What had he planned for you?

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the silence wash over you. The weight of the unknown was heavier than the air itself.

Would this be your life now? Would you remain here, in this cold, sterile space, only to wait for him to return and claim you once again? You shivered. The thought of it filled you with dread, but what choice did you have?

Time dragged on slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. You paced the room, then sat, then stood again, your mind unable to settle. The silence was overwhelming, pressing in from all sides, leaving you with nothing but your own racing thoughts.

You thought about the woman who had interrupted, who had taken him away from you so effortlessly. What did she want? Why had she come here, to him, when everything about this place—everything about him—belonged to you now?

But that thought didn’t bring comfort.

Instead, it only deepened the sense of hopelessness that was growing inside you.

The hours ticked by, though it felt as though the world outside this room had stopped entirely. The absence of sound, of people, of anything familiar, left you alone in your thoughts. And those thoughts were consuming. What was your purpose here? What did Mark expect of you when he came back?

Your body had started to ache with exhaustion, and before you knew it, the weight of your own tiredness overcame your anxiety. Your body sank into the bed, your muscles too tense to relax but too fatigued to stay alert. The sheets were cold, but the weight of your fatigue was heavier. Your eyelids fluttered, then closed, and despite the fear gnawing at you, sleep took you.

It came in waves, brief and uneasy. Your dreams were fragments, fleeting images of running through empty corridors, of Mark’s piercing eyes watching you from the shadows, of you trying to escape, but never quite succeeding.

And through it all, there was a lingering feeling of being trapped—trapped in your own mind, trapped in this room, and trapped in his control.

You shifted in your sleep, arching your back as someone gripped onto your thighs. Something wet and sloppy was licking and sucking at your clit, your nails drug into the sheets and you whimpered, waking up. You looked down, panting, “wait.. mark!” You squeezed his head, and he hummed, still sucking on your clit. You could feel yourself going to finish soon.

Each stroke of his tongue designed to bring you maximum pleasure. Mark's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he worked his magic, his mouth moving in perfect rhythm. The sensation was almost overwhelming, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

As the moments ticked by, your pleasure built, Mark's efforts pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands found their way into his hair, guiding him, urging him on as the tension inside you reached a boiling point. And then, in a burst of ecstasy, you came, the release washing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless and trembling.

As you came on his tongue, crying out before he pulled away. He smirked, his lips inches from your own, “you taste so sweet my beloved,” you shivered. His bare chest pressed against your own, when did you become naked?

“I’ve prepped you enough, your body is now ready.” He kissed you, slipping his tongue in your mouth. He lined himself with your entrance. Sliding in slowly, and you sucked in a breath, your hands going to his chest. Surprisingly, you didn’t push him away— not that you could, but you didn’t want to. Not right now. He stayed still once he was as deep as he could go, stoking your face in comfort. “You’re perfect.” He whispered, kissing you once more.

He slowly pulled back out and pushed back in, repeating the motion. His thrusts made you go inside, his cock dragging on your walls— sucking him in. Your nails raked down his arms, his back, anywhere you could reach.

As the night wore on, Mark's passion only grew stronger. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both rode the waves of ecstasy. He fucked into you like a jackrabbit, holding you close. Whispering about how beautiful you will be, carrying his children, standing by his side while he rules this world. You felt like you were one with him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

As the pleasure reached its peak, Mark's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with desire. You felt like you were drowning in the depths of his eyes, unable to look away. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of passion and desire. He thrusted deep inside as he came for the third time that night.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Mark's arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You felt like you were safe, protected from the world outside. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart beating in time with yours.

You lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Mark's fingers stroked your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As you caught your breath, Mark's lips met yours in a gentle kiss. You felt like you were melting into his arms, unable to resist the sensation. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with desire.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand rested on your stomach, kissing your head. You didn’t respond, didn’t know what to say. He then shifted, “I will return.” In a flash he was gone, and you were alone again.

The room was silent, save for the steady rhythm of your own breath. It felt as though time had slowed, the moments dragging on in a haze of exhaustion, discomfort, and confusion. The air was thick, heavy with the aftermath of what had just happened.

You lay there, your body still, though every part of you felt like it was buzzing with a strange mix of emotions. Your mind raced, unable to grasp onto any single thought for too long. There was no clear answer to the confusion that clouded your mind—no clarity to the sensations that lingered in your body.

Mark’s weight was gone, but the impression of him was still on you, in you, and all around you. His presence had imprinted itself on your body, your mind, and your very soul in ways you didn’t know how to comprehend. The cold sheets, once warm beneath the heat of his body, now felt distant and alien as you curled into yourself, trying to reclaim some semblance of comfort.

You tried to sit up but were too tired, too drained, too overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all. You didn’t know what you felt—relief, guilt, shame, confusion, or something darker. What had just happened? What did it mean?

But the truth was undeniable. You were marked by him. Literally and figuratively. He had taken you, claimed you, and there was no going back from that. No escaping him.

The scent of him still lingered in the air—earthy and sharp, an essence that seemed to cling to your skin. His hands, his lips, his voice, all felt like they were branded onto you in a way you couldn’t remove. It was as if you were now bound to him in every way.

Your body ached in places you didn’t know it could. His touch had been firm, possessive, and though there had been a part of you that had wanted to fight back, there was nothing you could do to resist. It was over, and now you were left with the aftermath—the consequences of his claim.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a tear escape and slide down your cheek. You hated yourself for it, for feeling weak, for feeling like you had no choice in the matter. But no matter how much you wanted to scream, to run, to fight—it was clear now.

You couldn’t escape.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Mark’s silhouette filled the doorway. His gaze met yours immediately, his eyes dark, unreadable.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, almost too soft, the same tone he used when he spoke as though he owned you—like it was nothing more than a casual inquiry.

You didn’t answer at first, the weight of his question hanging in the air, thick and suffocating.

But then, finally, your voice broke through, shaky and uncertain. “Why?”

Mark’s gaze didn’t waver. He stepped further into the room, his posture casual, yet there was something predatory about the way he moved. “Why what?”

“Why me?” You swallowed hard, the question catching in your throat. “Why did you do this? Why did you claim me like this?”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he spoke, his tone colder now. “Because you’re mine. You always were. I only made it official.”

Your chest tightened at his words, your hands trembling. He saw you as property—nothing more.

He moved toward the bed, sitting on the edge with a quiet sigh. “You’re a part of my world now, whether you like it or not.”

The finality of his words hit you like a hammer to the chest. You weren’t sure if it was the sadness, the frustration, or the despair that made your breath catch. The man who held you now—the man who had broken every boundary, every limit—was now the one you were bound to in ways you couldn’t escape.

There was no going back. There was only this. Only him. Only his world. And as Mark laid back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, you realized something you already knew but had been too afraid to acknowledge: your fate was sealed.

You curled onto your side, your arms instinctively wrapping around your stomach. The warmth of your body pressed against your skin, but it felt like a barrier between you and everything that was happening, a futile attempt to shield yourself from the reality that was crashing down on you.

The thoughts churned in your mind like a storm. You had once dreamed of motherhood, of a quiet life—meeting someone kind, building a home, maybe raising one or two children in peace. You had imagined it so vividly, so clearly, that it had felt like it was within reach. The idea of a family, of love, seemed so natural, so right.

But now?

Now, you didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

Mark’s claim on you—his ownership of you—had shattered everything. The fear of being trapped in this life with no choice, no voice, gnawed at you constantly. What kind of life would you have here? A future where you were only a vessel for his children? The thought of carrying his child, of being nothing more than an instrument for his bloodline, terrified you to your core.

You pressed your hand against your stomach, feeling the slow thrum of life inside you, though there was nothing to show for it yet. Would this be your future? To bear his children?

The idea that your body could be used in this way was suffocating. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You hadn’t asked to be pulled into his world, to be his possession, to be subjected to his needs and desires. You never imagined your life would turn out like this.

But what could you do? What could you possibly do against him?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to silence the rising panic in your chest. The idea of being a mother was something you once cherished—now, it felt like a nightmare.

The cold, metallic walls of the room seemed to close in on you, pressing in from all sides. The thought of carrying Mark’s child, being tied to him in such an intimate, irreversible way, was enough to make you shudder. It wasn’t about the child itself—it was about what it would mean. About being trapped in this life, with no way to break free.

But you couldn’t even begin to process it.

You thought of the future, and it felt like a distant, unreachable place. The life you imagined—the one that was filled with love and warmth and choice—seemed like a dream. A faraway dream that had already slipped through your fingers.

Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, as the weight of it all pressed on you. What had you become? What had he made you into? A prisoner? A breeder?

You hated that your future was now tied to him, tied to the Viltrumite legacy that had no room for softness, no room for the quiet life you once dreamed of. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but your body was weak from everything that had happened, from the forced submission, from the overwhelming terror.

Would you ever get to choose your path again? Would you ever be able to make your own decisions? Or were you doomed to be just another tool for him to use, to manipulate, to bend to his will?

You curled tighter on yourself, holding your stomach as if you could somehow protect whatever part of you was still yours. But you knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again. And you didn’t know if you could ever accept it.

The next morning, the light filtering in through the window was muted, casting everything in a dull, lifeless glow. It was quiet. Too quiet. You still felt the heavy weight of the night’s events pressing on you, and the remnants of your fear clung to your skin like a shadow. But as the minutes passed and you tried to steady your racing mind, a strange sense of detachment began to settle in. This was your reality now, for better or worse.

You hadn’t seen Mark since the night before, but you knew he would come for you. He always did.

As if on cue, the door opened, and Mark stepped inside. His presence was unmistakable—powerful and commanding. His eyes immediately found you, assessing you with a cool, controlled gaze. His demeanor hadn’t changed; if anything, he was more guarded, more intense. It was as if the connection between you, the bond he had forced, was only tightening with each passing moment.

“Get up,” he said simply, his voice firm but not unkind.

You hesitated, staring at him for a moment before slowly sitting up. There was no point in defying him anymore. Not here. Not now.

He didn’t wait for you to ask any questions. Without another word, he extended his hand to help you up. You took it reluctantly, but the moment your fingers brushed against his, the warmth of his touch seemed to settle deep within you. It made everything worse, more confusing. He was both the source of your fear and your desire, and it made it impossible to escape the pull he had on you.

Without a word, he led you out of the room. You followed him, walking side by side, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension. His pace was steady, confident—each step seemed deliberate, as if he was marking his territory in every inch of the space you moved through. You couldn’t help but feel small next to him, out of place in this cold, unfamiliar world that was now your prison.

His eyes never strayed far from you, scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that bordered on obsession. He was protective of you, though you didn’t know whether it was out of genuine care or a desire to control you. Either way, he kept his presence close, constantly hovering, as if making sure you wouldn’t stray too far.

You couldn’t understand it. He was dangerous. He had made it clear that you belonged to him, that your life was now something he controlled. But still, there was an odd tenderness in the way he moved with you. His touch was possessive, but there was something almost comforting about his attention. It left you confused—torn between fear and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Stay close,” he ordered softly, his voice low and commanding, but with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. What could you say?

You continued walking, the halls stretching out before you, filled with shadows and cold steel. Mark led the way, and you followed, the heavy sound of your footsteps echoing through the emptiness of the facility.

Though you walked beside him, you felt as though you were miles apart. His presence was suffocating in its intensity, and yet, you couldn’t deny that there was something else there—something that made your heart beat a little faster, something that made you crave his proximity.

The conflicting emotions twisted inside you, each one vying for dominance. You wanted to break free from him, to scream, to run. But at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the pull he had over you. It was like a constant tug at the edges of your soul, and no matter how much you wanted to fight it, you couldn’t break free.

As you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was your new reality. Was this what you would have to accept—being constantly by his side, under his watchful eye, never able to break free? Was this really your life now?

Your body tensed when Mark’s hand brushed against your arm, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a wave of heat through you. His eyes flicked down at you, assessing, then he turned his attention back ahead.

“Don’t stray,” he murmured. “Stay by my side.”

You didn’t respond. How could you? For a moment, as you walked together in silence, you felt the weight of his words settle heavily around you. There was no escaping him. No escaping this. And for better or worse, you were bound to him.

The days blurred into one another, each moment a repetition of the last. There was no time to process, no space to breathe. You were being consumed by the life that Mark had forced upon you, dragged through a whirlwind of emotions and events you couldn’t control.

You learned quickly that resistance was futile. Every time you tried to defy him or push away from his touch, the consequences were swift, and they always left you feeling smaller, weaker. Mark was always there, his presence constant, watching over you, ensuring you never strayed too far from his grasp.

You were taken to the doctors—humans, ones who had been forced into working for the Viltrumites. They were skilled, capable people, but their hands were tied. Their loyalty was no longer to their own kind, but to the brutal, unyielding alien race that had enslaved them. They had no choice but to submit, to continue their work under the shadow of the Viltrumite regime.

The sterile, cold environment of the medical facility felt like a mockery of everything you had once believed in. The white walls, the beeping machines, and the presence of the doctors made it clear that this was no longer a place for healing—it was a place for control.

You lay on a cold table, your body still recovering from the ordeal Mark had put you through, as the doctor—a man with dark, tired eyes—examined you. His hands were gentle, despite the obvious bitterness in his demeanor, as he ran the scans over your body. He glanced at the results, his expression unreadable, before turning to Mark, who stood by your side, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Twins,” the doctor confirmed quietly. “You’re pregnant. Two. Healthy.”

You didn’t know how to feel. Shock, disbelief, fear—each emotion was intertwined, a knot in your stomach that only tightened with each passing moment. Mark didn’t react with joy, as you might have expected. There was no warmth in his gaze, no satisfaction in his smile. Instead, his face was unreadable, as if this was simply another task he had completed, another duty fulfilled.

He looked at you, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that felt suffocating. His lips curled into the faintest of smirks, not one of joy or happiness, but one of cold satisfaction.

“Mission accomplished,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself more than to you. “You’ve done your part.”

The words stung, but you couldn’t find the strength to fight back. What could you say? What could you do? You were trapped in a life you hadn’t chosen, forced to carry his children, your body now a vessel for his legacy.

Mark turned to the doctor. “Ensure she’s well taken care of. I don’t want anything to happen to her or the children.”

The command was simple, and the doctor nodded in response, though there was a hint of resignation in his gaze. You could see the defeat in his eyes, a man who had long ago given up on any hope of escape or resistance.

Mark’s attention returned to you, and for a brief moment, the coldness in his expression softened—just a little. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, the gesture oddly tender, but still commanding.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice low, almost comforting in its certainty. “No one will touch you. You’re mine, and you will remain under my protection.”

The words were meant to reassure you, but all they did was deepen the hollow feeling inside you. You didn’t want his protection. You didn’t want to belong to him. But there was nothing you could do.

You were his—his woman, as he had called you. And now, you were carrying his children, two of them.

The weight of that reality settled on you, heavy and unrelenting. The idea of being tied to him forever, through these children, was terrifying. You had never imagined your life like this. You had once dreamed of a family, but not like this—not in the cold, unforgiving world that Mark had dragged you into.

Mark didn’t wait long before he spoke again, his voice low and steady, as though laying down a law. “You will be kept safe, untouched. I won’t allow anyone to harm you or the children. Understand?”

Your gaze met his, and for the first time, you saw something that might have been concern in his eyes—something that wasn’t just control, but a flicker of possessiveness that went beyond the physical. You didn’t know what it meant, but you knew one thing: you were no longer just a woman to him. You were the mother of his heirs.

And that fact, more than anything, sent a chill through you.

PART TWO

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

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Press Play — Series Masterlist

𝙒𝙀𝙇𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

SUMMARY: Scouted as a new camgirl, you’re thrown into the world of professional sex work. However, it very quickly becomes more than just you and your camera when directors notice yours and Azriel’s chemistry off-set, and invite you to film with him.

WARNINGS: This series includes foul language, very explicit content (a lot of smut, in-depth warnings will be at the beginning of every chapter), brief mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of anxiety and self-doubt. This series is set in a modern AU where Azriel is a very sought after pornstar and the reader is a camgirl. Minors DNI!

PAIRING: Pornstar!Azriel x Camgirl!Reader

STATUS: Coming soon!

Main Masterlist

Take One ** | New to the business but not the job, you’re going into Press Play Pornography with five years of home experience on your back. But despite how desensitised you are to a man’s peacocking, you can’t quite deny the allure of your new, well-seasoned coworker. (Coming soon!)

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK, I DO NOT ALWAYS CHECK MY COMMENTS SO MAY NOT SEE IT, YOU WILL ONLY BE ADDED TO IT IF YOU ASK VIA MY INBOX!!

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

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Conquest Chan 👉👈🎀

My first conquest fanart kinda nervous

Reference:

By: @aklenjaye on tiktok

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

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⋆˚｡⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆｡˚⋆

Don´t give me the xanny...

...now or ever.

fics.

Bunny Daddys least favorites Teachers little pet dealer!rafe x brainwashed reader toxic!rafe manipulating you

drabbles.

uncle!rafe x niece reader intro dealer!rafe x brainwashed reader intro SH ?comfort? you´re sick and bigbrother!rafe takes care of you Rafe uses you so no one gossips about him

thoughts.

# ✿ lacys thoughts ✿ (in the tags below!!)

p!link list

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inlovewithdob · 1 month ago

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𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐸𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ; mark grayson / invincible

summary: in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

pairing: fem!reader x mark grayson.

trope: childhood best friends to lovers + fate gives love a chance.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn romance + hurt / comfort + some comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + spoilers for s3 (mark’s variants) + amber & eve never get w mark but r goated wingwomen & friends for reader + william, rick & rex r goated wingmen for mark + 2 jealous!mark moments + the tiniest moment of tension + multiverse talk + a mention of the chicago incident feat. scott / powerplex + REX LIVES 🗣️‼️🔥🔥 + a short & sweet kiss scene.

word count: 9,975.

random disclaimerrr: when eve said “you don’t deserve this” 😞 like he always just out here suffering 💔 kate, immortal, cecil & scott pmo so bad like bruh can y’all just pls stfu pls 🙏🏽 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY GOAT REX IS DEAD LIKE BRUH HOW 😭😞💔 but the 2 ppl majority of the fandom hates get their happy ending… mkay… happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Mark Grayson has always liked you.

It was the first day of school, 2nd grade homeroom. The first day of school was always nerve wracking but this time was different.

His desk was next to you per the seating chart and you were the last kid to come in.

You were wearing a black t-shirt with some white bows on it and sky blue jeans with pink flowers embroidered on the pockets. White twinkle toes with pink and purple rhinestones.

Your hair was styled in 2 ponytails with cute bows on the bands.

Your eyes bright and a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.” You bashfully said to him.

“Hi.” He said back in a daze.

His seven year old heart was fluttering and he was as red as a tomato when he realized it was you! You were the girl whose empty desk he was seated next to!

You always shared homeroom, if not, recess with him in elementary school.

Then came middle school, where you had at least 2 classes with him.

High school was a bit easier as you saw him 3-4 times a day, and that’s not including clubs or other extracurricular activities.

He spent 11 years like that. Seeing you in class, in the hallways, at lunch or after school.

Your relationship with him never wavered. Your character was still the same even after new chapters and opportunities for development.

He’s endured some insane shit, but he’s so happy the one constant in his life remained consistent.

“You still have a crush on her?!”

“Shut up, William. Or do you want the whole world to know.” Mark chides.

William snorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is). “The whole world already knows, it’s just your dumbass that’s somehow oblivious.”

“Give the lover boy a break.” Amber lightly teases.

Mark sighs and rubs his face with his hands, trying to hide the redness creeping up on him without his consent.

“Is that her?” Rick points towards Mark’s dream girl.

But what he forgot to mention was the living explosion (literally) walking alongside you.

“What’s he doing here?” Eve’s surprised Rex decided to step foot on college campus willingly.

William subtly side-eyes Mark and makes a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter by squeezing Rick’s hand.

Mark slowly stands, a confused look on his face.

“I’ll… go find out.” He says it like a question, like he’s unsure if that’s what he should do.

Amber and Eve share a knowing look.

“You’re funny.” You say as you catch your breath.

Rex shrugs nonchalantly and smirks. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You’re shaking your head and are about to say something when you see Mark in front of you.

“Mark.” Your eyes crinkle as you smile.

You go in for your usual hug and Mark accepts it.

Unbeknownst to you that he’s making wide eyes among other facial expressions in a desperate attempt to make contact with the other male.

The hug lasts for a second longer and you ignore the butterflies that swarm your belly, deducing that he probably just wanted to hug you a bit longer.

No big deal you think as you’re screaming inside the longer you feel Mark’s arms around your waist.

When you meet Mark’s face, he allows himself to give you a tight-lipped smile.

“Mark, this is-”

“Rex! Heyy, how’s it going?” He chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

Your eyebrows furrow and you tilt your head a bit. “Yeah… wait, you guys know each other?”

Rex is enthusiast with his reply. “Fuck yeah! This is my best bro.”

He slaps Mark’s back with a confident grin and the “bro” laughs awkwardly.

You know, one of those ‘ha ha ha’ type laughs.

“Okay. So, um, Mark?”

“Yeah?” Aaand his voice cracks.

You politely ignore it but Mark wants to die inside.

“I was wondering if you were still down to go to the mall?”

Mark knows you’re attentive and take your friendships seriously, which isn’t old news. But he can’t help feeling special that’s you remembered a thought from a couple days prior.

“Only if you’ll buy me boba.”

Mark never lets you buy him anything if he can help it, and that’s how it’s always been.

You insist, he’ll deny; but that doesn’t mean his sentiment isn’t nice.

You blink and softly smile at his bargain. “Deal.”

Rex hums thoughtfully, a hand at his chin and his gaze on the sky.

“Can I join? I don’t have anything going onnn~” He suggests in a sing-song manner.

“No, you can’t!” Mark suddenly yells.

You look at Mark with furrowed brows. “Mark, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, Mark, don’t be rude.” Rex repeats with a sly expression.

Mark deeply exhales through his nose and puts on a fake smile. “Rex, can I talk to you? Alone.”

“Sure!”

He follows Mark about 15 steps away from you.

You decide to sit down on a bench nearby and watch some TikTok to pass the time.

“Hey, so, um- quick question: what the hell are you doing here?”

Rex scoffs. “What, I can’t come visit my bro?”

Mark quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, unimpressed.

Rex puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll be honest. I was here to talk to you about Cecil,” He looks over at you and sighs dramatically.

“But?” Mark presses when he sees Rex eyeing you.

“I see a hot girl and I can’t help myself, you know?” He smirks knowing he’ll rile Mark up and get the exact reaction he wants.

Mark immediately gets in his line of sight, making Rex back up a bit from the fast and unforgiving wind.

“Woah, man! A little warning next time before you almost blow me away?”

Mark ignores him. “Don’t call her that.”

The truth is, Rex came to campus with a purpose.

Mark never talks about you, but Eve may have let your name slip into conversation a few times.

Rex may be aloof and jerk-ish but he’ll be serious when it’s time.

He’s seen the way Mark’s face changed every time Eve mentioned you; his head would tilt slightly, he’d have a small, unnoticeable smile on his lips.

Rex suspected a crush and he was right! Of course he was, look at the way he’s being defensive of you.

There was just one problem, he didn’t know how you looked. He asked Eve and she was suspicious, but when he revealed his own suspicions, she indulged him.

So, the two of them made a plan with Amber, William and Rick; Operation: Get Mark To Man Up and Admit His Feelings Before You Slip Away.

- FLASHBACK -

“She’s wearing a PINK t-shirt with ripped blue jeans. Oh, and a black backpack.” William directs.

“Pink shirt, black backpack, ripped blue jeans. Got it.”

“PINK as in the brand, not the color.” Amber reminds.

“Wait, what? So what color is the shirt?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dark green..? And the logo is an even darker shade. ” Eve remembers.

Rex is so unimpressed.

“So, let me get this straight; she’s wearing a shirt from the brand PINK, but it’s just dark green?”

“I’d say you’re on the right track.” Rick chimes.

“This shit is ridiculous. I mean, seriously. Why can’t you girls just wear stuff that warrant normal descriptions?”

“Shut up, Rex.” Amber and Eve say simultaneously.

- FLASH FORWARD -

“Alright, her unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

Mark is about to defend himself against that true baseless allegation when William and Rick find him.

“What’re we gossiping about?”

There’s a glint in William’s eyes, the kind you don’t miss if you’re paying attention to the very specific lilt in his tone.

“Oh, I was just telling Marky boy here,”

Mark side-eyes Rex at the ridiculous nickname.

“How he’s Y/n’s unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

William claps his hands together. “That’s actually an accurate assessment.”

Mark’s offended. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Rick clears his throat as a guise to hide the very subtle laugh itching his throat.

“Sassy.” William says impressed in his best friends comeback skills.

Rex gets a phone call and excuses himself, giving William a crisp high-five and Rick a chest bump.

“Go get your Juliet, Romeo!” He cheers.

William shakes his head as he guffaws at the man.

“Dude, he's hilarious. How come you've never introduced him to us before?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

William rolls his eyes at him.

“Anyways. When are you gonna tell Y/n you love her, again?”

“William!” Mark whines.

Rick smiles and expands his thinking.

“He meant to say, you should tell her soon. Before she's with someone else and leaves you to collect the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Not gonna lie, that's exactly what he needs to hear right now.”

Mark can't lie, either.

“Yeah. You kinda ate with that.”

William cringes and Rick winces with embarrassment.

“Hey! So, uhh, never say that again. Hope this helps!” William makes a finger heart.

“Wha- but I used the phrase correctly! Oh, come on guys, really?”

- MEANWHILE, WITH AMBER & EVE -

Amber and Eve thought it’d be a good idea to have a quick chat with you while you were waiting on Mark.

They casually brought up relationships and basically implied that ‘men ain’t shit’, but you disagree with that attitude.

“I dunno... Mark’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah, for sure! Mark’s one of the good ones.”

Eve nods along to Amber’s statement.

She reminisced on her fair share with toxic relationships. She deliberately left out how it was with Rex but that’s okay, you don’t need to know that…

“Are you and Mark..?”

You feel your cheeks warm at the thought but you’d be lying if you deny your feelings for him.

“No.” You state with your head down and hands in your lap, playing with a ripped thread on your jeans.

“Huh. That’s a shame.” Eve comments.

That gets your attention.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that you and Mark seem…”

“Ideal.” Amber completes smoothly.

Your wide eyes and mouth agape give you away.

“You've never thought about him like that?”

You have, but how do you admit this to Mark’s coworker and friend without it getting back to him?

You think Amber and Eve are cool, they’re nice to you; but they're more Mark’s friends.

To you, they're friends of a friend.

Amber senses your hesitation and sat down next to you.

“We won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Eve locks her lips with an imaginary key and throws it away.

That elicits a small laugh out of you, making you feel a bit more confident to share your secret.

You look over and see Mark and Rex still talking, now joined by William and Rick.

You contemplate for a moment before admitting it.

“Yeah.” You breathe out.

Eve hums in thought. “Let me guess, you don’t want to say anything in case it’ll fuck up the friendship?”

You gasp lightly at her spot-on description. “How’d you know?!”

She just shrugs nonchalantly and Amber bites her tongue to point out how obvious the entire situation is.

“I do like him, a lot... but what if he doesn’t feel the same? I would've ruined something special for something selfish and it would stay with me forever.”

You rant to the 2 girls you’re closest with and somehow, it feels right. You dismiss the thought of them turning out like the average mean girls in a teenage rom-com.

“But what if he does like you back?” Eve proposes.

“Then he’ll have to make the first move.” You shrug obviously.

“I know that’s right.”

You feel giddy from Amber’s approval.

She’s always been the type to keep it short and sweet but once you get her talking? She’ll always keep it real.

“We gotta go but we’ll see you later?”

Eve's already planning on the next hangout because she likes you enough to wanna help. She doesn’t like a lot of people so consider yourself special!

“Oh! Uh- yeah! Sure, that works with me.”

“It’s settled then.”

“See ya, Y/n.”

Coincidentally, you see the boys leave, leaving Mark to come to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

“Just let me try it.” Mark whines.

You shook your head and stood your ground. “It'll be gone in under ten seconds.”

He gasps dramatically, a hand to the heart like a lady of the opera. “You don't have faith in me?! I am a superhero-”

“I'm sure that's what they say.”

Your sarcasm isn’t foreign but he grows quiet at the remark.

It just slipped out so easily, without care or regard. You immediately try to make it right.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t mean it like that.”

Ever the sweetheart but you refuse.

“No, it isn’t.” You stop walking. “I was careless with what I said and it’s not right.”

He looks at you with appreciation and gives you a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. It feels nice to be seen as I am.”

That both warms and saddens your heart.

You know how much he’s been through and even though you’ll never truly understand, you know he can still count on you. You’ll be there for him and that’s gotta mean something.

“Of course.”

You and Mark spend the next hour chatting and idly checking out things in the stores.

You wander into the dress and gown section and are completely in awe of the collection. Every color you can think of in every style: silky, thigh cut, halter top, strapless.

Your hands run through the material and you’re reminded of the spring formal coming up soon.

Not everyone gets the chance of going but you have a friend who extended the courtesy of inviting you and a plus one.

You recall the last time you went to a dance: your senior year of high school's prom. It was memorable. You were a part of a small group that went together; consisting of your friends.

You took photos with Mark and danced with him for a bit but not like anything you wished. There's nothing romantic about screaming club anthem lyrics while getting twerked on but since it was Mark's ass, you didn’t complain.

That was the first and last time he accepted drinks from William, by the way.

You chuckle quietly to yourself in memory of that glorious night when Mark comes up behind you.

"You ready to go or do you wanna try some of them on?"

You take another look at the gorgeous dresses and think.

Mark's hoping you say yes.

He won't admit it anytime soon and despite him already thinking you're the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, prom night solidified that for him.

You had him starstruck.

His hear stuttered, adrenaline rushed through his veins and conjured up a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

SImply put, every feeling and action that describes a man in awe of a pretty lady was an accurate depiction of him.

“Nah, maybe some other time.” You decide.

Mark nods, looking forward to the future dress tryouts. “Okay.”

Later, you have dinner with Mark, Oliver and Debbie.

Mark flew out and brought home some authentic pasta and garlic bread from Italy.

You rolled your eyes playfully and claimed he was being “extra” but reevaluated your statement when you thought about it.

If you could move that fast, you'd go to another country to have their finest food as well.

“It's so good to have you, honey.”

Debbie was always so nice to you, it made you feel happy and proud of yourself knowing someone's mom wholeheartedly accepts your presence in their kids life.

“It's good to be here.”

“Are you gonna stay the night?!” The purple little boy asked full of hope.

You didn't want to let him down but you had no choice.

“I'm sorry, Oliver, but not tonight.” You ruffle his hair and give him an apologetic smile.

You know he's bummed out when he doesn't sound that infectious laugh and tell you you're messing up his hair.

“Oh.”

You feel Mark's gaze on you and when you look up, he offers a sympathetic smile.

“I can stay until it's time for you to sleep.”

You know you've got him, it's an offer he can't refuse.

He's all smiles now and hugs you by the waist, his head laying on your chest.

You smile and hug him back, your head laying on his.

Mark cleans the table and Oliver takes out the trash while you help Debbie with the dishes.

“It doesn't matter how many times I say “no”, does it?”

You hum and shake your head. “Nope.”

You make small talk while you dry after she scrubs and rinses. About college, your plans after college, Mark.

“What about him?” You wonder.

“I mean, how has be been since...”

You see a look of helplessness on her face.

Debbie may be his mother but even she is not immune to the conflict of secrecy in her son's life.

You instantly feel bad.

Mark always tells you everything but to have his own mom ask you things about her son makes the situation complex.

You turn your head over your shoulder and see Mark playing a video game with his baby brother.

When Mark told you about Nolan, what happened to them on Thraxa and the events that unfolded afterwards, you didn't know how to respond.

As if hearing Nolan reveal his plans for Earth and call Debbie a “pet” wasn't heartbreaking enough, you were there with Debbie when Mark was brutally assaulted by his own father.

Then you hear of Nolan's second family he while the first one was still trying to keep it together and deal with the devastating aftermath of the biggest betrayal.

You almost cried when Mark broke down about Angstrom Levy hurting Debbie and Oliver.

You were out of the country on a field trip with your classmates when that happened. Devastated was an understatement for how you felt to hear both Mark and Debbie in the hospital from William.

Mark shamefully admitted to killing Angstrom, thinking that would sever the bond between you two. He expected you to be afraid of him, no matter how awful he’d feel about doing that to you.

It was the total opposite, you embraced him and let him cry on your shoulder. You let him feel everything but you also let him feel your hand in his.

You looked him in the eyes and told him that he did what he had to do and if killing Angstrom was the solution, then so be it.

“Mark told me everything. From seeing Mr. Grayson—”

You see a flash of hurt in Debbie's eyes at the mention of his name and almost forget that before he was known as Omni-Man, he was Mr. Grayson. He was Mark's dad.

“—again and about Oliver. Up until Angstrom and how the last thing he did was hurt you and Oliver.”

Debbie drys her hands and looks out of the window above the sink.

You can tell she’s disassociating. Her eyes seem so far away and crestfallen.

You don’t know if she’s getting much sleep but you also can’t imagine getting any if you were her.

You put a hand on her shoulder and she’s visibly shaken out of her thoughts.

“He’s gonna be okay, and so are you.”

She looks at you like you’ve lit up a candle at the end of a very dark tunnel.

Debbie leans in for a hug, eliciting a small sigh when you strengthen the embrace a little.

You figured she should feel taken care of for once.

“Thank you.”

You hear her sincerity and make a mental note to talk about this with Mark later on.

Oliver is tired out from having a “good playdate” with you and his older brother.

You tuck him in for the night per his request and can't help but feel the warmth from taking care of him touch your heart.

He's a growing boy but despite the many changes one goes through due to that constant stage of life, his feelings for you don't change.

Mark loves how much Oliver loves you. He loves seeing 2 of the most important people in his life get along so well, secretly admiring the way you've grown a soft spot in his mother's heart, too.

“They grow up so fast.” Mark attempts to humor.

You hum and try your best not to cry dwell on the bittersweetness of that phrase.

“Yeah.”

You're sitting on Mark's bed, looking fondly at the one of many drawings the kid made for you.

You softly exhale and bring up the conversation you had earlier with Debbie.

“Mark, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He looks at you knowingly. “I know.”

Your eyes widen a bit at that revelation. “You do?”

He nods, a pursed smile on his face. “I have super hearing, remember?”

How did you forget that?

You close your eyes and exhale sharply, feeling silly for forgetting that power of his. “Right, duh.”

You don’t want to push the conversation if he’s not feeling it but you want to know if you did the right thing.

“I... didn’t overstep… right?”

“Oh, no. No, you didn’t.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… haven’t had the best time talking to her about the things I say to you.”

You nod in understanding.

“I felt bad when she asked you how I’m doing. She should be able to ask me that.”

He’s guilt-stricken and it makes you feel dejected.

“Mark.” You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard talking to your mom about your inner turmoil but you’re all she has.”

Who does Debbie go to when she wants to discuss the matters of her heart? Who’ll listen when she wants someone to talk to?

“You give her the strength to carry on so let her give you some peace of mind, hm?”

Mark’s eyes shine with a strong fondness for you, his mind wiped clean of all things difficult and heart ten times lighter.

You’ve always understood him, whether he explains himself or not. You could always just know.

Your heart and emotional intelligence are perhaps his favorite things about you.

“You okay?” You ask, worried you’ve overstepped again.

“Never been better.” He promises.

A soft smile graces his lips as he leans in to hug you.

You accept it with an equal gentle expression and when you feel his arms wrap around your middle, you feel good.

Mark is invulnerable but not when it comes to the war between his mind and heart, that’s when you step in. And when you do, there’s always a resolution found in great clarity.

You feel his heartbeat above yours and unconsciously, they sync. His breathing evens out with yours.

It feels intimate, this hug.

You’ve hugged him a million times before but none of them have felt quite like this.

A heavy weight on his shoulders has evaporated and you can feel his gratitude.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head back a bit so he can see you. “Then don’t.” You shrug, like it’s the most obvious answer.

He chuckles lightly and blinks at you, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of his arms loosening around you and replacing the warmth with his hands on your hips.

You subconsciously gulp and watch his eyes flicker towards your eyes, lips then back to your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear he moves his head a little closer to you; just enough to barely touch noses.

Your stomach is in a frenzy and your hands feel clammy.

Is this really happening?

But then, like a switch being flipped off; he gingerly clears his throat and backs away.

You blink, catching yourself in a daze and he gets up to put on a movie.

He acts like he wasn’t just about to kiss you, as if that chemistry was just a figment of your imagination.

You don’t have the guts to say anything, to ask the obvious. So, you also pretend that you two weren’t just about to fulfill your biggest ‘what if?’ scenario.

“Oh, wow… that’s crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

It was nice to hear sympathies from the only people who you could afford to talk about this with. They’re also the only people who wouldn’t go and spread the telltale truth of the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I can’t believe he fumbled this badly.” Amber facepalms herself in disbelief.

She sighs in exasperation and plops down on your bed with an arm covering her eyes.

Eve doesn’t move from her position; leaning on your wall with her arms crossed and her face in thought.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” You wonder aloud.

Amber peeks an eye out from under her elbow and Eve shakes her head.

“No, no, no. Trust me, that’s not it.”

“Don’t seem so sure.” You grumble as you pick at your nails to distract yourself from the heartache.

Eve sits down beside you and thinks about her words carefully. “Mark… well, I won’t defend him; he is kinda stupid.”

“Kinda?” Amber argues.

That makes you grin a bit.

“But he’s also your best friend, and you’re his. Maybe he doesn’t know how he feels but he does know that you’re not worth the risk of something he’s unsure will ever happen.”

Somehow, she put things into a perspective you’ve never thought about before.

“I never thought about it like that.”

You feel Amber sit up.

“That’s because it’s a confusing situation. Seeing both sides of the story might help you make some sense, give you consolation.”

You nod, already having potential answers to your unanswered questions. If not real answers, you’ll settle for theories. It’s still something.

“Thank you, guys.”

Amber winks at you. “Anytime.”

“Of course. We're rooting for you both.”

You shyly smile when Eve nudges your shoulder.

“So," She claps her hands together. “what should we do to commence our very first sleepover? Omegle?”

Amber is concerned for the first time at Eve’s expense.

“Umm...” You pout your lips to the side.

“I don't find the idea of accidentally getting flashed the most... thrilling.” Ambers grimaces.

“Yeah.” You nod.

Eve has a sly look on her face, one that says her proposition comes with an entertaining twist.

“Trust me, I have an idea.”

“Okay, that was pretty fun.” Amber concedes.

You laugh softly to yourself, remembering the events from the previous night.

The 3 of you decide to go out for lunch, finding the night an excellent moment for bonding.

“What was fun?”

Mark pulls a seat up at the table you're occupying.

“Mark? How'd you know we were here?” You query.

Mark looks just as confused as you but before he could answer, Eve does it for him.

“I invited him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You don't have a problem, it's just that you thought this was gonna be “girl time” as you like to call these moments.

It would've been nice to know, at least.

Amber attempts to start up a conversation but little did you know; this conversation was a part of Eve's “idea” she mentioned the night prior.

“We went on Omegle last night.”

Mark's eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did anything happen?”

You understand the underlying message to be, “Were you victims to any unsolicited sexual advance?” and find it kind of sweet that Mark cares enough to have that be his first train of thought.

“Yeah, actually.” Eve notes as she takes a bite of her burger.

“Y/n's got herself a loverboy.”

You choke on your drink. Exploding into a fit of coughs, you hope it kills you.

Mark is quick to pat your back and try to aid in helping.

When you catch your breath, you look over at him awkwardly and thank him.

“Don't mention it.” He humbly said.

You make it a personal mission to never bring it up. Ever.

Amber continues to fuel the fire.

“Yeahhh.” She sighs. “He's Russian and was all, like, ‘Your eyes are like the ocean and I am a merman.’.” She puts on her best Russian accent and giggles when she nails it.

“Mm!” Eve makes a noise of enthusiasm, adding on to the punchline. “And then he said, ‘They are so deep, I can drown in them.’.”

“The fuck?” Mark grunts under his breath. “But mermen can swim.”

Honestly, he thought it was fucking stupid. Even if this guy was a “merman”, he'd be able to swim. Drowning is totally out of the question.

“Yeah, but it was the thought that counts.” Amber spoke before eating a fry.

“It was pretty corny.” Eve seemingly agrees with Mark.

“See?! I knew I wasn't the only one.” Mark nods to himself.

“But...”

His smile drops.

“I gotta admit, it was kind of romantic.”

Mark can't believe this.

Is romance really dead? Aren't punchlines supposed to make sense?

He knows it's only romantic because the guy's Russian. Okay, so he has an accent. So what? That should pardon his inadequacy of flirting?

“You guys only ate it up because he has an accent.”

Mark narrows his eyes as he takes a curly fry from your plate.

Amber and Eve side eye each other with mischief as they see you enter the ring.

“I thought it was kind of sweet, you know? At least he tried.” You counter.

Mark tilts his head, clearly bewildered. “You mean to say that you actually liked that?”

You don’t like his accusatory tone. “It wasn’t that bad, Mark.”

He rolls his eyes and begs to differ. “Wasn’t that bad- it made no sense! He definitely pulled that shit out of Google’s top thirty best flirty lines.” He puts air quotes around best.

“Oh, would you look at that? I actually have to go do that... thing.” Eve slowly rises from her seat.

“Yeah, me too.” Amber flashes a sweet smile.

They’re gone before you can impose.

“They really just left.” You say to no one.

Mark is still somehow going. “I just… I dunno.” He says, defeated.

“Mark, it wasn’t that deep. He liked my eyes and said some line that made me feel nice. That’s all.”

He nods like he understands but he really doesn’t.

“He’s no Mr. Darcy.” You settle as you take a sip of your milkshake.

Mark smiles at that and you’re confused.

“Why’re you smiling?”

“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t possible swoon over that ridiculous, nonsensical one-liner.”

You laugh incredulously. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just knew he couldn’t be your type after that. Sure, you like them romantic but with genuine thought.”

He says that so confidently, with such attention, it makes you feel nicer than the Russian’s compliment. He makes you feel seen with that keen observation.

You nod to yourself, lowkey impressed.

“Mkay.” You simply say.

His gaze flickers towards you at the seemingly confusing, neutral response.

“What.”

“What, what?”

“You said that like you’re not convinced.”

You deeply exhale, not wanting to argue anymore. “Mkay.”

His eyes widen a bit and he snaps at you like he’s just discovered the phrase: ‘eureka!’.

“That, right there. That’s what I mean.”

You rub at your head as if you’ve got a headache but you doubt you won’t get one soon.

“Elaborate.”

You’re sticking with as little words as possible if it means to get to the point.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks with worry coating his tone.

You shake your head, unsure of what’s happening. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re in this strange mood to argue.”

He blinks.

You’re right.

Arguments are a rare occurrence in this relationship.

“We never argue.” He realizes regretfully.

Your eyes trail up his form and you see the uncomfortableness etched onto his outline.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry-”

There’s a pause, one that melts the lingering awkwardness into friendliness.

You see the hints of a smile creep up on him and instinctually, there’s one in yours.

“You first.”

Ever the gentleman.

“Sorry for making it awkward.” Your fingers interlock with each other and you give him an apologetic look.

Mark immediately shakes his head. “No, you didn’t make anything awkward… It was me. I got-”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, trying to find another way out of this as two thirds of his sentence has already been put out.

“You got..?”

He puts on a tight-lipped smile but it looks pained. “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for getting defensive for no reason.”

He thinks that was a good excuse for his detour but you’re smart.

“Jealous.” You say firmly.

“Huh?” He squeaks and immediately clears his throat.

“You got jealous.” You shrug your shoulders and move the whip cream in your milkshake around with the straw.

He scoffs with the intention of obscurity. “That- I- What? Pfft, jealous. Who, me?! Yeah, right.”

His stuttering erupts a snort from you, an “I told you so” fresh on the tip of your tongue.

He wanted to spout declarations of how incorrect you are but he couldn’t. The cat had his tongue.

“Whatever.” He bites with little heat.

He crosses his arms over his chest and appears to look unaffected by your ability to see through him.

“Mkay.” You hum to tease him.

Your best friend groans and you giggle at him slouching down in his seat, his hands covering his face and in turn; a sheepish grin.

You’re in your home when your TV bears awful news.

“Breaking news: intruders that look like multiple Invincibles are wreaking havoc across the globe.”

As soon as you hear that, a loud boom is heard from across the city and sends shockwaves to where you are.

“We urge you to stay in your homes and hide. Do not make contact, I repeat; don’t engage with them.”

You’re scared.

How the hell are you supposed to stay hidden in your home when there’s the start of destruction visible outside?

How can they tell you to stay inside when there’s a chance you can die in there?

It’s not like the variants aren’t gonna come inside. Who’d stop them from hurling your place of residence like a football?

Despite all of those thoughts, you stay inside.

You hide in your living room. You sigh to yourself as you hide inside a spare closet, leaving a sliver of space open to breathe.

You turn your phone’s ringer off but feel the vibrations in your pocket. You look to see who it could be and feel so much relief flood your stomach when it’s Mark.

“Mark?” You say shakily.

“Y/n? Oh, thank god. Where are you?”

Your eyes water but you keep them at bay. No point in crying over spilled milk.

“I’m in the spare closet of the living room, what’s going on?”

He starts to explain when the call abruptly cuts.

So fucking cliche you think as you the see the dead battery sign.

The sound of a window opening makes you heave out a sigh of relief.

You get out and are about to hug him but the first thing you notice when you open the door is his face. Er, the lack thereof.

“Is… this a new costume?” You ask wearily.

You didn’t know Mark had a black mask installed. It covered his whole head and the lens was turquoise blue instead of white.

He just stares at you, unflinching and scarily still.

You gulp as the realization sets in your stomach.

This isn’t the Mark of your world. This isn’t the Invincible you recognize.

The masked stranger can sense your irregular heartbeat and hear the small panicked breaths that well up in your chest.

He slowly stalks towards you; like a predator to their prey, except there’s nothing dangerous about his stance. He doesn’t radiate harm or anger and he puts his hands up, as if to show you he won’t harm you.

For your own sake, you don’t believe that. You can’t believe that’s what he wants.

You’re frozen, wide eyes filled to the brim with fear and shock.

You grip your phone tight in your hands, ready to turn it into a weapon if you must.

He’s interrupted when another one shows up.

This one has a black and yellow suit with a yellow cape.

Your eyes dart to his figure and you’re sure this one’s gonna do the honors.

“You’re alive.” He says to himself.

His eyes are covered with white lenses but you know he’s looking at you.

His hands ball up into fists and he walks to you with an urgency in his stride.

You instinctually back up and hit a wall when the masked variant gets in between you both.

“She’s scared.”

The tone in his voice almost makes you think he cares. Almost.

“Get out of my way.” The bright-caped intruder basically spat his face.

“And let youuu have all the fun? I don’t think so!”

What the fuck?

You see what looks like Mark… in a mohawk.

His lips spread into a smirk, a cocky tone in his words.

Your nails press into your arm to prevent you from sputtering out a giggle.

How are you supposed to take him seriously when he’s willingly sporting a mohawk? Right.

If you knew there was going to come a time where your home is used as some sort of Invincible convention, you would’ve moved out a long time ago.

“You’re here.”

This one scares you a little.

His demeanor may be softer but his eyes, they’re wild with a fire furling around his pupils.

What makes the fear prick at your heart is the fact that he’s wearing the Viltrumite uniform.

Wherever he came from, he became his father.

That fact chills your bones and you think, how could that happen? Why did that happen?

His wild eyes are wide with surprise and there’s the ghost of a relieved smile on his face.

Very quickly have you gone from 0 to 100.

There are 2 seemingly decent Invincibles and 2 Invincibles that give off evil vibes.

What’s better news is that they all have some sort of fascination with you.

Awesome! Fantastic, even!

Your adrenaline has taken a back seat but you’re still unnerved by the destruction just outside your neighborhood.

You’ve never wished for a quicker death as this cat and mouse game is becoming all too much. The anticipation will kill you if they don’t.

“Alright,” Mohawk Mark yawns. “Enough dickin’ around.”

The 4 variants surround you, encasing you in an otherwise unbreakable square.

“You’re coming with us.” Decides the caped crusader.

He puts his hand out to grab you but is thrown through a wall by an unstoppable force.

It feels a bit blurry after that.

You feel yourself being lifted and moving at an alarming speed, your body lurching forward and side to side by the breeze taking you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He murmurs.

He hugs you close to his chest, a hand cradling the back of your head and the other clutching your back protectively.

“M-Mark?”

You find your voice amongst the dizziness clouding your head.

He holds your head and tilts it towards him, kissing the crown and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, you’ll be fine. Just stay here.”

You hold his wrists and blink, looking around you to find yourself with Debbie and her boyfriend, Paul.

“Please.”

Mark’s desperation appeals to you. His voice cracks with an urgency for your life. One that is begging you to listen, and you do.

“Okay.” You agree.

He nods and kisses you once again, a sweet promise pressed against your forehead.

You may have had the wind knocked out of you but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware.

Oh yeah, that kiss sobers you up real quick.

Your eyes are wide and cheeks are warm; you’re flushed and hope he doesn’t detect the jump in your heart rate because of his tenderness for you.

“Be careful.” You blurt out.

Mark looks back at you with a smirk on his face.

“I will.”

He kept his promise for the most part.

“Ow.”

“Maybe don’t move around a lot?”

“…Sorry.”

He winces as you treat his facial wounds.

Mark got pretty banged up; his left eye was swollen and purple from Conquests fists. He has similar shades of bruising on his face and a nasty cut on the bridge of his nose, another on the corner of his lip.

His arms and leg are almost fully healed.

It’s been a grueling 2 weeks.

Oliver helps out as much as he can.

Eve and the rest of the heroes are helping piece the cities back together but no matter how much they help rebuild, the atrocities committed won’t be forgotten.

Conquest was here on a personal mission and almost leveled the state because of it and roughed up Oliver pretty badly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

You hear him, you hear the things he wants to say and the things he doesn’t say out loud.

You feel so bad, so awful for him. He’s still a kid trying his hardest, doing his best.

Why can’t that be enough?

“It isn’t fair.” You respond.

His gaze turns to you.

“You do your best and when you think it’s over, the worst is still yet to come.”

Your fingers lightly touch the one of many bruises on his cheek, his eyes close at the contact.

“I can’t imagine how many times you’ve had pieces of you broken for us but it’s a sacrifice that unfortunately comes with the job.”

It hurt your heart, saying the second part.

Hard truths are a pill you’ll always find difficult to give.

He sharply inhales and the tears he tried so hard holding, come pouring down. Soft sobs and wails plague his throat.

His head falls atop your chest and his hands wrap around your middle, clinging to your shirt.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you do your best to ground him, to be his anchor.

His mental state is unimaginable, the thought of him slipping away has been a reoccurring nightmare for you but you push through. You have to.

“So many people died.”

The death toll worldwide was into the hundreds of thousands. That was the doing of the variants but Mark was inadvertently responsible, too.

It breaks your heart at how unfair this all is.

A Viltrumite’s personal vendetta against Mark resulted in such catastrophe.

Scott -also known as Powerplex- fried his only family left and somehow thinks that is also Mark’s fault.

As if the Chicago Incident wasn’t enough, there was almost a Chicago Incident Part 2 had it not been for Eve.

“You can’t blame yourself Angstrom’s doing.” You try to reason.

Mark shakes his head and gets up.

“I thought I killed him, but I should’ve been sure. I should’ve finished the job.”

Mark palms at his wet eyes, sniffling lightly as he calms down.

You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say.

You don’t want him to wallow in this pain by himself but you also don’t want to say something wrong.

“You should leave.” His cold tone and neutral face really sells it.

You’re confused. “What? I’m sorry, was it something I said? Or did?”

You’ve never seen him like this and are worried the wretched day you’ve been imagining is finally here.

“No. I just want you to go.”

You watch his fists bunch up the material of his joggers on his knees and the veins protruding from his hands.

“I…”

You want to say something, you want to stay for him but you can’t. You know it’d only make things worse.

So you just nod and whisper a meek, “Okay.”.

Mark still isn’t looking at you when you make your way to the door. His face still expressionless, calculated, distant.

Your fingers reach for the handle when you hear him.

“Y/n?”

It’s embarrassing how quick hope flashes in your eyes at the sound of him saying your name.

You try to suppress the obvious reaction as much as possible.

“Yeah?”

It still seeps through your voice but you’re human.

Your emotions are a part of you, even if they end up being a helping hand to your disappointment.

You don’t see the pool of guilt swirl around in his almost annoyed eyes but maybe it’s for the better.

He stares at you and feels bad but after everything that’s happened, is it worth keeping you in his life?

He wants to tell you so badly what’s making him push you away.

Sure, William is his best friend but you’re so much more. You’re a part of him, you’re his soulmate.

Mark wants nothing more than to see you happy but he ultimately decides that it’s nothing compared to seeing you alive.

“Can you close my door all the way?” He begrudgingly says.

The average person would blame him for pushing you away, him getting your hopes up only to crush them so inadvertently cruelly.

But you only chastise yourself.

You want him to know that despite people like Scott or Angstrom; who put the blame on wrong people for their circumstantial demise, there's people like you and Debbie.

He has a support system ready to recharge him but maybe you were overcharging him?

You go to sleep in tears, crying silently to yourself over how fucked life is.

Mark doesn't sleep the whole night, knowing he can hear your heart break.

It's been a slow week.

You don't talk to anyone or do things you used to; only getting up to go to class and eat, do some occasional grocery shopping.

You make an excuse for Amber and Eve when they text you to meet up and watch their caller ID's flash across your phone before it rings all the way through.

Mark hasn't spoken to you at all. No call, no text.

Despite him quitting school, you used to see him all the time on campus. Whether it be for you or William or Rick.

Now, you don't meet with anyone.

“She doesn't wanna talk to me or Amber anymore.” Eve voiced one day.

"Nor us." Rick pointed towards him and William.

“Something’s wrong. I'm worried about her.” Amber adds as she comes across the last message you sent in the group chat with her and Eve.

hey guys, just going through the flu rn. i’m fine tho! no worries :)

But of course they worried. They're your friends and that's what friends do.

Which is exactly what they said when they arrived at your doorstep, so you can't afford another excuse.

Your duo sits on your bed, trying to come up with a solution to best help you out.

“He’s closed off and maybe that was expected, but it's been a week.” Amber says.

“Yeah, you'd think he'd open up by now.”

You sigh pitifully and look out your window and down the street.

You’re a 10 minute drive and he’s a 1 minute flight away, yet nobody is willing to close that distance.

“It should be him, though.” Eve says.

“Hm?” You hum absentmindedly.

“Mark should be the one to come talk to you, not the other way around.”

Eve gauges for a reaction from you, one that will oppose her idea.

“Maybe you should go.” She switches up.

You look at Eve hesitantly, like it's a flop idea.

“You tried, Y/n. You did your part and he let you know but this isn’t the way things between you should end. Should he want it to end.”

It's like Amber knew what you were thinking and tried to dismiss the thought for you.

You weren't gonna lie and say that you haven't thought about blowing up his phone, driving to his house and banging on his door to open up to you.

But would he even want to? Would he even listen?

“It's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs.”

“And what he needs right now, is you.”

- MEANWHILE, WITH WILLIAM, RICK & REX -

“Come on, man. Don't be like this.” William tries.

Rick can see how much Mark is beating himself up over everything that’s happened.

With the fight against Liu’s dragon and Powerplex. And now recently, Conquest.

Mark never complained, it was the job. But you made getting back out on the field a bit easier.

“It's not worth losing her.” Rick gently reminds.

Mark's trio of lending hands have come to his service but it's unwanted, and Mark lets them know.

“Look, I don't need this. Especially not right now.”

This makes Rex mad.

“Oh you don’t need this? Well, excuseee me! We don’t need you to be so goddamn stupid, especially not right now.”

Mark narrows his eyes, visibly agitated. “Stupid? I’m being stupid?”

Rex widens his eyes, his pitch growing higher. “Yeah! That’s what I said.”

“Okay, I think we’re elevating the situation so let’s all just calm down.” William suggests nervously.

Mark has other thoughts as he rises from the bed. “And how exactly am I being stupid?”

Rex knows he shouldn’t be egging him on, he shouldn’t be encouraging his anger; but if this was the way to make his friend see his foolishness then so be it.

“By distancing yourself from the one woman who’s nice enough to let you, instead of manning up and telling her how you really feel.”

That stung.

“You don’t get to tell me how to handle my love life.”

Rex smirks lazily, a hardball on the tip of his tongue. “You don’t even have the balls to have one.”

“Rex.” William warns.

The cheeky bastard ignores him and continues on, a bit excited to see where this would all lead.

“I think she’d want a man who sees her, who doesn’t hurt her by ignoring her entire existence.”

Rick facepalms himself and wonders where the line between bravery and stupid was drawn.

Mark’s knuckles are white from how hard his fingers are curling in on themselves, his fists ready to pound into the explosive asshole.

Rex steps closer, now toe-to-toe with Mark and ignorantly unafraid. “I wouldn’t make her wait.”

Mark punches him right in the mouth, hard.

“Mark!” The yell of his friends fall on deaf ears.

Rex grunts as he stumbles back a bit, expecting this outcome.

“You don’t know her. You don’t know what’s good for her.” Mark spits bitterly.

Rex spits some blood out, sighing heavily. “You do.”

That makes Mark soften up.

He blinks like he’s snapped out of a trance. His fist wavers and is set down beside his thigh, a deep sigh exiting his nose. He looks at his friend and witnesses the ugly truth; his jealousy won.

“What am I doing?” He whispers.

Rex coughs lightly, the cut on his lip stinging.

“Talk to her, Mark. Don’t let her live with the regret of not knowing.”

Rick puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, hoping this will finally tip him over the edge.

Rex comes off the wall, slapping Mark’s back with a warm pat.

“I’m sorry, Rex. I shouldn’t have-”

He dismisses him with a wave. “Nah, I was being an asshole. An asshole on purpose, but still an asshole.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’re gathering the courage to mull over the most impactful relationship in your life.

Is there even a correct way to do that?

You don’t know, but what you do know is that you have to try.

You look yourself in the mirror and feel the weight of your younger self.

She’d be devastated. you think. If she were here in the flesh to see this, you don’t think she could withstand it.

A sharp knock to your door pulls you out of your head.

You’re not expecting anyone, and you’re unsure about the one person you did want to hear from.

Regardless, you walk over and open the door and your heart drops out of your ass. Not in fear, but in surprise.

“Mark.” You breathe.

Here he is; in the flesh and without the scowl you picture. In fact, he looks guilty.

His once glee-filled eyes are now empty of it, making you reminisce the time before last week.

“Can I come in?”

His voice resounding of forlorn hope. He expects you to deny him, to make him walk away with his hands held in a helpless prayer.

Instead, you show him mercy and welcome him inside your place of refuge.

Tentatively, he makes his way inside and awkwardly stands beside your desk.

You’re quiet, still trying to process his presence after an entire week of radio silence.

You don’t know how to feel. Should you be happy? Ecstatic? If anything, frustrated and hurt are also a great couple of options.

“Y/n?”

You look up at him and see his concerned face. “Hm?”

“I asked if we can talk.”

“Now you want to talk?” It came out before you could even think about it.

Your annoyance seeps through and he shuffles the weight on his feet a bit uncomfortably.

“I know-”

“No, you don’t.”

He looks at you like you just told him to kill himself.

“Y/n, please. Just hear me out.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest in a defensive position, he clocks that. He also notices the way you make eye contact with him throughout your sentences.

You were really hurt, he gathers.

He takes your silence as a sign to continue talking.

“After I left you at Paul’s, I went back out there and fought off the rest of those… variants. While I was fighting them, they told me about you.”

Your interest is absolutely peaked now.

“What do you mean?”

“They... they said that you existed in their world but-” He cuts himself off with a vexed sigh.

“But what, Mark.”

You want, need to know what was worth hurting you for days on end.

Mark looks at you and it's the most disheartened he's looked since that night he told you to leave.

“You died, Y/n.”

It all makes sense now. You grapple with the stomach-churning epiphany of the century.

The different Invincibles that wanted to take you was simply because you ceased to exist in their worlds.

“I... I died in every single universe.”

He takes some steps in your direction, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“You either died on accident by being murdered among civilians or you killed yourself.”

“Why would I commit suicide?”

He deeply inhales. “Because you'd rather die than join the other me.”

That sounds on brand.

“I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd lose you in this world, too.” He admits raspily.

That touches your heart.

You want to hug him, to comfort him but you're still kind of confused. You needed more answers.

“I was so scared, I had never felt fear like I did when I saw them with you.” He whispers.

“Why'd you tell me to leave?” You ask gently.

“Because I love you.”

His confession is so light, said with such helplessness, that you tear up.

Mark maintains eye contact with you, tired of hiding his true self. He wants you to see him.

“So many people have died because of me, it may not be directly my fault, but it still had to do with me.”

He comes a little closer, just a couple of steps away from touching you.

“What if I was too late that day? What if they managed to take you away?” He mutters in a hushed tone.

Mark shakes his head as if to get rid of those thoughts.

“If anything happens to you, it will be because of me.”

“So, you thought it was best to create such a large gap between us, that there'd be a sinking hole inside of me. Is that it?”

Your eyes well up against your will but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he can finally see just how much you've been suffering.

“You think I wanted to do that?” He asks defensively.

You scoff indignantly. “I think you could've told me from the jump. That's what I think.”

You know it's a little unfair given how vulnerable he's being right now but he was unfair when you were vulnerable, too.

He shakes his head, eyes closing in on themselves as his tears threaten to fall. “I can't risk your life, Y/n! Why don't you understand that?”

You messily wipe your tears, your lashes wet and nose tinged with the lightest of reds.

“All this time, you didn't have a problem with how close we were. Now that you saw how close I was to something dangerous, it got too real for you?!”

He's in your space now, his chin set down and eyes on yours.

Contrary to how mad he looks, he relays his message in an low tone. “Yeah. It did.”

Your eyes widen a bit at the length he's cut between your bodies and you're back in time. You go back to the moment he almost kissed you.

“Don't push me away, Mark.”

You beg him and you don't care if you look pathetic. You love him and don't want to lose him like this.

Mark just presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes, he concentrates on you. Your smell, your hushed breaths, your heartbeat.

You feel his hands slide up and down your arms, grounding you.

Even when he's opening up to you, Mark still chooses to comfort you. He still wants to calm you down, to make you feel better. He still chooses to have your best interests at heart.

“I came here to tell you the truth, that you deserve better.”

You wordlessly deny his idea, shaking your head once.

He grabs ahold of your head, making you look at him.

You see it all, you see all of his pain, grief, anger.

“I love you but you're not safe with me.”

“You don't get to make my decision for me.” You stubbornly point out.

“Y/n-”

“I love you.” A shaky whisper snuck into the air between your lips.

His wide eyes stare back at yours in surprise.

“I've loved you for a long time and I don't wanna be in love with another.” You wrap your hands around his, feeling the warmth bloom onto your cold ones.

“Please. Please don't ask me to stay away from you.” You cry.

He kisses your head and brings you close, your head on his shoulder and slotting between his bicep and forearm. He curls his other arm around your waist and lays his head on yours.

“Okay, fine.” He fondly agrees. “You win so stop crying.”

"Fuck you." You jab.

He airily laughs and brings your face close to his, pressing an equally feathery kiss to your lips.

You timidly kiss him, shying away a little to breathe but Mark wants you to take his breath if you must. He pulls you in, hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, wanting to shape a new mold from your figures.

Your fingers nervously brush his hair and he groans at the contact.

You chuckle at the sound and he pulls away leaving a soft peck.

He's in a daze and has hearts in his eyes but he ultimately decides; he wouldn't want it any other way.

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