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stillwatervoid · 17 days ago

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Now nothing’s the same PT. 2 | Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: It’s been two weeks, and you still can’t face Mark. Can’t hear his voice, can’t stand his face, can’t bear his touch—because everything about him reminds you of the things you’ll never have again. Of the lines you weren’t supposed to cross. Of all the things that will never be the same.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, very brief mention of SA (but it’s a misunderstanding), dry humping/frottage, oral (Mark receiving), anal sex, anal fingering, belly bulge.

Tags: There’s more plot than porn but there IS porn (eventually), so—Porn with Plot, Reader is highkey not okay, self-hatred, extreme guilt and shame, misunderstandings, light angst, fluff, getting together, morning sex, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 22.2k | a/n: English isn’t my first language, so sometimes the tenses might be a little inconsistent in the flashbacks! I got kind of lost in my own narrative style (why did I do this to myself? lol). Anyway, it’s finally here. 20k+, baby. I’m honestly a little nervous because a lot of people were waiting for this one, and I really hope it lives up to what you were expecting. Also, thank you for the comments, the likes, the reblogs—I see every single one and they mean the world to me. Enjoy!!!

Part 1 | You're here

By the time your phone’s ringtone cuts out for the tenth time this night, you’re left staring at the screen with a hollow numbness.

The notifications glare back at you—missed calls in angry red, all bearing the same name, each one a fresh stab of guilt. Below them, a flood of unread messages piles up. You won’t open them. Can’t open them.

Because you’ve done the worst thing imaginable.

You betrayed Mark.

Mark, your best friend since fifth grade. The one who, along with William, had pulled you into their duo like you’d always belonged there. The person who laughed with you, stood by you, trusted you.

And you betrayed him.

Now, the mere thought of Mark makes your stomach churn with nausea. The shame is suffocating, a filth you can’t wash away, sinking into your skin like a brand. You feel disgusting. A monster. Because that night with his variant—the one who was all darkness and hunger and twisted devotion—exposed the worst parts of you. The pathetic, desperate parts. You’d poured every unrequited longing into a warped imitation of the boy you loved, because you were starved for it. For the way he looked at you. For the way he wanted you.

And that’s what sickens you most. How easily you gave in. How badly you wanted it. How, for just a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that Mark could ever lov—

Your fingers dig into your hair, breath hitching.

No. You can’t face him. Can’t even answer a simple phone call—to what end? To hear the disgust in his voice? To confirm just how much he hates you now? To witness the exact moment your friendship shatters beyond repair?

(Vaguely, you remember the shattered window, the jagged shards of glass dispersed across your floor, dust swirling thick in the air.

And then you, thinking, oh he’s going to die.

But in that moment—still half-dazed, aching, your body heavy with the lingering aftermath of sex—you don’t know if you meant him. Mark. Your Mark. Your best friend, the one who has always been nothing but good to you. Or him. The other Mark. The one who took you apart with a smirk, the one who claimed you as if you were already his.

You knew the fight was inevitable. Knew one of them would kill the other. Knew it would be like watching an immovable object meet an unstoppable force.

And when the dust cleared from Mark’s thunderous landing, when you saw his murderous expression mirroring the alternate’s, when their identical hatred burned through the tension—

For one terrifying heartbeat, you couldn’t tell which was which.)

You throw yourself onto the bed, yanking the covers over your head like they could smother the memories—or the shame.

But no amount of hiding could erase the evidence still etched into your skin. The bruises that just wouldn’t fade even after two weeks. Deep purple and stubborn, they mapped every place he had touched, bitten, kissed. There wasn’t a single inch he’d left untouched. Of course not—he’d been thorough, murmuring your name in desperate whispers, sucking marks into your neck like he wanted to devour you whole.

You flinch, shaking your head to dispel the thoughts. The replay. But you did this often—remembered the rasp of not-your-Mark’s voice, the way his hands had gripped you with possessive desperation.

Because you’d liked it.

God, you’d loved it.

It had been a fantasy ripped straight from your most secret thoughts, and the proof still lingered on your body, both exhilarating and humiliating. Worse still was how your skin prickled at the memory. How even now, just thinking about that night makes heat coil deep in your gut, no matter how much you want to suppress it.

(Cecil Stedman would stand over you, his expression unreadable, hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you hurt?” he’d ask, eyes flicking over you, assessing.

You’d freeze, blood draining from your face as you realized—your fingers were fumbling with the collar of your hoodie, tugging it up, up, up, instinctively trying to hide the bite marks beneath.

They wouldn’t know. They couldn’t know.

The GDA agents had swept into your apartment just minutes after Mark had thrown his variant through your shattered wall with a punch that shook the building. By then, you’d already be fully dressed, face burning with shame and self-loathing, hating the way your legs still trembled from the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

There was no way Cecil could know what had happened. No way Mark would have told him on his way here.

And yet—still, you’d shrink into yourself, pulling at your collar, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, yanking your hoodie’s hood low over your face. You’d eye everyone with barely restrained panic, thoughts spiraling—they’ll know, they’ll see, they’ll realize—

“Don’t worry,” Cecil would say, sensing your unease. “Despite our differences, I know Mark always gives his all to protect the people he loves.”

You’d flinch. Close your eyes. Shrink even further inward.

“…I know,” you’d murmur, voice hoarse and raw.

Cecil would interpret your withdrawn attitude as a trauma response or shock. He wouldn’t know the truth—you wouldn’t tell him. And the others in his team could only guess, while you tugged at your collar again, desperately trying to conceal the bruises blooming on your neck, the tremor in your legs, the ache in your body—the stickiness still drying on your thighs.

“Mark will take care of it,” Cecil would assure you. “No one can hurt you anymore.”

Yet, guilt would seize you by the throat.

Because the truth would weigh heavy on your tongue—how you had arched into those cruel hands, how you had begged him to take you, how the tremble in your body wasn’t from fear, but from the awful, shameful wanting still thrumming under your skin.)

Your throat bobbed as your fingers drifted to the darkest bruise on your neck, pressing down just to feel the ache. The pain was sharp, immediate—a reminder that it had been real. That he had been real.

And that you’d let him.

And fuck—if it doesn’t make your body tingle, heat up, and freeze all at once. If it doesn’t make you a horrible friend all over again. That’s why you’ve been ignoring Mark’s calls. Why, as your phone buzzes in the silence of your room, you refuse to pick up. Refuse to hear his voice. Refuse to stand before him.

Because now you know.

You know the way Mark’s kisses taste like. Know the shape of his body, the flex of his muscles as he moves over you. Know the sounds he makes when overcome with desire—the quiet gasps, the low groans, the desperate moans. Know the way his cock feels, hot and heavy, buried deep inside you, making you see stars and stealing every last bit of air from your lungs. You know the way his hands grip your hips, how perfectly your bodies slot together, the pressure building and building, the obscene slap of skin on skin as he fucks you into the mattress—

Jesus.

Your fingers twist in the sheets, body shuddering as the memories surged back—vivid, hungry. This is why you can’t face him. Because he knows what you did. You both do. How the hell can you ever look at Mark in the eye again? Knowing that now—now—you can never suppress your feelings again, never shove them back into the corner of your heart where they belonged. How do you face him when every glance sends your pulse racing? When your body remembers what it’s like to be loved by him—even if it wasn’t really him?

Just thinking about it makes you lose your grip, heart hammering, body shivering. Because it remembers.

And there’s no way in hell you’ll ever be able to forget.

That’s why you grab your phone, Mark’s name flashing for the nth time, and finally power it off.

The silence that follows is deafening. But the noise in your head doesn’t stop—the endless, pounding thoughts reminding you that you don’t deserve Mark. Not his kindness. Not his forgiveness. Hell, maybe not even his anger. Not the sharp edge of his accusations, not the fury in his screams.

You deserve nothing from him.

(“Nothing,” you’d answer, avoiding his piercing gaze as he studies your body. “It’s really nothing, Mark.”

You’d try to ignore the way his breath comes in sharp pants, the blood staining his suit, how his eyes seem wild with something you can’t place.

Right then, he would remind you too much of the other Mark—who walked into your apartment with that razor-sharp smirk, who ruined you after. Ironic, how now your Mark looks just the same. Only this time, the blood belongs to that version.

The fight’s over.

Your Mark stands victorious.

And deep down, you knew this was always how it would end. You knew he’d be the one left standing.

Still, somewhere beneath it all, you’d try not to think about his variant, who had whispered your name like a prayer just hours ago, gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Nothing?” Mark would repeat, voice raw and cracked from exhaustion and the tension hanging between you two. “Y/N, you’re—you’re hurt. You need to get checked out—”

He’d step forward, arms reaching for you. But you’d flinch, stepping back, desperate need to put distance between you, because you feel filthy, disgusting, and you can’t let him touch you like this.

He’d freeze, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, his expression faltering between hurt and disbelief. Then his eyes would flicker to the exposed skin on your neck, to the wound where not-your-Mark had bitten you hard enough to draw blood, then to your lips, swollen and tender from his kisses, and finally to your eyes—red-rimmed, glistening with unshed tears.

Mark’s expression would twist. Just the slightest. Just enough to reveal the anger beneath the exhaustion.

“I wasn’t hurt,” you’d whisper, voice quiet, weak, barely holding together. But the shame would force the words out anyway—force you to confess, to lay yourself bare, to make him hate you. And with your face burning, throat tight, you’d add, so, so quietly— “And you know it.”

Mark would go silent, his shoulders sagging, face falling as if the weight of everything had drained the life out of him. And you—God, you’d want him to hate you. To finally look at you with the disgust you’ve earned. Punch me, you’d think as the silence stretches. Yell at me. Scream at me. Hate me.

But after what feels like an eternity, all he’d say is, “...I don’t—I don’t understand. Why—”

“Kid,” Cecil would interrupt from down the hall, voice clipped and irritated. “The fight’s not over. We’ve still got at least ten Invincibles around the world. Stop the chitchat and get back to work.”

But Mark wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t budge. Even when you couldn’t meet his eyes, he’d stay rooted there, mouth forming words that won’t come—

“Kid,” Cecil would repeat, louder.

And this time, Mark would turn, his broad back facing you, his expression hidden from view.

It’d be his voice—deliberately measured, controlled—that’d betray just how much he was holding himself together, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “We’ll talk, Y/N. Alright? We’ll talk… later.”

And then he’d be gone, launching into the sky, leaving you behind with the suffocating need to be hated.

Because if he hated you, if he was furious, if he despised you—then it’d be so much easier to just walk away.)

“Fuck…” you whisper, the familiar sting settling deep in your chest, a raw, aching pain that makes you sink further into your mattress, wanting to disappear. “I screwed everything up, didn’t I? Fuck…”

Now, with your phone dead, no calls ringing through, no texts demanding your attention, you’re left alone with nothing but the desperation of your own thoughts, drowning in self-loathing and shame. You can’t stop thinking about everything you wish you could change. All the things that will never be the same.

William has been trying to reach you, too, these past few days. You’ve seen his messages pile up—confused at first, then worried, then frustrated when you vanished completely. And you know it’s not fair to him, disappearing without a word, without an explanation. But you can’t face any of it—not the mistakes, not the consequences, not even your friends.

Not Mark.

Because the embarrassment is unbearable. Because the guilt is eating you alive.

Even here, tucked away in this borrowed apartment with its unfamiliar walls and cold silence, you can’t escape it. After that night—after Mark tore through the walls, shattered your window, with the only mission to kill the variant who dared touch like that—you had no choice but to move somewhere new. Somewhere Mark didn’t know. It’s the only reason he hasn’t shown up yet—hasn’t hovered in front of your window demanding that long-overdue conversation.

With a heavy sigh, you bury your face in the pillow. If you can’t escape your thoughts awake, maybe sleep will silence them. That’s the lie you tell yourself, when loneliness settles into your chest like a second skin, its weight overshadowed only by the remorse festering in your mind.

And as consciousness slips away, you wish—not for the first time—that you’d never fallen in love with Mark Grayson in the first place.

When you wake up hours later, sweat clinging to your brow from dreams you can’t recall, it’s not the sun that rouses you.

It’s the sound.

A soft, rhythmic tapping—knuckles against glass. Insistent. Steady.

Your heart skips a beat as you jolt upright, body tense, sheets tangling around your legs as drowsiness evaporates. You scan the room, blinking hard, trying to convince yourself you imagined it—

But there it is again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your muscles go rigid. Because this is the twentieth floor. No one should be knocking through the window.

You glance at the clock on your nightstand. Nearly six in the morning. The sky outside is still draped in gray. Just who in the world—

And then it hits you, the realization sinking in like cold ice.

Who else could it be?

Who else but the one person in the world you’ve been trying so damn hard to avoid—who could casually knock on your outside window like this, despite the fact you’re hundreds of feet above the ground?

Mark.

It must be him. It’s always him. Right outside your window grinning like an idiot and ready to tell you all about his day like it was the most important thing in the world.

But that was before.

Now you doubt he’s here to talk about his day.

You sit frozen, breath shallow, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your chest. How the hell did he even find you?

Cecil swore—

(“Please,” you’d beg, hands clenched into tight fists. “Don’t tell Mark.”

It would be the third day since the Invincibles’ invasion and destruction, and Mark would still be out there—fighting, barely holding on, while you cowered in GDA safehouses. You’d already demanded a new home, a new phone—now you just needed Cecil’s silence.

“I can’t. He’s threatened me more times than I can count this month alone,” Cecil would grumble, rubbing his temples. “You think I can hide his best friend without a way to trace you? He’s gonna lose his shit.”

You’d hug yourself tighter. “I know… but he’ll understand it’s me who doesn’t want to—” see the disgust in his eyes or hear the betrayal in his voice “—talk.”

“The answer’s still no, kid,” Cecil’s tone would brook no argument. “From the way he reacted when I told him about the rogue Invincible heading your way? I wouldn’t want to know what he’d be capable of doing if I kept this from him.”

Your heart would stutter then freeze—shame and longing and self-loathing and love crashing over you in nauseating waves.

“Then...” you’d swallow around the lump in your throat. You dreaded the moment the fighting stopped, the moment Mark came looking for you, demanding answers. “Then… give him my number. That should be enough, right? If he’s worried, I’ll answer. But don’t tell him where I’m living now.”

Cecil would study you for a beat too long. Just as panic starts creeping up your spine—

“Fine.”

You’d blink. “Really? You swear?”

He’d sigh, long and insufferable, like he was so done with all this. “I swear. Now get out. I still have important shit to do—like saving the world.”

You wouldn’t waste a second, already turning on your heel, heart racing now that you knew you could walk away from Mark without having to deal with the shitty thing you’d done. Without explaining. You could pretend it never happened. Let him hate you for it—that’d be easier.

“But—” Cecil’s voice would stop you cold. When you glanced back, his gaze was piercing as steel. “The second he thinks you’re in danger and wants anything to do with it… the deal’s off.”

You’d process the warning for a moment—but then, you’d think… there’s no way Mark wouldn’t hate you now. There’s no way Mark would want anything to do with you now.

So you’d nod, knowing you’d be safe.

Because after the Invincibles came Conquest, and the aftermath of their fight, and the countless deaths... and you’d know that Mark had enough shit to worry about to even spare you a single thought.)

Fucking Cecil—he sold you out. It’s barely been two weeks. How could you possibly be in danger?

And yet, the tapping continues—more urgent now, almost frantic. You don’t need to look to know it’s Mark. You feel it. The way your skin prickles, the way your pulse stutters, your body shuddering as if it remembers.

He came for you. And maybe… maybe you always knew he would, no matter how many times you convinced yourself he’d hate you enough to never look back.

Still, your body locks up, sitting bolt upright in bed, torn between throwing the window open or sitting there, pretending you’re not home, praying he gets bored and leaves.

But the moment your feet slide to the floor, the second you stand, legs carrying you forward—your body already knows the answer. Because if Cecil gave him your address, that means Mark’s worried. That means he won’t leave. And more than that—You want to see him. Despite everything. Despite the shame, the guilt, the dread curling in your stomach like a cold fist.

Because god, you missed him. You miss him.

Your palms start to sweat, knees unsteady beneath you. But you take a breath—a deep, uneven breath—and decide to just do it. Hear him out. Let him yell. Let him cut you off. Just… rip off the fucking band-aid and move on.

With a trembling hand, you draw the curtain aside—

And with your breath caught in your throat, you finally see him.

Mark’s reaction is immediate. One moment, his fist is raised, his expression twisted in anxious concentration, frozen mid-motion to knock again at your window. But then—his eyes widen, brows lift in surprise as his mouth falls slightly open.

“Y/N—” his voice comes muffled through the glass, both palms pressing flat against it like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “Y/N, oh my god. It’s really you. I’ve—” a ragged gasp cuts him off, breath fogging the window between you. “Are you—fuck, are you okay? I’ve been—God, we’ve all been—William and Eve and—and everyone. You just stopped answering your phone and William couldn’t—and the texts wouldn’t get through—I thought maybe you were—”

His rambling cuts off abruptly when you flip the window lock and slide it open.

The sudden lack of barrier leaves Mark statue-still, his eyes darting across your face with alarming intensity. You notice the slight sheen in his eyes, the way his lips tremble as they part and close, his shoulder raising and falling, fast and shallow.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, staring at your feet. The concern in his voice feels like a knife twist. After everything, he shouldn’t still care this much. “I’m sorry.”

The words seem to shatter whatever trance Mark was in, because the next thing you know, he’s crossing the gap between you in the blink of an eye. You’re forced to step back, a huff escaping your lips as his arms wrap around you in a desperate, tight embrace.

“Oh my god...” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper as he buries his face into the curve of your shoulder. “I’m glad—so glad you’re okay.”

Despite his words, no matter how relieved he sounds, your body tenses against him. Your arms stay stiff by your sides, refusing to return the hug. Mark notices immediately—of course he does. You can feel him stiffen, too—his breath catching when he notices how your body freezes up, the way you seem to pull away from him without moving an inch. In a flash, he’s pulling back, hands flying up in surrender like he’s been burned.

“F-fuck—sorry! I know I shouldn’t—after what... after him—” he winces, eyes snapping shut in frustration, like he can’t stand himself. “I—I just... needed to see you were safe.”

He glances away now, his shoulders sagging, the tension in his posture dissolving into something sad and small. His lips twist downward into a pitiful frown, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter.

“I’ll go. I get it. You don’t wanna see me anymore.”

Shit.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Where’s the anger? The betrayal? The screaming match you’d braced yourself for?

You’d imagined this moment a hundred times—Mark bursting in, furious, disgusted, finally giving you the hatred you deserve. Not this... this crumbled version of him, respecting boundaries you never knew were there, looking at you like he’s the one who did something wrong.

It’s not fair.

You were ready for anger. You could’ve handled anger.

But not this.

Not Mark, sad.

Your hand moves on instinct—snapping out, grasping his wrist before he can float off again, knuckles white from how tightly you hold on.

“Don’t—” you choke, the word catching on a breath you didn’t mean to let go. “Don’t go.”

His breath catches audibly when you stop him. You feel the shift in his posture as he turns back toward you, his pulse jumping under your fingertips. When you dare a glance up, his gaze burns into yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

And fuck—no, you can’t do this. Can’t look at him, can’t face him. You were right to keep your distance. So, without thinking, you quickly avert your gaze, feeling the heat rush to your face—shame, embarrassment, self-loathing… you don’t know what it is anymore, but it’s making you burn, your cheeks flushed in a way you wish you could stop.

“We need to talk, right?” you force the words out, voice dry, cracking a little. “Then let’s talk.”

Even though you really, really don’t want to. But you owe him this. You’ve been avoiding this conversation long enough, running from it like a coward.

“Right,” he whispers softly, voice barely audible. “Let’s… talk.”

Yet neither of you say anything. The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick and heavy. That’s when you realize—your hand is still on his wrist. You let go like it burns, flustered and flinching back as if caught doing something you shouldn’t.

That’s when you really look at him.

He’s not wearing his suit, nor his goggles. Just Mark Grayson, in a sweater and jeans, standing in your tiny room like a regular boy. He didn’t come here as a hero, just as your best friend. And judging by the way his hair’s a mess and his eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, he probably rushed. Probably didn’t think twice before threatening Cecil into giving up your location. Probably didn’t even try to hide who he was, flying all the way to the outskirts of the city at dawn, with nothing shielding his identity.

Anyone could’ve seen him. Anyone could’ve guessed who he was. But still, he came. All of that… just to be here with you. To find you. To make sure you were okay.

The silence shatters when you blurt out, “Are you okay? I wasn’t there when—with Conquest—” your voice cracks. “God, I’m sorry.” Another reminder of what a shitty friend you are. “I’m so sorry.”

Mark rubs at his neck, a familiar nervous gesture. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly? I’m glad you weren’t there. You shouldn’t have to see me... like that.”

You hum in response, eyes darting everywhere but him—walls, floor, the curtain still fluttering from when you opened the window. God, the awkwardness is suffocating. Why can’t you cut through it?

Then, quietly, Mark continues. “About… whatever happened. That day.” His voice is tentative, like he’s afraid even saying it might make you crumble. “You don’t have to talk about it. I get it. You’re probably—” he swallows thickly “—traumatized.”

Traumatized?

Your eyes flick up at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

His eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I’ll give you all the time you need. And if you can’t ever—” a shaky breath. “If seeing me is too hard, I get that too.”

“Mark,” you shake your head, confusion tightening your chest. “What do you mean?” And then, dread begins to settle deep in your bones, a cold fist wrapping around your heart. “What… what do you think happened?”

He recoils like you’ve struck him, nearly stumbling back through the window frame. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again—

“Don’t make me say it.”

You freeze.

Brows draw together, thoughts racing, flipping through every possible thing he could mean—until you see it. The guilt carved into his face. The way he’s carefully keeping his distance, like he’s afraid to spook you. His eyes flick, just for a second, to your neck—where faint marks still linger, bites and kisses pressed into skin that’s long since stopped feeling warm. His expression darkens.

And then it hits you.

(You’d read his messages after the battle was settled—after the smoke cleared and the city stopped screaming.

One after the other, each one hit like a blow to the chest. Guilt. Remorse. Regret soaked into every word.

Mark (2:03 AM): I’m sorry I wasnt there

Mark (2:04 AM): I’m sorry I let it happen

Mark (2:06 AM): I should’ve been faster

Should’ve gotten u somewhere safe the moment we knew

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:07 AM)

Mark (2:18 AM): im sorry

can u pick up the phone?

Mark (2:22 AM): y/n

Mark (2:25 AM): ples

Mark (2:25 AM): please

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:33 AM)

Mark (3:37 AM): I’m sorry. Im sorry. Cecil said u didnt want to talk

Mark (3:39 AM): I get it...

Mark (3:45 AM): im sorry

shouldve never let this happen to u

Mark (3:47 AM): im sorry)

Suddenly, horribly, you understand.

“Oh my god, Mark,” you exhale, dragging both hands over your face as the heat floods in—burning shame, disbelief, something sick and sour twisting in your gut. “God… I don’t—I wasn’t—whatever you think happened to me, you’re wrong.”

Mark frowns. His lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean I’m wrong?” he says, voice low, tight with frustration. “Y/N—you don’t have to… I mean, if you’re trying to comfort me, or spare me, or whatever—”

“I wanted it!” the words spill out before you can stop them—louder, sharper than you intended.

But you need to say it. Need him to see you for what you really are—a disgusting, traitorous, filthy human being who took advantage of the situation. Who let himself melt at the first touch of hands that weren’t Mark’s but carried his face, his voice, his warmth. A hypocrite who’d spent years pretending your feelings were platonic, only to come undone the second some twisted reflection of Mark offered you everything you’d ever craved.

God, so this is why there’s no yelling, no accusations thrown at you. Because Mark—your Mark—still sees you as someone worth trusting. Someone worth protecting. Someone who, in his mind, must have been tricked, coerced, hurt. Even after listening whatever happened that night—the sounds of skin meeting skin, the desperate need in your voice as you begged the other Mark to make you come, to unravel you in his touch—he still thinks you’re the victim.

Shit. Shit.

Your arms fall limp at your sides, exposing the damning evidence purpling your throat. “That’s what you’re not getting,” you whisper, tears blurring your vision as you stare at the floor between you. “He didn’t force me. I let him. I—” your voice cracks “—I begged.”

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

And you can’t stop.

“You should hate me,” you choke out, and god, your voice sounds wrecked. “The person you think I am? That’s not real. I mean, look at me—” A wet, shuddering breath. “God, look at me. After everything I said about still being friends? Pathetic. I’m not your friend. I’m can’t be your friend,” your shoulders shake. You wrap your arms around yourself. “Just—just hate me already.”

You still won’t look at him. Can’t bring yourself to. The silence stretches, broken only by the wind whistling through the open window, raising goosebumps on your skin. And that silence—it feels worse than yelling would’ve.

Hot, heavy tears slide down your cheeks, burning against your skin. Because maybe now he sees it—what you are, what you did, and what you, even now, can’t fully regret. Because fuck, it felt good. So good.

And because you can’t even lie to yourself and say you wish it hadn’t happened, is exactly why Mark should walk away.

Why he should look at you with disgust.

Why he should despise you.

That’s why—

A warm hand cups your cheek.

Mark’s touch is featherlight, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear as it falls. The softness of it, the quiet gentleness of him touching you like you haven’t just shattered everything between you—it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

When you look up, confusion clear on your face, he simply says, “You know I hate when you cry.”

Your lip trembles, and a weak sob escapes before you can stop it. Of course. Even now, after everything, he offers kindness you haven’t earned.

Then he’s moving—stepping into your room. Into your space. Into you. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, slow but sure, like he’s done a hundred times before. He tucks your head against his shoulder, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades.

You melt into him almost instinctively, breath hitching in ragged gasps—like you’ve been drowning, and only now are you finally breaking the surface. But then doubt creeps in—hesitation lingers because you’re not sure you should be this close to Mark, should allow yourself this comfort. But despite everything, you slowly bring your arms around him, unsure but needing him more than you’ve needed anything in the past two long, empty two weeks since you ruined everything.

Because fuck—Mark is everything you’ve been craving. Because this is the Mark you know and love. The Mark you fell for. Gentle, kind, steady. Warm in a way that feels like safety.

And when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, his scent hits you—familiar and grounding—and it makes your head spin. His body, solid and real, holds you like you’re still someone worth holding onto.

“Y/N,” Mark says, voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear. “I could never hate you.”

You shudder as tears well up again—hot and blinding—spilling over as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’s too good. Too gentle. And it hurts.

His embrace is everything the other Mark’s wasn’t—steady instead of desperate, grounding instead of possessive. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll break, like he sees you, and it’s unbearable.

“I know,” you whisper, voice muffled against his shoulder. “But you should.”

He pulls you closer at that, impossibly close, until there’s no space left between you. And you try—God, you try—not to notice. Not the heat of his hands tracing soft circles on your back. Not the way his breath ghosts along your ear and neck. Not the matching rhythm of your breathing, your heartbeats thudding in sync, chest to chest. You try to ignore it all. Because it’s too intimate. Too soon. Too much to handle when your body still remembers the weight of his—his—naked body against yours. The slide of sweat-slick skin, the hitch of breath against your ear, all breathy moans and hushed gasps.

“No,” Mark blurts suddenly, voice tight, shaking with regret. His fingers fist into the back of your shirt like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. “You should hate me. I was a total asshole to you, Y/N. For weeks. Months, even. And you were right. I wasn’t being fair to you. I ignored you, pushed you away, treated you like crap, and I didn’t even have the guts to tell you why.”

He swallows hard, his next words coming quieter, more broken.

“And then, when it really mattered, I couldn’t protect you. I failed you. You should hate me,” he exhales, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly. Then, in a single, intimate whisper right against your ear, Mark adds, “I’m sorry.”

The words lodge in your chest, unexpected and disarming. That tight knot of guilt loosens just enough to let you breathe.

I’m sorry. The words come so suddenly, so softly, that you almost miss them. You were supposed to be the one asking for forgiveness, the one weighed down by guilt and regret—not Mark.

What Mark did—keep you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, barely speaking to you beyond polite conversation, and looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place ever since the day you confessed your feelings—was never something you could truly blame him for.

You were the one who couldn’t keep it in. The one who let your feelings spill out and ruin everything. The one who wanted to still be his friend, desperate to keep him in your life, clinging to any scrap of him you could get.

You were the one who promised yourself you’d move on, who told Mark as much.

And then you ruined everything again.

Because the moment someone with Mark’s voice, Mark’s smile, Mark’s face reached for you, you didn’t stop him. You let yourself fall into him like he was this Mark—as if that made it okay. You let him touch you, claim you, own you in ways this Mark never did, never agreed to—while all you could do was gasp and beg for more.

God. And Mark’s the one saying sorry?

“I forgive you,” you say, the words slipping out faster than you can stop them—too eager, too willing to let months of confusion and pain be wiped away with a single breath.

But as you speak, you feel the wrongness of this moment. You can still feel the heat in your cheeks, the way your skin tingles where it touches his, the dizzying familiarity of his scent flooding your senses. Your body remembers. It remembers. Every place he touched you, every mark he left, every kiss still lingering like a brand. And even if it wasn’t him—wasn’t your Mark—it doesn’t matter.

Because your body doesn’t know the difference.

And you know, with sudden clarity, that this has to end.

“I forgive you, Mark,” you repeat, quieter this time. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past.”

Maybe he hears it—that slight shift in your tone. The edge of something final curling around your words. Because then his arms tighten around you—not restraining, just holding. Just keeping you close a little longer.

“That means we’re still friends, right?” the question comes out muffled against your shoulder. You don’t need to see his face to picture the crease between his brows, the hesitant frown you’ve known since fifth grade. “Y/N?” His voice cracks. “Because I forgive you too. Whatever happened that night—” his breath hitches “—it’s in the past for me too, alright?”

You open your eyes. The morning sun is rising outside your open window, spilling pale light through the fluttering curtains. A breeze slips through and brushes against your skin, drying the last of your tears. There’s an odd calm in your chest now, the quiet certainty of a decision made.

For one lingering moment, you let yourself stay—letting the warmth of his body soak into yours, letting yourself pretend—just for a heartbeat—that things could be simple. That they are simple.

Then, gently, you pull away, slipping from his arms with predictable ease. Because of course he lets you go. Of course his hands fall open the instant you retreat, always respecting your boundaries, even now.

Mark stands still as you step back, gaze dropping to the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Mark shifts uneasily. “Y/N...?”

“No.” The word comes out steadier than you feel. “We can’t be friends.”

Mark doesn’t respond right away. You can feel the weight of his confusion, the way he’s trying to process your words, replaying them in his mind as if he might’ve misheard.

“What?” he breathes, voice small and cracked.

You swallow hard, nails digging into your palms. “I can’t do it. I can’t pretend everything’s fine. I can’t go back to what we were because—” you suck in a breath and let the truth crash out of you, unfiltered. “Because I can’t trust myself around you, Mark.”

Mark goes utterly still.

“Because when you hold me like that, I start remembering... things that weren’t real. Things I shouldn’t want.”

A beat.

Mark’s hands twitch—like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. His mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. You have to tear through the illusion before it starts to wrap around you again—before you slip, before the memories seduce you back into longing.

“I know it wasn’t you,” you continue, forcing the words through the lump in your throat. “I know you don’t see me that way. And I know it’s not really your fault.”

You glance away, arms folding tight around your chest like a shield—an instinct born from shame and desperation, as if you could protect your body from betraying you all over again. Of remembering it.

(The way not-your-Mark would hold you, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

The unbearable pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

The way he’d groan and growl against your lips as his hands roamed your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin.

The way his lips would brush against yours, both of you panting, gasping for air, and still leaning in—still trying to kiss, to steal whatever breath the other had left.

The way his hips would move, his body joined with yours, each thrust hitting just right, so deep inside you.

“I love—” he’d pant, his rhythm faltering. “I love you, Y/N.”

And how do you recover from that?

How do you erase it?

How do you look Mark in the eye when your body still aches with memory?

You don’t.

You can’t.)

A traitorous shiver runs through you, heat blooming under your skin like fire.

“But I can’t unfeel it,” you rasp, voice hoarse and cracking. Your cheeks burn with the triple weight of shame, guilt, and something far more damning—arousal, thick and undeniable. “I can’t unknow what it felt like to be—” you hesitate, then force the word out “touched like that—by you.”

You take a step back. Then another. And another, putting precious distance between you.

“And I can’t go back to being just your friend like none of it ever happened, Mark,” you continue, breath hitching. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. There, it’s your turn.

The words hang in the air, cold and final. This is the moment the fragile thing between you fractures beyond repair.

You can’t be his friend. Not when just looking at him sends your mind reeling with flashes of skin and heat, of whispered promises and breathless moans and the ache of being wanted. It plays behind your eyes in obscene, impossible detail every time you blink. And it’s not fair—not to Mark, who trusted you. Who never asked for this. Who deserves better than your traitorous body and its wretched, persistent wanting.

Let him hate you now. Let him recoil from the truth of how badly you’d craved it—how part of you still do. His hands. His mouth. His moans. The way he’d murmur I love yous like a prayer against your skin—

“What—what are you saying?” he asks, voice rough with disbelief. He takes a step forward, closing the distance you so carefully created. “That this is—it? Just goodbye? Don’t… Y/N, just—look at me.”

When you don’t, his fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up with a gentleness that undoes you. The tears on his lashes glint in the sunlight.

“You think I can just walk away?” he says, voice raw and aching. “Pretend like you’re not my friend anymore? Like I can forget you? Like—like I can hate you? When I—”

He breaks off, his brows drawing tight, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as frustration flickers across his face. For a heartbeat, he closes his eyes, as if bracing himself, before reopening them, locking onto yours with an intensity that nearly breaks you.

Then, softer, more vulnerable than before, he asks, “You remember I needed to tell you something? Before everything went to shit, before asshole versions of me started crashing through our world?”

Your eyes flicker over his face, confusion and turmoil knotting inside you. Still, you take a deep breath, slowly nodding. “You wanted to tell me the reason you’ve been pulling away,” you murmur, voice quiet. “You said it was because of my confession…” The words taste like ash. You exhale sharply, the ache in your chest blooming fresh as you take another step back. “God, Mark—just forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need an explanation. I know why you pulled away,” you swallow hard. “I ruined it. That’s on me.”

“No, no, Y/N,” he says urgently, voice desperate as he steps forward, closing the gap between you with stubborn, desperate steps. He’s now deep into your room—into your life, the way he always does. And you know, without him saying it, that he’s not leaving. “Just—just listen to me. Please.”

And then, as if he can’t bear to let you go, he does something that completely catches you off guard. His hands reach for your face, warm and steady as they cup your cheeks, rough fingers pressing against your skin. You freeze instinctively, breath catching in your throat.

He tilts your head gently, making sure your eyes meet his. And there it is. His gaze—warm, brown, familiar—pierces through the wall you’ve tried to build, melting the icy grip around your heart. There’s something there in his eyes, something that’s been there for months now, something you recognize but still don’t understand.

For some reason, your heart picks up its pace.

“The reason I’ve been pulling away is because I—I was confused,” Mark says, his voice cracking, thumbs tracing shaky circles on your cheeks. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you—or say the wrong thing. And I thought—I thought maybe if I kept my distance, if I just gave it time, it’d all go away. That you’d move on. That I’d be okay with it.” He lets out a shaky breath, jaw tightening. “But I’m not okay with it. I’m not okay with losing you—not now, not ever. Because every damn day since you told me, Y/N… I’ve been—”

He chokes on the rest, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly, calloused fingers trembling against your cheeks.

“Every day since you confessed, I’ve been wanting to—” a frustrated growl rumbles in his chest as the words get stuck in his throat as if they were physically painful to admit. “Fuck. I’ve wanted—”

The sentence dies on his lips again, but the way his gaze drops to your mouth says everything he can’t.

And suddenly, the air feels too thick, too tight. You can’t breathe. Not anymore.

You feel the heat of his stare, the way it burns through your skin, and the space between you grows impossibly smaller. It makes your chest tighten, heart hammering. Every inch of you is aware of how close he is, of how much he invades you. His touch, his presence, his warmth—all of it settles into you, tingling against your skin.

You want to step back. You want to create some distance, to breathe, to think—but his hand stays firm on your face, thumb gently brushing away the tear you didn’t even know had fallen. And God, it’s just like that other version of him, that hunger in his eyes—the need that burns too brightly for you to ignore.

“…Mark?” you ask, low and uncertain. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

His eyes darken as they trace over your face, dipping to your lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. His breath hitches, just slightly, when you unconsciously lick your lips, an instinct you can’t control under his intense gaze.

“God, don’t make me say it,” he murmurs, voice rough. His forehead presses against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, soft and shaky. “Y/N, I want—I need to—”

Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t. The words get caught again, but he doesn’t need to say anything more. Not when he answers in the only way you’ll believe him.

Mark leans in, closes the last bit of space between you, and kisses you.

Your eyes flutter shut unconsciously, a startled gasp catching in your throat as his lips meet yours.

The sensation—Mark’s lips, warm and firm and real against yours—obliterates all coherent thought, leaving you lightheaded and trembling. And then, one final thought cuts through the haze like lightning.

Mark Grayson—your Mark Grayson, the one you’ve known since fifth grade, the one you’ve been secretly in love with since eighth, the kind and good Mark—is kissing you.

The thought alone makes your knees buckle, your pulse roar in your ears, your breath come in shallow pants against his mouth.

“Mark…” you breathe, managing to pull back just enough to speak, your cheeks blazing. “What—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He’s kissing you again, harder this time. Both hands cradle your face, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Your breath stutters, lost between his lips and your own racing heart. You don’t even realize he’s maneuvering you until your back meets the wall, his body pressing you there, surrounding you completely in his warmth, his scent, his safety.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s with a soft exhale that ghosts across your tingling lips. The sound is equal parts contentment and barely restrained hunger, as if he’s both savoring this and already aching for more. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. When his eyes open—dark and blown wide—they shine with something fragile and new and raw.

“Y/N…” he whispers, voice hoarse and trembling. “Shit. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I’ve been too much of a coward to say it. But, Y/N, I—” He pauses, his expression softening, brows furrowing in that way that always makes you ache, the slight pout of his mouth tugging at your heart. He inches closer, his breath warm against your lips, and in that breath, he whispers, “I’m in love with you.”

Your lips part, expression faltering as tears threaten to fall again, blurring your vision. The weight of his words, of his confession, pulls something tight in your chest, unraveling the last of your restraint.

Mark’s thumb gently brushes under your eyes, catching the tears falling, his gaze filled with a quiet regret. “I’ve loved you for so long. And I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out. I guess—I guess I was so used to having you in my life that I didn’t even realize what I was feeling. And when I finally started to get it, I freaked out. I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared of—of what it could mean.”

A shaky inhale, both yours, his, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers again, leaning in closer, his breath mingling with yours, so close now you can feel the heat of him. “I love you. I love you. I love—”

You silence him with a kiss—partly because your racing heart can’t take another declaration, partly because you’ve dreamed of this moment for what feels like forever.

The heat of his mouth against yours sends fire through your veins, and suddenly you’re clinging to him, fingers twisting in his shirt as you melt into the embrace.

Mark groans against your mouth, his body pinning you to the wall with a delicious pressure that makes your head spin. But you don’t care—can’t care. Not when every inch of you is burning, not when all you can think about is the soft, urgent way his lips move against yours, like he’s been starving for this.

When you part your lips to deepen the kiss—greedy, desperate, aching to be closer—his tongue slides against yours in a slow, exploratory caress that draws a whimper from your throat. The sound seems to unravel him—his hands drop from your face to your waist, gripping hard as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel the wild hammering of his heart through his chest, its rhythm perfectly synced with yours.

“Shit—” he breathes against your swollen lips, his cheeks flushed deep pink. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I can’t—”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, yanking him closer until your breaths are mingling, quick and desperate. “I get it,” you whisper, voice thick. “Mark—just—don’t stop. Keep kissing me.”

Mark does just that.

His arms tighten around you, and the small, needy noise he makes in the back of his throat sends a rush of heat through you. The solid warmth of him holds you steady when your knees threaten to give out, his presence completely consuming, anchoring you in the overwhelming feeling of being wanted, of being wanted by him. And when he nips at your lower lip, the sharp burst of pleasure-pain makes you arch into him with a broken moan.

Shit—shit.

Your body remembers too much, too vividly, and it doesn’t take more than Mark’s feverish kisses—all teeth and tongue and desperate, gasping breaths—for your skin to start buzzing with heat, for arousal to stir sharp and sudden in your pajama pants.

His hands roam with a nervous, almost clumsy urgency, shaking slightly as they slide along your body. You can feel his inexperience in the way he hesitates between touches, in the hitched breaths against your lips—and god help you, it only makes you harder, heat flooding your veins until you’re certain your blush stretches from your cheeks to your chest.

“Mark,” you murmur breathlessly between kisses, “Mmh—Mark…”

You try to say something—warn him, maybe—to tell him that maybe you should slow down, take a breath, but he kisses the words right out of your mouth. And damn, it’s embarrassing how quickly your body betrays you—how just the feel of him, warm and solid and real, reduces you to this trembling mess. He’s only kissing you, for Christ’s sake, yet it feels like he’s branding himself into your very bones.

Still, a coil of anxiety twists low in your stomach. You’re afraid he’ll notice. Afraid he’ll freeze and freak out. Because as far as you know, Mark’s never been with a man—never even kissed one. His alternate version, sure, seemed experienced, confident, knew exactly how to touch you and make you moan. But this—this is your Mark. And the way he kisses you—eager, almost awed, his breath catching like he’s afraid this might all be some kind of dream—it feels different. And if his confession earlier was true—if he’s spent months wrestling with his feelings—then Christ, this might be his first time doing any of this with another guy.

And shit—maybe this is going too fast. You’re getting so fucking turned on and don’t want to scare him off, but—

“Oh, fuck, Mark—” the whimper tears from your throat as he pulls you closer, almost desperately, like he wants to melt into you completely. And when his hips press against yours, the friction makes you jolt, breath catching in your throat.

Your dick is rock hard. You don’t need to look down to know this. And judging by the way Mark suddenly stops kissing you, breath heaving as he pulls back just enough to look at you, flushed and wide-eyed, you know he can feel it too.

The sight of him—messy hair, lips swollen, breath ragged—is so fucking hot you feel your cheeks burn even hotter, shame and desire twisting together in your gut.

“I’m—” you start, ready to pull away, to gather yourself, to put an end to this heated moment before you completely lose it. “I’m sorr—”

But Mark doesn’t let you finish. His hips snap against yours in a sharp, deliberate thrust, erasing every inch of space between you. A broken noise escapes you as you finally feel it—the hard, undeniable length of him straining against his jeans, big, just like you remember.

Mark whines, his breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, slow and experimental this time. The sound he makes is downright filthy, a shuddering sigh against your lips.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. He does it again, and this time you both moan, the vibration mingling between your mouths. His voice is wrecked, shaky with want. “Y/N—fuck—can I…? Please, can I…?”

You don’t even know what he’s asking, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he’s this hard, this needy, rutting against you like he’ll die if he stops. Not when every ragged breath, every desperate thrust, tells you he wants this just as badly as you do.

“Yes,” you choke out, hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. “God, yes—”

Suddenly, your feet lift off the ground. The world tilts as Mark lifts you with that effortless superhuman strength, his hands firm beneath your thighs, until your back meets the wall with a soft thud. Your legs lock around his waist instinctively, pulling him flush against you until every inch of your bodies align—chest to chest, hip to hip, the hard length of him grinding against yours in a way that makes your vision blur.

“Mark—”

His name spills from your lips in a breathless moan as you roll your hips, unable to stop the desperate friction.

It still doesn’t feel real—that after all these years of pining, of biting your tongue through every casual touch and forced smile, of convincing yourself it’s okay to be just friends, of him telling you he didn’t see you that way—he’s here, kissing you with the same frantic need burning through your veins.

So the words escape in a whisper, raw and shy with years of pent-up longing, “I love you.”

Mark’s groan vibrates through your chest, his grip tightening on your ass with barely restrained need. “Yes, yes—” his voice cracks, eyes blown wide with vulnerable sincerity when they meet yours. “I love you too. God, I love you.”

Something in you cracks at that, and you yank him forward, lips meeting in a messy clash of teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse—just frantic, open-mouthed kisses as your hips move in a desperate rhythm. Every roll of his hips sends electric shocks down your spine, pulling ragged gasps from your throat. You can feel everything—the thick drag of his cock against yours, the tremors in his fingertips where they dig into your skin, the wild hammering of his heart where your chests press together. The growing dampness between you only fuels the fire, fabric sticking uncomfortably as precum soaks through layers of clothing.

It’s overwhelming.

He’s overwhelming.

Mark nips at your lower lip with a broken whimper, and for one dizzying moment, you want more—more of his warmth, of his weight pressing you into the wall, of his hands gripping your skin hard enough to leave fingerprints, of his strength pinning you in place like he never wants to let you go. You want him to consume you, to claim you, just like—

Like—

Like his variant. The one you let touch you exactly like this just two weeks ago. The one who kissed you, ruined you, took everything you had to give simply because he looked like your Mark. Sounded like him. Moved like him. You let him in, let him leave his marks on your body—because you were desperate. Because you missed this Mark so damn much it hurt.

All at once, the heat evaporates and the fog of arousal clears. You’re acutely aware of the growing shame, the sudden weight of your guilt pressing down on you.

How dare you? How can you stand here, grinding against your Mark, kissing him as if you didn’t just betray him in the worst way? As if you didn’t let some twisted reflection of him fuck you senseless. As if you didn’t moan I love you to a monster wearing his face. As if the bruises have faded when they’re right there, purpling under your shirt where Mark’s fingers rest now.

Mark freezes the second your body goes rigid against his. His eyes flutter open—hazel gone dark with want, now clouded with confusion.

“Y/N...?” his voice is rough and uneven. “What’s—did I hurt you? Did I—fuck, was that too much?”

He slowly puts you down, feet safely back to the floor, although his hands hover over your waist, trembling—still touching, but not squeezing anymore. Like he’s afraid he crossed a line. Like he’s the one who should be ashamed.

And god, that just makes it worse.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, voice small and barely convincing. “I just—”

Your hand lifts before you can stop it, fingers brushing along the tender skin of your neck—right over the bruises and bites the other version of Mark left behind. Still there. Still vivid. Still haunting.

Even after your Mark killed him, that other Mark lingers. Clinging to your skin like a curse you can’t scrub away.

Mark’s gaze snaps to the movement, his eyes tracking your fingers with a focus that makes your pulse stutter. You see the exact moment his gaze changes. His pupils narrow, his jaw clenches. That barely-contained storm behind his eyes. You’ve seen it before, that look, and now recognized it for what it is. Jealousy, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control.

You look down quickly, heart sinking under the weight of shame. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, because what else can you say?

(You wished they had disappeared along with the alternate Mark.

Every time you’d look in the mirror, you’d wish those marks could vanish—make it easier to forget, to pretend it hadn’t really happened.

But no matter how many times you’d wash, how hard you’d scrub until your skin turned red and raw, they’d still be there.

Eventually, you’d give up, sinking into the hot stream like you could melt into it—like you could drown the guilt, the shame, and the hunger that still throbbed beneath your skin, embedded in every lingering kiss.

Then you’d shut your eyes, mistaking the heat for his touch, the steam for his breath. You’d press your fingers into the bruises he left, hard, like you could still feel him there.

And the heat—God, the heat—wouldn’t come from the water anymore. It’d rise from deep inside you, from the places he had touched, heat coiling low in your belly every time you touched them.)

“I’m sorry,” you say again, softer this time.

You feel like you’ve messed it up—again. Like any second now, Mark’s going to snap out of it, take one good look at you and regret all of it—regret the kissing, the grinding, the confession.

“Why are you sorry?” Mark asks instead, head tilting, that painfully familiar puppy-like confusion softening his features. Then his gaze drops back to your neck, to the bruises purpling your skin, and his expression twists—something between a pout and a grimace. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but it’s difficult for him to even ask. “Do you…” he hesitates, swallowing hard. “Do you want him more?”

“No!” you answer immediately, the idea so absurd it’s nearly offensive. “Of course not.”

Because it’s always been Mark. Always.

You’ve spent these last few days pretending it was him, after all. Imagining it was your Mark’s hands that touched you, his voice that whispered those filthy, obsessive promises against your skin. Dreaming it was your Mark who kissed and claimed you, fucking you so deep into the mattress you’d never forget it was him. Every time you closed your eyes, it was him. Even when you woke up shaking, sweaty, needy—it was always him.

Still, your fingers linger on your neck, shame and guilt twisting in your chest like a knife. The bruises feel like damning evidence of your betrayal—like they’re proof of something ugly, something that might disgust him.

You can’t help the question that slips out, barely above a whisper. “Do you want me less?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate.

“No,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

And you just stare at him, torn between disbelief and overwhelming relief. It doesn’t make sense—none of this makes sense. Because—because why? Why would he forgive you? Why would he still want to want you?

Mark sees the doubt in your eyes before you even speak. His hand lifts slowly, hovering just for a moment—until it settles against your cheek, warm and gentle.

“I don’t want you less,” he says, firmer now, his gaze locked onto yours. “I just—” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his voice dropping to a rough whisper “—hate that it wasn’t me.”

Your heart stutters.

“I hate that he touched you like that—that I wasn’t there to stop it. Or—” he falters, jaw tightening as if he’s choking on his own thoughts. His cheeks flush, matching the heat on yours. “Or—fuck—that it wasn’t me. The first to do it.”

Your breath catches, lips parting in a silent gasp. His thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly, and you lean into it instinctively, like your body knows what your brain hasn’t caught up to yet. His breathing grows shaky, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips to the marks on your neck—lingering there, his tongue swiping unconsciously over his lips while something hungry blooms in his gaze.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” Mark murmurs, almost to himself. “I should’ve been brave enough to tell you I loved you. That I wanted you. That—”

He cuts himself off, closing the distance between you in one decisive movement. His eyes darken, glassy with want as they flick between your lips and the bruises on your neck.

Then—slowly, so slowly—his hand trails from your cheek to your throat, his fingers skimming the marks with featherlight touch.

“Can I…?” Mark breathes, eyes flicking between your neck and your eyes, trembling at the edge of control. “Please?”

You shiver beneath his touch, voice catching in your throat. All you can manage is a small, trembling nod.

It’s all he needs.

Mark presses you back against the wall, his arms locking around your waist with a possessiveness that sends your pulse skittering. His face buries into the crook of your neck, breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts that raise goosebumps across your skin. His lips hover—barely touching, achingly tentative—and you can’t tell if he’s teasing or just being careful.

Either way, the anticipation is torture. It’s too intimate. Too much. Too not enough. You need more, more, more.

“Mark…” you breathe, voice impatient, eyes slipping shut as your fingers tremble behind his back, clinging to the fabric of his sweater like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

Finally—finally—Mark kisses you.

His soft, warm mouth finds a bruise. He lingers for a heartbeat, then deepens it, tongue sweeping over the purpled skin in slow, deliberate strokes. A sigh escapes you, your head tipping back to give him better access as your body goes pliant against his. Mark groans, low and full of approval, the vibration traveling straight to your dick. His tongue works harder now, sucking over every bruise like he’s trying to erase them, replace them. Like he’s marking you all over again but this time with his. Like he’s trying to say mine.

“Shit, Mark…” you groan, pressing closer, chasing the friction you both left behind just a minute ago, desperate to build the heat until it swallows you whole. “Mark…”

He answers your unspoken need without hesitation. His hips snap forward, meeting yours with a roughness that punches a groan from his lips and a moan from your throat. The sound seems to unravel him—his hands tighten on your waist, pinning you flush against the wall as he sets a relentless pace. You can’t move, can’t think, can only roll your hips in time with his, each thrust drawing out another broken sound.

And all the while, his mouth never leaves your neck—sucking, licking over the bruises like he’s determined to replace every one of them with his own. Bigger. Darker. His tongue branding you with every slow, hungry drag, possessive suck.

“Fuck—mmh, Mark…” you gasp, voice wrecked and breathless, your body trembling from how much you feel him—his cock pressed thick and heavy through your clothes, his tongue hot and wet against your neck, his fingers digging into your skin with a needy kind of desperation.

It’s all too much.

Your head’s spinning, floating, untethered. You’re not even sure this is real.

“Mark,” you whisper, hoarse and pleading, “kiss me. Please. Kiss me.”

Mark pulls back from your throat with a ragged gasp, lips flushed and slick, eyes dark and dazed. And then he’s on you again—hand twisting into your hair, dragging your mouth to his in a brutal, breathless kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and heat, the kind of kiss that’s more collision than contact.

You moan into him, a fractured sound that melts right into his mouth. He swallows it greedily, groaning back with a breathy, needy sound of his own. Neither of you can breathe—it’s evident in the way your chests heave between frantic kisses, in the dizzying exchange of panting breaths, yet neither of you dares pull away. Neither of you even think about slowing down.

And it’s that—the burn in your lungs, the ache in your chest, the way your head spins from oxygen deprivation—that tells you this is real. God, it’s so real it hurts.

Mark Grayson is kissing you.

Not the maniac from another dimension. Not the twisted version of Invincible who destroyed cities and killed thousands before paying you a visit.

This is your Mark—your best friend who laughs too loud, who geeks out over comics. The boy who’s just as inexperienced as you are, yet kisses you with a determination that makes your knees weak.

This is the boy who’s a hero, not a monster.

It’s everything at once—the crushing weight of Mark pressed against you, the rough drag of his thick cock against yours through layers of fabric, the obscene wetness soaking both your pants as his hips roll in desperate, uneven thrusts— that does it. That coils the tension in your gut tighter until your legs shake violently under the weight of it. His moans vibrate against your lips, ragged and desperate, and when his hips stutter—once, twice—you break.

Your vision whites out, mouth falling open in a silent cry as you spill into your boxers, your entire body seizing around him. But Mark doesn’t stop—his thrusts grow faster, lost in the haze of pleasure, and the overstimulation wrings a choked sob from your throat—toes curling, thighs trembling as your oversensitive cock twitches helplessly. In a daze, you bite his lower lip hard enough to draw a startled whimper from him.

Then your head falls back against the wall with a wet gasp, a silver strand of spit still connecting your swollen lips.

“Ah— fuck, Mark…” you wheeze, vision swimming, the world tilting dangerously. “Fuck, fuck… I can’t—I’m gonna—”

Mark’s gaze sharpens, the lust clearing just enough for him to look—to take in the way your legs tremble around his hips, the obscene wet patch blooming across your thin pajama pants, the way your knees keep buckling from the aftershocks still rolling through you.

“Shit—” his voice cracks, hands flying to steady you. “Y/N—fuck, are you—? Did you just—?”

The raw awe in Mark’s voice makes your flush deepen unbearably. “Shut up, Grayson,” you mutter, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” he breathes, voice raspier now, fingers digging into your hips like he’s trying to ground himself. “Oh, that’s so hot.”

You groan, pressing your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard as you squeeze your eyes shut, mortified. God. You just came from grinding against him, both of you still fully dressed, like some desperate teenager. The humiliation burns worse than the pleasure.

“Should we—” Mark starts, voice unsure, cracking a little as he swallows hard. “Should we stop?”

You blink slowly, catching your breath, heartbeat still loud in your ears. The high is fading enough for you to register how hard he still is—his jeans pulled tight around the obvious strain in them, and he looks like he’s suffering. You shift awkwardly, skin burning, but the answer is easy. No, you don’t want to stop. Not even close.

“I could,” you whisper, “suck you off.”

The second it leaves your mouth, your face goes up in flames. You want to bury yourself under a rock—but you don’t take it back. Not when Mark’s breath catches in his throat, when his grip on your waist tightens, and he stares at you like you just offered him the goddamn world.

“Huh?” he blurts, like his brain just short-circuited. “You mean—you don’t have to. I can—shit, I can just—”

You yank him down by his collar, cutting off his rambling with a firm kiss.

“Mark,” you murmur against his lips, “I want to. If... if you do.”

A bead of sweat trails down his temple as he nods, rapid and jerky. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, sure. Absolutely. Please.”

The eager, clumsy response pulls a laugh from you—soft and fond. God, this is your Mark. Awkward and earnest and perfect. And you love him exactly like this.

Then, you’re sinking to your knees—right there against the wall, with Mark still caging you in. Your pulse roars in your ears as you look up through your lashes, watching his reaction unfold in real time. His lips part on a silent gasp, eyes wide like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Your heart races. His, too—you can see it in the rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s already breathing unevenly, fingers twitching at his sides before he braces them against the wall for balance.

You’re nervous—your hands tremble a little—but you mask it with a veil of confidence, your gaze steady as you reach for the waistband of his jeans. You’ve never done this before, not for anyone. But you’ve thought about it. Over and over. You’ve fantasized about this exact moment—him, always him—Mark in your mouth, groaning your name, falling apart for you.

And the thought alone has your mouth watering.

Your fingers fumble with the zipper, heat blooming in your cheeks as your mind races with possibilities. You picture him thick and heavy on your tongue, imagine the weight of him, the taste of him deep in your throat. Your lips part instinctively, anticipation pooling low in your stomach.

You glance up one last time.

Mark’s already leaning into the wall, palms flat against it like he’s afraid his knees might give out. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, chest heaving—and you haven’t even started yet.

A thrill licks up your spine, tugging a small smile to your lips as you watch him squirm.

Finally, you tug at the waistband of his jeans, peeling it down along with his boxers in one slow, deliberate motion. His cock springs free, already fully hard and trapped for so long that it curves upward eagerly, the dark flushed tip glistening with precum. You hear Mark’s breath hitch sharply, his abdomen flexing as his whole body tenses.

And damn... he’s big. Just as big as you remember from his variant. Thick, veiny, heavy—pure Viltrumite genes. But this time, the size doesn’t intimidate you. Not even a little. This time, you bite your bottom lip, pulse quickening with excitement. Then you wrap your fingers around the base of him, feeling the heat and weight in your hand. He groans, breath hitching, hips giving the tiniest, desperate jerk toward you like he didn’t mean to move but couldn’t stop himself.

You lean in slowly, breath warm against his sensitive cock, watching how it jumps under your touch. There’s a bead of precum glistening at the tip, catching the light, and your tongue flicks out—just a little closer, just a little more.

“Oh my god…” he breathes, voice cracking like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You’re actually—you’re really gonna… oh my god—”

His words dissolve into a choked moan when you finally take him into your mouth, the taste flooding your senses—salty and musky and something uniquely Mark. You take him into your mouth slowly, tentatively, clumsy as you try to adjust to the stretch of him. Your lips drag awkwardly over his length, your jaw already aching, but you hum, determined, and take a little more, and feel his whole body jerk in response.

“S-shit! Shit, Y/N, that’s—” his hips stutter forward before he catches himself when you nearly choke, hands turning into fists against the wall. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—oh fuck, your mouth—”

One of his trembling hands finally finds your hair, fingers tangling gently at first before tightening unconsciously when you suck harder. The broken noise he makes goes straight to your own groin. Jesus. You’ll let him grab you however he wants if he keeps making those sounds.

“F-Fuck,” he whimpers. “Oh god, that feels—shit, it feels so good—oh my god—”

Every choked-off groan, every aborted thrust of Mark’s hips sends fresh heat coiling low in your belly. He’s falling apart just from this, just from you, and the power of it leaves you lightheaded. God, it’s better than you’d fantasized. The weight of him on your tongue, the way your lips strain around his girth, the salt-bitter taste of precum flooding your mouth—it’s overwhelming in the best way.

It’s messy, awkward even. Your jaw aches a little already, and your rhythm is more trial and error than skill—mouth bobbing up and down, hand working the base in shaky sync. You know it’s obvious you’ve never done this before. Maybe you’re not even doing it right. But from the way Mark reacts—thighs trembling, the punched-out whimpers spilling from his lips, the white-knuckled grip he has on the wall for balance—it’s clear you’re doing something right.

So you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

You want this. You want him. Just like this.

Then, when you swirl your tongue along a thick vein on his cock, hollowing your cheeks with a deep suck, Mark shatters. His moan cracks through the room, raw and unfiltered, as his hips jerk forward on instinct. The sudden push sends him deeper than before, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with a jolt that makes you gag. Your eyes water, throat clenching around him, lips stretched painfully wide. It hurts, it burns—but strangely, the stretch feels so good that heat flares, sharp and intense, straight to your own cock.

And then Mark’s yanking back, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. “Shit—sorry, fuck, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice cracking as he stares down at you in horror. His face is flushed and guilt-stricken, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to do that—God, are you okay?”

You catch your breath, lips parted as you pant unsteadily, chest rising and falling with effort. Your throat still burns, your eyes sting faintly, and your jaw aches—but none of it bothers you.

You lift one trembling thumb to the corner of your mouth, wiping away the mess of spit slicking your lips. When you glance up at Mark again, he looks wrecked, still flushed, still trembling with arousal—but his hands hover awkwardly, like he’s afraid to touch you now.

God, that hurt. The stretch in your throat was raw, intense, almost too much.

But it also felt so good.

“I’m okay,” you rasp, voice hoarse but sure. Your cheeks burn hot with your confession, but you don’t look away. “I—I don’t mind if you… lose control a little.”

Mark blinks, still breathing hard. “Huh?” he asks dumbly, his voice dazed. “No, that’s—I don’t—” His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N…”

Despite his words, his hips betray him, twitching forward ever so slightly, like he’s already imagining it again.

You lick your lips, greedy and insatiable, the taste of him still lingering there. All you want is to feel that weight again—the ache, the stretch, the sting at the back of your throat. The way he made you feel full, like you couldn’t take another inch and still wanted to try.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper again, lashes fluttering as embarrassment bubbles up—but not enough to stop you. How do you even say this? How do you explain needing him like this? “I really…” a shaky breath, “want you to fuck my mouth. Please?”

Mark’s eyes go wide. His mouth parts in a soundless gasp, his whole face flushing deep crimson, like the words physically hit him. “Are you—” he stammers, swallowing thickly, “are you sure?”

You nod, resting one hand gently on his hip. With the other, you drag your thumb across the flushed tip of his cock, smearing the bead of precum there. He groans, low and broken, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

“I’m sure,” you breathe, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed head, tasting the salt and bitterness of him. “I’m so sure, Mark.”

Mark’s hips jerk violently when you take him back into your mouth—a little deeper this time, a little more confident—his cock twitching against your tongue.

“Fuck—” his voice cracks. “Y/N, I—”

But still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t let himself fall into the temptation, not fully. He holds himself back with a trembling restraint, biting his lip so hard it turns pale, brows drawn tight, sweat glistening on his forehead. A moan catches in his throat as you work him over—slow licks, teasing sucks, your tongue gliding along every ridge and vein, doing everything in your power to break him.

“Oh god—” he chokes out, eyes squeezing shut as his hips twitch forward, just slightly, sliding deeper into your mouth.

Even then, you feel the hesitation, the way Mark is fighting himself—desperate to lose control, to give in, but terrified of hurting you.

“You’re so—fuck—it’s too good—,” he sobs, voice high and tight with pleasure. “You’re so—my god—hot.”

The praise coils heat low in your belly.

You pull back until just the head rests on your tongue, savoring his choked whimper. Then—with a steadying breath—you sink down, lips stretching obscenely as you take him deeper than before. You don’t stop when it hurts. Not when the pressure burns. Not when your throat tightens and your gag reflex threatens to kick in the moment his cock hits the back of your throat.

You hum, the vibrations swallowed by the stretch in your throat, and your own arousal spikes sharply at the overwhelming fullness, the stinging pressure, the weight of him.

And Mark—Mark completely shatters.

He throws his head back with a strangled, guttural cry, the sound ripped straight from his chest. His grip on control slips. Hips twitch forward on instinct, not violently, but fast enough to force a gag out of you, your nose brushing against the base of him.

Mark gasps, eyes snapping open in panic the moment he realizes what he’s done. “Fuck, I’m sorry—”

But before he can pull away again, before his worry ruins the high building between you, you dig your fingers into his sweat-slick hips and drag him closer, taking him to the hilt, until you can feel him pulsing somewhere behind your tongue. The pressure is so deep it knocks the breath out of you and settles low in your core. Your eyes sting, tears welling, but you don’t let go. Not yet.

Mark chokes on a moan.

“Fuck! My god, fuck, mmh, Y/N—” he whines, voice cracking beautifully. His chest rises and falls in frantic, shallow bursts, his fists clenched so tightly on the wall that his knuckles turn bone white. “Y/N, ah, I can’t—that feels—oh, you feel—”

He can’t finish the sentence.

He just moans, dissolving into low, breathless curses and half-formed words. Nothing coherent. Just helpless sounds of pleasure as you swallow around him, hollow your cheeks, hum at the sheer power of making him fall apart like this.

Then, when he finally can’t resist anymore, his hands fall from the wall with a trembling lack of grace, letting his forehead drop against it with a dull thud. A second later, his fingers slide into your hair, rough and sure, gripping tight at the roots as his palm cups the back of your head. When he looks down at you, his eyes are glazed over—wild and unfocused—lips red and swollen from how hard he’s been biting them.

The sight alone sends electricity crackling down your spine, goosebumps breaking across your skin. You’re completely, helplessly caged now—trapped between Mark’s thick cock filling your mouth and the wall at your back, with his hands in your hair, keeping you there. And all you can do is look up at him through teary lashes, his cock still nestled on your tongue, and wait.

“Okay,” Mark whispers, voice thick with arousal, low and rough like it scrapes the inside of his throat. “Okay… If you want it that bad—then have it.”

You don’t even get a chance to savor the victory.

Mark’s hips snap forward without hesitation, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your throat convulses around him, tears springing to your eyes as he bottoms out—but the choked noise you make only seems to undo him further.

“Ah fuck…” he whimpers, head knocking back against the wall, his fingers fisting in your hair, dragging you in deeper as he rolls his hips. “Fuck—Y/N—Just like that. Just like—”

The words dissolve into a groan as he starts to move in earnest, his hips driving forward while his hands guide you deeper. Each thrust hits the back of your throat with perfect precision—that sweet spot where pain and pleasure blur into something heady and intoxicating.

You force your throat to relax around him, swallowing reflexively even as spit spills from your stretched lips in glistening strands. The burn is exquisite—the ache in your jaw, the stretch of your mouth, the tears pricking at your lashes— every sensation confirming how completely he’s using you.

“Fuck!” Mark’s groans above you, his thighs trembling. “God, you take me so well—” His thrusts turn erratic, the slick sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. “So fucking perfect like this—”

When you blink up at him—watery-eyed, lips swollen, chin glistening—Mark completely loses it.

His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling just enough to sting as his hips stutter. You feel the moment he tips over the edge—the way his cock swells, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his entire body tensing tighter and tighter.

“Oh fuck,” Mark chokes out, eyes squeezed shut, his hands shaking in your hair as his hips rhythm’s falter. “Y/N, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You barely have time to brace yourself—your heart slamming against your ribs—before he falls apart.

With a shattered cry, Mark thrusts one final time, hard and deep and primal, burying himself so far in your throat that your nose brushes into the sweat-damp curls at his groin. His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him until you’re choking.

Then you feel it.

There’s no warning, no chance to prepare, no space to breathe. His cock throbs, pulsing hard against your tongue as he comes, hot and thick, spilling straight down your throat in heavy spurts. You stifle a cough, eyes squeezing shut as tears well and spill, the pressure nearly too much, your throat clenching and flexing against the merciless intrusion.

“Fuck—fuck—!”

Mark groans, high and broken, giving one last desperate grind of his hips like he can’t help himself. The head of his cock nudges impossibly deeper with each twitch, his balls pressing against your chin as he rides out his orgasm. You gag around him but don’t pull away—can’t pull away—not with the way his hands are tangled tight in your hair, holding you there, not with how far he’s buried himself inside you. All you can do is swallow around the heavy spurts of cum, each twitch of his cock coating your tongue and sliding down your throat, leaving your eyes stinging and your lungs burning.

But it’s okay.

It’s perfect.

This is the sting you’d been chasing.

On your knees, mouth full, Mark’s musky scent thick in the air, the taste of his cum coating your tongue, sliding down your throat in slow, hot pulses. The ache in your jaw. The tears drying on your cheeks. The need to please him—and only him. The right Mark. The one who’s kind. The one who’s good.

When he finally pulls back, his cock slips free from your lips with a lewd, wet pop, leaving you dazed and panting. You let your head fall against one of his trembling thighs, lightheaded and dizzy as you catch your breath. Your throat aches in the best way, the burn sharp and satisfying as you swallow down the last of him with slow, heavy gulps.

“Oh my god—” Mark exhales, voice rough and breathless. “Y/N, I’m—god—I’m sorry…”

His hands are gentle as they haul you up, steadying you when your legs threaten to buckle. The guilt in his tone is almost comical—as if he could ever hurt you, as if this isn’t exactly what you wanted.

“Shit—I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he’s afraid to find pain there. “You okay? I’m sorry—I should’ve—should’ve stopped before—”

You silence him with a kiss—deep and consuming, filled with heat and reassurance. Mark groans into it, tasting himself on your tongue, his hands sliding to your waist to grip you tightly like its reflex.

“You didn’t,” you murmur when you break apart, voice hoarse but sure. “I love you.”

Mark exhales shakily, eyes glassy and dazed, dark with something fragile.

“I love you too,” he breathes. “God—that was... so good. I—I love you so much, Y/N. Jesus… Are you sure you’re okay?”

To make his point, he gently wipes the corners of your eyes where tears still linger, his thumb soft against your skin, his expression faltering with concern.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hands settle on his shoulders. “I’m okay... Are you okay?” Your gaze drifts downward pointedly.

“Huh?” Mark blinks, still dazed, before following your line of sight. His cock, which had started to soften, now perks up once more, half-hard and rising again with a visible twitch. He flushes deep red, mortified. “Oh—shit. I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what’s—I mean—You were amazing and I already came, so I don’t know why—”

You laugh quietly, fondly, cutting him off with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Mark,” you murmur, voice low and close to his ear. “We’re not done yet.”

He barely has time to register what you’ve said before you’re pressing on his shoulders, guiding him backwards. He stumbles with a startled yelp, his jeans and boxers still tangled around his knees, making him waddle back awkwardly like a penguin. And then—with a final push—he drops onto your bed, landing on his back with a bounce, eyes wide and stunned as he looks up at you from the mattress.

The sun’s just started to rise outside your window, casting long streaks of gold across the room. It catches the curve of his cheek, the red of his lips. And it catches yours too—the light spilling over the softness in your eyes, the affection so fierce it makes your chest ache.

Mark props himself up on his elbows, staring at you with flushed cheeks, red ears, and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The sight is so endearingly vulnerable it coaxes a soft smile from you before you can stop it.

Then, wordlessly, you reach for the hem of your t-shirt. You pull it over your head in one fluid motion, revealing your bare chest to the growing warmth of the morning light. Before hesitation can creep in, you hook your thumbs under the waistband of your pajama pants and underwear, pushing them down, one knee after the other, until there’s nothing covering you.

Mark’s breath catches audibly as he takes you in. His pupils dilate, eyes raking over you, wide and reverent. He sees everything—all of you—and his gaze doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, it sharpens.

There are marks on your skin. Faint purple bruises. Bite imprints. The shadow of fingerprints where his variant had held you too tightly. Mark’s gaze darkens as he takes them all in. He follows every trace like he’s deciding where he’s going to start replacing them—where he’ll press his own fingerprints over those old ones, where he’ll bite to make new ones.

Your pulse thrums wildly at the thought, heat pooling low in your belly.

Still, the question slips out, quiet and uncertain. “Do you… still want me?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” His voice cracks as his eyes drop lower, where your cock stands hard and aching. “God, yes. Yes. Always.”

The raw certainty in his voice sends your heart fluttering. You step forward until your knees bump the mattress, then climb toward him with deliberate slowness. Mark watches, transfixed, his breathing growing erratic—sharp inhales followed by shaky exhales, as if he’s forgotten how lungs work.

You can’t help the soft chuckle that slips from your lips as you straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his hips. Your fingers reach for the hem of his sweater, tugging gently, and Mark lifts his arms obediently, swallowing hard as you peel the fabric off him. As you do, he kicks the rest of his jeans off in an awkward scramble that makes you bite back another smile.

When Mark is finally bare beneath you, his chest rising and falling like he’s already worn out, he locks eyes with you. There’s nothing guarded in his gaze now—just raw, honest adoration.

You lean in and kiss him.

One hand trails across his chest, feeling the hard flex of muscle, the way his abs clench and shiver under your palm. Mark sighs against your mouth, melting into it.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers squeezing, greedy, like he needs to memorize the shape of you. He groans low in his throat as they climb higher—until they curl around the swell of your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasp, startled and electric, just as his teeth graze your bottom lip in a teasing bite.

“Y/N…” Mark breathes, dazed and needy, his hips lifting instinctively, desperately, trying to grind against you—trying to chase just a little more friction between your cocks. “Please… come on, please…”

You swallow his plea with another kiss, languidly tangling your tongue with his before breaking apart. Beneath you, Mark looks utterly wrecked—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, panting in the heavy quiet. The room is thick with heat and want, the air nearly humming with it. But even with your own cock leaking against his, aching just as bad, you press a steady hand to his chest and push him back until his head meets the pillows in a soft bounce.

“Y/N?” he asks, brows knitting, a pout forming—but he doesn’t resist. He just looks at you, confused, a little breathless, waiting.

You pause for a moment, just taking him in.

That night with his variant, everything had been cloaked in shadows—his body, his face, his expression. And sure, it’s not like you didn’t know it was him—Mark, hero and all. But damn, your Mark is built like something out of a dream—broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscles shifting under your hands, chest rising fast with every breath. And now, in the soft glow of morning, Mark’s features aren’t shadowed, aren’t dark, aren’t animalistic.

Just sunlight slipping through your open window, catching in his hair, warm across his skin. His head sinks into your pillow, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes locked on you like you’re something holy—eyes full of something close to worship. And fuck, he looks perfect.

You bite your bottom lip, anticipation thrumming through your veins, before reaching toward your bedside drawer. Your fingers wrap around the familiar shapes—lube and a condom—and when you pull them out, Mark’s eyes go wide.

His gaze darts from your face to your hands and back again, his chest rising quicker, excitement blooming across every inch of his skin.

“Oh my god, are we—” he swallows, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, are you—are you sure?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, but you don’t look away. “I’m sure,” you murmur, voice quiet but steady. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he breathes, voice thin and shaky, his fingers trembling right where they rest on your hips.

“Yeah?” you repeat, a little breathless yourself, as you flick open the lube cap with a quiet pop.

Mark nods, eyes fixed on you with laser focus, like he’s drinking in the sight of you—every movement, every breath. His lips part slightly, tongue flicking out unconsciously, and it makes your heart flip, your body hot all over.

The lube is cold when it hits your fingers, slick and slippery. You brace yourself, resting your free hand against Mark’s chest where his heart thunders beneath your palm, and lift yourself slightly on your knees. You try to block out the way his gaze clings to you, the way it makes your stomach twist with nerves and desire at once, and you slide your fingers lower, toward your entrance.

You swallow, breath catching, and with a soft gasp—one you don’t know whether it’s yours or his—you press a finger inside.

Mark jerks beneath you, his cock twitching, hips lifting off the bed slightly like his body is trying to follow yours. His grip on your waist tightens—not hurting, but holding, trembling, like he’s trying so hard not to lose control. You know you must look obscene like this, fucking yourself open on top of him, and it clearly does something to him. His fingers dig in, a low, choked noise leaving his throat.

But then—suddenly—he lets out a breath that sounds nearly pained, one hand snapping up to grab your wrist and still you.

You freeze, eyes flying open, confusion and a flicker of panic flooding through you.

“Mark?” your voice comes out small. “What’s wrong?”

But his eyes aren’t on yours. They’re locked on your leaking cock, on the way your body moves, his gaze so full of hunger it nearly knocks the air out of you.

His voice is shaky when he speaks. “Can I—” he breathes. “Can I do it?”

A shudder runs through you as you register his question, then you nod, dazed.

That’s all the permission Mark needs.

He reaches for the lube, coating his fingers with shaky hands, then lifts your hips with a care that makes your heart skip. You brace your arms behind you, palms resting against his knees, back arched in anticipation.

“Like—like this?” he asks, voice uncertain but eager, his slick fingers trailing toward your entrance, brushing lightly in a way that steals your breath.

“Yes,” you exhale, eyes half-lidded. “It’s okay… just push—”

He pushes in before you finish speaking, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, body jerking at the intrusion. His fingers are thicker than your own, the stretch immediately noticeable.

“That’s fine?” he asks, already breathless.

“Fuck—yes,” you mutter, thighs trembling.

Mark watches, fascinated, as your hips twitch, silently begging for more. He complies eagerly, sinking deeper. “Oh shit,” he murmurs. “You—you feel so tight, so warm.”

You bite your lip as he begins moving experimentally, feeling your body gradually relax and accept him. Then he slides in a second finger.

Your head tilts back, a pant escaping your lips.

“Shit—” you groan, the tip of your cock leaking messily against your stomach, throbbing with the weight of your arousal. “Deeper, fuck, deeper, Mark. It’s fine. I can—ah—handle it.”

Mark’s breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes in a third finger.

It makes you jolt—your toes curl, your vision whitens, and a broken moan slips past your lips before you can even try to hold it back.

It’s different.

You never felt this way when you did it yourself.

You’d tried. Again and again, chasing the same fucking high from that first time—but it never came close.

(You’d jerk awake in the darkness of your new apartment from yet another haunting dream—sheets clinging to sweat-slick skin, body trembling.

You’d feel disgusting, guilty, and ashamed—because it was another dream of Mark doing things to you he’d never done before. Not your Mark, anyway.

In the darkness of your room, alone and overwhelmed by shame, you’d vividly remember the touch of not-your-Mark’s hands on you, his shuddering breaths against your ear, his possessive grip, his kisses down your throat, his groans and growls, the sheer size of him, buried so deep inside you that it jolted your entire body.

And when you’d finally come to, breath caught and sheets damp, you’d realize it wasn’t really the variant you were dreaming of. Because in the haze, his face would shift—when the sneering cruelty melted into your Mark’s tender expression, his touch gentling even as he fucked you deeper.

Your cock would throb against your pajamas, traitorous, and aching with a need that refused to be ignored.

You’d buy lube the next day like some shameful criminal, hoping to drown the thirst you couldn’t shake.

But deep into another restless night, jerking awake from a dream that left your body aching, Mark’s face seared into your mind like it had been burned into your eyelids—fingers buried knuckle-deep inside yourself—you’d realize something awful.

You can’t.

You can’t satisfy it. The need. The wanting. The hunger.

Mark’s variant had whispered it, during that heated moment, a filthy promise in your ear: Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

And he’d been right.)

But with Mark—

With Mark—

Fuck, it feels good. It feels right.

So good it melts your inhibitions, strips away your shame. You let every sound fall from your lips—gasps, moans, breathless cries—because he’s reaching places inside you that’ve ached ever since the day you learned what it felt like to be touched—to be wanted—by him.

“Fuck, Mark—fuck!” you cry out, biting your lip hard in a half-hearted attempt to stifle the filth spilling out. “Oh fuck, that’s it—that’s so good—”

Mark responds by pushing deeper, fingers curling just right. Your hips stutter, body trembling.

His mouth is parted, breathing shaky, eyes dark and full of reverent lust as he watches you unravel. He takes in every twitch, every sob, every buck of your hips, like he’s burning it into his memory—learning exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you writhe, what makes you lose control.

Then he twists his fingers just right, and your mouth falls open in a soundless moan.

Your toes curl, your arms nearly give out. “There—” you gasp, voice wrecked, “there, yeah, that’s—god—”

Mark can’t hold back any longer.

With a low, guttural growl, he props himself up—one arm curling tight around your waist, the other still working you open. You gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but your breath is stolen the moment his lips crash against yours. It’s fierce, bruising—desperate. You wrap your arms around his neck without thinking, pulling him closer. He moans into your mouth, swallowing every shaky breath, every whine, every broken sound that slips from you.

“Fuck—Y/N,” he pants between kisses, voice wrecked and trembling. “Let me—mmh—let me, please. Please.”

You know exactly what he’s asking.

You don’t need to ask.

You don’t need him to say it.

It’s written all over him—in the way his hips buck into the air, his cock flushed dark red and leaking steadily, twitching with need. In the way his muscles tense and flex with restraint he’s barely hanging onto. In the way his fingers keep fucking into you, wet and slick, the obscene sounds echoing in the quiet, sunlit room.

And god—you want it too.

You’ve wanted this. You’ve dreamed of this.

Over and over, the memory of that first time replayed in your head like a sweet nightmare, haunting you with something you never thought you’d feel again. Not with your Mark. Not after everything. Not if he hated you.

But shit. You were wrong.

He doesn’t hate you.

Mark wants you.

Despite everything. Despite what you did. Despite the marks someone else left on your skin. Despite the betrayal.

He still wants you.

And fuck, he wants you bad.

So you kiss him, tongue sliding against his, messy and desperate. You let him suck and lick into your mouth however he wants, because god, he seems starving for it. Like he’s been holding back for years. Then, you press a hand to his solid chest. He lets you, even though your strength is nothing compared to his—but Mark lets you guide him anyway. Lets you push him down, pull away from the kiss, lips swollen and glistening, a soft pout on his face and heat in his eyes, waiting eagerly.

His fingers slip out of you with an obscene, wet sound, and despite everything, a needy gasp escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness. But the thought of what’s coming—something thicker, fuller—makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

Mark’s head falls back onto your pillows, messy hair damp with sweat leaving faint prints in the fabric. There’s a giddy thrill in knowing that, even after this day, your sheets will carry the raw, distinct scent of Mark Grayson in them.

He watches you intently, eyes burning with anticipation, breathing shallow.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, grabbing the condom and tearing it open. Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “I’ll take care of you, Mark.”

Because today, you wanted to be the one to give him everything he craved—to make him feel good, to pleasure him. It was your weakest, most pathetic way of making up for letting another version of him touch you first. But it was all you had to offer.

You settle on his thighs, fingers curling around his thick, heavy cock, rolling the condom down his length with painstaking care. Mark’s eyes flutter shut, his head falling back into your pillow with a soft moan, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.

“Y/N…” he breathes out, voice cracking around your name. “God—Y/N…”

You don’t stop, making sure the condom fits just right. Then you reach for the lube, slicking your fingers generously before wrapping them around his cock again. He jerks in your hand, hips twitching helplessly as you spread it evenly, coating him until he’s glistening and ready.

“Please—fuck—please…” Mark gasps, barely holding it together. His voice is raw, thick with need, and every broken sound he makes sends a fresh coil of heat twisting in your gut.

You swallow hard, the fire in your belly almost unbearable. “It’s okay,” you repeat, softer this time, though you’re no longer sure who you’re reassuring—him or yourself.

Finally satisfied, you lift your hips—guiding his cock with a shaky breath toward your entrance. The swollen tip brushes against your rim, thick and fat, and it makes you flinch with anticipation. Mark’s head snaps up instantly, his eyes flying open, dazed and dilated, lips parting like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Oh my god—” he whispers, almost in awe.

You sink down slowly, just enough to take in the tip, and a gasp tears from your lips. Mark lets out a low groan, biting into his bottom lip as his brows knit tight with restraint. His fingers claw at the sheets beside him, knuckles white, trying so hard not to thrust up into you.

You look at him then.

Flushed, eyes half-lidded, his chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady bursts. The sunlight filters across his face, casting him in a warm, golden glow, making him look like something unreal. Like something angelic and ethereal.

He’s nothing like the other version of himself.

This Mark isn’t looming over you with control. He’s underneath you, undone, baring his vulnerability like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

This isn’t the Mark who took; this is the Mark who gives, who lets you take the lead without hesitation.

And when he looks at you, it’s not with obsession or possessiveness. It’s with reverence.

Your Mark—all sunlight, warmth, kindness, the one you fell for, the one you never stopped aching for.

Your Mark, who meets your gaze with pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and aching despair when you don’t move.

You grin—soft and disbelieving. Your heart swells with something too big to name, affection blooming so wildly it nearly chokes you. You can’t believe this is real. That it’s not some dream clawing at your chest in the middle of the night, reminding you of what you could never have. Because it’s not.

You have it now.

You have him.

Your Mark.

Mark’s hips stutter upward with a whimper, his cock sliding just that fraction deeper inside you. When your eyes meet again, you make sure he sees it—knows it.

“I love you,” you say.

He freezes, then his eyes soften, wide with something so raw and tender it punches the air from your lungs. A shy, breathless smile tugs at his lips, and he murmurs. “I love you too.”

It’s enough to make you start rolling your hips—once, twice, three times—in slow, teasing circles over his tip. Your body heats under the friction, under the weight of his gaze. And when Mark exhales, a soft sigh slipping from his parted lips, that’s when you move.

You drop onto him in one smooth, determined motion, sheathing his cock fully inside you with a single thrust, helped by the slick glide of lube.

Mark’s reaction is immediate—head snapping back, mouth falling open as a guttural moan rips out of him, eyes fluttering shut, spine arching hard against the mattress. His hands shoot to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise—bruises that, for sure, you’ll trace later with a breathless kind of joy instead of regret.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck!” he chokes out, hips jerking up instinctively, driving in deeper. “Fuck—Y/N, you’re—you’re so—” his voice splinters, breaking into a wrecked, almost-whimper, “—tight.”

You pant, head tipping back with a broken cry, your body twitching as Mark stretches you open. “Oh my god, Mark—”

His cock throbs inside you—thick, full, massive—just like you remembered. He’s forcing you open in a way you never thought you’d feel again. In a way it aches, burns, and hurts.

It’s too much—you know it is. You should’ve taken your time, let yourself adjust, eased into it. But god—god—you liked it. The overwhelming stretch, the raw, sudden fullness. The steady throb of Mark’s cock buried inside you.

You realized it that night—when Mark’s variant had pushed in without gentleness, without patience or shame—that you fucking loved being used like that.

He should’ve known, of course. Just like he knew everything else about you. That the fullness drove you mad. That the ache didn’t repel you, it fed something inside you—something primal, greedy, and starved. That no one could ever satisfy it but him.

Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

A shudder runs through you.

Yeah. Yeah.

No one but Mark.

No one.

“F-Fuck,” Mark stammers, his voice thick with heat, his expression crumpling in bliss. “Mmh—fuck—it’s so hot, it’s—god, it’s like I’m gonna melt.”

His hips roll deeper into you without thought, dragging a sharp, broken whimper from your lips. Your muscles tighten around him, a visceral reaction, and Mark chokes on a moan—half sound, half sob—as his fingers clamp harder into your skin.

“Mark—” you gasp, hands flying to his chest to steady yourself, nails digging into solid muscle as you tremble. “Nngh—how—how does it feel?”

“So good,” he chokes out, chest heaving. “God—it’s so good. You’re—fuck—you’re perfect. Just—”

His words dissolve into incoherence, his body trembling under yours. His chest is rising too fast, too shallow, his face flushed red and wrecked, lips parted in stunned, shivering gasps. He’s coming undone right beneath you, completely losing it, and you haven’t even started yet.

You watch, equal parts awed and concerned—because you need him here. Not spiraling. Not fading.

“Mark,” you whisper, cupping his flushed cheek, your thumb gently brushing over his heated skin. “I’m right here. Breathe.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, like your voice alone gave him permission to come back to earth.

“That’s it,” you soothe, grounding him, voice soft but firm. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe.”

Little by little, through shaky, shallow inhales, Mark’s eyes flutter open. You smile at him, tender and full of adoration, and reach up to wipe the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. When his gaze finally lands on you—dazed and wide—his pupils are so blown they nearly swallow the brown of his eyes whole.

“My god—” he exhales, forehead slick with sweat, chest rising and falling slower now. “Oh my god, Y/N. Are you—are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The question’s ridiculous, really—he was the one on the edge of passing out from forgetting to breathe.

You let out a soft chuckle. “I’m okay,” you reassure, stroking his cheek, then squeezing his cock with a deliberate clench. He gasps beneath you, twitching inside. “Are you, Mark?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding frantically as he swallows thickly, hips giving the smallest, involuntary jerk. “Peachy. Great. Never been better. Just—just a little… overwhelmed.”

“We can wait—”

“No. No!” he interrupts, voice pitched and desperate. His hands grab at your hips, dragging you down, sinking himself even deeper inside you. You gasp at the sharp, pulsing stretch—at the feel of every ridge, every thick inch of him. “Shit—sorry—fuck, I can’t wait,” he groans, breath hitching again. “I need you.”

Your cheeks burn, heart stuttering, desire coursing through your veins like wildfire—lighting you up from the inside out. Mark needs you. Holy shit. The words echo through your mind on an endless loop—sharp, breathless, haunting. Words you’ve longed to hear—to feel.

Your voice is barely a whisper, foggy with disbelief and affection. “Okay.”

Your hand drifts from his cheek to his chest, palm gliding over the warm, sweat-slicked skin, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned torso. Mark shivers beneath your touch, breath hitching, like your fingers alone are short-circuiting him. Then, slowly, you trail your hands down his arms, catching his wrists and guiding them lower—down, down—until his palms rest against the flat of your stomach.

Mark’s eyes widen instantly, a sharp breath tearing from his lips as his gaze snaps downward.

“You feel that?” you whisper, rolling your hips in the smallest motion, just enough to press his hand deeper into your abdomen. “That’s you.”

You already knew it’d be there—just like the first time. That small, firm bump rising from the flat plane of your stomach—where Mark’s cock is buried so deep, so thick and long and overwhelming, it carves a visible imprint against your abdomen.

Mark chokes on a sound that’s half-groan, half-growl. “Ah, shit…”

His eyes are blown wide, locked on the bulge beneath his hand, thumb slowly pressing into it like he can’t believe it’s real.

His voice comes out hoarse, wrecked with awe and arousal. “Shit—look at that. Look how deep I am. Fuck, Y/N…”

Mark thrusts up experimentally, a sudden jolt of his hips that punches a yelp from your throat. But your body responds before your mind can catch up—thighs trembling, you lift yourself just enough to drop back down, and the sharp rush of pleasure that crashes through you both is instant.

His eyes flutter, unfocused, locked on where your bodies meet—the slow shift of his cock inside you, how far he sinks in, how deep you let him go. Rearranging you. Filling you so completely he looks like he might lose his mind.

“Aw fuck—” Mark groans, voice cracking around the edges, head lolling back before snapping forward again, trying to keep watching. “Fuck—I’m inside—I’m so fucking deep—”

He proves it in the next moment—hips snapping upward at the exact moment you slam down. The impact draws twin cries from you both, his hands still pressing into your belly like he needs the tactile proof of just how deep he’s buried. You rock into him again, and again, the rhythm building into something messy, urgent, addictive.

“Yeah, Mark—” you pant, voice shaky, trembling with every word, “—yeah, nh—it’s you.”

“Fuck—” he breathes, brows knotting together in that beautifully wrecked way, lips parted, breath stuttering. “Mmh—fuck, it’s so hot. You’re so—shit—so fucking hot—”

His voice dissolves into broken sounds—soft whimpering breaths, helpless noises you never imagined you’d hear from him. And god, the way he’s falling apart under you makes something burn in your chest.

You reach for him again, hands finding his wrists, guiding his palms away from your belly, intertwining your fingers with his. You start moving in earnest—hips rolling, grinding, riding him with purpose now. You use his hands as leverage, keeping them pinned against your waist, making him hold you steady as you fuck yourself down onto his cock like you were made for it.

“Y/N—ah—Y/N—” Mark groans, his voice ragged, hips jerking up to meet you halfway. He’s trying, trying so hard to match your rhythm, to give you everything. “Fuck—ngh—Y/N—”

“Oh god, oh god—!” you cry out, head falling back as one especially deep thrust slams into that spot, sending white-hot sparks ripping up your spine. “Mark—fuck—there—oh my god, there—”

You slam down at the same moment Mark snaps his hips up, and his cock slams straight into your prostate so hard it sends a white-hot jolt through your body—your vision blurs, eyes nearly rolling back into your skull.

“Holy fuck—! Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” you gasp, your whole body arching into the pleasure. “Fuck, Mark—Mark—”

Your nails dig into his arms, clenching around him, pulsing and tight and desperate. You ride him with everything you have—up and down, again and again—chasing that perfect heat, that delicious pressure deep inside you, stretched full around the thick length of him. Your own cock leaks helplessly, slapping against the firmness of his stomach with every bounce, every thrust, adding sparks of stimulation that make your whole body twitch.

“Shit—Y/N—fuck, like this?” Mark pants, meeting your hips with frantic thrusts. His eyes are wide and dark with arousal but still so painfully earnest—always checking, always making sure. “Here? Feels good?”

“Yes!” you cry out, spine curving as you push down harder, grinding into him, pressing in deep, chasing more even when you’re already full to the brim. “Yes, yes—yes!”

Every nerve in your body lights up—your fingertips, your thighs, your cock, all buzzing with raw, electric heat. And when you angle your hips just a little lower, just right, Mark’s thick cock crashes into your prostate again—and again—and again, pounding that spot in a rough, perfect rhythm that steals the air from your lungs.

“Fuuuuck—” you gasp, voice catching in your throat as your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure burning hot and blinding. “Oh god—it feels so good—so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Mark pants beneath you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, gripping you like he can’t get enough. He drives up into you, deeper, harder, and the greedy way he squeezes you makes your head spin. “Jesus—you feel amazing,” he groans, breath shaky. “You’re so fucking tight, I’m—I swear you’re gonna kill me—fuck—”

Your thighs are burning now, trembling from the strain. Your stomach coils, muscles seizing with effort.

“Ah—ngh—Mark—I can’t—” you whimper, voice breaking as you cling to him, nails dragging across his shoulders as your strength slips. You’re shaking all over, legs giving out, rhythm falling apart.

You can’t keep going. Even though your body wants to. Even though you’d give anything to ride him into oblivion. But your legs shake violently, threatening to give out entirely. The only thing keeping you moving is Mark—his strong hands lifting your hips, guiding you up and down on his cock.

“I can’t—Mark,” you sob, eyes brimming with overwhelmed tears. “Please—fuck me. Just fuck me—”

Mark growls—deep and guttural—and you barely have time to breathe before he shifts, rolling you to the side. The world tilts, everything spinning—and then you’re on your back, blinking up at him, caged beneath the weight of his arms on either side of your face.

And then he kisses you like he’s starving, swallowing your gasps as he devours your mouth with desperation. You cling to him, barely coherent, mind already melting as his body aligns with yours again, cock pulsing hot and heavy where it presses against your entrance.

Instinctively, your legs lock tight around his waist, arms looping around his neck. Mark thrusts back in with one smooth, deep stroke—your body taking him effortlessly, like it’s made to welcome him. Your toes curl at the stretch, at the sheer fullness of him, stars bursting behind your eyes as another desperate, broken moan rips from your throat—one that Mark swallows greedily between kisses, mouths moving feverishly against each other.

“Mmph—Mark,” you pant into his mouth, barely able to breathe, “I love—mmh—I love you.”

Mark pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears of pleasure that mirror your own. “Fuck, Y/N—” His voice cracks, hips stuttering. “I love you. So much. So much.”

You nod, dazed and floating. “Don’t stop. Please—keep going.”

And he does.

He fucks into you hard, desperate, the sound of skin meeting skin raw and constant. He now knows you can take it—knows you want it—and Christ, he wants it so bad too. Wants to lose himself inside you, feel every inch of you wrapped around him as his self-control frays and snaps, tension coiled so tight in his gut it’s barely manageable. You’re squeezing him perfectly, body clenching down like you need him, and every sound you make pulls another raw groan from his throat.

He wants to stay here forever. He wants to be inside you, part of you, one with you—if that were possible, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“You like it?” he pants, voice cracking with another deep, sharp snap of his hips. “Y/N—fuck—you like it?”

“Fuck! Yes!” you arch off the bed, toes curling. “I love it—I love it—I love it—”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, head spinning as your incoherent moans fill the room, every sound soaking into his skin like heat. You melt into him with every thrust, open and pliant and so fucking willing it nearly undoes him. God—and he’d run from this. From you. Too scared of what he felt. Too scared to face it, to own it.

Mark could’ve had this months ago. Could’ve heard these sounds, seen this look on your face, felt you tremble like this under him—if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward.

“Good,” Mark growls, thrusting harder, more desperate now. “Good—because I’m not letting go.”

He presses a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose before trailing lower, breath hot as it ghosts across your neck. Your breath stutters—your entire body tightens—when he lingers over the bruises. Fading now, but still there. The ones his variant left behind to claim you, to make sure you don’t forget him. To make sure your Mark didn’t either.

Mark’s jaw clenches.

Then he bites down.

A choked gasp rips from your throat, pulse pounding as his teeth sink into the bruised skin, right where it still aches.

“Oh god—” your eyes fluttering shut, voice breaking into a high whine. “Mark—”

He doesn’t stop—sucking dark new marks over the old ones, sweeping his tongue over each one like he’s rewriting them. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave their own bruises, his thrusts never losing their punishing pace. It’s overwhelming, the way he consumes you.

“Fuck, Mark—” you groan, head tilting back to give him more room. “Fuck, yes—”

A broken moan tears from your throat as Mark picks up pace, his hips slamming into you with a force that should hurt but only sends lightning up your spine. Each thrust punches deeper than you thought possible, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur at the edges. His breath scalds your neck—panting, uneven—and you feel the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

Then his hand wraps around your leaking cock, using your own precum to slick the way as he starts jerking you off with frantic, uncoordinated strokes.

You nearly black out.

“Fuck! Mark—!” your back arches off the mattress, nails biting into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Mark—Mark!”

It’s overwhelming—too much at once. His cock nailing your prostate with terrifying accuracy. His mouth hot and wet on your neck, teeth scraping just shy of breaking skin. His hand working your length with a roughness that borders on painful.

Mark’s everywhere. Around you, inside you, all over you. And you don’t stop him. You can’t. You love him. And love every second of it.

“Yes, yes, yes—” you babble, face scrunching in overwhelming pleasure, eyes rolling back. “Fuck, yes. Mark—ah—don’t stop, don’t stop—I’m gonna—”

Tears blur your vision, trailing down your cheeks as the sensations overwhelm you. Every thrust, every bite, every breathless groan Mark lets out sends you spiraling. You’re burning from the inside out, aching, and full and right at the edge.

“Mark—” you pant, voice wrecked, hips jerking to meet the strokes of his hand. You’re trying to warn him, trying to form words that make sense. “Mark—I’m gonna come—oh fuck, I’m so close—”

But then—just when it’s all building to an uncontrollable high—the frantic pace stutters.

Mark slows, pulling away from your neck. His forehead drops gently against yours, nose brushing nose, both of you panting, your breath mingling in the space between.

Everything slows down.

You stare at Mark through glassy, dazed eyes.

The sunlight hits just right, turning the brown in his eyes molten gold, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. His hair is damp and messy, clinging to his forehead, his face flushed and burning, lips swollen and parted with every heavy breath. His expression—open, yearning, achingly soft—melts straight through you.

Mark looks beautiful.

Mark looks yours.

And Mark whispers, “I got you.” Then softer, “I love you.”

And you believe him.

God, you believe him.

The kiss that follows steals what little breath you have left. Your body locks up—a lightning strike of pleasure that makes your thighs tremble violently around his hips. You come with a strangled sob, shaking apart in his arms. Your body clenches around him, cock twitching in his hand, hot release spilling across your stomach, over his fingers. Every jolt wracks through you like a wave, and Mark holds you through all of it—grunting softly into your mouth, matching the kiss with gentle rolls of his hips and firm strokes that push you through it.

He drinks in every gasp, every broken sound you make, kissing you slow and deep, teasing your lips between his, coaxing out every last drop like he wants to milk you dry.

“Mark,” you rasp, voice rough and awed. “Mark.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, voice just as wrecked, thumb brushing your cheekbone, wiping away tears you didn’t realize had fallen. “I’m right here.”

Tears spill over—not from the oversensitivity, not from the aftershocks still wracking your body—but because this is Mark. Your Mark. Not a dream. Not a cruel echo from another world. Not something twisted in the dark.

“I love you,” you sob into his mouth, clenching around him hard, desperate to hold onto him. “I love you so much, Mark.”

Mark makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his hips stuttering but still driving into you with that same relentless intensity that has you squirming beneath him from the overstimulation—but you take it.

“Love you too,” he breathes, voice cracking.

And then—Mark comes.

You feel it in the way he bottoms out with one final, shuddering thrust, so deep you can see the outline of him through your stomach. In the way his cock pulses inside you, spilling heat into the condom until it swells, pressing insistently against your tender walls. In the way his entire body locks up, then collapses against you with a broken whimper, his mouth desperately seeking yours even in the haze of it all.

You part your lips for him. Let him lick, let him breathe you in.

Then he finally slips his cock out, making you whimper into his kiss at the sudden emptiness. Your legs twitch, shaky, your body clenching instinctively around the absence. But Mark kisses you again—gentle, grounding, soft—and then collapses back onto you, chest to chest, skin to skin.

And finally—everything stills.

The only sounds left are your ragged, breathless gasps as the two of you try to come down, lungs working overtime to catch up. Mark buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, pressing soft, distracted kisses along your throat. You shudder, cheeks burning with flustered heat at the intimate display of affection—even after everything, even after just having sex with Mark, it makes you shy.

Jesus—you just had sex with Mark.

And there’s no guilt clawing at your chest. No remorse creeping up your throat. No shame curling in your gut like it wants to make you sick.

You had sex with Mark Grayson—and this time, it’s perfect.

You hum, low and content, arms sliding around his back, your nails lazily dragging over his skin in faint, aimless patterns. Mark shivers against you, arching slightly in reflex, his weight shifting more into you—pressing you deeper into the mattress, and into him.

“That tickles…” he mumbles against your ear, voice low and hoarse, rough in a way that makes your heart jump.

You chuckle softly. “Baby.”

He grumbles something incoherent, then nips playfully at your neck, just below your ear—exactly where he knows it’ll make you squirm. You flinch, breath catching, a sharp little jolt running through you.

“That tickles,” you echo, trying for mock annoyance, but the smile is already pulling across your lips.

Mark doesn’t need to see it—he hears it, the smile on your tone. He smiles back, the hint of mischief in his grin evident as his teeth graze your neck, sending another shiver through you.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, bracing his elbows on either side of your head. His eyes—soft and full of love—search yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

“Hey,” Mark says shyly, cheeks tinged pink.

“Hey,” you whisper back, just as flustered.

“That was…” Mark exhales, his chest still heaving slightly. “That was amazing.”

Your cheeks burn, body still buzzing—soft and sore and tingling in all the right places. “Yeah,” you say, voice hoarse. “So good.”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking over your face like he still can’t believe you’re real, and here, and his. Then, like he can’t say it enough, Mark exhales. “I love you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, arms pulling you close as if he’s afraid to ever let go. “I love you. God, I love you. I’m never—never letting you go now. No one—” his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper “—will take you away from me.”

You chuckle, warm and light, and wrap your arms around him in turn, holding him just as tightly. “Good. I love you too.”

It’s a promise.

It’s that simple.

In the quiet aftermath, Mark’s nose stays buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he’s addicted to your scent, you feel something pressing insistently against your thigh.

You blink, stunned. “...Are you hard again?”

Mark whines—a high, embarrassed sound muffled against your skin—as he shakes his head violently. But his hips betray him with shallow, involuntary thrusts against your leg.

“My god,” you murmur, voice low and amused, affection lacing every word. You feel his hips twitch, his cock nudging insistently against your thigh. “Is this… is this a Viltrumite thing? Did I just condemn myself to your ridiculous alien stamina?”

He groans against your skin, lips brushing sensitive flesh as he mumbles, “…Maybe.” Then, quieter, with a smile curling into your collarbone, “Or maybe I just really fucking like you.”

Your cheeks heat, breath catching, your own body already stirring in response. Your cock—sticky and still sensitive—starts to throb faintly between you. “I guess... we're lucky the day just started.”

Mark lifts his head at that, and the sight alone knocks the air from your lungs—his grin wide and a little bashful, brown eyes gleaming gold in the sun, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, skin glowing with sweat and love.

The rays catch on the sweat still glistening between your bodies, on the marks you’ve left on each other—fading bruises, fresh bites, the ghost of fingertips pressed too hard. Little traces of everything that’s changed. Of all the things that will never be the same.

A/N: Okay, I’m honestly a little embarrassed by the ending, haha—I swear I wrote like three different versions and scrapped them all 😭 it gave me such a hard time... Anyway! I really hope you enjoyed it! this is the end of it!

taglist: @horrific-dust @cronasluvr @kogadoguinho @kirsoup @kaycesspade @killerd1 @rosy-myhouse34 @cim0nnin @garlicforthewin @unfaithfulmemories @krispytimemachinepolice-blog @parastaein @connorlupin @tired12sstuff @1nfinitestarr @hasperxzt @numberonetimemachinething @tozixmq-t0zl5ta @sl1m3y11 @marsblues @no-bishes @the-ultimate-librarian @optimisticstrawberrypizza @uncharted-lands-world @queermaeda @gaychaosgremlin @qi-rong-husband @kaelyre @at4-raxia @f1nn-03e @verort @fonkthedonk @gojosdumpydump @mef0rg0r @tinfoil531 @iwillrisefromthefire @wshyouwerehere @brymalibu @starlightchildsworld @your-platonic-gay-lover @ifaitos @chemicalwindexbottle @kobenio @decaffinetedcookiecrossiant @halo-chao @atenmybeloved @fruitypebblerancher @bensontrechic @m4r13ll @thekit-katkairi @gayaristocrat @exactlyclevercollector @fin-boi-twig @yellowfrog-withagun @nightblanc @wind19845 @lazy-ahh @sweet-cherub @imakms @montimer @jo-cujoh @dazaiosamutheoneandonly @bunnymysteriously @cssammyyarts @makitokokonoi

#mark grayson x male reader #invincible x male reader #x male reader #male reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible #gay #male!reader

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midnghtprentiss · 5 days ago

Text

possessive - jack abbot

a/n: so i have this scenario in my head but idk if i love it or hate it, it’s up to you at this point 😭 sorry for any misspellings, english is not my first language

pairing: jack abbot x f!pediatrician!reader

summary: jack abbot is a possessive man and we love that

warnings: dr abbot being hot, myrna being inconvenient as always, medical inaccuracies, let me know if i missed something (gif not mine i just find it here)

Possessive is a word referred to ownership or a relationship of belonging between one thing and another.

Is the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Jack Abbot was a possessive man.

Not an inconvenient possessive man. He was subtle. One hand at the end of your back. Picking you up at the end of your shift when he isn’t working. Talking to you with the softest voice. Sharing coffee or a granola bar he had in his pocket for you. The glances to other men when you’re walking by.

He had nothing to fear with you. You sleep and wake up with him every day. He knew exactly how to show someone that you belonged to him without saying a word. He hasn't put a ring on your finger and yet everybody in the ED understands you’re his girl and nobody was crazy to question him.

It was supposed to be your day off. You already made plans with Emery and Parker to go out for dinner and have some drinks like you do every month. That’s your way of gossiping and keeping the bond stronger, especially working at male dominated fields. Keeping the girls together makes the job easier and better. You were even planning to invite Samara to the next dinner.

The best thing about the trio was initially to piss Jack off and because you worked so well together and a friendship naturally bloomed - and thank god it did. The funniest, dirtiest and best conversations came out so easily between you that it was impossible to keep track of the actual dialogue topic when you combined.

Unfortunately your phone vibrated in your purse during dinner with a message from Robby letting you know there was an emergency of a child that fell and the parents were asking for you. These things were pretty normal in your routine when you work with pediatrics emergencies. In less than fifteen minutes you were walking towards the ED entrance like you weren't just discussing panties over drinks.

Worst part of it? You had no time to change your clothes. So you were standing at the nursing station with the most expensive Valentino dress you own, brand new shoes and your favorite coat to protect you from the cold.

The scrubs were a protocol when you’re working and you were not. You hated to work without them and hated even more that your backup scrubs were not in your car. Jack must’ve taken them to wash and didn’t put them back.

Jack didn’t see you coming and he had no idea of the dress you chose for your girls night. Bridget was already laughing when you entered, holding you something to cover up until you have to leave again. She quickly took your overcoat and gave you a white coat, which helped a little but not too much because of your heels clicking at the floor.

“Wow doc, didn’t know you could look that hot.” You heard Garcia teased and shook your head laughing. “You should show up like this more often, as an experiment of course.”

“I appreciate your words Yoyo. Maybe next time I'll show up with your favorite color.” She blew you a kiss and walked away laughing.

“He’s going to need to be sedated when he hears you’re in his ED looking like this” Robby chuckled when he found at the nursing station. “Sorry I've called you, they insisted on being you. They are barely letting Mel work there.’

“It’s fine, Robby. I don’t like my day off anyway.” You winked and went straight to the room they were in.

The child parents came running to you the moment you entered their plain sight. Dr. King was accompanying them before you arrived, describing the situation in detail and how she dealt with them. And for her face you knew how those parents weren’t easy to deal with.

“Dr (Y/L/N), this is Jamie, 10 month old, previously healthy, fell from the crib around 9 p.m.. According to the mother, he tried to pull himself up using the crib rails, lost his balance, and fell over the side of the crib, landing directly on the floor. He cried immediately for about fifteen minutes, with no loss of consciousness and no vomiting. The mother noted only mild bruises in the right frontotemporal region, with no other signs of trauma. He remained active, fed normally, and showed no changes in consciousness or behavior. “ You heard Mel's words with attention while examining the child.

“You ordered any exams, doctor King?” She nodded and passed you the chart to look at.”

“A CT, x-ray and some labs just to make sure everything is perfectly fine.” You nodded, shaking your head.

“Excellent.” You smiled at her and turned your attention to the parents.

“Does he cry when he moves? Has he had any seizures? Allergies or something we need to know?” They kept denying. “Why don’t you bring him early? It’s almost one in the morning.” The parents kept their silence and you shrugged your shoulders, looking at them. “Alright then. Doctor King will accompany you to the CT and the x-ray.”

Something you loved about yourself was the way you’re pretty centered and rigid about your job, especially working around and with children. Fighting with parents? You do every shift. Making the little ones laugh? You did it too. You were tough and nice but at the same time the children absolutely loved you. The most common thing to see was you holding a child mid shift and laughing about it with the nurses.

He was waiting for you at the nursing station. Coffee in hand. Jaws tighten when his eyes land on you. Eyebrows raised while he analyzed your shoes. You leaned closer to him, enough to look professional and only a little mischievous so he could smell your new perfume - the one he bought you.

“Hi there, doctor Abbot.” You touched his arm and smiled, knowing exactly what he was going to ask. “Peds emergency, they have to call the best.”

“This is not workplace clothing.” His hand reached yours, quickly brushing your finger.

“I had a nice time at dinner, thanks for asking, by the way.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go home when his exams are finished. I won’t even leave this spot.” You sit in the vague chair and cross your arms.

“Nice coat, actually.” Dr. Jack Abbot. It was his coat. “You should work with this more often since you don’t want to change your last name.”

Before you can even replied you heard Myrna screaming at the other side of the room.

“Nice ass, MacDreamy.” She pointed at you.

“Been working out lately, Myrna. Do you like it?” You teased her and she giggled.

“Watch out or I’ll steal your girl, Abbot. I killed a man before and I can do it again.”

When you turned to look at Jack again, he was serious. His forehead was tense and his knuckles white from holding his coffee mug. His hair was a little messy and there was some blood in his scrubs.

Hot. Really hot.

He didn’t care when your friends, female friends, flirted with you because he knew you flirted back joking. He respected your boundaries and you respected him too. You still find it pretty amusing how he gets all possessive over small things, lucky you he didn’t see the dress you were wearing underneath the white coat.

Vintage Valentino, sheer black chiffon, off-the-shoulder neckline with the fabric draped down the arms, creating a dramatic, sophisticated look. At the bust, a large central bow, asymmetrical and flowing skirt, with soft, layered fabric and a high front slit that reveals the left leg. Jack never complained or talked badly about your clothing, he actually enjoyed seeing you wearing the clothes you liked - he enjoyed taking off more. He describes being an extension of your personality.

“Want to talk about that dress?” He lifted up the white coat a little. “Showing legs and neck like crazy, hm?”

“Nope, we’re not doing this here. You’re working.”

“Why not? I thought you like showing off a little too much.” He crossed his arms and you sigh.

“Oh my God, is this foreplay?” His eyes locked on yours. “Fuck it, I’m into it.”

“Just stay here until the boy it’s back.” He stared at you for a few seconds and you tried to control your smile.

“Are you jealous, Abbot?” You heard Shen comment and buried your face in your hands. He just gave him the nastiest look you’ve ever seen in your life and you can tell he already gave you some looks at you in the bedroom.

The exams took a while to get ready and when they returned to the emergency room, you met them again holding a tablet to explain the situation to them. Immediately the little boy was already in your arms, resting his head over your shoulder.

“The CT and the x-ray both came normal, no injury or other systemic trauma. He’s safe and sound. If you notice something is different, bring him immediately.” You hold his little hand and smile brightly. “You’re lucky to be here today, Jamie.”

The parents asked a few questions about the exams and the therapy you chose for him and after they left you stayed inside the empty room for a while before you left to grab the rest of your stuff.

Jack was talking something with Robby when you approached them, taking off the white coat that belonged to your man and putting on your warm and cozy overcoat. His eyes went straight to your almost bare chest, he had to scan the room pretty quickly for perverts watching you. One drunk guy screamed that he wanted you to talk to him, Myrna said something about your ass again and this time Mel came in complementing your legs.

“You should be grateful you weren’t there when Emery and Parker saw me, you probably be in jail now.” He helped you close the buttons of your coat.

“Remind me to put a goddamn ring on your finger.” He whispered closer to you, making you burst out laughing.

“What a romantic proposal. I’m really emotional.” Jack rolled his eyes, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I already heard some jerks talking about you and I didn’t appreciate their tone.” You passed your arms around his shoulder - ignoring the PDA rule you established for work.

“Yeah, I’m still sleeping in your bed tho.” He agreed, laughing softly. “Gotta go now. Emery is waiting for me at Five Guys and I could kill for a burger now.”

“Be careful, beautiful.”

“Try to go home in one piece.” You squeezed his shoulder and winked before walking away.

When you arrived for your next shift there was a big diamond on your finger and the biggest smirk on Jack's face when people started to talk about it.

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot x reader

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quickestgold · 1 month ago

Note

1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?

Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)

Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.

You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.

You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.

But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.

The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.

So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.

Maybe you were embarrassed.

Definitely ashamed.

Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.

“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.

The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.

“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.

“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”

Why is everything spinning?

“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.

“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.

“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.

You can't remember any of it.

You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.

Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.

But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.

“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.

Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.

Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.

“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.

But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.

Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.

You’ve become friends.

You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.

“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.

You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.

Until you get to say goodbye.

But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.

You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.

You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?

Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.

“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.

Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.

“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.

Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.

Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.

He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.

Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.

His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.

“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.

Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.

Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.

He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.

Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.

“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.

Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.

“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”

“Time of death: 10:35”

Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.

He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.

Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.

“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”

Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”

“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”

“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.

Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.

But there’s something else. Panic.

Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.

But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”

In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.

Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.

His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.

The one that was supposed to be forever.

“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.

“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”

The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.

The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.

There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.

“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”

He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.

He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.

Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.

Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.

“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.

Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.

“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.

Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”

“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.

“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.

“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.

Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.

Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.

The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.

Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”

Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.

The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.

“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.

You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.

Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.

“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.

Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.

“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.

“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.

His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.

With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.

Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #michael robinavitch #dr robby #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #dr abbott x reader

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luveline · 4 months ago

Note

shy!reader and spencer who are in the early days of their relationship and are getting more comfortable with initiating physical affection with each other (especially reader lol) and spencer gets her to open up by playing with her hair / hands, tickling her, cuddling, the like <3

The first time Spencer let his head rest against yours, you were sure you’d die right there and then, half-asleep on the subway, then suddenly away as he’d started talking under his breath, his conversation for you and you alone. You'd flushed full body and forced yourself to stay still, until Spencer had confused your shyness for not wanting his weight against you and pulled away.

This time you’re ready. This time, he’s working his arm over the top of your shoulders. Not a timid first move on the first date, he’d suffered through that already. Spencer lets his arm slip between your back and the couch as he tugs you toward him, resting his cheek against your temple, two points of skin turning hot as a burner.

“Okay?” he asks quietly.

You let yourself relax into it. “I’m fine.”

“Did you want me to run that bath for you?”

It’s imperative he doesn’t move. “No, I can do it. I’ll do it later, if that’s okay.”

It’s Spencer’s bath, but he let you take one the last time you stayed the night, so you’ll work it out. You knew he wasn’t gonna peep on you, knew you were totally safe in his bathroom, but your heart hammered fast as a hummingbird’s whenever the floors creaked —just the idea of being near him when you were unclothed set you aflame. Your skin warms with the memory, a nervousness in your chest and hands that grows uncomfortably warm.

You don’t move, though. You’re sending him all the wrong messages when you reject him out of timidity, you’re more than aware of it, but the longer he sits there gently holding you, the more the temptation to squirm builds.

Spencer makes a soft, soft sound as his hand trails up your back, curling around your arm, and meandering a path to your elbow.

“I got…” —Spencer begins, without any inclination to rush— “…more of that bath soak you liked, the camomile… and honey…”

You love the smell. Sometimes you swear you can smell it in his hair when he presses near you.

“And a loufa, ‘cos you didn’t have one last time,” he adds.

“Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome.” He kisses the side of your head. Then, in a betrayal of his character, he laughs breathlessly, saying, “Sorry, I forgot what I was saying. The loufa– It’s purple. I put it on the towel rack, and I got you a new face towel, too, mine’s too rough for you.”

“Did you get yourself a new one too?”

“Yeah.” He taps your cheek, the hand you’d forgotten about drawing a short line to your jaw. “You’re pretty.”

You drop your chin.

“You are,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Spencer’s hand slides down your neck, a caress that turns to a kind hold. “Can I…” He snorts softly. “You’re solid,” he says, squeezing your neck with enough pressure to wind you, which isn’t much. “You don’t have to get all tense.”

“I’m trying really hard not to get tense,” you admit.

“I know. I’m trying to help, but I’m just making it worse.”

Spencer isn’t making it worse. Or, he wasn’t. “I thought you were gonna kiss me, is the thing.”

“I was. Then you tensed up and I didn’t think I should.” His easy smile goes funny. “Could I have?”

“Of course you could’ve,” you mumble, pressing your face into his shoulder before he can decimate the last of your self respect. He laughs —giggles, really, in a burst of sound— and tugs you in. “Not funny.”

He can hear the lie. “No, it’s not funny,” he agrees anyways, laying back and then moving forward, swaying you enough to turn the giggle into a full blown laugh.

He murmurs something. You mumble back. His fingertips slip over the dip in your back and he’s saying something nice, if a little shy. It’s been nice getting closer to him, seeing the real Spencer, someone who’s hesitant but gentle beyond words. There’s no reason for him to be touching you like this, to talk sweet nothings behind your ear as he lugs you onto his chest, and maybe there’s no reason for you to melt. Butter in the sun, drifting bonelessly into his lap.

“You smell like tea,” you say quietly. “I love it.”

“You love it?” he asks, something oddly awed about him as he shifts your head back to look you in the eyes.

“Mm. It’s nice. And your eyes are so brown… they’re my favourite thing about you.”

Spencer teases the stripe of skin exposed by your rising t-shirt until you’re shivering again. “Thank you,” he says, letting one close in a wink as he taps your nose with his. “Am I allowed to say what I like about you, or–” You shake your head so violently he immediately stops. “Fine. But only because I want to sit like this for the rest of the night with you.”

“I still need a shower.”

“Later,” he says, his lips resting on your chin. “Way, way later, please.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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vettelsvee · 4 months ago

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SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque además de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

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dollishmehrayan · 5 months ago

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# HOW BATBOYS REACT TO YOU WEARING THEY'RE COLOR ── .✦ ( eg. nails, clothes, anything ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so I first did a small idea of this (here) and then I thought why not do it based off this anon (here) so yeahh, anyways I kinda fell so off course like genuinely I need to make more batboys content, tags: (batboys x reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick notices instantly. He’s hyper-aware of the blue.

“Wait, are those nails painted Nightwing blue? Babe, did you do that for me?” Cue the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

Compliments you non-stop. He’s not subtle about how much he loves it.

“You’re really pulling off my color, you know. Almost makes me think you’re trying to steal my spotlight.”

Gets extra touchy holding your hand, brushing your hair back, etc. “You’re so cute I can’t even deal right now.”, “It’s just blue and black colored nails dick.”

If it’s a clothing piece, he’ll joke, “Matching outfits for day? Say the word, and we’ll be Gotham’s most fashionable duo.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason notices but plays it cool at first. “Nice color choice,” he says casually, though he’s dying and resurrecting inside.

If it’s your nails “You’re carrying my whole brand on those hands. Should I start paying you royalties?”

If it’s clothing, “Careful, babe, wearing red this well might make you a target and you might be mistaken for me.” But his smirk shows he’s all for it.

Low-key proud you’re repping his colors but doesn’t know how to express it well. Might just stare a little longer than usual.

Ends up pulling you closer while murmuring, “You look good in my color. Too good.”

Secretly starts thinking of ways to return the gesture, like wearing something in your favorite color. (He’s hoping it’s not absurd neon colors😭)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Blushes immediately. He’s not even subtle about it. “Wait… is that red because of… me?”

Obsesses over the details. “Did you match your nails to the exact shade of my suit? That’s, like, the coolest thing ever.”

Super flustered but also unbelievably touched. “I didn’t know you liked my colors that much.”

If it’s a clothing item, he’d be stunned for a moment before saying, “You look so… wow. You’re killing it.”

Gets a little shy but can’t stop glancing at you all day. Ends up fiddling with your hand if it’s your nails.

Might text you later "Thanks for making my day with that. You didn’t have to, but I really, really loved it.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Notices instantly but acts unimpressed. “Hmph. So you’re inspired by me today?”

Low-key thrilled but refuses to let you know. If it’s your nails, he might sarcastically say, “Subtle.” But he’s secretly staring.

If it’s clothing, “Green suits you. Perhaps you should wear it more often.” It’s his way of saying you look amazing.

After some time, he’ll let his walls down. “It’s not awful… You look better in my colors than I do.”

Will absolutely brag to Alfred or the others about it later. “Clearly, they understand quality when they see it.”

Ends up gifting you something else in his colors—maybe a scarf or bracelet—just to see you wear it again.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce notices immediately but doesn’t say much at first. He’ll just give you that classic Bruce Wayne smirk.

If it’s clothing, he’ll subtly comment, “You look good in black. Suits you.” (High praise from him)

If it’s nails, he’ll gently take your hand and examine them. “Interesting choice. Are you sending a message, or…?”

Deep down, he’s really touched but doesn’t know how to express it. Might make a dry joke like, “So you’re my sidekick now?”

Later, when you’re alone, he’d admit, “It’s nice seeing you in something that reminds me of… us.”

Low-key loves the idea of you wearing his colors often. He’d never say it outright, but his actions like buying you more black and yellow pieces make it clear (to a point half your dresses were either black or yellow even you’re gold jewelry has yellow hints and accents😭😭)

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woogilicious · 27 days ago

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offline messages ꒰ yunho ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: streamer!yunho x gn!reader. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 1039 words. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: angst + fluff. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: mild angst, emotional neglect (unintentional), feelings of being left behind, fluff at the end.

You were there before the follower goals, and fancy mic setup. Back when Yunho streamed from a wobbly IKEA desk and his only viewers were you and that one random bot that kept posting shady links.

Back then, his face would light up when he saw your name in chat.

"Yo!" he'd grin, headset slightly tilted. "You're here!"

Of course you were. You always were.

You modded his streams before he even asked. Built his discord server from scratch. Stayed up past midnight helping him troubleshoot lag while playing Valorant. You even tolerated the scream fest during Lethal Company session with San, Mingi, and Wooyoung―all chaos, max volume, all the time.

And when things took off―when Twitch clipped him into the algorithm and the chat exploded with new fans, you celebrated with him. You were proud. You really were.

But you also started feeling... invisible.

It started small. A joke you made in chat went ignored. Then another. Then another.

You chalked it up, at first. That's what growing meant―more people, more chaos. But then he stopped replying to your DMs. Took hours to answer simple messages. And one day, you noticed your mod label was gone. No explanation. No "thanks for everything." Nothing at all.

You watched one of his streams that night, lurking, your name is grey in a sea of neon usernames. Someone made a crude joke. You called it out. Yunho didn't even notice, until a stranger timed you out.

That was the last stream you watched live.

You muted the server. Turned off notifications. Closed the tab. He never reaches out. Not once.

Months passed.

One night, you're scrolling through your phone, brain on autopilot, when you see his name. Yunho is live: Unpacking + chatting. You shouldn't care. You don't.

But you click.

He's streaming Unpacking, of all things. Soft music, quiet atmosphere, just him and the sound of cardboard boxes being emptied on screen. There's no Wooyoung yelling in the background, no San whining about being scared―just Yunho. Focused. A little tired. His laugh softer tonight.

You shouldn't message him.

But your fingers move anyway, finding his name in your message app.

Are you okay?

You send it. Regret it instantly. Consider deleting it, but then―

yunho: wait yunho: wait wait wait yunho: is this real?? yunho: y/n... i thought u blocked me or smth

You stare at the screen, looking at his stream while his attention turns to his phone.

you: figured you wouldn't notice either way yunho: ... yunho: okay. i deserve that. yunho: i miss you. a lot.

You don't reply right away, and you close the Twitch app.

The next day, he sends you a message privately in discord.

yunho: can we talk?

You call. It's weird, at first. The silence between you used to be comfortable, easy. Now it's cautious. Hesitant.

But he tries.

"I don't know when I started messing it up," he says, voice quiet. "I think... I just got caught up in everything. I didn't mean to shut you out."

You shrug, even though he can't see you. "You kind of did, though."

"I know. I just... didn't want you to feel like you had to carry my stuff forever. You helped me so much and I kept thinking, maybe you deserved to just... live your life. Not babysit my stream."

You snort. "You took away my mod role without saying a word. The least you can do is tell me."

He winces. "Yeah. That was stupid."

"You think?"

He laughs. It's small, and it is obvious that he is nervous.

"Let me fix it," he says. "Please."

It's not instant. It's not perfect.

But you start showing up again. Not as a mod, but just as his friend.

He messages you in the middle of the night about weird games you'd both like. Sends you dumb voices notes of Mingi farting on call. You hop into discord during late-night gaming, and he still screams in panic when he gets chased in scary games, but now, he screams your name too.

And one night, he messages:

yunho: do you want to do a stream together soon? you: what would we even play? yunho: idc. minecraft? stardew? anything. i just want to hang out with you on stream.

You agree, and the next night, it's Minecraft night.

The stream starts slow, chill lo-fi music playing in the background. Yunho decides to do a member only stream, which means the chat is smaller, cozier. The mods keep it clean. No chaos whatsoever.

"Special guest tonight, their name is Y/N" Yunho says, grinning. "My oldest friend. Like actual old. We've known each other since middle school."

You laugh. "You're few months older than me."

Chat, on the other hand, explodes with excitement:

xXxgamerraccoon12: brooo you can see yunho smiling like an idiot fluffyhorsie: their voice sounds so soothing!! i love them already!! bananapie481: we need more cozy game with y/n!!

You two fish, farm, fight monsters, collect materials. It's easy.

Halfway through the stream, you forget the camera's even on.

"You're different when it's just us," you say quietly.

Yunho hums. "Different how?"

"Less loud, less performative. More... you."

He doesn't say anything right away, just smiling while mining some woods for their house. Then, softly. "That's because you bring out the parts of me I actually like."

Your chest tightens.

"You know I was really scared," he adds. "That you'd never message me again. That I lost you for good."

You exhale. "You almost did."

"I know."

Silence.

Then, your character walks over and gifts his character a flower.

It's just pixels, but Yunho makes a sound that's a little too real.

"What?"

"What do you mean what? Maybe I just like giving you flowers."

His voice is barely a whisper. "God, I missed you so much."

The stream ends with your character standing next to his inside your finish small cozy wooden house.

Chat's spamming hearts. Fan edit already being posted. People are begging for another duo stream.

Once he turns off his stream, he says, "Don't log off yet."

You stay.

His voice is warm through your headset.

"Let's play another day?"

You smile. "Sure, Yunho. I'll be here."

This time, you know he believes it.

And this time, you do too.

#yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #ateez jeong yunho #ateez #yunho imagine #ateez fluff #ateez imagine #yunho x reader #kpop x reader #ateez x reader #kpop fluff #kpop angst #ateez angst #angst #fluff #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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hllywdwhre · 1 year ago

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Revenge - Tommy Shelby

Summary: Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy

Warnings: arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, reader leaves a message written in blood, smut, creampie, light degrading, oral smut (f receiving), overstim, p in v, let me know if I missed any

Notes: I made this text post about protective reader and decided to write it lmfao. I want Tommy with a feral woman. Thank you to @slut4thebroken for proof reading, encouragement, and suggestions💖

MDNI, 18+ only

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened.

Scratch that.

You knew exactly how it had happened.

Your father and Tommy had worked out a deal when Sabini had first started trying to intimidate your father. A bride in exchange for protection and both of them walked away with extra allies when the inevitable war against Sabini broke out. You’d protested the marriage at first, screaming that you were more than just a political pawn for your father to sell when he needed help, but it went through anyway.

You had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Sure, Tommy was distant and seemed obsessed with work, but you knew you could’ve ended up in a much worse situation. He treated you with respect, never let you open a door on your own if he was around, always had a protective hand rested in the small of your back, and… the sex was great.

Perhaps the thing you appreciated the most, was that he didn’t expect you to become the housewife you had feared you would be reduced to. You were your father’s only child, meaning when he died, you would become leader of his gang. You were a gangster the same way Tommy was and he seemed to realize that and respect it. You helped out with the daily runnings of the Peaky Blinders and helped with the daily runnings of your father’s gang at the same time. They both recognized your potential and weren’t afraid to use it.

It wasn’t until you were sitting in a family meeting about a year after your marriage that you realized you had grown to feel more than just okay with the marriage.

Tommy was a closed off individual and through the entire year you had been married, you felt like you were just starting to finally get to know the real him. You never pried because he never pried in your life. If you had general questions, neither of you were afraid to ask them, but anything more was left up for the person to tell. You had more questions than answers still, specifically about the matching scars on his cheeks, but you didn’t dare ask. He hadn’t asked about the scar that ran from your right shoulder blade down to your spine, so you didn’t ask about his scars.

It was a common occurrence for Esme, Ada, and Polly to sit with you at one of the desks in the betting shop, whispering things to you during family meetings to fill in any gaps and answer any questions you may have had.

“Alfie has informed me that the Sicilians are being provided aid by Sabini, in the form of cars and housing,” Tommy started, causing Arthur to let out a loud groan of frustration.

Before you could get dragged into hearing any more of it, you turned your head to Esme who was sitting next to you.

“Sabini’s a prick, I know that, but what has he done to us?” You asked quietly, your eyes still flickering back-and-forth between Tommy and the rest of his family as they spoke about what to do next.

Esme began explaining exactly what Sabini had done. How he and five other men came after Tommy in the dark of night, how he’d ripped out a tooth, sliced his cheeks, and beat him to an inch of his life.

The rage that settled inside of you was your first hint that you had grown to genuinely care for Tommy as more than just a friend and (amazing) fuck buddy. Your jaw remained clenched and set for the rest of the meeting, but as soon as the meeting was called to end, you wiped the look from your face and forced a calm expression to take over.

You stood up and walked over to Tommy, forcing a small smile to your lips,

“I’m not really feeling all that well. You go with your brothers for a drink, I’m just going to head back home, okay?” You said, meeting his eyes so he wouldn’t have a reason to not believe you.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to look for any sign you were lying. You had been fine that morning and fine two hours prior when you sat down for the meeting, but he had no reason to believe you were lying so he simply nodded, placed a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him, and kissed your forehead.

“I won’t be out long. Ask Frances for anything you need, okay, love?”

You nodded and the forced smile turned to a genuine one,

“I will, promise,” you told him before stepping away from him and waving goodbye to the rest of the family.

Yes. You had truly gotten lucky when it came to who you had been forced to marry.

The entire ride back to the Arrow House, you were silent and going over your plan in your head. You knew you’d have to earn Tommy’s trust back after this, but you didn’t particularly care. You were a force of nature on your best day. You were lethal when you were angry.

Once you arrived back, you immediately headed upstairs to yours and Tommy’s shared room. The marriage may have started off with the two of you in separate rooms, “I’m called the devil, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of monster. You can sleep in your own room until you’re comfortable sharing a bed,” but it didn’t take more than a couple weeks for you to eventually join him in bed.

Damn those blue eyes, full lips, and that jawline.

You grabbed a small bag and threw the first set of clothes you laid hands on into it, then, much more carefully, a dress. You grabbed everything else you needed and headed to Tommy’s office next.

I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry for lying, but I’ll be back.

You signed the note and left it in the center of his desk where you knew he would see it, held down by his ashtray.

As quickly as you had entered the house, you left it, getting right back into the car with the driver Tommy had employed for you. You told him the name of a hotel in London that you knew was just outside of anyone’s territory.

The drive seemed to pass by too quickly and soon you were saying goodbye to the driver and sending him home for the night. It was barely 7 in the evening when you got up to your room.

“If there is a God, please let me get through this. I’ll make it up to you… somehow,” you said quietly.

The beading on the dress swayed loudly around your body as you pulled the dress on. The pins in your hair seemed to be extra noticeable against your scalp. The straps on your shoes pressed into your skin more than usual. The blade held against your thigh and hidden by your dress seemed to refuse to warm up. Your left hand felt entirely too light with your ring missing.

You knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you. You’d worn this outfit before and it had always turned heads, which is exactly what you wanted.

You needed Sabini to notice you.

You greeted the cab driver politely as you stepped in and ignored the way his eyes seemed to follow you a bit too closely.

The doors of the club were held open for you and you made your way to the bar and took a seat, knowing you were just playing a waiting game now.

You could feel eyes on you. The wife of Thomas Shelby in Sabini’s club, hours away from Birmingham, far out of Peaky Blinders territory or her father’s territory. You stuck out like a sore thumb, even if you would have blended in during any other scenario.

It felt like an eternity passed before you finally saw the man that made your blood boil, but one glance at the clock above the bar told you it hadn’t even been an hour.

“You seem lost. I thought we had made it clear that your kind weren’t welcomed here,” Sabini said once he was in front of you.

A charming smile graced your lips and you looked up at him,

“My kind?” You questioned, playing innocent.

“Yes. Your kind. You’re the wife of Thomas Shelby and I don’t appreciate him ignoring the last warning I gave him and sending you-“

“I wasn’t sent here,” you stopped him, lifting your left hand and pushing a piece of hair that hadn’t fallen back behind your ear, “and I’m not really a Shelby or a Blinder, am I?”

His eyes were drawn to your hand and noticed the lack of a ring you wore and he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Is that so? I was under the impression the two of you were lovebirds.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your lips and looked away, trying to come off as shy. When you looked back up to him, you hoped the look on his face meant he was intrigued and believing you.

“Perhaps we could talk about it somewhere else… somewhere private?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you did so.

Gods help you. The smirk he gave you made your stomach twist and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, but patience was something you’d adopted a lot of.

“Allow me to show you to my office then,” he said, offering you a hand which you forced yourself to take.

He guided you through the club and towards the back. Some amount of luck seemed to be on your side as his office was behind the stage and provided some cover for any noise you might make. Even more so as you noticed a window just large enough for you to be able to crawl out of.

Once the door was shut behind you, he sat down behind his desk and motioned for you to take a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side.

“Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Sabini said as he poured you both a drink.

“It was never paradise to begin with,” you replied, thanking him for the drink and taking a sip.

You had grown used to Tommy’s Irish whiskey and the bourbon he gave you wasn’t nearly as smooth going down.

“Was it not? From what I’ve heard, you two have quite the fairytale. Gang leader’s daughter married off to another gang leader, uniting two empires.”

“That’s not the way I see it,” you lied.

“And how do you see it?”

“A desperate father sold off his daughter to a desperate gang leader in an attempt for the both of them to gain more power and disregarded the woman’s wishes,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“And so you’ve come to London for what?” Sabini questioned, wanting to hear you say it.

“Because I think we can help each other, Mr. Sabini,” you said, downing the rest of the bourbon and standing up.

His eyes followed your movements, his eyes trailing up your body before resting on your legs again.

“And how do you think we could help each other?” He asked.

You moved to stand in front of him, placing one leg over the side of his and straddled him, placing your arms around his neck.

“They trust me, Mr. Sabini. They don’t suspect me of anything,” you started. The shiver of disgust that rolled up your spine due to his hands trailing up the back of your thighs was one he apparently took as excitement as he gripped slightly at the backs of them, “I can tell you everything and, in return, I get out of my marriage once they’re all gone.”

“They don’t even realize the ticking time bomb they’ve got in their fingertips, do they?” He asked and a chuckle left your lips as a genuine smirk took over.

“They don’t…” you said, trailing your hands down his chest and then up your thigh, trying to make the move appear seductive. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife, “and neither do you, apparently.”

His eyes widened and he realized the trap he had walked into at the same time as you pressed the blade of the knife to his neck.

“I’d say that if you ever threaten my husband or our family again, you’ll regret it, but you won’t be,” you told him, unable to resist pausing for a touch of dramatic effect before adding on, “Never fuck with a Shelby.”

In the next second, you were quickly slicing the knife across his neck and flinching back as his blood coated you.

You knew your next move was morbid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It had been morbid for him and five other men to attack your husband when he was alone. It was morbid for him to rip out his tooth. It had been morbid for him to slice his cheeks. It was just as morbid for you to quickly and quietly clear off his desk, dip your fingers into his blood, and leave a bloodied message across his desk.

Revenge is a scorned Shelby

As soon as the message was written, you grabbed one of the coats from the coat rack and slipped it on, then crawled out of the window. The coat was long enough to cover all of the bloodied mess that was now your dress.

Sabini is dead.

That seemed to be the only thing you could think of as you were driven back to the Arrow House. It wasn’t the first time you had killed a man and you knew it wouldn’t be last.

But you hadn’t told anyone about this time. You hadn’t told anyone your plan, where you were going, or why you were doing it. You had also just started a war.

You weren’t surprised to see almost every light in the house still on when you arrived, and you made sure to slip the cab driver a little extra for the long drive.

You hadn’t risked staying in London longer than you needed to. You had gone into your hotel room, grabbed your bag, and promptly left, only taking the time to slip your wedding ring back on when you were in the cab.

When you stepped into the house, Tommy was in the hallway. All he saw as you stepped in the door was you, in another man’s coat, your wedding ring still on your finger, but your hair and makeup done much differently than it had been you had left.

You stayed silent as you stared at him with nervousness written on your face.

He put out his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for you to explain yourself.

Your silent explanation was to undo the tie on the coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing your blood stained dress.

“I need a fucking drink for this one,” Tommy grumbled, motioning for you to follow him. He guided you to his office and poured both of you a drink, handed you your glass, then sat down in his office chair. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he looked up at where you still stood across the room.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shrug his shoulders,

“Humor me. Short version first,” he told you.

“About a year ago I got married, and tonight I started a war.”

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and running a hand over his face, “Long version.”

“About a year ago, I got married. Over the past year my husband has been nothing but a respectful gentleman, making it nearly impossible for me not to fall for him when you combine it with his fucking blue eyes that could bring the devil to his knees,” you started, feeling the hint of a blush creep into your cheeks, which you knew he noticed by the way his eyes flicked to your cheeks and then back to your eyes, “then today we had a meeting with his family where he mentioned Sabini. When I asked, his sister-in-law told me about what Sabini had done to him. About how my husband had been beaten to an inch of his life and brutalized, leaving him permanently scarred, and I knew I had to make the bastard pay.

“So, I lied to my husband and said I didn’t feel well. I went home, packed a bag, left him a note saying I’d be back, and went to London. I rented a hotel room where I changed into a fancy dress and did my hair and makeup, then I wrapped a knife to my thigh and slid my wedding ring into my bag and went to The Eden Club. News of a Shelby woman spread quickly and Sabini showed up to question me within an hour. I lied to Sabini, told him that I didn’t want to be a Shelby and that I had never wanted to be one. He took me back to his office and I sat on his lap and made him think I was about to cheat on my husband when I slit his throat and made sure he knew it was because of what he’d done to my husband. I left a message on his desk, went back to the hotel, grabbed my bag, and then headed back to our house.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment as Tommy stared at you. His eyes were unreadable as he watched you.

“What did the message say?” He suddenly asked.

“Revenge is a scorned Shelby.”

“Nothing about the Peaky Blinders?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t Peaky business,” you answered confidently, watching him just as closely as he watched you as he stood from his chair and came to stand in front of you.

“Was it not?” He questioned, taking the untouched glass of whiskey from your hand and setting it on the desk before turning back to stare you down.

“No. It was Shelby business, but not Peaky business.”

“Explain.”

“He didn’t just harm a Peaky Blinder. He harmed a Shelby, my Shelby.” Your gaze was unwavering as you held eye contact with him. You wanted him to know you meant your words. He was yours, and the protective touches on your back when you were in public and the way he intimidated and glared at any man who tried approaching you was all the proof you needed to know that you were his.

“So I’m your Shelby?” He asked as he took a step towards you and continued to do so until you pressed against the office door.

“Yes.”

“And that means you’re mine?” He questioned, his hands now pressed against the wall on either side of your head.

You could feel that you were walking into some sort of trap, but you didn’t have a way out of it right now. All you could do was be honest.

“Yes.”

“Then you should know something about what it means to be mine.”

“What’s that?” You asked, your breathing getting shorter as he lowered his face so it was level with yours.

In a second his hands were on your waist and he had you picked up against the wall with legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

“My Shelby is to never come home wearing another man’s coat again,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.

You don’t know what reaction you had expected from him, but being pinned to his office door and him kissing you hadn’t been one you had thought of. Your shock wore off after half a second and you returned the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close.

“You’re not mad?” You asked against his lips.

“At you starting a war?” He questioned, leaning down and beginning to trail kisses hastily down your neck.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Livid,” he said with no hint of joking in his voice.

“This is quite the punishment,” you replied sarcastically. A moan fell from your lips as he nipped at your pulse point.

“Oh, I’m livid,” he said, looking up at you, “but also extremely turned on at the thought of my wife slicing a man’s throat over me and coming home still covered in his blood.”

You weren’t given a chance to respond before he was kissing you again. Your hands came down to his tie, pulling it loose before starting to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.

He didn’t bother setting you down, only turned the two of you around and walked you over to the couch in the office. He laid you down on it and then pulled the waistcoat off before leaning back down between your legs and kissing you again once. His lips started trailing down your neck again while your hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teased as nipped at your skin again.

“You’re the one who pinned me to the door after I revealed I killed a man for you,” you replied in the same teasing tone as him. You undid the last button of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his undershirt following a second later.

He reached his hand to the side of your dress and unzipped it, pulling the fabric down your body while his hands grabbed hold of your underwear, stockings, and garters in the same move and pulled them off, leaving you completely naked underneath him.

He stared and looked over your body a moment longer before running his hands up your thighs and giving a gentle tap to your thigh,

“Up,” he said, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

You did as told though and sat up, leaving him enough room to lay on his back and pull you up to straddle him,

“Was killing a man not enough work?” You teased, not actually minding if he was going to have you ride him. At least it meant you wouldn’t be subjected to him teasing you when all you really wanted was for him to fuck you.

“That’s cute,” he said sarcastically, gripping your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his torso, “that’s not where you’re sitting tonight.”

The man was no stranger at using his mouth to make you see stars, but you’d never ridden his face before. You looked at him, the question obvious on your face.

“Seriously?” You asked even though you knew by his face that he was.

“Seriously. You were enough of a leader to go after Sabini, you’re enough of a leader to sit on my face. Up,” he repeated again while his grip on your thighs tried pulling you forward.

You did as you were told this time, shuffling forward until you were straddling his face. You weren’t given a choice of when to sit as his hands came to your hips and pulled you down, forcing your full weight onto his waiting mouth.

If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Thomas’ ability to use his tongue and lips in more than just outsmarting his enemies.

His tongue trailed through your lips, his hands keeping your hips in place, while his tongue slowly explored you at first.

It had only taken a couple weeks for you to crack and make the first move on Tommy, joining him in bed one night when you’d decided you could trust him, and you’d been insatiable and addicted to him ever since, though he never complained. He’d spent the first couple times figuring out every move that made you tick and every name that made your cheeks flush and used them to his advantage at every turn.

His tongue was a gift with the way he knew exactly how to use it. He dragged it up and down between your folds, drinking in every bit of your arousal before focusing on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and long drags.

Tommy’s hands on your hips began guiding them, silently instructing you to take control. You didn’t hesitate in going along with what he wanted you to do and began rocking your hips. One of your hands trailed to his hair while your other went to lay on top of one his that gripped your hip. You hadn’t realized the volume of your moans until you felt the vibration of his moan against your clit.

Your hips jerked at the added stimulation and he hummed against you purposefully, his eyes never leaving you as your hips sped up, chasing your own high. Within moments you could feel it approaching and your grip on his hair and hand tightened, moans of his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

“Please, fuck,” you cried, whimpers falling from your lips, “Tommy, Tommy…”

Your high crashed over you a moment later and you felt Tommy’s movements begin to slow down as you rode out your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

You went to move off of him, but his grip on your hips tightened at the same time that his tongue started speeding up again.

Your moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of over stimulation and you squirmed against him, but he didn’t let up. Your hips jerked as you tried moving away from him, but all it did was add to the stimulation.

You could practically feel him smirking underneath you as he continued on, watching as your eyes clenched shut and you relented yourself to letting him torture you so beautifully.

If it wasn’t for the way your body was on edge from not being given any type of break after your first orgasm, you might have felt slightly ashamed at the way he was able to bring you to your second orgasm so quickly.

And then your third.

Tears were freely falling from your face when he finally slowed his movements to a stop and helped you to lay down on your back.

He trailed soft and slow kisses along your thighs and stomach to help bring you back down to earth. When his lips reconnected with yours, you returned the kiss, letting your eyes fall shut at the surprisingly tender moment.

“Next time you want to start a war, at least let me know your plans,” he said, causing you to open your eyes and be met with a smirk dancing across his lips, “and don’t doubt my punishments.”

You could’ve smacked the smirk off his face if it wasn’t for the fact he had turned your entire body into mush.

“Think you can be a good girl and handle one more?” He asked.

Your cheeks flushed at the praise and his hands moved to his belt and pants, pulling them off after you nodded your confirmation.

Once the rest of his clothes had been removed, he gently lifted your legs and positioned himself between them. He was gentle as he pushed inside you, but the smirk on his face from the way your voice cracked when you moaned was obvious.

The stretch was familiar at this point, but it didn’t mean you didn’t need the moment he gave you to adjust. When you nodded your head, he started moving.

Tommy knew your body like he knew his own after your time together. His hips immediately changed position as he started thrusting, making sure to hit the spot inside you that added to the ways your legs shook underneath him.

He leaned down and placed his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss right as a moan parted through them. One of his hands came back to cradle the back of your head and his fingers tangled into your hair to keep you close to him.

His other hand went to one of your legs and pulled it up so it rested in the crook of his elbow, causing him to hit even deeper inside you.

The action caused you to let out a high pitched moan and you wrapped your arms around him. Your next moan broke the passionate kiss the two of you had shared while your nails raked down his back.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, beginning to speed up the movements of his hips.

“Y-you,” you moaned out, your back arching underneath him.

“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” He repeated.

“Thomas Shelby,” you answered and dropped your head back.

“Good girl. You’re my fucking wife,” he moaned out. He sat up, using one hand to keep your leg up in the same position while his other hand went to your already over sensitive clit, “all mine. No other man gets to touch you, look at you, or even fucking think of you. It’s my cock that you’re whimpering over right now, and it’s the only cock you’ll ever be whimpering over again.”

“I’m yours, Tommy,” you repeated, your voice breaking as moan after moan fell from your lips.

“Then cum for me. Be a good Shelby wife and make a fucking mess on my cock just like how you made a mess of this war tonight,” he commanded.

You didn’t need any more encouragement from him as your fourth orgasm hit you, causing your back to arch again and your nails to run down his arms.

His moves start to become more sloppy and his pace sped up as he began to chase his own high, the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock only driving him closer to the edge.

“Want to feel you Tommy, please,” you moaned underneath him, “please, cum inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swore out. His hips pushing against yours as his high hit him and his arms came down to either side of your head again while he shoved his face into your neck, completely claiming you as his own while his cum filled you.

His hips slowed as he rode out both of your highs and your arms came to wrap around him, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his head you could reach.

Once the two of your breathing had slowed down to a normal pace, he moved to push himself up and your legs around his waist tightened along with your arms.

“Don’t. Not yet,” you said in a quiet voice.

“I’m going to crush you, love.” He placed soft kisses along your shoulders between his words as he tried warning you.

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you replied and began running your nails softly along the shaved part of his head, knowing the motion worked on him every time.

“Stubborn,” he falsely chided, but relented and relaxed back into your hold.

“Little late to the party if you’ve just worked that out.” Your reply causing both of you to chuckle. “Remind me to start more wars if it means you fuck me like that every time.”

His hand came down and gently slapped your thigh in response while a burst of quiet giggles left your lips.

“Stubborn and a brat,” he teased, sitting up again and carefully sliding out of you.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” you responded with a smirk.

“I don’t think of it that way,” he said as he stood up and wrapped his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you up into his arms.

“How do you think of it?” You asked him as he carried you across the hall and into your shared room.

“I think I’m lucky enough to be married to a woman who killed for me over a years-old attack even though we’d never even said that we loved each other.” He set you down in the middle of the bed before crawling in next to you and pulling you into his chest.

A bright blush rose to your face as he pointed out that you had never even said you loved each other, even though you had admitted to him earlier that you had fallen for him. You didn’t know how to reply immediately and you turned in his arms to look up at him, his arms staying locked around your waist.

He didn’t seem to expect you to reply though, because he leaned in to you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and sweet, as if he was trying to communicate what your actions had meant to him without having the words to say it.

“I fell for you, too,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I realized it tonight. The panic I felt to see your note and to see you come home covered in blood. The anger I felt over seeing you another man’s jacket. The way I felt when you revealed what you had done and why…” He trailed off, looking down at you and seeming to try and memorize every part of your face, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m yours and you’re mine.”

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thepradapariah · 1 year ago

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Mars ☄️ and Your Sexxx Language 🐱💋✨

QUICK MESSAGE TO THE BADDIES

HELLO!!!! To all of my sweet, sweet Kosmic Baddies, Oh!! How I’ve missed you!

I cannot believe it’s been over a FRIGGIN year, but GOODNESS….believe me, when I say this past year has been a roller coaster for me, I truly mean it. I can only imagine what’s been going on in your lives as well. Just TOO MUCH!!!1111!!!!!111!!!!!1 But welcome to 2024! A universal 8 year and the year of the Dragon!!! WE IN THIS THANNNNGGG!!!! Hard work, discipline and accountability is the theme, and we can’t lose!!!!!

Believe it or not, I actually STARTED writing this to have to you for Halloween, but ummmm….this is looking like a Valentine’s Day post instead! HA!!!! Blame it on my Saturn in Pisces– my relationship to time is….non existent. But, I think this timing is better anyways. The theme is very fitting so we are going to turn apples into oranges.

***Even funnier update, now it’s past Valentine’s Day….GOODNESS!!! This has been the longest it’s taken me to write anything. Like…INSANE. Almost 6 months I’ve been steadily working on this!

Thank you to those who have continued to support me! Thank you to those who have continued to share and interact with my post through my…let’s say, hiatus! I am planning to put more energy and effort into this blog post. I LOVE writing for y’all, it is really one of my favorite things in the world.

I am going to take a moment to apologize in advance and say, the typos are probably going to be real with this one. Because I’ve been working on it for so long, I’m just ready to get it out, so it won’t be my cleanest work. I will probably be updating and editing, so bare with me!

🕯 INTRODUCTION 🕯

Sooooo….where to start? I wanted to do something fun and interesting this go round because I missed y’all so much, but I also wanted to do something light so I could get back into the rhythm of writing again….aaaaaaaaaand I thought you would enjoy something a little smexiiiii as we move into cuddle buddy season. So, in this post, we are going to talk about Mars and Your Sexxx language.

One day, as I was driving around town, it dawned on me that we always talk about Love Languages (check out my Mercury post if you haven’t already) and we never talk about sex languages. And y’all know me, and if you don’t know, you’ll soon find out, I am a Bharani moon (atmakaraka at that); and the blending between Mars and Venus is my soul’s most valuable asset to share with the world…(Did I mention my moon is the 11th House?) Sex is one of the most taboo topics (in Western puritan culture, at least), yet such a powerful resource in our human tool box and it’s ridiculously important in our relationships. The 7th House is followed by the 8th House for a reason. Intimacy, of course not always sexual, is what leads to self-discovery, the 9th House. So we cannot overlook the important step that is sexual relations. Even the word “orgasm” means “little death” and death baby, is as close as you get to God. (See how those houses flow together so well?) Hence why things such as Tantra are a sexual AND religious experience all in one. Don’t be fooled by western/christian ideals into thinking that sex is unholy or ungodly. If you think Jesus was a virgin, think again. I mean, what’s the point of turning water into wine if you’re just going to roll over and go to sleep? Y’know what I mean?

Don’t worry! If you’re a less experienced reader, and haven’t engaged in aaaaallll thhhaattt… this post is still for you! In fact, this is one of the reasons I love astrology so much, because hopefully this post will give you some context about yourself and what your SOUL craves, not just your body, so when you do start “doing the do” you can be spiritually comfortable with your wants and desires instead of ashamed or even afraid of them.

Not to put all my business on the street…but, hey, I love y’all, so I won’t keep too many secrets from you (mercury in the 8th, HA)…but, I had to do quite a bit of bumping and grinding to discover what my soul needs in an intimate relationship and I wish there was more of “guide” for me on that journey! So HERE…I’m giving it to you!

WHAT IS A SEX LANGUAGE? 😈

To be completely honest, a “sex language” isn’t something as defined as a love language, so please, bear with me as we discover this together. Please feel free to share any experiences or insight with me. Although I may not always respond, I TRULY appreciate you taking the time to share with me. I try to read everything that I can!

I’m defining sex language as how one creates and shares intimacy in their close relationships. This is particularly expressed through physical interactions and outward expressions. Mars is a planet that governs our passions, drives and desires, meaning our sex language is guided by what we deeply want and crave from our partners on a spiritual level. Venus represents more of the external notions that we have for love and relationships, while Mars represents our internal needs from love and relationships. Mars is inherently a more personal and “self-centered” planet, so interestingly enough, your sex language is all about you! I go as far to say, when you find a partner, don’t forget to check your Mars compatibility as well. If you have extremely incompatible Mars signs, you will have to do a lot more work in the relationship to overcome the constant friction. Moreover, if you have more compatible Mars signs, then WOOOO BABY, the sexual tension could be off the charts!

✨ ABOUT MARS ✨

Mars placements won’t make or break a relationship, per say, but it is a very important layer to help maintain a relationship. How many of you have heard of sexless marriages and people being unsatisfied in their relationships in a sexual way? Does that mean the couples always break-up because of the lack of sex or chemistry? No…..But does it help a HECK OF A LOT when you are wildly attracted to your partner? YES! (Of course this isn’t always a good thing…but for the sake of this post, we are only talking about rainbows and sunshine.) Just keep this in mind as you start to use this knowledge in your journey. Mars is a really important planet that is easy to overlook because it’s not in the Big Three! (Yet, it iiissss the natural ruler of the 1st House).

WHY IT ALL MATTERS 🌚

I truly believe there is a shift in the collective and many couples are going to be coming into union over the course of the next year or so. Why? Because Ketu is FINALLY transitioning out of Libra and entering Virgo. If you’ve noticed, we’ve seen quite a bit of celebrity break-ups and covid relationships coming to a screeching halt. Hence why I say, if you’ve been single, or haven’t been in a serious connection in the last few years or even ever, now is the time that your next partner might be going through some significant ending with an ex. Union is on the horizon for a lot of souls who have been doing theeee spiritual work. That’s why I couldn’t think of a better topic to get started to set the mooooooooood. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.

So without further ado, let’s get into the nitty gritty. I’m going to do something different and start with Mars in Pisces/12th House and work backwards to Mars in Aries/1st House! I thought “Hey! Why not switch it up a bit? Pisces shouldn’t be forced to scroll ALL the time!”

***Note: If you’re feeling extra spicy, you can read for whatever sign is in your 1st House and 8th House as well because those are traditionally Mars ruled Houses. And you can read for your 12H, because the 12H is also the house of bedroom pleasures! Always keep in mind that we are complex creatures and astrology is like a puzzle, so it’s okay for some things to resonate and other things to not. Learn as many perspectives as possible so you can define yourself!

With Love & Lust,

Enjoy!

A-D 💋

Mars in Pisces/Mars in the 12th House

“Cut me like a rose, turn me like a beast” Only- Ry X

If your natal Mars is in Pisces or the 12H, you may actually have a hard time knowing what your desires are. Why? Because Mars can feel as if it’s drowning in the deep spiritual waters of Pisces. Your wants can be quite dreamy. You crave a sexual experience that transcends space and time, forcing you to leave your body and touch God himself in ecstasy. (I’m a western Mars in Pisces, so…I get it). When it comes to your sex language, you want your partner to just get “you”. You don’t want to have to explain or talk or direct, you’d rather just receive and give a special type of unconditional love that knows no bounds. Because of this “boundless love”, you may actually, literally, lack boundaries. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, so we are going to focus on the positive. You are truly accepting of those who are accepting of you. Because Pisces is a mutable sign, you are willing to fit into whatever box your partner wants to put you in…and you receive great pleasure from making a deep seeded fantasy of your partner come true. You could be just as playful and imaginative when it comes to role-playing as a Gemini.

Because Mars is in Pisces or the 12H, you’ll find that a lot of partners will project their wishes and dreams onto you. Hence why you want a love that is really deep, because people can get washed away in the shallow end of your energy without ever fully realizing how deep your waters flow. This can be frustrating. And because Mars isn’t the most comfortable here, you can have some unhealthy ways of expressing your sexual frustration. Particularly if your Mars is in the 12H, you can be attracted to self-gratification through self-pleasure and also self-harm. You may even conflate the two, harm & pleasure, and have a dark side to your sexual fantasies. Your passions and desires can end up being repressed because people may not understand them, or be able to meet your high expectations. Amd babes, I love you, but just know, your expectations out of partnership are OTHERWORLDLY. But no worries!! You are SUPER DUPER freaky and almost a guaranteed partner that will go down in history books, particularly after you get comfortable in your own sensuality.

One of the things to watch out for with this Mars, is you can be passive-aggressive in the bedroom. You can take a more passive role, expecting and energetically demanding that your partner take the lead. You may not realize you even give off this energy, but the internal need that you have to dissolve into your partner, like sugar into water, can be very intense. And the gag is, sugar doesn’t really fully dissolve, so what you’re seeking can be impossible to satisfy on the earthly plane. Because of this, it is IMPERATIVE for you to have spiritual outlets within your sexual connections. It may be that you and your partner practice Tantra, or you simply pray together. With this Mars, you can absolutely use sex as a tool for manifestation. Watch your thoughts during sex, because you truly can create MAGIK!

Mars in Aquarius or Mars in the 11th House

“I believe in aliens, I don’t believe in love” Familiarity by Teezo Touchdown

If your natal Mars is in Aquarius or the 11th House, you are something special. Why? Because out of all the signs, you are the most unique lover. I KNOW!!! How friggin’ cliche, Aquarius=Unique, blah blah blah…boring. YES! It’s said all the time, but it’s the truth. In Vedic Astrology, it is important to note that Aquarius is ruled by Saturn and Rahu. This is hugely impactful as to why you are unlike anyone else. Even as you read this, you won’t be exactly like the next person reading this, because the Saturn Rahu combination can be influenced by so many different factors. Aquarians are the hardest sign to write for in general, simply because you are going to be very individualist when it comes to how you express yourself. Now, all that being said, you still crave, very deeply, a sense of belonging. So please, don’t ever take for granted how special you are. If someone is lucky enough to break through your hard exterior, they really are in for an extraterrestrial experience!

Because Mars is in an air sign here, you may or may not be the most sensual and/or sexual person on the planet. You could be. But you could not be. And that is the gift…or curse…of this Mars placement. I have Mars in Aquarius myself, and I remember reading an article that said “this placement can be infuriating to your partner because you are so nonchalant.” And I can definitely say I’ve lost relationships because the other party assumed I was disinterested because I wasn’t the most expressive when it came to my emotions. It’s important to remember that Mars in Aquarius/11H is actually a neutral placement. It isn’t a death sentence or the worst thing on the planet, but it’s not necessarily the best. So don’t be too hard on yourself if your partners don’t understand you very easily. You will just have to do more work to learn how to communicate and accommodate in your relationships. This may be something that follows you throughout life…and forget your partner….it could be infuriating to you! BUT NO WORRIES! Mars in Aquarius or Mars in the 11th house is usually more concerned with developing and nurturing friendships, which seems to contradict the more lustful side of Mars. Longing for friendship and connection versus longing for sensual pleasure and connection can be seen as two different things.

What Mars in Aquarius/11H wants more than anything is L. O. Y. A. L. T. Y. Because this Mars placement can grant so much freedom, it is imperative for the person with this placement to feel safe and secure in the sexual relationship they are building. This is NOT to be confused with possession. Expecting loyalty from a partner isn’t the same as feeling as if you own your partner. You believe that your partner should have freedom to express and live their life the way they want to, and you expect the same in return. However, you do expect your partner to consider you when they make their decisions in life. It is very much “give a dog a bone, leave a dog alone, let a dog roam and he’ll find his way home” (S/o DMX, may he rest in peace). Meaning, in your sexual language, you want your space and privacy, but you want to feel a belonging no matter how far away you are from your partners.

NOW, for the fun stuff. You are one of the most explorative lovers on the planet. You may have a “the more the merrier” type attitude and be interested in group smexii time or oragies. You may have a dream to experience Amsterdam and the Red Light District. The beauty in having your Mars in an air sign/house is that you can remain detached from the sexual experience and partner– therefore, you may not experience jealousy because you aren’t super possessive. Again, you’re all about freedom baby!!! You may also have some pretty “far-out” kinks. You may be interested in different genders, or same gender, or mix gender or no gender or latex or pantyhoes or dress up or furries or hentai or tentacle porn….and if you’re not into it, chances are you will at least click a questionable link or two. You don’t carry the same shame as others do when it comes to what turns you on sexually. You don’t like anything boring or too routine, so your search history could be a bit…odd….BUT HEY!!! As long as it’s not hurting anyone or anything and pleasure is being derived from all parties involved, then let adults do what adults do is kind of your attitude.

Friendship is the key to your heart…and to your…uh…biological box….lol. When it comes to long-term relationships, I can bet my bottom dollar that you’re far more interested in the friendship aspects than the inherent relationship drama. When your friends ask “why are you still dealing with them”, you will follow up with “well, we are friends before anything else.” And you mean that deeply. The really funny thing is…on the other hand, you are also very likely to get down with complete strangers and never think about it again. You can hook-up and detach with the best of them, or your loyalty to a confidant can keep you in a relationship for a very long time…it. Just. depends.

The one thing that is true about your sex language, is that you speak ALL different kinds. When you look back at your life and your experiences, if you are more of an adventurous Aquarian, lets say you have a lot of air and fire in your chart, you will most likely have all kinds of stories from all different people and places. You will be one of the most interesting partners and friends to talk to about all the mixed bags of experiences that you’ve had..which is awesome. If your Mars in Aquarius/11H is paired with a more “earthy” sign or even water, you will most likely have a rom-com type love thing happening…that tugging “will they/won’t they” energy at the beginning of relationships, only to fall head over heals with the “guy/gal next door”. You may also find your sexual partners online, in a group setting or be hooked up by natural friends. “How’d you meet?” “Oh, I heard from a friend of a friend that that d*ck is a ten out of ten!”

Mars in Capricorn or Mars in the 10th House

“My vicious love, My lethal heart, I wanna screw you up into me” - Bad Bad Bad by Ramsey

If your natal Mars is in Capricorn or in the 10th House, then your sexual language is money, money…and….uh….more money. I kid, I kid…but not really. It would be easy and predictable for me to say you just lust after money, but it goes much deeper than that. Believe it or not, Mars is actually exalt in Capricorn, so, you couldn’t have a better Mars placement. Your natural ruler Saturn and Mars truly are the best of friends. And if you’re familiar with Tarot, then you know The Devil represents Capricorn energy and The Devil is all about seduction and temptation. Unlike some of the more dreamy Mars placements like Pisces/12H or Cancer 4H that use their sexual language as an escape from reality, or the detached air placements like Gemini/3H or Aquarius/11H, who are too aloof to harness Mars’ energy, YOU my Capricorn/10H individuals are acutely aware of how powerful the nature of sex can be…and most importantly, how it can be used to your advantage.

To the average person on the street, you may not seem like the super sexual type. You prefer a sophisticated lover to a “cute” one, so people can assume that your standards are too high. And perhaps, your standards are high, because you understand the value of your presence and your time. In fact, you HATE wasting time, so why would you waste time on lovers who don’t bring anything to the table? Sadly, for most of the public, they won’t ever have the experience to be with a Capricorn/10H Mars because quite frankly, they can’t afford it.

Funnily enough, I’m sure as you’ve been reading this, you’re like “dang…am I that shallow?” And the answer is yes and no. You’re shallow because we live in a shallow world– and you know in order to survive it, you have to use what you got to get what you want. The other side of this is, you’re not shallow at all because you are willing to work and discipline yourself and sacrifice for those that you truly care about. There is such a depth to you in the long run, that it makes sense that you make it really difficult for people to get to you. Because you know and I know, once you’ve committed to someone, you’ve committed for as long as you possibly can. Your sexual language is all about stamina and endurance. This is true in and and out of the bedroom. As an earth sign/house, you are a sensual being. You enjoy each and every bit of romance that you can get. A nice meal, some good perfume, dressed to the nines is all considered foreplay to you. You entice your partners with a certain dignified class and only the brave will approach. In your younger years, you could find this extremely frustrating at times because men will really have to get their sh*t together before they can even THINK to approach you on that level. But the more that you use your Mars to get you where you want to be in life, partners will follow behind you and constantly buzz around as if you are the Queen Bee and they are mere workers for your attention.

Funnily enough, you are quite the heart-breaker with this Mars placement. Because you are so focused on your goals outside of love, and yet, you can crave sensual pleasures, you will be very direct with a partner, but they may not be aware of how serious you take yourself. How can this manifest? Let’s say you meet a partner and everything is groovy, but you are working on a big project for work, you’re working on a degree of some kind, or you’ve said you won’t rest until you make partner at the big company…unlike other Mars placements, you won’t let romance sway you or take you off track. You are probably the best example of “right person, wrong time”. You don’t have as much of an issue as other signs walking away from a situation that is distracting you from your more worldly desires. This can leave people utterly confused, because you seem like a perfect partner, but honestly, you’re just not focused on aaaalll the drama that can come with fully committed relationships. People may actually take this energy and say that you’re a player…or worse…a floozy (one of my favorite words lol, definitely needs to make a comeback). You actually aren’t. You will be one of the most committed partners they could find, but if it’s not the right time…it just ain’t happening. So your partners will have to maintain some level of patience or they will miss out. On the other hand, because Mars is a planet of extremes, you may go through periods in life where you are celebate. It may take you awhile to stop channeling that Martian ambitious energy into your career and put it towards your sexuality. That being said, you will enjoy the more sensual side of sex. You could have great stamina and endurance. Because sex may not come around as often as you’d like, you will learn to savor every drop of your partners and please them in a calculated, thoughtful and masterful way! How smeeexxxiiiiiii!!!!!

Mars in Sagittarius or Mars in the 9th House

“I’ve been everywhere, man, looking for someone. Someone who can please me, love me all night long” Where Have You Been by Rihanna

If your natal Mars is in Sagittarius or the 9th House, your sexual language is that of many languages. You fall in love with the exotic, unknown and unexplored. You like your partners like James Bond likes his cars– foreign. You appreciate partners who expand your understanding of reality. Your partners have to expand your mind…and body…into positions that you never thought were possible. If you don’t attract partners who are of a different race, culture or class from you, then you will be attracted to partners who are otherworldly and spiritual or are just as serious about their religious beliefs as you are. Like Mars in Pisces/12H, your planet is ruled by the planet Jupiter, aka Guru. You NEED to learn from your partner. You NEED to explore with your partner. And you NEED to be able to teach your partners something as well. “I wanna know…can you show me…I wanna know about the strangers like me”...It’s giving…Tarzan and Jane. I have Mars in the 9th House, and it has manifested in a very fun way! So with my bias, I believe that this can be one of the more fun placements if you just go with the flow. Unlike other Mars placements, you don’t necessarily feel the need to control your partners. You’d much rather experience them, learn the lesson and move on to the next new shiny thing. Much like your brother, Gemini, you are equally as invested in getting the knowledge and seeking more knowledge. You of all signs are unlikely to overstay your welcome in a relationship. You can come off quite restless and unsatisfied…UNLESS you are just fascinated and enamored with an individual.

You can find yourself attracted to people who have accents, or speak a different language than you. But you will be even more turned on by someone who shares the same religious beliefs as you. You may actually be willing to convert religions for your partner OR, and this is more likely, you have a partner who is a different religion than you are, and instead of being ashamed by it, or making it an obstacle, you embrace it– ultimately respecting their religion, while maintaining the traditions of your own.

You will naturally desire to travel with your partner. Making some of your favorite memories in life when you made-love in some far off land. If the sentence, “I made love to a Frenchman I met while eating a baguette at the local cafe under the Eiffel tower and I’ll never see him again, but he’s the love of my life” turns you on…congratulations, you’re in the right spot.

This Mars placement is fueled by your deepest desire to see the world and its deepest truth, and then just imagine how much you can learn about the world through the lens of an intimate partner. Your sexual language, like I said earlier, involves language in and of itself. You want to hear the stories of distants lands, fascinated by the foreign nature of your divine counterpart. You will want to be intimate with partners who can speak for hours and hours about their adventures and endeavors. You need to be intrigued at the very least.

I also find that with this placement, there may be an age difference in your relationships. You either will be attracted to someone who is much older and wiser, OR, interesting enough, you could find yourself with someone younger. Why is this? You will appreciate a person who still has zest for life. You will be equally attracted to partners who are bright eyed and bushy tailed! Plus, I know I’ve talked a lot about your partner entertaining and teaching you, but the truth of the matter is, you will want to be as much of a sage to your partner as well. You will enjoy teaching them the ways of life and the pursuit of happiness. They will look to you with eyes of wonder as you paint beautifully vivid pictures of your life experiences that have shaped your view of the world.

Another element to this Mars placement, is you are one to challenge authority. This may manifest in your sex language by liking to explore BDSM culture in some way. Because this Mars is all about freedom, you may be turned on by the thought of your partner controlling you…just so you can say no. You can come off as a “well, make me”...kind of lover when it comes to foreplay. You love a challenge and you like partners who challenge you in some way when it comes to living out your sexual fantasies. Another way this may come out is you AND your partner may have a knack for getting into trouble or enjoying sex with some kind of risk involved. You get off being able to sneak away for a quickie. You’ll have sex in the backseat of a car. Joining the mile club is definitely on your bucket list…all the things! Because you are such a rebel, you tell stories that have “normies” clutching their pearls and leave their mouths open. You want to have memorable sex that is worth writing a book about!!!

I can not drive home enough how spiritual your sexual relationships have the potential to be. You are not a shallow lover. You are a lover full of wonder and full of lust…wanderlust…if you will. Sagittarius/9H is a very serious zodiac/house. You're destined to seek truth– so your sexual partners HAVE to enlighten you in some way. You don’t want to get stuck in the mundane, boring stuff of a relationship, (and please, don’t get too carried away, because we do live on planet earth!) you want to experience shrooms, talk about God and make love in the forest! Smexxiiii!!!!

Mars in Scorpio or Mars in the 8th House

“Every breath you take, every move you make, every smile you fake, every single day, I’ll be watching you” Every Breath You Take by Sting

Okay, okay, it would be all too easy to say your love language is stalking, and more stalking and even more stalking, but…that’s only a small fraction of what this Mars placement has to offer. If your natal Mars is placed in Scorpio or in your 8th House, your sexual language is that of raw passion and intensity. That being said, it is also about restraint and self-restriction, and sometimes self destruction. I tend to find Scorpionic energy and 8H energy to be radically internal. You, actually, may not be the most expressive lover. You are more comfortable waiting, studying and planning to pursue a lover, rather than going in full force. Because Mars is your natural ruler, Mars is more than comfortable here, but unlike your brother sign, Aries, you are more of the “planning” part of war, rather than action. This is the strategy of self-defense more than anything. You don’t want to walk into an intimate situation to be intimate yourself, you want to extract vulnerability from your partner like a detective solving a murder crime. Your sex language is more of a riddle than a question. And you would like a partner who intrigues you and leaves a lot of mystery. In my many many years of dating, and many many encounters with Scorpionic energy (I attract them like flies…it’s crazy) I always find that Scorpios are nowhere near as mysterious or hard to figure out as they perceive. Behind all that black and dark stares and gazed is usually a pretty pretty boring, but shy person. There is such a caution with this sign when it comes to acting on those very deep and sometimes all consuming desires, so you are very careful to not put yourself in harm's way. Another hot take that I have on this placement that may seem a bit contradictory to the Scorpionic stereotype is YES YES YES, you are smexxxxiiii and all of the things, but that doesn’t necessarily make you the most sexual person. You take intimacy and sexy very seriously, more seriously than most, because for you intimacy and vulnerability can be used against you and be seen as a weakness, so you are hard pressed to just be going around willy-nilly swinging from partner to partner. You also view sex/intimacy as more of a “power” thing than a “love” thing. And what do I mean by that? You know that deep intimacy and truly being intertwined with another individual gives you an unreal amount of access to that person on a personal and spiritual level. It is always important to remember where Scorpio/8H lines up in the grand scheme of things. It follows the Libra/7H of partnership. The 8H is actually the house that dictates how a relationship will play out. This. Is. Imperative. To understand this placement. You are far more focused on how the partnership plays out, rather than the partnership itself. Again, unlike your predecessor, Libra, who is ruled by Venus and may be more interested in the looks of a relationship and romantic partner. Your sexual language is more interested in the psychology of your partner. You don’t care nearly as much about the outside as you do the inside. What draws you to your partner is a need to access the ultimate truths through your partners. Hence why, you are followed by Sagittarius/9H of Truth and Liberation. Your sex language involves restraint, power and hidden truths.

As I said before, it may be really difficult for you at times to truly connect with your partners because your energy can demand sooooo much from them. You will require partners to go through such depths in their relationship with you, that they may not be able to handle it. And on the other side of that, you may stay away from relationships because you may mistakenly feel like it brings out some of your “worst” qualities. With this Mars, you may go through a very intense relationship when you’re young, one where you give your all, I mean…you would kill or be killed for those you love, and because that relationship fails, you may never want to experience those types of lows again and stay away. You are one of the most loyal of the Mars placements, so you are very careful to study who exactly you are giving your loyalty to. I recommend with this placement, you may find yourself oddly attracted to Aquarian/11H energy. It sounds weird, water and air, but in this case, Aquarian energy is endlessly fascinating because they are so unorthodox, you will never truly figure them out, so you’re constantly intrigued by them. Aquarians also value loyalty the same way you do. They will allow you the freedom that you need to sit in your own emotions, but value the friendship in such a way, you won’t feel abandoned by them. Even if the people you are attracted to don’t have Aquarius in their chart, I think that quality is something you should consider when looking into intimate partners. It is probably the partner who gives you the most space and it is the hardest to figure out, that will give you the most in life. If you have a partner that is easy to conquer, not only will you be bored, but you can easily slip into those darker energies of control and manipulation to get you way…even when it’s unnecessary.

AAALLLL that said, you are still a hell of a lover! I mean…wow. You intricately know how to please and conquer. You use sex as a language itself when you’re ready and willing. And man, do you have a way with words. You can easily hypnotize a lover to fall under your command, so be careful with this gift. You are more than comfortable in this arena once you move past your fears in the subconscious. You can channel this energy, much like the exalt Mars in Capricorn to succeed with some of your greatest ambitions. You will put your sexual energy into your work and projects in a way like no other! Just don’t take everything so seriously! It’s okay to have a good time. Be intimate and open up some! You’ll enjoy getting your head out of the sand!

Mars in Libra or Mars in the 7th House

“What a rush & what a high, cause when your love don’t fight, smoke gets in your eyes” Smoke In Your Eyes by Skepta, Ossie, Harry Stone

If you came to this section thinking that I was going to talk about how sweet and balanced you are when it comes to your sexual language…THINK. AGAIN. BABE. You are nothing of the sort. Seems contradictory, huh? Because Libra/7H is all about balance, right? Well…not when it comes to this Mars placement.

If you have your natal Mars in Libra or the 7th House, you are quite the spicy lover. To be completely honest, Mars is VERY uncomfortable here. Why? Because Libra is naturally ruled by the planet Venus, which is essentially the opposite frequency of Mars. I like to think of Mars and Venus as the brother and sister planets of the Milky way. Traditionally ruled by Ares and Aphrodite in Greek mythology respectively, they are technically half-siblings. So when you think of this Mars placement, this of how a girlie-girl would feel surrounded by all boys at a football camp. Sure, she may attract a lot of attention and she may have plenty of options…but she will CERTAINLY have to set clear boundaries to command the respect she deserves, as well as deal with the fact that no one around her may have the same interest. See how this can be uncomfortable? It’s not the worst thing to happen, but it can cause you to feel like you have to play the field a little bit differently because of Mars being in the House of Libra.

Okay, so now that we covered why this placement might be different than what you were imagining, let’s get into what this post is actually about!

If you have this natal placement, your sex language is all about breaking up to make-up. Because you’re on this constant quest of seeking balance, YOU will subconsciously or consciously seek chaos in order to regain balance. Your indecisive and somewhat aloof nature in relationships can be a source of frustration when it comes to your sexual expression with your lovers. If you have Mars in your 7H, you genuinely LOVE conflicts and attract conflicts to your relationships. You can be quite passive aggressive, honestly, and stir the pot to get attention. AAALLLL this being said, you still enjoy the finer things and love the idea of love, even though you may not have the most direct way of going about it. Your partners may even find you hard to read, and this can frustrate you, because your wishy-washy-ness is so innate to you, you may have a tendency to think that everyone is as back and forth with decision making as you are.

Ironically, more so than any of the previous placements I have discussed before, I will focus more on what sexual language you like from your partner rather than yourself. Of course, you like good food, good wine, good clothes, good banter, good company…you have Libra, like DUH, but I want to offer a different perspective on this placement.

So when it comes to your partners, you truly like a partner who takes charge, regardless of sex. You crave a level of masculinity and directness in your love language because as I stated earlier, it can be difficult for you to make decisions for yourself. You overemphasize how people will perceive you, and this can cause you to stunt your decision making, so you’ll find yourself craving a partner who can be unabashedly unapologetic in their approach to life. You seek partners who are brave and courageous and you will find yourself testing anyone you fall in love with to see if they have that spark of passion in them. You may find yourself seeking different things from different people, so you may have multiple lovers– and just like how it may take you forever to pick out your outfit in the morning, it may take you forever to figure out what you value in a partner. It is important to note that Libra/7H energy is indeed a masculine energy. I’m sure most would assume it’s feminine because of the “sophisticated” and charismatically social nature usually associated with Libras, but when it comes to sexual relationships, Taurus/2H energy is the feminine side of Venus. Libra energy in this way is more detached than people would think. As stated earlier, because you enjoy dates, chatting, getting to know people, you may be a really good casual dater! This could send mixed messages to potential lovers because you may have never really had any intention of dating them long-term– or, you really just haven’t decided yet. Now are we starting to see how this Mars placement can attract certain conflict? You will desire and crave a partner that can make decisions for you. This may lead to some kinkiness in the bedroom because you’re open to compromise and you can be bossed around in this regard.

Overall your sexual language is complex because of the inherent contradiction of this natal placement. You can make this work in your favor as long as you keep open communication with your partner, even if it’s to tell them that you need some more time before you’re comfortable making any lasting decisions. When you date, you will have to allow your partners to understand your up & down nature. Most people will probably take your pragmatic nature personally, so if you can find a way to channel this into being sexually playful with your lovers, it can be a great way to keep romance fun and interesting. As stated in the beginning, you are most likely to end up in an on-again-off-again kind of relationship because you like for the scales to be tipped, so you can rebalance them. You are far more detached in commitments than most people would assume, so it is essential for you to date like-minded people who understand that your coldness is not a reflection on your feelings. You choose to remain objective in your judgements and seek fairness in your relationships—even if you are the one who was unfair to begin with! Kiss it kiss it better baby!!!!

Mars in Virgo or Mars in the 6th House

“I got commitment issues, but I’m tryna fix that for you…I don’t believe in love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take you serious” Commitment Issues by Central Cee

With Mars in Virgo or the 6th House, you may be surprised to find how non-committal you are when it comes to relationships. Why? Because you find relationships to be impractical. So when it comes to your sexual language, you are quite all over the place. Lovers can find you hard to catch, almost like trying to keep a fairy in a jar. You prefer to flutter around and keep things light in the sexual department. To you, sex can scream responsibility. After all, sex can be a pretty risky and dirty affair. All the fluid exchange and, ultimately, the required vulnerability, can make you quite uneasy. With this Mars placement, you can go between the two extremes of putting too much emphasis on sex or not enough emphasis at all. This is due to the natural ruler of Virgo/6H being Mercury, which, I find to be, an asexual planet. You are more interested in the intellectual connection than the physical connection.

BUT PLEASE, don’t get me wrong! You know you’re way around the bedroom. Your sexual language is constantly evolving. You do well with long-term partners that you can trust, study and get to know. You prefer a lover that is loyal, so you don’t have to worry about where they’ve been, or better yet, who they’ve been with. You find joy in repetition with one partner. OR, you are really open to “protected” one-night stands. You are either all in or all out. You don’t like to waste time on sexual relationships that you don’t see a return for a long-term investment. That being said, if you are unable to invest in the long-term, you can find yourself in a position of sexual frustration. You may really desire a person, but because of your deep need for perfection first, you may stall connections & find a lot of pleasure in masturbation for the time being. You, like your opposite sign, Pisces, can really get into your fantasies. You may find that erotica and romance novels can be great resources to pass the time while you likely toil between celibacy and being a whore (this is particularly funny to me because Virgos are known for being the Virgins of the zodiac– hence the contradiction in Mars in Virgo. The planet of sex and desire ruled by a “Virgin” is, uh….a difficult juxtaposition to say the least.) – again, it’s all about mental stimulation with you.

When you do meet a partner that you can FINALLY settle down and feel comfortable with, you will be a very giving lover. Because Virgo energy is usually associated with servitude, you better believe that you will make it your duty to service the object of your affection. You care very deeply about the satisfaction of your partner— far more than you care about your own. As stated earlier, you don’t mind finishing up solo as long as your partner is satisfied. You will find every nook and cranny, every deep desire, every love spot that your partner has, because you will analyze their body with astute detail. You will break your partner’s sexual language down and adapt it to be your own, because after all, you are a mutable sign. As well as being an earth sign, you do have a very deep sensual nature to you. Although you can come across as quite guarded with new partners, once you blossom, you really enjoy heavy petting and physical touch. You can spend so much time in your head and alone with your thoughts in other aspects of your life, you may find it very powerful to have a partner that literally grounds you and brings you back to planet Earth by holding you in their arms. Again, after you’ve bent over backwards (pun intended) to please your partner, you, more than any other sign, except maybe Leo, really needs to be acknowledged and celebrated for your hard work. You don’t take kindly to being undervalued or under appreciated when it comes to your romantic relationships in this context.

Believe it or not, this placement can actually be quite kinky! Why? Because of the influence of Mercury again. As stated before, you want to learn your partner’s as well as you possibly can to make sure you are seen as perfect in their eyes– sooooo, that means you’ll have some exploring to do. Mercury is such a curious planet, that it may not be kinky for the sensual pleasures of it all, but it will be interested in testing out sex & kinks for “research purposes”. This can give you a sort of detached feeling when it comes to sex, which may or may not work in your favor– you’re able to disassociate in a way that makes sex almost an out of body experience…it may take you some time to actually feel pleasure from sex. You are so focused on the other and pleasing your partner, you can forget that sex is supposed to be a two way street! I just want to reiterate, that this placement is so mutable, that you may find yourself pretty ambivalent towards sex at different times in your life. You’re kind of like “eh”. But there is hope, when you find a partner that lights your fire– you will find yourself wanting sex like a child wants candy! There is plenty of potential here for a beautifully active and engaging sex life– it just may take more time to develop than others.

Learn your own kinks! Have fun! Explore the more sensual side of life for yourself!

Anyone who is able to win you over (which is NOT an easy feat by any means) will be able to revel in the fact that you are such a wonderful lover! But don’t forget, sex is not a test that you can get an A + in, it’s supposed to be the culmination and celebration of it all!

Mars in Leo or Mars in the 5th House

“She may be the queen of hearts, but I’m the queen of your body parts” - Cockiness, Rihanna

If you have Mars in Leo or Mars in the 5th House, you are Britney Spears, all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus, bay-bee. You LOVE to put on a show. Your sexual language can make love-making a spectacle! You’re over the top, you’re loud, you roar. You LOVE LOVE LOVE the attention. So much so, you may not even need sex to fulfill that internal desire for you. Huh? What do I mean? I mean, you may be satisfied using your creative gifts for sexual gratification. Chances are with this placement, you are highly creative and charismatic. You find sensual pleasure in being able to share your creative gifts with other people. Haven’t you heard of entertainers saying they had so much fun on stage, it was orgasmic? That’s where you come in.

Ironically, I don’t naturally find this placement to be the most sexual. Don’t get me wrong, you are DOWN DIGGITY for a good time, but you really use sex as an ego booster. You may even be quite lazy in the bedroom. You could easily live by the code “my present is my presence” and be a dazzling pillow princess. This isn’t a bad thing, and it definitely doesn’t have to be the case all the time! When you’re turned on, you’re turned on, but when you’re just casually engaging in sex, or are in a long-term commitment, you may feel like sex is something that is owed to you. Not in a weird entitled way, but more like a Queen sitting on a chaise lounge being fed grapes– like, “duh, you should have sex with me, I’m beautiful”, type energy. This, if you haven’t been able to guess already, can lead to a selfish attitude in the love-making department. You must remember that sometimes, your partner wants to be catered to as well. That being said, you won’t shy away from Valentine’s Day. You are the type to go all out! You’ll put on the lingerie. You’ll lay out the rose petals on the bed. You’ll pay extra for that honeymoon suite. OR, you will expect your partner to do all of this without you asking. You treat holidays and sex as if it’s a royal affair.

Due to your standards being so high, I cannot express to you enough that you may really put all your sexual energy into your creative pursuits until you find a lover of high-value and high sex drive. You love and somewhat need to feel desired in order to break down your walls. You don’t play hard to get– you ARE hard to get, so this may leave you with extended periods of non-sexual activities. You are more than willing to give up sexual pleasure for your own personal pursuits– in fact, you are more likely to do that if you have specific career goals.

You may be a tad bit surprised at my interpretation of Mars in Leo, perhaps you were assuming it would be a bit spicier, but I challenge you to look at your ruler, the Sun (yes, the actual burning ball of fire in the sky) . Not literally…well, you can, but make sure you wear sun-glasses. But in all seriousness, the Sun shines alone. The Sun is too hot to let anything near it, and it carries such a gravitational pull, that things simply orbit around it, but can never get too close. With Mars in Leo/5th House, you may find yourself in this position when it comes to your sexual nature. You attract a lot of people towards you, but they are unable to get too close, for fear they will burn up in your presence. Or, you shine so bright, you are forced to do it alone. Being the Sun and the center of the Universe is a hard job, but ultimately an isolating job. Your being, your creative gifts, your star power and the way you shine can cast such a shadow on those who dare come near you. It really can be one of the most challenging placements because you probably won’t understand why people can’t/don’t come near you. Again, you’re just soooo great, people can have an overwhelming and unrealistic ideal of what it will take to make you happy. It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s flattering, but on the other hand, you can suffer from being put so high up on a pedal stool that you never asked for!

One tip for you, is to keep your hair beautiful and lushes! People will be attracted to your wild side and want to bring that out of you. You can either really love having your hair pulled or be turned off by it because you spend so much time making it look perfect. Either way, your hair may be an essential part of foreplay for you and something that suitors may find undeniably sexy.

As long as you are mindful to share the spotlight from time to time and not always prioritizing your needs & your desires, you can be a remarkably loyal partner. Fierce is the word that comes to mind and you can be very fierce in the bedroom. (When you want to be.) You can outshine any of the competition. Most people truly can’t hold a candle to you when it comes to how committed you are in an intimate relationship. You are proud and you protect those that are around you and that you deem worthy. You have a royal air that surrounds you and it loudly and proudly screams `bow down bitches' when it's time to get down and dirty!

Mars in Cancer or Mars in the 4th House

“Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you like your girls insane” Born to Die- Lana Del Rey

If you have Mars in Cancer or Mars in the 4th house, ironically, your sex language involves a knack of overwhelming emotional destruction. Dramatic, yes, yes, I know, but very true. Mars is VERY uncomfortable in the deep waters of Cancer/4H. Mars in the 4th House, in particular, is a naturally difficult placement because it sits in the House of happiness, as well as aspects the 7th House of partnership and the 11th House of friendship– making that native, uh, a little difficult to deal with. Why? Because your emotions can be so erratic and illogical, it can be difficult for people to understand what you want. Heck, you probably don’t understand what you want most of the time. I promise I’ll get to the good stuff, but keep in mind that this Mars placement is in detriment! (It’s exalted in Capricorn, the opposite sign.) So when it comes to your sexual language, you value such a deeply emotional commitment from your partner, you could constantly try to test them by pushing their emotional boundaries.

There is a mixture of pleasure and pain. You love an emotional outburst– this can be good and sexy, or bad and scary. Emotionally bonding make-up sex, is your cup of tea…ESPECIALLY if you are the one who caused the “break-up” in the first place. You truly enjoy engaging with your partner in a loving way, when you can, but because Mars is so unstable here, it can be hard for you to maintain emotional consistency within long-term relationships. You can find that your passions wax and wane for your partner. Sometimes, you just want to run into their arms and kiss them in the pouring rain, other times, you want them to LEAVE YOU DAFUQ ALONE. This can be quite jarring to your intimate partners, but also to yourself. I recommend embracing this quality and being as honest as possible! Instead of literally creating a sh*t storm in order to be left alone, just communicate to your partner that you need a little space from time to time. But also be willing to give your partner that same courtesy and grace if they ask for the same.

You can feel a need to wrap yourself up in your partner's desires. It may come from a genuine place, but because Mars is an aggressive planet, you may be quite aggressive in how you demonstrate your love to your partner because your deepest desire is to be able to emotionally control them. This can manifest in an extremely emotionally manipulative way through passive aggressiveness and just causing overall uneasiness within your dynamics and partnerships. One of the lovely sides about this particular placement, is when you mature, you can have an extremely high emotional I.Q. Because you are naturally very sensitive to your surroundings, you can literally sense the emotional and physical needs of your partner without them having to say a word. You can be so emotionally intune with your lovers, it can feel like telepathy if they need anything from you. You just know, y’know?

In the bedroom, you can go from one extreme to another. Sometimes you want to be dominant, and sometimes you want to be dominated. It is important for your lovers to be able to ride your waves and learn what is needed from them at any given moment. Again, Mars is all about conquest. So when Mars is in the 4H in particular, you want to be able to be the leader in your home, but you also want someone who can take the reins when necessary. Again, this can be a difficult balance to strike within your sexual relationships because people may not understand the method behind the madness, typically because there really isn’t a method…it’s just kind of madness AND THAT’S OKAY!

Because Mars is so uncomfortable here, it is imperative for you to be able to channel your energy in creative ways or you can fall victim to your own emotional tirades. You want a clear line of communication with anyone you are interested with and they absolutely need to have some emotional intelligence or else they will drown in your water. You don’t want to suffocate your lovers with so much emotional intensity, that you both are unable to remain somewhat grounded in the chaos. You of all people understand just how powerful emotions and sex can be together, so be careful to use it wisely!!! When done right, you can have anyone wrapped around your finger.

Mars in Gemini or Mars in the 3rd House

“Talk is cheap my darling, when you’re feeling right at home. I wanna make you move with confidence. I want to be with you alone” Talk is Cheap by Chet Faker

If you have Mars in Gemini or Mars in the 3rd House, then you are all about an intellectual connection when it comes to your sexual language. You want to catch viiibbbeezzz. You want to be razzle-dazzled with the lingo. You want someone hip, cool, in the know…because, well, you’re hip, cool & in the know, y’know? It’s only fitting that your partner be the same. You, of all placements, may truly crave “your other half”. And I know, I know, we live in a world now, where people are saying “you are a whole person and you’re looking for another whole person yadayadayada…”, but you’re a TWIN. You want to be able to connect with someone as if you share the same brain, the same thoughts, the same…everything. This isn’t to say that you’re not sexual…you just enjoy mental jousting for foreplay. Think of how beautiful the dance between two evenly matched fencing partners is– the ebb and flow of tension – playing both parts of the aggressor and the defender– gliding almost effortlessly with a weapon in hand. It’s like the tango…but with swords. That’s how you envision your love. Beautiful art, yet dangerous. You may not be the most sensual lover at first, but in time you will certainly warm up. Why? Because at the very least, you are a curious partner! You. Want. To. Explore. You may be the type of lover to want to try almost anything once. You want to be surprised. You don’t want your bedroom to be boring. You resent repetitiveness and you welcome new experiences. You may even fall into the “switch my wig, make ‘em feel like he cheating” category. You like to switch up your look, your style…sexual positions (lol). This can even translate into role play! (Especially teacher/student).

I cannot express to you enough how much learning from your partner turns you on. You love asking questions & consider getting to know someone a conquest. The more difficult the puzzle, the more you yearn to solve it and this type of stimulation oozes over into your sexual pleasure. You’re curious to know what your lover’s love. You can have an objective perception of sex, because you aren’t the most naturally emotional person, so you can look at the love making process as getting to know every nook and cranny of a partner’s body– learning what makes them tick & “ick”. You become more emotionally open with a partner, the more confident that you are that you know them. You like learning, but you don’t like unpleasant surprises. This may be counter intuitive, but I find that after you go through your “lemme try any & everything era”, you will genuinely enjoy one partner. It will make you feel secure and like you have that missing piece in life. You don’t come across as the most committal type, but when you do commit, you commit fr fr, you just need a certain level of freedom in life to continue to expand your horizons far past the mundane in life.

Another element you may add to your sexual reservoir is……drugs. “DON’T DO DRUGS, KIDS & STAY IN SCHOOL”...alright, there is my disclaimer. Now back to what I was saying, you may be curious to try mind-expanding drugs & smex. Because you can be so cerebral, drugs like ecstacy can help you actually feel your body. The tingle will start from your subconscious mind, and venture into your conscious body, possibly making love-making a more pleasurable experience. If this doesn’t interest you, don’t worry, no pressure! Just making a note that this placement is more likely to think outside of the box when it comes to making their sex lives thrilling and exciting! Not saying that vanilla sex is boring…just saying in general. You do you!

Overall, this is a curious placement. It’s a fun placement, but it can be an extremely flighty placement in the beginning. Don’t let your fear of getting stuck, stop you from finding a true partner that you can really see the world with. You can find that “other half”, that “twin soul” that really knows how to light a fire in you and warm your cold cold cold gemini heart. In your moments of passion, you will prefer to keep things fun and light. Only when someone truly captures your mind, can they capture your body and soul! SEXYYYYYY!!!!

Mars in Taurus or Mars in the 2nd House

“People stop to ask me, how do you please your man? Take it from the black sheep baby, any way I can. Sometimes it’s with fire and sometimes, with ice…Just don’t get it twisted, his body’s gunna pay the price.”

- Rock My Boy’s Body by Joseph Stephens

If you have Mars in Taurus or Mars in the 2nd House your sexual language is about sensuality, sexuality, & seduction. You believe in making love an all encompassing experience and you will stop at nothing to make sure your partners have an all exclusive pass to your BO-DAY. IF it is earned. Because Taurus is naturally slow moving energy, you may be slow to open up. As I’ve studied astrology for years now…I’ve come to realize that Taurus energy is just as private and cautious and it’s opposite sign, Scorpio. If you have this placement, you feel the need to study your lovers and you wait and wait and wait and wait and wait before you make your move. But if you are able to wrap them in your warm embrace…you won’t want to let go and they won’t want you to either.

Like Leo, when it comes to your sexual language, you believe in putting on a show. But your show is subtle, quaint and slow burning. You will have the candles burning, the scented lotion and fresh out the shower smell, you will have the most luxurious sheets on the most comfortable mattress. You don’t believe in cutting corners when it comes to your comfort and whoever is lucky enough to wind up in your bed, simply gets to enjoy how you live your life. I could bet you have an impeccable taste in music and truly know how to set the tone when it comes to seduction. As stated before, you are able to create a world of pure pleasure for those you love and make them spell-bound to you, because chances are, they haven’t been able to match with a sexual partner who cares so much about the details of ALL 6 senses. (I’m including intuition because, y’know, I’m a tarot and an astrology girlie.) For example, I dated this guy with heavy taurus placements a few years ago. I very much remember and very much miss this awesome TV room that he made for himself. Instead of having a regular degular couch, he had a couch that was also a bed. It wasn’t a couch that converted into a bed….it was just a couch that had a bed in it…and massive 70 inch television mounted on the wall. When I TELL you, I wanted to marry that man because….UGH!!! I was so comfortable! I could melt into the floor when I was with him. And I have YET to be with anyone who has a room set up quite like that. The feeling has stayed with me long after we have been together. THAT is what I mean by the power of Mars in Taurus. It lingers when you’re done!

On the other side, you of all signs, can be extremely jealous and possessive over your sexual partners. You DO NOT LIKE TO SHARE. AT. ALL. The 2nd House is all about owning and possessions and you may take this mindset with you into your romantic relationships. To the right person and in a healthy way, this can be enduring and make your partner feel safe and secure in your presence. In turn, you also want to know that your partner is crazy about you and cares deeply about your well-being. Again, in a healthy dynamic, a little jealousy and possessivness isn’t bad. It can show that someone does have an interest in you and takes pride in the fact that they are able to claim you as their own. This is just something to be mindful of in this placement, because if underdeveloped, it can lead to issues of selfishness & strong resistance to allow your partner’s freedom. Of course this can bleed over into the bedroom as well. You don’t want to get so focused on your own comfort that you end up putting your partner into a routine that they no longer enjoy. Your favorite position may not be their favorite positive. It can feel like eating lobster every single day. Like, yeah, Lobster is great day 1, maybe even day 2, but by day 5….yuck. Depending on other placements in your chart, you may attract partners who are very much like you, in the sense they prefer routine, OR you may attract partners who are so wild and out of the box, it forces you out of your comfort zone. All I can do is say embrace whatever floats your boat.

There is no doubt that you are one of the most sexual, sensual and passionate lovers of the zodiac. Your innate knowledge of pleasure makes you an expert in the bedroom and you can be hard to beat. Although it may take you a while to warm up, either physically or emotionally, you eventually show your partners that it is absolutely worth the wait! Because you tend to be safe and secure in yourself (the 2nd house rules self esteem) you share that safety and extend your protection to those you love the most. Your sexual language is unforgettable. You know how to love someone head to toe! WOOOOO!!!

Mars in Aries or Mars in the 1st House

“Dollhouse, dressed up, perfect messed up, Torture me to sleep, paint the air I breathe. Fishbowl, chokehold, dirty water, I’m cold. Dirty as can be, have your way with me.” Dollhouse (with Lily Rose Depp) by The Weeknd

If you have Mars in Aries or Mars in the 1st House, your sexual language is intense & powerful. You have a way of pulling people into your orbit just by being your unapologetic self! The force is with you! Best believe! And people feel it. You get what you want and you want what you get and you have a way of luring in your prospective sexual partner by projecting your lust onto them– so much so they feel it when they walk by you. Much like your sister, the Mars ruled Scorpio, there is a carnal desire that surrounds you. It’s magnetic. It’s magnificent. And it’s very fleeting.

When it comes to your bedroom pleasures, you can be a pioneer of the “Wham! Bam! Thank you ma’am or…sir” (not as cute of a rhyme) mindset. You may have a habit of treating your lovers like conquest– wanting to overpower them and wrap them up in your passionate fantasies. You deeply enjoy power play in your sex life. Yes, you could easily be the dominant one in your relationships, BUT you could also seek refuge in being submissive to your partner. How? I know it seems contradictory. But chances are, with this placement (unless it’s in a water sign in your first house) you are more than likely the boss and the leader in your everyday life…so when it comes to sex, you may want to just “relax” and let your partner do all the hard work for once. If that’s the case, you may be a bit of a brat in the bedroom because you still like to challenge your partner for shizz & giggles, but you are certainly fun and definitely unforgettable.

Your sex language is raw and real. You don’t like to hold back your passion and you appreciate a partner who can match your enthusiasm in the bedroom. You love the runner chaser dynamic, and again, you can easily play both parts. You are strong and competitive and don’t like to lose the interest of your lovers, even though you can get bored pretty easily. You may prefer quickies over long drawn up love sessions, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like to indulge your sinuses from time to time– you’re just not one of the most lovey dovey of the zodiac and prefer loud, wild, hot, steamy sex opposed to soft caresses and whispers of sweet nothings. You may also be a person who uses sexy time to advance a certain agenda. You could use sex as a tool of manipulation to get what you want. That may seem extreme, but think about a stripper using her sensuality as a means to make money so she can pay her way through law school. THAT’S what I mean. Because you may not be so shy about your sex appeal, if used correctly, it can be your weapon of choice when it comes to getting what you want from someone.

Passion matters to you more than most. You would prefer a risky lover than a predictable one. You also may be a fan of the ole’ break up to make-up trope. Make-up sex is always better. And you don’t mind starting a fight in the streets, simply to uh…you know…end it….in the sheets…..if you catch my drift. You aren’t one for subtleties. You are probably one of the most straightforward and upfront people in the world and you may play shy, but once you allow a person to get to know you, you don’t hold anything back. Because you are a cardinal energy, you always have a childlike flair to you! You keep things interesting and youthful. You’re not afraid to cross boundaries and push the limits of yourself & your partner in the midst of a sexual act. You really may think that sex is something that can be “won”. You want to be the best. You want to be the one that lovers can’t get enough of. You don’t appreciate being compared to others and honestly hear partners talking about their past as if it was some sort of challenge. You definitely have a jealous and possessive streak, but like I always say, when this is a healed energy it can be enduring to the right partner. As long as it’s not obsessive and unhealthy, you can provide comfort to your lovers that you are there for them and only them. You expect loyalty in return, of course, but you don’t mind protecting and defending what you see as your own. Your love is real. Your love is honest. Your love is young and wild and free!

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