#DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA ON WHAT YOU JUST DID??!??!?!

[veal-exe]

I saw a post earlier, I will not be appending my response to that post to the post itself, but I did want to touch upon it.

The post was about how trans men and transmasculine people afab don't have any media tropes that are, we'll say, problematic for them, the way that the 'funny man in a dress' trope is trans-misogynistic, I wanted to discuss that and lay that claim to rest.

Below I will be discussing some tropes in media that affect trans masculine people afab. Some may be worse than others, some accidental, some maybe on purpose, but I've compiled them because I think it's important to understand that just how the harmful tropes aimed at masculine people afab do exist, they just differ in their execution.

DISCLAIMER: If I have worded anything poorly in this post please tolerate it, English is my fourth language and it can be overwhelming to attempt linguistic perfection or the performance of it for native English Speaker.

EDIT: tumblr really messed my layout and formatting up, sorry for that but I'm not fixing it unless I really need to.

1. “Tomboy Gets a Makeover” = Suddenly She’s Worth Something (AKA: Now She’s Fuckable)

This one’s everywhere. You’ve got a character who’s rough around the edges, usually wears hoodies, maybe doesn’t shave, maybe doesn’t even care what people think. And the story punishes her for that. Until someone (usually a fairy godmother or mean girl turned ally) shoves her into a dress, puts some gloss on her lips, straightens her hair...

and then she’s finally seen as beautiful, desirable, and valid.

The core message? Your masculinity is temporary, and your value doesn’t actually exist until you conform to traditional femininity. You weren’t lovable, datable, or even visible until you softened up and got pretty.

This trope tells young people AFAB:

You're not enough unless you perform femininity

Your gender nonconformity is a flaw to fix

If you're not seen as sexy in the "right" way, you're invisible

And this sticks. Especially for transmascs, who grew up seeing their natural instincts or styles treated like a before picture.

Examples:

The Princess Diaries – Mia goes from “invisible frizzy nerd” to prom-queen level once her hair is flat and her legs are waxed.

A Cinderella Story – Sam’s baggy clothes are treated like a shield for her insecurity, until she shows up in a dress and suddenly earns male attention.

The Breakfast Club – Allison is artsy and weird and quietly masc... until she’s quite literally pink-washed and given a makeover so she can be datable.

She's All That – Laney is cool and self-possessed in her own way, but the movie waits until she’s in a red dress and contacts to take her seriously.

Meteor Garden – Shan Cai’s toughness is tolerable, but she’s still only framed as truly “lovable” after being softened through male attention.

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2. “She Pretended to Be a Boy” = She’s a Lying Snake Whore

When characters AFAB dress or live as boys, it’s almost always framed as deception. Not survival. Not autonomy. Not self-expression. Just trickery. There’s a dramatic “reveal” scene where everyone suddenly feels betrayed, like the character has been scheming the whole time instead of just��

living. Sound familiar?

This isn’t just about fiction. It directly echoes how transmasc people are treated in reality, as liars, as fake men, as threats to those around them just by existing. The idea that someone AFAB could be masculine, or just a guy, is treated like a trap set for unsuspecting cis people.

The underlying message:

You can’t be trusted if you present as masculine

Your gender is a mask, a trick, a crime

If people liked you before, they were duped

it’s the same logic used to justify violence and exclusion towards Transmasculine people AFAB in reality.

Examples:

She’s the Man – Viola pretends to be her brother to play soccer, but it’s all “uh-oh she has boobs” humor. Her gender presentation is the punchline.

The King’s Affection – She lives as the crown prince and does a damn good job, but the tension constantly hinges on whether she’s tricking people by being there at all. Masculinity is okay only if it’s secret and painful.

Coffee Prince – Go Eun-chan presents as male to get a job, and instead of critiquing the system that forces her to do it, the narrative focuses on her guilt and “the reveal.” Masculinity is tolerated, but never fully respected.

Victor/Victoria – Gender is treated as a clever disguise. The moment someone finds out “the truth,” it’s all shock, betrayal, and drama. Queerness framed as a con.

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3. “It’s Just a Phase” = You’ll Be a Real Girl™️ Eventually

You can be a tomboy for now. Run around, get messy, be loud. It’s even kind of cute! As a little kid who needs to grow up. Then suddenly, your masculinity isn’t just childish! it’s a problem. Something to “grow out of.” Something to fix!

This trope trains audiences to see AFAB masculinity as:

Immature

A quirk of childhood

A stepping stone to real femininity

And what does “real girlhood” mean in this context? Dresses. Lip gloss. Boys. The implication is that your value kicks in when you start performing the kind of femininity that makes you palatable and desirable. You were allowed to be wild for a minute, but only if you clean up nice later.

It reinforces the same tired message: Girlhood = destination, not a choice. Masculinity is just the wrong stop on the way. If you are Transmasculine AFAB, you are a child who should grow up, immature, being treated as much younger than they are is a huge issue with transmasculine people AFAB.

I would like to add that this is also a misogynistic trope, but misogyny intersects with transandrophobia in ways that are valid to talk about.

Examples:

The Parent Trap – Annie and Hallie are opposites, but Hallie (tomboy-coded) only really “settles down” and softens once she’s back with her mom. Her rougher edge is charming but temporary.

Now and Then – Roberta is the tomboy of the group, and her Big Moment of Growth™ comes when she puts on a dress. Not solving childhood trauma. Not emotional healing. The dress.

Boys Over Flowers – Jan-di is scrappy, resilient, athletic! and then she falls for the male lead and gradually loses every bit of that fire. By the end, she’s quiet, deferential, and soft. like that’s her natural arc.

Hi My Sweetheart– Rainie Yang’s character starts out masc-presenting and bold. She’s mocked, corrected, and eventually “fixed” into a soft, pink, cutesy girl. Her makeover isn’t for her. it’s the narrative giving her permission to be “dateable.”

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5. “One of the Boys” But Never Really One of the Boys

She’s tough. She’s cool. She fights. She hangs with the guys. She might even burp. But make no mistake! she’s never actually allowed to be one. This trope gives characters AFAB just enough masculinity to seem "interesting," then punishes them if they go too far with it.

Again, this is also a misogynistic trope, but the intersectionality here is important even in the ones that don't seem obvious, some people will poke fun at me putting Natasha here for example, but if you do that you're misunderstanding my intent and I do not care for it.

I am not saying ANY of these characters are coded transmasculine, I am discussing how masculinity is treated in regards to characters AFAB.

The message is clear: You can borrow masculinity, but don’t get comfortable in it.

These characters:

Get constant reminders that they're different

Are sexualized, softened, or sidelined the moment they get too close to “boyish”

Exist to complement the boys, not compete with them

Examples:

Avengers – Natasha Romanoff is deadly, competent, cool under pressure, but also constantly shoved into the “team mom” or “sexy redhead with feelings” role. Her backstory centers around forced sterilization, and her arc in Age of Ultron literally says she’s a “monster” for not being able to have kids. Tell me again how she’s treated like “one of the guys.”

How to Train Your Dragon – Astrid starts out as the alpha fighter, but as soon as Hiccup grows up, she becomes a background girlfriend with no arc of her own. Her sharp edge gets smoothed into supportiveness.

My Hero Academia – Nearly every tough AFAB character gets undercut. Mirko is badass but exists on the fringes. Jirou gets development, but only as support. Bakugo’s mom is comic relief. Meanwhile, male characters are allowed complex, messy, powerful arcs without ever needing to "soften" for the audience.

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“AFAB Character Learns to Embrace Womanhood” = Moral Victory!

You start with a tough, scrappy, masculine-coded person AFAB, maybe she fights, maybe she’s emotionally shut down, maybe she just doesn’t want to be like other girls. It doesn't matter, this is how it ends:

She softens. She submits. She “grows” by becoming a wife, a mom, a love interest, a Real Girl™️.

This isn’t healing. It’s containment. The message is: your rebellion was cute, but it’s time to settle down and accept the role assigned to you.

“Growth” = compliance. “Strength” = giving it up. “Maturity” = pink, dresses, and a baby carriage.

Examples:

The Hunger Games – Katniss Everdeen is trauma-coded, masc-leaning, and uncomfortable with romance or traditional femininity. So what’s her ending? A baby epilogue where she’s in a dress, quietly settled into nuclear family life. Is she happy about it? No, but there's no denying that this is her ending.

Mulan II– In the original, she challenges gender roles and becomes a literal war hero. In the sequel? The plot revolves around her needing to prove she can still be soft, feminine, and wife-material. Her masculinity is not allowed to just exist.

Jojo Rabbit – Rosie (the mother) is framed as the ideal woman: warm, loving, feminine. Meanwhile, Elsa (a girl in hiding) starts out guarded and hard-edged, but only becomes “redeemed” once she softens and embraces traditional femininity.

A Silent Voice / Koe no Katachi – The narrative constantly punishes her for not being “nice enough,” and her arc only begins to shift once she becomes more demure and apologetic. She cannot be both a good person and brash or hotheaded, submit or be branded evil.

Inuyasha – Sango is introduced as a demon-slaying warrior. But her story ends in the most vanilla way possible: marriage, motherhood, and sidelining. She loses her edge completely. I hate the end of Inuyasha so much it is borderline a meme in my circles.

Fruits Basket - Uotani is tall, tomboyish, and used to be in a girl gang. She has strength, history, and depth. And then her “big growth moment”? Realizing she wants to be softer and more ladylike, because femininity is treated as the finish line within the story.

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“Masculine Presentation” = Joke Costume or Moral Failure

When characters AFAB wear suits, cut their hair short, or pass as masc in any way, media rarely lets it land without a laugh track, or a moral consequence.

Masculine presentation is treated as:

A silly costume

A failed experiment

A sign of monstrosity

Or something to be shamed out of.

The story makes sure you feel embarrassed for them. It invites the audience to laugh, cringe, or judge, because “girl in boy clothes” is still a punchline in mainstream media. Just like 'Boy in girl clothes' is.

And yes, this hurts trans women, but it also absolutely targets butch, GNC, and transmasc folks. Masculinity is marked as wrong on AFAB bodies, funny if temporary, disgusting if permanent.

Examples:

Scooby-Doo – Velma’s masc coding (short hair, flat clothes, practical shoes) constantly becomes the joke. If she dresses even more masc? She’s “mistaken” for a man and ridiculed. Her queerness and presentation are treated like a quirk at best, a problem at worst.

The Suite Life of Zack and Cody – London Tipton wears a single masc outfit and the laugh track explodes. The outfit itself isn’t weird, but the show acts like the sight of her in anything non-feminine is a cosmic-level joke.

Friends – Rachel and Monica wear tuxedos in one episode, and the joke is entirely that it looks “wrong.” Chandler mocks them, the camera lingers on how “awkward” they look.

iCarly – Sam dresses masc semi-regularly, and is constantly mocked for acting “like a guy.” In interviews, actress Jennette McCurdy has said this ongoing joke contributed directly to her eating disorder relapse. This is not harmless.

Matilda - Miss Trunchbull is heavily masc-coded: big build, short hair, no makeup, harsh voice. She’s a literal villain, and her appearance is meant to be scary. Her masculinity is associated directly with her monstrosity.

Aikatsu! – Girls in suits are used as performance shock value. “Omg, a girl in a tuxedo??” is the whole joke.

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IN CLOSING.

These tropes don’t exist in a vacuum.

they shape how people see us, and how we see ourselves.

When characters AFAB exploring masculinity are only ever jokes, villains, phases, or tragedies, it sends a message: You don’t get to be this. You’re only allowed to visit. And when you're done, you better come back “correct.”

But we’re not punchlines. We’re not broken girls. Some of us are boys.

Some of us are neither.

Some of us are just butch as hell and happy about it.

We deserve stories where we aren’t corrected. Where masculinity on AFAB people isn’t a phase, a disguise, or a joke. But our lives, and the truth of them.

[inthelittlewood]

Questions about Eyes And Ears AU

I had somebody ask for a brief interview regarding my storytelling for their university project and thought I'd lend a hand.

I thought those of you that follow the story might like the insight too, so here ya go:

When you first introduced the Listeners in Evo SMP, did you have a broader narrative or concept in mind, or were they more of an atmospheric element at that point?

The honest answer is that I didn't want to write too much about somebody else's character(s), that being Grian's Watchers. If I could write the conflict from the side of the Listeners then we could continue the narrative with a pre-designed opposing force but have them be relatively mute for the most part. Partly to build anticipation of when they might act or retaliate but it also worked for behind the scenes purposes too. If the series hadn't slowed/stopped as suddenly as it did, I definitely would have poked Grian to pick his brain about what story elements fit his original imagining of the Watchers. So it was mostly narrative reasoning but they also served a mechanical behind the scenes purpose of transporting us to a new area which was necessary due to bugs we'd encountered with world gen etc.

What inspired you to flesh out the Eyes and Ears AU more in recent years? Was that mostly a personal creative decision, or was it influenced by fan interest?

Honestly I hadn't premeditated too much their reintroduction into anything that I was working on. Sure I'd seen a little chattering here and there about the Watchers but I honestly just wanted to write an individual story beat (albeit a tropey one) of c!Martyn snapping and turning on Ren but that never came to fruition due to Scar taking us out. The plan was always to backstab Ren then say a cool line like "Red Winter is over, Red Spring has begun" or something else punny. Seeing the fevered reaction of the audience though gave me some confidence that I could try my hand at some layered or entirely post-production storytelling, so heading into Last Life I was all guns blazing.

The Eyes and Ears AU is quite open-ended — do you intentionally approach it with the idea of leaving narrative space for fan interpretation?

It really is right? Yes, it's a very mindful decision to leave it open-ended but not so much for the audience's benefit or interpretations, but to give myself creative freedom to take the story wherever I'd like to. Committing to too many power scale, multiverse or narrative shackles early can really strangle stories I've noticed (from reading comics and manga) meaning back pedalling or aggressive retcons are required to explore certain paths, which is rarely a good experience for the reader. I do enjoy their versatility and capability to be applied to any Minecraft or adjacent story too. Some might call it too broad, I call it malleable.

How do you feel about fans expanding the lore through headcanons and theories? Have any fan interpretations stood out or surprised you?

I think it's brilliant! People inundate my inbox on Tumblr seeking permission to write stories or create characters / AUs but I've literally no authority on that. I suppose it might be a different conversation if they were profiting off of those works, but 99% of people simply want to write for fun which I highly encourage!! I'll be honest that I haven't read a great deal of AUs or headcanons, my exposure to them is mostly via chat messages during lore talk streams or questions that come through regarding the Eyes And Ears AU. As a general rule I try to avoid reading too much of other people's works on the topic because I worry I'll accidentally regurgitate it in some way then stumble into plagiarism, you know? It's why I focus more on digesting stories outside the fandom whether it's manga, Sanderson books, reading old Japanese folk tales and the like. I can source inspiration from those on how to weave narrative and execute plot twists without having to glance in my front yard.

Has fan content (art, theories, animatics, etc.) ever influenced how you think about or approach the AU?

Oh for sure they have. It's literally why after every season we'll do a sit down stream and talk about the lore in detail. Figure out the puzzle and potential trip wires of plot points from the episodes and how we can neatly pack them into the pre-existing story. A lot of people wouldn't do that as they'd be precious about their work and believe their opinion is th only correct one, but I looooove soundboarding with the audience on it. I also take that mindset in game and sometimes think about the scenery of an impactful moment whenever I'm able to control / design it. I'll have little quips or quotes cooked in my mind for how I'd ideally deliver a blow or plot twist, buuuuut given the nature of the Life series you very rarely get to execute things how you'd like haha! I definitely wouldn't have done as many of the poems had their not been such a positive reaction to those. I often see individual lines or entire passages make their way into art pieces as typography or highlighted in animatics which is really gratifying. It's why I also put such an emphasis and priority on audio production in my editing. If I can craft something that feels atmospheric, driving and punctuating with music, staggering vocals or sound effects then the auditory portion is already done, they can focus solely on the visual aspect of things. I try and be as cinematic / TV like as my skillset allows for that reason.

You’ve mentioned trying not to fully canonise the AU, but still referencing it consistently — how do you balance telling your own story effectively, while trying not to involve other creators, particularly on the Life Series, when a lot of your time is spent in a group?

The easiest way to do this, is to not do it. For the most part the only storytelling done with the AU is done in post-production. I never name drop the Watchers or Listeners in world (believe me, I was as surprised as all of you when I saw that Secret Keeper statue in Secret Life!!) and in recent seasons they haven't even reared their head as an influence whatsoever. They're on holiday, they deserve it. But when they do whisper in my ear, they're motivated decisions that I would likely make as a player/character anyway because the win objective is always the thing I'm striving towards. I can just pepper angst around it to make things seem more manipulated rather than selfish ha. I think that's why the open ended nature of the Watchers has served me well because as much as they have a singular motive which is to feed on negative emotions, that can be achieved in so many ways ranging from bloodlust to deception, heartbreak to panic. It's versatile for storytelling. It can be in your face, or a slow burn.

What do the Watchers and Listeners represent to you, symbolically or narratively? Do they serve a specific function in the stories you tell?

The Watchers used to represent the audience when Grian first introduced them, but after departing EVO I've definitely breathed more of an egotistical and sinister air into them. They're very much a unique entity / faction now, they in some ways represent gluttony, selfishness and neglect in achieving their goals. The Listeners on the other hand, are a lot of the opposite traits, but I'm still wanting to explore how being the hard end of most conflicts can be dangerous. I want to explore that at some point, whether it be with infighting or failures. They shouldn't be seen as simply bad/good, they're just, different. It shouldn't be too hard navigating that nuance but I want it to reflect elements and motives that we find in our own lives.

[boyfhee]

゛HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT ✶ 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾

𝐈𝐈𝐈─────𝗐𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗄.

﹙엔하이픈﹚ㅤ .. ㅤ ❛ bf ! enha x fem ! readerㅤ❜ ⠀ꢾ꣒ㅤ────ㅤ kissing, skinship, suggestiveㅤㅤ星ㅤㅤ3O2Oㅤㅤ

thanks to srubae, jiah and baefyri for sharing their ideas >< this did not turn out the way i wanted it to but hope you like it nonetheless 🪽

HEESEUNG

you could feel his gaze lingering on you even from across the lift. it’s uncomfortable— so many people pressed up together, pushing and pulling— it’s hot.

and you finally take a sigh of relief when the lift stops and around half the crowd steps off. it barely lasts for a second though, because your boyfriend shifts to your side, interlacing his hand with yours.

“feeling hot?” he whispers close with lips brushing against your earlobe. it’s intentional, he is having way too much fun like this, pressed up together in the back of the elevator.

“a little,” and you’re not sure if it’s the heat making your face warm or if it’s heeseung. you try to push him but he pulls you closer, lowering his head down your ears again to leave a gentle nip.

you swear everyone heard your little gasp but the lift stops, much to your relief, causing everyone to step out. you gulp in nervousness and anticipation, the door closes, and you’re already pressed up against the elevator walls, his lips devouring yours.

he barely gives you a moment before pushing his tongue past your lips, eliciting a soft gasp in response. he’s kissing you deep and rough, like a man hungry for weeks. you can see his floor approaching in the display, your heart racing, the door opens— and he’s out.

“have a good day at work, princess,” you watch the doors close onto him, still catching your breath. it was going to be a long day at work.

JONGSEONG

expensive suit, hands in pockets, classy and composed, sharp tongue and he’s always a step ahead, corporate hours but inappropriate thoughts— one can never guess what the park jongseong does to you behind the closed blinds of his office.

“i want more,” he whispers in a low and husky voice, chasing your lips, only for you to cover his mouth with your palm.

“jay—” a pause, and you take a peek at the closed door before looking at him again. your voice is hushed although you’re afraid your heart is beating louder. “i need to go.”

he grumbles under his breath. honestly, he would rather spend this entire day looking at you rather than looking at some boring documents. “what for?”

“meeting,” you say it as a matter of fact, as if he isn’t the one hosting the meeting, as if he isn’t the one leading the project.

“should i cancel it?” his face finds solace in the crook of your neck with his warm breath fanning against your skin. “just say the word,”

it’s tempting, really. there’s a thrill in knowing you two can get caught any moment, a sense of excitement laced with dread. he traces the purplish mark on your neck and you know it by the smirk on his face that it would be a tough job to cover it up.

“i’ll see you after work,” but you pull yourself together despite his hands running over your waist. and he barely protests before letting you get off his desk, knowing he can only ignore work for so long.

he sits on his desk, eyes admiring your figure as you leave. it’s amusing how you’re fixing the creases of your dress as if he wouldn’t ruin it again. he chuckles, hands moving to fasten his belt as he calls you out from behind. “fix your hair, baby. they’ll know,”

JAEYUN

asking jake for help was a bad idea, you should have seen it coming. he’s rarely up to anything good, especially when it has anything to do with being around you. yet still, you call out to him and he offers to help, like the good senior he is.

“hm, let’s see,” you can feel your heart race as he steps behind your chair and leans over you, caging you between his arms as an excuse to review your work.

you can feel his breath next to your ear, the way he deliberately gets closer to make you squirm in your seat. he knows the proximity makes you nervous and he whispers in a low tone. “you need to do it like this, miss yn,”

“y-yes. thank you,” you can barely focus on what’s displayed on the monitor, too dazed by his breath against your skin. you can barely function and the scent of his cologne only makes it harder for you to pay attention to work.

“hm? did you say something?” he leans against you even more, just enough for you to feel his chest against your back. he is a little too close, you can almost see your coworker eyeing you from across the room.

“t-thank you, sir” it’s the way you stutter, the shaky salutation that slips off your tongue that makes his lips curl up in a smirk.

“good,” he knows you’ll do anything to keep your relationship a secret and you know he is enjoying teasing you way too much.

SUNGHOON

he is the head of finance, handsome, efficient, your boyfriend, but first and foremost, he is a menace— and sunghoon would agree.

he has been at it since the morning— leaning a little too close to compliment your new skirt, deliberately brushing his hand against your waist, and now he is giving you looks from across the conference room while you are giving a very important presentation.

it’s working, unfortunately enough. the way he sits with his legs slightly open, the watch that hangs a little loose on his wrist, the rimless glasses that rest on his nose, and the smirk on his lips— everything that is making your thoughts to inappropriate places.

and sunghoon manages to be the last one to leave the room, always. he strikes a conversation with an employee or pretends to be on his phone to buy time and just when everyone leaves, he locks the door, making his way to you, like he is doing right now.

“you did so well, darling,” he is impressed, mostly by your work, also by the way you look in that new skirt with that blouse that compliments you a little too well. “you look so hot, i was barely holding myself back there,”

another thing— he is shameless, snaking his arms around your waist from behind and whispering praises in your ear. he knows just how to get you worked up, even though you look a little annoyed right now. “i need to arrange these papers, hoon,”

you warn but your words fall deaf to his ears. he knows you are busy, hell, that turns him on a little, but he isn’t the one to back off. “let me help,”

he sits on the nearest chair and pulls you down on his lap, having that smug grin on his infuriatingly handsome face. he does help you, slow, teasingly, kissing your neck while your hands tremble to put the sheets together. it was going to be a long day at work.

SUNOO

you’re alone in the break room, trying to get the coffee machine to work. you’re five minutes from a meltdown when the door creaks open softly.

“need a little help?” he asks.

you look up, and there he is—sunoo, with that soft smile, his ID badge swaying gently as he tilts his head with a sweet smile. you don’t even answer and he is already next to you, pressing the buttons to try to get the machine to work.

there’s a gentle smile on his face as he offers to make your coffee. he’s subtle, careful, his fingers occasionally brushing against yours while asking you to pass the cup, and it happens again when he hands you the coffee. “stressed?”

“a little,” you nod, biting back a smile. he almost has you pressed up against the counter and you’re not sure if it’s intentional. your face heats up when you feel his gaze shift to your lips briefly.

he looks around momentarily, just making sure the two of you are alone before bringing his lips close to your ear as if to whisper a precious secret.

“i love you,” he whispers softly, gently brushing a few strands of hair off your face. he loves the way you get shy at the slightest of touch, the way you take a sip to hide your smile.

he is being subtle, trying to, even though he is a little too close to be deemed appropriate for coworkers. you’re just about to leave as he reaches out to wipe the coffee off your lips, his thumb pressing against your lower for longer than usual.

you feel the tension just as heavy as his gaze on your lips. you hold your breath, hoping, anticipating, but he just steps back, licking his thumb clean. “have a good day at work,” and he’s out of the door.

JUNGWON

you can barely register when a hand wraps around your arm and pulls you inside the restroom, when you get pressed up against the wall, and when his lips capture yours. it’s messy, you’re tugging on his tie while his hands are roaming all over you.

your fingers get lost in his hair, tugging onto the strands and he nips onto your lower lip, drawing a fairly loud moan from you, and as if on cue, you hear someone talking right outside the restroom.

“wait—” you gasp, pulling away slightly, only for him to chase your lips like a mad man, kissing you deeper.

“shh,” he’s kissing you slow, swallowing your soft gasps and little moans. “just keep kissing me, baby,” and jungwon is a damn good kisser, because you are losing your mind and your knees are giving up.

you hear the sound of footsteps and muffled conversations again and gosh, you know you weren’t wrong about someone being around.

“wonie, there’s someone outside,” your words are punctuated by heavy breaths, fingers still gripping his shirt.

“there’s no—” he responds with a silver of irritation, only to pause when he hears the conversation outside. your hand instantly covers his mouth when he tries to speak something, his body pressing closer to yours as if trying to hide both of you in a corner.

it’s thrilling, a little scandalous. being seen with your boss like this won’t do any good. but jungwon is far too gone to care. you both hear the footsteps getting faint, soft giggles mingling in the air between you two, and his lips are back to yours.

NI-KI

he doesn’t flirt. instead, he sends long unreadable glances from across the room. he checks you out quietly, once, up and down, and then he looks away like it means nothing although you feel his gaze lingering even when his eyes are no longer on you.

he calls you to the copy machine, saying it isn’t working or just makes up an excuse to be near you. you explain a task to him and he simply leans against the nearest wall, not even blinking away from you.

“are you listening?” you ask with arms crossed over your chest. you know he is not— he can’t pay attention to anything if you’re around him.

“i’m not sure,” he sighs and then takes a step towards you. “do i focus on you or your words?”

and his voice, his voice, low and raspy, quiet, it sends shivers down your spine. he barely says anything, doesn’t have to, you’re already feeling butterflies just by his eyes on you.

blame it on his height, but he towers you effortlessly every single time, like right now— leaning over your shoulder, taking a long pause before whispering. “see you after work,”

[scarletmika]

Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Ex-Widow!Reader

Summary: Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.

Warnings: fluff, angst, idiots in love, violence, death, language, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*

Word Count: 5,292 words

Requests are open!

Find my masterlist here

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“I really don’t think this is a good idea,”

To be fair, Yelena Belova had every right to be apprehensive of your idea. It had only been a few months since The New Avengers had been formally established, and the team itself was still finding its groove working together. Standing up to Valentina and saving Bob from himself? That was one thing. Receiving missions from Valentina’s team, having to travel the globe in order to save innocent civilians? That was a whole other can of worms that they’d popped open without thinking of the consequences.

The amount of missions the team was needed on was slowly ramping up, going from just two a month to now almost four in just the last month. The entire team wasn’t always needed for certain mission: Bucky, Yelena and yourself had been sent on solo missions, while Alexei had tagged along with John and Ava on others (much to their dismay at times). There was always one agreed-upon rule: Bob was staying in the Watchtower.

It’s not that the team didn’t want Bob with them, because everyone did. They knew he wanted to feel wanted and feel useful, that he didn’t want to simply do the dishes after dinner every night and read through every book that had accumulated in his room. The problem came down to control. When they had fully explained what had happened that day in New York to him, the Void and how he became his worst fears, the small sense of control he seemed to have over his powers had slipped. His worst fear had quickly become losing control once again and hurting his team, hurting the people of the city.

You, though, had another idea.

“I think it’s time, Lena,” you tried to reason with her that night in the kitchen, the pair of you working on the load of dirty dishes together. Yelena cleaned while you dried them and put them away, working in tandem just as you had for many years within the Red Room, memories you both wanted to forget. “Bob is capable of controlling it, I know he is, he just needs help. Just let me train him, show him some basics and help him find that sense of control again.”

“And if he loses control? If the Void takes over his mind again?”

“I’m not scared of him,”

Yelena scoffed, shooting a smirk toward her oldest friend before focusing back on the dishes before them, hoping to finish them sooner rather than later.

“Just because you have a little soft spot for Bob doesn’t mean your idea is the best idea,”

“I’m not asking any of you to help me,” you shot back, bumping your hip against hers with a pointed look for her comment about your soft spot for Bob. “Just trust that I can do it. I believe in Bob, and that’s enough for me to try.”

Yelena paused at the sink, quietly watching as you placed the dishes up into the cabinet where they typically went, and let out a sigh, shaking her head.

“Fine, but it’s on you if it goes wrong,”

“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Convincing Yelena was the part that you knew would be easy. You’d grown up just houses down from her, Natasha and Alexei, kept there under the watchful eye of your own Red Room spy posing as your mother. You’d escaped America with them, been trained through the Red Room and escaped mind control with Yelena by your side, and brought down Dreykov once and for all with her, too. There weren’t many people Yelena trusted in the world, but you were one of the very few. You knew it might take slight convincing, but she’d ultimately trust your judgement in the end.

Now, convincing Bob was a whole other story, one you knew wouldn’t be easy.

“No uh, no way,” you sighed, watching Bob pace his bedroom and wring his hands together. He glanced at you for just a second before shaking his hand again. “Using my powers means being the Sentry and I can’t be the Sentry without…you know…”

“And it’s been months since there’s been any incident, Bob,” you tried to explain to him softly. Without giving him a chance to pull away you reached forward, silently taking his tense hands in your own and squeezing them. “Look, you’re holding my hands and I’m not being transported into any shame room!”

Bob tried his best to laugh at your attempt to lighten his mood. His cheeks flushed a bright red as he pulled his hands from your own, shaking his head as he sat back down on his bed, picking back up the book he had been reading before you’d come in and pitched your idea to him.

You took a deep breath, wracking your brain for any idea to hopefully convince Bob that this was good for him, that learning control again would be good. The cover of the book in his hands distracted you, a smile crossing your lips in an instant as you recognized it.

“I remember buying that for you last month, along with the rest of the series,” you told him gently, sitting down on the bed beside him and gesturing to the book. “Seems like you’re enjoying it, since I’m pretty sure that’s book three.”

“It’s not bad. Helps pass the time,” Bob shrugged, looking back to you with a shy smile. “You have good taste.”

With a shared smile between you both, you bumped your shoulder with his lightly, glancing down at the book before looking back to his eyes. God, were you fond of those blue eyes.

“You trusted my book recommendations…can you trust me on anything else?”

Bob didn’t hesitate before speaking again.

“I trust you more than anyone,”

The way he said it, so sure of himself, made your smile grow even wider.

“Then trust me when I tell you that this could be good for you. Learning control again will help you, even just the smallest bit of practice and control can be good for you. Please, just try? For me?”

It was quiet between you both for a moment, eyes never leaving one another, before Bob’s voice came out softer than it had before.

“Yeah…yeah, okay. Let’s try,”

It was a process…a long process to say the least. It took almost two weeks before you could even get Bob fully comfortable in the full gym that tower had for him to even consider channeling his powers again. He never liked going to the training room when John and Alexei were there, Walker always managing to make snide comments toward Bob. You knew Walker cared, he just hated wearing it on his sleeve and masked it instead, but that didn’t mean you appreciated the small remarks.

Instead, you’d gotten Bob comfortable with heading to the training room whenever Bucky and Ava were sparring, the pair tending to leave you both alone unlike your other friends.

“I know you can do it. Just focus on it, channel your energy into it, and command your mind to do what you want it to do,”

You didn’t have an extension range of powers the way that Bob did, so you weren’t entirely sure that what you were instructing Bob to do was actually helpful to helping him learn control, or even get comfortable with his powers again. But he was trying, and that was enough for you.

Bob took a deep breath beside you, focusing in on the 20 pound medicine ball on the ground across the room from the two of you. He held his hand out, making your mind flashback to that day in the tower when you were forced to fight against him, something you had refused to do, and you saw the furrow in his brows as he tried to focus in and command the ball to move. There was silence in the room, besides the sound of Ava and Bucky talking across the room.

You watched Bob in silence as he seemed to grow more frustrated, desperately trying to move the ball across the room toward you both. You placed your hand on his arm, thumb gently rubbing across his skin in the most gentle and comforting way you could muster, tone hushed as you spoke just to him.

“You can do this Bob, just focus. You can do it,”

The tenseness in his body seemed to leave him at your words and your touch. Bob pulled his hand back in toward him, and for just a second, he was delighted as the weighted exercise ball finally moved across the floor.

Until it stopped just an inch after moving.

Bob’s head was buried in his hands in seconds, and you could see the deep flush in his cheeks through the cracks in his fingers as he mumbled to himself. You couldn’t entirely hear him, but you could make out the words “mistake” and “useless” clear as day as your hand made its way to his back, rubbing it comfortingly.

John Walker’s obnoxious laughter from the doorway cut through the silence of the room before you could encourage Bob to try again.

“Wow! I thought after a few weeks you’d have his control and powers in better shape there, Widow,” John whistled, stepping slightly further in through the doorway. You could hear Ava mumbling to Bucky about how this wouldn’t but good, but John didn’t seem to care. “I mean an inch! Wow! I mean hey, it’s not all about size right?”

“Walker, that’s enough-”

You tuned out Bucky’s scolding of John, looking back to Bob. His hands had left his face, his eyes trained on the ground, as he continued to mumble to himself about how he was useless. Your blood boiled in an instant, reaching down to take one of Bob’s hands in your own and squeeze it in comfort as you turned your glare back to John.

“Hey Walker? How about you shut it, yeah? If I wanted to hear an ass’s opinion I’d take myself down to the zoo and ask the fucking donkeys,”

John laughed again, shrugging off Bucky as he tried to place a hand on his shoulder, pointing over at you. Your hand tightened around Bob’s as he did.

“Want to say that again, Widow?”

“Ex-Widow, thank you very much. You should remember that your dick belongs in your pants and not in your personality,”

“Keep running your mouth. This little experiment here of yours isn’t good for anyone. Just because you’ve got a little soft spot for Bobby boy here doesn’t mean-”

Walker was cut off as the medicine ball Bob had been trying to move was flung across the room, narrowly missing his head and embedding itself in the doorframe behind him, shattering and splintering the wood and burying itself in the wall. Ava’s gasp was the only other sound as Bucky grabbed Walker almost by the back of his neck, shoving him out of the room with a gruff comment of “let’s go” as Ava followed behind.

Your eyes finally left the piece of exercise equipment now one with the wall of the room, gaze turning back to Bob. His hand was held up in the direction the ball had flown, but it was shaking slightly. You trailed your gaze up to his eyes to see he was already looking down at you, eyes blown wide as she stammered over his words.

“I wasn’t, that- that was a mistake. I didn’t- I really didn’t mean to do that he was, he was just- he’s such an asshole sometimes-”

Your laughter cut him off, pausing him in the middle of his tracks as you gripped his hand tighter, forehead falling against his shoulder as he stiffened for a moment, before relaxing and smiling slightly at the sound of your laughter ringing through the room.

“Oh my god, Bob, that was brilliant! I’m going to use that idea next time Walker decides to be a dick to mask his own troubles, that shut him right up!”

“I didn’t mean to, though,” he quickly backtracked, shaking his head as you lifted your head, looking up at him, though still holding his hand tightly. “It was a mistake.”

“Mistakes happen. We’re human, it’s natural,” she smiled at him, tilting her head toward the ball. “Now…do it again.”

Bob stared at her for a moment, truly trying to discern what he possibly could’ve done to deserve you. You’d stepped between him and Walker down in the vault, keeping the former Captain America from laying a hand on him, you’d almost died in the elevator shaft to make sure he didn’t. You’d refused to fight him that day in the penthouse, trying to bring him back, and it was ultimately you who was the first one to run to him and pull him back from the Void.

When he looked at you, he could feel the flutter in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. He knew what it meant, but he couldn’t find the words to say it. It was in thinking of that four letter word while staring down at you that he’d pulled the ball right back to the two of you, letting it hang in the air before you both for a moment before dropping it to the ground.

Your eyes had never left his, your smile only growing wider and your fingers slotting between his own.

“Not bad, Bob. Not bad,”

It was a month later that your idea would be fully put to the test.

HYDRA was the most stubborn organization, like an insect that just refused to die. Steve Rogers couldn’t stop them in the 40’s, and there was no stopping them now. They’d rebuilt momentum as an organization during the Blip, with cells popping up around the country. It didn’t take long for information to come in about their new main base; an underground compound hidden within the Five Ponds Wilderness in upstate New York. The New Avengers had been tasked with infiltrating and dismantling the base, taking in as many soldiers within for questioning by the US government, and recovering any intel that they’d managed to steal during their rebuild time.

It was an all hands on deck operation, the team knowing it was going to take all of them in order to fully infiltrate and dismantle this large base. In your eyes, that meant no one was sitting this one out.

“You guys handle dismantling and capturing soldiers. I’ll handle intel recovery…and I’m taking Bob with me,”

The comment had everyone at the briefing table pausing, including Bob, who had opted to sit in the corner of the room after you had asked him personally to attend the briefing with you.

John refused to meet your eyes, knowing his single apology weeks ago wasn’t enough to calm how angry you still were over the situation. Alexei and Ava shared concerned glances, while Bucky and Yelena seemed to have a conversation entirely with their eyes. The former Winter Soldier was the one to turn back to you, giving you a small nod.

“He’s ready?”

“I think he is,” you trailed your gaze over to Bob, giving him an encouraging smile. “The question is, do you think you’re ready?”

Bob looked at his teammates, his friends, seeing the apprehension in their eyes. But all it took was one look back to you, to the pride and encouragement shining in your gaze on him, that had him sitting up straighter.

“I am,”

It was that simple sentence that had Bob finding himself trekking through the wilderness of upstate New York behind you, decked out in a minimal tactical suit that the team had insisted he wear for the mission. He didn’t mind it, anything was better than that monstrosity that Valentina had put him in before.

“Is this normal?” Bob cautiously questioned you, stopping alongside you in a clearing in the woods you’d finally gotten to. “You know…splitting up? The team all uh, went another way didn’t they?”

“Our mission is intel recovery and intel recovery only, so it was easier for us to head through this separate entrance,” you explained, kneeling down in the leaves below your feet and brushing them away, revealing the steel door below your feet. You glanced up at him, smiling. “This should bring us closer to their control room, which minimizes the amount of fighting that we have to deal with.”

Both of you finally making your way through the hatch and down into the halls of the, Bob stuck close to your side as you guided him through the halls, earpieces in your ears alerting you to updates from the rest of the team. The hallways blinked in the emergency red lights you knew would be going off, signaling that the base was in lockdown mode. That meant your friends were doing their job further down the compound.

You’d briefed Bob on the mission on the very short jet ride to upstate. Taking the separate entrance would mean minimal fighting for both of you, which you wanted for Bob. You wanted to ease him into missions like this, especially when he was afraid to fully unleash his powers and be ‘The Sentry’ in fear of losing himself. You found a middle ground, instructing Bob that you would handle the majority of anyone you came across as well as the intel dump to your central computers back at the Watchtower. All he had to do was watch your back for stragglers.

With the compound in lockdown, most of the HYDRA agents had been pulled to the main fight. Using the tech embedded into your suit, you did a quick scan through the control room door, highlighting the agents that were inside.

“Just follow my lead and watch my back,” you mumbled to Bob, hand on the door of the control room, glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Within seconds of throwing the control room door open you were inside, launching yourself over the row of computers, legs spread as you took down two agents simultaneously with kicks directly into their throats. You ducked under another row of tables as shots rang out from the gun of another agent, propelling yourself up and above the table toward him. His gun tracked your movements, shots ringing through your ears, but the bullets hovered in place. Bob was barely through the doorway, one hand stopping the bullets from touching you while another held off the agent rushing toward him with ease.

In the signature move you’d learned from Natasha herself, your thighs enclosed around the neck of the agent shooting at you, twisting your body until you were both thrown to the ground, With another single twist of your legs you heard a crack, quickly scrambling back to your feet.

With one agent dead and two down you glanced to Bob, who was entirely fine holding back the agent that was struggling against his powers to get to him. Kicking the chairs before you out of the way, you quickly inserted the USB into the main computer drive, initiating the sequence to download any intel that HYDRA was harboring in the compound.

Bob was simply staring at the man in front of him, head tilted as the agent struggled against his mental hold on him that held him in place. Realizing that he needed to be focusing on watching your back instead of messing with the agent, Bob quickly threw him across the room, the agent’s head hitting a wall and knocking him out almost immediately. Bob smiled to himself for just a moment at the sight; he felt bad for hurting anyone, even if these people were bad people that needed to be stopped. But to have this kind of control over his powers was a miracle to him, something he didn’t believe was possible. And he owed everything to you-

“BOB!”

He frantically turned, seeing one of the agents back on his feet, hand wrapped around your throat and body pressed against the row of computers before them. He could hear your choked coughs from across the room, your feet pushing against the man’s chest in a desperate hope to knock him off of you. It was to no avail, though, as the agent lifted his other hand with some sort of device encased in it. The HYDRA agent pressed the button on top of the device, the entire body of it lighting up red in seconds.

“NO!”

You sucked in a deep breath as the agent’s hand was ripped from your throat in seconds, your own hands flying to your throat as you tried to regain control of your surroundings. Bob with a single flick of the wrist dragged the man aross the room, launching him into the wall opposite you at the speed of light, a sickening crack sounding through the room.

Your eyes locked with Bob’s for just a second before you both looked to the beeping, red device at your feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bob flew across the room in what seemed like a blink, grabbing hold of the device and launching it across the room toward the door where you had entered. In the next second he turned, covering your body with his own as he pulled you both to the ground just as the device containing a high powered bomb exploded.

In an instant your hands covered your ears, feeling the rush of heat from the blast and pieces of debris rush past you and Bob. He body stayed crouched over yours, keeping anything from the blast from hitting you. It seemed to go on for what felt like forever until all that was left was the smell of smoke and gunpowder in the air and the faint crackle of electricity from destroyed wires.

After another moment to recover, you crawled out from Bob’s arms, quickly turning to the harddrive behind you to pocket the USB and whatever intel you were able to download before the explosion. You turned back to the area of the blast, and felt your breath leave you at the sight.

The entire wall that connected to the main hallway was gone, the ceiling having come down on top of it as well, almost splitting the room into almost half of the size it had been when you had first entered and encountered the agents. Wires were exposed within the ceiling, pipes leaking down into the room as small fires burned in the explosion area of the rubble.

“Widow, Bob, answer us!” fully coming back to your senses, you could hear John’s voice through the earpiece in your ear. “We heard an explosion, does one of you copy?”

“One of the agent’s had a bomb, but we’re both fine,” you called back to the team, still breathing heavily as you surveyed the damage before you. “The room…not so much.”

“Did you get the intel-”

“That’s not important,” Yelena’s voice cut off John’s, and you could hear the concern within it. “What’s wrong with the room?”

“My best guess is we’re trapped now, given that an entire wall and half the ceiling was just blown out,” you relayed back to them. “We’re underground so I really don’t want to think about being trapped within a concrete room with what I can only assume is a limited amount of oxygen, so if the three super soldiers on this team could hurry their asses over here and help dig us out sooner rather than later we’d appreciate it.”

“Stay put, we’re on our way,”

“Stay put, as if we can go anywhere,” you mumbled to yourself, tearing the earpiece from your ear and pocketing it, ears still ringing slightly from the blast. “Bob, you okay?”

Your eyes stayed trained on the debris before you even as you asked the question. After a moment of no response you glanced to the side at one of the only walls that wasn’t destroyed, freezing in place at the sight of a black tendril like shadow crawling across the wall.

“I made a mistake…it’s my fault…”

Turning fully, it felt like ice had suddenly run through your veins at the sight before you.

Bob was on his knees on the ground, eyes trained on the floor, but he was barely Bob anymore. Half of his face, of the face of the beautiful, broken boy you’d fallen so irrevocably in love with over the last few months was still visible. The rest of him was bathed in shadows, tendrils of it seeping out through the floor and into the walls, as the Void slowly took him over.

“Bob…” your voice was low, cautious, as you took a single hesitant step back.

He looked up at you at he sound of your voice. One single blue eye remained, tears welling in it and streaming down his face, in contrast to the shadow and pinpoint dot that covered the other half of his face. He spoke like himself, but almost like there were two of him, a low and gruff second voice of his layered over it.

“It’s my fault. It shouldn’t have happened I- I made a mistake. I could’ve hurt you, I could’ve got you killed,” his voice broke for a second, a sob almost seeping out of him as the shadows took more of what was left of him away. “I’m useless. All I do is make mistakes, all I do is make everything worse.You shouldn’t have brought me, I wasn’t ready. I- I can’t hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

“You protected me,” you tried to explain to him, voice soft as you crouched down, bringing yourself down to his level as you held out your hands toward him. “You saved me. You didn’t make a mistake, Bob, neither of us knew he had a bomb. You did everything you could. Please just…just listen. Just come back to me.”

He stared at you, one blue eyes and one pinpoint eye, but your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. The shadows still crept in.

“I’m better off dead. If I’m dead I…I can’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you,”

The shadows crept in again, that blue eye full of tears barely left to look at you, as the Void was seconds from swallowing him whole once again. 

Panic filled you in that instance, at the thought of losing him, and you lunged forward. Your knees dropping to the ground in front of him as you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck as you cried, letting the shadows consume you as well.

“Don’t leave me…please don’t leave me,”

It could’ve been minutes, it felt like hours, but in reality it had only been seconds before your eyes opened once more. There were arms wrapped around your waist as your brain caught up with you that you were still with Bob. You flung back, prying your head from the crook of his neck as you pulled back to look at him, just as he looked back at you with a similar look of confusion.

One hand came up to cup his cheek, overwhelmed to simply see his face unmarked by shadows. His eyes trailed over your face before they flickered around the room, face contorting in confusion.

“This…this isn’t one of my shame rooms,”

You followed his gaze, breath catching in your throat automatically as you took in the room. The grand pillars in front of the staircase, the white and black tiled floor beneath your feet, the dim lighting you knew all too well.

The Red Room.

“No…it’s one of mine,”

Bob’s hand around your waist tightened at the sound of heels against the floor behind you. His hand never left you, and your’s never left him as you both turned to face the scene before you.

You were so young, only 9. You stood to the side of the room, still in your ballet flats and hair slicked back impeccably. You recognized the woman in heels, of course you did she’d been your instructor since you were barely old enough to be molded into one of their assassins. She came to a stop before you, glaring down at you. God, you were just a child.

“You were given simple instructions,” her shrill voice cut through the air as you tightened your hold around Bob at the sound. “A simple task. You have been a perfect student…only to fail now.”

“I’m sorry, mistress,”

“There are no apologies here,” her voice cut in again. “Only consequences.”

Two burly men entered the room, holding the arms of a body not much bigger than your own at the time. They tore the sack upon the child’s head off, revealing her face: Polina. You’d grown up together, progressed through every challenge together. Besides Yelena…she’d been the closest thing to a best friend you could have in a place like this.

Bob’s own hands on your waist tightened as the mistress pulled out a revolver from the waistband of her skirt, loading a single bullet into the chamber. Her gaze flickered back to your young 9-year-old self, glare harsher than it was before as she saw your eyes were closed. “Open your eyes, and accept your consequence.”

A single tear made its way down your cheek as this young version of you did as she was asked, holding back her own tears as she looked into the eyes of your friend, just as the mistress’s bullet pierced her skull.

“What…what happened?”

“Simple…I made a mistake,” was the only response you could muster back to Bob. You pulled your gaze from the bloody scene before you, turning back to the man you loved as he watched you. Shaky hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs gliding over his skin as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Bob…we all have regrets. We all wish we could’ve done things differently. We all make mistakes, whether we want to or not, but it just means we’re human. We are not the sum of all of our mistakes, but what we choose to do differently because of them.”

Bob leaned into your soft touch, his eyes never leaving yours. He shook his head, choking on his own words as he tried to find the words to say.

“All I’ve done is cause you pain…cause everyone pain, because I keep- I keep making mistakes. I don’t know how to fix it,”

You thought about the next thing to say, what you could possibly say to get through to him, but words no longer seemed to do the trick. Instead, your hands held tight to his face as you surged forward, molding your lips to his own.

In a single kiss, you tried to convey every single thing that you needed him to feel. The way that you had cared about him from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, that one single look into his blue eyes had forever held him a place in your heart before you even realized he was the one occupying it. That in your eyes, he could do no wrong, that there was no mistake he could make that would make you love him any less. That you would walk through fire, cross any ocean, or throw yourself into the void of his own mind if that’s what it took to bring him back to you. The press of your lips against his own, the hesitant reciprocation back from him as he tried to navigate this new territory, his hands gripped onto your waist in hopes to ground himself in the moment, you tried desperately to ensure that he knew everything you needed him to know in that moment.

You pulled away, eyes closed as you felt him lean back into you, chasing after the feeling of your lips on his. Your nose brushed against his, hand moving from his cheek to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair.

“Just stay with me. That’s all I need…just stay with me,”

When you finally opened your eyes, you were back in the debris-covered room of the destroyed compound, still kneeling on the floor. You could hear the sound of your friends from beyond the debris, calling out for you as they tried to move the debris before them to get to you both.

All that mattered was the man still wrapped in your arms, shadows faded away as if they’d never appeared to begin with, leaving behind those beautiful blue eyes that shone brightly with one thing only: love.

“Always,”

[no-144444]

Can you write military!reader x f1!driver like they back from tour and surprises the driver persanely I would like to read Lando but you write with your fav driver ofc

home soil- m.verstappen

꩜summary: you surprise max with an early homecoming

꩜pairing: max verstappen x fem! sargeant! reader

꩜a/n: if there's anyone in the US military, sorry! i probs got something wrong about how it works- i'm irish so my b if i did!

Max hadn’t been looking forward to Miami. He knew the car would be shit. He knew he’d be fighting Lando on track. He knew Oscar would pass him. He knew everything in store for him, and he still had no word from you. You went off-grid 2 weeks ago. He had no idea where in the world you were. What you were doing. If you were safe. In all honesty, he hated your job. He hated being away from you for so long. He hated the amount of unknowns it came with. He hated it meant you had to stay in the US. He hated that it took him 4 months to convince you that he wanted you, and to have you believe him. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutter under his breath as he walked into his driver’s room. He could’ve ripped the thing apart. P4 in the race. He was pushing like crazy. 

“Alright?” your voice broke through every thought in his head and silenced them. You. You. Home. Safe. 

He didn’t care that he was sweaty. He didn’t care that he had media duties. He wrapped his arms around you, and for the first time in weeks, he finally relaxed. “You’re here,” he whispered like it wasn’t true. You chuckled against his skin, nodding into his neck. 

“And I’ll be in Imola too,” you smiled brightly as his eyes went wide, his hands cradling your face like you could break at any second. “Got my leave approved.”

“That’s brilliant, schatje!” he smiled, and pulled you in for a kiss. 

Max wasn’t known for keeping his calm. He was a racer, he won, and he didn’t care how many times he got in someone’s way. 

You kept your calm no matter what. Cool, calm, collected. Calm enough to pull the trigger of a gun on a person and not have it faze you. Calm enough to date an F1 driver and keep him stable. Calm enough to be here tonight, and not make it a big deal that Max Verstappen was your fiancé. You were strong too. Tough. Sure of yourself. He liked it. 

That’s why he didn’t feel the need to intervene when he saw you being chatted up by some sleeze. He just smirked as the man inched closer, it was free entertainment for the night, which was always necessary at F1 events. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you reminded the man who had been hounding you for the past few minutes. Fiancé, if we’re getting technical, but Max rarely did. 

Charles flashed him a smirk. “Going to go over there?” he questioned. 

Max shrugged. “If it gets boring,” he chuckled. “She can hold her own.”

“She’s scary,” Lando admitted. “First time I talked to her she threatened to break my arm.” 

“You were flirting with her,” Alex reminded him. “I remember how pissed Logan was.”

“Oh yeah!” Oscar laughed, nudging Logan (who was beside him). “And when you found out about Max and Y/n.”

“He went ballistic,” Lando laughed. “Almost killed his sister!” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Logan defended, but even Max gave him a look. “Ok, but it is shitty to go after someone’s sister!” 

The group continued laughing as Max listened back in on your conversation. 

“Oh yeah?” the guy smirked. Was it Tim, or Tom? Either way, he was a dick. “I don’t see him.”

“Now you do,” Max interrupted, wrapping an arm around your waist and smiling in a polite ‘fuck off’ way. The man chuckled. He was some NFL player. “Have a good night-”

“Let the pretty lady decide for herself, thank you very much,” he smirked. You gagged. 

“I chose him,” you deadpanned. 

“You’re in McLaren merch,” he pointed out, flicking at the hat on your head. You felt Max stiffen beside you, you could tell he was holding himself back from a fist fight. As much as this guy deserved it, Max was no MMA fighter, and you didn’t really want to be the reason he got his shit rocked. 

“Yeah, my mate drives for them,” you shrugged. “Do we have a problem here?” you demanded. “Because if we do we can talk about it.”

“No problem sweetheart, just don’t know if he understands how to be with a real woman such as yourself. I don’t see you at many races-”

“No, you don’t. Usually because I’m fighting for your fucking freedom you ungrateful asshole,” you scoffed, flashing your military ID card. The colour drained from the guy’s face and, before he could speak again Max whisked you away and back to the table with the rest of the guys.  He watched as you joked and laughed with them, happy you were there in front of him. He couldn’t ask for much more. You were safe.

You were here.

navigation for my blog :)

redbull & vcarb masterlist

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello! If you’re still accepting requests, would you write about Lando and his daughter and he always dresses them in matching outfits since she was a baby? Thanks!

Matching Outfits

The sun had just started rising over the circuit, casting a golden hue over the paddock. The usual buzz was already beginning to build: mechanics setting up, team members running around with coffees in hand, and media beginning to trickle in. But that morning, one figure stood out more than anyone else.

Lando walked into the paddock with a soft smile on his face, one hand pushing a sleek black stroller, the other adjusting the hood of his pastel pink hoodie. A matching pink baby bow peeked from under the stroller's blanket. Only a few people noticed at first, but the moment word got around, the drivers started appearing from every corner.

"Mate," Carlos said, jogging up beside him, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Is this the debut I think it is?"

Lando grinned. "Yep. She's finally here."

He carefully peeled back the stroller's blanket, revealing a tiny sleeping Yn, dressed in a pink onesie with a mini Quadrant logo embroidered on the chest and an oversized bow that nearly swallowed her forehead.

Carlos face melted. "No way. No actual way. She looks like a little cupcake. Look at her!"

Lando chuckled. "She drooled on the last outfit, so we had to switch to the emergency one. This is version 2.0."

Oscar appeared next, eyebrows raised. "You actually did it. The matching outfits thing."

Lando looked mock-offended. "You doubted me?"

"No, no! I expected it. I just didn’t expect it to be this cute."

Yn stirred slightly in the stroller, a tiny fist poking out from under the blanket. The drivers leaned in instinctively.

"She’s so small," murmured Charles, crouching beside the stroller.

"She’s three months. That’s still pocket-size," Lando whispered proudly. "Her main activities include eating, napping, and making me late because I get too distracted dressing her."

"How many outfits do you have for her?" George asked, peering down with a soft smile.

"Too many. But not enough," Lando answered with zero guilt. "I ordered custom onesies in every color hoodie I own. And I have more on the way."

Carlos snorted. "So what you're saying is you’ve created a fashion dynasty."

Lando smirked. "I’m building an empire."

The next race weekend, it was green.

Lando strutted into the paddock in a sage green hoodie with matching joggers. Yn sat contentedly in a baby carrier strapped to his chest, wearing a tiny green romper with little frog socks and a matching headband.

"You planned this," Alex said, pointing.

"Of course I did."

"You realize she has no idea what she's wearing, right?"

"Doesn’t matter," Lando grinned. "She’ll thank me when she’s older and sees the pictures."

"Or she’ll roll her eyes."

"Even better."

Yn, completely oblivious to the conversation, giggled and tried to gum Lando’s hoodie string.

"Hey, hey, no eating daddy’s hoodie," he cooed, lifting her tiny hand to kiss it. She squealed in return.

Pierre walked over, holding a coffee. "Alright, what’s the color this weekend?"

"Green," George answered, pointing at the duo. "Obviously."

Pierre leaned in, eyes widening as he looked at Yn. "Every week she gets cuter. It’s unfair."

Lando smiled. "It’s the power of good accessories."

By the third race, it was orange. Not just any orange, McLaren papaya orange.

Yn wore a handmade onesie in the team’s signature color, soft and breathable, with a tiny patch on the sleeve that read: Daddy’s #1 Fan. She even had socks with little steering wheels on them.

As Lando entered the motorhome, carrying her on his hip, the whole team melted.

"She’s our good luck charm," one of the mechanics said.

"She needs a team badge," added another.

"Already on it," Lando said, producing a tiny laminated card from his pocket. "She’s officially honorary team baby."

Yn responded by sneezing loudly and then blowing a raspberry.

"She speaks!" Carlos shouted, pretending to fall back in mock awe.

"Her first words will probably be ‘downforce,’" Charles joked.

"Or ‘Daddy stop matching me,’" Oscar added.

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile. "You’re all jealous."

That night in the hotel, Lando sat cross-legged on the bed, baby monitor on one side, tiny piles of pastel onesies spread out before him.

"Okay," he muttered, holding up two outfits. "Tomorrow’s color theme. Sunshine yellow or lilac?"

Yn, lying in her bassinet and gnawing on a teething ring, offered no comment.

"Right. Lilac it is. You are such a smart baby, darling."

Each morning became a little ritual. Lando would wake up, feed her, change her, and then pull out their matching outfits for the day. The more he did it, the more he fell in love with the little moment of connection they shared, even if she couldn’t understand it yet.

Every cuddle, every gummy smile, every sleepy coo made the long nights and early mornings worth it.

And every weekend, more of the paddock caught on.

Seb came by once just to bring a knitted cardigan for Yn in Ferrari red.

"Not subtle," Lando said.

"She needs options," Seb replied with a wink.

Even Kimi gave her a tiny pair of racing gloves. "Too big now. She’ll grow."

"Thanks, Ice Man," Lando said, genuinely touched.

"Bwoah, don’t call me that."

During a rainy weekend, Lando dressed them both in little waterproof jackets in pastel purple. Yn had tiny boots (more decorative than functional), and Lando kept her tucked against his chest as they walked through the paddock.

Media snapped photos, but Lando was always careful, always keeping her face tucked safely away.

He didn’t want the world to have her. Not yet. Not fully.

Yn was his world. His quiet, peaceful world in the middle of racing chaos.

Every night, before bed, he whispered the same thing into her tiny ear:

"You’re my whole universe, little star."

She’d gurgle back, a tiny hand wrapping around his finger.

And that was all he needed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

[manicmanuscription]

Selfish? or Rational?

SJM x Reader Week 2025: Day Two @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Friends / Family

Pairings: Azriel / Reader

Summary: The long awaited breakfast scene! This is the third part to unapologetically selfish and it just fit so well with the prompt!

A/N: I'm really not happy with this so I'm so sorry if I disappointed you guys. I really struggled with finding the right format but nothing fit and then it was just hanging over my head and aaa. I do maybe want to write one more part a few months into the future bc I have a cute idea but we will see. But for now this is the end of this mini series thank you for reading! (if anyone has any ideas how i can fix this finale please please lmk!!)

Tags: angst, fluff, ic beeing lowkey messy (but not really.)

Word Count: 1237

SJM x Reader Week 2025 | Acotar Masterlist

Cassian watched his brother as if he had grown three heads. He knew Azriel had hidden his mate from him, in fact his own mind was still reeling from that piece of information. But to actually see it? It was something else entirely Azriel had pulled the chair out for you after silencing all the questions his family had thrown out there. Growling that his mate needed to least eat before dealing with their nonsense. 

So now here they were all settled at the table once again and Cassian was mesmerized. You worked in tandem to prepare each other a plate of food from the options laid across the table.

You poured Azriel his tea the way he liked it and black coffee for yourself. Him returning the favor by buttering biscuits for you and so on. 

They were in sync and he could not stop staring. It was a simple task and yet so domestic, you looked up at him and give him a sweet smile when he passed you the small tin of jam unprompted. 

As if they’d done this little song and dance a thousand times and with an aching heart Cassian realized they had. 

And he had no idea about it. 

Until he did, and just didn’t believe his brother. 

Nausea rolled in his stomach at the guilt and heartbreak. He wasn’t the only one shocked at his brother’s actions. The rest of the Inner Circle not even trying to hide their interest in the couple sitting in front of him. 

Nesta comfortingly grabbed his hand under the table as she continued eating. He barely noticed the touch too focused on the foreign side of his brother he was currently seeing. The only sound heard in the room was the small ticking of a clock until finally Mor broke first. “How long have you been seeing each other? We didn’t know about you until recently.” 

“Four years.” You responded with a slight wince. Four years of his own brother hiding you away. Three years since he started acting shady. Two years since he told them and one year of Cassian absolutely tormenting him over a fake mate that was very much real. 

“My brother said you travel, is that true?” Rhysand asked diplomatically steering the conversation away from Azriel’s actions. Although from the storm brewing behind the High Lord’s eyes Cassian assumed it wouldn’t last long. 

“Yes. I do. I work closely with Thesan and occasionally Helion. Which unfortunately requires me to move across borders quite often.”

“What work do you-” Rhysand started but Mor interrupted him. “So busy you had no time to meet us?” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hurt behind defensiveness. 

Azriel snarled and it shocked and amused Cassian. His brother was usually levelheaded. He opened his mouth to respond but you put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry it truly wasn’t malicious intent. I'm in Velaris only a few weeks out of the year and it’s been hard on both of us. The time we have together we prefer to spend alone.”

She didn’t have to mention what Azriel did for work. Their family barely even saw him even less since being mated but they all knew it wasn’t just his schedule alone that put a dent in your relationship. Rhysand’s hand tightened on his glass and if they werent friends for so long Cassian wouldn’t have noticed it was from guilt. 

Luckily Feyre pressed a kiss to his cheek as they conversed without speaking. “I can’t imagine being away from your mate for so long.” She finally said aloud after a few moments. 

“It’s been difficult.” And opened your mouth to say more but Amren beat you to it, looking directly at the Spymaster. “Are you going to say anything or just let her do all the talking?” 

A violent gleam passed in his brother’s so fast if Cassian blinked he wouldn’t have noticed it. “I don’t recall you having much of a place to voice your opinion.” She just hummed low in her throat and continued to observe you. Azriel and Amren had their own weird relationship, as if they were strategists first and friends maybe second or third. He didn’t understand the double meaning behind her comment but Azriel did and he just pressed himself closer to your chair, shooting the female a challenging look.

The tense moment quickly passed as everyone had questions for you and Azriel, even Elain and Varian tossing their two cents in every once and awhile. You just sat through it all with a smile on your face, answering politely and even returning barbs and underhanded comments as if you’d been apart of the family for centuries. 

“So yes I founded the Saving Soul’s community and-”

“Saving Soul’s?” Elain asked. 

“Yes, it's a proficient group of Healer’s and Innovators that try to advance medicine through lot’s research and unique cases of illness. It’s why I travel so much I was recently across the continent for research in prosthetic limbs” 

“You founded it?” Rhysand asked, surprised. “Yes, Thesan and I grew up together and he helped me create the project once it was on it’s feet and he became High Lord I’ve been managing it with a few others.” 

Rhysand and Feyre gave each other a knowing look before turning to you and you moved before they could voice whatever shared thought that had clicked for them. 

He just shook your head slightly and the conversation moved forward. After all you didn’t want Azriel knowing you and your team had requested border permissions for Illyria, your next study was wing repair which meant moving home. Permanently. 

“Looks like he gave you a good time when you came home.” Mor pointed out to the scarf that revealed a few purple hickeys.

Your hand shot up to your neck as you gave Azriel a scathing look. He just sat back in his chair unable to hide the smug smile. “I told you!” You snapped.

Mor started laughing and even Nesta cracked a smile. “How did you guys meet?” 

“Well that’s certainly a story.”  

Cassian didn’t speak the entire breakfast. Everyone was content to let you in with open arms as soon as they noticed how smitten Azriel was.

As everyone finished lunch and headed home Cassian was the last to leave. He had seen how absolutely in love his brother was but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Years gone by without his own brother sharing something so important with him. 

Nesta was saying goodbye to Nyx and it gave him a chance to catch Azriel as he was leaving. “Hey Az can we talk?”

Azriel looked over at you briefly. The male was rushing you out of here the second breakfast was over and he turned to him before nodding. “Yeah what’s up?” He asked as the males moved to a quieter part of the house. “Listen Cassian I know your upset about this-”

“Are you happy?”

Cassian had seen it but he needed to hear it.

Azriel smiled, a true smile. His brother never smiled. 

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” He said, giving him a squeeze on the arm before going off to find Nesta, and he meant every word. He could let go of the hurt, he understood why of course. All he wanted was for his brother to receive everything he wanted, and with a quick glance at you it looked like he had.

[rafesangelita]

♡ bluecollar!johnb has a massive size kink..

warnings: light teasing, unprotected sex, john b is hung, size difference, praise, choking, belly bulge, breeding kink, fluff

you did just about everything for john b— keeping up with the trailer so he could come home from a long day of work and have a nice and clean space to unwind, cooking him hot meals that kept his stomach full, massaging the tension out of his back and limbs.. name it and you did it. and john b? well, he did just about everything for you too. he went to work and made enough money to keep the bills paid, along with giving you any amount you may ask for for your beauty appointments, but even more than that; he did what he was doing right now— and that was fucking you to tears every single night.

“you can’t be crying already, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, his hips barely fitting between your thighs, “i’m not even halfway in yet.” you cried out, your nails raking down his arms as he slowly kept pushing inside of you. with every single inch splitting you open, all you could do was lay there helplessly as his giant form seemingly towered over your own, his biceps being so prominent that you couldn’t even hold onto them for leverage. feeling so full and stuffed with cock already, you nearly screamed when he pulled out and fully thrusted back in, your mouth falling open as his tip nudged your cervix.

“john!” you shrieked, your velvety walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion that was his length. fully wrapping his fists around your ankles, john b pinned your feet to damn near the back of your ears, this new position allowing him to go even deeper than before. with all of his weight keeping you lodged underneath him, you gave up any kind of idea of staying sane while he fucked into you, your brain going numb as you became a blabbering mess, the only sounds coming from you being half-broken sobs and pathetic little mumbles. without forming a single thought, you gazed up at john b as you took the thunderous pounding of his hips against your clit.

“so fucking pretty, ‘just taking me like this.” he slid in and out of you with ease, his length hitting the spot that made you see stars with every stroke. reaching up, you threaded your fingers through his curls and tugged him down into a kiss, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths as he moved his hands from your ankles to your neck. john b could cover your entire face with his palm if he wanted to, the sight of his knuckles wrapped tightly around your throat made his cock twitch, your toes curling as your back arched into his chest. tightening his grip on your neck, john b groaned as he stilled inside of you, giving you a moment to take a full breath.

“too much for you?” he laughed, watching the way your bottom lip trembled. “n-no!” you whined, running your fingers over his toned pecs. snaking his hands down your waist, he gripped your hips, pressing his thumbs down against the bulge of his cock in your tummy. “you gonna let me fill you up? ‘fuck some babies into you?” you clenched around him at the thought, your calves now resting on his broad shoulders. “mhmmm— yes, please, i want it!” john b was merciless on your cunt, your screams echoing throughout the trailer as the sound of his skin meeting yours reverberated off of the walls.

you two continued like this until he collapsed at your side, his arm draping over your chest as he held you close, your eyes fluttering shut while he spilled into you. “you’re perfect.” he whispered, tucking you into his side. you were all but dazed resting your cheek against his chest. “this night can’t get any better.” at his words, you laughed. “i don’t know about that.. i made steaks for dinner.” john b shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. “are you fuckin’ serious?” he laughed, lifting your chin and staring down at you, “i need to go ring shopping soon.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[ironwoman18]

The Inner Thoughts

"Where were you yesterday between nine and midnight?" Asked Detective Smith.

"At home, watching the football game" you said calmly but your heart was pounding on your chest because of the awkward situation, you have no idea what happened.

"Who can confirm that?" Asked the man in a threatening way.

"About ten more people. My family and some friends from work" you answer without a doubt.

He nodded, he already asked them and they said the same, you never left the house, you never held your phone from the table and you never looked suspicious about anything outside of the match.

"Did you have troubles with Damian Miller?" He asked.

"The usual... He hated when my dog or my kids ran in his front yard, he threatened to put poison if my dog dared to eat his flowers... My dog never did that but he blamed him anyway... He's an American Pitbull so... Of course he must be responsible..." You rolled your eyes.

"Did he ever hurt your dog or kid?" You shook your head "did he ever hurt other dogs or kids?"

"No idea, but he wasn't loved in our neighborhood" the police sighed.

"You may go" you left the room, confused but glad they didn't seem to be interested in you.

You are a good neighbor, never bother others, also saying good morning, good afternoon, good evening; always kind with the old ladies and good with animals.

Not like Miller, so whatever happened, he deserved it.

When you arrived home and discovered what happened. Apparently, he ate some kind of seafood that poisoned him and ended up dying. Good, no one will miss him, you thought.

Weeks passes and your bully coworker dies in an unexpected accident. He was working on a building, checking a few small details when he lost his balance and fell off a tenth floor, dying instantly.

Since he was always annoying you, you were the first one to be interrogated... Again... But as before you weren't near the place of the accident.

In fact you were miles away from the accident and one hundred people, workers of the construction company you work for, could testify it.

The detective was suspicious but all the proofs were there. You weren't near the accident or the dead body but he was someone who was tied to you somehow.

You were also a little worried, why those two had died in stranger situations and why them? Why did Daniel, the bully, die just as you imagined a thousand times? Why did Miller die after you wish the clamps get him sick?

Then... The realization hit you... Your thoughts killed them... No... It can't be... It's a coincidence...

So you made an experiment. You thought of a bad politician in your community. He stole thousands of dollars that were meant for the community. You imagine his car falling off a cliff and dying.

You turned on the TV but nothing happens "I'm an idiot... I need to stop watching those animes..."

You went to the kitchen and cook your lunch and an hour later there was a headline.

The Side Hill Community Leader died when his car fell off a cliff.

Your face was white as a ghost and you felt dizzy. It happened, just like you imagine. But, how? You don't know but you have to be careful.

You spend months trying to have happy thoughts, not wishing anyone's any harm and when you do, it was a minor event like a twisted ankle or a broken arm and it happened.

You were scared of thinking the worst things and causing a tragedy.

But... One day your partner was fighting you and, in rage you had the worst thoughts, the worst dead your mortal mind could ever imagine.

When you realize it... It was too late, your mind already imagined all the details and you can't back it up... It was a matter of time...

You just sentence to death the love of your life...

Your harassing neighbor dies. Then a bullying coworker dies in a crash. Within a month, people you’ve had bad blood with start dying. The police are watching you closely—but you haven’t done anything… at least, not that you know of.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Drabble List #15

75 prompts to write drabbles or longer stories.

"We need to take a leap of faith."

"I won't let them take everything from us."

"This is the only way."

"We're on the same team."

"You can't keep running away."

"We need to make this right."

"I have some questions for you."

"Wanna test it for yourself?"

"I can't believe you said that."

"You have to make a choice."

"This is our chance to change everything."

"We need to be brave."

"I can't do this without you."

"You have to face the truth."

"This is bigger than both of us."

"We need to act fast."

"I can't keep living a lie."

"We need to find the courage to move forward."

"We have to be honest with ourselves."

"This isn't over yet."

"We need to take a stand."

"I'm not alone in this fight."

"We can't let them destroy everything we've built."

"I believe in us."

"We have to keep the faith."

"I'm not as strong as you think."

"I can't keep living a lie."

"You have no idea what I've been through."

"This is bigger than both of us."

"We have to find a way."

"I can't believe you did that."

"We need to be strong."

"This isn't about revenge."

"You can't hide forever."

"We need to stay focused."

"I never wanted any of this."

"You have to face your fears."

"This is our moment."

"We need to find the truth."

"I can't let them win."

"You really need to trust your instincts more."

"This isn't about winning."

"We have to make a stand."

"I never thought it would come to this."

"You have to let me in."

"This is our chance."

"We need to be ready."

"I can't believe I trusted you."

"You have no idea what I've sacrificed."

"This isn't just about us."

"We need to stay calm."

"I can't keep doing this forever."

"I can't let them take everything."

"You have to trust me."

"This is our fight."

"Who are your friends?"

"Don't start from the very beginning."

"Personally, I have no idea."

"We need to be careful."

"I wish I could believe you."

"We can't keep doing this."

"How did we end up here?"

"You know I can't stay."

"We have to take a risk."

"I don't want to lose you."

"You need to let go."

"This isn't the end."

"We're not that close."

"I had a bad feeling about this."

"And it seems like I was right about it."

"We can't let fear control us."

"I never expected this."

"You have to make a choice."

"We need to act fast."

"This is just the beginning of our story."

Drabble Masterlist

Have fun creating and writing!

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[batsovergotham]

CHAPTER 2 PART 2

so you slept with him. once. respectfully.

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

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

content notice: 18+. virginity loss. vaginal sex. cunnilingus. handjobs.

a/n: oh dear god.

His mouth finds yours again, deliberate now. Not urgent, not overpowering. Just real. Lips soft but sure, moving with a quiet confidence that makes your stomach twist tight. You’re straddling him, legs spread over his hips, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and there’s no mistaking the heat between you. You can feel him, thick and hard beneath you, even through the barrier of your uniform. But he doesn’t grind up. Doesn’t grab. Just kisses you like he has all night to learn the shape of your mouth.

And maybe he does.

Your fingers curl in the fabric of his uniform, pulling him closer like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. His hands move slowly, one sliding up your side, fingertips skimming the curve of your waist through the thick material, the other resting at the small of your back, just enough pressure to remind you he’s there, that he’s choosing this, choosing you, and not because of some royal obligation or political convenience. This is something else. This is want.

You break the kiss first, gasping, forehead pressed to his, breath mingling. Your body’s trembling, your thighs clenching around him, and you’re painfully aware of just how wet you are. It’s soaked through now, you can feel it, hot and slick against your underwear, your body reacting to the feel of him under you, to his mouth, to his voice, to him.

“I haven’t done this,” you whisper. The confession rips out of you before you can stop it.

His brow furrows, but not in confusion. Just concern. Soft, grounding.

“I mean, just that time. When we were sparring.” Your voice breaks a little. “When I… I was on you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, thumb brushing along your hip. “I could tell.”

“I didn’t—mean to grind on you like that,” you add quickly, heat flooding your face. “It just—happened. I lost control. I didn’t even realize how close I was until���”

“You came,” he finishes for you. There’s no mockery in it. Just the barest edge of awe. “You came on me.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. You nod.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he says, voice lower now, coarse. “The way you were shaking. The way you looked at me like—like it meant something.”

“It did,” you say quickly, too quickly. “I didn’t know what was happening, but, Gods, I couldn’t stop. You felt so good, Mark.”

His jaw tenses and you feel his grip on your hips tighten slightly. He swallows hard. “You feel good now.”

You tilt your hips, rocking forward just slightly, and his breath punches out of him. You feel every ridge of him pressing up between your legs, and your clit pulses from the contact. Your thighs tighten reflexively.

You do it again. Slower this time. Deliberate.

A low, broken sound escapes his throat. His hands glide under your suit, bare skin now, warm fingers skimming your back like he’s trying to calm himself.

“You don’t have to go any further,” he murmurs into your throat, mouth brushing sensitive skin. “I just want you close.”

You press down harder, moaning softly at the friction. “But I do. I want to.”

Your fingers fumble with his uniform, tugging it up, and he helps you without question, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. He’s warm under your hands, chest hard with muscle, but his eyes stay locked on yours like you’re the thing he’s trying to memorize, not your body. You touch him, tentative at first, palms against his skin, thumbs brushing across the defined lines of his stomach. He exhales through his nose, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re wearing white and straddling me. I’m trying really hard not to come in my pants.”

You laugh, a choked, breathy thing, and kiss him again. This time it’s messier. Your mouths slide together, tongues tangling, lips parting, and you feel him groan into you as your hips move again, rubbing yourself against him. Slow, wet drags, each one sending a spike of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers against your lips.

He flips you suddenly, slow but firm, your back hitting the mattress with a soft gasp. He settles between your legs, still clothed, pressing down into you just enough for your bodies to align again. You’re panting. Your thighs fall open for him instinctively, and his hands settle beside your head, holding himself over you like he’s afraid to crush you.

You reach for his hand, guide it down between your bodies, to where you’re aching.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

He does.

His hand doesn’t go where you guided it, not yet. He follows his own path, slow and unhurried, retracing your shape like he’s mapping something sacred. His palm drifts up from your waist to your ribs, each pass grazing skin that feels suddenly electric. He’s so warm. Grounded. Intent. And when his hand finally curves over your breast, you suck in a breath, back arching under the weight of it.

He doesn’t squeeze. Just holds. Fingers splayed, thumb brushing slow circles around your nipple through the fabric, coaxing it into a tight, aching peak. You bite your lip, not sure if the sound you just made was a moan or a whimper. Maybe both.

Mark watches your face like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. You want more.

“I’m okay,” you breathe. “Just—keep going.”

Something in his expression softens. His lips part, but whatever words he had die unspoken. Instead, he shifts down, trailing kisses across your collarbone, then lower, until his mouth is at the edge of your suit’s neckline. His hands tug gently at the fabric, and you lift your arms without thinking, helping him pull it over your head.

The cool air hits your skin and then, him. His breath, his mouth, the warm weight of his gaze drinking in your bare chest.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly. Not in awe. Not to flatter. Like it’s a simple truth.

Your breath stutters, but then he leans down and kisses you there. Just above your heart. Then lower. A trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the slope of one breast. When his lips finally close around your nipple, your whole body jerks.

“Mark–” It’s a gasp. A plea.

He hums against your skin, the low vibration rippling straight through you. His tongue swirls slowly, deliberately, savoring every reaction. Your fingers sink into his hair, soft and dark and thick, and you hold him there, helpless to stop your hips from shifting under him, chasing that friction, that heat.

His other hand moves to your other breast, thumb flicking gently over the nipple, teasing it to the same sensitivity as the first. Every inch of you feels lit up. You’ve never been touched like this. Never let yourself be. But here, under Mark, it’s not scary. It’s overwhelming, yes, but safe. Grounded.

“Is this okay?” he asks between kisses, his voice jarring.

“Yes,” you pant, nails curling against his scalp. “It’s more than okay.”

He kisses lower. The valley between your breasts. Down your stomach, his lips brushing over the softest part of you. Your body arches, chasing his mouth.

Then lower still.

He pauses at your waistband, the damp, clinging fabric stretched tight over your hips. His breath is hot against your skin, and you feel your thighs quiver.

His hands move down, slow, reverent, and he hooks his thumbs under the band. But he doesn’t pull yet. He looks up at you, his mouth hovering just above your core.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs.

“I—yeah,” you whisper. “I can’t help it.”

He leans in, kisses just below your navel. “I like that you’re letting me see this. All of you.”

You nod, barely able to breathe. “I trust you.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. Then finally—finally—he starts to tug the fabric down. Inch by inch. You lift your hips to help him, and your soaked underwear peels away with a wet sound that makes both of you groan.

He pulls it down past your thighs, your knees, tossing it to the floor, and you’re left bare beneath him. Exposed. Aching.

Mark’s eyes drag down the length of your body, slow, intense. When he sees how wet you are, slick and glistening between your thighs, his breath catches audibly.

“God,” he says, voice hoarse. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Then he moves between your legs, lowering himself with slow purpose, hands spreading your thighs. You feel his breath against your most sensitive skin, and you nearly come apart right there.

And then, his mouth is on you.

His breath ghosts over your slick folds, lips so close you can feel the tremble in them, the restraint. Your thighs twitch, involuntarily parting wider under the pressure of his hands, spreading open like petals drawn to heat. He doesn’t move yet, just watches you, face poised between your legs, eyes locked on your soaked center like it’s something holy.

The air’s thick, heavy with the scent of your arousal, and when he finally leans in and drags his tongue up your slit in one slow, decadent stroke, your entire spine bows off the bed.

“Mark—!”

Your voice is hoarse, high, ruined. His groan is low and raw, the kind that vibrates against your most sensitive flesh. His tongue doesn’t stop, he traces the shape of you, tongue slow and sure, tasting everything, as if the slick between your legs is ambrosia. You’re so wet you can feel the mess coating your inner thighs, and the way he licks into you, thorough, worshipful, only makes it worse.

He kisses your pussy like he kisses your mouth, like he means it. Like he wants it to last.

His hands slide beneath your ass, lifting your hips slightly, tilting you into the steady motion of his mouth. His tongue works slow at first, mapping the heat and curves of you, flicking, pressing, sliding in shallow strokes that make your thighs quake.

He finds your clit and lingers, tongue circling, then flicking with maddening precision. You cry out, the sound thick with shock, hands clawing at the sheets, searching for something to anchor you as your body bucks toward him.

You grab for his hair instead, fingers tangling in dark, sweat-soft strands. You feel the flex of his jaw, the way his lips seal around your clit, the suction as he sucks gently, then harder, and you’re falling apart by degrees. Your hips grind up into his mouth before you can think better of it, and Mark fucking moans, the deep sound thrumming through your cunt like a shockwave.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.” he murmurs into you between strokes. 

You whimper. “Again! Please, again!”

He grins against your cunt, you feel it, and then he flattens his tongue and drags it up again, slow and heavy, nose brushing your clit while his lips press into the soaked mess of you.

Your thighs try to close around his head, instinctive and desperate, but he shifts, his hands slide up, arms hooking under your thighs, locking around them, and he pulls. Drags your body down the bed, yanking your hips flush to his face with a groan like he can’t stand being any farther away.

“Oh god,” you choke, thighs trembling in his grip. “Mark—what—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Now you’re half-lifted off the bed, your knees bent over his shoulders, your thighs trapped in the cage of his arms as he pins you open and devours you. His tongue works fast, now relentless, flicking and circling your clit with precision, his face wet with your slick, his jaw working like he’s addicted to the way you taste.

You scream for him. High and sharp and shameless.

“Mark, please—please— I can’t—”

“You can,” he groans, pulling back just long enough to drag his tongue through your folds again, lips slick and red. “You’re so close. I can feel it.”

And you are.

Your whole body is drawn tight, strung up on the edge of something unbearable. Your belly coils, your thighs shake, and he keeps sucking, licking, kissing your clit with filthy reverence, until the tension finally snaps.

You come with a sob, the orgasm tearing through you. Your body convulses, hips jerking, thighs quaking in his hold. He doesn’t stop. He exhales against you, licking you through it, swallowing every twitch and cry like he’s starving for it. Like he wants to own every second of your release.

You’re still gasping when the tremors start to fade, your legs heavy over his shoulders, your chest heaving. He finally lifts his head, lips glistening, hair mussed, eyes wild and warm.

And smiling.

“Fuck,” he cooes, voice breathy, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your kiss deepens slowly, like wading into something warm and endless. His lips are slick, the taste of your release still lingering on his mouth, and when your tongue brushes his, you hesitate. You weren’t prepared for the flavor of yourself, thick and heady on him. You pause mid-kiss, startled, cheeks burning.

But Mark doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he kisses you deeper.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, fingers spreading over your jaw like he’s holding something precious. The kiss shifts, less hunger, more care. He licks softly into your mouth, slow and coaxing, until you’re kissing him back again, letting yourself taste what he just took from you with his tongue, like it’s meant to be shared. Your moan vibrates into his mouth before you can stop it, and he answers with a sound that comes from deep in his chest.

He stays above you, the broad warmth of his body caging yours without pressing, one knee between your thighs, the other leg braced beside your hip. And beneath it, he’s hard. Painfully hard. You can feel it now, thick and twitching where it rests against your bare thigh, just under the fabric of his underwear.

You hesitate, nervous again.

But your hand moves anyway.

It starts slow, just your fingertips brushing the fabric stretched over his thigh. You trace the edge of each muscle on his soft skint, letting yourself feel him. Mark breathes in deep, doesn’t move. Just watches you, eyes darker, lips slightly parted.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice low and serious. “We’re not in a rush. This doesn’t have to be tonight.”

You look up at him. Your hand doesn’t stop moving. “You took care of me.”

“I wanted to take care of you,” he says instantly. “Not because I expected anything back.”

You slide your palm lower, along the edge of the black waistband stretched tight over his hips. The muscle there jumps under your hand, a sharp twitch that makes your stomach flutter. You feel the heat of him beneath the fabric. The hard, heavy length of him, straining against the fabric.

“I want to,” you whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to learn.”

His expression breaks open, relief and heat and something almost tender all flickering at once.

“Then I’ll show you,” he says. “As slow as you want.”

You press your hand fully against him now. He’s so hard it makes your throat tighten. Big. Thick. You trace him from base to tip through the fabric, and Mark shudders, jaw clenched. Your thumb grazes the head where it curves up against his waistband, and you feel it, wetness, hot and sticky. He’s leaking for you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, biting down on his bottom lip. “You’re really messing with my head here.”

You stroke him again, slow, through the material. You feel every pulse, every twitch. Your body’s flushed, still sensitive from the orgasm he gave you, but this, this kind of control, feels new and addictive.

“Can I see you?” you ask, voice trembling with nerves you can’t quite shake.

Mark exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. “Yeah. Of course.”

He shifts, lifting his weight off you, his hands moving to the clasp of his cape. You watch him, wide-eyed, as he unhooks it, then peels the waistband of his underwear down. The fabric clings to his hips, then his thighs, and then finally, he’s free.

You suck in a breath before you can stop it.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy, with a soft curve and flushed darker at the tip. The shaft glistens with pre-cum, veins running the length of it, twitching slightly as it springs against his lower stomach. Your thighs squeeze together instinctively.

You stare. Openly.

“Still good?” he asks, voice a little softer now.

You nod. Your fingers wrap around him carefully, trembling just a little. He’s hot, and when you give him a slow, tentative stroke, he groans, his hips jerking forward slightly, his hands curling into the sheets beside you.

“That’s good, baby, keep doing that.” he whispers. 

You stroke again, firmer this time, from base to tip, watching the way his brows furrow, how his mouth parts with every movement of your hand. You can feel the slick at his tip, and your thumb circles over it gently. His reaction is immediate, a deep groan, hips lifting just slightly into your 

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes, and each one draws another sound from him, tight and breathy. His cock pulses in your grip, hot and hard and heavy, and the way he responds, hips twitching, jaw flexing, his chest rising and falling in shallow, shaking breaths, makes you feel powerful in a way you’ve never felt before.

He’s completely focused on you. Every groan, every strained exhale, every time he closes his eyes like he’s trying to hold himself together, that’s because of you. Because of your touch. Your kiss. The way you’re still looking up at him, wide-eyed and flushed, working his length with growing confidence.

Your fingers glide up the thick shaft, pausing at the tip to smear the bead of precum leaking there. It's slick and hot, and he moans into your mouth when you swirl your thumb around it, hips rolling forward into your palm before he can stop himself.

“Fuck—” His voice is hoarse now, buried somewhere between restraint and surrender. “You’re killing me here.”

You don’t stop. You can’t. His reaction is addictive, how his whole body stiffens, pressed to you, how his thighs flex, the way his brows knit tight every time you stroke down to the base and back up again. He’s breathing faster now, the tension winding tighter and tighter beneath his skin.

Then you kiss him again.

You can’t help yourself, he’s so beautiful like this, all raw edges and control slipping, his face flushed and damp, hair mussed, lips parted. You lean up, catching his mouth with yours, and he melts into it. His lips crush yours with heat and hunger, his hand cupping the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. It’s needy, breathless, your mouths sliding together, teeth knocking, tongues tangling as he moans straight into you.

And still, you keep stroking him.

Your hand works him with slow, smooth movements, the pad of your thumb teasing the sensitive underside of his head. You squeeze a little, testing, and he gasps, the sound guttural and low, breaking apart inside the kiss. His hips jerk again, grinding into your hand, and his voice goes ragged.

“Shit—” he mutters, breaking the kiss, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Baby, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna come all over your hand.”

The word baby hits something deep in your chest, something warm and sharp that steals your breath. You’ve never heard anyone say it to you like that before like it’s tender, not teasing.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper, lips grazing his ear. “I want to see you come.”

He lets out a broken laugh, but it’s desperate, strained. “God, don’t say that.”

You stroke him again, firm, wet, sure, and his body shudders. He’s so close. You can feel it in the way he tenses, the way his cock jerks in your palm, the way he grips the sheets like he needs something to hold onto.

And then, suddenly, he reaches down and wraps his hand around yours, stopping the motion with a tight, shuddering breath.

You freeze, eyes darting to his. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He shakes his head, cupping your face with his other hand, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “God, no. You’re perfect. That was—” He groans, breath catching, like the words can’t form. “I just don’t want it to end like that.”

You blink, confused. “You don’t want to…?”

“I do,” he says, kissing you softly, lips lingering. “I want to come with you wrapped around me. I want to feel you.”

His words sink into your chest, heavy and hot. Your thighs clench, your breath goes shallow. You’re still aching from before, still open, still wet. You never stopped wanting him. Not for a second.

“You want to be inside me?” you ask, voice smaller than you mean it to be.

Mark meets your gaze. His voice is low, sincere. “Only if you want it. I meant it when I said we’re not rushing this.”

You nod slowly, heart pounding. “I want it. I just… I’ve never done this before. Not like this.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I know. And I’ve got you. I’ll go slow. I’ll stop the second you want me to. But if you want to feel it…”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He kisses you again, long, deep, sweet, and when he pulls back, his hand is already moving, trailing down your stomach with infinite care. You part your thighs for him, trembling with nerves and need, your whole body open under his.

And when his fingers find you again, wet and ready, he groans like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

His kisses trail down your neck as if he’s resisting the urge to do more all at once, lips brushing your pulse, tongue flicking gently at the sweat-slick hollow of your throat. His hand stays poised between your thighs, fingers spread, warm and steady over your mound. You’re already gasping, your hips twitching up into the weight of his palm.

“You’re so soft here,” he murmurs into your skin. “So fucking warm.”

Then he moves. His middle finger slides lower, dragging through your soaked folds, gliding with effortless ease. The slickness between your legs coats his skin, and he exhales a deep, shaky breath that ghosts over your collarbone.

“God,” he whispers. “You’re still dripping for me.”

Your thighs quiver around his hand, every muscle drawn tight with anticipation. His finger brushes your entrance and lingers, just enough pressure to make you ache, but he doesn’t push in yet. He circles slowly, teasing your hole, letting your body want it before he gives you anything.

You whimper, hips rocking into his touch. “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

He presses in with a slow, steady push, his thick finger stretching your tight walls with careful precision. Your breath stutters, your body clenching hard around him, and he stills halfway in, waiting, watching your face.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and gentle, despite the strain in it.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s… big.”

“I know, baby. Just breathe. Let me in.”

He kisses you again, soft, grounding, and his finger eases in the rest of the way. The stretch burns, but only for a moment, dulled by the slick between your thighs and the way he’s murmuring to you, coaxing, soothing.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “You’re taking me so well. Fuck.”

Your pussy clenches around him, the sensation deep and electric. When he starts to move, slowly pulling out, then pressing back in, it’s like the world narrows to just the steady glide of his finger and the heat curling low in your belly.

Then he adds another.

You gasp as his ring finger joins the first, the stretch sharper now, more insistent. He goes slower this time, working you open gradually, thumb brushing your clit with featherlight touches in between each thrust. The dual sensation makes you squirm, torn between the fullness and the teasing pressure against that aching little bud.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmurs, his voice husky now.

“I—I don’t,” you stammer, cheeks flushed, thighs trembling. “Mark—”

“Yeah?” His mouth moves to your breast, kissing along the curve, licking the skin before taking your nipple between his lips. He sucks gently, then harder, and your hips jerk up into his hand, your cunt squeezing down on his fingers.

“Shit,” he breathes, pulling off with a pop. “You’re close already, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, breath coming in sharp bursts. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I won’t.”

His fingers speed up, thrusting deeper now, each curl of them hitting something inside you that makes your whole body twitch. His thumb presses more firmly to your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that sync perfectly with the thrust of his hand.

Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as your legs spread wider, desperate for more friction. The sound of it is filthy, wet and obscene, each thrust of his fingers into your soaked cunt making you hear how broken you already are for him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You hear that, baby? That’s you. That’s what you sound like when you’re this fucking desperate.”

His lips are back on your throat now, sucking bruises into the sensitive skin just under your jaw, marking you with each deep stroke of his fingers. He’s no longer gentle, he’s fucking you with his hand now, hard and fast, two fingers stretching your slick hole while his thumb crushes against your clit.

Your thighs clamp around his wrist, your hands clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the pressure builds and builds.

You’re panting now, close to sobbing. “I—I can’t—Mark, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasps. “Let go. Come for me. Come all over my fucking hand.”

And then he hooks his fingers, curling them deep and dragging against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

Your orgasm hits, sudden and violent and impossible to contain. Your whole body locks, every muscle tightening, your cry shattering the silence as you come, your cunt spasming hard around his fingers. The pressure breaks and releases, a blinding burst of pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath him, legs trembling, mouth slack.

Mark doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, slower now, his voice soothing as your body pulses around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “You did so good. Just let it happen. Let me feel you come.”

You’re barely able to breathe, your chest rising and falling fast as aftershocks ripple through your cunt.

He finally eases his fingers out, soaked and glistening, and brings them to his lips. Licks them clean. And then he looks down at you, blushed, trembling, utterly wrecked.

“You still with me?” he asks, brushing hair from your face.

You nod slowly, eyes dazed. “That was… Gods, Mark…”

He leans in, kisses you again, slow and deep. “Shh, just look at me, baby.”

His cock is still hard, hot against your thigh. And you know what’s coming next.

Mark doesn’t rush.

He watches you breathe, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pulls, then leans down, placing a warm kiss on the inside of your thigh. His lips linger there for a moment, and you feel the softness of his breath, the warmth of his skin. His fingers stroke slowly along your hip, not demanding, just holding.

“Still good?” he murmurs, voice deeper than before, like it’s weighed down with all the restraint he’s clinging to.

You nod. Your body aches in the best way, flushed and open, pulsing from the orgasm he pulled from you with nothing but his hand. But under the tremble of your thighs, there’s something else now. Nervousness. Wonder. Anticipation so sharp it almost hurts.

“I want to,” you whisper, voice small. “I want it to be you.”

His hand cups your cheek, tilting your face up so your eyes meet. There’s nothing playful in his expression now, no smirk, no teasing. Just intensity. Just care.

“It’s only ever going to be me,” he says, and the way he says it, quiet, grounded, true, makes your heart clench.

He kisses you again, slow and deep, while one hand guides his cock down between your thighs. You feel the hot, thick weight of him brushing against your folds, sliding through the slick mess he made of you. Your hips twitch, breath catching, thighs parting wider.

Then he shifts.

He takes your right leg gently and lifts it over his shoulder, his hands smoothing up the back of your thigh as he adjusts you beneath him. The new angle opens you further, exposes your soaked pussy completely to him. He leans over you, chest against yours, his cock resting just at your entrance now, throbbing, impossibly hard, slick with your wetness and his own need.

Mark’s weight is warm and steady over you, his skin slick with heat, arms braced to either side of your shoulders as he holds himself above you, not pressing, not rushing, just there, with that soft look in his eyes like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters right now.

Your right leg is still hooked over his shoulder, and he’s kissing the inside of your knee, his lips slow and reverent, like he knows exactly what this moment means. You’re bare beneath him, open, trembling, and he’s not teasing anymore; every movement, every breath, is full of quiet intention.

The thick head of his cock nudges your entrance again, and this time, there’s no space between you. You’re wet enough to make it easy, but tight enough to feel everything. He’s so much larger than anything you’ve ever felt before, and when he presses forward, slow, patient, not even halfway in, you feel it all at once. The stretch, the fullness, the way your body tenses without meaning to.

You gasp, your hips shifting. Not to pull away. To adjust. To open.

Mark groans low in his throat, hips pausing, his breath stuttering against your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, forehead pressing against his, your fingers wrapped around his wrists like they’re lifelines. “I’m okay. Just—slow.”

He kisses your temple. “Always.”

Then he moves again.

The head of his cock slips in deeper, and you feel every ridge, every inch spreading you wider than you’ve ever been stretched. The slow press of it pushes into something deep inside you, and your body clenches reflexively, trembling under the new sensation. It’s more than fullness. It’s being taken, inch by inch, until your walls are pulsing tight around him.

Mark lets out a hiss through clenched teeth. “Fuck, you feel good,” he groans. “God, you feel so good around me.”

You feel the way he holds back, his hips barely rocking, every movement shallow, careful, like he’s waiting for your body to catch up to your need. He kisses you again, lips soft against your mouth, swallowing the whimpers and gasps that spill out as your body adjusts.

“Just breathe,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re doing so fucking good. I’ve got you.”

You do. You breathe. And after a moment, the sharp edge of the stretch begins to soften, fading into something deep and wanting. Your thighs fall further apart. Your pussy pulses around him, wet and throbbing, sucking him in bit by bit.

You whisper, “More.”

Mark grits his teeth. “Fuck. You sure?”

“Yes,” you moan. “I want you all the way. Please, Mark—”

He doesn’t make you ask twice. With another slow, grinding push of his hips, he slides deeper into your cunt, stretching, filling, claiming space inside you no one’s ever touched before. You can feel him pulse, feel the tension in every part of him as he sinks in to the hilt. His pelvis presses flush to your thighs, your clit grinding just barely against the base of him.

Your mouth falls open.

He’s deep. Deep in a way that makes your breath falter, your fingers dig into his back. The thickness of him inside you has your walls fluttering around him in helpless waves, trying to adjust, to hold him. He stays still, breathing heavily into your neck, murmuring soft words that ground you.

“You’re doing perfect,” he whispers. “You’re taking me so well, fuck—so well.”

You feel stretched open, raw and full in the best way, your nerves lit up from the inside. His cock twitches deep inside you, and you moan, your hips rolling slightly in response.

That’s all he needs.

Mark pulls out just an inch, then presses back in, slow, controlled, the motion dragging every inch of his cock along your walls. You both gasp, him at the feel of your wet, tight heat gripping him; you at the way the movement sends shockwaves through your entire body.

He does it again. And again. Each thrust a little deeper, a little more confident.

You cling to him, panting, your leg hooked over his shoulder giving him a better angle to reach deeper with each press of his hips. His pace is still careful, but it’s growing, more rhythm now, more friction. You can feel the way your walls begin to adjust, fluttering less in resistance, more in rhythm with his strokes.

Your clit brushes the base of him with every thrust, and your moans get louder.

“Mark—oh my god—” you cry out, your voice broken, high. “I didn’t know it would feel like this—I can’t— please— I can’t—”

His voice is ragged now, teeth gritted. “This is how it should feel,” he pants into your neck. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doing so well for me.”

You’re overwhelmed, your body writhing under his, flushed and pulsing, every thrust stretching you to the brink. But it’s not pain anymore. It’s pressure. Need. That low, spiraling pleasure starting to rebuild between your legs, deeper than before.

He doesn’t let go of your hand. One of his fingers stays curled with yours beside your head, even as his other hand wraps beneath your thigh, holding your leg high on his shoulder, giving him room to sink deeper into your dripping heat.

Your walls flutter again, your core clenching as he rocks into you.

He feels it.

“Not yet,” he grits out, slowing just slightly, sweat dripping down his temples. “Don’t come yet. I said wait.”

And you nod, moaning into his mouth as he kisses you again, harder now, your bodies locked together, grinding slow and deep, just on the edge of too much.

Your hands slide up his back, fingertips slipping across sweat-slick skin, nails catching lightly over every tense ridge of muscle. You can feel his heart hammering through his chest, feel it inside you too, echoing in the thick, steady drag of his cock plunging deep again and again, carving space within you that hadn’t existed until him. You’re barely holding on, your entire body wound tight like a bowstring, but the moment your fingers fist in his hair and pull, everything changes.

Mark growls. The sound isn’t human. It rumbles out of his chest and vibrates against your neck, where his mouth moves with more hunger now, no longer soft and reverent. His teeth graze your throat, then bite down, just enough to sting, enough to make you cry out and arch up into him.

“You like that,” he grits, voice cracking as his hips slam forward.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Do it again.”

And he does.

He bites down harder, just above your collarbone, as his hips start to move faster, his cock driving into you in thick, full strokes that make the mattress rock beneath you. You’re so wet, so wrecked, the filthy slap of skin-on-skin is loud now, shameless, matched only by the rhythmic bang of the headboard slamming into the wall behind your head. Each thrust rocks your body upward, your leg still hooked over his shoulder, giving him a perfect angle to bottom out with every grind of his hips.

His cock hits that deep, perfect spot again and again and again, and the way he moans your name, raw and breaking, makes your pussy clamp down, slick and fluttering, your body reacting to every thrust like it’s not yours anymore.

“Mark—” you gasp. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” he pants, licking up your throat, his hand moving from your hip to the back of your thigh, holding you open for him, taking you. “You are. Taking all of me—look at you, baby. Fucking beautiful.”

He’s sweating above you, his muscles flexing with each brutal thrust, his jaw clenched tight, eyes dark and focused, like he’s watching every flicker of pleasure on your face, like each moan you make is his reward. You feel his body tightening above you, every inch of him flushed and flushed and thrumming with barely leashed tension.

And your body—Gods, your body’s spiraling.

Your clit grinds against the base of him with every thrust, slippery and swollen, and the friction there, combined with the deep stretch of his cock hitting you in just the right way, is sending sparks up your spine, your thighs trembling, your hands scrabbling for anywhere to hold.

You tangle both hands in his hair and pull again, harder this time.

Then his mouth is on you, biting your neck, your shoulder, licking over the marks he leaves like he’s claiming you, branding you as his.

“You’re close,” he groans into your throat. “I can feel it. I know it’s deep, baby. I can feel you shaking.”

You are. You can feel it too, your pussy tightening down hard, your stomach clenching, that overwhelming fullness turning into unbearable heat. Your voice is gone, your gasps ragged and broken as your hips rock up, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing that edge like you’re about to fall off a cliff.

Then he shifts, just barely, hips angling down, perfectly, and when the thick head of his cock drags hard against that sweet, swollen spot inside you, it breaks you.

You scream.

Not words. Not coherent. Just sound, helpless and raw as your orgasm rips through you again. Your pussy spasms violently around him, wet heat flooding your core as you clench and throb and shake. The walls around you lock tight, milking him, desperate and pulsing, your vision blurring with tears as you convulse beneath him.

And Mark snaps.

“Fuck—fuck—baby—” he groans, voice cracking open as his thrusts falter, cock slamming deep one last time as he comes. He buries himself to the hilt, hips grinding hard as he spills inside you, his whole body trembling with it. You feel the first hot spurt of his cum hit deep, thick and endless, flooding your pussy as your walls pulse around him, milking every drop.

His mouth is at your throat, his voice a ruined whisper. “Oh my god—you feel so good—so good—”

You’re still spasming around him, every nerve still lit, your body gone limp beneath the overwhelming wave of it all. The smell of sex is thick in the air, sweet and musky. The room is filled with nothing but your panting breaths, the fading tremble of skin on skin.

Mark collapses onto you gently, still inside, still hard. He shifts your leg from his shoulder and kisses the side of your knee before resting his forehead against your collarbone, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close, careful not to crush you under his weight.

You’re shaking. You don’t even realize it until he rubs slow circles into your hip, his voice low and rough and impossibly soft.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And he does.

You feel his cum leaking out of you already, warm and sticky between your thighs, the stretch of him still deep, comforting, your bodies still locked together. He hasn’t moved. He doesn’t want to move. You feel the way his hands tighten around you like he’s afraid to let go.

Your voice is hoarse. “Mark…”

He lifts his head, brushes your hair from your forehead, kisses you, slow, deep, tender.

“You were perfect,” he says. “You’re mine.”

You’re still flushed, your breath ragged, body slick with sweat and smeared with the mess the two of you made. Your thighs are trembling, cunt leaking, clenching down on nothing as you lie there under him, your leg unhooked from his shoulder, your chest rising and falling in soft, gasping waves. But the heat hasn't left you. If anything, it’s burning deeper now.

You squirm beneath him, sensitive, overstimulated, but also aching. That feeling hasn’t gone away. That low, throbbing pressure is still sitting heavy in your gut, coiled between your legs. You rub your thighs together, unconsciously seeking friction. His cock slips free from you as he shifts, and even that soft, wet drag of him exiting your soaked cunt makes your body jolt.

Mark immediately notices.

He lifts his head from where he’s pressed against your neck, his voice soft but low. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. Not that. I just…”

You hesitate, embarrassed. You’re not even sure why. You know what you’re feeling, what you still want. It’s just new. Your body feels strange and flushed and restless, and the words feel awkward in your mouth, like they don’t belong to you.

Mark sees the hesitation in your eyes. He cups your cheek gently, brushing your hair back.

“Talk to me,” he says softly. “You can say anything to me.”

“I think I’m still…” You trail off, fidgeting slightly on the sheets. “Still, um… I still feel kind of…”

He waits, patient.

“Aroused,” you finally admit in a rush, cheeks burning. “I still feel aroused.”

Mark huffs a soft laugh, not mocking. Just warm. Reassuring.

“Good,” he says, fingers brushing your jaw. “That’s not a dirty word, you know. You don’t have to whisper it like it’s a secret. It’s okay to want more. It’s natural to feel that after your first time.”

You exhale shakily, your eyes flicking away from his, but he leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I want you to tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmurs. “If you’re still horny, baby, I’ll give you what you need.”

Your breath hitches.

“I want to try being on top,” you say. 

His pupils darken instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“Yeah?” he breathes, voice deepening with desire. “You want to ride me?”

“I want to feel you like that,” you murmur. “I want to see you. I want to move. I want to… do it.”

Mark kisses you again, harder this time, tongue sliding over yours, groaning into your mouth. Then he shifts, pulling you gently with him as he rolls onto his back, his arms still wrapped around you, not letting you go for a second.

You straddle his waist, your thighs bracketing his hips, your body still buzzing. His cock is soft between you now, but only for a moment. You press your soaked, swollen cunt against him, grinding down with a slow, instinctive roll of your hips, and feel him begin to thicken again beneath you, your slick smearing across his shaft.

His hands find your hips, guiding your motion, eyes locked on your face as you move over him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

You look down and see it, your arousal and his cum glistening between your thighs, coating his cock, your folds glossy and flushed, twitching against him. It’s shameless. Filthy. And it only makes you needier.

“Do you want to ride me, or do you want me to help you?” he asks, voice gentle but breathless.

“I want to try,” you whisper. “But… stay close.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He watches as you reach down, fingers trembling slightly, wrapping around the base of his cock. It’s thick and heavy in your hand, slick with your fluids, already beginning to swell back to full hardness. You stroke him once, twice—slow and deliberate—and he groans, hips twitching under you.

“Line me up,” he says, voice strained. “Go slow. I want you to feel everything.”

You nod, guiding him to your entrance. Your cunt clenches instinctively, still sore, still aching but ready. You lower yourself slowly, gasping as the head pushes in, stretching you again, that same burn and fullness hitting you like a fresh shock.

Mark groans beneath you, head tipping back, muscles tightening.

“Oh fuck, that’s it. Look at you. Taking me again already. God, that’s it, baby.”

You sink down inch by inch, legs trembling as your walls stretch around him. It’s different like this. Deeper. More exposed. You feel every inch of his cock as it fills you again, thick and hot and throbbing, dragging along your walls as your cunt clenches tight to accommodate him.

You whimper, bracing your hands on his chest, your head hanging as your hips settle flush against his.

You’re full again. So full.

He strokes your thighs, breathless, reverent. “You’re doing so good. Look at you. My perfect girl. Fuck.”

You begin to move. Slowly, tentatively. Lifting your hips just a little, then sinking back down, gasping as you feel the drag, the pressure, the heat. Mark groans, his hands guiding your pace but not controlling, just supporting, letting you take your time, letting you ride him the way you need.

Every movement lights you up again, your nerves raw and awake, every brush of his cock inside you sending new sparks down your spine. You start to ride him in earnest, hips rolling, thighs burning, your cunt soaked and clenching, the sound of slick friction building between you again.

Mark’s hands slide up to your breasts, cupping them, thumbing your nipples as he thrusts up into you in time with your rhythm. His mouth is open, his eyes locked on your body as you bounce on his cock, your voice breaking into moans, gasps, and breathless cries.

You're in control, and he’s giving you everything.

And neither of you is anywhere near finished.

You move slowly at first, body trembling with sensitivity, your thighs aching from what came before, but the heat hasn’t faded. It’s only sharpened. You grind your hips forward, slowly rolling them down his cock, feeling every ridge, every inch stretch your cunt again as you begin to take him at your pace.

Mark’s hands never leave your skin. One stays low on your hip, fingers splayed across the curve of your ass, grounding you, guiding without forcing. The other slides up your spine, curling between your shoulder blades to pull you down into him as you ride.

Your chests press flush, skin to skin, sweat-slick and hot. His chest is broad and firm beneath yours, his heartbeat a steady thunder against your breasts, which now rub against his with every movement of your body. Your nipples drag over the plane of his chest, already sensitive and tight, and the friction makes you moan into his mouth as you kiss him.

It starts soft, lips parting slowly, breath catching. His tongue brushes yours gently, savoring you. But as your hips begin to roll faster, your body building that rhythm again, the kiss deepens, shifts, his mouth hungry, hot, claiming. You whimper into it as your thighs spread wider, sinking deeper onto him.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, clutching tight, holding onto the tension anchoring you both together. He groans into your mouth as you rise and fall on his cock, your soaked pussy gripping him so tightly with every thrust that you feel him throb inside you.

“God,” he rasps against your lips, his hands gripping tighter now, not holding you down, but feeling every inch of your movement. “That’s good, baby, keep doing that.”

You can’t answer, you’re too focused on the pressure building between your legs again. Your hips roll, grind, the movement slower than before but deeper, dragging his cock along that swollen, sensitive spot inside you with each thrust. You tilt your hips just so, and when the thick head of him drags hard against that sweet, aching spot, your whole body shudders.

Your lips break from his in a gasp, head tipping back, and he immediately leans up, mouth open, tongue sliding along the column of your throat. He kisses your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach as you ride him in steady, rolling waves.

Every time you drop down onto him, the thick stretch of his cock fills you completely, rubbing deep inside your cunt, pushing slick sounds into the space around you, the slap of your hips meeting his building louder with each thrust. The room smells like sex, wet heat, sweat, and him. Your thighs are shaking, your body quivering, but you don’t stop.

He’s holding you so close now, his arms locked around you, his breath hot against your ear.

“You’re riding me so fucking good,” he whispers, his voice raw. “So tight around me. Fucking yourself on my cock like a good little thing.”

You nod, gasping, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down, your clit brushing his pelvis, dragging along him with every roll of your hips. You whimper into his neck, and he holds you tighter.

“I can feel you,” you whisper, breathless. “Feels so good… you feel so good inside me…”

He groans, deep and guttural, his cock twitching inside your walls, the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your knees.

“You’re gonna drive me fucking insane,” he growls, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last long, baby, not if you keep fucking riding me like that.”

You slow for a moment, catching your breath, your forehead pressed to his.

“I don’t want to finish yet,” you whisper.

His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, his gaze locked on yours, hot and dark and aching.

You start to move again, your soaked cunt clenching down around his thick cock, your hips rolling in long, slow circles, grinding the length of him against every sweet spot inside you. He groans and gasps, but stays with you, thrust for thrust, breath for breath, kiss for kiss, as you ride that razor-thin line, your bodies wrapped around each other like they’ve always belonged this way.

You're still riding him, slow and deep, your thighs spread wide across his hips, your breasts pressed to his chest, every inch of your skin connected to his, hot, damp, electric. His cock fills you completely with every roll of your hips, thick and throbbing, dragging along your sensitive walls so perfectly you swear you can feel every vein.

At first, you keep your rhythm steady, your pace deliberate, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke. Mark's hands stay on your hips, not guiding, just holding, grounding you, letting you take control. His eyes never leave your face, watching the way your brows knit with pleasure, how your mouth falls open with every bounce, every grind.

You're not sure when it happens exactly, but the pleasure begins to crest again. It starts as a pulse in your belly, that same heavy ache that bloomed during your first orgasm, only this time it’s deeper, sharper. Your body knows what’s coming now, it wants it. Craves it. Demands it.

You keep going, but your rhythm starts to faltery, our thighs shaking, your hips stuttering as your clit swells and throbs against his skin. You lean in to kiss him, messy and breathless, but the moment your lips meet his, you moan into his mouth. It's too much. Too good. Your whole body is tightening again, clenching down on him hard, and your thighs start to burn from the effort.

“Mark,” you gasp, head falling to his shoulder. “I—I can’t—too close, I don’t know if I can keep going…”

He reacts instantly.

“I’ve got you.” His voice is low, dark, commanding. His hands tighten around your hips, broad, steady, possessive. He shifts under you, planting his feet against the mattress, bending his knees for leverage.

Before you can even blink, he takes over.

His hands grip you hard and he starts to thrust up, fast and deep, using the strength in his hips to fuck up into you while pulling your body down at the same time. The first slam of his cock makes you scream, your walls stretching, fluttering, pulsing as he drills up into your soaked, overstimulated pussy.

“Oh god—Mark!”

The sound of your bodies meeting is obscene, wet and loud, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the room with every brutal thrust. Your breasts bounce against his chest with every slam of his hips, your nipples brushing his sweat-slicked skin, your cunt slick and open and gripping him like you were made to take every inch.

Your fingers claw into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he fucks you from beneath, each thrust hitting deep, hard, unrelenting. His cock drags over that sweet, swollen spot inside you over and over and over until your legs go weak and your voice is nothing but broken gasps and shattered moans.

“That’s it,” he groans, sweat dripping from his brow. “You’re fucking milking me—god, baby, you’re so tight—you gonna come for me again?”

You nod, crying out as your head falls back, your whole body tense.

“Yes—yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop—right there—”

He doesn’t.

He grits his teeth, hips slamming up faster, harder, his hands dragging you down to meet him again and again until your walls clamp down in a vice-tight grip, your pussy convulsing around his cock as your orgasm hits. It’s blinding, white-hot and violent, ripping through your body in wave after wave of electric pleasure.

You scream his name, eyes squeezed shut, thighs locked tight around his hips as your climax crashes over you.

Mark groans, low and deep, his whole body going rigid beneath you as his cock throbs hard, thick pulses spilling inside you as he comes. His cum is hot, flooding your cunt, filling you until it leaks out around his shaft, slick and messy and perfect. He holds you there, impaled on his cock, trembling as he spills everything into you, breath ragged in your ear.

“Fuck—fuck—yes,” he groans, voice broken. “I’m coming—god, baby, you feel so fucking good—”

You collapse onto his chest, shaking, your walls still fluttering, your cunt still twitching around him, milking every last drop.

He doesn’t let go.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, pressing kisses into your hair, your shoulders, anywhere he can reach.

And you lie there, both of you wrecked and still joined, your bodies fused in heat and come and sweat, the last shudders of pleasure still echoing through your bones.

You're still trembling against his chest, every inch of your body flushed and exhausted, your breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as the aftershocks roll through you. His arms stay around you, steady and warm, one hand splayed across the small of your back, the other stroking your hair slowly, rhythmically, as if anchoring you to him.

And for a moment, just a moment, it feels like you're suspended in something impossible. Something too big to name.

But then your thoughts start to spiral.

You shift slightly, wincing at the wet, sticky heat between your thighs, the deep ache that lingers where his cock had been buried inside you just seconds ago. The mess is thick and hot, his cum still dripping out of you, and the raw reality of it, all of it, sinks in.

You kissed him. You begged for him. You rode him. You let him see you like that, hear you, feel everything you couldn’t hide. You’d never even let someone touch you like that before, and now…now you’re lying sprawled across the bare chest of Viltrumite Emperor Mark Grayson with his cum leaking down your thighs, your body covered in sweat and bite marks and bruises you’re not entirely sure you didn’t ask for.

What the fuck did you just do?

You bury your face into his neck and try not to think about it. But your thoughts won’t stop spinning, swirling behind your eyes with a creeping kind of dread. Shame slips into your bloodstream like a slow, burning flush. Not because of him. Because of you. Because you wanted it too much. Because you came too hard. Because you couldn’t control your voice, your body, because you liked it.

Too much.

Way too much.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You clench your eyes shut, trying to breathe past the guilt curling at the edges of your chest. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just heat. A mistake. A moment. He’s the Emperor. You’re not even…

It was just sex.

You repeat it to yourself like a shield.

It didn’t mean anything. He was there. You were there. You got caught up in it. Maybe he was just being kind, generous in a moment where you were vulnerable. You practically climbed him. You pulled his hair. You moaned his name like he belonged to you. Gods, you begged for it.

This has to be a one-time thing.

It has to be.

He’s going to get up. You’ll both clean yourselves up. He’ll say something polite, something careful, and you’ll both pretend it never happened. Maybe he’ll smile. Maybe he won’t. Either way, you can survive it. You’ve survived worse.

You shift slightly on his chest, trying to pull away, to start the process of detangling yourself from this moment, from him, but Mark’s arms only tighten around you, warm and firm, his voice low against your hair.

“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You freeze when he speaks, your entire body tensing against his. His voice is soft, laced with the same steady warmth he’s always used around you, but now, it cuts through your haze like light bleeding through fog. You don’t answer at first. Can’t. You’re not ready to lie, but the truth sits too thick in your throat, heavy with shame and confusion.

Mark feels your hesitation.

His hand lifts from your back and cradles your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your temple. When you don’t meet his eyes, he doesn’t push. He just shifts under you carefully, adjusting your weight so he can sit up without jostling you. You expect him to pull away, to start dressing, to offer you space, but he doesn’t.

He wraps his arms tighter around you and murmurs, “You don’t have to say anything right now, but I can feel you pulling away. You okay?”

Your throat tightens. “I’m fine,” you whisper. “Just… tired.”

He doesn’t call you on the lie. Doesn’t press.

“Yeah,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve been through a lot. First time’s not just physical. It’s a lot. You did good.”

You nod, barely, eyes stinging. He could make this so much worse. If he started explaining or apologizing or making it clinical, you might shatter right there. But he doesn’t. Instead, he eases you off his lap, gently laying you back against the bed. He slips away only to stand, completely naked, broad shoulders flexing as he moves toward a discreet panel embedded in the wall.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice small.

“Taking care of you.”

The panel lights up under his touch. He taps a few quiet commands, and moments later, a soft chime sounds deeper in the ship, followed by the low rush of water.

“I told the ship to prep the bath,” he says without looking back at you. “I didn’t want to just toss you a towel and call it a night.”

You watch him, throat tight, heart fluttering in a strange, twisting way that feels far more dangerous than anything physical. His back is strong and scarred, marked with old battles, but there’s a tenderness in his movements that unnerves you more than any show of strength. He turns and walks back toward you, stopping to kneel beside the bed.

“I want you to soak. Warm water helps with soreness. And you’re gonna feel that tomorrow.” He smiles, gently. “Trust me.”

You nod silently.

He reaches for you again, not pulling, not insisting, just offering his hand.

“Come with me.”

You take it.

The bath chamber is clean and sleek, built into the private quarters with the same quiet luxury everything on this ship seems to carry. The tub itself isn’t really a tub at all, it’s sunken into the floor, broad and deep, steam rising gently from crystal-clear water as the soft ambient lighting casts everything in gold and shadow.

Mark helps you step in first, holding your hand as you ease down into the water. The heat hits you instantly, coaxing a low moan from your throat as it spreads through your sore thighs, your hips, the deep ache between your legs. The water seeps into every raw, tender inch of you, chasing away tension with each breath.

He slips in behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, guiding your back to rest against his chest.

You let yourself sink into him, his warmth, his silence, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

His hands move slowly, reverently, down your arms, over your ribs, pausing to stroke your hips. Not sexual. Just gentle. Reassuring. He presses kisses to the back of your shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You know it’s not just about your body, right?” he says. “It never was.”

Your breath hitches. You stare down at the water, rippling gently with every tiny movement, your fingers trailing across the surface.

You whisper, “I don’t know what this is.”

“I don’t either,” he admits. “But I know I’m not walking away from it.”

You press your face into his neck and close your eyes, letting the water hold you. Letting him hold you. Because whatever this is, it happened. And he’s still here.

You rest in the water with his arms around you, his chest a steady, warm wall at your back. Every breath he takes moves through you too, your bodies molded together beneath the surface, tangled not in tension now, but something slower. Something quiet. Something real.

The ache between your legs is fading under the heat of the bath, replaced by a soft throbbing awareness. Not need. Not urgency. Just the echo of him still inside you, his shape, his weight, the imprint of his voice in your ear, and his hands on your skin. The water soothes, but it doesn’t wash him away.

You feel his hand move gently, smoothing down your side beneath the surface, then resting just above your hip. He’s not touching you to arouse. He’s just there. And somehow, that touches deeper.

You tilt your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him.

His gaze is already on you, steady, searching, like he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next. Like you’re the gravity he’s fallen into. His lips are slightly parted, damp from steam. His eyes are soft in the light. Not guarded. Not playing.

You turn your face toward his.

And kiss him.

It starts soft. A gentle press of your mouth against his. Not greedy. Not hurried. Just there, shared breath and heat and the slow tilt of your head as your lips mold to his. His hand tightens subtly on your waist. He shifts behind you to lean in, deepening the kiss just a little, his tongue brushing yours in slow, lazy strokes. His body is solid against your back, thighs bracketing yours beneath the water, cock soft but resting warm between your cheeks as he pulls you closer into his lap.

You breathe into his mouth.

The kiss lingers.

You pull back just a bit, your nose brushing his. “I’m not trying to start again,” you murmur, lips still grazing his. “I just… I wanted to.”

His hand rises from the water and cups your cheek, guiding your face back to his.

“You don’t have to explain wanting to kiss me,” he says, voice low. “You can just kiss me.”

So you do.

You turn in his lap, water sloshing gently around your waists, your knees now bent against his sides. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and you kiss him again, deeper this time. Slower. Like you’re letting him taste something you didn’t trust him with before.

His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers sliding into your wet hair, tilting your head just enough to open you further. He kisses you like you’re not just something to claim, but something to worship. Something he never thought he’d have, and now that he does, he’s not wasting a second.

Your chest presses against his. The water laps around you. The bath is silent, save for your soft breaths, the slick sound of your mouths parting and rejoining. There’s no rush now. No agenda. Just lips and tongue and breath and touch, more intimate than anything either of you said aloud.

When you break the kiss, your forehead rests against his. His hand slides back down your spine, slow and reverent.

“You’re still with me?” he asks, voice almost reverent.

You nod, eyes closed. “Still with you.”

Still wanting.

But not for the same reasons as before.

You stay like that for a moment, forehead to forehead, breath shared, his arms warm around your waist and the water rippling softly around your bodies. The intimacy isn't loud anymore. It hums, slow, steady, insistent. Like the beating of a second heart just beneath your skin.

Then, slowly, you shift.

Your knees adjust on either side of his hips, thighs brushing his under the water. You settle onto his lap again, your bare, tender heat sliding naturally into place over his cock, not guiding him in, just there, pressed against him, your slick folds gliding along the length of him as you shift forward to straddle him fully.

Mark’s breath catches.

You feel it instantly, the twitch beneath you. The subtle, slow throb of him thickening again, right beneath your core. Not fully hard yet, but getting there, responding to the soft, wet friction of your cunt against his shaft as you move just slightly in his lap.

You look up at him, your hands sliding over his shoulders, down his arms, anchoring yourself to the strong lines of his body. His eyes are darker now, his pupils wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“You feel that?” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

His hands settle on your hips, holding you gently in place. “Yeah,” he says, voice thick. “I feel you.”

You shift again, slowly, deliberately, and his cock slides between your slick folds under the water, pressed right up against your clit now. The contact sends a shiver up your spine, and his grip on your hips tightens just a little, not stopping you, just feeling. Letting you set the pace.

You move your hips in a slow, grinding roll, dragging yourself against him from tip to base. The motion is smoother than before, slick with the mix of water and cum still between your thighs, your pussy still flushed and aching, still needing even through the tenderness. Your breath hitches, your mouth parting with a quiet moan.

Mark growls low, his eyes flicking from your face to where your bodies meet beneath the water.

“God,” he rasps. “You’re still this wet for me?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “It doesn’t go away.”

His cock twitches against you, already swelling thicker, harder, the feel of him unmistakable now beneath your core. You keep grinding slowly, your clit catching on the ridge of him with every pass, the pressure blooming back to life inside you. He’s getting harder with every movement of your hips, and soon he’s pressing thick and hot along your slit, the head of him nudging just beneath your entrance with each shift.

You moan softly, your hands sliding into his hair.

Mark lifts his gaze back to yours, eyes heavy-lidded. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t answer with words. You roll your hips again, a little more insistently now, your eyes locked to his, your mouth parted as you drag your pussy over the length of his cock, coating him with your slick. He throbs beneath you, and you feel him fully harden, the head of him swelling and nudging perfectly against your entrance under the water.

He groans, his fingers digging into your waist now, breath coming faster. “Fuck. You're gonna ride me again, aren’t you?”

You lean in, lips brushing his. “If you'll let me.”

He bites back a groan and nods.

“I’ll give you everything.”

Mark’s hands never leave your skin.

Even as you grind down on him again, slow and steady, letting the hard line of his cock slide along your slick folds, he holds you carefully, fingers firm on your hips, anchoring you, but not restricting you. He watches you like you're something delicate and divine at the same time. Like he’s resisting the urge to take over, to thrust up, to flip you and drive himself back into your dripping cunt, but he doesn’t. Not yet. He’s giving you space, even as you feel him pulse harder and thicker beneath you.

His cock is fully hard now, pressing perfectly against your entrance with every slow roll of your hips. You can feel the way your body is already reacting to him again: your clit swollen, your walls clenching reflexively, still loose from the way he stretched you earlier, still aching to be filled again.

Mark leans up slightly, his mouth brushing your collarbone, his voice low and deep and close.

“Go slow,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, your breath catching, and reach between you to line him up. He lets you, his hands moving to stroke your thighs instead, soft, coaxing circles of touch that ground you even as you feel his cockhead nudging at your entrance again. The heat of it makes you whimper softly, the tender stretch of your slick pussy already straining to take him back inside.

You sink down.

Inches at a time, his cock slides into you. Your walls part around him with slow, aching resistance, and your fingers curl into his shoulders, nails biting down. He’s thick. He’s so thick. Even slick and open, the stretch is real, and you can feel every vein, every ridge dragging along your soaked inner walls as you take him again.

Mark groans under his breath, his hands flexing around your waist. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good. Just like that, nice and slow.”

You keep your forehead pressed to his, gasping softly as you inch lower, your thighs shaking, your cunt wrapping around him tighter and tighter until finally, you bottom out again. You can feel the base of him grinding against your clit, the tip of him pressed deep inside, just shy of too much.

You whimper. “God… you’re all the way in.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “And you’re so full, fuck. Can feel you pulsing around me.”

He doesn’t move.

He just holds you there, keeping you pressed tight to him, letting your body adjust again. His hands stroke up and down your back, over your spine, dipping down to cup your ass gently. His cock throbs inside you, but he doesn’t thrust. Doesn’t push.

“You don’t have to do it like before,” he says, mouth brushing your ear. “Just stay right here if that’s what you want. Let me do the rest.”

You nod into his neck, but when your hips twitch, trying to rock forward again, he moans lowly.

“Not yet,” he breathes. “You’re still shaking.”

“I want to move.”

“I know.” He kisses your jaw. “Relax, baby. Let me take over if it’s too much.”

You go still in his lap, heart pounding. He lifts you slightly, his hands under your ass now, and then eases you back down again, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and impossibly smooth. The motion is hypnotic. Full. Deep.

You moan brokenly, clutching his shoulders, thighs spread wide over his hips, head thrown back.

“There you go,” he groans, kissing your throat. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You do.

His cock drags so slowly that your entire cunt feels like it’s clinging to him, every wet inch of you fluttering around his shaft as he lifts and lowers your body with maddening control. He doesn’t piston. He doesn’t slam. He moves you, like he’s teaching your body how to take him, how to want it.

You melt against him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hips rolling in time with his slow, deep rhythm. His cock hits your sweet spot over and over, your clit grinding along his skin, and your moans grow higher, needier.

“You’re gonna come like this,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna make you come just like this, slow and deep.”

You nod, dazed. “It feels so—so good. I feel everything.”

He pulls your hips down again, grinding against you in one long, slow press, and your walls tighten violently, your breath catching as you shudder above him.

“Say it,” he growls, voice hot against your ear. “Tell me it’s good.”

“It’s so good,” you moan. “Mark—fuck—it’s perfect. I feel so full, so hot, I—Gods, I need—”

“You have me,” he whispers, cupping your face now, kissing you between every word. “Right here. All of me. You’re not going anywhere, baby.”

You whimper into his mouth, your hips now grinding desperately as he moves you up and down his cock in that same perfect, deep rhythm. You can feel the tension starting to build again, higher this time, slower, but unstoppable.

And he’s right there with you, panting into your neck, cock twitching deep inside as he whispers all the ways he’s not letting go.

His grip changes.

One second he’s just holding you, warm, steady, reverent, and the next his fingers tighten around your hips like a command. He digs into your flesh, thumbs pressing into the curves of your pelvis, and suddenly you feel it, that shift in the air, in him. The soft, slow rhythm that had carried you both is gone, replaced by something deeper, heavier.

You gasp against his neck, your body trembling with anticipation, but he doesn’t ask permission this time. He doesn’t have to. Your cunt is already clenching around him in anticipation, your body still slick, still aching, still needing.

Mark thrusts up hard, burying himself in one sharp motion that drives a moan straight from your chest. His cock slams deep inside, the sound wet and loud, echoing against the tiled walls of the bath chamber, your thighs hitting against his hips as water sloshes violently around you.

You cry out, clutching his shoulders for balance, your nails dragging across sweat-slick skin.

His rhythm changes entirely now. He isn’t lifting you slowly anymore, guiding you gently. He’s pulling you down hard onto him with every thrust, slamming his hips up to meet yours with brutal precision. The sound of skin slapping skin grows louder, wetter, more obscene with each thrust, the sharp smack of it drowned only by your gasping cries and the growls he’s letting loose against your neck.

“Let me kiss that pretty mouth while I fuck you,” he groans out breathlessly. 

You feel every word in your gut, in your clit, in the deep, aching flutter of your cunt as he thrusts into you, hitting the end of you with every powerful grind of his hips as you press your lips to his. You’re a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, your inner walls tightening around him like you can’t bear to let him go, your moans spilling out uncontrollably.

“Mark—” You sob his name as your body begins to fold, the heat in your belly building too fast, too bright. "Touch me again—please—I can’t take it."

He groans and grabs your ass, spreading you wider, slamming you down harder. “Yes you can,” he nips your throat. “You’re taking me so fucking well. You’re mine. You’re gonna come on my cock again, and you’re not gonna stop until I say so.”

You whimper, walls clenching hard around him, every nerve screaming as your clit grinds into the base of his cock with every desperate bounce. He’s fucking up into you with reckless rhythm now, deep, punishing thrusts that leave your mind unraveling, your thoughts shattering like glass. All that’s left is need, the way he fills you, the way he owns your body in this moment.

And then it happens.

Your orgasm doesn’t rise. It snaps.

White-hot pleasure slams through you, your cunt spasming so violently it pulls a scream from your throat. Your thighs lock around him, shaking uncontrollably, your body jerking as wave after wave of ecstasy tears through you like you’re breaking. Your inner walls tighten around him like a fist, milking him, pulling him deeper.

Mark curses, his control finally shattering. “Fuck—baby—gonna—”

He slams up into you one final time, hard enough to drive the breath from your lungs. His cock swells deep inside, and then he’s coming, hot, thick pulses spilling into your pulsing pussy as he groans brokenly against your neck. You feel it all, the way his whole body trembles, the way his cock twitches inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you until it leaks out between your thighs in thick, wet streams.

He doesn’t pull out.

Not immediately.

You collapse forward against his chest, gasping, your cunt still fluttering around him, your body barely able to stay upright. Your arms are limp over his shoulders, and his hands are stroking you now, soft again, returning to that tender rhythm even as you tremble in his lap, completely used, completely wrecked.

His breath is warm in your hair. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it go. I’ve got you. I’ve got all of you.”

And you believe him. Because right now, in the hot, messy aftermath, with his cum dripping out of you and your heartbeat tangled with his, you belong to him.

The water has gone still around you. The world has gone quiet.

He strokes your back, his voice low and hoarse against your ear.

“You were perfect,” he murmurs. “You’re still perfect. Just stay right here with me. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Because in his lap, wrapped around his cock, leaking his warmth, held like you’re the only thing that matters in the universe, you’re safe. Ruined. Loved. And utterly his.

Your body is limp in his arms, all nerves reduced to a hum beneath the water, your muscles soft and useless after being wrung out, used, and worshipped. Your cunt still aches with the shape of him, fluttering tenderly with each breath, every subtle shift in the bathwater brushing against the oversensitive flesh and drawing a low, half-conscious shiver from you. You’re sore, soaked, spent, and still he holds you like you’re precious. Like you’re not a mess. Like you’re his.

Mark doesn’t speak, and neither do you. There’s a reverent stillness between you now, one that doesn’t need filling. His hand glides down your back, fingers trailing through the damp strands of your hair, thumb tracing lazy circles between your shoulder blades. You’ve never felt so warm. So held.

And then, gently, he begins to move.

He shifts your weight in his lap until you’re reclining more fully against the solid breadth of his chest, one of his thighs cradling your bent knees beneath the water. You let him move you, pliant and trusting, your breath soft against the side of his throat. When he reaches to the edge of the bath, you hear the faint click of a compartment opening, the small hiss of a seal releasing.

He draws out a fresh cloth, thick and soft, along with a sleek glass vial of oil-slick bath soap. The ship must’ve warmed it automatically, because the scent of lavender and something faintly herbal curls through the air immediately, calming, clean, intimate.

He pours a ribbon of the soap into the water between your bodies, swirling it gently with one hand. The water shifts from crystal clear to a soft cloudy glow, the lather rising in gentle spirals around your skin. Steam curls upward from the bath’s surface, and you sink deeper into him.

“Just relax,” he murmurs near your temple, his voice a low vibration against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, the motion barely a twitch. You’re still trembling slightly, overstimulated in a way that feels raw and exposed, not painful but overwhelming. And yet his touch… his presence... makes it bearable. He begins at your shoulders, soaking the cloth and wringing it out before running it over your skin in slow, reverent passes.

The first swipe sends a shiver through you.

The cloth moves down your collarbones, along your chest, his motions slow and methodical. He doesn’t linger over your breasts, doesn’t tease or gawk, just washes you, thorough and patient, like he’s honoring the aftermath of what your body gave him. Every inch of skin he touches is cleaned with the kind of care that makes your chest ache.

He shifts you slightly, lifting one arm gently out of the water. You let it happen, boneless and quiet, watching the way his hand wraps around your wrist as if you’re something fragile and sacred. He glides the cloth down your arm, over your elbow, to your fingers, one by one.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs suddenly. His lips brush your temple again. 

You flush under the praise, heat blooming in your cheeks even now.

He lifts your other arm, repeating the ritual. Then moves lower, over your sides, your stomach. When he reaches your thighs, he adjusts you again, drawing your legs over his so you’re draped entirely across his lap, your cunt nestled against the warmth of his lower stomach. His hands are large, encompassing. Gentle. You can feel the tension in his muscles beneath you, still there, but he keeps it on a leash.

Then the cloth finds the space between your thighs.

You twitch, gasping softly, your hand tightening in the fabric over his shoulder.

“I know,” he says, voice steady and low. “I’m being gentle.”

And he is. Painstakingly so.

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t invade. Just cleans you, slow and methodical, washing away the thick mix of slick and cum that’s still leaking from you. You feel it float away in the water as he drags the cloth carefully along your folds, over your inner thighs, even the backs of your knees. It’s not erotic. Not exactly. It’s tender, almost overwhelming in its intimacy.

You let out a shaky sigh, and your head falls heavier against his chest. Your eyes start to flutter closed.

“You’re tired,” he murmurs, brushing wet strands from your face. “You don’t have to fight it.”

“M’not,” you mumble, barely intelligible. “Just… warm.”

He smiles against your hair. “You’ll fall asleep if you stay still like that.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Feels nice.”

His hands continue moving, slower now. Just touches. Tracing patterns into your skin. At some point, he sets the cloth aside and shifts lower in the bath, submerging both of you more fully in the heated water. You’re half-floating now, weightless and cradled in his arms.

You barely register the moment your breathing deepens.

Your fingers slacken where they’d been curled in his chest. Your body goes heavier, fully relaxed now, even your legs unmoving. Your face is pressed to the hollow of his throat, lips parted slightly, lashes damp and fluttering.

Mark exhales slowly, watching you.

His thumb brushes your jaw, then your cheek, the corner of your mouth. He doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t speak.

He just holds you in the quiet, watching steam rise into the air around you as your breathing evens out completely. As you slip under.

And in the stillness of the bath, with your body curled in his arms and your warmth pressed against his chest, Mark closes his eyes.

And lets the world stop.

The water has gone still. You’re asleep, truly asleep now, your breath soft and even, lips parted against the curve of his chest, your bare body draped over him like you were meant to be there. Your limbs are limp, completely relaxed, one arm slung loosely across his stomach. Your skin is warm and dewy from the bath, and the smell of lavender clings to both of you, sweet and calm in the dim blue light.

Mark stays like that for a while.

One hand cradles your back, the other resting just beneath your thigh, fingers brushing the soft curve of you in slow, absent strokes. His eyes are half-lidded, the edge of exhaustion brushing his bones, but he doesn’t move yet. He watches you.

You’ve ruined him. He knows it.

Not just with your body, though that’s certainly carved into him now, the way you feel around him, the way you moaned his name like it meant something bigger than just pleasure. No, it’s more than that. It’s the way you curled into his chest afterward without thinking, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, even when you were too embarrassed to say what you wanted. It's the fact that when he washed you, you let him. Trusted him.

You weren’t supposed to matter like this.

He breathes in deeply through his nose, then exhales slow, watching the ripple of steam curl toward the ceiling.

You’re a warrior. From another world, another throne. You don’t belong here, not on this ship, not tangled up in the complicated grief of a Viltrumite empire trying to pretend it still has a soul. And yet… here you are. In his arms. Breathing softly against his chest, like the weight of the galaxy doesn't reach you when you’re close to him.

‘She’s not mine,’ he tells himself. ‘She’s not staying.’

But gods, it feels like you are.

Eventually, the water cools. Mark moves with care, rising slowly from the bath with you in his arms. You don’t stir. He cradles you against his chest, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, your head tucked against his shoulder, hair damp and clinging to his skin.

He carries you through the quiet corridor, feet bare against the metal floor, steam rising from your bodies as he moves. His pants cling to him, still soaked, but he doesn’t care. His shirt is long gone, left in a tangled heap somewhere near the bed or bath or maybe both. It doesn't matter.

Your quarters are dark, the lights dimmed to a warm glow at the edges, and the sheets are still tangled from when he tucked you in earlier with Marky, before all of this began. Before you fell into him like you were always meant to.

He lays you down gently, easing your body into the sheets, pulling the soft blanket up over your waist. You stir just slightly, brows twitching, a soft sound catching in your throat, but then you settle again. Like you know it’s him, even half-asleep.

He hesitates.

He should leave. His pants are soaked, his uniform streaked with sweat and everything else. His body aches, but his mind is worse, buzzing, pulling in too many directions.

But he doesn’t go.

He sits on the edge of the bed first, one hand braced behind him, his head bowed. You shift slightly, and your hand, still barely conscious, brushes his thigh. Like you’re reaching without knowing. And that’s all it takes.

He exhales once, quietly, and slides in beside you.

The sheets are soft against his bare skin. You curl against him without prompting, nestling into his side like you’re drawn to the heat of him even in sleep. Your thigh drapes over his, your cheek finding the spot above his heart, and your hand settles lightly over his ribs.

He stares up at the ceiling for a long time.

And thinks.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’

He’s got a universe to manage. Viltrumites to keep from imploding. Peace to keep on a knife’s edge. His daughter. His son. You? You’re from another world entirely. You have a destiny with your sword and your light and your impossible strength. He’s seen it in your eyes, in the way you don’t look at yourself like you belong in war, even though you fight like you do.

And still…

He looks down at you, at the way your lashes rest against your cheeks, at the bruises he left on your collarbone and neck, faint and fading.

You’ve become something he didn’t expect.

He didn’t plan for you.

And yet the thought of waking up without you in this bed, in his arms, of you slipping away back to Eternia like this was nothing but a passing storm, makes something in his chest twist tight.

You sigh in your sleep, curling closer.

Mark pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders, then lays his arm around your waist, tucking you against him as if that will keep the universe from touching you while you sleep.

Just for tonight, he thinks.

Just for now.

But his fingers tighten gently at your hip, and the thought that follows, quiet, buried deep in the back of his mind, is one he doesn’t say out loud.

‘I hope she doesn’t leave.’

Mark’s eyes are just beginning to grow heavy.

You’re curled into him, your body limp from the bath and everything before it, wrapped in the softness of the sheets and the fading steam still clinging faintly to your skin. One leg drapes over his hip, your arm tucked between your bodies, your head resting on his bare chest like it belongs there. The scent of lavender from the soap still lingers, but underneath it is the raw, unmistakable imprint of what the two of you did, your sweat, his come, the heat of it all still cooling slowly in the quiet dark.

His arm is draped over your waist, holding you close but not tight, his hand splayed across the dip just above your hipbone. His thumb strokes there, absentminded, as if his body hasn’t quite realized the high is over yet.

His eyes close.

And then, Knock knock knock.

The sound is soft. Hesitant. Three light taps. Barely audible through the quiet hush of the quarters.

But it cuts through everything like a blade.

You shift faintly in his arms, letting out a low murmur, your leg twitching across his thigh. You don’t wake, but the sound grazes the edge of your rest, unsettles the peace settling into your bones.

Mark’s eyes snap open.

He listens.

Then, after a pause, a voice comes, small, muffled, barely more than a whisper through the door.

“…Daddy?”

Mark’s stomach drops.

He exhales through his nose, slowly. Carefully, he lifts his arm from around you, moving gently, inch by inch, so he doesn’t disturb you. Your body stirs with the loss of his warmth, brow knitting, but you stay asleep. The soft glow from the corridor spills in through the door’s edges, painting a halo around your silhouette beneath the sheets.

He crosses the room barefoot and shirtless, pants still damp and low on his hips, hair disheveled from steam and sleep. The heat from the bath is fading from his skin, but inside, his heart pounds with something worse than alarm, guilt.

He palms the panel beside the door. The metal slides open with a quiet hiss.

Marky stands there.

Barefoot, sleep-tousled, his oversized nightshirt slipping off one shoulder. He clutches a plush dinosaur against his chest with one arm, and with the other, he’s rubbing his eyes.

He’s not crying, but he looks close.

Mark crouches immediately, instinct overriding everything else. “Hey, bud,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

Marky doesn’t answer right away. His lower lip trembles. His fingers curl tighter into his shirt.

“I woke up.”

Mark nods slowly. “You okay?”

“I… I heard noises.”

Mark stills.

“What kind of noises?” he asks, though he already knows.

The boy looks up at him with wide, dark eyes. “Like thumping. And screaming.”

Mark’s gut twists. His breath catches in his throat.

“I thought—” Marky swallows, voice even smaller now. “I thought she got hurt. She sounded like she was.”

Mark draws in a slow, steadying breath. “She’s not hurt. I promise.”

Marky’s eyes dart to the open doorway, into the room beyond, where your sleeping form is still barely visible under the blanket.

“…Is she mad?”

Mark flinches inwardly. “No. She’s not mad.”

Marky hesitates. “She screamed a lot.”

“I know.” Mark doesn’t try to deflect. He kneels, placing both hands gently on his son’s shoulders. “She’s okay. Really. She’s just tired now.”

The boy looks down at his feet. “I thought she liked me.”

Mark’s heart squeezes. “She does like you. She told me. She said you were smart, and polite, and brave.”

Marky’s head lifts slightly. “Really?”

Mark nods. “Really.”

A pause.

“Can I see her?”

Mark doesn’t even think. He scoops Marky up into his arms, the boy’s small frame tucking instinctively into the crook of his neck, the dinosaur crushed between them. Mark stands, careful not to jostle him, and turns into the room, the door sliding closed behind them with a quiet hiss.

You’re still asleep.

Your body lies half turned toward the doorway, one arm curved beneath the pillow, hair fanned across the sheets, your shoulders bare and kissed by the low gold lighting that glows at the edges of the walls. The blanket clings to your waist, and the marks from earlier, light bruises, faint bite prints, flushed skin, are still visible in the dim light.

But your breathing is soft. Steady. Undisturbed.

“She’s okay,” Mark murmurs.

Marky peers over his shoulder. “She’s really sleeping?”

Mark nods. “You wanna say goodnight?”

The boy nods quickly.

Mark steps closer and kneels beside the bed again, letting Marky lean in. He looks down at you, eyes wide, cautious. Then, slowly, he reaches over and sets his dinosaur down near your hand, tucking the plush gently against your fingers where they rest near the edge of the blanket.

“…Goodnight,” he whispers. “I hope you feel better.”

You stir faintly, your fingers curling around the soft toy in your sleep.

Marky’s smile lights up his whole face.

Mark’s chest aches.

“She likes you,” he says, voice rough around the edges.

Marky looks up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. And she’s not going anywhere right now.”

The boy nods once, solemn. “Can I stay?”

Mark hesitates only a moment.

Then he shifts, easing Marky onto the far side of the bed. The boy lays down, facing you, one hand still resting gently near yours. He curls onto his side, tucking his knees up, eyes already beginning to flutter closed.

Mark watches him for a long moment, then looks back at you.

You’re still curled on your side, breathing deep, eyelashes fluttering slightly with each exhale. Your fingers still cradle the stuffed dinosaur.

He should leave. He knows he should.

His pants are cold, clinging to him, and his body is still sore in all the best and worst ways. He should clean up. Clear his head. Try to compartmentalize what just happened.

But instead, he steps around the bed, slides under the blanket beside you, and lets it all stay.

You exhale in your sleep, and your body shifts instinctively, your bare back pressing into his chest like it knows he’s there even unconscious.

And Mark, the Emperor, the father, the mess of a man trying to hold too many pieces together, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against your shoulder.

Just for a minute.

Just to stay.

The room hums in silence, broken only by breath and the low, constant murmur of the ship’s environmental systems. It’s warm. Dim. The kind of quiet that feels sacred.

Mark lies on his side, shirtless beneath the blanket, his arm stretched across your waist. Your back is pressed to his chest, your body soft and warm where it molds into him, one leg curled over his, the other tucked beneath the sheets. Your breath is steady. Rhythmic. Your face is turned into the pillow, one hand loosely cradled around the stuffed dinosaur Marky had brought in with him.

Marky sleeps beside you now, nestled against your front, his small body curved naturally into yours like he was made to fit there. His cheek rests on your arm, his tiny fist balled up near your collarbone, the edge of the blanket pulled up over his shoulder by Mark’s hand before he’d settled in.

Mark lies behind you, holding both of you in place.

But his eyes don’t close.

He’s still.

His mind isn’t.

He’s had people in his bed beforeto, o many, probably. He's been held, and he’s held others. He’s felt bodies against him, has taken comfort in closeness, even in chaos. But this… this is different.

Because this hasn’t even been a day.

He met you yesterday.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you stepped off a winged beast with wings, wearing armor that didn’t shine, it warned. You weren’t like the other envoys. You didn’t smile, didn’t posture. You didn’t flirt or flatter. You didn’t try to charm him. You introduced yourself like it was a formality and watched the ship’s interior like you were measuring it for weaknesses.

You walked like a soldier. Talked like one too. Straight-backed, quiet, all mission. No nonsense.

And now you’re here.

Asleep. Soft. Tangled in the sheets of his bed. His son curled in your arms like he’s always belonged there.

It doesn’t make sense.

Mark stares at the back of your neck, watching the slow flutter of your pulse beneath your skin. He can still feel where your body held him. The ghost of your moans still echoes behind his ears, low and trembling and real. Not practiced. Not performative. Every second of it was new for you, and you didn’t hide it.

You told him you didn’t do this. That this was different. That he was.

And it should terrify him.

Because he barely knows you.

He doesn’t know how you take your coffee. Doesn’t know what music you like, or if you even listen to any. He doesn’t know how you laugh. He’s never seen you drunk, or angry, or grieving. Doesn’t know your middle name. Doesn’t know your favorite memory, or what Eternia looks like when it rains. He doesn’t know what scares you, or what you’ve lost.

But he knows the sound you make when you’re coming.

He knows how you kiss when you’re trying not to cry. How your fingers tremble when they clutch the sheets. How your body fits against his like the space was always meant for you. He knows the sound of your voice when it’s stripped of all armor, when it’s just you, whispering that you wanted him to be the first.

He knows how carefully you touched Marky when you spoke to him, how you crouched beside him, kept your voice gentle, even when you didn’t have to.

He knows you didn’t have to allow him into your bed tonight. That it wasn’t power. Or duty. Or strategy.

That it was choice.

And that terrifies him more than anything else.

Because if this means nothing, he’s already gone too deep. And if it means something? If you mean something?

Then what the fuck does he do next?

Mark tightens his arm around your waist just slightly, anchoring himself to the feeling of your body beneath his hand. He watches the way your spine rises and falls with each breath. The little twitch of your fingers against Marky’s stuffed toy. You’re not afraid in your sleep. You’re not tense.

You’re at peace.

With him.

He wonders if you’ve had that, lately. If you’ve ever had it. Or if it’s as new for you as it is for him.

His gaze shifts over you and lands on Marky. The boy’s breathing is slow and even, his brow smooth, his tiny mouth parted slightly in sleep. His hand is still tucked against your chest, touching you in the same way he does to Mark when he needs comfort and isn’t awake enough to ask for it.

Mark’s throat tightens.

This shouldn’t feel like something complete. Like something full. You’ve only just arrived. You’ve known each other for a blink. But already, his son trusts you enough to curl into your arms. Already, he wants to wrap you in his.

And for all the cold, brutal things Mark’s seen in his life… this?

This is the thing that makes his chest ache.

He presses his forehead lightly to the back of your shoulder, closing his eyes.

He’s never believed in fate. Not really. He’s seen too many people bleed out on the wrong side of fate to trust it. But tonight, holding both of you in the low warmth of this ship, his son against your chest, your body molded to his, the smell of your skin still sweet in the sheets, he wonders if maybe… just maybe, fate brought you to him.

Even if it’s only for one night.

Even if everything else burns tomorrow.

He’ll remember this.

And slowly, finally, with your body soft against his and Marky’s slow breathing filling the space between you, Mark Grayson, Emperor, warrior, father, man, lets himself drift.

And sleeps.

✮♛ ♚✮⋆˙

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[spiderb00]

- GREEN-EYED MOSTER

Yoo Jaeyi x reader  

“all you were doing was following your girlfriend's plan. But all she saw was green"

Genre – fluff?        warnings - none 

Now playing – Blank Space, by Taylor Swift

“So it's gonna be forever. Or it's gonna go down in flames"

Jaeyi doesn't know exactly when it all started to taste bitter in her mouth, she just knows that at some point the time you were spending with Ye-ri started to piss her off.

She knows it was her idea, I mean, of course you wouldn't be that close to Ye-ri if you didn't have your girlfriend's permission. Not in your dreams would you be so close to another girl without Jaeyi knowing about it. The big deal is that Jaeyi began to bitterly regret the plan she thought up when she saw how comfortable Ye-ri was feeling around you.

Everyone at that school knew you belonged to Yoo Jaeyi, and no one dared lay a finger on you, spoke up, stared too long, or lusted after you. No one was crazy enough to try to defy Jaeyi, at least not until now.

As much as all this bothered your girlfriend, she knew that you would NEVER prefer Ye-ri to her. But Ye-ri's intrusive behavior was already getting on her nerves. The long touches, the way Ye-ri laughed at your stupid jokes, you following Ye-ri to all her classes like an obedient puppy... All of this irritated Jaeyi, because you weren't Ye-ri's! She couldn't be that comfortable with you! You're Jaeyi's!

And she was going to make you remember that.

She waited patiently in your room. The light from your desk lamp faintly illuminating the room in yellow, Jaeyi's cell phone showing your location in real time. She'd seen you walk up to Ye-ri's house - and she'd calculated exactly how long you'd stood at the door, just to make sure Ye-ri wouldn't ask you to come in - minutes before, but now, you're almost at your own house, your steps calm, as if you don't have any worries to deal with.

Jaeyi's phone had already notified her of two messages from you, just asking how she was and if she'd arrived home yet. Her eyes narrowed at this, and she let out a sarcastic snort. “Oh, now you want to know how I am...” That's what she said after seeing your message.

Jaeyi was startled slightly by the sound of the door opening, not even realizing that she had disassociated long enough for you to finally arrive home. She heard your footsteps coming up the stairs, settling into the armchair in your room as if she owned the place (maybe she did).

When the door opened, her eyes immediately landed on you. You were there, confusion stamped on your face as you scratched your head, looking at your phone and probably wondering why your girlfriend hadn't answered your messages yet.

You sat on the edge of the bed with an annoyed huff, still unaware of your girlfriend's presence two meters away from you. “She always makes me answer her messages immediately, but she can't answer a single fucking message.”

Jaeyi's eyebrow arched, surprised that you were saying things like that about her when you were alone, when while you were with her, all you did was nod and agree like an idiot puppy.

“Is that what you say about me when you're alone?” Jaeyi's voice echoed through the silent room.

You startled, jumping onto the bed and almost falling face-first onto the floor. With agility, you managed to put your hands on the floor, looking at the armchair in the corner of your room, only to see your girlfriend with that characteristic little smile that sent shivers down your spine.

“Jagiya!” The name came out of your lips automatically. "Fuck, you scared me! What are you doing here? And why didn't you answer me?"

Your questions were ignored, as was the feeling of love Jaeyi felt when she heard you call her by her nickname.

“Did you have fun with Ye-ri?”

The question made your head tilt slightly to the left, confused as if the youngest of the Yoo's had asked an absurd question - which she doesn't think is the case.

"I left her at home... But I haven't gotten anything out of what she's doing with your father yet, sorry." You've barely finished speaking before you hear your girlfriend's sarcastic giggle.

She was still sitting in the armchair, staring at you kneeling on the floor next to your bed. She loved seeing how dumb you looked in front of her, it was almost as if she sucked all the knowledge out of your brain and left it trapped between her fingers, only letting it slip out when she wanted it to.

“That's a surprise, given the fact that she's so close to you.” Jaeyi's gaze was challenging, almost as if she wanted you to ask what she was talking about.

“All right, I really don't understand.” You got up from the floor, putting your hands on your waist, trying to make yourself look bigger in front of your girlfriend.

“Of course you don't understand.” She stood up from the armchair, and you took a step back. Your hands fell away from your waist, being positioned uncomfortably next to your body. “You're just too innocent a puppy to notice that Ye-ri is shamelessly hitting on you!”

Her words hit you hard, you hadn't realized that Ye-ri was hitting on you, you thought it was just her, being the usual flirtatious girl. Well, it seems you were wrong.

"I was just following your plan, jagiya. I didn't want you to feel that way..."

Jaeyi's footsteps echoed through the room, she slowly approached you.

“Like what, jagiya?” She asked, raising her hand to run her fingers through your hair.

“You know...” You replied, tilting your head and closing your eyes. Letting yourself be carried away by her fingers caressing your scalp. “Jealous.”

The giggle that came out of your girlfriend's mouth made you open your eyes again, looking at her only to find that she was already looking at you with those beautiful eyes.

"Oh jagiya... I'm not jealous, I'm just going to make sure you know you're mine!"

just testing again ;)

i told you how obsessed i was with “friendly rivalry” and then some of you told me to write to the girls and here i am.

i hope you like it, it's not much but it's something ;)

drink water and stay safe

xoxo, spider.

[countesspetofi]

I already reblogged a longer version of this with my response on how the state of American K-12 education over the past 30 or so years has left students ripe for this, but I spotted something in the tags to one of the many reblogs of this version that I just couldn't not respond to. I was going to directly reblog that reblog but I don't know if I want to single that person out. Anyway, I spotted this:

I don;t know what this person's K-12 experience was, that made them form this impression, but I reassure anyone who's reading that it was extremely unusual. Your average public school teacher is not ALLOWED to give bad grades, especially for written work, ESPECIALLY for English language arts. If a teacher does defy administration and give a student the lower grade they've earned, all it takes is a call from an angry parent to get it changed. Sometimes a low assignment grade is allowed to stand, but not to affect the final course grade.

And discipline is a joke at best. Teachers are quitting in drives not just because they're not allowed to keep students from disrupting the class or using phones and tablets to cheat on assignments or watch videos instead of working but out of very justified fear of physical injury or their lives. If they somehow manage to send the student to the office, they're back in a few minutes with a snack and a pep talk. If parents are contacted, the parents want to know, "What did you do to provoke my child?" Parents who can afford it are very quick to lawyer up.

More bad grades and discipline would HELP. It would give kids the structure they need to learn.

This may sound like I'm blaming the kids, but I'm totally not. What kid wouldn't go a little haywire in a Wild West environment like that, with the added existential threat of never knowing when the gunman is going to walk through the door added into the mix? I couldn't handle being a high school student today, any more than I could handle being a teacher. You've all heard me say it before: I'm pretty sure the idea is to screw public education up so thoroughly that people won't complain too loudly when it goes away.

Money, politics, and fear. And our future generations hanging in the balance. It's infuriating.

(Regarding the AI, as horrifying as it is, I guess at least it's leveling the playing field? In my time working at an Ivy, I heard a lot of stuff that made me believe in my my suspicion that rich kids have been paying their way through classes for generations. Probably with the knowledge and tacit blessing of the schools. They wouldn't want legacy admissions to flunk out. Did anybody ever believe George W. Bush actually earned his Yale degree?)

Generative AI has destroyed academia.

In the next few decades we’re going to have thousands of people who don’t really know anything, and can’t do any critical thinking.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ excuse prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “we were so drunk.”

²⁾ “i was trying to protect you!”

³⁾ “i never thought it would go this far.”

⁴⁾ “this wasn’t supposed to happen, i swear.”

⁵⁾ “he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

⁶⁾ “you’re- you’re never around anymore!”

⁷⁾ “if i’d have waited any longer, the outcome would have been so much worse.”

⁸⁾ “you started this shit, i’m only trying to get us out of it!”

⁹⁾ “i… i just wanted the chance to prove myself to you.”

¹⁰⁾ “yeah, ‘cause you’re all such fucking saints.”

¹¹⁾ “i was handling it fine until you got involved!”

¹²⁾ “i wasn’t thinking, that’s the whole point!”

¹³⁾ “you didn’t give me any other choice.”

¹⁴⁾ “i gave you a pass when the roles were reversed, so maybe a little understanding wouldn’t kill you.”

¹⁵⁾ “if this were anyone else, you wouldn’t be riding them half as hard and you know it.”

¹⁶⁾ “you’ve been under so much pressure… i thought i could take a little of it off you by taking care of it.”

¹⁷⁾ “all i did was put my trust in the wrongs person.”

¹⁸⁾ “if you hadn’t chewed me out so damn hard for asking for your help last time, maybe i would’ve felt safe enough to do it again.”

¹⁹⁾ “do you have any idea what it feels like to be lonely in your own house? of course you don’t, because you’re never fucking here!”

²⁰⁾ “i didn’t think you’d care. nothing else ever seems to make you, so why should this!”

[jewish-vents]

my neighbor tried to shoot my dog. he's antisemitic and I've always known that, but this was over the line even for him. what his dumb ass didn't realize is 1. my dog is fast as hell (regularly outruns my friend's greyhound) and 2. I have motion activated cameras that capture sound. his entire rant at me afterwards about how yeah, he did shoot at Ahwa, she's evil and so am I and all Jews should be torn apart and I'm lucky he lets me live in his state, blah blah bah? that's all admissible in court and permitted to be published online. this is a single-party consent state for recording. first this is going to the police and then if they don't do anything this is going online and I'm tagging his boss, his kids (who don't interact with him much bc he's a crazy Trump supporter) and the local news station.

I can take slurs. I can take threats. fighting isn't new to me. but if anyone comes for Ahwa I am going to do worse than kill them, I will make them so miserable death will seem preferable. I will make it so the first thing that comes up when anyone googles his name is him trying to shoot a dog. this isn't about anything but hate. this isn't about any of his stupid conspiracy theories and it sure as shit isn't about Palestine. this man is unhinged and armed and dangerous and I'm SO FUCKING TIRED of all the goyim around me going, "oh, this sort of thing happens. it could happen to anybody."

NO IT COULD NOT, ACTUALLY! and I hope if anyone ever treats them like he's treated me, people don't treat them like they've treated me.

and before anyone goes "well move" my family has been here since before this was a US state! since before there was a town here! since the literal 1830's! why should I have to move somewhere else to live in peace? nobody ever tells these kinds of people to move. "if you go to Israel you'll be safe" do you have ANY idea how hard it is to support my sick, elderly parents and myself on one salary? I don't have the money! I just fucking don't!

hot take: NO ONE SHOULD SHOOT AT MY DOG IN HER OWN YARD! it doesn't matter what someone's religion is or what their heritage is or even what their political beliefs are, you should never try to kill their dog! or their cat or their guinea pig or whatever! I hate this man. I have also NEVER tried to hurt his dog. she's done nothing to me. and whatever his conspiracy theories make him think I did to him, Ahwa has done nothing to him! malamutes are not part of ((the New World Order))) or whatever!

I'm so angry and so tired and honestly just so thankful Ahwa sprang up and bolted when she heard his footsteps. never in my life did I think it would come to this. I don't recognize the world I live in anymore.

.

[circumscribitwrites]

Bro'd Trip

I'm trying something new, so here's a longer story with a more physical, sensual (18+) transformation at the end. Hope you enjoy!

“we r here! cant wait 2 c u j-man!!!”

Josh blinked. Why did he say yes to this? 

He hadn’t heard from Matt and Kyle since high school. They were friends, but Josh felt - knew - he was the odd one out.

Matt and Kyle were tall, strong, and athletic. They played football; Josh spent his time in the library. They lived for homecoming and prom; he set his sights on becoming the valedictorian. 

Still, Josh was happy to do Kyle's homework for a few bucks, and he’d gotten more rides from Matt than he could count.

That felt forever ago. The last four years were a whirlwind of lectures and exams. Josh had finally just received his diploma. Did Matt and Kyle even go to college? Not without an athletic scholarship... 

It was Matt who reached out:

“yo! congrats on graduating. havent talked in forever, lol. u wanna meet up, do a road trip? can bring kyle. make it a boys thing :)”

“Hey! It’s really good to hear from you, Matt. And thank you! I think that could be fun. How about two weekends from now? Do you have any ideas about where to go?”

“yeah! dont worry, ill figure it out. you dont gotta think about it. our gift to u, lol!!!”

Oh no. Josh didn’t leave his plans to anyone else, especially Matt and Kyle. He didn’t believe in being carefree: He was careful. If it were up to Josh, there’d be a detailed itinerary, alternative routes and destinations, a color-coded spreadsheet to organize everything...

“Okay. I’ll try not to worry, haha.”

And now, Matt and Kyle were in his driveway. 

“saved u the front seat! kyle says hes hungry, lol. better get out here quick.”

With a nervous sigh, Josh grabbed his bag and headed outside. 

“There he is! The man, the myth, the legend!” called Kyle, his head halfway out the window.

Josh tried not to roll his eyes as he pulled open the car door. A blast of sweltering, stale air hit him as he slid into the passenger seat. 

“Forgot to mention, but, uh, AC’s broke. Guy wanted way too much money to fix it. Hope you don’t mind too much?” Matt said.

“I…it’s whatever. But it’s good to see you guys! Thanks for putting this together.”

“Yeah, man!” Matt pulled Josh in for a shoulder hug. He seemed different. His jaw was sharper, his lips thicker, his grip firmer. 

Kyle stuck his head around from the backseat. “Dude, when Matt told me you said yeah, I was freakin’ pumped! We missed you, J-Man!"

“I know, I'm terrible at keeping in touch. What’s new with you guys?"

“Not much. We both kinda stuck around after school,” Matt said. “Thought about doing some sorta personal training thing together.”

“Yeah, didn’t work out,” Kyle said. “Anyway…you ready to have some fun this weekend!”

“Oh, yeah. So, where are we going?”

“Bro, I told you not to worry. You trust me, right? Just relax.”

Josh nodded. He was already overheating. The whole car smelled…salty, like sweat. But something else. What was that? 

“You good, man?” Kyle asked. 

“Yeah…I think so. It's just hot.”

“Look," said Matt, "forget the AC. We wanna make sure you have a good time, dude. You been studyin’ and goin’ to class and all that. And now, you deserve to chill out a little. Just be with your bros.”

Josh felt a weight on his shoulders. He gasped as Kyle's hands moved down across his chest and brushed against his nipples. He kept going, massaging the muscle around and around.

He was too distracted to notice that Matt’s fingers had worked their way up his thigh, eagerly waiting by his waistband.

“You want this?”

"Yes."

In an instant, Matt reached in, his thick hand grabbing Josh’s cock. He grabbed the head, working it slowly and steadily, pressure building and releasing.

Josh moaned, his mind foggy with heat and pleasure. Kyle murmured in his ear. “You’re gonna be just like us, bro. Say it.”

“I…ungh…just wanna be…a…bro. Like you.”

Matt pulled on him hard. Josh threw his head back, hips bucking against the seat.

He wasn’t just hard. He was getting longer, getting thicker, getting bigger. His balls swelled, churning with newfound testosterone.

Josh grunted. “Fuck, it’s so…I'm so...”

“Hang on! Gotta get you geared up.” Kyle grabbed his hat and shoved it onto Josh’s head, sweat soaking into his hair. He wrapped a chain around Josh’s neck, the cold metal dangling against his thick chest.

Kyle gave his new bro’s shoulders a squeeze. “Now.”

Josh threw himself backward, a thick and heavy load pouring out of him. He couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. Just…release.

“That’s it,” Matt said, hand still pumping. “Get it all out. You’re made for this, bro. Goddamn, you're huge, haha!”

“Yeah…I am.” A dumb, contented smile came over Josh’s face.

It was gonna be a good trip.

—

“thx 4 the invite bros. had fun! do it again soon? - j-man”

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