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stillwatervoid · 2 months ago

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

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

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

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

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

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

Part 1 | You're here

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

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

Because you’ve done the worst thing imaginable.

You betrayed Mark.

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

And you betrayed him.

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

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

Your fingers dig into your hair, breath hitching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because you’d liked it.

God, you’d loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, guilt would seize you by the throat.

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

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

And that you’d let him.

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

Because now you know.

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

Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

You deserve nothing from him.

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

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

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

The fight’s over.

Your Mark stands victorious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid,” Cecil would repeat, louder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Mark.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the sound.

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

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

But there it is again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

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

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

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

Who else could it be?

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

Mark.

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

But that was before.

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

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

Cecil swore—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

You’d blink. “Really? You swear?”

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

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

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

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

So you’d nod, knowing you’d be safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god, you missed him. You miss him.

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

With a trembling hand, you draw the curtain aside—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

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

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

It’s not fair.

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

But not this.

Not Mark, sad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you really look at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Traumatized?

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

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

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

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

“Don’t make me say it.”

You freeze.

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

And then it hits you.

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

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

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

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

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

Should’ve gotten u somewhere safe the moment we knew

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:07 AM)

Mark (2:18 AM): im sorry

can u pick up the phone?

Mark (2:22 AM): y/n

Mark (2:25 AM): ples

Mark (2:25 AM): please

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:33 AM)

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

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

Mark (3:45 AM): im sorry

shouldve never let this happen to u

Mark (3:47 AM): im sorry)

Suddenly, horribly, you understand.

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit.

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

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

And you can’t stop.

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

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

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

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

Why he should look at you with disgust.

Why he should despise you.

That’s why—

A warm hand cups your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you ruined everything again.

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

God. And Mark’s the one saying sorry?

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

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

Because your body doesn’t know the difference.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark shifts uneasily. “Y/N...?”

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

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

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

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

Mark goes utterly still.

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

A beat.

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

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

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

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

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

The unbearable pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

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

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

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

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

And how do you recover from that?

How do you erase it?

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

You don’t.

You can’t.)

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry. There, it’s your turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For some reason, your heart picks up its pace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark does just that.

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

Shit—shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark—”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s overwhelming.

He’s overwhelming.

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

Like—

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

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

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

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

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

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

And god, that just makes it worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it’s always been Mark. Always.

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

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

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

Mark doesn’t hesitate.

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

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

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

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

Your heart stutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all he needs.

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

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

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

Finally—finally—Mark kisses you.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all too much.

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

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

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

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

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

Mark Grayson is kissing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the thought alone has your mouth watering.

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

You glance up one last time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it also felt so good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck—” his voice cracks. “Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

The praise coils heat low in your belly.

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

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

And Mark—Mark completely shatters.

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

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

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

Mark chokes on a moan.

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

He can’t finish the sentence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you feel it.

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

“Fuck—fuck—!”

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

But it’s okay.

It’s perfect.

This is the sting you’d been chasing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lean in and kiss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause for a moment, just taking him in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all the permission Mark needs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head tilts back, a pant escaping your lips.

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

Mark’s breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes in a third finger.

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

It’s different.

You never felt this way when you did it yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t.

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

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

And he’d been right.)

But with Mark—

With Mark—

Fuck, it feels good. It feels right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark can’t hold back any longer.

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

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

You know exactly what he’s asking.

You don’t need to ask.

You don’t need him to say it.

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

And god—you want it too.

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

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

But shit. You were wrong.

He doesn’t hate you.

Mark wants you.

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

He still wants you.

And fuck, he wants you bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him then.

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

He’s nothing like the other version of himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have it now.

You have him.

Your Mark.

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

“I love you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

A shudder runs through you.

Yeah. Yeah.

No one but Mark.

No one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can wait—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark’s jaw clenches.

Then he bites down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly black out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything slows down.

You stare at Mark through glassy, dazed eyes.

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

Mark looks beautiful.

Mark looks yours.

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

And you believe him.

God, you believe him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—Mark comes.

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

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

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

And finally—everything stills.

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

Jesus—you just had sex with Mark.

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

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

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

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

You chuckle softly. “Baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a promise.

It’s that simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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scaredybunny · 1 month ago

Text

Theres something about never hearing your dad swear until he's in your tight pussy 🤤

He's gently groomed gotten you used to physical touch with him. He's convinced himself that if you're enjoying it, there's nothing wrong with violating his little boy. So he makes sure you enjoy it, making you cum by rubbing you through your undies. It takes a lot of fortitude to not whip his cock out the first time he sees your blissed out post orgasm face. But that would be too scary for a little boy like you. He loves you, so he will take his time.

He even manages to control himself the first time you ask to make him feel good, the same way he makes you feel good.

"Daddy, what's that in your pants?"

"Well, sweetheart, you know how your parts get wet when you get excited? I have different boy parts that get hard when I get excited."

"Oh! Do you want me to touch you, daddy?"

He could have thrown you down and split you open right there. Instead, he let you touch him through his boxers. Guiding your hand and holding you close. When he came, he saw it in your eyes, desire.

He couldn't wait any longer. He had wanted to get you used to direct contact and fingering first but he had held himself back long enough.

"You wanna know the reason why your boy parts get wet and mine get hard, sport?"

"Mhmm!"

"They fit together, like a puzzle piece. My stiffness makes it easier to push in, and your wetness makes it slide in and out easy peasy! You wanna try it?"

You looked a bit intimidated.

"Are you sure that can go inside me daddy? it doesn't look like it'll fit."

He calmed your trepidation easily enough, and before long, he had you soaking wet, on all fours, ready for him. He told himself doggy style would make it less painful, but really he wanted to grope your perfect little ass while he fucked you. To see you bent over like a bitch in heat was almost too much for him. He lined himself up and pushed in. So tight and soft and wet. He couldn't help it.

"Fuuuuck" he tried to say it under his breath, but you still heard it.

"Daddy!" Usually, you might giggle at that, but you were too distracted by the pain. "ow ow ow! I don't think it's fitting, Daddy!"

"Sh sh sh shhhh." he had been so patient, he couldn't hold back anymore. He pushed your chest down, then forced your head into the soft pillows to quiet your whining. "quiet- fuck - quiet sweetheart, it'll stop stinging soon, daddy promises. god, fuck! It just hurts a bit the first time."

His change in demeanor was obvious even to you; your daddy was using you, and it hurt. But you couldn't fight him off, you're just a little boy. Eventually, he was lying on top of you, using his weight to hold you down as rutted his adult cock into you.

He was right in the end; it did stop hurting eventually. But your playtime got a lot rougher after that, your dad learned it was much easier to just hold you down :)

#dad/son #fauxcest #ftm cnc #dadcest #agepl@y #ftm dadcest #dadcon #dd/lb

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kooyabooya · 16 days ago

Text

JUNO

minju & dahyun x m reader

17k words

“No. No way. No freaking way.”

Dahyun nestles her chin into the dip of your collarbone, her smirk a telltale sign when your eyes flicker from her face to the rest of the ballroom; too early to tell if she’s drunk or probably in heat, it’s one of the two, you know that for sure. Though, her gaze follows yours at the commotion, noticing you can’t stop staring at something - or someone.

“You don’t need me to convince you,” she’s saying, nose grazing the side of your throat and jaw, in tandem with a lip bite. “She’s really fucking horny.”

–

Look, if there’s anything you’ve learned about Kim Dahyun: is the fact that she doesn’t spill the whole tale straight away.

Contrary to popular belief - as her plus one - you might add, her style of being coy and mysterious, always backfires in the end eventually. Yet here you are again: trailing behind or at her side, playing along in the usual antics she puts up to ease the boring periods of these stupid events you’ve been forced to be dragged along.

“Suits and ties, and flashy smiles. That's all they are.” She had said to you hours before, sitting on your desk with her veneers up on high, ankles crossed with heels, wearing the tightest dress imaginable - the kind of dress where it shows just enough skin to get people’s heads turning.

A shame that white was her ideal color too, since you and her both know very well how good she looks in it.

(Your dress shirt in the morning or in a different dress at night, there’s no difference between them.)

Speaking of which:

“It’s a splitting image,” you’re telling Dahyun, head at an angle, squinting in the dimly lit room. “I swear she was just in a white dress the other day. When the hell did she get the lapis lazuli piece?”

“Beats me,” she replies, tugging your arm closer to her, finger directing your gaze as the second crown jewel of the night takes center stage. “I know you’re not denying it, but she’s pretty too.”

“That makes two of us.”

Smug smiled, Dahyun brings it upon herself to swoop the drink in your hand, down the leftover alcohol while the events at the opposite end of the room takes up everyone's attention. You’re part of the viewing crowd too, watching in wonder and from afar while the underlying ambiance of people conversing amidst the host greeting with the proper niceties like any other person would have when opening up the occasion. The lights dimming above with the scattered camera flashes the only sight visible to your eyes - aside from the recipient of tonight’s many awards.

“I still don’t know how you do it,” you remark, chuckling. “These outings - gala’s even. I mean- it hasn’t even been that long after you got the confirmation for the role, not to mention the invite-”

“To be honest, I don’t really know either.” Dahyun agrees, placing the empty glass to the passing server with an empty plate in hand, nodding in approval of thanks to make their job easier. Happily going along their way to assess the next area of need. Her eyes mirror yours - paying attention, spectating along with you until the undivided focus diverts to something else worth the time. “If anything, it’s good that you're with me. That way I can’t have all the fun myself.”

“Gotta spend my nights somehow.” You let your head fall sideways, she meets in the middle. “Rather be here than have your take of ‘rotting away alone at home’.”

“Nonsense,” chides Dahyun, stomaching a giggle down. “Wasted time with me is time well spent.”

“That I can concur,” you remark. “Though, it’s worth mentioning who convinced who earlier, remember?”

“You wanna expand on that a little more?”

“I can. It involves some hands-on work, actually.”

“Right.”

Everything from the events earlier is all panned out in your minds. Something about bending her over the desk and ignoring the call from her manager which almost resulted in being late - she’s not the kind to be on thin ice; as for you, this isn’t the first time this happened, and the warnings have only increased since then.

(A side of you few people know; exclusively for Dahyun to see. Bless the concealer for working its magic; most of the people won’t even be aware of the band-aid stuck onto her thigh.)

“A mouth can do so much more wonders than we expect.” Dahyun says cheerfully, concluding. Finger to her temple then to the lower rim of her lush lips.

Can’t deny her overbearing confidence at times.

“Really,” you say. “You’d reckon?”

“What the hell do you want me to ask for? A demonstration?” She herself knows fewer words are spoken between her and the other person. “Though, I technically don’t have to say anything to you at all since you can just tell from-”

You raise your eyebrow; solidifying the point. Nodding.

The crowd then erupts in a wave of thunderous applause, diverting both of your attention away from each other, seeing the award’s recipient bow before the audience before the event’s emcee steps on, keeping the proceedings flowing smoothly as possible. Most of the sounds are overstimulating as it is, seeing the groups of tables surrounded by people, not to mention the bar station working overtime. The flashing lights. Clamoring of paparazzi wanting the stars to look in their direction. Yeah. It’s a lot. You’ve had the rundown multiple times way more than you could count.

So you take the sight in. The usual work perk: better to be here than to sit behind a desk working into the late hours of the night, get an adequate amount of alcohol in your system to use the excuse of not being able to come in the next day, or even have the additional benefits traveling places you’d ever dream of going as a kid.

(In short saying: you liked your job, at least looking from the surface level. You don’t love or hate the gig, but you’d be willing to do what’s needed or asked without a reason or for something in return:

“Stay with me on the set?”

No problem.

“Run to the cafe down the corner and get drinks for us?”

Sure.

“I’ll give you a thank you note for your hard work. With a little extra prize at the end of it.”

No need to say ‘you’re welcome’ for that one.

You don’t even think twice about the things at all. Talk about being a sucker for love, leaving out the admission.)

It’s in the acts of service, much contrasted to doing it with a romantical intent. There might be a catch hidden deep within your heart and in those almond pools of hers; you and her had the discussion before, reapproaching it too many times for it to be pinned as a label. She says it’s a lot on her plate as it is - you’re harboring the feelings a bit too selfishly.

(Yearning and pining, everyone. The few answers to fill for those unanswered questions.)

And, it’s worth mentioning that for these brief periods of introspection, it doesn’t take much for you to snap out of the usual trance right away. Dahyun tugs the fabric of your coat for good measure, doubled down with a shoulder bump to put the vertigo in disarray, soon she has your attention again.

“What are you thinking about this time?” She asks.

That’s one prompt out of the many you find weaseling your way out easily.

“Well,” you start, pressing the buttoned-up collar up against your neck - negating the discomfort, soak some of the sweat into the threads, have the dry cleaners deal with the rest. “For one: it’s the drink they were passing around just now. And two: definitely the lack of air conditioning in this corner of the room-”

“So sensitive.” Dahyun laments, offering her small palm to your middle. “That shirt’s choking you as it is.”

“Ouch.” You sarcastically say. “Always clocking me for no reason. Unprovoked, I might add.”

“Lightening the load,” replies Dahyun, scrunching the bridge of her nose. Your coat suddenly no longer has a weight on your shoulders, finding its new place on smaller collarbones. Sure, the broad appearance depresses at the lapels, her fingertips are barely peeking out at the cuffs. Bonus points go to you for putting a considerate offer.

The top button of your shirt gets undone, freeing your throat. “What’s the plan now, miss?”

Dahyun swivels around, fiddles with the middle button of the coat until it’s in. “After party not far from here. I also think my publicist told me they have a small keynote thing I have to speak about.”

“Since when has anything ever kept you out of the spotlight?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself if you’re my publicist or something?”

It takes two. The playing field’s still leveled.

But you happily oblige: “Lead the way, ma’am.”

Dahyun tilts her chin up, the corner of her mouth slightly ticked. Victorious. Some of the people around you two start to make a pathway to the exit. A little homage to Moses parting the sea for his people.

You’re already imagining the same scenario happening in traffic outside later, and you’re definitely telling Dahyun to keep her feet off the dashboard.

–

Here’s the thing. A clause in the signed contract, written and hidden deep between the lines.

You realize there’s no proper explanation to the level of engagement - exposure even - in these outings you’ve thrown yourself into. If the briefings prior are to be considered the shallow part of the pool, then the red carpets are without a doubt the deep end, it’s always going to be difficult to determine which one is easier to get used to.

Yet, you find yourself in the same spot as earlier. Except you’re lacking the usual occupant to your side back at the bar.

–

“I would like to greet everyone a good evening and thank you to the hosts for putting together-” says Dahyun, the collecting wave of applause scattering in pockets of the audience, “-such a wonderful gathering here tonight.” She then continues, now the center of attention before the occupying room, no short of most likely a hundred guests in the space if not more. The mic stand was casually adjusted by one of the stage workers, which made the appearance look more comical. Though, she bears no mind because she’s used to it on the regular.

Besides, not much time has passed once you two arrived at the second venue. Maybe a little shy of thirty minutes or something to that degree. You stopped looking at the watch on your wrist as it is - the first sign of how detached you’re slowly starting to become.

Worth noting the amount of alcohol in your system, leading to a single inevitable conclusion: one drink isn’t enough.

Luckily, the concoctions being created behind you have already been making the rounds to the guests; another cup manages to find its way to your hand again; this time with a little more kick compared to the main event’s refreshments, but the urge to grab another is a tempting thought.

There’s also the promising appeal of the balcony to your right - an opportunity to step outside, get some fresh air; you’ve got the dwindling pack of cigarettes in your right pocket, thumb reflexively twitching to ignite the lighter, the second sign of relapse waiting to happen. You don’t know how long you’ll be here, and you’re not the kind of person to push your hours for a faster paycheck.

Normally, on outings like these - they’re intended to celebrate, commemorate, congratulate, connect - then there’s the secondary layers of networking, creating connections for future projects, attached with the occasional icebreaker through the food and drinks where people are there to have a great time, socialize, share tales of what doesn’t get shown on cameras or what’s kept from being said on the record - the inner workings gradually forming once everyone’s settled in with the job done for the night.

While it may be a rinse and repeat on a different day, this face in particular does anything but that:

“Suppose you’re laying low for another hard day’s work?” She asks you, slotting herself into the spot where Dahyun would always be when she’s fulfilled her duties as an attending individual.

Speaking of Dahyun, she’s still on that stage with another co-star joining her, exchanging niceties and getting showered with compliments she plays off nonchalantly. Again, you told her to take as long as she liked, convincing yourself while walking away she’ll eventually find the way back once her minutes are up on the schedule. Until then, the oddly familiar face next to you is worth passing the seconds for now.

The girl waves a waiter nearby, nods in acknowledgement as the rim of the glass meets her fingertips, swirls it around while pursing her lips, looks in your direction and offers a toast-

You’re blinking as the action is mirrored. Ah, okay. She has your full attention alright.

You begin to see why there was a sudden influx of flashes at the photo-op earlier. This girl was amazing. The headlights shining in the dark with you as the innocent deer caught in the middle.

A drink like the one in your hand has never been swallowed faster than ever in your life.

“Ugh,” she utters, the small bump in her throat returning to its normal position, the tip of her tongue peeking out from her lips, savoring the taste. “Gotta say, this is way much better than what they were handing out in the other place.”

Turns out you’re not the only one who thought the drinks were a little fuzzy in terms of taste. So your face motions an expression of agreement and pulls a light chuckle out the mouth.

“No kidding,” you reply, examining the glass more closely, set it down on the bar, don’t ask for a second one - there’s no point, every ounce of coherence is needed to keep this conversation going, inhaling sharply for composure. “These have a little more kick,” you add on. Not much to expand as it is, but you’re getting somewhere.

“Right? It’s just enough to savor, but also not too much for you to end up in the bathroom later.” She pulls her head back, revealing the dips in her shoulders. Her necklace is an astonishing piece to notice, clearly worth in the five-digits. The shade of her dress is also another part of the appearance you’re doing multiple checks in. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, some of the guys here are already wasted.”

Not quite blue, not quite a dark color either. You’re noticing something else here anyway.

“Hasn’t even been that long.” You’re playing it safe, observant. “The waiters are pretty much vultures in this setting; circling around the crowd until one of them drops to the floor out of exhaustion,” you tell her, checking your surrounding for anything out of the ordinary, the mix of tailored suits and dresses, elegance flooding the floor - filling up every pocket of space where it can. Some people are glancing over and immediately turning the other way, as if you had stolen a piece at the art museum. In a figurative sense, she’s drenched in blue, a siren in human form and she knows what the others are thinking around her.

“Attention always follows when you least expect it.”

“Isn’t that the epitome of this industry?” You lift your hand up towards the crowd of people, and higher up to point out the ambience. “Safe to also add there’s a lucky few that get the royal treatment and fawned over because of looks and status.”

“For all we know that could be you up there,” the woman drawls, eyes rolling and shaking her head. You can tell right off the bat she’s in denial, laid-back and totally doesn’t give a fuck; the kind of person you take pride in confiding in. “In the end, who’s really winning? The idiots who didn’t bet on their potential or the fools who were dumb enough to follow a stupid dream?” The girl runs her hand down her face. “I can tell which side you’re on.”

“I’ve been around long enough to know where the line’s drawn,” you scoff. “There’s pride in that choice for me.”

“It’s their job to use me,” she tells you. There might be a double meaning to it if you think long enough. “Just like it’s my job to be of use.”

“I’ll leave the interpretation for another time,” you nod, swirling the drink like you’ve got nothing else to do.

Her gaze doesn’t falter when you turn to put your elbows on the bar. “Well kudos to you, I guess.”

Your shoulders move again, facing towards her, elbow still on the edge of the bar. The rest of the room begins to fade out in your ears. “I don’t need an introduction, by the way. Since I already know who you are.”

“That so?”

“Minju.” You answer. “Kim Minju, to be exact,” you confidently say. A smirk tugged once the casual banter’s finally broken in. “Impressed much?”

Minju gently applauds at the meaningless achievement, smiling and giggling in a gentle tone. “Congrats. I’m assuming you totally didn’t read my name in the headlines let alone a file at your workplace?”

“There’s much more to it than your name being on the guest list.”

She blinks. The grin on her face spreads wider.

A handshake would be a nice touch to the introductions, but you’re past that point, unknowingly pushing to a higher stride.

“Alright then,” says Minju, threading her brows, teeth nipping the inside of her lower lip. “What else do you know about me? Or have you heard?”

“Loved your performance in that lawyer series,” you compliment. “Care to expand on what made you want that role in the first place? And is it true you learned sign language for the upcoming movie you’re starring in?”

This could be drawn up to be a fanboy image, but the interest is in the working passion. You don’t know whether or not the landing is sticking, but that’s just the natural flow of things. Minju herself has shuffled closer to lessen the proximity. You’re giving less care to the logistical side of the job, settling in letting loose since there aren't any plans for you after tonight. You haven’t had much to drink as it is plus this was a good way to keep the schedule moving.

“My my, so many questions for me.” Minju is a bit appalled at the sudden bombardment in the exposition and commentary you’re spilling. “Are you sure you’re working for the right agency? When were you so interested in making an impression for someone who’s clearly out of your league?”

She’s noticing the effort, that’s for sure. It isn’t like you to act this way, especially if it’s someone that’s not in the typical clientele you’re used to working with. Though, giving the informative part is easy, no doubt. If anything, this is taking a bite out of what she’s set out on the table; sooner or later, it’s going to take a lot more for her to buy into what you’re selling - especially when you don’t have all your cards laid out in front of you.

Minju watches you look left to the stage, and that was all she needed to know.

–

There’s not much to catch up on after. Consider this the transitional sequence - capped off with the polite waves and exit left once the minutes are up on stage. Everything resumes to normal: people exchanging laughs, getting plastered, acting like you’re aware of what’s happening here half the time. Dahyun spots you at your most preferred place and-

“Nice to see you two got acquainted while I was away doing my ‘obligatory’ duties,” she remarks - her way of weaseling into the conversation with a hand to your arm and chest, presenting you like some prized possession - a one of one. “I hope you’ve been keeping him occupied?”

“For the most part.” Minju’s face beams the same expression you have and your brows give off a tale of: yeah, that’s usually her thing around here. Though the mood’s already been set even before Dahyun managed to find her way back, she’s also capable enough to slot herself in effortlessly. “He’s a real charmer, this one.”

“Really?” Dahyun asks.

You scoff. “Not a chance.”

“Oh c’mon,” Minju says, and her head twists the opposite direction - noticing the sudden commotion somewhere off in the endless crowd. The three of you assume it’s a good sign - due to the cheers of approval with one of the awards is up in the air. “Never really thought you’d be one to get a little shy in showing their piece.”

“Piece?” You look at Dahyun, slightly pressed.

She shoos off the question in ignorance. “Minju doesn’t mean that.” Looks at Minju with a refined demeanor. “She, on the other hand, isn’t new to this kind of thing.”

Minju flashes a brow and that all glittering grin. “He must not be as familiar to me as you say.”

“And you’re underestimating my potential,” you drawl. “Have we met properly?”

“Not yet,” Minju responds, and Dahyun glances at the both of you - like a mastermind deep in the shadows, plotting moves on the chess table. “You’re the first person Dahyun’s brought along to and from events, though it looks like she’s managed to keep you around for a while.”

“Out of how many?” You add. Minju’s chin tilts an angle and Dahyun squints her eyes out of suspicion. It’s interesting enough how the two share the same mannerisms when around friends; the way their dresses are molded to their small waists - a nice curve in the swelled hips, enough for an average guy to do a double take every time they walk past them.

Dahyun clears her throat then blinks. “Let’s just say you’ve lucked out getting assigned to me for the long-term.” Minju brushes up your left side like she’s someone you’ve known for a while, despite only a few minutes. “May I remind you’re still on the clock?”

“Is he actually,” an intrigued Minju butts in.

“The phrase is a practical technicality, but yes.” You shrug.

“Does this remind you the other time where both of our managers got into a pissing match cause we fucked around with the livestream chat.” Dahyun sticks the peak of her tongue out - another eyebrow raiser. An instance predating your time. The topics switch to the next seamlessly:

“Oh and the one thing where we-”

“-or when your bikini pics got leaked-”

“When you got cozy with your male lead a while back-”

“-the whole accident on set with one of the staff-”

“You’re still dancing for fun and hanging out with the girls from your last group-”

They’re trading memories back and forth, with the deposit for more shenanigans beckoning to be cashed. In all of this you’re just an innocent bystander, fixated on the sudden pressure of Dahyun’s ass against your crotch with Minju fixing up her hair in a tiny, messy bun. The slim line on both pairs of collarbones reeling your eyes and gazing into their eyes. Minju’s cheekbones at the highest peak they could ever be with that photogenic grin; Dahyun looks up from underneath to see and realize you’ve been enamored from the event earlier.

“That’s right, I forgot. He hasn’t stopped noticing you with your fabulous dress, Minju. Since we crossed paths in the hotel before driving over.” Dahyun declares, in the most roundabout way of letting it known you wanted her. All you do is nod in admission. Then, Minju bites down her lip - eyes unfailing because apparently the girl knows everything. “Speaking of which-”

“Same hotel, right?” Minju offers. You could imagine the scattered sparkles over her head. “I suppose I can hitch a ride with you guys on the way back?”

–

The worst part about these events would definitely be the traffic.

With the streets packed with cars and taxis, waiting for every red light to turn green with the fingers tapping on the wheel starts to get a little more erratic out of impatience. You’re already in a sour mood on the way out because the valet couldn’t stop bitching and there was a scuffle near the door; but your attention isn’t on the road- rather, Minju in the driver seat - on your lap, in fact- feeling your mouth more than you feeling hers.

“Isn’t this a bit restricting?” Minju asks as she draws back, fingers in the opening of your necktie and pulling. “Looking flustered with a pretty woman on top of you, hm? Or is that the alcohol blushing your face.”

“It’s a bit confining,” you’re saying (and thinking), adding onto the fact of the growing tent at your crotch - accepting the weight of her ass holding you down - there’s no way in hell she hasn’t noticed it yet-

“Careful now,” Dahyun jumps in from the seat behind, happily watching. You’re unsure if she’s saying that to you or Minju - there’d be no difference in that regard anyway. “We wouldn’t want to have something bad happen to all of us, right?”

“Do you know who I am?” you mumble, getting caught in Minju’s lips and her hands doing all the right things to make sure your foot stays on the brake pedal. The light then turns green, stopping at the sudden movement of the car, bringing her knees higher to give your arm more space. “You’re lucky the hotel isn’t far this time around.”

“Oh? What happened before?” Minju inquires, “Don’t tell me you got pulled over with her sitting on your lap like this.”

“Almost,” answers Dahyun, slipping Minju’s heels off from her feet, leaving a few kisses on them. Another hint to keep as to what this girl likes - what she’s into. Dahyun wasn’t kidding when she explained what Minju is behind closed doors and she convinced you without lifting a finger to help her along in doing the honors. “Except you wouldn’t believe what the company had to do to keep the headline from hitting the main news birds.”

Minju gasps. “So that wasn’t a rumor.”

“Never happening again,” you rebuke, “Trust me when I say that I dealt with her once we got back.”

Dahyun sighs out of spite and Minju coos. Slipping your tie from the collar and handing it to the woman in the back like a baton. Un-do’s the top two buttons on your shirt, exposing your neck - freeing up the air. The dress at her legs starts to ruck up in loose rolls, showing more of those incredible thighs- shit, they’re on par with Dahyun’s, that’s for sure.

“Assuming you two missed the flight back home, I suppose?” Minju keeps talking, leans her head on the window, gets more lapis around her fingers. You look down and- okay, fuck-

She isn’t wearing any underwear.

“I don’t really remember,” Dahyun answers, and you notice she’s not at your shoulder anymore. A quick look up at the rearview, her posture is beyond slouched, leaning her head back, fluttering her eyes shut - already ahead of what she’s lacking, hoping you won’t make her wait any longer, but for now, her fingers will have to do.

No underwear for her, either. She really is playing both sides to this plot.

“It started with something like that,” you say, paying no further attention to the Dahyun fingerfucking her cunt open in the backseat - as compared to the Dahyun from a few months ago, who did the same exact thing in the passenger side before hopping on your lap - the red and blue lights are shining from the rear. Minju’s case however is a bit different: the girl’s running her hand up and down her waist, dancing along your jaw, finger to your lip and that’s an offer you can’t really refuse, so you lick the pad of her thumb, staring at you in awe, building up the profile in how to get you going.

“You really are a keeper,” Minju breathes, and Dahyun laughs in agreement, sighing - her fingers clamped by her cunt. Yu could imagine how soaked her digits are. You want to help clean the mess up later. “Do you hear that? Sounds like your girl’s enjoying herself in the back.”

“Is she? Good to know.”

“Wanna give her a little show?”

“What did you have in mind?” Playing into the role so easily Minju doesn’t flinch when your arm goes up and under her legs. The wonderful blessing of pairs, they do come in handy. “I’m an auditory learner, by the way. I like to get an idea of what I’m about to do.”

Minju was about to explain what was about to happen, but your muscle memory had other ideas: palm feeling out the surface of her soft skin over her ass, thumb lazily tampering the end of her slit, and you hear a sudden hitch - the hook of her fingers around your neck press harder in anticipation. “Here’s a hint: Dahyun’s doing it right now, too.”

“If it wasn’t obvious enough.”

“You-ah, you’re a smart guy,” says Minju, biting her finger. “Okay, god. That’s- wow. That’s really fucking good.”

You sink your thumb in deeper, coat it around that warm slick - swap it for a proper finger, watch her (and the road, mind you) melt at your touch. She mewls at the slow place, and breathes carefully. The same woman who had a captivating sense of beauty talking to you and on stage is withering away by the second.

“Wait- you, fuck.” She grins. You look back again to Dahyun in the rearview, her head on one side and bobbing her head in approval. Nothing more delightful than the gentle purr of the engine - the light smacks of skin to skin a nice plus. “Please, please-”

Her eyes are lidded and shimmering at the same time. How is she able to do that?

“Nice to see you’ve kept yourself busy,” Dahyun chuckles, leaning back forward, nose to your temple. Gently laving her tongue at you, nibbling a bit of skin, the first mark of the night. Her hand keeps your gaze to the front, smears her slick fingers across your lips and when you’re at another red light, she pulls your head to her, claiming your mouth as her own.

The air’s only getting hotter, the fabric of your shirt’s starting to mold to your body.

Dahyun’s tongue is already addicting with Minju’s keening at your fingers. You feel helpless with the seatbelt around you and time; it’s also worth noting the shared blessing plus curse in being a very skilled multitasker. Minju’s body jolts, crumpling smaller, pinching her cunt from inside and at the clit, her face scrunching once you’ve discovered her sweet spot that makes her yelp. Oh, oh my. You’re saving that for later.

You wouldn’t want to have any other problem than this. A prisoner sitting up in heaven. Until the driver behind you holds his horn way longer than you’d liked.

Dahyun then pushes your face to the windshield again. Minju’s granted a moment to breathe. The pair laughing at the sudden embarrassment of you just now.

“Mind that you’re still at the wheel, sir?” Dahyun grins, departing her lips and hands to shift the focus to the current task. “The agency’s gonna have your dick if something bad happens to me.”

“I’m counting on it,” you dart back. Minju shuffles her body to a more comfortable position, slipping her tongue into your mouth intentionally - resulting in an increase over the speed limit, and that gets her cackling. “If it means I get to run away with you.”

Dahyun tugs the stray end of your hair. “Don’t push your luck.”

“You didn’t cum yet, Dahyun?” Minju asks, tracing a nail on your cheek. “I can’t believe I just got edged.”

“We’re breaking you in little by little, sweetheart,” Dahyun replies to Minju, “don’t worry, our lover boy and I are gonna take good care of you when we get there.”

“You promised?” Minju then adds, sounding like an excited little kid, waiting for their reward.

“Mhm,” hums Dahyun, “Why don’t you give him a little space to concentrate,” she suggests, the blood running through your veins starts to flow much faster. “How about, giving him a proper trade off for getting you all riled up.”

As if the night couldn't be any worse (for the better, actually), you’re holding your breath - straightening the posture.

(You’re just happy this happened to you.)

So far, Minju’s got a bag full of surprises. What she does next really blows the whole aspect right out of the gate - the kind that risks all your lives in the car if it were to end up off the road.

Dahyun helps Minju off your lap, ends up back in the passenger seat, her dress rumpled amidst the shuffling to get her knees on the leather, elbows resting above the compartment, staring back - her eyes full of greedier intent. Coy smile and everything, without saying a single word.

“You’re sure I can?” Minju asks, pinching her lip delicately and Dahyun shelters her grin, aware of what she’s about to do. “I’m not gonna kill him, am I?”

“Oh please,” Dahyun sighs, hand to shoulder, showing comfort to the approval. Letting go of the reservation. “He lets me have my way all the time. I don’t think he would mind.”

“Not like I can do anything in this situation,” you shake your head, bearing the sudden influx of movement around your pants. Fingers getting a feel at your thighs, then your crotch-

“Looks like someone’s ready for some action,” Minju breathes, nails clinging to the zipper, tugging. The belt unbuckling soon after. You’re lucky she didn’t go for the seatbelt - for safety reasons. How considerate.

When your cock is finally brought into the mix, her hand is finally able to wrap around the size of you. She’s left in a slight state of shock, trying to come to grips at the long awaited reveal.

“Jesus christ,” she breathes, Dahyun’s smirk is one you would like to wipe off of her yourself. Minju’s still reveling at the hold she has on you, in ownership. “How do you deal with this?”

Dahyun’s answer is an open-ended one: “I just do.”

No warning is given, Minju’s small nose grazing the head, getting one good whiff at the scent. She sighs, and it’s euphoric. Her tongue is the first to have another sense unlocked; the taste, the feel, the sensitivity - it’s a mutual agreement without diplomacy: you want her, she wants you.

One more look back at Dahyun, the final confirmation. “May I?”

You could imagine the subtle nod of approval. And Minju’s mouth takes you.

All of that sensational alcohol is suddenly in the back of your head, replaced with a new stimulation.

There is a slight bit of resistance - on reflex: your stomach and legs tensing when Minju slides her mouth, brushing saliva over skin. She stops halfway, coughs, soaking your cock even more. Even though you can’t see it, you could imagine her eyes cinched shut, enlightened to pleasure you more.

“Wow,” you’re saying, and the hand grips the wheel even tighter.

Dahyun’s taken the indulging upon herself, pulling Minju’s dress up from behind, revealing those wide hips, and the irresistible ass attached with it. Palm flat - kneading it where Minju hums at the touch, vibrating it down on your slick shaft, stuffing her mouth as much as she can, swirling her tongue all over, adding more spit to the surface.

“Can you believe,” says Dahyun, sliding her fingers in Minju’s poor, open cunt, “how wet you made her? You should have some shame.”

“That isn’t my fault-”

“But it is.” Dahyun tells you with another kiss to your cheek.

“Damn right it is.”

“Just listen.” Dahyun instructs you, letting silence fill up the car and it’s all just the gentle ticks of Minju’s mouth taking you in the driver’s seat. Meticulously calculated to the finest point of your nerves, throat bobbing you - getting used to the unfamiliar girth of your cock. To which she does with ease, like a natural. It’s another story for you to ask about the two once all of this is over. Though you don’t want it to end.

All of the current thoughts are filled with Dahyun’s moans filling your ear, Minju’s mouth slipping over your lap.

“Everything okay, Minju?” Dahyun asks, and Minju’s lips pop off the tip with an audible noise. Eyes full of you. She looks at Dahyun with the look of a girl who’s discovered fire. Lips smeared with spit mixed pre-cum. Her tongue licking off the remnants is a telltale of a job not finished. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now, shall we?”

“I’m just having my fun with your toy, that’s all.” Minju reprimands. “I was hoping you’d believe me when I told you before we went on stage.”

“Are you done showing him what you’re made of, or are you gonna give him more than he asked for?” Dahyun adds, her eyes lidded once again when she sets them on you.

“If that’s what he likes,” says Minju.

Your hand would definitely be rather tangled up in Minju’s hair over the wheel. When you wanted to satisfy that necessary impulse-

“Ah ah,” Dahyun tells you, Minju taking that as her cue to get your cock back in her mouth again, with much more motivation now carried behind the action. It’s a sensory overload on all fronts: the steering wheel, the windshield, Minju’s mouth lapping up your cock all the way in the velvety clinch of her throat, the sounds she’s making. “Shh, I’ve got you. Try to relax. Take us home, and let Minju be a good girl for you.”

Once you hear the gags become much more louder, the tip of her tongue teasing the base where your balls meet-

You groan and press on the pedal a little too much, dancing over the speed limit.

“Mmm,” Minju moans into your skin. The arch in her back now coming to form, Dahyun’s hand still to the rear of her ass. All three of you are playing into the act - curated by Dahyun’s fantasies.

She’s so good, Minju. Too fucking good. Ever since you’ve laid eyes on her. Now the pretty sight is her face to your hips, makeup messy, dress left in ruin, both holes occupied by you and Dahyun.

The hotel’s on the right in the next two lights. You can hold it, keep yourself together. Or- have Minju have her fun - make you burst right her and now; not to prove a point, but to show that she’s up for what you’re willing to dish out as soon as you could get back to the room, put the ‘do not disturb’ card out on the handle and eventually tell housekeeping to come back later - if there is a later.

These two, they’re relentless. They know you’re wrapped around their fingers and there’s not much for you to do except get them back in one piece. It’s on the assignment, but Minju’s bobbing mouth - Dahyun’s snarky dirty comments of how you’re going to fuck her into the mattress is something that the mangers didn’t mention. Rather the exclusivity perk told by the girl herself, a walking apparition of sin and her sexy advocate. You couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

“Minju, I swear to fuck-”

Dahyun doesn’t really falter if you were to speak for your own sanity, Minju keeps on sucking to the point where you’re relying on the sheer instinct of keeping the car on the street, deepthroating to submission, letting the friction of her hand bring you closer to that sweet release.

Christ.

It really can’t be helped.

If the right hand is busy, then the left hand is there to pick up the slack on the wheel.

The way you grip Minju’s hair, push her past the comfort zone, take her mouth in - deeper, where you don't believe she’s able to handle, but does. She keeps the rhythm, peak consistency. Her sly mouth filled with heat. Dahyun notices- assists in the movement, hand stacked on yours and she’s amused.

“Aw, you really like her,” says Dahyun, guiding her tongue into the cuff of your ear, her breath soothing and alarming. “Makes me wonder whose mouth is better: mine or hers.”

“Shit, baby.” You’re trying, but Dahyun smiles again when she hears the combined sound of Minju’s muffled remark and your loud moan. Minju’s mouth is a literal dream, deliberately filthy; stuffing your cock, fitting the size in a matter of minutes. The taste of you already addicting and she doesn’t let up on the tension, flicking her tongue on the underside and swapping it with her hand, holding you tight where the grip is almost white-knuckled. Tracing every layer from the skin to the veins, memorizing how wide and where to make you lose control. “You shouldn’t test me like this.”

“How long are you willing to keep it together for me? For us?” Dahyun asks, biting down a patch on your neck and watching the rise and fall of Minju’s head. Her savagery coming to light, deep within the darkness. “You could cum for our little cumdump and she’d be happy with it.”

“Mmph,” Minju garbles onto your cock.

“Fuck-”

“That’s right,” Dahyun murmurs, a hot wet kiss to the same spot where she nibbled, pushing Minju’s head down and holding it there. “Make our slut earn for it.”

And then-

You slam on the brakes.

The movement was sudden (and forceful). Dahyun and Minju share a reaction: gasping in shock where one’s pulling the other for air, eyes quirking like they’re seeing you walk in on them and the appropriate reaction to stare seems the most reasonable one. Dahyun’s hand is still in Minju’s hair, with you paying no attention and pulling the car into the valet lane of the hotel. “We’re gonna make you pay for that,” Dahyun tells you, letting go of Minju - to where she leans over to get the head of your cock wrapped around her pretty lips once again.

“Uh huh,” you say, tapping Minju’s shoulder, signaling to stop for now, right when your balls were about to burst. “Help me out and make yourselves look presentable, will ya?”

Minju rises up and wipes the layer of spit spread from her mouth, jaw slack-open and trying to memorize how your cock fills her throat. She’s good and she knows it. You and Dahyun don’t need any other confirmation to tell you she’s ready.

“If that’s what you want,” hushes Dahyun, nodding Minju to follow your wishes, she carefully puts your cock away while the car’s slowly rolling in the line. Thank god for the tinted windows, and you’re starting to imagine what the pictures would look like if they got leaked.

Any more time spent in this car and it would’ve ended up off the street. Minju’s lips capture yours first, and then Dahyun’s after. You can’t help staring, because it’s a pretty sweet view.

–

(Nobody bats an eye at the three of you at the venue, easily the center of attention whether you’d like it or not. Nobody really bats an eye if it’s the hotel doorman seeing you carrying a girl on your shoulder and heels in your hand - another girl in front of you wearing your coat, happily acknowledging the service as if it’s just a normal night. Doesn’t hide the fact the doorman wished he could trade places with you and be in that predicament instead.

He holds the door when Dahyun goes first, looks you in the eye with Minju bowing her head from behind in a fun way of saying hello and the doorman gives you this look of light confusion, but also: one of those nights, isn’t it?

Man to man, you just smirk and nod. No need to elaborate any further.)

–

In the elevator, it’s also a one-way ticket to a destination you’ve been to many times with Dahyun before. Whether to put it as your personal heaven or literal hell, it might be simply considered as purgatory.

If you were half the honest man you were - have a little more truth to your name, you would’ve gotten to know Minju a little more. Break the ice, learn what her hobbies are when she’s not in front of a crowd or camera. When her laugh echoes in the lobby and Dahyun’s trying her best to keep her quiet - even that is near impossible to do. She didn’t even drink that much to begin with, but she sure as hell looks like it.

She even looks better on her knees, with the panel behind highlighting all the floors to not make it a one-way trip back to the room.

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, hand deeply planted into her mocha shaded tresses, wet lips prettily wrapped around your cock, slipping a tongue to the slick, sensitive plane every other second making your grip around the railing a little less pleasant. Dahyun’s also lowered herself, tending to your balls and holding your thigh. Neither of them are in competition for your cock- not yet, at least, but the genuflection at your feet is enough to make you think that you’re someone worth worshipping.

Though, there’s not much to think about when they’re both swallowing your dick down their throats respectively.

Minju bobs her head up, pops, and Dahyun swallows your dick back in. You’re flexing your stomach as hard as you can.

“This isn’t too much for you, right?” Minju asks sweetly, batting eyelashes in second nature. Gazing at Dahyun who’s repeating the same moment Minju has been doing since the elevator started working. Your right hand is far off from Dahyun’s head, and you hover it over to keep the pace going.

“I’d be dead if I said it was,” you admit to Minju, to where she just fucking- looks up, face at the underside and those doe eyes, swimming in black, glistening with such innocence- lapping up the spots where Dahyun can’t reach. “But christ- you two are-”

“Relax.” You imagine that’s the word Dahyun is saying; but with her mouth filled so full up of your cock the sound comes out as garbled, saliva leaking at the corners. She’s hungry, deprived, longing for your cock. And now she finally has it dancing on her neat little tongue.

“All the stories she tells me- like, fuck, she looks so hot seeing it happen in person.”

“Minju.” You’re calling the name like putting the blame on her, staring deep into your soul. She grabs your wrist for you to not let go - to stay - just like this, you’re not going anywhere; you let the back of your head hit the wall as it feels like gravity is leaving your body. “God,” you’re gasping, suffocated by Dahyun throating your cock. “Her mouth is just-”

“I know, baby,” Minju tells you, above the half-gagged sounds of Dahyun sliding your shaft in and out of her throat, the motion selfish in every bob she does - like she doesn’t want Minju to have her fun. Your breaths staggering with every pass, smothered by the vibration between your legs, moaning with watery eyes. “She’s too good for you, we know.”

Dahyun lets you breathe, slips her hand all over her newly created mess. Minju stacks her hand right on top. The friction strong enough to pull your weight over them. You could feel your back slide against the metal, knees buckling.

“Looks like we softened him up, huh Minju?” Dahyun says sweetly, innocuous. “Got it nice and throbbing for you-”

Minju’s tongue darts at the bead of cum weeping out your slit; makes your hips twitch in the draw-back. “He’s raring to go, have you seen the look on his face?”

When they both look up: you’re dumbstruck, ogling - but all that pride you had at the start of this is nowhere to be seen.

“What floor is your room again?”

“29th.”

“Just a couple more floors up,” you say and they’re both giggling. Either at you, specifically - or the limitless amounts of tricksd how you’re going to pull and bend their gorgeous little bodies. Sensibility and control has no meaning to them. It probably has no meaning to you after everything that’s unfolded thus far.

Dahyun and Minju tilt their heads up to the underside of your cock, and the urge to grab both shades of brown to black flashes through your mind, but you digress.

They (or even you) wouldn’t have to wait any longer.

–

There’s no subtle preamble. No- that went out the door the moment you stepped in.

It’s the same order since the foyer: Dahyun first, followed by a clingy Minju and her lips with you the last one to file in line. Minju hasn’t been forthcoming in freeing you from her grasp, but you’re not the kind to fight in these situations - so, you let her kiss you anyway.

Dahyun tosses your jacket on the chair adjacent to the bed, stains fading from the earlier session, heels gracefully thudding the carpet. The blinds are parted just wide enough to get the backdrop of the cozy blue lighting hitting against the beachfront, the sound of waves crashing into shore. Bags upon bags zipped open with the assortment of essential wear and toiletries.

Minju’s not letting you go still, arms well hooked to the nape. Like she wants you to pin her to the wall straight away and let Dahyun be the lone spectator, standing in the dark.

“Can’t even spare one second of decency,” she breathes; you and Minju both look at her, not insulted - technically - but rather in a mere taunt.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” Minju asks, slyly. You shift your head back on her, let the height do the talking - make her feel small. In hindsight, she’s roughly about Dahyun’s height; that part you figured out the second Dahyun stepped into the conversation back at the party. “Are you going to stand there and watch? Or are you gonna join in on the action?”

Her voice is beyond casual, and almost a siren’s call. Dahyun doesn’t hesitate with her small stature, pulling one end at the collar of her dress, undoing it. You remember hearing that the dress itself that she was wearing was worth six figures - and she isn’t fazed when the fabric crumples at her hips - then to her thighs.

The audacity of this woman. Her figure is much more alluring to look at when there’s nothing on it.

You give your neck a gentle tweak, put any implication of soreness in the back of your head. It’s going to be a long night as it is.

“Someone’s feisty to get the ball rolling,” you’re saying, lips fast to Minju’s neck; the clutch of her hands and arms already with enough pull. Needlessly. Graciously. She tries to get your shirt off but all you give her is two hands on her shoulders and put her back against the surface. Her head hits the earthy shaded drywall - it might be intentional, or not, you won’t give any quarter either way.

Dahyun slots herself in, like she did back at the party. Only this time, she’s playing your role as second fiddle, peeling Minju away and giving her some breathing room - just to be snuffed out as she’s treating her lips to the exposed collarbone.

Minju’s leaning back, arching. Her hands don’t know whether to go to you or to Dahyun. It’s a win-win situation for her (probably a win for all three of you across the board). Two of the most attractive beings she’s ever crossed paths with and finally living out her wildest wet dreams.

The reality of it hasn’t set in yet, but the cracks are showing when Dahyun hushes into her neck: “We’re going to take good care of you tonight, honey.” She leaves a hot kiss right on the bridge of her collarbone, and you see her lip quivering. “I hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

“Do you have any-” Minju’s sentence gets cut short when the press of your fingers gets a little too greedy, bending the blue frame under your will. “-idea of- fuck, how long I waited to finally have a go with your guy?”

“No,” replies Dahyun, tilting her chin up. Your lips are at her throat again and Dahyun seizes the chance to let Minju speak. “Maybe, I don’t really remember.”

“Let’s not forget,” Minju gasps and the heat rising on her face starts to become noticeable. “That you’re the one who set all of this up.”

“Did I?” Dahyun’s airheadedness is worthy enough for her to get the dunce cap. “Hmm.”

“She’s got a point,” you’re dishing out the unsolicited reality check. “I’m on Minju’s side here.”

Minju smiles as Dahyun rolls her eyes. The air in the room is thicker here compared to the car, shared breathing amongst you three intoxicating enough to get high on. It’s a higher plane of existence - a nirvana. Minju’s fingers trace the cotton on your waist, goes lower, till her fingertips get the cool touch of the belt buckle. There isn’t much to be said here; nothing but sly comments and filling the other’s ego to the brim. “Heh. The majority is two to one.”

You realize that it was a collective effort a while ago. Though, you liked the idea of being the bigger person over the both of them, literally.

You’ll have pride in that regard, especially in the ways you want to go about things. Dahyun lets her fingers slide over Minju’s body, canvas the curves in her wrinkled dress and slowly drag the material down in a fashion that makes your cock throb even harder against the cotton, beneath Minju’s hand. Showing care in the craft before the messy idea of undressing fills her mind. It’s Newton’s third law in real time: Dahyun setting the vision in motion and everything else seems to topple down like dominoes.

“Should we take things slowly?” Dahyun asks; proposing a challenge with the heavy implication of doing the opposite - albeit a complete rhetorical. “Make him lose his mind in being gentle and get him antsy?”

“Please,” Minju says with a hitched inhale, a hiccup, when the cool air finally hits her skin. “Anything but that.”

“You want more than just a hot mouth and fingers, huh?” Cute.” She tells Minju, dryly. “Well, why don’t you show him again how ready you actually are.”

Minju’s way ahead before you get the chance to register it: her hand well below your waist, wrapping her dainty fingers around your cock and the reflexive suck of your gut is the exact same as in the car when her lips make contact she can- god - she’s gonna-

Both exchange and share a glance, leaning their heads and drinking the sight of your inevitable demise. Minju raises her leg in the open space of yours and Dahyun’s happily helping along - hand to her thigh and making her feel lighter.

And your mind feels the exact same way when you kiss Minju once more. Which shows how much passion she has in somebody she likes; it’s sweet, wonderful, and really just pushing to keep going. Dahyun watches the whole thing unfold: you gripping tighter on Minju and handing you over the work while she pulls the dress lower and lower until it’s nothing but a pool of blue at her feet. Then she pitches in the effort. If a pair of hands and mouth isn’t enough for Minju, what’s wrong with adding another? Your clothes are soon falling out of your rigid frame not long after, and that’s the last piece finally unraveling. Minju’s still got her hand to your cock still and you’re tending to her breasts - her collarbone, Dahyun letting the width of her hips fill her palms and settles in the place of Minju on the wall.

You really can’t help yourself. Hands feasting over the unclaimed skin. You’re grasping Minju’s waist, her unimaginable ass - you hear Dahyun laugh as you’re nibbling on her jaw. The facial structure itself reminds you of another girl you and Dahyun had escapade with not long ago: Tzuyu was her name- was it? Probably. Now isn’t the time to think about it.

Because you keep kissing Minju. There isn’t really any other motive than that. Her pert mouth with those pouty lips, the sticky-messy kind and perfect enough to get more sloppy. Dahyun covers her breasts and pinches the hard buds as Minju accustoms your leg in the space between her legs. And she’s just- having the most fun out of the three of you. You think it would be Dahyun having her ‘i made it moment’ right at this second, and you’re sure she has that thought somewhere in her brain. This is Minju’s time to shine, between you two, and she’s living in it. One hand is full of Dahyun’s ass from behind, and the other’s pulling your cock closer and closer to her hips until the bits of precum starts to smear over her stomach, jerking and jerking.

“I haven’t mentioned how much I love this cock,” Minju spills with an airy laugh. Biting her lip down at feeling she got back in the car. Though she lays an admission: “If you really let me, I would’ve hopped on it in the driver's seat while we were on our way back.”

“You should’ve,” you were about to say, but Dahyun beats you to it. “Had you been riskier enough.”

Minju bites her lip down a little harder, head tipped by Dahyun that shines a spot on her chest where you notice a beauty mark- actually two beauty marks. Something to keep focus on with your eyes and not gander down to her hand had your cock. Rubbing your head right at her clit and she-

“No doubt she’s ready,” you tell the both of them, putting your two fingers between your cock and her cunt for confirmation. “I was surprised you didn’t jump on the opportunity in the car.”

“Thought I could skip to the part where you take me as I am, like I haven’t been touched in my life.” Minju threads the phrase out smoothly; little does she know that would be the last coherent thing she will say tonight. Blatantly point out the most obvious thing in your eyes: “you’ve got two of the most beautiful women in your hands and your cock isn’t fucking me yet. Is- is that gonna change anytime soon-”

“To hell with the foreplay and toying,” Dahyun coyly says, setting the declaration. “Say goodbye to your legs for the time being. You won’t be able to feel them once we’re done, or even if you’re ready for seconds.”

“Or thirds.” You smirk.

“Even if your manager calls him, he won’t answer.” Dahyun assures.

Somehow the three of you were going to end up in the bed one way or another, but right now: Dahyun raises Minju’s arms up, her wrists crossed instinctually, and opens up the chance for you to lift her leg. The stability is there with Dahyun behind, closing the distance where it’s skin on skin on skin.

Dahyun’s dreamy gaze captures her creation coming to life, holding her hips along with you, then her nuzzling cheek to the back of her neck. “The perfect girl.” All sleepy smiled with her eyes closed, “A clean slate for him to just-”

Right when you slip your cock inside, it’s behind closed doors - no flashing cameras, no name being called to the stage.

You’ve got Minju right where she is. Where she wants to be.

“Oh sweetheart,” you breathe, and you don’t flinch at the broken pitch Minju sings.

“-fuck your brains out to your wildest dreams. Isn’t that right, Min Min? Look into his eyes and show him how badly you want it.”

You freeze. Because you’re just staring into the endless void of those illustrious, beautiful irises Minju bears. Her face pulls a minor wince at the sensation - like she’s about to cry, but she’s nodding despite it; her arched back, the tipped head, her leg bound to your thigh - curling her toes and sinking her nails into your shoulders- holding on for dear life.

The only thing you want to manage: “Minju, baby- this cunt.” This is something you want to capture, fulfill a desire you didn’t think you had. Dahyun will be expecting your thanks later, and you’ll owe her big time.

“Mhm, I figured.” Dahyun laughs, victorious. “Go ahead, fuck those pretty lips of hers. Make her cum like you do with me.”

“You’ll get me again.” You’re saying that as some routine, rather than a promise. The groan falling out your tongue is a red herring in itself. Minju’s ass rests on your hands, still getting used to the insane width of her hips when rounding at the swell. Spread her raised leg wider to push your cock all the way in. Murmuring and mumbling the same in loose prayer.

Minju’s learning curve isn’t hard to follow, nor get used to. Even though it’s the first time you’ve got yourself inside all night, that's evident with the amount of ‘holy shit’ you keep mouthing as she puffs her chest out, lifting her upper half as the lower is hopelessly slipping down your length. Dahyun wasn’t kidding when she told you her body was primed for sex: hips broad enough for you to palm (and not grip if needed), to her slick cunt, swallowing up the shaft with an endless supply of heat.

Dahyun hums above the tics Minju gives with her exhales, sliding her hips down to yours; rolling them on the slight elevation provided by her other leg still on the floor, tip-toed. “Okay- holy shit,” she grits, her sly and elegant persona ripped out of her; in disbelief and in reverence: “How does this even fucking-”

A hold and yank at the apex. The audible slap is loud for someone to hear next door. Minju’s yelp doubles down on the point.

In the heat of everything. In the heat of Minju’s cunt swallowing your cock whole now. Dahyun caresses her friend’s pleasure-stricken expression, nibbling and kissing the cuff of her ear. Hand now to her clit to get her closer- faster- to that fine edge. Minju’s back bucks the opposite of the arch she managed to hold impressively well, but Dahyun (again, you can thank her for the literal support) presses down on her upper back, opens her breasts up for you to smother yourself in.

“It just does. He just does.” Dahyun supplies Minju’s working theory. “Your pretty pussy is made for a cock like his. Such a good girl for taking him so well-”

“Fuck-” is all Minju stutters. Unable to say anything else.

Her body is unbelievably responsive with the slip in, drag out motion. After all, you’re the one giving the goods. Fucking her poor pussy and splitting her legs open and listen to her whine and whimper in the same repeating fashion before Dahyun swoops her lips in to shut her up. “Oh my god,” she mumbles into the pair. “It’s so good,” and it’s everything to her. “His cock fills me up so well-”

“Right? Just let him take care of you, baby? Okay?” Dahyun’s fingers corral in a ‘v’, where she catches some of the slick and your cock sliding and feel how wet you two made her. She looks down in the low lights, gasps. “You see that? So much fucking cream down there. You naughty girl.”

You look down as well, and it’s a gentle layer of white spread all over. Minju’s liking this, and you are too.

“Holy shit,” Minju spits. The sound competing between the wails and moans - you feel her leak more. “So good. So good-”

“Yeah?” You and Dahyun say in unison. Softly. Cradling poor, pretty Minju.

“I can’t- I need. I need you two-”

You can’t stop this. Dahyun will have your dick severed and in her hand if you do. But who in their right mind would ever think of dropping her while she’s coming undone. Not while Dahyun’s arms are hooked beneath Minju’s shoulders; you, holding her dangling leg up higher, stretching Minju’s body in the hopes of furthering the sensation. Break that cunt up along with her voice.

“Breathe, Min Min. Let him take you,” Dahyun shoots a glance at you, mouth hovering yours like a tease at the crossroads. Minju’s hand clings to the back of your head, lips to the ear, head bobbing amongst the hitched gasps and clench of her teeth.

“Minju.” You’re saying her name that way for the second time tonight. “God- look at you. Such a good fucking girl for me, letting us hold you while I fuck your cunt up all the right ways,” you groan, “-Dahyun holding you up while I dick you down-”

“Bless her, bless you,” she sighs out in thanks. “You’re too good to me.”

The rhythm keeps going. Your mind doing everything it can to keep up with the beats down your heart and hips. Minju’s body is in complete euphoria the way you pull halfway and drive back in, watch her face light up a million times brighter when Dahyun slips a finger in along with your cock.

“As if you wanted anything else- fucking- unreal.” She’s still got that confidence from earlier. Hoping that you can take that away from her.

“Wouldn’t trade the world for this,” you say.

“Why would we?” Dahyun adds on, and it just- feels right. Those two got all the awards. You’re just acknowledging them with your own reward.

Minju clings on tighter. The arch in her back going the opposite direction as before, hunching, embracing; hopelessly becoming a puddle soaking your body. Her sweet little cunt and those fox like eyes, the low timbre of her voice coming around only to be replaced with a high pitched moan - it’s a splitting image, in the appearance and feeling - embedding your cock inside to the same spot you hit before and you almost feel bad for the girl. Like she was meant to take the hitting hips- because she’s made for it.

Dahyun - to her own fun, coils her fingers around your shaft. To add to the pressure, the friction. She even teases the outer rim of Minju’s pussy lips because she can. Those small hands: so delicate and light, touching and pinching and even gently slapping-

Minju wails.

“You- you’re- you’re gonna make me fucking cum-”

“Goodness, are we?” Dahyun inquires, sneering into Minju’s cheek.

“Yes, yes-”

“I don’t think he heard you just now,” Dahyun hushes, “say it one more time for us, Min min,” and you know well that power isn’t one of Dahyun’s key archetypes, but when she grips Minju’s chin and wiggles a finger past her teeth. She doesn’t even register the nice nerve pinch at the bite. “You fucking little slut. Minju, take that fucking cock in your pussy like it’s yours-”

“B- Be”

“What’s that?” The pleads are helpless, because Minju’s fingers slip and grasp onto you, raising her body like that was the thing holding her back. It doesn’t stop you from fucking her cunt into oblivion - having the tight heat and engulfing sopp of her pussy be the only thing for you to focus on.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” Dahyun says, and her circling hand doesn’t let up as Minju’s voice reaches those similar tones, “Why don’t you do it. Cum. Cum right now. All over his fucking cock-” and at this point, most of the superiority complex has fully taken over. Enough with all the nice praise and encouragement, Minju will do exactly what Dahyun tells her to do: “Let his cock cum up all inside your pretty little belly, make you feel so full. I better see that small bump where it’s poking so deep-”

“Yes-”

You’re blindly nodding along. Hips coming to contact with hers in muscle memory. “I know you want everyone to hear you, huh Minju? How much of a whore you can be when you got a nice cock all up inside you, breeding-”

“Yes, please.” Minju gasps. “Please, just- give me that-”

“Say it.” Dahyun announces. “We wanna hear your pretty voice.”

Minju, at the center of everything; the center of you two, lays it out: “My god- yes, I want his cum so bad. I want him to - shit! Yes, yes, have him breed my - fucking - pussy and nothing else-”

You look to Dahyun for the revelation, and she gives you this look saying: Yeah, you heard the girl. Go ahead and give her a baby.

Then she adds: “If that’s what she likes, don’t stop.”

So you keep fucking her. Slam your hips harder. Minju’s downfall ripples over her body as she tries to stand on her leg. Her head rests at your chest, at the collarbone, her tongue licking up the sweat off your skin. She murmurs a “hmm’ with her jaw chattering, in response to you saying her name, every angle of her cunt shaping itself to your cock. Bottoming out in a seamless fashion which does feel like you’re fucking Dahyun again - the feeling eeriely the same. Since she utters the same words Dahyun said to you multiple times before:

“Cum,” she sputters. “Want your cum so bad. Want you to breed me over and over and over-”

Dahyun’s massaging her belly as you could feel the nerves in your body go haywire. Minju’s body goes limp at the hold as you keep pushing your cock deep into her cunt at a consistent pace, taking it slow with one good stroke - and you breathe, deep. Look in Dahyun’s eyes and see her veneers peering into a smile, right where you’re about to lose it. There, in Minju’s stomach, and Dahyun’s words cross your mind as to how deranged the proposition was in the first place.

You don’t even register the pulses, cumming inside her. She’s wailing so loudly that it mixes with the tinnitus ringing in your ears.

Minju’s lips goes slack, mouthing incoherent nonsense, head tipped over the shoulder making her neck look longer.

“Aw, there we go,” Dahyun coos into Minju’s ear, patting her belly. “Got it warm and thick- in your nice little stomach.” She then swipes her slit, now coated in white, gets a taste for herself - a small little appetizer. “Mmmm, yummy.”

It takes your entire being to fuck her whole one last time, wrenching out the last few shots of cum in Minju’s cunt. “Fuck-” Minju slurs out, letting her limbs go limp; lazily kissing you and her fingers graze the ends of your hair - lightly clinging.

“Honey,” you breathe, and it’s fucking wonderful. “Was it everything you wanted?”

Her throat bobs as Dahyun makes you take over the weight, carrying her by the ass, the loosely wrapped legs giving weight. The smirk she bears is enough to show you. Yes. You wonder. Perfect. Perfection at its finest.

–

“Dahyun,” you’re calling out, and she shows her side profile over her shoulder, hand to her chest behind her back, the naked hourglass figure impossible to look away.

She replies, “Hm?” Asking like she doesn’t know what’s about to happen.

Minju’s hobbling along, hand wrapped to your cock and jumpstarting your sore muscles, kissing your arm since the girl can’t get enough.

“There’s a reason why the blinds are open.”

“Is that so?” She’s teasing, walking on the balls of her feet until the moonlight cascades around her frame, outlining in the brightness. “I hope you’ll keep your promise in fucking me on the balcony.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” you tell her, and Minju snorts in the back - still cock drunk and lust ridden where she’s finding everything to be funny.

Minju gets ahead of the curve, leaving you for the woman in front. Hand caressing her backside; from her ass, working the way up. Dahyun may not look like it, but she’s been waiting for you to have a go at her. Most of the outside has faded out from your vision; leaving you, her, and Minju.

“Had I not been here, it would’ve just been you two in this room together,” Minju says, leaning over next to Dahyun and arching her back the same way as she is. “Guess I should consider myself lucky,” she says, smile widening when you finally reach Dahyun’s backside.

“We’re not done with you,” Dahyun tells her, a sharp inhale passing her teeth when the head of your cock slides across her aching folds. Up, down, maybe a little slap to just be evil. “Oh, babe. Don’t do this to me.”

“What is it that I’m doing exactly?” You ask naively, eyes hypnotized at the width of her ass, brushing against your cock without you having to do anything. “I’m not the one who’s a little antsy to get split apart.”

“That’s what she wants out of you,” Minju groans, slipping her two fingers inside her own cunt - probably to mimic the feeling. “Maybe you need a reference to look at.”

“No need,” you retort, pursing your lips the more you push your cock into her sopping cunt, stomach billowing for the unexpected blowback. Get your hands at the swell of her sloping hip and lean down to kiss her back.

“Oh, oh-” Dahyun’s mouth cobbles out, putting her face against the glass and she lifts her body to the feeling of your lips. “There- right there, that fucking cock is just-”

“Big? Amazing? Too much?” Minju teases, burying her nose into her temple, licking her cheek. “I had a feeling you’d clench a little harder when he slipped it in.”

You remember like it was the first time, how she fits so snug around your cock like a sock or a glove in the first slow strokes, getting acquainted with how her wals kiss every sensitive part and nerve and vein across your shaft. How she messes around with the angle and even getting on her tippy toes - to deepen the arch in her back and lift her ass up since the flexibility is always a-fucking-must. Pushing down with your hand for one second and grabbing the ends of her the next. Soon you’ll imagine the ripples on her skin match the waves below, creaming her cunt as her heat swallows you whole.

Minju treats herself, which makes the whole job easier. Dahyun knows well how you’ll take her however you’d like. Faster, harder, softer even. And she won’t hesitate to tell her needs. Your grip around her hair tugs a little harsher, but she can take it. When the strokes start to increase in pace, where you’re dragging back as far as you can and yank her hips back onto yours - make her yelp, let the whole world know who’s yours.

“Fuck- fuck, he feels-” Dahyun spills out, kissing and telling. Minju hums in agreement because she knows and doesn’t need her to explain anything else. “Don’t- shit, just keep your fucking cock inside-” and your grip on her ass isn’t kind from this point on. The sensation choking you like a vice, the tightness, her heat leaking in the wetness around your cock. Minju brings Dahyun’s arm around her back, another hold for you to grab, and you can see the fist she forms which doesn’t help to the trembling legs below. “Fuck- you’re rubbing me up so good, how the fuck do you do that?”

“He just does,” Minju says, and it’s a callback - a full circle moment of sorts, really.

“Hey, those are my words-”

“Not anymore,” she tells her, hand deep in her hair and keeping her neck upright, cheek away from the cold pane of the glass. “Not while lover boy here’s finally owning your ass to thank you for bringing us all together here. So he’s gonna hold you- like this, and fuck your pussy full until you beg him to stop. Even if he does- it’ll be done with a hot load up in your fucking guts.”

The further you push your cock in, the more addicting the feeling gets. Your hands are leaving red over the pale canvas and her neck is riddled in crimson. This is what she wanted after all - what she asked for. She pleas for a breather, which you give: “Wait- wait; fuck, I need a second- okay,” while you slide the length all the way, pull her body up and pin her where her tits spread across the window, the coolness absolving the heat away. Minju’s kissing her shoulder, then yours, and manages to get her lips to the both of you when Dahyun’s back is flush with your front.

“How much time do we need?” Minju asks, gauging the conditions.

“A few seconds,” you supply unknowingly, to which Dahyun shakes her head. “Don’t know about her, though.”

From her, through blown out eyes, “I still want him.”

“You already have him.” Minju tells Dahyun, and her body goes even further back when she feels the friction inside her.

So. You keep going. Even when the sound ripped out of your lungs is agonizing because the wetness is making you desperate for that chained release. Dahyun groans - growling with shut eyes and taking your cock deep.

(She may not admit it for the next few moments, but she’ll also beg for the same thing you gave to Minju.)

“I think she’s ready,” is what Minju says, eyes flaring in excitement at the sudden slip of your fingers in her cunt, a pinch to her cunt as a reminder of her place in all of this. “Okay,” she’s telling you, “Sorry, I- fuck; can’t even have my own fun, can I?”

“Be a darling and try to keep her quiet, or don’t,” you say, one full stroke in and pulling your hips all the way back. “I love when she gets this way.”

Minju’s face forms this look, with a twitch when Dahyun clenches around your cock the second or third thrust, twitching her brows at the sound of knees banging the glass on accident, but the pain is subsided by pleasure instantaneously. “Why don’t you show us how messy you can get with her then?”

Dahyun’s voice lifts when the pace resumes to normal. She’s gotten herself so soaked that it’s leaking onto your cock - out her folds. She bites down a squeal or two when your fingers bury themselves into her hair, tip her head backwards and her muscles are reduced to pure putty. You and her try your best to keep track of the strokes - the fifth, the sixth, the seventh one where it grants an ass slap. Minju, in the midst of all this, serves a poetic justice of her own when she grabs Dahyun’s chin and slips a finger inside - something to keep her mind off of the pounding from the back and lets you test how deep her back can bend. Or even slip around to her stomach and bring her body the other way where it curves your cock deep in her womb and that’s a spot you don’t remember hitting before, but- God, the yell reaches a new note tonight.

One touch. One touch is all it took, to ease Dahyun’s mind from the endless wrath of pleasure coursing all over her body. That’s given by Minju, in the most Minjuest way possible - kissing her swollen lips, swallowing her moans down her throat so Dahyun can only hear the claps of skin, waving and rippling in your eyes.

“Oh fuck!” Dahyun screams into Minju’s face, but she just laughs it off since it’s nothing personal.

Minju just kisses Dahyun again. Muting her cries and smiling into the girl. She loves her. Adores her. You’re pretty sure these two have hooked up without you knowing and it’s already shown in how much passing they’re both putting into it.

Dahyun loves having it rough - you’re happy to give that to her. For how badly she needs this.

It’s all riding on the feel of her cunt, how it’s managed to get you in every nook where your cock touches inside her, the trick of her tongue and mouth working you to that point earlier - ripping the sounds deep in your lungs, but it’s her who cums the second out of you three.

You’re fucking her so hard she can’t control her voice.

A ripple effect in real time. Her heat washes over every corner of her body - you swear you haven’t gotten your cock deep enough so she can grab and curl around to own you, where you think she already has. Coming all the way undone. And it’s messy. So fucking messy.

Her hands hold you so dearly, lips so close to yours. You could see the hint of her reflection, how the light shines on her porcelain skin and the faint lines of her eyes closed, encapsulated in pleasure. Minju’s chin is stacked on your shoulder and pulls a lazy smile. Mumbling sweet nothings beneath the rising moans, adjusting to you and Dahyun’s height where she stands a tad bit taller.

In another corner of the universe, the roles could be switched between them, leading to the same inevitable outcome.

“Fuck me full,” Dahyun tells you, alternating with every wince and groan spilling out of her lips. “Want it- so fucking bad. You perfect bastard-” Here you’re cupping her chin as her voice gets raised - more, more, or some substance of the syllables where you’ve heard them before. With a lover's touch and mindful care for a face and body like hers, unlike the slick noises of your cock jutting out and embedding itself back in, Minju licking your neck which slightly helps the condition but not by much.

You and Minju can see Dahyun’s breath bless the class with a white, grayish fog, lip quivering until she has to hold it down to proffer a few more parting words: “hold me, love me, don’t let me down, please,” then, “your cock is-”

“Hold her up until she can’t take it anymore,” Minju growls, “She’s not gonna last any longer-”

“You fucking slut,” you snap back at Minju, probably to Dahyun too with her mewling in some form of an agreement. The pounding of your hips keeps its pace.

She clenches a bit harder to the increased tempo.

Sooner or later, you’ll have to wind up on the bed. Not just to rest, relax, or take a breather, but to swap the idea of putting your legs up rather than on the ground, fighting against gravity. Though, you’d love to stay like this- for as long as you could hold it, where the mix of blue and white illuminates through the looking glass and to your bodies. Dahyun’s fingers slide up on the pane, fingers spreading, high to where she could get them, extending her figure to the heavens where the imaginary gods could look down in astonishment.

“Dahyun, you feel- fuck, I’m cumming,” you sputter, “God, baby-” pushing her body flat and railing her ass beyond the breaking point.

Two good strokes would be the last good moves from you, fucking your cum into the muscles of Dahyun’s cunt, where you want to add fuel to the fire - soak up all the slick with more spill. The three of you are all collectively groaning and saying obscene words, burying the evidence and hope to god a scandal won’t come out of it. You pull out, slowly, let Dahyun savor the feeling of your cock leaving her. Minju’s pulling her head the other direction and sloppily slicking up her lips. Some of the cum gets on the head of your cock; so, you rub her pink folds and push right back in, see Dahyun’s body tense up since you gave her no warning, and Minju just laughs. You’re even kissing her first then Dahyun’s backside, with your cock warm in her cunt still.

Neither of you three move. It’s a moment to breathe, reflect. Normally you would be the first to panic for every slip into the mess up with Dahyun.

(In reality: you fucking love it. Despite the denial in the admission.)

You’ll just wait for the pregnancy scare to come back around again.

“Is our lovely little princess all fucked out and bred up like she asked?” Minju says, rubbing Dahyun’s back and belly and peppering her shoulder with more kisses. Holding her while you take a step back and plop to the side of the mattress.

Dahyun, still breathing in between smacking lips, “I want another.”

You and Minju both look at each other in surprise. “She’s usually competitive with me,” you say, “so it’s nothing new.”

“I figured,” Minju brushes it off, helping Dahyun walk over to you, one straddling leg over the other. Where Dahyun truly shines in the height advantage. Can’t deny she looks pretty with her straight hair now frazzled, from all the pulling and grabbing-

“Min min,” Dahyun calls Minju, “Do you mind grabbing something for me?”

“What is it? And where.”

“Michael Kors duffle bag, middle zipper.” Is all she says, and her lips are back on you. The kiss alone in a normal occasion would be enough for you to lose the air in your chest, away from the public eye and you two can fully embrace each other between the intimate, slow sex to the fast, rough fucking depending on the mood - usually one outshines the other and it’s an open ended interpretation.

Minju disappears out of your view for what seems like a few seconds, comes back with a hat in her fingers, holds it as she sees you and Dahyun cross further away from the edge. Refusing to keep your eyes on Minju, Dahyun’s hands are quick to shift your gaze back on her - hitching between muffled words and sighs and moans all the same, pressing down hard on skin where the shade goes beyond red.

You, of all people too, should know this: what Dahyun has is hers to keep.

“Greedy little girl isn’t she?” Minju asks, with a little smirk peeking at the corners. Scooting herself closer and closer to the action in excitement. The unspoken law of attraction, possessed by you and Dahyun both. “So tragic - like she can’t get enough.”

“You too,” Dahyun darts back, shimmying her pussy lips down at the underside and it’s the slightest bit of -fuck, pressure applied at the underside, her gyrating hips doesn’t help the case either.

Minju passes the hat off to her; as fitting for the position that she’s in: a cowgirl hat she puts on to make the appearance true to life.

You catch yourself staring much longer than usual.

“Makes no sense,” breathes Dahyun, brushing the head of your cock against her folds with such ease, and you move her hand away to tap lightly on her clit. Made you want more. “How his cock is still hard after he-”

“Fucked your ass raw?”

(I mean, yeah-)

“Mmm, I think she’s ready,” Minju says, huskily, hand to cheek and you don’t think twice when her thumb slips past between your lips. The wicked smile eliciting as she’s doing so only sparks a multitude of different things to try after- or later. “Ride his cock, Dahyunie. I wanna see how good you can tame him.”

It’s very possible, and she’s done it before.

Dahyun pushes you back into the sheets, lets your hands roam all over her front, “My lovely girl,” you coo, smirking.

She gasps, bites down hard on her teeth at the feeling of your cock pushing in, filling her up. “God- okay, wait-”

The fucking stretch. Slow at first, but once she took more than half the seamless movement of her taking the entire length is a sight you’re hoping to see again and again. Your thumbs find themselves at the indent of her hip and thigh, greedily pressing down and unwilling to let go. Rigid to smooth, the breaths steadying with every rock of her hips.

You lean up and fix the hat for her, leave a kiss on her neck for the good job. “Good?”

“Mmm,” Dahyun hums with a smile, getting more and more confident with the feeling. “Feels so fucking good.”

Minju grabs hold of her waist and raises her up- just slightly, where you could feel your shaft tense up in anticipation. But instead, you buck your hips to meet in the middle, wrap your hand to her waist along with Minju’s arms as Dahyun grinds her cunt onto your cock.

“Bet that must feel real good for you, doesn’t it?” Minju giggles out.

“Oh, I can’t even begin to describe it,” you barely whisper, because Dahyu’s cunt sucks the air right out of you.

“Won’t be long for seconds then, are we?”

Minju’s words fizzle out in your ears the more you watch Dahyun lean forward one second, back the next, hips rising and falling on your shaft. The expressions written on her face changing every beat of skin hitting against itself, alternating between fucking herself to you thrusting. If Minju’s words couldn’t register in your head, then the sounds of Dahyun whining on top is literal music happening in real time.

Minju’s on her knees, rubbing herself up at the sight of Dahyun hopping along. Until you decide to help along to reach that high again. In the embrace of your head on your chest, you’re scattering kisses all over her breasts and soon the idea of Dahyun and Minju getting off to you becomes more and more of the current reality.

Dahyun sucks in, through her teeth and stomach, curling her lips when the upward thrusts start to get ruthless. Her hands are gripping and soon the patchwork of nails will start clawing their way into your skin. Despite all that, her body holds still to your grasp, like it’s used to the clutch and all she has to do is keep herself still.

“My- fuck, it’s not even fair; so- so fucking big, you are,” she strains out, hooking an arm around your neck and your hand’s to her ass. “Baby please- ‘m gonna fucking-” is the last thing she says before her own cry cuts her off, burying her lip into the dip of your shoulder - the ache coursing through her body she has to channel it through her teeth onto your skin.

“Cum,” Minju orders, knowing very well Dahyun’s getting to that point. Fixing the hat so dutifully and moving the wisps of hair falling to her front. “I know you want to. You can take it. You can take him.”

You’re certain you could hear the squelch of her cunt the faster you move.

“For me,” you say, the low rumble in your tone slightly trembling, trying to keep up. “Just a little more.”

“Yours- yours. So yours, please. It’s all yours-”

She’s biting hard on her bottom lip, and you’re shushing her.

“Breathe, babygirl.”

“God- it’s, ugh,” groans Dahyun. “K-keep going-”

Little do you realize, she’s been working you up again. In those wobbling lips and the gasps in the little spaces of your bodies, shadowed by the echoing of wet skin hitting against itself. Dahyun switches from the fast fall of her hips, to the agonizing grind of your cock filling her up - all the way down to the hilt.

It doesn’t take much - not that it had to. Dahyun’s helpless to stop the second spill of cum flooding her womb; the sounds of her the same as always: fucked to the brim, where the head of your cock gets to the deepest spot in her cavern and you see her ruby shaped eyes meet yours - half-lidded and hazy. Just the way you like them.

“Fuck, Dahyun-”

“Ah,” Minju sighs, ‘There we go. Finally.” She’s saying like it’s some relief, cradling Dahyun’s pleasure stricken head as her body freezes when she rests her hips for the last time, leaning down to kiss your mouths in a lazy fashion, then to your jaw, whispering a string of words you’ll ask her later when she’s back to her sense.

Her lips are back to where they never leave: yours. “Do-” she tries to say, and you’re laughing.

“What is it, love?” You like throwing the pet name around. Maybe the meaning behind it doesn’t apply to her (yet), but it does for your case. “Use your words. Anything.”

“Let. Let-”

“Take your time.” You’re speaking oh-so softly to her. She’s still got her hat on, sliding off her hair and behind.

Dahyun takes a few breaths to collect herself. All her thoughts as best she could conjure up. Which she does: “I want him to milk you again.”

Comically on cue, you and Minju both gasp. Is it in shock? Surprise? No. Neither of those assumptions could suffice the wicked grin Minju has on her face. Not that it was a competition or an endurance test. You’ve concluded that both of these girls are absolute freaks having fun with a cock together.

“Didn’t he just-”

“He’s a good one.” Dahyun explains with no elaboration to Minju, for (hopefully) the last time. Sucking in a shared inhale when her pussy lips slide up and off your cock, the audible wet sound beyond obscene; some of the locks on her hair actually get caught to the slick underside, licking the evidence and pursing her mouth right above your balls. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“No, it’s not that. I just-”

“Why don’t you lay down and let him make you feel good? Don’t you want him to fuck your hole full again? Until you’re sick and cock drunk you go dumb?”

By your own standards, this is teetering to pure insanity for Dahyun. Minju doesn’t see it that way, since her expression hasn’t changed, putting no fight when Dahyun’s hands are on her body, flipping her over on her back and spreading her legs wide. The hand-off is something to take note of - the coordination. Soon you’re slapping your cock on her clit, making her body tense up. She doesn’t even blink when you slip inside.

Her eyes go wide, and you swear you see sparks flying beneath them.

“There’s that face,” Dahyun urges, holding your chest from the rear. A kiss to your neck, with a departing tongue. “She’s all yours.”

Your hips move on their own, hands fast to the hourglass curve of her waist- her fucking hips. With every passing stroke it wriggles up to her tits in the same motion: down then up, up then down. A quick gaze to the action below and you can’t understand how well she’s meant for this kind of work.

“This fucking cunt,” you grit, “My fucking god.”

“No room for control.” Dahyun’s wrapped around your middle in quick succession. “The best girls like her are always meant to be bred. Pounding her pretty little fuckhole because she always has you coming back for more.”

Minju’s arms are all over the place. First gripping the sheets, then covering her face - touching her hair. She’s so goddamn pretty and even more beautiful when completely fucked out - the pink now apparent in her cheeks with the lighting provided by the blistering moon through the windows. Her brows are creasing and the opposite, mouth canted and spilling in tongues. “Mmnh, fuck, you’re so good- so deep- ah-”

You can’t help but be amazed you’ve got her to be like this in a short span of time. Legs open and letting your cock push and drag its way out. The shadow creating this mosaic on the wall - where all of your bodies are meshed into one.

Somehow you manage to bring Minju closer, have her (somewhat long, lengthy) legs curl loosely around your thighs. Where the motion of your hips hit that same spot you discovered earlier unintentionally, bend the springs deep in the mattress where the frame is moving along with your thrusts. The harder you grip her waist, the louder the slaps are. You don’t even show a hint of worry when Minju goes limp in her arms, her back arching towards you, using the position to the fullest potential.

Dahyun observes from above, smiles when you grab both of Minju’s wrists and she takes it upon herself to grab your necktie conveniently at the edge of the bed. You don’t even notice her tying it around her hands and putting them above her head, holding as you find the perfect angle and aim for the same spot to get her cumming in no time flat.

“Thanks,” you’re panting out.

“Breed my little girl again.” Dahyun says to you. And you feel it in the grip, that addicting clench - massaging your cock around her slick walls. “Hold her hands, her wrists, just make sure you empty every drop inside her.”

“More, more,” the girl beneath you cries out. “Let me be good- milk your cock like she asked. I want it in my fucking pussy- you motherfucker, just do it already.”

“You heard her, have Min min here take it,” Dahyun growls into your face. You don’t even yield to look for the assurance, because it’s drawn up in her mind. “I want her to have it in her fucking stomach.”

Dahyun’s role in all of this isn’t common: to be the one calling the shots, but you’re welcoming it anyway with her at your side.

As for Minju’s case: she’s been reduced to a river of breath, bent into hisses and hums from the soft flesh of her mouth and throat.

Even when you want your mouth to comply with the demands, your body does the talking. Before it sets in: you seize the movements when the first rope of cum coats Minju’s walls; hell, you don’t keep track of the countless pulses of cum shooting inside her cunt, slamming your face onto hers and groaning so loudly she could choke on the sound alone. Her breathing shudders and you go with the slight tip of her head back, feeling every push of fresh cum inside to the point you fail to control it.

Dahyun smiles in approval as you bring it upon yourself to keep thrusting, forcing every fiber in your body and using everything - even using a whimpering Minju at your hips - to make sure she wrings out all the bits of white from your cock.

When you slow down, lightheaded and the scent of the room is full of sweat and sex, Minju’s swollen cunt keeps you grounded while she keeps your cock warm. “Good job,” you hear Dahyun whisper, and manages to get her slack lips onto yours, then leans over to show some love to Minju as well. “Well done, sweetie. We’re both proud of you.”

You didn’t want this to end - and Minju makes it known with an unrestrained sigh when your cock finally leaves her properly fucked cunt.

There she lays once the soreness sets in, cum leaking out and you hear Dahyun giggle when her pussy makes a subtle ‘pop’. You lift a brow in the bubble that forms in the mess, but they’re both looking at you-

“What?” The two ask in unison.

You shake your head, and smile. “Nothing,” you say. Which is the whole truth.

–

(Seconds before you doze off, you twist your head to them sitting up. Actually, Minju’s on her back still with an elbow for support. Dahyun’s hand is between her legs and scooping the lasting bits of cum from her pussy, licking it up and kissing Minju.

You don’t bother asking about the debauchery happening across. Someday the inquiry will come from you, just not today.)

–

“No.”

“Yes.” Is what Minju says, but it’s not directed at you.

“No way. No freaking way.”

Minju’s sitting near the nightstand, in one of your shirts. Knees stacked elegantly as she maintains the professional mannerisms on the phone. You assume it’s her manager, but she ends the call on one hand and switches over to the hotel phone, resuming her conversation. “Yes I understand. By the way, can I order some room service?”

Dahyun shuffles from the open balcony, welcoming in the morning breeze. Bathrobe coated around her figure and in the oversized slippers. Two small boxes are in her hands, and she meets you with the same eye smile she always flashes.

You bite your knuckle as Minju’s nodding her head. Curious as to what was discussed. “Okay, we’ll come right down in fifteen minutes.” She hangs up the phone soon after.

“Well?” You ask.

“Believe it or not,” Minju starts, and she’s trying her best not to smile. “They want to see us in the lobby to talk about- last night.”

Dahyun tips her head down with a grin and you’re arching your eyebrows in relief. “Thank god, I hope it wasn’t another noise complaint.”

“Oh they mentioned that as well,” Minju says, killing your whole mood.

“See? I told you,” Dahyun laughs, and it’s the kind where it’s cute and unbearably impossible to not go along with. There weren't plans in the schedule today, especially with Minju tagging along, so that alone could be drawn up as a free day. “How many complaints are we at now? Five? Six?”

“Seven,” you deadpan. “What’s with the boxes in your hand?”

“Pregnancy tests.” Dahyun answers. You look at Minju and all you see is her pursed lips with a thumbs up.

Oh god, you’re mouthing to yourself. As if this new adventure didn’t have much to unravel - turns out you’re absolutely wrong.

(When the two ask you ‘what’s the problem?’, they’re left puzzled with the facepalm you give. Little do they know about the smirk hidden behind your hand, and it goes to show that you’re just as sick and twisted like the both of them.)

(a/n: one year of kooyabooya fics, and what better way to go back with the two that started it all <3)

#twice smut #izone smut #dahyun smut #kim minju smut #minju smut #kim dahyun smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #twice dahyun smut #izone minju smut #breedminju

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yvesette · 1 year ago

Text

WE GOT MARRIED!

ִ ࣪𖤐 ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── choi seungcheol

SUMMARY: ── the premise of the popular reality show, "we got married," was simple: you and another celebrity would pretend to be married for two weeks, navigating various romantic and domestic challenges together. when your partner turns out to be choi seungcheol however, feelings complicate your perception of reality.

PAIRING: [choi seungcheol (s.coups) x f!reader] GENRE: [eventual smut, domestic fluff, angst, idol!au, fake dating, one bed, all the good shit]

CW: afab!reader, nicknames (angel, babygirl, baby, good girl), arguing (it’s sorted out), soft!dom ?? + pussydrunk cheol, big!dick cheol, fingering, penetration, safe sex (ofc), possessive!cheol, hair pulling, light choking

℘　　◌　　﹒　⠀ ꢾ꣒⠀　 ׅ⠀ㅤ　⑅

── pre-show interview:

interviewer: "thank you for joining us today! can you tell us a little about yourself and what initially made you hesitant to join 'we got married'?"

you fiddle with your hands and compose yourself into a smile.

“of course. i’m y/n, and to be honest, when i was first approached about the show, i had a lot of reservations. being an idol, my life is already under constant scrutiny, and the idea of faking a marriage on national television was daunting. i was worried about how my fans would react and whether I'd be able to genuinely connect with my on-screen partner."

interviewer: "what eventually convinced you to participate?"

you think, “it was a mix of curiosity and encouragement from my friends and management. they believed it would be a good opportunity for me to show a different side of myself, one that isn't always visible on stage. plus, the idea of experiencing something as unique as a reality show marriage was too intriguing to pass up."

interviewer: "do you know who your partner will be yet?

you smile nervously, “no, i don't. it’s a complete surprise for me. all i know is that it's someone from a well-known group. i’m really curious to find out who it is!"

interviewer: "that must be exciting! can you share what your ideal type is for the camera?”

you grin thoughtfully, “my ideal type is someone who is kind-hearted and takes care of the people around them. they should have a strong sense of responsibility but also listen and understand. a good sense of humor is a must — oh and physically, i guess i find myself drawn to someone with a warm smile and expressive eyes. someone who can be both charismatic on stage and down-to-earth in everyday life."

interviewer: "finally, do you have any worries or concerns going into the show?"

you: "i’m a bit worried about how awkward it might be at first. there’s always that initial nervousness when meeting someone new, and this situation is quite intense. i hope we can get past that quickly and have a good time together.”

—

day 1:

you stood in front of the door to a luxurious townhome, hands fidgeting nervously at your sides. this would be your new home for the next two weeks. the camera crew gave you a nod, signaling it was time to head inside. taking a deep breath, you open the door and step into the living room, where a warm, cozy ambiance greets you. as you set your bag down, you hear the sound of the front door opening again. you turn, breath caught in your throat, and a man, looking slightly familiar to you, enters the room.

he was wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with dark jeans that accentuated his tall, athletic frame. his broad shoulders and well-defined chest were subtly outlined by the fabric of his shirt, hinting at the strength beneath. the open collar revealed a glimpse of his collarbones, which added an effortlessly sexy touch to his appearance and you thanked god you’d been paired with someone this attractive, as selfish as it sounded. his face was a perfect blend of boyish charm and mature masculinity and his dark hair was styled in a slightly tousled manner.

the man in front of you carried a polite smile. for a moment, you both stood there, slightly taken aback by the reality of the situation.then, as if on cue, you both bowed to each other in polite, awkward unison. "hello!" you said at the same time, voices overlapping. realizing what happened, you both laughed nervously and bowed again, this time with even more formality.

“hi, i’m y/n," you said, smiling despite your nerves.

“i’m seungcheol. it’s nice to meet you,” he said, returning your smile.

there was a brief pause as you both sized each other up, trying to gauge the other's reaction. something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn't quite place it.

your heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned on you and you remembered his face from music and award shows. you were almost certain the man in front of you was a member of seventeen and your mind was almost more eased you were paired with another idol.

as you shook his hand, your mind raced with a million thoughts. should you mention that you know who he is? would it be weird? awkward?

before you could decide, seungcheol spoke again, his voice cheerful and inviting, “i know this is a bit of an odd situation, but let's make these two weeks memorable, okay?”

you nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his face and your cheeks flushed slightly.

the first task was to explore the house together, finding little notes and hints left by the producers about upcoming challenges and activities. as you moved from room to room, seungcheol’s playful nature shined through. he made jokes about the odd decorations and even tried on an oversized apron in the kitchen, to which he realized how easily he could make you laugh.

in the living room, you found a note instructing you to cook your first meal together. seungcheol looked at you with genuine curiosity in his eyes. "do you cook often?"

you shook your head, “i try, but i’m not the best. how about you?”

he shrugged, “i can manage, could you hand me those eggs?”

working side by side in the kitchen, you both stumbled through the recipe, exchanging glances and giggles as you tried to make sense of the instructions. seungcheol’s presence was comforting; his easygoing demeanor made it feel less like a staged activity and you had to remind yourself of your situation every once in a while.

“careful!" you warned as he nearly knocked over a bowl of flour.

“oops," he laughed, catching it just in time. "oh my god, thanks for warning me.”

when the meal was finally ready, you both sat down at the coffee table, a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie settling in.

“you know," he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, "i have to admit, i was a bit of a fan of yours before this."

you almost spit out your food and your eyes widen in surprise, “you were?”

he nodded, a shy smirk playing on his lips. "yeah, i may or may not have listened to…a few, songs.”

you couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of disbelief, “well," you said, unable to hide the smile on your face, "i guess we both have some fangirling/fanboying to do then.”

seungcheol chuckled before taking a sip of his drink, “looks like we're off to a good start then."

later that evening, as you both settled on the couch to go over the day's events, you found yourself stealing glances at seungcheol when he wasn't looking. the cameras captured every moment, but by now, they had become background noise. seungcheol’s arm rested casually on the back of the couch, his presence reassuring.

"so what did you think of our first day together?" seungcheol asked, turning to you with a gentle smile.

you smiled back, feeling more at ease now. "honestly , it was fun. a bit overwhelming at first, but i think we handled it pretty well."

he nodded, his expression thoughtful. "yeah , i think so too. it’s all about getting comfortable with each other, right?"

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "exactly."

as the night continued, the two of you talked about your experiences in the industry, sharing stories and laughing over funny moments. the more you talked, the more you realized how much you had in common. it was easy to forget the cameras were even there.

—

day 5:

it had been a few days of filming and your arranged marriage with the charming seungcheol was off to an...interesting start. between the awkward getting-to-know-you interviews and staged "newlywed" activities for the cameras, you were still trying to find your footing in this bizarre situation.

one minute, you and seungcheol were bickering like an old married couple over whose turn it was to do the dishes, (it would always end with him insisting he did the chore.) the next, you'd catch him shooting you an ambiguous look from under those ridiculously long lashes, causing a fluttery feeling to erupt in your stomach. it was a constant back-and-forth of feeling flustered yet intrigued by your new husband.

today, the production crew had you and seungcheol participate in a silly pillow fight "challenge" meant to showcase your playful newlywed dynamic. what started off as an innocent, goofy bout of whacking each other with the plush objects quickly devolved into an all-out war.

giggling breathlessly, you launched another fluffy projectile at seungcheol’s head, who had now affectionately insisted you call him cheol.

he taunted with a roguish grin, deflecting your pillow attack.

you both scrambled for ammunition, whacking each other relentlessly. you shrieked as a particularly fierce blow sent you tumbling backwards onto the bed.

in a flash, seungcheol pounced - pinning your wrists above your head as he straddled your waist. his sculpted body pressed against yours, stealing your breath away.

"i win," he murmured huskily, drinking in your flushed, disheveled state. a few dark strands of hair had fallen over his forehead, making him look ridiculously pretty and you both froze as the heated tension reached a tipping point, chests heaving from the exertion of your pillow fight.

then, all at once, realization seemed to wash over both of you. this had crossed a line, strayed too far from the realm of pretend into something that felt a little too real for your comfort. seungcheol quickly released your wrists and rolled off you, running a flustered hand through his tousled hair as the cameras cut and the producers applaud your chemistry ‘played up’ for the show.

“i…sorry, i got a bit carried away there," he muttered gruffly, unable to meet your eyes.

you pushed yourself into a sitting position, clutching a pillow protectively to your chest. “no, it's...yeah, me too," you mumbled, cheeks burning.

as seungcheol swiftly excused himself, you couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper and more complicated had been irrevocably awakened on your end, you watched your fake husband’s broad back retreating towards the door, then he paused and glanced over his shoulder at you.

despite the flustered awkwardness of moments before, his gaze openly raked over your disheveled form in a way that made heat lick through your veins. you clutched the pillow tighter, suddenly feeling very exposed under his molten perusal.

as quickly as the blazing look had appeared, it faded to a neutral expression once more as he gave you a brisk nod. "i’ll...see you later," he murmured in a rough rasp before ducking out of the room, leaving you flushed and wondering what the hell had just happened.

—

day 9:

the sweltering summer heat had prompted the producers to film a scene with you and seungcheol enjoying some relaxation at the rooftop pool.

you tried not to stare too openly as seungcheol stripped off his shirt, revealing a toned, sculpted torso that made your mouth go dry. rivulets of glistening water trailed tantalizing paths down those firm abs as he sank into the cool pool with a contented sigh.

“you coming in or what, y/n?" he flashed you a lopsided grin, sending your pulse into an erratic stutter.

shaking yourself free of your momentary thirst, you made a big show of daintily dipping a toe in to test the temperature, “oh my god it’s freezing.” you step out of the water onto the poolside and shiver from the contact.

cheol arches an incredulous brow at your overly dramatic reaction. then without warning, he kicked up an arched wave that splashed you squarely in the face.

you sputtered in outraged shock as he cackled at your drenched, bedraggled state. you cursed at him and then tilted your head, “oh you’re gonna get it now…”

retaliating, you cannonballed directly towards him, prompting a yelp as he tried dodging the cascading wall of water.

what started as an innocent pool dip quickly devolved into an all-out splash fight, filled with laughter and shrieks, water spraying everywhere. at one point, seungcheol grabbed you around the waist from behind, holding you flush against his chest as you squealed and squirmed playfully...

as the sun dipped low on the horizon, it set the sky ablaze with vibrant shades of orange and red bled across the heavens, intermingling with streaks of brilliant pink and lavender. the surface of the rooftop pool shimmered like liquid amber, endlessly rippling and refracting the spectacular colors above.

as the playful battle subsided, you found yourselves standing chest-deep, catching your breath. seungcheol, hair plastered to his forehead, offered you a sheepish grin. his hand, reaching out to brush a stray strand from your eye, hesitated in mid-air.

the air crackled with a sudden tension, a shift from playful banter to something more intense. you held his gaze, unsure of where this unexpected touch might lead. the playful facade, for a moment, seemed to falter, revealing a vulnerability that sent a shiver down your spine.

as the camera crew wrapped their filming of the segment momentarily, cheol leaned against the pool deck, catching his breath, while you treaded water, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

“you know," seungcheol said, his voice slightly breathless, "for someone who almost drowned me with pool water ten minutes ago - you’re pretty fun to do this whole fake marriage this with.”

his compliment caught you off guard, a blush creeping up your cheeks. you looked away, fiddling with the straps of your swimsuit and snorted, “you would have survived, trust.”

you bit your lip, “but you’re not…awful, to do this with. i’m glad it was you.”

his biceps flexed as he pushed himself off the wall, the water cascading down his toned arms. he smiled and ran a hand through his hair, which was now drying in messy waves.

you had to admit to yourself, in another situation, he was pretty close to your type. your mind took a sharp turn and a thrilling image of cheol, those big arms holding you close, pinning you down. he could easily manhandle you, and the thought sent a forbidden thrill through you.

taking a deep breath, you forced your gaze away from him, the delicious heat replaced by a cold wave of reality.

—

that evening, the producers insisted that as a "newly married couple," you and seungcheol needed to share the bedroom set for an authentic experience. your heart pounded as the camera crew ushered you both into the dimly lit bedroom, pulling the covers back invitingly.

"alright you two, get nice and cozy for us!" the director called out teasingly. "we’ll get some candid footage of your first night spent in the same room together as husband and wife."

you shot seungcheol an awkward look, but he just gave you a reassuring smile as he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. the cameras rolled as you climbed stiffly into bed together, maintaining a prim distance at first.

however, as soon as the crew lights winked off and you were left in intimate shadows, cheol’s touch grew bolder. his arm snaked more fully around you, hand skimming along your curves as he tugged you flush against his solid frame and he watched your face for approval.

"just go with it for the cameras," he murmured in your ear, making you shiver at the feel of his warm breath fanning your neck.

you gave a shaky nod, trying to ignore the rampant spiraling spawning low in your belly from his nearness. but as the man next to you nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a contented sigh, you felt yourself instinctively relaxing into his embrace.

before long, the camera crew was dismissing themselves, leaving you and seungcheol tangled together intimately. you started to pull away, murmuring about giving him some space, but his arms only tightened around you.

“stay," he rumbled in that deep velvety tone that made heat curl low in your belly. "please. just for tonight."

you couldn't help but overthink the situation as you lay cocooned in seungcheol’s strong arms later that night. his slow, even breathing tickled the nape of your neck as he slumbered peacefully behind you.

this whole scenario - cuddling intimately, sharing a bed, his persistent insistence that you stay - it was quickly becoming difficult for you to differentiate reality and the fake of your friendship, or whatever you could call it.

realistically, there was no way seungcheol actually had romantic feelings for you, right? you were just some virtual stranger he'd been assigned to act affectionate towards for the sake of entertainment.

no, you reasoned to yourself, cheol was simply an incredibly dedicated performer who happened to be devastatingly good-looking. he was merely playing the role of an infatuated newlywed husband exceptionally well. all those lingering looks, the electrifying touches, the way he'd pulled you insistently into his embrace - it was just him staying committed to the act. you were just a tolerable person for him to pretend to be married to for the cameras. that’s all this was. if you started projecting more meaning onto your partner’s actions, reading into lingering touches and heated glances, you'd only end up getting your hopes up and complicating things.

chewing your lip, you willed yourself not to dwell on the intimacy of your current position - pressed snugly back against his toned chest, legs tangled together, breaths mingling. it didn’t mean anything. he was just...really, really good at making this fake marriage feel real.

you lay there for a long while, keenly aware of every rise and fall of seungcheol’s chest against your back, the whisper of his warm breath fanning your nape. his arm was a solid, heated band around your waist, anchoring you to his slumbering form.

carefully, you began extracting yourself from his arms, trying not to rouse him. he made a soft grumbling sound of protest as you slipped out of bed, his arm reflexively tightening for a moment before falling away. you froze, watching him with bated breath, but he merely rolled onto his back with a gusty sigh, face relaxing back into peaceful slumber.

for a long moment, you simply stood there drinking in the sight of him - all tousled ebony hair, chiseled features, lips slightly parted as he slumbered. your heart gave a powerful thud, desperate longing temporarily overwhelming rationality.

then, you wrenched your gaze away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you crept towards the door on soft feet and went to your separate bedroom. this was for the best. putting some distance between you before things inevitably became more tangled and awkward.

—

day 12:

"you’re burning it!" seungcheol suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the pan on the stove where the sauce was starting to smoke.

by late afternoon, you were both working on preparing dinner in the kitchen. the producers had given you a complex recipe to follow, and the pressure was mounting. seungcheol was chopping vegetables while you tried to manage the stove, but things weren't going as planned.

you glanced over, feeling flustered. "i know, i know! i’m trying to fix it!"

"well, you need to do it faster! we can't serve burnt food," he retorted, his tone sharper than you expected.

you felt a surge of irritation. "why don't you come over here and do it then if you're so concerned?"

seungcheol put down the knife he was holding, his jaw tightening. "i’m just trying to help. there’s no need to get defensive."

you turn off the stove and face him, your frustration boiling over. "it feels like you're criticizing everything i’m doing. this is supposed to be fun but—“ you sigh.

seungcheol’s expression softened slightly, but he didn't back down. "i’m not trying to criticize you. i’m just stressed because i want this to turn out well. we’re both under a lot of pressure.”

his words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. you felt a warmth bloom in your cheeks, a prickling awareness that transcended the confines of the tiny kitchen. it wasn't just the heat from the stove anymore; it was the sudden, electrifying tension that crackled between you.

whatever this "show marriage" was quickly becoming, it was growing increasingly difficult to remember it wasn't real.

his gaze held yours, a storm brewing in his dark eyes. was it just the stress of the competition, or was there something more? maybe it was the way his thumb brushed against yours as he reached for a spatula, a touch that lingered a beat too long. maybe it was the way his voice seemed to drop an octave whenever he spoke directly to you.

the air grew thick, the playful banter of the morning replaced by a charged silence. you weren't talking simply about cooking anymore. this felt like something more, something simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

suddenly, a loud clang from the living room shattered the spell. the cameraman had accidentally knocked over a vase, the sound breaking the intimate bubble you'd somehow created. seungcheol offered a grin of reconciliation, the tension momentarily broken.

as you both cleaned up the broken vase, a playful jab exchanged here and there, you couldn't shake the feeling that cheol’s feelings for you mirrored your own. maybe it was just wishful thinking, fueled by the close proximity and manufactured intimacy of the show. but a tiny, hopeful spark ignited within you. perhaps, just perhaps, this fake marriage could be a gateway into something else.

the air crackled with an unspoken apology after your argument in the kitchen. the rest of the day was filmed in a tense silence, punctuated only by the polite pleasantries expected for the cameras. seungcheol stole glances at you every now and then, his gaze laced with regret, but you studiously avoided his eyes.

dinner was a quiet affair, the weight of the fight hanging heavy between you. as the last crew member packed up their equipment and said their goodbyes, a heavy sigh escaped seungcheol’s lips. you remembered you only had two more days left with him before you parted ways and continued your daily, busy lives.

you lean against the doorframe of cheol’s assigned bedroom. he’s reading something foreign and doesn’t notice your presence at first. "hey," you started hesitantly, the artificiality of your fabricated married life suddenly feeling suffocating. he looked up, his eyes filled with a vulnerability you hadn't seen before.

"i shouldn't have snapped at you," he said, his voice rough. "this whole thing... the pressure, the cameras... it just — you know, gets to me sometimes.”

you understood. the world only saw the polished, perfect idols on stage, not the stress and anxieties that gnawed at them behind the scenes. partially this show felt like a risk of balance between speculation and approval. “i know," you admitted softly, surprised at the tremor in your voice. "it gets to me too."

silence settled again, but this time it wasn't tense. it was a comfortable quiet, an unspoken understanding blooming between you.

you took a seat on the mattress and asked him what he was reading.

“amour,” he says, flipping the book over to show you the cover.

“amour?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "isn’t that french for love?"

cheol rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "yeah, it is. found it at the airport bookstore. it’s about a journalist who travels around france asking people about love."

a playful glint sparked in your eyes. "funny," you said, tracing the title with your finger, “didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

a wry smile tugged at the corner of seungcheol's lips. "maybe i’m just curious," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur that made you nervous. "especially after all this... 'pretend' marriage stuff." he paused, his gaze flickering from the book to your face. "maybe the line between pretending and feeling is a little more blurry than we thought."

he words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. the playful banter you'd used as a shield these past 2 weeks suddenly felt inadequate. you met his gaze, the air crackling with a new kind of tension.

"maybe it is," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

the glint in your eyes softened into something deeper, something that mirrored the sudden intensity in cheol’s gaze. he set his book down on the nightstand with a soft thud, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence that had descended upon the room.

he took a slow movement towards you across the bed, his eyes searching yours with a depth that made your breath catch. you could practically feel the unspoken question hanging in the air, a question your heart already knew the answer to. there was a palpable tension between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer.

without another word, seungcheol closed the remaining distance between you. his hand reached out to cup your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. his thumb brushed against your soft skin, a gentle caress that spoke volumes. it was as if he was trying to communicate everything he felt in that simple touch, the unspoken emotions and the growing connection between you.

his eyes flickered down to your lips before meeting your gaze again, asking for permission without uttering a single word. you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

then, he leaned in. the kiss was hesitant at first, a soft exploration that tasted of unspoken longing and a newfound vulnerability. hips lips were warm and tender against yours, moving with a gentleness that made your heart ache and charged with the electricity of forbidden desire and the sweetness of a connection that transcended the cameras and the manufactured reality of your "marriage."

as the kiss deepened, seungcheol’s other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer. you responded instinctively, your hands sliding up to rest on his broad shoulders. the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. the kiss grew more passionate, an unspoken promise of the bond forming between you.

his fingers threaded through your hair, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. the heat of his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart mirroring your own. every touch, every movement was filled with a mix of tenderness and urgency, a dance of emotions that neither of you could deny any longer.

in one swift movement, seungcheol lifted you onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around you securely. the sudden shift made you gasp, breaking the kiss momentarily. he took advantage of your parted lips, diving back in with a new intensity. his hand tangled in your hair, gripping it roughly as he deepened the kiss. the raw hunger in his actions satisfied a need you’d had since the moment you met him and ignited a new thirst in you for more than a kiss.

his lips left yours, trailing hot kisses down your jaw and neck. seungcheol’s breath was warm against your skin, each kiss sending shivers down your spine. "cheol-ie," you breathed out, your voice shaky with desire. "i’ve needed you so bad.”

he groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through you and making your core tighten with need. "you have no idea how much I’ve wanted you babygirl,” he murmured, his voice rough with longing. the nickname makes you feel weak in his arms as they roam over your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

you began to move against him, grinding your hips down on his lap. the friction elicited a deep, guttural moan from his chest, his grip on your hair tightening. his lips continued their path along your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin. each touch, each kiss, was driving you both closer to the edge.

your hands slid under his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours and see the body you’d thought about and fantasized about at the pool. his muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out another low groan. the sound sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you grind harder against him.

feeling the need for more, you reached for the hem of your top, and without hesitation, cheol’s hands followed suit, helping you remove the garment until it fell forgotten to the floor. his eyes drank in the sight before him, the intensity of his gaze sending a thrill through you. with a passion that matched your own, he leaned in to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, his movements urgent and commanding.

seungcheol’s hands moved to your breasts, his touch sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your body. his lips followed suit, trailing hot kisses down your neck and collarbone before finding their way to your exposed skin. the sensation of his warm mouth on your sensitive flesh made you gasp, a moan escaping your lips as you arched into his touch.

as he sucked and massaged your breasts with a hunger that bordered on desperation, you couldn't help but whine his name, the sound echoing in the room like a symphony of desire.

his only response was a deep, guttural groan, the sound vibrating through you.

cheol’s hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements and matching your rhythm. the sensation of his hardness pressing against you was intoxicating, heightening the desire coursing through your veins. “i need you," he whispered hoarsely against your neck, his breath hot and heavy.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. the intensity you saw there took your breath away. "i need you too, cheol," you whispered back, your voice filled with the same raw need.

"show me," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, authoritative tone. "show me how much you want me."

you bit your lip and your mind was urging you to shed the last remnants of clothing separating you from seungcheol’s touch. with a sense of urgency, you sat up, for just a moment to rid yourself of your pajama shorts and panties. he gently helped you slip out of the remainder of your clothes until you were completely bare in front of him.

as you returned to straddle him, seungcheol’s eyes darkened with possessiveness, his slightly dumbfounded gaze raking over your exposed form with undisguised lust. you reached for his hand, guiding it to where you needed him most.

his fingers moved in circles with a skill and reverence that bordered on worship. as he teased and caressed you with one hand, his other grabbed the back of your neck to pull you into his orbit.

"cheol," you gasped, your voice filled with need as his touch sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. "pl-please, want you inside of me..”

his response was a low, guttural growl, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he pressed his fingers against your throbbing center, the sensation driving you crazy, and leaned against your ear, “i know angel, i know, need to prep you.”

he slipped two long fingers inside you, his movements slow and deliberate. you couldn't help but arch impossibly back into his touch, a high pitched moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely. his fingers curled inside you and slipped in and out, stretching you and sending waves of pleasure over you that you could feel building closer and closer to your climax.

cheol pulled your face closer to his by your neck as he pumped his fingers in and out of you and whispered in his deep voice words of praise, “you’re so good for me.” his voice was rough in responsive to your obedience.

“such a good girl.”

the words sent a thrill through you, and your breathing that had gotten more quick by the second let all the air escape from your lungs as you completely gave in to the sensations in your body. you reached your peak screaming his name and collapsing onto the bed with your back. now on top of you, cheol guided you down from your high, and his movements became slower and more gentle until his fingers pulled out of you.

you felt his hand move to your lips, gently pressing against them. with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, you parted your lips, allowing cheol to guide his fingers inside your mouth so you could taste yourself.

“that’s it babygirl,” he said, a low groan escaping his lips. the sight of you, so willing and eager for his touch, only fueled the fire burning inside of him. he pulls his fingers from your mouth to press gentle kisses on your lips and your cheek - a sharp contrast from the intensity that had taken over him before.

as the passion of the moment continued to build, you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh. seungcheol’s arousal was evident, his desire matching your own in its fervor. a surge of need washed over you, and you found yourself craving him in a way that was almost overwhelming.

desperation clawed at your insides, urging you to beg for him, to plead with him to take you in his arms and fuck you until you saw stars. but as you glanced into his eyes, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a hint of fear lurking beneath the surface.

you reached for him, your fingers tracing the outline of his arousal through his pants. the intensity of his desire was palpable, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through you. you wanted him, needed him, in a way that bordered on obsession. but as you moved to undo his pants, you felt him hesitate, his hands shaking slightly. "i…i don’t know if i can," he whispered hoarsely, his voice filled with a sigh.

you whispered, your voice soft and filled with sincerity. "i want this, with you."

a flicker of relief flashed across his features, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your words. but the worry still lingered in his eyes, the fear of causing you pain evident in every line of his expression. he reached down to free his member from the confines of his sweatpants, discarding the clothing with a swift movement. as his length sprang free, you couldn't help but gasp at the sight before you. he was almost comically big, his arousal standing proudly against his abdomen, thick and pulsing with desire.

a mix of excitement and nervousness coursed through you as you watched him, desire pooling low in your belly. you couldn't help but wonder how he was going to fit inside of you, the thought sending a thrill of anticipation racing through you. seungcheol reached for his wallet on the nightstand, retrieving a condom with practiced ease and slipped it on.

cheol lifted your legs over his head, moving himself between them, a gasp escaped your lips at the sudden change in position. you felt him slowly enter you, his size stretching you in a way that was both exhilarating and slightly painful. the stretch stung, sending a jolt of sensation coursing through your body, but it was unlike anything you had ever felt before. he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, filling you completely and leaving you breathless with desire.

“‘s-so big,” was all you could breathe out with awe in your voice.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he murmured with both hands holding your legs over his shoulder so he could stretch you out as much as possible. bottoming out, he studied your face for signs of discomfort and deciding he could move. as seungcheol began to thrust gently at first, you felt his movements cautious and tender, as if he were testing the waters. each slow push and pull sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, his size stretching you in ways that ignited a fire deep within.

“feels so fucking good, your perfect pussy…” he groans into your neck.

you couldn't help but vocalize how good you felt as well, “don’t stop baby, please.”

something about that nickname makes his movements became more urgent, more desperate, as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of being inside you. with each thrust, you felt yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo. his thrusts became rougher, more dominant, as he took control of the rhythm. with a growl of desire, he reached for your throat, his grip firm but not constricting.

the sensation of his hand around your neck sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through you, the combination of pleasure and pain driving you wild with desire. "who makes you feel this good?" he demanded, his voice rough with need.

you gasped at the sensation, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. "you," you screamed, your voice filled with rawness. "It's you, cheol."

he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, positioning you perfectly for him to take you from behind. you gasped at the sudden change in position, the feeling of vulnerability and excitement coursing through you. but before you could react, seungcheol’s hands were on you, grabbing your ass possessively as he pulled you towards him. the sensation of his grip on your flesh sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, curved for him to hit your perfect angle.

as you thought you couldn't take any more, you felt his hand tangle in your hair, pulling you back towards him with a force that left you breathless. “want you to be mine..” he choked out, his words claiming you.

“‘m yours," you gasped, your voice surrendering yourself completely. with a final, desperate thrust, cheol buried himself deep inside you, sending you both hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. pleasure exploded through every nerve ending in your body as you both reached the peak together, your cries of passion mingling in the air as you rode out the waves of bliss together.

seungcheol slowly withdrew from you and as you caught your breathe, he removed the condom, discarding it thoughtfully before turning his attention back to you. his demeanor shifted, his previous intensity giving way to a tender concern. leaning in, he pressed soft kisses to your tired face, his touch gentle and reassuring. "are you okay?" he whispered, his voice filled with genuine concern as he traced a soothing hand along your sweaty cheek.

you nodded, a contented smile gracing your lips as you bask in the warmth of his affection.

he tenderly cleaned you with a warm, damp cloth that he quickly fetched from the bathroom, his movements gentle and careful as he ensured tour comfort. once satisfied, he disposed of the cloth and returned to your side, pulling the covers over the both of your naked bodies.

you lay in each other's arms, the quiet of the room enveloping them like a comforting embrace. the air was filled with a sense of contentment but also questions rang through your mind. unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you spoke up. "cheol, earlier... did you mean what you said?" you asked, her voice tentative yet filled with hope.

seungcheol turned to you, his gaze soft yet filled with meaning. “every word," he replied, his voice steady and sure. “if you want — then you’re mine, and i’m yours.”

your mind buzzed with uncertainty and you sigh, snuggling closer to him. the realization that your time together on the show was fleeting weighed heavily on your heart, casting a shadow over the intimacy you had shared.

"seungcheol," you begin, switching from the nickname you’d been using. “i can’t help but wonder...after filming ends, what happens to us? we haven't known each other for long, and...” you gnawed at your lip, “what if we’re just caught in the moment?”

his expression faltered, a flicker of hurt flashing across his features at your words. he had been so certain of your connection, so confident in the depth of your feelings for each other, that your doubts came as a painful blow.

he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently cupped your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "caught in the moment?" he repeated, his voice filled with an anxiety-ridden tone you had never heard before. "is that really what you think this is?"

your chest clenched at the anguish in seungcheol’s eyes, the weight of your words settling heavily between the two of you. you hadn't meant to hurt him, hadn't realized the impact your doubts would have on him.

"no, seungcheol, that's not what i meant," you hurried to explain, sitting up — your voice thick with regret. "i just... i’m scared. scared that what we have isn't enough to survive once the cameras stop rolling."

seungcheol sat up, shoulders slumped, the weight of your uncertainty pressing down on him like a boulder. "i need some time to think," he said, his voice strained. without another word, he stood up, dressed himself with the clothes he’d discarded on the floor as you protested, and left the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing through the silence.

you curled up under the covers, the emptiness of the room amplifying the loneliness you felt.

—

day 13:

the next morning dawned with a heavy sense of awkwardness hanging in the air. as you emerged from your room, the weight of last night’s conversation still pressed on your chest. cheol was already in the kitchen, his back turned to you as he prepared breakfast. the usual warmth and easy smiles were conspicuously absent.

"good morning," you said softly, trying to break the tension.

"morning," he replied flatly, not turning to face you. his tone was distant, a stark contrast to the intimate moments you had shared just hours before.

breakfast was a quiet affair, the silence between you filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. every clink of cutlery felt amplified, every glance avoided a reminder of the rift that had formed.

filming started shortly after, the crew bustling around to set up the day’s scenes. you and seungcheol went through the motions, but the chemistry that had once made your interactions effortless now felt forced. the cameras captured your strained smiles and awkward pauses, the tension between you palpable.

by the end of the day, the weight of the unspoken words and unresolved tension was nearly unbearable. as the crew packed up and the lights dimmed, you felt a deep sense of despair settle in. the connection that had once felt so strong now seemed fragile.

the newly familiar routine of brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas felt strangely hollow without seungcheol’s presence by your side. as you slipped under the covers, the cool sheets seemed to amplify the emptiness of the space beside you.

—

day 14:

the next day dawned with a sense of finality, the knowledge that it was the last day of filming adding a layer of bittersweet tension to the air. you went through your morning routine mechanically, each action feeling heavy with the weight of the unspoken words and unresolved emotions between you and your fake husband.

the filming started early, the crew bustling around to capture the last few scenes of your time together. you and seungcheol interacted politely, tension still lingering. you found yourself stealing glances at him, wishing for a moment alone to bridge the gap, but the demands of filming left little room for personal conversations. the day moved swiftly, and before you knew it, it was time for the post-show interview.

—

post-show interview:

you sat in the brightly lit room, the camera trained on you as the producer asked the final questions. the weight of the moment pressed on you, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves.

interviewer: "so, how do you feel now that the show is ending?”

her voice was gentle but probing.

you paused, considering your words carefully. "its been an amazing experience," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "i’ve learned so much about myself and about what i want in a relationship. and...i’ve come to care for seungcheol deeply. more than i expected."

the interviewer leaned in, sensing the depth of your emotions.

interviewer: “can you elaborate on that? how has your relationship with seungcheol evolved?"

you nodded, your heart pounding. "at first, it was just about getting to know each other, but as the days went by, i found myself feeling…a certain way about him. he’s kind, supportive, and has this way of making me feel seen and valued. i’ve realized that i fell for him and that my feelings were real.”

a pang of regret hit you, remembering your doubts and the hurt in cheol’s eyes. you wondered if you should share your feelings fully, fearing the consequences of the media. but then, you decided—if there was a chance that he would see this interview when the show aired, perhaps he would understand the depth of your feelings and know that you regretted your words.

“i’ve fallen for seungcheol," you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. "and i regret the doubts i voiced. i wish i could take them back. i hope... i hope he can see how much he means to me."

the interviewer smiled softly, sensing the raw emotion in your words and the scoop she had just gotten. “thank you for sharing that," she said gently. "it’s clear that this experience has been transformative for you."

—

the weeks after the show wrapped up were a whirlwind of activity as you dived back into your work. your agency had announced a comeback, and preparations were in full swing, leaving little time for anything else. yet, despite the hectic schedule, thoughts of seungcheol lingered in the back of your mind, a constant undercurrent to your busy days. you cherished the rare quiet moments in your dorm, where you could catch up with your girl friends or simply relax. even during these times, you found yourself checking your phone, hoping for a message from the person you longed for. as the days passed with no word, a sense of uncertainty grew, mingled with the hope that he would reach out once the show aired.

when the show finally did air, you watched your post-show interview with bated breath, wondering how seungcheol would react. the raw honesty of your confession, the vulnerability you had shown, left you feeling exposed but kept you waiting next to your phone.

then, the call came. hearing cheol’s voice, filled with emotion and understanding, was like a balm to your weary heart. his words of reconciliation and his desire to give your relationship a real chance were everything you had hoped for. the prospect of meeting him off-camera, to explore your connection without the pressures of the show, filled you with a renewed sense of excitement and somewhat worry.

the next day, you found yourself standing outside a small, cozy café, your heart racing with anticipation. the door opened, and there he was—your same old cheol, looking just as nervous and hopeful as you felt.

he smiled as he saw you, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made your heart flutter. "hey," he said softly, stepping closer.

"hey," you replied, your voice quiet and your eyes watery.

without another word, he pulled you into a hug, holding you close. the warmth of his embrace, the familiar scent of him, it all felt right.

you both sat down, ordering drinks and talking about everything and nothing. the conversation flowed easily, the tension from the show slowly melting away as you reconnected on a deeper, more personal level.

"i’ve been thinking about you every day," he confessed, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "i want to explore this, see where it leads. no cameras, no scripts—just us."

you nodded, tears of happiness glistening in your eyes. "i want that too, cheol. i want us to have a real chance."

as seungcheol and you left the café, a small crowd had gathered outside, eager to catch a glimpse of the two of you together. camera flashes illuminated the sidewalk as fan-sites and news networks alike snapped photos, their interest palpable in the air. reporters shouted questions, their voices blending into a cacophony of speculation about your relationship.

online, netizens dissected every detail, analyzing photos and videos from the show and your recent café outing. comments and posts flooded social media platforms, with hashtags trending worldwide. the public's curiosity and excitement seemed to know no bounds as they speculated about the nature of your relationship.

cheol took to his instagram, posting a photo of the two of you holding hands outside the café with a quote from “amour,” the novel he had read previously.

— “ there will come a time when you believe everything is finished; that will be the beginning. “

—

end.

2K notes · View notes

reidsworld · 11 months ago

Text

Unveiled Secrets

Summary: The BAU team has a sneaking suspicion that their stoic leader, Aaron Hotchner, is in a relationship, but they don't know the extent of it.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: Jack and Haley do not exist in this, kissing, cuddling, allusions to sex, light teasing, use of Y/N, pet names (my love, baby), that’s it I think, lmk if I missed any! Oh and pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k

Mars speaks… hi my loves, I was motivated to write so I am using this to figure out my writing style a bit and how I want to format my works! I’ve been going through a bit of a Hotch phase lately so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

The BAU office was slowly quieting down as the day turned to dusk, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows across the desks. Aaron Hotchner, head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, stood in his office, the soft light of his desk lamp highlighting the stress lines that had deepened over the years. He checked his watch—almost time to go home. A rare, soft smile touched his lips, a sight reserved for only one person.

He closed the case file on his desk, slipping it neatly into his briefcase before reaching for his jacket. His phone buzzed just as he picked it up, and he glanced at the screen to see a text from you, Can’t wait to see you. Should I pick up dinner?

That smile of his deepened as he quickly typed a reply, I’ll pick it up on my way home. See you soon, my love.

He hadn’t planned on keeping his relationship with you a secret, nor did he have any grand strategy for revealing it. He assumed that given time, his team would figure it out on their own. After all, they were profilers—eventually, they would notice the subtle shifts in his behaviour, the unexplained absences, the slightly more relaxed demeanour after particularly stressful cases. He hadn’t intended to hide it forever, just until they pieced it together.

As he opened the door to his office, however, he nearly collided with Spencer Reid, who was walking by, engrossed in a file. Reid looked up, startled, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Sorry, Hotch! I didn’t see you there."

"It’s alright, Reid," Hotch replied, a calmness in his voice that belied the momentary flicker of surprise in his eyes. He wasn’t often caught off-guard, especially not in the safety of his own office.

Reid, however, had a habit of noticing things others missed. His eyes flickered to the phone still in Hotch’s hand, the screen just dimming from inactivity. Before Hotch could slip it into his pocket, Reid’s sharp eyes caught your name on the screen. His brow furrowed in confusion as he processed the information.

“Y/N, as in the academy’s Y/N?” Reid asked, the question out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Reid’s sharp mind to pick up on the anomaly. Reid’s brain worked at lightning speed, connecting dots that others might have missed. He knew Hotch was fiercely private, but this reaction was new.

“Goodnight Reid” Aaron replied, quickly, shutting down any further questioning that may have come from the young genius.

Reid blinked, taken aback, but his curiosity was now piqued. However, years of working with Hotch had taught him when to push and when to back off. “Have a good evening, Hotch.”

As Reid walked away, Hotch let out a slow breath. This wasn’t how he wanted the team to find out, though he couldn’t say he was surprised. He had always assumed it would be Reid who would notice first; the young profiler missed nothing. Still, he had hoped for a bit more time. But the cat was out of the bag now, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the team found out.

The next morning, the BAU office was abuzz with more than the usual activity. Reid’s brief encounter with Hotch had set off a flurry of curiosity and speculation among the team. They were profilers, after all, and even the smallest clues could ignite their imaginations.

“I’m telling you, something’s definitely going on with Hotch,” Reid said as the team gathered in the bullpen before their morning briefing. He couldn't shake the image of your name on Hotch's phone from his mind.

JJ, trying to keep things under control, said, “Come on, guys, it could just be a friend. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin on his face. “Reid’s onto something. Hotch has been acting a bit differently lately. He’s not staying late like he used to.”

“And he’s been smiling more often,” Garcia added, her excitement barely contained. “The man’s practically glowing sometimes.”

Rossi, with a teasing tone, suggested, “Maybe he’s just getting better sleep. But I have to admit, there’s definitely something different.”

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Don’t you want to know? If Hotch is seeing someone, that’s huge!”

Rossi shrugged, still smirking. “Of course, I’m curious. But let’s give him some space. If he wants us to know, he’ll tell us. And if we’re lucky, we might even get to meet her.”

Prentiss grinned, "Do you think it’s serious? Like, she’s ‘the one’?”

“I think,” Rossi said thoughtfully, “if Aaron is keeping this under wraps, it’s because it’s important to him. He wouldn’t be so secretive if it wasn’t serious.”

Just then, Hotch entered the bullpen, and the conversation quickly shifted to a quieter, more focused buzz. The team members turned to their desks, but the air was charged with unspoken questions and speculative glances. Hotch, sensing the change in atmosphere, gave a brief nod before heading to his office.

As the day dragged on with paperwork and case briefings, the undercurrent of curiosity remained. The team exchanged looks, clearly eager to discuss Hotch’s secret, but they were careful to avoid bringing it up directly. The excitement about Hotch’s personal life was palpable, and everyone was waiting for the right moment to address the topic.

Later that evening, Aaron finally headed home after a long day. As he walked through the front door, he found you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, and a glass of wine in your hand. You looked up from the book you were reading, a smile spreading across your face when you saw him.

“Hi, baby, how was your day?” you asked, setting the book aside as he walked over to you.

“Tiring,” he admitted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And eventful. Reid saw a text from you last night.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh no. What did he say?”

“He asked if it was from you,” Aaron said, sitting down beside you. “I shut him down, but I think I gave myself away. The team’s been acting strange all day.”

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “So, they’re onto us?”

He nodded, slipping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “It was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be now.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t figure it out sooner,” you said, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “They are profilers, after all.”

He smiled down at you, his expression softening. “I never planned on keeping it a secret forever. I just figured they’d figure it out on their own time.”

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked with a playful grin.

He sighed, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your shoulder. “I suppose it’s time to tell them. They’re already curious, and I’d rather they hear it from me than through rumours.”

“You know they’ll be happy for you,” you said, squeezing his hand. “For us.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But there’s a part of me that’s nervous. I’ve always kept my personal life separate from work, but with you… it’s different.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly, the warmth of the moment lingering between you. “We’ll do it together, then. When you’re ready.”

Aaron’s gaze softened, but a playful glint sparkled in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “Right now, I want to do anything but think about the team,” his voice dropped to a low murmur.

You felt the heat of his words and smiled, leaning in closer. “Sounds perfect,” you whispered, as he nuzzled against you, his lips brushing yours with a grin.

A few days later, Rossi had decided to host a dinner party for the team. The team was eager to catch up and enjoy the evening. Aaron knew it was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the team as his girlfriend.

As the doorbell rang, Rossi answered the door to find Hotch standing beside you. As you both entered the living room, the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly as Hotch introduced you with a genuine smile.

“I’d like you to meet Y/N, my girlfriend,” Hotch said, his voice steady but warm.

The room fell into a stunned silence before erupting into excitement. Garcia’s face lit up with recognition and delight. “Oh my God! It’s Y/N! I knew it was someone! This is incredible!”

Morgan’s grin widened as he approached. “So, this is the elusive woman behind Hotch’s new smile! You’ve been keeping us in the dark for too long, Hotch.”

JJ smiled warmly as she extended her hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N, we’re really happy for both of you.”

Reid, ever the profiler, couldn’t resist asking, “How long have you two been together?”

Hotch laughed softly, putting an arm around you and smiling fondly. “Almost five months now. Y/N works as the unit chief for the BSU in the academy. I met her when she invited me to guest lecture.”

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I knew it! You two have that perfect power couple vibe. We have to plan another get-together so we can hang out more!”

Rossi, enjoying the moment, gave Hotch a friendly pat on the back. “Well, I guess this means you won’t be around for poker nights as often.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’ll still make time for poker nights, don’t worry.”

As the evening continued, the team enjoyed getting to know you better. The atmosphere was filled with laughter, light-hearted teasing, and genuine happiness for Hotch and you.

“So, when do we get to do this again?” Garcia asked eagerly.

Hotch smiled, feeling content. “Soon. We’ve been talking about having you all over for dinner. Now seems like the perfect time.”

As the team chatted and enjoyed the evening, Aaron felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Introducing you to his team had been a significant step, but their warmth and support made it all worthwhile. The thought of merging his work family with his personal life filled him with quiet joy.

As the party wound down and the team began to leave, Morgan gave Hotch a sly grin. “You know, Hotch, we’re happy for you, but don’t think we won’t give you a hard time about keeping this a secret for so long.”

Hotch chuckled, appreciating the camaraderie. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, the team said their goodbyes and headed home, their spirits high. Hotch followed them, feeling grateful for the support of his team and looking forward to the future with you.

Mars speaks... (again) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Also, would anyone be interested if I wrote for other fandoms such as F1 and Marvel? Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

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cheeseatlantic · 1 month ago

Text

KNOTS AND GRACE

It started the same way most things did for Simon: silently.

No declarations. No dramatic moment of revelation. Just a lingering glance in the low hum of early morning, the way your shoulders curled in on yourself like tired wings, the deep sigh you exhaled as you stared at your own reflection with dread.

You didn’t say it out loud, but Simon could feel it. How the strands of your hair—once lively and part of your expression—now hung like a weight. Too much to manage. Too much everything.

He watched you tie it back with a trembling hand, loose and lopsided, then abandon the brush entirely when your fingers snagged in a tangle near the nape. The irritation in your eyes made his chest ache. Not because you were angry—but because he could tell you’d been doing it for weeks. Too tired, too overstimulated, too worn down to untangle one more thing.

You didn’t ask for help.

You never did.

But that didn’t stop him.

⸻

He bought the wig online.

A perfect match—length, texture, density. The same subtle wave, the same specific sheen of your real hair. It had taken hours of scrolling and three different sample orders, but eventually, Simon found it.

He didn’t tell you. Not when he signed for the box and quietly slipped it into his office, not when he pulled it out that first night and stared at it like it might grow fangs.

It felt ridiculous at first.

He’d cleaned weapons with his eyes closed. Assembled rifles blindfolded. But this?

A wig. A brush. A comb with teeth so fine it made him squint.

This was intimate. And fragile. Terrifying in ways combat never touched.

But you were worth it.

⸻

He watched YouTube videos in the dark.

Hours of tutorials whispered through his headphones while you slept beside him, limbs heavy with exhaustion. Women and men and animated hands showing how to detangle without ripping strands, how to deep-condition and twist hair for sleeping, how to style with care.

He paused. Rewatched. Practiced with gloves first—then without.

He started simple: washing the wig in the sink with the recommended shampoo. Rinsing gently. Letting it drip dry like something sacred. The first time he brushed it wet, he almost cried when a clump came out.

“Too rough,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his grip.

The next time, he took it slower.

Eventually, it became a ritual.

⸻

Some nights, you’d find him staying up late with a notebook in his lap, scribbling what looked like tactical planning—except the scribbles were sketches of braid patterns and product names underlined twice.

“Work stuff,” he grunted if you asked.

But you knew something was different.

He smelled faintly like argan oil. There were towels missing from the bathroom. And once, you found a tiny butterfly clip in his shirt pocket.

Still, you didn’t push.

Simon would tell you when he was ready.

⸻

The first time he touched your hair with intention, it was gentle.

You’d had a hard day—he could tell before you even walked through the door. Your jaw was tight, your voice low, your hands twitching as you peeled off your coat and sank onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just moved behind you quietly, sat on the arm of the couch, and murmured, “C’mere, love.”

You blinked up at him, eyes already glassy.

He nodded once, opening his hand.

It held a wide-tooth comb.

“I practiced,” he said, voice rough.

And you melted.

⸻

He started slow. One section at a time. Hands firm but careful, tugging gently to detangle, using the exact oil you always ran out of.

You didn’t speak—not because you didn’t want to, but because your throat tightened up the moment his fingers slid through your hair.

He knew how to part it. How to twist without pulling. How to ease out knots with a patience that made your chest ache.

“How long’ve you been doing this?” you whispered.

Simon didn’t answer right away. His breath was steady, his focus deep.

“Long enough,” he said at last. “Just didn’t want to do it wrong.”

Your lip trembled.

He pressed a kiss to your temple without pausing his work.

“I wanted to make it easy for you.”

⸻

After that, it became part of your rhythm.

He washed your hair in the kitchen sink, draped you in towels, and massaged your scalp like he was unraveling tension with his bare hands. He air-dried it with care, fanned it out across your shoulders while he braided or twisted it with methodical grace.

Sometimes, you’d fall asleep like that, half-draped over his legs while he worked in silence. His fingers always steady. His attention never straying.

He never said much when he did it.

Didn’t need to.

Because this was the language Simon Riley spoke best: quiet hands, careful preparation, devotion stitched into the smallest of routines.

⸻

One night, you caught him mid-process.

Not with your hair—but with the wig.

He was hunched at his desk in his office, shirtless, the back of his neck damp with sweat as he twisted section after section under the dim light. His hands were slick with leave-in conditioner, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

You didn’t mean to interrupt.

But when you stepped in, he didn’t startle.

He just looked up.

Held your gaze.

And said, “Didn’t want to forget how to do it right.”

The wig sat on a stand. Nearly identical to your own head of hair—except this one wore a loose, intricate braid.

Your throat closed up.

“Simon…”

He set the comb down gently, stood, and stepped close.

“I wanted to be good at it,” he said, voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t have to do it yourself when you’re too tired to hold your arms up.”

You blinked hard. The wig. The research. The oils he’d restocked without asking.

“You learned all this for me?”

He tilted his head. “Of course I did.”

And that was it.

No big speech. No theatrics.

Just Simon, standing in the soft light, love slick on his palms and patience carved into every callus.

⸻

He became your stylist after that.

Not professionally. Not loudly.

But intimately.

He brushed your hair before bed. Wrapped it in silk. Untangled it after long days without complaint. You started to leave your products out on purpose, just to see if he’d notice when something ran low.

He always did.

He even kept a tiny drawer organized by your hair type in the bathroom now—deep conditioners, scalp oils, leave-ins, brushes marked for wet or dry.

Simon Riley: war machine, tactician, lieutenant… and the only man you’d ever trust with your scalp.

And god—he was good at it.

Better than you’d ever dared to be with your own hair.

Because where you rushed, he lingered. Where you winced, he soothed. Where you’d given up?

He learned.

⸻

One morning, you woke up tangled in his arms, hair still wrapped tight and perfect in a protective scarf.

You hadn’t put it on.

He had.

Your heart cracked open a little wider in your chest.

You turned, pressed your face into his throat, and whispered, “You take care of me.”

Simon didn’t open his eyes. Just pulled you closer.

“Always, love.”

⸻

In public, no one knew.

But your hair always looked effortlessly done. Styled. Clean. Braided neatly, edges touched with care.

People complimented you.

You just smiled and said thank you.

You never told them your husband spent nights studying curl patterns or secretly whispered affirmations under his breath as he twisted sections to perfection.

You never told them he kept a small folder labeled “hair refs” on his encrypted hard drive—right next to blueprints for field operations.

You didn’t have to.

Because every brushstroke, every soft rinse, every quiet hand pulling through your curls spoke for him.

A silent language.

Of devotion.

Of protection.

Of love that never asked for recognition.

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livinginshambles · 2 years ago

Text

I thought you'd be different | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: A cinderella story (maybe a little romeo and juliet while we're at it) but Hogwarts - Enemies-ish to lovers. You find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (James). When you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. When you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style.

Probably part one of two again.

Notes: Not proofread, grammar mistakes. Discrimination issues, themes of bullying. Regulus is our friend. James is an idiot, but we knew that already. Sirius sucks.

Masterlist. Part two. Part three

--------------------------------

You could still remember the moment vividly, as if it was engraved in your memory. That moment when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like your two older sisters had been sorted. You could still see the look of surprise, concern, horror and then eventually disgust, every time you close your eyes.

“Now we finally know your true colors,” is what your sister Alyssa had hissed coldly at you. You had pleadingly looked at your other sister, but Marla had supported her twin sister, disregarding the confused and scared look in your eleven-year-old eyes.

“Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us and don’t mention us at all,” she sneered down at you and for a moment you wondered how she hadn’t been the one to be sorted into Slytherin instead. But you had cast your eyes down and agreed.

But years passed and you had become the very stereotype of a Slytherin student, completely leaning into the cold, distant, quiet but calculating persona that your sisters had created for you. Might as well, you figured after your parent’s dismay at the revelation of your house.

You were making your way down the corridor, long strides as you passed your sisters while looking them straight in the eye. They grimaced at the sight of you, but without their entire group of classmates, they didn’t dare make any comments. A feeling of victory erupted inside of you, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that crept up your face.

“What poor soul suffered for you to look so satisfied?” You turned your head to look at the person who called out to you. James Potter and Sirius Black were both leaning against a statue in the open yard. “Did you get rid of Regulus or something?” Sirius taunted. “Finally had enough of him following you around, did you L/N?”

“Go die in a ditch, Sirius,” you retorted with an eye roll, but seemed unphased.

“Why so much hostility,” James unpleasantly remarked, and you halted in your step. “10 points from Gryffindor for loitering,” you pettily decided.

“If you have nothing to do, other than insulting students, I would love to recommend you to Professor McGonagall for detention. Heard she was still looking for the person who made all the pumpkins explode last week during Halloween, and you guys are terrible at getting rid of the evidence.” With a last glance up and down, you continued your way towards the room of requirement.

When you entered the sober room with a sigh, you noticed the small scrolled up piece of parchment in the middle of the room. You frowned. This was your space. The room didn’t open this space for anyone else, you made it specifically as a safe haven.

You cautiously approached the parchment and rolled it open to reveal nothing. It was completely blank. You shrugged. If the room left this here, it was meant for you, and so you took a seat and started drawing on it.

James sat in an empty room, his invisibility cloak hiding him from plain sight as he pulled the now folded paper from his back pocket. He inspected it closely, almost pressing the paper to his glasses in a curious manner. He had gone to the Room of Requirements earlier that day and found a piece of paper floating in the air.

James unfolded the paper, and his eyebrows flew up. Lines were appearing on the paper by itself, and a beautiful portrait of a weeping willow with a girl, crying on a bench under the tree appeared.

James fumbled to find his quill and ink. Then he started to write something on it, in a handwriting that he only ever used for written exams. Credits to Professor McGonagall, who had announced that she would not be grading anything she couldn’t read. And she had looked over her glasses at him while she said it.

It’s beautiful.

You dropped the parchment at the words that formed right under your drawing. You traced it with your fingers. Then you decided to write back.

Thank you, I’ve been dreaming about this for the past two days.

You frowned at yourself, unsure why you would disclose such information, but figured no one would be able to trace this back to you anyway.

James blinked at the response he got, mouth open in surprise. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. It must simply be a spell of some sort after all. He stared at the sad drawing and the sentence, and then he made up his mind, writing back.

It must be lonely for that girl to cry by herself under the weeping willow.

Your eyes followed the words that formed in a trance.

If she ever feels lonely again, she can always pour her heart out on this parchment. I’ll be the mighty guardian wizard that will make all her worries magically disappear.

A grateful smile made its way up your face and when you scribbled back a response, James couldn’t help but smile as well.

Maybe she will.

You doodled a wizard sitting on the bench next to the crying girl, a consoling hand stretched out.

That's how you became James’ best kept secret. He learned that you were indeed a student at Hogwarts, but that you felt lonely. That you enjoyed butterbeer, but never got to enjoy it on a Hogsmeade outing with friends, because you rarely had any. He learned that you felt inferior to your siblings and a disappointment to your parents. He noticed how you would draw a circle as the dot on your ‘i’ and learned, when he asked, that you did that because you had once seen Professor McGonagall do that when you were in your first year, and had practiced mimicking her handwriting, should it ever come in handy.

In return, he had told you that he felt pressured by the reputation that he had to maintain. He loved Quidditch and absolutely despised Ancient Runes, to which you had replied, “who doesn’t?”. He told you that he had illegally learned to become an Animagus, a stag, and that he wasn’t sure yet what the future would hold for him. He even revealed to you that he desperately wants to protect his friends and sometimes had nightmares, which usually resulted in a sneak around the castle at midnight. When you had asked him if he’d ever been caught, he responded with, “never”, and had explained to you that he had an invisibility cloak.

Two months passed and before you knew it, you were explaining Transfiguration through the enchanted parchment. You did conclude from this that your pen pal was most likely in a year or two higher than yourself but decided not to comment on it. James on the other hand, was under the assumption that you must be from his year, as you managed to help him study for his exams.

But now, it was almost 12 o’clock midnight, and James chewed his lip while he looked at the parchment. He hesitated for a moment. Then he decided to ask you the one question he had been yearning to know the answer to.

Who are you?

You looked at the paper sadly, and sighed.

You’d be disappointed.

I understand if you don’t want to reveal yourself. But know that I could never be disappointed by you, Willow.

James sighed when you didn’t answer anymore. He waved away the light that emitted from the tip of his wand and took his glasses off. He went to put the parchment under his pillow as usual, when he saw the scribbling movement that he’d gotten so accustomed to.

He scrambled to grab his wand to shed light on the paper but accidentally nudged them off the nightstand and onto the floor, where it rolled under his bed. James’ eyes flickered back to the paper in his hand, and he managed to catch the first letter of your name as it was written in capital letters.

But your cursive handwriting, the dark and lack of glasses made it impossible to read the rest of your name. When he finally reached his wand and put on his glasses, he heard the clock strike twelve and he cursed as he grasped the parchment tightly, hurried ‘lumos’ and saw that the parchment had reset itself to a blank page again, just as every night at 12 o’clock at midnight.

Wait, please! I didn’t catch it before it erased itself. Please write it again?

You let out a sigh in relief after you had internally bashed your head against a wall.

No, it was stupid of me. I’m glad you didn’t see it.

You leaned back into your armchair with a racing heart. You couldn’t believe you had done that.

“Regulus,” you acknowledged as you pulled the chair back to sit next to him in the library. “Y/N,” Regulus quietly responded without looking up from his book, and if you didn’t know any better, his straight face would indicate annoyance. Luckily, you did know better.

“You smile any brighter, the sorting hat will transfer you to Hufflepuff, you know,” you teased him.

His face distorted in a grimace and without missing a beat, he replied, “do kill me before such a thing occurs.” You shook your head and finally sat down. Then you pursed your lips in thought.

“You know how I’ve been working all summer to earn galleons?”

“No.”

“Well I did.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I rented a small flat,” you blurted out. Regulus finally looked up at you, surprise almost evident on his face. Then again, you didn’t have the most amazing home situation either. You often opted to stay behind at Hogwarts for the holidays. It is how you two had befriended each other, especially ever since Sirius left him to his own devices at home. Parents, it was a trauma bonding thing.

“Congratulations,” he nodded, his voice trailed off as he tried to see how this would concern him.

“So I thought you might want to stay with me over the Christmas holidays? Your mother doesn’t hate me, so I thought it might be possible. Gives you a chance to get out once in a while.” You tentatively brought up the sensitive subject.

“And what makes you think living with you will be any more bearable than living in my own mansion?” Regulus snarkily remarked.

You squinted your eyes at him in a scowl. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice don’t you think?”

“Do I have to pay rent?”

“Depends on whether or not the answer impacts your decision.”

“So not then.”

You huffed.

“Fine, I suppose I could join you in your small flat.”

“Merlin, don’t go doing me any favors Reg, I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

Regulus shook his head in amusement.

Satisfied with your rather successful attempt to invite him over, you got up. The chair you sat on screeched loudly as it was being pushed back. You could feel the librarian’s furious eyes on your back and rolled your eyes at her as you made your way to the door. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” you waved your hand in the air and exited the room.

You made it approximately two steps when you spotted your sisters again. “Of course you would cause a disturbance in the library,” Marla spat at you. You raised your eyebrows but remained unimpressed.

“I see you’ve got your buddies to back you up now?” you commented and tilted your chin slightly upwards. Your eyes flickered to your other sister, their closest friends, and the marauders.

For a moment, you considered walking away, but there was just something about that twitching lip of your sister that had you irked.

You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you and your sister. You leaned in slightly and then, “Boo.”

It took your other sister, Alyssa about one second to have her wand pulled out and pointed at your throat.

James watched the interaction with a small frown on his face. He didn’t really speak with the fellow Gryffindor twins, but their friends and Lily were friends, so the marauders had joined them on their way towards the courtyard.

His mind flickered to a conversation he had had with ‘Willow’ about her sisters, and he wondered if you felt the same sadness and inferiority as his pen pal. And with that in mind, he pulled Alyssa back by her robe with one harm, the other lowering her raised wand.

“Let’s not,” he shrugged, when she raised her brows in question at him.

“She clearly threatened my sister,” Alyssa defended.

You scoffed at that. “I said ‘boo’. That’s hardly a threat,” you rolled your eyes and glanced at James who tried to offer you something that resembled a smile.

Was he mocking you? “Fancy yourself a hero, don’t you, Potter.”

“Hey, I was just trying to help,” he raised his hands in defense.

“Cause you’re such a good soul,” you sarcastically remarked.

“Yeah, actually. At least better than you. That hostility is so uncalled for,” Sirius mumbled under his breath, and you shot him a glare. “Right, better than me. Let me ask the two-dozen tormented Slytherin students you’ve bullied this past year. Bet Snape will buy your self-proclaimed ‘kindness’.”

You were already walking away when Sirius opened his mouth to call something out to you, but James kicked his shins in attempt to shut him up. Your words resonated in his mind.

Maybe he was a twat.

Am I a twat?

What the bloody hell are you on about?

Someone called me a twat today. Now that wasn’t necessarily true, but the implications were there.

Did you deserve it?

Sort of.

Sort of?

I mean, I am only an asshole to people who are assholes themselves and deserve it. But I guess that makes me an asshole too.

You hesitated for a moment and decided to write your opinion on the matter.

Maybe you being an asshole to people makes them assholes. And then it becomes a vicious circle. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that bogger.

You reckon?

Wouldn’t have written it down if I didn’t.

On a brighter note, do you have a date for the Yule ball after the exams?

If you’re asking me out, I already promised my friend that we’d go together.

Oh right. But would you save me a dance? Maybe at midnight under the main crystal chandelier?

James bit his lip again in suspense. The Yule ball is a masked ball anyways, if you don’t want to reveal yourself.

Midnight, main crystal chandelier. You decided to leave it at that. Besides. You could enchant the mask a little extra, so you’d be even more unrecognizable. You wondered who would be behind the kind words of the parchment.

It felt strange to you. Really looking forward to something to the point you could feel jitters in your stomach in anticipation. But it was having a certain effect on you that even the younger Black couldn’t help but miss.

Regulus squinted his eyes and moved his jaw in thought. When he had had enough, he pulled you aside.

“Out with it.”

You deflated. You knew that he knew what he was talking about, so you shrugged. “Someone asked me to save a dance next week,” you mumbled.

“And you want to?” Regulus’ tone shifted to an incredulous one.

“I found an enchanted parchment in the room of requirements and it’s connected. I’ve been using it to have conversations with a mystery person.”

It felt great to be able to share this with your friend and you leaned against the wall behind you. “So yeah.” You finished the confession with an awkward hand gesture.

Regulus took a moment to register what you said. And then, as if it was the most normal thing ever, he responded with, “I see. And you have no idea who?”

You let yourself slide down the wall and tiredly put your head on your propped up knees. “Probably a Gryffindor.”

Regulus started laughing. You snapped your head up and scowled at him, not that he was used to anything else from you.

“As long as it’s not a mudbl-“

You kicked his legs and made him lose his balance. You shot him a warning glance. “You know my opinion on that.”

Regulus sighed. You had once confided in him about your home situation, including that time when you had overheard your parents argue when you came home for the first time after having been sorted into Slytherin. Your father had addressed the matter as soon as you walked through the door.

“You’re no daughter of mine.” He had said with disapproval in his voice. It wasn’t meant as a figurative insult. It was a statement. Your father believed that you could simply not biologically be his daughter. The words had you avert your eyes to the floor in shame.

“My entire bloodline has been sorted into Gryffindor.” He had looked at your mother. “Your family does have Slytherins. She’s most likely the result of your affair with that muggle a decade ago. It is possible.” And just like that, he had practically disowned you.

“Okay,” Regulus relented. “We’ll see who it is next week.”

James was nervously looking around, standing partnerless in the middle of the dancefloor. He had long forgone the mask that he had chosen because it prevented him from using his glasses. He looked at the great clock just above the table with drinks and pulled a hand through his hair.

It was time, so where were you? Hopefully you hadn’t chickened out yet because he was absolutely dying to meet you.

There was just something about you. It sparked something in him that he hadn’t felt since Lily. He’d look forward to your messages all the time. Every morning, he practically jumped up in anticipation and excitement as he reached under his pillow to read your ‘good morning’ message for the day. A smile would pass his lips each time.

James was ripped from his thoughts when a hand was placed on his shoulder blade. It tapped twice. He stopped breathing for a moment before turning around. And then the breath was knocked out of both of you completely.

For two different reasons.

James stared in awe at you. You wore a white and silver dress, covered in diamonds. A delicate white mask covered the upper part of your face, and he stared intently at your eyes, but somehow, he still couldn’t pinpoint who you were.

He could see all of your features clearly, but as if he was in a dream, he somehow couldn’t piece everything together to identify you. A charm, he realized. He was disappointed but shook it off. If you felt insecure, then he wouldn’t push it.

James’ face broke out in a grin, and he stepped forward. He couldn’t help but reach out to your face. But you took a step back. His hand fell and he frowned at your reaction, suddenly scared. He wasn’t wearing a mask after all. Compared to you, he was completely vulnerable.

Before he could say anything, you cut him to it. “No,” you hoarsely managed. “This was a mistake.” You turned around and escaped from the center of the dancefloor. James chased you.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry!” He called out after you.

You slowed your pace when you reached the corner next to the staircase. Then you shook your head with a sight, and you pinched your nose. James could see your furrowed brows.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. But my intention wasn’t to dance with James Potter. It was a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”

James shook his head in his turn. “Don’t say that,” his eyes pleaded. “So you know who I am. Am I..” He hesitated. “Am I that bad? I don’t know if you’ve heard any rumors about me, or what made you have a bad impression of me, but I’m the one you’ve been talking to for the past months.” He looked at you desperately. “Give me a chance, please. I only ask for a dance.”

Your eyes flickered over his sad face. You knew James from all the pranks that he did, mostly committed towards your house. You knew him from the banters you had with him, and from crying students that you undid hexes for. You knew him from pushing him out of the way as he purposely blocked your path to throw insults at you.

But you also knew the boy from the enchanted paper. The one who listened to all your worries. Who offered advice and indulged into your hopes and dreams for the future. You knew the boy who confided in you all his deepest secrets and own insecurities. Who made your day and cheered you up with his jokes and positivity.

“I can give you a dance,” you caved, and you offered him your hand, which he scrambled to hold.

James was a fairly decent dance partner, you soon discovered as he guided you with grace. “So I suppose you dance often?”

“I just practiced a lot,” he sheepishly admitted. “I had to impress you somehow, you know. Someone like you had to be crazy out of my league after all.”

Your lips twitched. “I think you’ve got it all backwards, Potter.”

“You know you can call me James, right?”

“Well, James,” you enunciated his name. It felt weird on your tongue. You had only ever spoken his last name in contempt. “I’m not very liked by more than half the students of this castle.” You motioned towards your mask. “Hence the enchantment,” you added halfheartedly.

“You don’t have to tell me who you are,” James immediately assured you, and you did relax at his words. “I’m just really happy that you’re real.”

You let out a laugh. “Why would I not be real?”

“I don’t know,” James whined. “Maybe I was just talking to really sentient paper or something?”

His answer only made you laugh more. James’ grin only spread wider.

“Whoever you are, I wouldn’t judge you,” James added quietly. You watched him silently as you swayed around the room.

“That’d be a first,” you joked sadly, remembering your own family.

“What can I say, I’m just different,” James cheekily winked and then twirled you around.

“We’ll see about that, James. You have the rest of the night to convince me.”

The dance ended and you curtsied to each other, out of breath. “But you’ll have to excuse me while I go find a bench because my feet are killing me. These heels are no joke,” you groaned in pain and sort of started to limp your way back.

James quickly came to support you and held your waist as he escorted you back to the side of the room. When you discovered that there were not in fact any benches, you sat down on the first few steps of the staircase. He raised his eyebrows when you kicked off your heels and saw that the entire slipper was made of glass.

“I transfigured those shoes myself, you know,” you proudly stated. James looked at it in disbelief. “This can carry a human weight?”

“Yeah, it took a lot of different enchantments and attempts,” you admitted.

James’ disbelief changed to awe. He took a seat next to you and you two started chatting about random things. You looked at James’ profile as he talked about Quidditch and felt soft towards him. Maybe he really wasn’t so bad after all.

The two of you were deep into a conversation when you were interrupted .

“Who is this, Prongs?” Sirius curiously stepped forward and shook your hand. You couldn’t help but grimace at him.

You politely nodded and explained the situation, but even though you engaged into a civil, nonchalant conversation, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the presence of James’ friends.

“Anyways,” Sirius leans in towards James. “Did you see Snape over there?” He nodded his head towards Snape, and you squinted your eyes at the boy in front of you.

“You’re not thinking of doing anything to him, are you,” you sharply asked. Both James and Sirius were taken aback by your new tone.

“Nothing harmful,” Sirius laughed, but it faded when you simply raised your eyebrows at him. Sirius looked towards James for help. James hesitated. He had been reluctant to indulge Sirius’ ideas ever since his conversation with you about being a twat. But Sirius was his friend.

“We’re just having a bit of fun,” James tried to explain. “We’re just joking around, besides, he’s in Slytherin, so definitely a blood supremacist.” Your face fell at his words.

You watched his features contort in disgust and suddenly you were eleven again, and all you could see was your sisters disgusted face.

By the time you had snapped out of it, Sirius was already making his way towards Snape. James had gotten up and his head flickered between you and his friend.

You got up as well.

“I really thought you’d be different, James.” You scoffed to yourself. “You really had me convinced there for a moment. But I understand that you’re really just a bully after all, blinded by prejudice. You really are a twat.”

James’ heart dropped at hearing you say those words. He felt ashamed and shook his head pleadingly as he searched for words. But the thing is, you couldn’t care less, because you were hurt too. So you turned around and fled up the stairs as fast as you could, just in case he would come after you.

“Hey Prongs, you coming or not?” Sirius called out. James looked back at Sirius as he contemplated his next move. He mouthed ‘no’, and then tried to run after you. But by the time he reached the hallway that you had disappeared to, you were nowhere in sight.

In denial, James ran towards the moving staircases and looked up, in hopes to find you there.

Had he looked down, maybe he would have caught the last shimmer of reflection of the diamonds on your dress.

James refused to give up, however and he started to knock on the paintings, hoping that they could tell him where you went. He just had to apologize.

A symphony of protests and yelling echoed within the hall. “Quiet you!” “Have you no respect for the sleeping?” “I will complain to Filch about this, young man!” “Leave us alone!”

When the voices resided, most portraits were empty, their contents having escaped elsewhere.

Defeated, James groaned and hit his head with his fists. “You stupid git!” he yelled out in frustration at himself. James slouched down to sit on the stairs. Then he reached for the parchment and a pen in the inner pocket of his jacket and started scrambling something down.

“Please answer,” he whispered. He almost had to laugh at how pathetic he must look.

You sat on your bed after having made your way to the Slytherin dorms.

I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I said that. I’m stupid and I ruined everything. Please let me make it up to you. I enjoy being with you, I don’t want you to think of me like this.

Like I said before, this was clearly a mistake.

James read your words over and over again and he buried his face in his hands in shame. He stayed there for a long while and by the time he returned to the room, the party was over, and people had started returning to bed. On the left side of the staircase were your enchanted glass slippers precisely where you’d kicked the off and left them.

Preview of part two

Part two

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