sta-rpilled

[sta-rpilled]

Now nothing’s the same | Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: You know it isn't your Mark the moment he steps into your room. The blood on his suit isn't his. The way he looks at you isn't right. The things he whispers aren't things your Mark would ever say. Yet, you let him stay. And more.

Pairing: Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, frottage, overstimulation, rimming (R receiving), belly bulging, unprotected sex, spit as lube.

Tags: any Mark variant, Reader is lowkey not okay, and he’s a virgin (so prob unrealistic sex?), Unrequited love (for original Mark), Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 12.2k  |  a/n: English isn’t my first language. This is the first time I write smut so it probably sucks, but hey, I wrote 12k? How did that happen? Yikes… Feedback is appreciated—as longs as is respectful. Also, I wrote this with no particular Mark in mind, so feel free to imagine your favorite variant! The only exception is Mohawk Mark, since his unique hairstyle would immediately reveal he's not the mainstream version at the very beginning (unless you prefer to imagine the reader being dense and oblivious to that glaring detail...).I guess it doesn’t really matter. IMAGINE ANY MARK! And enjoy!!!

You're here | Part 2

Ever since the news broke about cities around the world being destroyed by multiple versions of Invincible, you’ve been hiding. It’s the only logical thing to do—for someone powerless like you, there’s nothing else to do. You can only wait for the nightmare to end, for the heroes to rise victorious. For Mark to rise victorious.

So you stay in your home, clutching your phone, waiting for something—anything—to change. A day passes, and Mark still hasn’t answered your messages. He’s busy, you tell yourself, burying your face in your pillow to stifle the ache in your chest. Of course he’s busy. How could he not be? His hands are full with the weight of the world on his shoulders—fighting, saving, surviving. The news keeps reporting on the Invincibles’ rampage, updating the world daily. A stupid text message—of course Mark doesn’t have time to reply.

(You try not to think about how Mark has been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same. How you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. But you didn’t, and now nothing’s the same.)

So you wait, trapped within your four walls, your chest heavy with worry for your friends—your hero friends—who are out there risking their lives. You cling to the news like a lifeline, watching as the Invincibles tear through city after city, leaving thousands dead, all while they smile like it’s a game.

So you wait, and pray. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, pressing against your ribs until it feels like you might burst. But eventually, hunger forces you to move. You drag yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fumble with the bread. You barely register the motion, your mind drifting to every terrible, unlikely scenario where Mark—your Mark—doesn’t make it. The thought alone makes your throat tighten.

It’s not good. You shouldn’t be this negative. But there are so many Invincibles, and if they’re anything like the Mark you know, then even the strongest heroes must be struggling. People will die. People you care about. And you try—God, you try—not to think about who, who, who.

Maybe that’s why you don’t hear him.

Not that there’s any particular sound to warn you. No footsteps, no creak of the floorboards. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of the curtains by the open window.

One second, your eyes are on the bread on the counter, and the next, an unexpected voice brushes against your ear.

“Found you,” he whispers.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering to the counter. Your breath hitches as you turn your head slowly.

(Vaguely, you think about Mark fussing over you like a mother hen, that familiar crease forming between his brows. “You really shouldn’t leave your window open like that,” he’d chide, voice laced with exasperation. “Anyone could get in.”

But you’d just laugh, brushing off his concern. “It’s a sixth floor, Mark. And you’re the only weirdo who does.”

I’ll always leave my window open for you, you wouldn’t say.

I’ll always be waiting for you to come, you couldn’t say.)

And then, there he is.

“Mark?” you breathe, relief crashing over you in an overwhelming wave. You don’t notice the differences—how his suit is wrong, smeared with fresh blood and viscera that drip onto your clean floor. How his eyes are too wide, too unblinking, something wild lurking behind them. You don’t see any of it. All you see is Mark standing there, safe, alive. “Oh my god, Mark.”

You rush to him without hesitation, arms outstretched, wrapping him up in a desperate embrace. You’ve been so worried, so consumed by the gnawing anxiety of losing him, that just hearing his voice, just seeing him, shatters any rational thought.

For a moment, he stiffens against you. But then, his arms lock around you with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too tight, too much, an intensity Mark has never held you with before. That should have been your first warning. But as soon as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, you forget about everything that seems wrong. You forget about the blood, the wild look in his eyes, the way his grip feels almost possessive. All you can focus on is the way he inhales deeply, as if he’s been starved of this—of you.

You shudder, heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain, and then he sighs, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against your skin.

(“You smell really good,” Mark would murmur, crowding into your space, his nose nearly brushing your neck as he inhaled deeply. “Like, really good.”

You’d shove at his chest, face flaming despite yourself. “Christ, Grayson, you’re not a dog. Back off.”

He’d laugh—that stupid, sunshine-bright laugh that always made your pulse stutter—and lean against the lockers with infuriating ease. “Just being honest… Hey, you could tell me what perfume you use. Maybe then Amber would actually like me on our next date.”

Your chest would tighten, eyebrows knitting together before you could stop them.

“Can’t help you there, pretty boy,” you’d say, slamming your locker shut harder than necessary. When he raised an eyebrow at you, you’d flash a razor-thin smile. “Turns out it’s natural. One hundred percent me.”) 

“It’s you…” Mark whispers, his lips brushing against your neck. You hold your breath, trying to suppress the goosebumps rising on your skin, but it’s futile. His voice is low, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He squeezes you tighter, his arms like steel bands around you. “Oh, it’s you.” 

“Mark?” you ask hesitantly, confusion laced in your voice. “What is it? Are you hurt?” 

You try to push yourself away, hands pressing against his shoulders to create some space—because you can’t do this. You can’t handle him holding you like this, his voice hoarse and low against your neck, his breath hot enough to make you weak. You’re friends. Only friends. He’s made that much clear, and this—this isn’t fair.

But you barely manage to put a few inches between you before he whines, a sound so raw and desperate it catches you off guard. In an instant, he pulls you back in, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his grip unyielding.

“Mark?” you whisper again, voice trembling.

“Not yet,” he replies, his tone pleading. “Let me hold you one more minute.” 

And you don’t have the strength to refuse him.

Yet, as the seconds tick by and he keeps clinging to you like a child afraid to let go, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve been ignoring.

Why is Mark here? Why would he suddenly show up at your apartment when he’s supposed to be out there, saving the world? Why would Mark—the same Mark who’s been keeping you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, who barely speaks to you beyond polite conversation, who’s been looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place—be holding you so desperately right now?

Then your attention drifts to his clothes. His suit, but not really his suit. The blood—the thick, dark blood that, now that you’re truly paying attention, doesn’t belong to him. And it’s a lot, pooling around your feet, staining your floor, soaking your clothes.

A sickening weight settles in your stomach, curling, twisting, nagging at the back of your mind. Your arms go slightly limp around him, hesitation creeping in where relief had been just moments ago. Your brain, which had felt so light, so grateful just a minute ago at the sight of him safe, suddenly flashes back to the news. The destruction. The Invincibles terrorizing the world.

And you wonder.

Finally, he exhales—a slow, steady breath, like someone bracing themselves. Then, he lets go, his hands lingering on your arms as if he’s reluctant to break contact entirely.

“Y/N…” he whispers, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s an unusual smile, unnatural, amused when it shouldn’t. “Here’s where you’ve been hiding, huh?”

“Hiding?” you ask, unsure. “Well—I can’t really do anything else, can I?”

Mark smiles spreads. But his eyes—there’s something in them you hadn’t noticed before. Wide, almost frantic, something raw burning behind them. The dark circles under them make him look exhausted. His hair is a mess. And yet, his expression softens as he studies you, gaze tracing over every feature like he’s trying to memorize you. It’s so intense, so intimate, it nearly steals your breath away.

“What—What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing away, flustered. “Is it—is it over? The fight?”

He coos, a gloveless hand reaching for your chin to tilt it back toward him with a grip that’s firm, almost possessive. “Oh, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about anymore,” he says, voice light, too light, too nonchalant for someone who just came from a battle. Mark doesn’t speak like this after a fight—he’s never so casual, so detached.

(Mark’s hands would dig into his hair, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m just—I keep fucking up.”

“You’re not,” you’d tell him, hand pressing warm circles between his shoulder blades. “You save people, Mark. Every single day—”

“Bullshit!” He’d jerk upright so fast you’d recoil, chair screeching against the floor. “More people die than I save!” He’d pace, fingers twisting in his hair. “Stop—just stop telling me I’m not fucking up! Stop trying to—to make me feel better! You don’t understand how I feel!”

Your chest would tighten, fingers curling into empty air where he’d been. “I know I don’t.”

“Then stop!”

“However—” you’d stand up as well, eyes locking onto his as you caught his face in your hands, palms pressing gently against his cheeks. Mark would freeze, his breath hitching, wide eyes locked onto yours. “However, I know the world would be worse without you in it. Just thinking about the possibility of not having Invincible on our side—it scares me. Because you’re the only one strong enough to protect us. The only one who can stand up to the worst threats.”

Your thumb would brush over his cheekbone, touch impossibly gentle.

“And I’m sorry you have to carry that responsibility, Mark. But you’re not failing. Not to me.”

His expression would crumble, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before he’d pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder. His breath would shake, and you’d feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt.

Your cheeks would burn, heart stuttering, but you'd swallow your feelings and offer only the comfort a friend should.

“I’m sorry,” he’d murmur, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

You’d breathe in, closing your eyes. “Don’t be.”)

Your cheeks burn as he tugs you closer by the chin, forcing you to look straight at him. Your hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, but you don’t pull away. You should. But you don’t. Yet, you can’t stand the weight of his stare, so intense, so close, it feels like it’s peeling back layers of you, exposing everything you’ve tried to suppress.

“Nothing to worry about?” you force the words out, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face and the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he nods, his voice low and steady. Then, without warning, he leans closer again, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he just couldn’t get enough. “Oh, shit. How I missed this.”

“Mark?” you ask quietly, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. His breath is hot and electric against your skin. The warmth blooming in your face spreads down, coiling through your body. “What are you doing? Jesus—this isn’t like you.”

“Oh, really?” he hums, lips ghosting over your pulse. The brush of them—so soft, so deliberate—makes you shudder. “Not even a little?”

“No…” you exhale, shivering when his arms snake around your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm. “No. Mark. What—what are you doing?”

Your hands reach for the counter behind you, gripping the edge tightly, desperate for something to anchor you. But Mark—his scent, his body pressed so tightly against yours, his breath burning against the most sensitive part of your throat—makes it impossible to focus, impossible to think. It’s like everything around you is spinning, and you can’t make sense of any of it.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, his tone amused and teasing, like this is all some game to him.

And that finally makes you scowl, the heat in your cheeks now burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. You inhale sharply, trying to regain your senses, but an ugly feeling of shame and hurt settles heavily in your chest.

You lift a hand and push him, or at least try to, your strength no match for his. Still, he complies, pulling away with a reluctant sigh, an annoyed expression flickering across his face as he finally tears himself from you.

“This isn’t funny, Mark,” you say, glancing away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” he complains, his fingers digging into your waist as if he’s reluctant to let you go entirely.

“That,” you snap, gripping his wrists and prying his hands off. “You can’t just—just ignore me for weeks and then suddenly show up and treat me this way. It’s—it messes with my head! It’s not fair, Mark!” your breath comes heavy, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to form the words. Your eyes drop to the floor, and you add quietly, “Just stop.” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into you, searching, analyzing. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s trying to piece something together.

“We’re not… together?” he asks after a beat, his voice incredulous, like the idea is absurd.

The question makes you flinch, and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.

(“I’m sorry,” Mark would mutter, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “I just—don’t see you that way.”

You’d glance away, your lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold back the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s just—there’s someone else I wanna try it with.”

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh, wanting Earth to swallow you whole and disappear forever. But this is Mark, and you couldn’t bear living without Mark. “We’re still friends, right? This doesn’t have to change anything.”

He’d smile at you, his eyes creasing at the edges in the way you adored. “Yeah—Friends!”)

“Of course not!” you snap, voice rising. “You made it very clear you—you love someone else!”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you and his overwhelming presence. Was he mocking you? Playing some cruel joke?

But then again, as you pace around the kitchen, trying to hold yourself together, your eyes flicker to his odd suit, to the blood clinging to him, to the confused, almost baffled look on his face. And you think again—why is Mark here? Why, really?

Is he even Mark—

“But Y/N—” he whines, trailing after you like a lost puppy, his voice pleading, “—I would never, and I mean never look at anyone else but you!”

You frown, shaking your head. “I can’t even believe you’re saying this to me right now,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Did you hit your head too hard fighting those lunatics?”

You don’t notice the way he tilts his head at your words, don’t catch the way his eyes darken, flashing with something unreadable.

“If you don’t have anything better to do, then just leave,” you huff, bitterness lacing your tone. “I don’t wanna—humiliate myself any more than I already have. You had your fun. So go away.”

You turn on your heel, heart pounding as you stride toward your bedroom where your phone is charging. There’s a gut feeling gnawing at you, a sensation you can’t shake, and you need confirmation. You need reassurance.

Is the Mark standing behind you even your Mark at all?

Your gut twists violently, but you can’t shake it. The second you step into your bedroom, your hand fishes for your phone, fingers trembling as you scroll through your contacts and press the button.

But Mark hasn’t left. He follows right after you, moving with an easy, unhurried stride, and when he realizes what you’re doing, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.

“O-ho?” he hums, amusement dripping from his voice. “My, my, Y/N, why’re you calling me?” 

His hand moves, effortlessly covering yours, fingers warm and firm over your knuckles. The phone rings—once, twice—and Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, voice low, teasing.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t need anyone else.” 

Your breath hitches. The sound of the third ring barely registers before he plucks the phone from your grasp with unnerving ease. You don’t even resist—your fingers tremble as they slip away from the device. Not that it would have done anything, anyway. The fifth ring echoes into silence, then clicks to Mark’s familiar voicemail. Useless.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and overwhelming. You watch, frozen, as he casually places your phone on your desk, just far enough out of reach.

Then, the moment your eyes meet his, you know.

This isn’t the Mark you know and love.

Mark hums, content, utterly unbothered as he slides back into your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sighs, pleased, like he belongs there, like nothing’s wrong.

Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe it’s fear, or disbelief, or survival instincts.

Because you let him.

Your arms fall open, letting him settle more comfortably against you, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles closer. His warmth, his scent, the way he holds you tight—it’s all too much. And you—weak-kneed, breath unsteady—let him.

“Are you going to kill me?” you can’t help but ask eventually, voice quiet, barely a whisper.

He makes a confused sound in his throat, the vibration brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “Hmm—not yet.”

Not yet. You should be terrified. Every nerve in your body should be screaming for you to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there, frozen, pliant in his grip. You know he’s dangerous. You know he could snap your neck without a second thought.

Yet—a curious thing happens in your brain.

You’re not afraid. You can’t be.

Because when your eyes settle on this Mark—and he looks exactly like the Mark you know, the Mark you have feelings for—something just… doesn’t click the way it should. Fear doesn’t come. Disgust doesn’t rise in your throat. Dread doesn’t tighten its grip around your chest.

Because he looks so much like Mark. And duh—he is Mark. But not yours, and that alone should be enough to make you want to bolt. Yet—as he nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tingling against your skin, his solid body pressing into yours with a firmness that feels both grounding and overwhelming, and the way he called you ‘sweetheart’—it all makes you want to give in to him.

The feelings you’ve buried—the ones you’ve shoved down since the day Mark rejected you, since the day you forced yourself to be okay with just being friends—are clawing their way back to the surface, stronger, faster, more consuming than ever.

“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry though,” he says, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that feels deliberate, calculated. “It’d be such a waste to kill you so fast. I came here for you, after all.”

His lips trail along your neck, slow and purposeful, and despite everything—despite knowing this isn’t right—you sigh, shivering at the unfamiliar, intoxicating affection. He moves upward, lips ghosting over your skin until he reaches your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Mark…” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, body melting under his touch.

“Ohh, I know, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement, dripping with smug satisfaction. You can feel the smirk curving against your skin. “I know everything you like. I know every inch of you. Let me show you.”

Your body betrays you.

Your mind knows better—knows that this Mark isn’t yours, that the weight of his body pressing into yours should send alarms blaring through your head. But when his fingers skim your waist, when his breath fans hot against your skin, when he sighs like he belongs here—your body doesn’t fight him.

It welcomes him.

Your hands twitch at your sides, uncertain, but you don’t push him away.

“I can’t believe this universe’s Mark wouldn’t date you,” he muses, fingers wandering, exploring, curling behind your back before cupping your ass and squeezing. A choked sound catches in your throat as heat floods through you, your knees nearly giving out. “I mean—look at you.” His voice dips, teasing, triumphant. “Barely resisting.”

You bite your lip, swallowing a sound you refuse to let escape.

He laughs then—open, mocking, and so, so cocky. “And here I thought I’d have to fight this Mark over you, but—” his grin widens, wicked and pleased. “I don’t think I have any competition, sweetheart.” His lips brush against your jaw, his grip tightening possessively. “You’re all mine.”

He starts to push against you, forcing you to walk backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress. You fall onto the bed, breathless, your heart racing as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Just mine, okay?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you—not even him. Not even this universe’s pathetic version of me.” He scoffs, his hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt and tugging it off with a harsh, almost desperate motion. “Loving someone else? When I have you? He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Y/N—you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve—” 

He groans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark, his eyes raking over your exposed skin like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. You shiver, a deep blush spreading across your face. It’s too much, too fast, and you feel utterly exposed as his gaze devours every inch of you. His expression twists, a mix of desperation and adoration, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your body, committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His fingers twitch, hovering over your skin but not touching, like he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out just to make you squirm.

It’s too intimate, too intense, and for a fleeting second, you forget that he’s dangerous.

“Stop staring,” you weakly complain, turning your face away.

“Oooh, oh-ho-ho, yeah, baby, you’re just like I remember...” he laughs, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking with a wild, almost manic energy. “Yeah—I’ll never let him have you. Never let anyone else even look at you. You’re just mine—holy shit.” 

And then he dives.

His lips crash into yours, claiming rather than kissing, his entire body pressing you down into the mattress, forcing your legs open. It’s desperate, feverish—starving. His tongue pushes past your lips, stealing your breath, and you moan into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you struggle to keep up with his messy, frantic rhythm. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy. He groans and growls against your lips as his hands roam your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brush against your nipples, teasing and possessive, and you can only take it, breathless and overwhelmed, your mind spinning as he claims you in every way he can.

“Yeah, baby, keep making those sounds for me,” he murmurs against your lips before diving in again, swallowing every breath, every whimper like it fuels him. “So, so good. Fuck, you have no idea—it keeps me going.”

Your breath stutters as his fingers pinch your nipple, hard enough to make your back arch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he grinds his hips down. Your legs part without a second thought, welcoming him, urging him closer until he’s right there, pressing into you, slotting himself between your thighs.

“That’s it, spread wider for me,” he pants, voice dripping with dark approval. “You’re still so good, fuck.”

Your lips burn, swollen and tingling from his kisses, and when you blink up at him through your lashes, you catch the glint in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, the usual warm brown of his eyes swallowed by something feral. That smirk—all sharp teeth and predatory hunger—should terrify you. Because the Mark you know has never looked like this before. This unhinged and unsteady. It’s a sharp, gut-wrenching reminder—this isn’t your Mark. This isn’t the sweet, awkward Mark who you fell for, the one you trusted. This Mark is wrong, a twisted mirror image, and you should be fighting him, shoving him away, clawing your way out even if it’s futile—

But then he leans down and presses the softest, faintest kiss to the tip of your nose.

And your mind blanks.

Because holy shit—Mark, the man you’ve been pining over for months, years, is kissing you. And it feels so good, so intoxicating, it messes with your head, scrambles your thoughts into something dangerous.

You know it’s wrong. You know this isn’t him. It’s like pouring your feelings into a stranger, a shadow wearing his face. But fuck—this Mark grinds against you, slow and deliberate, and you feel him, the hard press of him against you, thick and aching with want.

You gasp, body tensing, startled by how badly he wants you.

“Ohh, baby,” he whines, voice thick with desperate need, like he’s been starving for this moment for lifetimes. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his. “Let me—” His hips roll again, dragging his thick length against your own, and you choke on air. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come, please, baby, please.”

Teeth scrape along your jaw before finding that sweet spot beneath your ear—the one you didn’t even know was sensitive—and you arch off the bed with a broken moan when he sucks harshly at the skin. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—he maps every inch of you like he’s memorized you, like he already knows every single weak spot before you even realize them yourself.

“Please? Please?” he keeps begging, voice so raw, so desperate, so utterly pathetic it makes you dizzy.

And you—you’re still too caught off guard to react properly. Because Mark—your Mark—never looked at you like this. Never even wanted you like this. But this Mark? He’s rutting against you like an animal in heat, his massive cock straining against his suit as he whimpers your name, making your head spin.

It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. Because Mark rejected you. Because you told yourself you’d be fine with just being friends. Because this isn’t even him—just the evil, dangerous version of him.

(Mark would slip into your open arms, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“I just—I’m scared,” he’d admit, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Scared of turning into my father. Scared of hurting people. And after everything with Angstrom…” his voice would trail off, fingers twitching against your back like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly.

You’d run a soothing hand along his spine, grounding him. “What do you mean?” you’d ask, gentle, coaxing him to keep talking.

“He—he talked about me like I was a monster,” Mark would whisper, voice tight. “Like there’s a version of me out there who destroyed everything. A version of me who’d kill everyone I love. A version of me who’d… destroy you.”

A slow, quiet exhale would leave your lips. “But you’re this Mark,” you’d remind him. “You’re my best friend. And you’d never do that.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mark would sags against you, burying himself deeper into your warmth.

“Yeah,” he’d murmur, barely more than a breath. “Never.”)

But when you move—when you grind up into him, your body answering before your mind can stop it—he makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and it’s so wrecked, so full of relief it makes your stomach twist.

Your arms loop around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing your bodies so tight together you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your own. And when his teeth sink into your throat, sucking so hard you know it’s going to bruise, a sharp, broken sound escapes your lips.

The room burns around you, filled with the obscene sounds of his desperate whines and your shaky gasps, the slick friction of fabric between your joined bodies.

“Yeah—” you gasp, nails raking down his back as pleasure coils tight in your gut. “Fuck, Mark, just—Do it. Do it.”

He groans, deep and guttural, a sound so full of possession it sends a sharp pulse of heat down your spine. Then his teeth sink into your neck again—hard enough that you know he’s breaking skin. And when his tongue licks the wound, sucking the blood like he owns you—you know he’s got you.

Your mind fractures into white-hot static as every rational thought—the blood crusted on his suit, the madness in his eyes, the thousands he’s slaughtered, the fact this isn’t your Mark—dissolves into primal need. Nothing exists but the electric pleasure coiling tighter in your gut with each desperate grind of his hips.

“Mark,” you sob, voice breaking as your body arches against him of its own volition. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Mark. Fuck. Mark.”

A guttural snarl vibrates against your throat as he claims your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips in a violent mimicry of what his hips are doing against yours. The growing dampness between your thighs should shame you, but all you can focus on is the delicious friction, the way his teeth scrape your bottom lip when you moan too loud.

But it’s still not enough.

Not with these fucking clothes between you, not with the way you’re both rutting against each other like wild animals, frantic and insatiable. It’s maddening. You need more.

Your nails claw at his back, at his suit, needing to feel his skin the way he’s feeling yours.

“Get it off,” you manage to gasp between feverish kisses. “Please, Mark.”

With a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he rears back just enough to grip his suit’s collar. The fabric shreds like tissue paper beneath his strength, revealing sweat-slick skin you immediately map with trembling fingers. His pupils blow wider at your touch, chest heaving as he crushes you back into the mattress.

“Oh yeah, Y/N...” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingertips trace the dark marks blooming across your neck like bruises. Proof that you belong to him. “Bet this universe’s Mark never made you feel this way, did he? Never touched you like this?” his grip tightens suddenly, making you gasp. “I’m the first, aren’t I? The only one who’s ever had you like this?”

You whimper, nodding without thinking, legs locking tight around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him there.

His grin stretches, wild and triumphant. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down with agonizing slowness—down your neck, across your heaving chest, brushing over your sensitive nipples, gliding down your stomach... Until, finally, his fingers settle between your legs, pressing against the thick, aching bulge in your sweatpants, squeezing just enough to rip a needy moan from your lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, eyes wild with possessive hunger. “So fucking perfect for me. So ready to be mine. Does your Mark know what a desperate little thing you are? How easily you fall apart under my hands?”

His smile tilts, both awestruck and predatory. Then, he leans in until his lips brush yours, his hand working you through the fabric with rough, perfect strokes that have you trembling.

“So hard just for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “He could never make you feel like this. Never touch you like I do.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. “He could never compare. I’m better, I’m stronger—”

He peppers kisses along the corner of your mouth, your flushed cheeks, tender and teasing, a sharp contrast to the way his pace quickens—faster, rougher.

“—I could make you feel even better,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear, voice so low, so filthy it makes you shudder. “Make you scream my name, so loud and clear, maybe the other Mark could even hear you.”

Your breath stutters, a deep moan slipping from your lips, body twisting under his touch.

“Ohh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, breath warm against your neck, teasing, taunting. “You’d love to let him watch. Love to let him see you break for me. Let him realize what he’s lost—what he’ll never have again.”

His voice dips lower, sinking into something darker, something twisted.

“You’d let me fuck you in front of him, wouldn’t you?”

Your body jolts, heat flashing through you in a violent rush, shame curling in your stomach like a vice.

“N-no—!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, face burning with humiliation. “No, I wouldn’t—”

But your body betrays you. Trembling, surrendering, completely giving in—your hips rut desperately against his hand, your pre-cum soaking through the fabric, staining it.

“Liar,” Mark breathes against your swollen lips before crushing them again in a kiss that’s hot, rough, and bruising. “I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”

His thumb presses cruelly against the head of your cock, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the fabric, making you see stars. Your whole body jolts, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat.

“Maybe I should drag him here,” he whispers, grinning against your lips. “Make him watch as I fuck you so good, you forget he’s your Mark Grayson. Make him see how perfectly you take me—how you were always meant to be... ours.”

You shake your head frantically, words lost between your ragged gasps. “No—”

But your back arches, cock throbbing obscenely against his palm. The more he whispers these filthy fantasies, the harder you get, hips stuttering, desperate and eager, seeking more, more, more, as his words sink deep into your brain, filling you with something forbidden, something wrong—something you like.

The pressure builds unbearable. His fingers move with ruthless precision, stroking, squeezing, dragging you to the edge, pulling sounds from you that should be humiliating—but you can’t stop.

Then you think about it. About your Mark. The one who’s still out there, fighting, struggling, exhausted and worn down. You think about what would he think. What would he do if he saw you like this. You imagine your Mark’s confused face watching—the horror in his eyes as he sees you come apart under his doppelgänger’s touch, moaning and whimpering like some cheap slut desperate for any version of him.

“Mark,” you sob as waves of shame and pleasure crash over you. “Mark, Mark—”

Mark exhales a breathy chuckle, eyes dark with fascination. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s it, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”

And then it hits you.

White-hot pleasure blinds you completely as you spill in your sweatpants like some untouched virgin, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken prayer. Your body arches violently, convulsing as your legs clamp around his waist like a vice. Your hands claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, to this moment, to reality itself.

“Jesus…” he exhales, almost in awe, his grip tightening possessively. “My god… so perfect.”

You’re reduced to a trembling, gasping mess—shaky legs, toes curling, vision whiting out as the aftershocks rip through you. Mark watches it all with a smug, hungry smirk, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every twitch, every quiver like he’s trying to memorize it, to brand it into his mind.

“Yeah—let it out, Y/N,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “I did this to you. I made you feel this good.”

(“Does that feel good?” Mark would mutter into your ear, his hands still working awkwardly at the knots in your back.

You’d groan, face mushed into the pillow. ”Yup. Feels good. Really good.”

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he’d grumble, brows pinching together.

You’d stifle a laugh, eyes fluttering shut. ”You lost the bet, Grayson. Now keep massaging my back. My muscles are still wrecked from all the damn work you put me through covering you at Uni.”

“William never complains.”

“Because William sucks at covering! The only reason you’re not suspended is because I’m just too good at lying—Oh! Yeah! Right there, don’t stop,” you’d sigh, melting into the mattress. ”Oh my god, yes…”

His hands would freeze, fingers pressing hesitantly into your skin. ”…Can you stop making those sounds?”

“What sounds?” you’d murmur, half-dazed.

Mark would be quiet for a beat, then resume with a sigh. “Never mind. How about this? Does that feel good?”

“Mmmh, holy shit—yes!”)

Finally, you sink into the mattress, chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven breaths as your climax wears off. Your head falls back against the pillows, glazed eyes barely tracking Mark’s movements. His fingers leave the bulge in your sweatpants, moving to your waistband, fumbling briefly before tugging your sweatpants and underwear down, inch by inch.

“Just let me take care of you,” he mumbles, dazed. “Always gonna take care of you.”

The cold air bites at your oversensitive cock as he yanks it free, his pupils blown wide as he stares at what’s his. Before you can even process the exposure, Mark flashes you a wicked grin before his lips wrap around your cock, hot and wet and devastating. Your hips jolt, body convulsing at the sensation. His tongue swirls, savoring, exploring, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he tastes you. The overstimulation is unbearable, electric. A strangled, pathetic cry rips from your throat as your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying—failing—to push him away.

“Mark!” you jolt, thighs snapping shut around his head, trembling, squeezing, clutching. “Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god. No—”

A deep, satisfied groan rumbles through him, vibrating against your cock and making you yelp. His hands pin your thrashing hips down, holding you there, making sure you take it.

“Mark—”

“Mine,” he snarls between filthy, wet sucks. “Gonna taste every fucking drop.”

The overstimulation borders on painful as he works you ruthlessly through your sensitivity, your cries growing increasingly broken. And yet, somewhere beneath the overwhelming pleasure, a traitorous part of you preens at being so desperately wanted.

Wanted. By Mark. Not your Mark, not the one who’d gently rejected you, but a Mark all the same. A version from some twisted reality who’d torn through dimensions just to claim you. And it sickens you—the satisfaction curling in your gut, the twisted pleasure of knowing that somewhere, in some reality, Mark has always wanted you. Craved you. And if he’s here, willing to ruin you, to unravel you with nothing but his mouth, then who are you to stop him?

His tongue works you over with filthy precision, hot and wet and perfect in ways you’d never dared fantasize about. You writhe beneath him, sheets twisting in your fists, as your gaze drops to where he’s sucking you off—Mark Grayson, on his knees for you, eyes close in joy. The sight alone punches a broken noise from your throat.

“F-fuck—!” you arch violently, tears spilling as pleasure crests into near-pain. “Fuck, I can’t—Mark, please, I can’t—!”

Finally, he lets you go with a slick, obscene ‘pop.’ He pants, breath heavy, lips red and wet as he leans over you. You’re gasping too, your chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, your body trembling like you’ve run yourself into the ground.

Mark watches you, gaze trailing over your flushed skin, your wrecked, tear-streaked face. And then he grins.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb swipes at the wetness on your cheek. “Love it when you cry.”

(“I hate when you cry,” Mark would say, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ”I hate it even more when it’s me who made you cry.”

You’d slap his hand away, face twisting into a scowl. ”Shut up, Grayson. How dare you—how dare you act upset.” Your voice would shake, anger sharpening every word. ”You can’t even say sorry. Can’t even fake an excuse for why you’ve treated me like this, ignoring me for months… And don’t try to deny it—William noticed too!”

He’d wince, eyes darting away. ”I can’t—I can’t say it.”

“That you’re sorry?” you’d scoff, disbelief dripping from the words.

Mark would bite his lip, shaking his head desperately. ”No! Of course not. It’s—the reason.”

“The reason you’ve been pulling away?” you’d snap, swiping the back of your hand across your wet cheek. Then, it would hit you—heart lurching. ”Is it… because I confessed? I thought we were past that. That we’d still be friends no matter what…”

Your voice would crack, gaze dropping to the floor.

Mark would flinch, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”It’s part of the reason.”

“I don’t understand,” you’d murmur, voice breaking. ”You said it didn’t matter. You promised it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I don’t understand either,” he’d admit, hand scrubbing roughly through his hair. ”Just—just give me time. I need to… figure some things out.”

“You won’t even tell me?”

Mark would press his lips into a tight line, guilt flashing across his face as his gaze caught on your tear-streaked cheeks. ”I can’t.”)

A helpless sob rips from your throat as he surges forward, capturing your bruised lips in a desperate, feverish kiss. He moans into your mouth, deep and needy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue—hot, salty, intoxicating. The realization only makes you burn hotter.

Then, a moan rattles in your chest as his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing where you’re most sensitive. Your gasp is sharp when one presses against your entrance.

“W-wait—” you huff, shaky hands pressing against his broad shoulders. “No… I’ve never—never done this…”

Mark freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something terrifyingly euphoric. “Oohh, Y/N can you get any more perfect for me? My god—not even in my universe were you a virgin.” He chuckles, low and dark. “Were you saving yourself for him? Hoping he’d finally see you the way I do? He’s such a fool—But I will make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good.”

As he speaks, his hands roam, gripping your thighs with an iron hold before pushing them up—forcing you open, leaving you vulnerable beneath him. Your face flushes with embarrassment and arousal, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets tightly at the sheer obscenity of the position. He flashes a playful grin, his breath warm against your ass, causing you to gasp and breathe unevenly.

“What— What are you doing?” you stammer weakly, squirming uncomfortably, peering down with shame as Mark leans over your hole, a wide smirk across his face. You realize a second too late was he’s up to. “Wait, wait—Oh my god!”

Your back arches, mouth letting go a deep, throaty groan and your eyes rolling back when Mark inserts his tongue, licking and lapping at the inner walls of your hole, sucking and nibling and kissing. Your head throws back against the pillows, skin burning so hot you swear you’ll melt into the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming—Mark’s hot tongue delves between your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm, licking and probing with obscenely wet sounds that make you squirm uncontrollably. You writhe in delicious contradiction, torn between pulling away and pressing deeper into his merciless mouth.

“Mmh, look at you—” Mark pants between greedy licks, his voice thick with arousal. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re beyond responding, your hips stuttering and your asshole clenching and unclenching with the unfamiliar, yet intoxicating sensation. The pleasure is so intense you bite your lip raw trying to contain the filthy sounds fighting to escape. It’s useless, though, because Mark keeps eating you out and it only takes a few minutes of this sweet torture until you start whimpering and mewling like a little whore.

“F-fuck—!” the curse tears from your throat as your toes curl and back arches off the bed. Your cock stirs back to full hardness, dripping pathetically against your stomach. “Fuck—Mark, my god! Don’t stop, fuck—Oh my god—”

You’ve never been touched like this before—it never even crossed your mind, not even in your wildest fantasies. But damn, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Who would have thought that being pleasured like this could feel so incredibly good? You might just climax right then and there with Mark’s warm, skilled tongue working its magic, and you’d die happily. Your erection is unbelievably hard, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, but you don’t dare touch yourself because you’re too busy gripping the sheets for stability.

But then Mark pulls away, and you moan and whimper with need, trying to tighten around him in an attempt to draw him back.

Mark smirks and chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your own lewdness.

“God, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Mark rasps, pulling back just enough to loom over you. His lips glisten with your taste, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Look at you—already falling apart just from my mouth. Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart? Think that pretty little hole can handle my cock?”

You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of pleasure—but Mark’s hips have been moving restlessly the whole time, fucking the air with desperate, instinctive thrusts as he devoured you. Now, as he looms over you, you can feel him, hot and throbbing, grinding against your thighs through the thin fabric of his suit. And fuck—he’s massive. Even through the material, you can feel the sheer size of him, the way he twitches with every needy thrust. And yeah—his mouth has left you slick, loose, ready to be filled—but shit. Viltrumites have monster cocks, and it scares you.

And yet—and yet, as Mark moves against you, teasing, testing, making sure you feel the sheer girth of him even through fabric, all you can feel is hunger, a desperate need.

So, huskily, with glazed eyes, you whisper, “Yes, Mark. Yes.”

He doesn’t make you beg twice. One hand tears the remaining suit away like tissue paper, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and already leaking. The flushed tip bobs against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail as your breath catches.

“Fuck, Y/N—” Mark’s voice breaks as he strokes himself, his wild eyes drinking in every tremble of your body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I dreamed of this moment. You—here, with me again.” His breath shudders, his grip tightening. “Had to find you. Had to make you mine again. I missed you. I missed you.”

His feverish rambling sends your pulse into overdrive, and for one fleeting moment, you wonder about that other life—what version of you could make a man this desperate, this feral with need? What was their relationship like? How did it end? How did Mark end up here, in your universe, searching for you? But then Mark’s strong hands are spreading your thighs wide, his body settling heavily between them, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of dizzying arousal.

Shit, shit—Mark Grayson, the boy you’ve been in love with since eighth grade, is about to fuck you. And shit—that thought alone makes your cock ache, your hole clench with anticipation, even as your mind screams that this isn’t your Mark. Your real Mark is probably fighting for his life somewhere. Maybe even dying. And here you are, letting his evil counterpart have you—willingly.

That makes you a horrible friend. You’re disgusting. A traitor. You’re giving in to every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had, every longing you’ve buried for years, all because this Mark—the wrong Mark—looks at you with the hunger you’ve always dreamed of seeing in your Mark’s eyes.

It’s sick. It’s twisted. You’ll never be able to look your Mark in the eye again. Guilt twists in your gut, heavy and suffocating.

You should stop.

You should have never let it go this far.

But then—

“Shh, baby, I got you,” this Mark whispers, shattering your spiraling thoughts. His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he lines himself up. “I got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You shiver, heat flushing your skin as his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hard and real. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, locking behind him, pulling him in.

Mark groans, deep and satisfied, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he grins down at you.

“Fuck, yes,” he hums appreciatively, running possessive hands along your trembling thighs. “You’re so good, Y/N. So good.”

His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he drinks down every gasp, every shudder of your oversensitive body like a man starved. And just when desperation coils in your gut—when the teasing pressure at your entrance becomes unbearable—Mark sheathes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck—!” your cry shatters the air as your body bows taut, back arching off the bed. The stretch burns, his thickness forcing you open in ways that make your vision whiten at the edges. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He’s massive, painfully so. You can feel every ridge, every vein as your body struggles to accommodate him. It’s too much—you’re certain he’ll split you in two.

And yet... The fullness is intoxicating. It burns. It aches. But it also satisfies something deep within you, a primal need you hadn’t even realized was there. Tears prickle at your eyes as you clench the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of Mark Grayson buried inside you.

“Fuck...” Mark’s voice is guttural, dripping with satisfaction as he bottoms out. “God, you’re tight.” His hips grind deeper, wringing a broken whimper from your throat. “Taking me so perfect—fuck, you feel incredible. Like you were waiting just for me.”

And then, slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to pull back out, dragging a wrecked moan from your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto as he sets a rhythm, each movement sending heat curling through your veins.

“That’s it,” Mark pants against your neck, his breath scalding as he inhales your scent like an addict. “Just like that… you’re perfect. Nobody else could take me like this.” His teeth graze your pulse point possessively. “Only you. Only mine.”

The next thrust is deeper than the last, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your hips jolt up instinctively, a surprised sound catching in your throat.

“Oh god, Mark,” you whine, nails digging into his back, voice breaking on a breathy moan. “Ah—ngh—fuck—”

The agonizingly slow drag of his cock has your vision swimming, pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation. He’s so thick, so long, so heavy inside you. Every time he pushes in, it feels impossibly deeper, stretching you, filling you—until it makes your stomach bulge slightly, a small bump appearing in the flat plane of your abdomen.

Mark groans, eyes going wide, his hand settling at the base of your belly. “God, look at you,” he breathes, awed. His fingers press into the bulge, tracing the outline of himself inside you. “Fuck, I’m buried so deep in you. Right here, Y/N—you feel that? That’s me claiming you. Oh-ho-ho, goddamn, look what I do to you.”

His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin even as awe colors his voice. He punctuates each word with a punishing thrust, fingers digging into the visible outline of himself inside you like he wants to brand the shape of his possession into your flesh. And you can’t look away either—because holy shit, this is the first time you’ve ever felt anything like this, and it’s almost too much. Too intense. Too consuming.

Tears streak down your flushed cheeks as your legs tremble violently. The initial pain has melted into overwhelming pleasure, your body adjusting to his impossible size with desperate, shameful eagerness.

“More,” you rasp between gasps, arching up shamelessly. “Faster. Harder. Please—”

Mark chuckles darkly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you feel good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

The dark promise in his words should terrify you. Instead, it sends another pulse of white-hot pleasure straight to your aching cock. Then he moves—harder, faster—tearing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and reeling. Your body clenches around him, every nerve alight as a broken whimper escapes your lips.

“Mark—Mark—” you mumble his name between gasps, unable to form anything else. “Mark, ah—Mark—mmh—fuck—”

A sharp cry rips from your throat as Mark shifts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that sends a violent shudder through your entire body. Heat surges down your spine, forcing you to arch off the bed, toes curling, every nerve alight with raw, electric pleasure.

“Fuck! There! Mark—ngh—fuck!” you moan, biting down on your lip so hard you taste the faint tang of blood. Mark growls, his movements deep and unrelenting, each thrust pressing you further into the mattress. The bed creaks beneath the force, your skin burning where his grip tightens. “There! Keep going! Fuck, it feels so good—Mark!”

Then—through the haze of heat, through the sinful sounds of skin against skin, of your wrecked moans and his low, animalistic groans—something intrudes. A sharp, buzzing vibration. Your ringtone.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, flickering toward your desk—just a few feet away, where Mark tossed your phone. You’re aware the screen glows, the sound ringing in the background, before another brutal thrust wipes all coherent thought away. Let it ring. Nothing matters except the way Mark’s splitting you apart, remaking you as his with every snap of his hips.

The phone rings and rings… then stops. And you don’t even notice when it goes silent, too preoccupied with the drag of Mark’s cock inside you, the way your nails sink into the broad expanse of his back, leaving behind deep, angry marks.

“Perfect,” Mark rasps against your ear, his voice wrecked and reverent, “Taking me so fucking good, Y/N. Made for this. Made for me.”

Your thighs shake violently around him, toes curling as his filthy praise reduces you to nothing but lustful moans and pleading whimpers.

Then—your phone starts ringing again.

This time, Mark notices.

He stills inside you with a low snarl, his body tensing as he straightens slightly, casting an annoyed glance toward the device. But when he reaches for it—his cock still buried deep inside you, making you whimper—his expression darkens with wicked amusement as he reads the caller ID.

“Well, well,” he purrs, looming over you once more, planting one hand beside your head while the other dangles the phone just inches from your flushed, dazed face. “Take a look at this.”

Your stomach drops at the familiar name flashing on screen. It’s Mark—your Mark—calling you.

“Should we answer it, baby?” he muses, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smirk. “Let him hear what you sound like when you’re properly fucked?”

“No—!” you gasp, wrecked and breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach for the phone, desperate to snatch it from his grasp. “Mark—”

But he’s quicker.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, lifting a single finger in mock reprimand, effortlessly keeping the phone out of reach. His other hand tightens around your hip, keeping you pinned. “You need to get your shit together first, Y/N. Wouldn’t want him to know what you’re doing, now would you?” His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “With that pornographic little voice of yours—so wrecked, so needy for my cock…” He leans in, his breath fanning over your ear. “I bet he’d figure it out immediately.”

A shudder rips through you.

Your vision blurs—tears welling at the edges, cold fear twisting deep in your gut. But worse—worse—is the way your body betrays you. The way you clench around him involuntarily at the thought. At the sheer humiliation of it.

Of your Mark listening on the other end. Unaware. Oblivious. As his variant fucks and ruins you.

“See? I know you,” he murmurs, his voice syrup-thick with satisfaction as he strokes your cheek with unnerving tenderness. His free hand cups your face, his thumb dragging over your lips. “I know exactly what kind of fucked-up little thing you are.”

His grin widens as he watches your lips tremble, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants.

“I’m glad you’re the same here as you were in my universe, Y/N. I adore you like this.” Then, his tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around something dangerous. “Now—try to keep him distracted while I take my time with you, yeah?”

Before you can react, he thrusts—sharp and sudden—just once, but it’s enough to steal the air from your lungs. A strangled gasp escapes you, body reacting on instinct, pulse hammering as he stills once more.

Mark leans in, his breath hot against your parted lips, his amusement dripping with warning. “Otherwise, he’ll keep calling,” he murmurs. “And I don’t want him interrupting us.”

Your stomach twists in knots of anticipation and dread. The phone is still ringing, still just out of reach—Mark’s name flashing on the screen, a second away from being answered. And all the while, this Mark remains inside you—hot, solid, pressing deeper with each second of silence.

“Okay...” you breathe, forcing air into your lungs. “Okay.”

Mark’s smirk turns predatory as he brushes a featherlight kiss to your nose before tapping the answer button, offering you the phone back—and as soon as you grab it and press it to your ear, he immediately resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl.

“Y/N? Y/N!” The real Mark’s voice—familiar, concerned, kind—crackles through the speaker. He sounds breathless, frantic. “Are you okay? You called and I couldn’t answer but then—but then I called back and you didn’t pick up, and I’m—I’m worried—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip, fighting so hard to keep quiet. But the Mark above you doesn’t make it easy, his hips moving with cruel precision, his smirk deepening as he watches you struggle.

“…Y/N?”

“I’m here,” you choke out, voice miraculously steady despite the way your body arches into each thrust. The not-yours-Mark’s eyes glint with dark amusement as he increases his pace. “I’m... okay.”

Your voice wavers. You can’t help it. A shaky sigh escapes when he ducks his head to nip at your throat, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your oversensitive skin.

“Thank God,” your actual Mark exhales, the relief in his voice almost painful to hear. “Listen, Cecil just— he lost track of a variant. Said he was heading your way, Y/N.”

The not-yours-Mark stills inside you, his expression shifting to something dangerously intrigued. “Oh?” he murmurs against your pulse.

“Y-yeah?” you blurt too loudly, praying the real Mark didn’t hear him.

Your fingers dig into the sheets as the not-yours-Mark begins moving again with renewed purpose, each thrust calculated to wring helpless sounds from your throat while you struggle to keep your breathing even.

“Yeah,” your actual Mark replies through the phone, his voice strained. “I’ll—I’ll come your way. Or the GDA will pick you up, but—it’s dangerous to stay in your apartment! Please, just—just leave. Right now.”

You choke back another gasp, barely holding yourself together. No—you can’t let Mark come here. You can’t let the GDA get involved either. The humiliation would be unbearable—agents witnessing you like this, being taken apart by the same monster who probably leveled cities and slaughtered thousands before claiming you in your own bed.

“No!” you blurt out, voice cracking under the weight of too many emotions. “No, nngh, fuck—you can’t!”

You’re losing control. This Mark—the wrong Mark—is hitting your prostate with every brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck while his fingers twist your nipples mercilessly. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another lewd groan escapes you. Virgin or not, there’s no way you could stay quiet under this assault. You realize with dawning horror that he doesn’t want you quiet—he wants you loud, to moan, to let your Mark hear you. To let him know.

That yeah—he’s here.

And yeah—he’s fucking you.

For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end of the call.

Then finally, Mark speaks again, slower this time. “This—this isn’t negotiable, Y/N,” he says, though there’s something off—a hesitation, a shift in his tone as your breath stutters audibly. “Are you… okay?”

No. You’re not okay. You’re overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure more intense than anything you’ve ever known, losing your virginity to a twisted version of the man you love. Hot tears of shame spill down your cheeks as a sob tears from your throat.

“...Y/N?” Mark’s voice sounds distant now. You can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, over the slick sound of skin meeting skin, over the obscene, broken whimpers falling from your lips.

“Mmmh, fuck,” you gasp as the pressure builds unbearably inside you. “Fuck—Mark—”

“That’s it, baby,” not-your-Mark whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You wanna come, don’t you? Wanna scream my name?”

The dam breaks. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your voice shatters with each punishing thrust. Dignity forgotten, you arch desperately against him, meeting every movement as you beg mindlessly. “Mark—I can’t—oh god, please, please...!”

The line goes silent for an agonizing moment, the static crackle carrying more weight than words ever could. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame and guilt and disgust warring with the pleasure coiling tight in your belly—but it’s too late now. Far too late.

“Y/N...?” his voice comes through the receiver—your Mark’s voice—strangled and low, thick with realization.

Your stomach drops. He knows. Oh god, he knows. He fucking knows.

Not-your-Mark lets out a pleased hum against your neck, his fingers lazily plucking the phone from your trembling hand while his hips snap forward, forcing a needy moan from your lips. The wet sound of skin on skin is unmistakable. There’s no way your Mark could mistake what’s happening.

Not-your-Mark’s eyes glint with something wicked as he presses the phone to his ear, smirking.

“Too late, dickhead,” he says, just as breathless as you, his voice dripping with smug victory as he punctuates each word with another brutal thrust. “He’s already mine.”

Mark’s furious roar bursts through the speaker. “You—!” you close your eyes, mortified, tears falling down your cheeks because this is the moment Mark realizes you’re a horrible friend. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YO—”

But the sound is cut off with a sickening crunch as not-your-Mark’s fingers tighten, phone shattering, fragments falling like dust.

“Oops,” he pouts mockingly, tilting his head with feigned innocence before his expression darkens. His hand snakes around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to claim. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”

When he slams back into you, you arch off the bed with a broken scream, your legs spreading wider of their own volition. He chuckles darkly, hands sliding under your thighs to fold you nearly in half, opening you up so completely that each thrust punches the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he growls, pace turning erratic as his control fractures. “Look at you—taking me so perfect. Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you love taking my cock.”

“I love it,” you gasp without thought, your mind obliterated by pleasure. “Fuck—I love it. I love you.”

A deep, guttural moan tears from his throat, his grip on you tightening as he nods frantically. “Yeah? Love me? Fuck— I love you too, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

And you know he’s not your Mark. You know your real Mark is probably flying at full speed right now, minutes, or even seconds from bursting through your window. But Christ—hearing those words, in Mark’s voice, from his lips, with his face twisted in raw, desperate worship—it makes you dizzy. It makes you happy.

“I love you,” you say again, fingers twisting into his dark hair, dragging him down until your panting mouths brush. “I love you. Always have—fuck—since—since before you even got your powers, Mark!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Ah—fuck, yes!” The words dissolve into moans as you kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips sliding messily against his. “When you were such--a nerd! Loved you since we were kids. Love you now. I always will—”

He groans, swallowing your words with a feverish kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth falls open, surrendering completely. Tongues tangle, breath mingles, and he moans right into you—

“I love—” he pants, his movements growing erratic. “I love you, Y/N. Fuck—Gonna take you home with me. Gonna keep you forever. Steal you from that idiot...make him see what he threw away—”

Then—suddenly—his hand wraps around your cock.

It’s been untouched this entire time, leaking wildly against your stomach, and the moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, broken whimper escapes you. Your hips jerk helplessly, legs trembling as pleasure rips through you.

“Fuuuuck,” you sob, shuddering against him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I’m gonna—”

“I got you, baby,” he growls, stroking you faster, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna take you away. Gonna own you!”

And God help you—his words don’t sound like threats when you’re drowning in white-hot ecstasy. In this moment, you’d let him drag you through dimensions, would beg him to claim you completely—because he wants you. He loves you. He craves you in a way you’ve always ached to be craved. And right now—you’d let him take you. You’d let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Ah—ah, Mark—” Your body locks up, stomach tightening, hole clenching around him as the pressure on your cock becomes unbearable. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Yeah, baby, let it out,” he growls against your lips, his hand working your cock in perfect sync with his punishing thrusts. “Come for me. Now.”

You shatter with a strangled scream, body jerking violently as you spill across your stomach in thick, hot stripes. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and spasming as pleasure tears through.

Mark groans like a man possessed, his thrusts faltering as your hole flutters and clenches around him. “Fuck—fuck—” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. His grip tightens as he grinds himself deeper, prolonging every last spurt, wringing every aftershock from you until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.

You can’t move. Can’t speak. All you can do is lie there, trembling, as he keeps pumping into you, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing from oversensitivity. His hips grind against yours, forcing every last drop into you like he’s determined to make sure you remember this.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss, your body limp and wrecked. Sweat and come cling to your skin, your chest heaving as aftershocks wrack through you. Every inch of you is marked—bruises blooming where his fingers, his teeth, his lips claimed you.

You barely register the mattress dipping as he lays beside you, his arms wrapping around your exhausted frame. A soft, lingering kiss presses to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur against your damp skin.

“Shh, shh, Y/N,” his fingers trace lazy circles against your back. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

Even in your dazed, post-orgasmic haze, you understand what “everything” means.

It means your Mark—your universe’s Mark—is on his way. It means a fight is inevitable. It means blood, destruction, the clash of two forces that look the same but could never be. And when that moment comes, you’ll have to face him—face the shame that will devour you whole.

Because how dare you?

How dare you moan his name for someone else? Whisper desperate I love yous to the wrong version of him? Come undone beneath a man who wears his face but isn’t him?

And after you told him it was fine—that you were fine—staying just friends. After you swallowed every aching, desperate feeling just to keep him close. But in the end, you gave in. You let temptation pull you under. You let yourself have him—or the closest thing to him. And now, there’s no taking it back.

You know you’re wrong.

You know time is running out.

And you know that when he says he’ll take care of everything, this Mark intends to kill your Mark—just as your Mark wants to kill him.

But your body betrays you—mind foggy, muscles lax with satisfaction, the afterglow pulling you under. As consciousness fades, this not-quite-Mark draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breathing steadies, his solid frame surrounding you in deceptive safety.

(And vaguely, you think about your Mark. About how he’s been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he’d say, a week ago, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that pains you. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth. All of it. And—”

Then he’d looked up, and something in his gaze pinned you there—fervent, almost feverish.

“I’ll—” he’d stop himself, cheeks coloring faintly, and yet he wouldn’t relent his steady gaze. ”I’ll tell you the reason I’ve been acting like such an asshole to you. And I hope...you can forgive me after.”

“Why not now?” you’d ask, puzzled, fingers curling into your palms. ”Why not when I’m asking you, Mark? Right here, and right now.”

He’d flinch, his eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening them again. ”Just—gimme one more week,” he’d rasped. “One more week and—I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’ll—confess everything.”

And as he’d turn around, his broad back to you as he’d take off—not before glancing at you with troubled eyes, an intensity in his eyes you can’t quite place—you’d only guess he’s gonna say he hates you. That he’s gonna say, now once and for all, he can no longer be your friend.

And how you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. How you should’ve never, ever opened your big mouth and let your feelings spill out.

But you did, and now nothing’s the same.)

“I’ll take care of it,” Mark murmurs again as you drift away, his voice a dark promise. “Never gonna lose you again. Never.”

The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.

And in the final flicker of consciousness, a single thought drifts through your mind— You wished Mark had told you the reason.

Now, he never might.

[sta-rpilled]

Alien pet thoughts

[oh to be held safe and sound]

Alien leader who has a husband that is the embodiment of “dad who didn’t want dog”

He glares at his spouse and you while you cuddle together as they work.

“We don’t need a pet you know, we have enough to do already” he says crossing his arms. “But look how weak they are we can’t let them go” he just grumbles back.

Reader is kinda scared of him, one day they know he’s just gonna pick them up and throw them off the ship into the vacuum of space.

One day leader yan asks their husband to watch over reader for a while as they do work. Their husband reluctantly agrees saying “fine but don’t expect me to baby the damn thing”

Cue leader coming back to their husband dressing reader like the little model they are and pampering them with kisses as they squirm around in his arms.

“Honey you didn’t tell me the little thing was this cute~”

“Yes I did, multiple times in fact…dear they appear to be biting you”

“Don’t worry, I’ve learned that’s how humans express love”

“I don’t think…well at least you don’t look like you want to murder them anymore”

[sta-rpilled]

[sta-rpilled]

Today, we get to reblog this

[sta-rpilled]

"Mamaa...mamaa...mama!" You let out an exasperated sigh as the little cub kept waddling after you, you didn't want to touch the humanoid snow Leopold baby that had just learnt walking, knowing his father was nearby, but you had a duty and feeding the little one was one of them, you reached out for the little cub who obediently stretched out his hands.

"You were a good boy?" You couldn't help but coo as the cub nuzzled your neck affectionately, his ears perked up as he slowly blinked "Yea!...was good!" He replied before making grabby hands for your hand so you could pet his head.

This was your own fault for taking a little cub as your familiar, well, technically the baby imprinted on you and his father, which you dared not to look in the eyes was a behemoth of a hybrid, was not pleased, but he stayed in the shed in the backyard of your home, watching closely how you treated his precious cub.

You didn't look at him in the eyes, not because you were afraid, no, it was because he'd devour you whole with his piercing gaze, nearly pouncing on you to nuzzle you close, oh right, as the cub thought you were his mother, he now had claimed you as his mate, welp, good thing you have a spray bottle for shooing him away.

Lord, what would you do with them two when your witchery exams drew near?

[sta-rpilled]

Can you make something for a yandere masochist? Smut please

A/N: Working on all the reqs in my inbox, I just don't have much time to write! No pressure but donations always help if yall want your requests written faster!

CW: Noncon/Dubcon, yandere themes, kidnapping, threats, Sub! Masochistic yandere, aggressive-ish reader, NSFW

Synopsis: You find yourself kidnapped by your shy boyfriend who claims he's going to "take care of you."

Word Count: 3000 -- Tags ^^: @moonlight-melanin

If someone had told you that your meek nerd of a boyfriend would be the one to ever kidnap you, you probably would have laughed in their face. Your boyfriend who trips over every sidewalk crack? Your boyfriend who needs your help opening a water bottle? Your boyfriend, who begs for you to wrap your hand around his neck and worships the ground you walk on, no matter how hard you protest?

 No way in hell. 

Except, the utter blasphemy that was such an idea, was true. It was only a few nights ago that you found yourself bound by your hands and feet to a familiar bed. Your boyfriend, Rex, vaguely explained that he was "protecting you", and "keeping you away from bad people!” 

You came to the conclusion that the harm that he was supposedly protecting you from, was most likely your overly friendly coworkers and demanding job. Who knew a 9 to 5 could be so dangerous? Clearly your boyfriend. However, his ridiculous behavior didn’t falter no matter how many times you tried to convince him, no matter how many threats or bribes you threw his way. 

Sometimes he’d be nearly swayed, but something in his mind always snapped back, telling you that its alright if you despise him, if you follow out with your threats; as long, as he got to keep you safe. 

For how obedient and eager to please he was, you never realized how stubborn he could be. But unfortunately for what he had in stubbornness, he lacked in wit and authority. He always fell into your hands when it came to you offering physical affection as a secretive ploy to try and escape; not to mention, he wasn’t very good at keeping his hostages tied up.

By the third night of your capture, you managed to slip your moist hands out of the loose, steel handcuffs. Digging an old pen into the large hole of the chain cuff wrapped around your ankle, you wiggled it around to find that sweet spot that would release you. You were grateful for being able to reach the bedside drawer, finding a multitude of tools within it that helped you including the pen that was once yours, and some lotion that made your palms slick enough to slip out of the handcuffs. While you were grateful for their presence nearby, you didn’t want to know why they were close to the bed in the first place. 

You continued to roughly wiggle the pen, not hearing any clicks or cracks within the lock that would signify your release. The chain around your ankle wouldn't budge at all. At some point along the way with all your jamming of it into the lock’s hole, the pen got stuck. 

“No no no,” You whispered, trying to tug the pen out. You pulled as hard as you could, to no avail as ink began to stain your fingers. 

Well, your kidnapper would certainly notice that. 

You looked around, feeling incredibly anxious now that you were only halfway free, aware that it'd be unlikely that you got to keep this little escape trial to yourself. Though, the freedom of your hands made you feel more powerful than you had in days.

But the quick and excited footsteps outside of the bedroom door made your stomach sink. They drew closer, only stopping to fill the silence with a rapid knock to the door. Beads of sweat rolled down your neck as your dry mouth swallowed; with shaking fingers, you covered up your hands and feet under the bed comforter. 

‘Just keep them under the blanket, and he won’t notice…’

The door opened shortly after the knock, not waiting for you to respond. In came your Rex, your boyfriend-slash-kidnapper. He clammed up with a tenseness as you scowled. You brought back your signature glare that you looked at him with during the days of your capture; he seemed to shrink into himself as you didn't break eye contact. 

"Did… you like dinner? He asked, looking at your plate on the bedside table. Eyeing the plate with a frown, Rex shut the door behind him. He walked closer to your place on the bed, inspecting the plate. 

"You've hardly eaten anything since…"

"Since you kidnapped me?"

He went silent. Avoiding your judgemental stare.

"You know I'm just trying to keep you safe…" He said meekly, not fond of your cold behavior. 

"I don't want to talk, Rex. Just leave." You snarl.

 Folding your arms you turn away and focus your attention on the setting sun outside the window, reminding you that once again you'll be here for another night… another day here when you wake up. 

Rex sits down on the bed next to you, his mop of curly black hair covering his desperate face. He wouldn't be able to take it if you played the silent treatment with him-- even when you were angry like this, he'd rather suffer your wrath than hear the empty silence of his endless thoughts, keeping your sweet lips shut so tightly. 

"Please," he gripped the blankets atop your legs, trying to find a place to touch you. "I'm just doing what a boyfriend should do, don’t you get that? Why can't you understand me?"

You continued to stay silent, hearing Rex gulp as he realized you were serious in keeping your mouth shut. 

He began to grow antsy… there was a feeling of isolation in how he couldn't see all of your face as you kept your gaze to the window, how he couldn't even hold your hand or see your body beneath the mass of blanket. 

"Come on, don’t be like that…” 

Rex rolled his tongue over his teeth, gripping harder onto the sheets. His hand shakes as it reaches for yours, desperately hoping you wouldn’t tug away. 

Once he feels your arm go limp, he wastes no time in bringing it up to his cheek, hoping to feel some sort of warmth from you. Rex presses his cheek into your fingers, finding a sliver of relief in how warm and tender you feel against him. He’s hardly had the luxury of such affection since you were huddled up in his apartment. 

You don’t dare to look at the man, debating whether interrupting him or continuing to let him nuzzle would alert him faster on the fact that your handcuffs were gone. 

You didn’t have much time to think when you suddenly felt him go still, a newfound grip on your hand. He squeezed with thick fingers, the lovelust gone from his touch.

You turn to look at Rex, finding that you could not see his eyes beneath his hair and shadowed glasses. He shifted from crushing your fingers to choking your wrist, panic setting into your body. 

Rex looked up, far more quiet than you were expecting. You began to twist your arm, trying to pull it away as he bore into you. You knew the guy was odd when you first started dating, and was clearly deranged after this kidnapping fiasco-- but you never saw it clearer until now. His eyes seemed to sink into his skin as his face drained of all color. He looked almost sick, like someone hungry to hurt without any remorse. Rex’s blunt nails dug into your skin as you started to tug away roughly; his hunched body was like a feral animal ready to strike. 

Seeing as he already found out about your escape attempt, you decided it wasn’t worth wasting this chance. Maybe you could knock him down a few before he managed to get you chained up again, giving you more time before he did who knows what. 

“These arms are awfully bare.” His monotonous voice uttered. 

Rex pressed on the bruises on your wrist of where the handcuffs dug into, his eyes glazing over as you grunted in pain. Still, you fought. You brought your other arm to try and pull off his fingers, only for Rex to shift on the bed and force himself upon you. His sharp knees dug into the sides of your thighs, pulling your other arm off of him as he laid them both beside your head, against the pillows. For being quite frail and shy, he had far more strength in his desperation than you expected. You could see that he was giving his all, only tearing up momentarily when your fingers scratch him or your elbow rams into his nose. 

Within the tussle Rex managed to find the handcuffs, of which you only hid underneath the blankets beside you. Every time you tried to heighten your knees to push him off, Rex pressed deeper, bruising your skin and making you bite your lip in frustration and pain. His loose clothes and your mess of blankets made it hard to find a grip in pushing him off.

Rex pulled the cuffs up, shakily and forcefully wrapping them upon your wrists. Pulling them over the bedpost, he watched as you struggled to get out of them. But he didn’t look down at you with a smirk or a sadistic grin-- Instead, it appeared to be relief. 

Your boyfriend lowered himself to your chest as he went limp, his previous expression void of emotion except for stunned shock, shifted to a tired, nervous frown. 

“I-I don’t do this because I want to, you know.” You burn holes into him with your glare, straining to pull the cuff chain over the bedpost as Rex sat on your torso. “You don’t give me a choice!”

His loose shirt showed the front of his collarbones and the elongated muscles in his neck, the male gulping as he looked guiltily down at your chest. You were sweating from the fear and strain against the tightened metal binds. 

“Fuck off.” You grunt, continuing to tug and pull away from your tethers. 

Rex seemed to get antsy at watching you try to struggle and claw at him. His hips twitched as he moved to sit on your legs, trying to keep you from kicking him off. 

“But…If you keep pulling like that, your bruises will only get worse.” 

“I don’t give a shit.” You snapped, hardly letting him finish. Spitting towards him you continued to fight; that only seemed to spur Rex on. 

He wiggled against your hips, looking down away from you in embarrassment. the male beginning to hold your knees down, his legs wrapped around your left thigh. 

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for us…” He huffed, laying his head down on your chest, and holding onto you. 

“Rex!” You shout angrily at his innaction, trying to knee him as you pushed away from the headboard. 

“I know, I know!” You could feel the hardness inbetween his legs press against your thigh. “You can hate me if you want, can hurt me if it makes you feel better,” He meekly bit his lip with a little grunt, hesitating for a moment before he pushed his hips against your thigh. “But I can’t let you leave.”

Seeing as your struggle didn’t impede his movements, Rex slowly rocked himself against you to apply pressure. He relished in how your knee came up to grace his crotch in a stinging pleasure. You may have done it in an attempt to push him off, but all it managed to do was further Rex’s desire for your brashness, and you.

“I’m yours…” He huffed, pushing his face into the warmth of your chest. His crotch aligned with your hip, adding a new sensation as he humped like a touch-starved, horny animal. “Im yours, I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours I’m--ngh--” 

 Rex bit the collar of your shirt to stop from crying out, his moan muffled into your body as he rocked at a rhythm. In a mix of huffs he lifted his head to search for your eyes and lips. He reached up to collide his lips with yours, pressing his knee between your legs, spreading them just gently. His hands traveled down your chest slowly, hesitantly. He was always waiting for your next move, always soaking in every touch and taste of you that he could. 

You pushed against his lips, turning and ripping your mouth away. 

“I know you want to leave, but maybe I can change your mind,” He looked at you with lovestruck eyes, a growing pleasure within them. “Maybe make you feel good. I’m atleast good at that, right?” He shyly palmed at your crotch, determined and eager to make you cry out in the same desire he was swelling in. 

He just wanted your eyes to be on him. 

Rex continued to grind himself deeper into your upper thigh, wrapping his legs around your side. He released a little pant while traveling cold fingers down your chest, pulling up your shirt to expose your stomach. Reaching between your legs, he licked his lips in anticipation, cupping your sex with his hand ever so gently. 

Shutting his lips he tried to suppress his evident moans, pushing his lips against yours as he begged for an ounce of affection. You in turn, bit his bottom lip in retaliation, pressing up against to get a good clench on his mouth. You hoped it’d be enough to get him off of you, but instead Rex pressed harder, grunting in pained pleasure as he welcomed the ache. The taste of blood was left in your mouth, Rex still leaving sloppy kisses along your nipping lips, drooling as he pushed his slick tongue in your mouth, rubbing it against yours. His glasses seemed to shift downward, making him look even more of a mess.

Even as you pulled at his hair from your restraint position, Rex let out a surprised yelping groan, humping harder into your leg at the newfound pain. 

“Please, I promise to be good…” He begs between wet, one-sided kisses. “ I’ll do whatever you w…want…!” Rex hieghtened his voice with a desperate groan, showing he was close to his climax. 

His frenzied pleas showed the familiar side of the boyfriend you remembered before he kidnapped you: quiet, clingy, and too infatuated for his own good.

You could feel a wet spot of leaked pre-cum on your thigh, Rex’s hand delving under your now unbuttoned pants. 

He was quick to palm your crotch from beneath your underwear, gripping and massaging as he chased his own high, fixated on your scrunched up expression. 

His slightly open mouth drooled against your shirt as he looked up at you, desperate for you to reciprocate some kind of affection or attention. 

Rex’s expression showed he was completely enamored in the moment, with glazed over eyes and a eagerness in his thrusts as his mind solely focused on the pleasure between his weak thighs and getting something-- anything, from you. 

“You’re disgusting.” You say bitterly, grabbing Rex’s hair in another attempt to get him off of you and ruin his high. However, that did neither. 

Rex looked even more turned on, letting out painful moans at feeling you tug multiple times.

“Yes.. hah, please-- use me, do what you want--” You bit down on his shoulder as he pressed the rest of his weight down on you, leaning up to the feeling of your fingers tug. “I love you, ‘love you so much..” 

You demand him to look at you with a tug of his black curls, a small line of blood staining your lips from the hard bite you gave. 

Rex obeyed with pleasure-drunken fervor, drawing the end of his high as he witnessed his blood in your mouth. 

A part of him would always be inside you.

Rex buried his head into your neck as he orgasmed, thrusting hard up against your leg like a rabbit during mating season. Letting out a continuation of unabashed moans, his teeth bit your T-shirt as cum spilled from his release. 

In the moment, Rex had sped up his movements in pleasuring you, digging beneath your underwear to feel the heat of your sex against his hand, leaving you quite dazed yourself, You managed to hid your reaction quite well as Rex was too focused to notice, but now that seemed to shift as he began to relax. 

Rex’s pulsing touch on your crotch slowled as his breathing regulated. Though it became more difficult for you to keep your mouth shut and your face straight as he repeatedly put his thumb against the right set of nerves. 

Your boyfriend’s breath steadied as he watched you release a hitched sigh from your mouth, enjoying the way you looked at him with a dazed glare. Covered in sweat and cum, he was beginning to come down from the high he ached to feel once again. 

“Oh…I’m sorry,” He panted, face flushed and glasses falling to the tip of his nose. “ Was s’pposed to be convincing you, but I got ahead of myself…”

Rex swallowed, adjusting his glasses with the tips of his finger. The male began to quickly fondle beneath your jeans once again, ignoring how you still pushed against the headboard and cried out in frustration. He was slow at first, trying to regain the rhythm; it didn’t take long for him to find that tempo that made your knees weak. 

You felt a numbed pleasure stir between your thighs against your will, trying to toss and turn to make it go away. 

But Rex held you still, planting his weight down on your chest and stroking your heat with skill. He had touched himself so many times to pictures and thoughts of you, but he never imagined this. Even as you scrunched up your face in frustration and annoyance, he saw your teeth scrape at your lip, your hips twitching and your groans drawing out longer than before. 

You desperately clawed at your restraints, avoiding Rex’s hot and heavy stare, of which was so entranced in watching your sweet face change every time a wave of pleasure overcame you. You felt so defeated in the fact that he could tell you were feeling the effects of his touch, how you weren’t completely focused on the idea of escape anymore. 

“M’gonna make you feel so good,” Rex grinned, hazed with the afterglow of his pleasureful release and soaking up the look of undesired arousal in your eyes. 

“Just promise not to give your pleasure, your pain, to anyone else…”

[sta-rpilled]

Todays poll winner was... Yandere Merman!

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Contains: NSFW (grinding and attempted straddling), non-human yandere, non-consensual courtship (yandere randomly decides the he has courted you), yandere is a very very horny little shit, slight non-con due to miscommunication.

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Yan!Merman who was captured by your fishing net. he spends a good few minutes thrashing his arms and tail around, growling and ready to strike down anyone and everyone who was involved.

Yan!Merman who sees that it's only you on the boat, and is prepared to drown you immediately.

Yan!Merman who narrows his eyes when he sees you put your hand up in a reassuring gesture, his violent squirming slowly coming to a stop.

Yan!Merman who watches you warily as you take down the net and open it so he can get you. you mutter an apology, but he doesn't understand the strange language your speaking.

Yan!Merman who dives back into the water immediately, keeping a sharp eye on you. but alas, he gets curious. who was that strange person, and why were they kind despite capturing him.

Yan!Merman who swims underneath your boat for a while, following you. you notice this, and decide to leave before he might get hostile.

Yan!Merman who finds himself waiting for you the next day. feeling a sense of happiness when you come back to fish.

Yan!Merman who recognizes the act of fishing, and decides he wants to repay your kindness.

Yan!Merman who easily catches a fish, putting it in his mouth so he can climb into your boat.

Yan!Merman who drops the fish into the boat, taking in your surprised expression. he knows that gift-giving is a sign of courtship in the mermaid world, but he doesn't know about the human world.

Yan!Merman who watches you take the fish with a sudden interest. if you accepting meant you were taking him as your partner, doesn't that mean the two of you mate?

Yan!Merman who gets closer to you, sniffing at your neck. you're uncomfortable, but play it off as a custom for his kind.

Yan!Merman who starts to straddle your hips, snaking his tail around you as he starts to lick your neck.

Yan!Merman who falls backwards with a hurt expression as you push him away. he courted you! you were supposed to mate with him, man or not!

Yan!Merman who watches as your horrified expression slowly turns into a more understanding one. he was different than you, so he must have different customs.

Yan!Merman who eagerly comes back over to you when you pat the spot next to you. he tries to grind against your thigh, getting a few short sways of his hips before you push him off again.

Yan!Merman who thinks he understands, you want your pleasure first. he gets on the floor of the boat and shoves his face into your crotch before you can push him away. he starts suckling through your clothes as you try to push him away, not understanding the strange words you yell.

Yan!Merman who starts tearing up when you shove him away, much much harder then before.

Yan!Merman who's devastated when you won't let him near you again. did he do it wrong? did it not feel good? his mind was reeling.

Yan!Merman who listens to your foreign yells, so close to crying.

Yan!Merman who places his head at your feet, sniffling, almost begging for forgiveness.

Yan!Merman who hugs your legs close when you sigh, glad that you're giving him another chance at loving you.

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This one was longer than I expected, so I hope it's good at least. My ADHD ass literally can't do one thing for more than an hour *sob sob*.

~⬛🐈

[sta-rpilled]

Exhaustion

A/N: Hey I should be working on everything BUT this. do NOT blame my ass if this is ooc (I can't handle criticism and I'm aware :,>)

PART 1

L Lawliet Yandere! X GN! Reader

TW: Stalking, breaking and entering, obsessive thoughts/behaviors, nonconsensual touching

It was an invasion of privacy; he knew that. It was against everything he stood for, what he strived to prevent-- an act familiar to the criminals he faced. And yet, he had no inclination to turn away, to retreat from your blackened bedroom and leave you alone in the dark. 

There was something comforting about how silent you slept. Even with your body sprawled out like a crooked starfish, with your legs tangled in sheets and clothes wrinkled, you were in pure sleepful delight. A nuclear bomb could go off outside and this little sliver of the world would remain untouched, your eyes so gentle and shut, with soft eyelashes falling against your cheeks as if it were nothing, as if an angel hadn’t fallen asleep on the softest patch of grass away from the rest of the world.

L observed you from a distance, brazen enough to take your desk chair and sit in his peculiar way as a spectator. He did not dare to disturb the sanctified corner that was your bed-laden body. 

You breathed in heavily, a quick heave through your nose that developed into a great exhale of pure exhaustion. It didn’t take a genius to see the weight witnessing your professor’s death left on you; L forgot how distressing morbidity could be for those not used to it, those who had not studied gruesome photos and rewinded videos of countless hours in crime and death. 

You shift just slightly to sling an arm over your face, the streetlight beaming in through your window and casting a glow on your eyes and hair. It made you shine which in any instance would have been mesmerizing, but currently it threatened to expose the felony your stalker was committing. 

Wobbling out of the desk chair with a catlike stare, L watched for movement as the chair creaked. His light, barefooted steps reached the curtains with a swiftness not expected of someone so gaunt. Your bedroom was curtained in complete darkness as his eyes adjusted, seeing the way your shirt rode up to expose just above your belly button, the sheets lined between your legs as you remained spread out, peaceful. It was an odd fascination he had come to realize-- not like one he had for solving crimes and convoluted mysteries, but a pleasant and simple interest in each little reaction you had. From the twitching of the tips of your fingers at times, to the way you’d swallow if your mouth was open for too long. 

Most especially the different vocalizations you made, from snore-like grunts, to hums and sighs of pleasure as your back cooled against the linen. L intended to return back to his place of distant observation, feeling a lump the size of a plum seed burrowing in his chest as he imagined you waking.

Oddly enough however, your skin caught his eye. So unbothered and untouched, barely hidden by the white background you laid upon. Human bodies were a tricky, messy thing; purely biological, and often betraying our more advanced mental capacity for what was right and wrong. But yours… Even beneath that flesh being bone and muscle and meat, it looked… right.

This must be the ‘aesthetic’ that draws so many people in, why love and lust are so often confused… L did not need to dwell on the idea to recognize this was one of the few ‘firsts’ for him.You were by no means exempt from his cynicism or brutal comprehension-- but something here spoke more to him than mere logistical sense. It was appreciation, interest.

What did you feel like, what would parts of you taste like? 

A pale, spindly hand reached out to you, gracing the exposed flesh of your midsection. You were hot to the touch, near burning; or perhaps he was just so freezingly cold. It wasn’t enough to disturb you out of sleep, just enough to send a shiver up your chest at the iciness. L’s hand found comfort resting there, his palm against the soft flesh as it rose and fell along with your chest. 

Dare he… lift his hand higher, hand jaggedly moving up to the middle of your ribcage, slowly disappearing under your shirt. It was warm there, against the heat of your skin and the air trapped against your pajamas; his palm buzzed with a kind of painless sting. 

Gracing the smooth ridges of skin, L’s fingers moved, almost in a ticklish motion as each pad searched to understand what allured him so much, what kept him here, drawing in his desperation to understand. Above all else L was an investigator, one with the all encompassing desire to expose the truth. He felt closer to an answer when he was near you, as if he could touch the reason why he was infatuated with you-- but still, he couldn’t make sense of it. There was no answer to be found, none that would satisfy him enough to leave you alone. 

You unconsciously push your shirt down with a limp hand, drawing away from the cold air creeping up your stomach.

L sharply pulls his hand away, a look of surprise almost making its way to his face. His hand stood outstretched, curled and hovering from above as he watched you shift to lay on your side. 

The anticipation keeps him alert, wondering if this will be the moment your snores turn to a panicked scream. The room is quiet, drifting… the perfect environment for a deep rest, no clear indication of a gangly body watching from the edge of your bed. Your phone occasionally lights up on the nightstand silently; it takes a wrongful amount of force to prevent L from picking it up. 

He could attempt to delude himself into thinking he was just watching over a witness, protecting you from whatever violently lurked in the shadows; whether it be Kira, or an unfriendly fly. Even going so far as to say the reason he adjusted your sheets and lingered his fingers over your hot forehead were to keep you warm, unbothered. 

 But there was no lying to himself, that immoral feeling wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily. And L wasn’t stupid enough to try and pretend he didn’t know what he was.  

The detective retook his seat in the desk chair, finding comfort in the distance between it and your mattress. This way, no movement of his would deter you from the unconsciousness he hoped to keep you in; though, was it truly for your benefit, or for his? His sunken eyes wander, grazing the soft darkness shrouding your silhouette. 

Bringing his chin to his knees, L busied himself with thoughts of what you’d look like when you woke up, how you’d act all sleepily in the morning, and if you’d be just as forgetful tomorrow as you were tonight in leaving your windows unlocked. 

[sta-rpilled]

Happy Mermay! 🦈 My fuckbois, Hunter and Chase, are back. | More Hunter and Chase | Nsfw

[sta-rpilled]

i do love fish 🐟 a wip

[sta-rpilled]

It's 3 am!

[sta-rpilled]

+18 mdni! bucky refuses to say reader's name, and reader tries to get him to say it. unfortunately bucky switches the dynamics between him and reader, and reader ends up unsuccessful.. for now.

cw: sub!->dom!bucky, dom!->sub!m!reader, oral sex, handjobs (multiple), overstimulation

word count: >2.3k

a/n: maybe there'll be a part 2 ... you never know .. 😝 if you guys have suggestions, please do not hesitate to flood my inbox!!!!!!

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you’ve recently saved bucky from a few sticky situations, and he slowly warmed up to you more. you’ve asked him to call you by your name multiple times, but he would rather die than say your name, and it confused you.

“you.. can say my name, you know that right?” the both of you just got home from another mission, you talked to him but he avoided your gaze and put his boots away in response. “or do you want a more forceful way? it’s like you need me to fuck it out of you or something.” you said absentmindedly, not knowing the effect you had on him.

“i don’t need you to lay it out for me, alright? like you do with everything else.” he shifted, eyes darting around the room before landing back on you with a glare. he sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair as he leaned against the doorway. “let’s just.. forget you said that, okay?” his voice was a husky whisper, as he cleared his throat to regain control over the situation.

“i heard your breath hitch, by the way. hope you know that.” you turned away, walking to sit on the couch as you turned on the tv to watch the news, as usual. your casual remark sent a shiver down his spine, his heart hammered in his chest as he remained silent, unwilling to give you the satisfaction of an admission. he felt a familiar heat growing in his lower stomach, his cock starting to stir in his jeans, but he played it cool as he tried to will it away. you could hear every single hitch of his breath, but you stated quiet.

“fuck.” bucky gritted out, his voice strained as he felt his resolve crumble. “just.. just turn around.”

“that’s a start, well done. didn’t expect you to actually admit it.” you shrugged, not wanting to turn around just yet. you wanted to break his nonchalant facade, to make him ask for what he wanted. he couldn’t meet your gaze anymore, his eyes stung as he fought to regain his composure.

“what’s it to you?” he murmured, in an attempt to deflect the situation. “just.. do whatever you want.” the words spilled out before he could properly consider them. at this point, whatever he was doing was pointless, you’ve already seen through his act.

“yeah? and you’d let me?” you walked over to bucky and reached for his waist, wrapping your arm around his and bringing him to the couch. his entire body tensed as your arm wrapped around him. “wanna consider calling me by my name now, handsome?” he turned his head away and avoided the question. “guess i’ll really have to fuck it out of you.” you pulled him into your lap, making him gasp slightly. his hardened cock pressed against you, making you smirk teasingly.

“jeez..” he hissed, trying to squirm free but you just made him so weak. “you can’t just.. fuck me into submission like some puppet on a string.” his words came out breathless, almost pleading, despite him trying desperately to maintain a tough front. “it’s not that simple.” even as he protested, his hips shifted instinctively against you.

“we’ll see about that.” you let go of his hips, making him turn back to you immediately.

“what are you waiting for? weren’t you gonna ‘teach me a lesson’?” he asked softly, the tone of his voice betraying his current persona. the release of your grip threw him off balance, his eyes remained lowered, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “just.. do it already.”

“hm.” you grabbed his neck, leaning him forward, and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. the motion sent a shiver down his spine as embarrassment filled his system, his cheeks burnt with a flush that spread all the way down his neck.

“f-fuck..” bucky stammered, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. he squirmed slightly, not used to being so physically close to someone. you smiled, pulling his head back to kiss him gently. his eyes flew open in shock, before fluttering shut again as he visibly relaxed. he clutched at your shoulders, his mechanical arm whirring at the motion. when you finally broke the kiss, he gasped, his voice hoarse with desire as he gazed at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“room, now.” he tried to get up from your lap, stumbling as his legs were weak from your relentless teasing. when the both of you finally got to your shared bedroom, he laid back on his elbows as he gazed up at you. you pressed your knee to his crotch, making him hiss out, his hands gripping at the sheets. “want my cock on your tongue, buck? maybe you’ll finally learn to say my name after this?”

“mmph.. yeah.. want it.” his words were barely a whisper as his mind glazed over with arousal. “please.. i’ll give you anything you want..”

“anything? even saying my name?” bucky avoided your gaze once more. perhaps he thought that he wasn’t worthy enough to have your name roll off his tongue. you whipped your cock out, tapping the tip on his lips, and his eyes almost rolled back at the feeling of it. “oh, you’re dumb already? i haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

“n-nothing to do with my smarts.. believe me.” he breathed out in a needy whisper, his tongue flicking out to lap at the glistening tip, savouring the salty taste of your pre-cum. “this handsome cock can dumb me up any day..” and with that, he wrapped his lips around your tip, sucking gently as he began to bob his head. he slowly took more and more of your cock in his mouth.

“holy fuck.. that mouth of yours.. you’re fucking filthy. had a lot of experience in sucking cock, haven’t you?” you grabbed his hair and slowly fucked into his mouth. you ended up fucking his mouth rougher though, making him drool all over as he hummed dumbly. saliva dripped freely from the corners of his lips, pooling on his chin before dripping onto, and staining his black t-shirt.

“mmph..” he mumbled, his voice muffled around your cock as his eyes rolled back. after a few more thrusts, you came in his mouth. your knees buckled as you slowly fucked his mouth to ride out your high, only stopping when you were on the verge of overstimulation. even though he swallowed as best as he could, some of your cum had already trickled down his chin. “tasted so good..” his words were slurred.

“mm.. fuck.” you pulled away, just to see bucky absolutely wrecked. his hair was a mess while tears and drool covered his face. you moved to sit back against the bed frame. just as you sat down, he took your cock in his hands to jerk you off, catching you off guard. “b-buck, stop that.” you tried to grab his wrist, but he sat himself on your stomach, weighing you down. “n-no, fuck..”

“hey, no backing out now..” he spoke, his hands wrapping around your still-soft cock, as he started to stroke you in a slow rhythm. “after all, i really.. really wanna see your face once more, when you cum.”

“w-wait.. can’t. slow down..” you grabbed at his wrist, helplessly kicking your feet against the mattress.

“oh.. i think you’re enjoying this though, don’t pretend like you aren’t.” he smirked down at you, making your breath hitch. you were sure he wasn’t this hot before. “but don’t worry, i’ll make sure to put that pride of yours back in its rightful place.. once you’re done giving me exactly what i want.” he murmured, before he leaned in and dragged his tongue against your neck. “relax, let me help you with this, hm?”

“i.. mm..” you gave up the moment his tongue was on your neck, how did he know it was your weak spot? you let your head drop to the mattress as you had no choice but to take what he was going to give you.

“much better.” bucky chuckled, tracing your cock in a way that made it twitch. “let’s finish what you started, shall we?” he leaned in, teasingly planting a kiss on the tip, before he dragged his tongue down your cock. .

“oh- oh, buck..” your thighs tensed in an effort to process the pleasure, as you reached for his hands. too bad he was sitting with his back facing you, and he was sitting on your stomach too, it was impossible to stop him now

“shh.. just relax. when i’m done with you, you’ll be pleased with everything that i’ll give you.” with a shit-eating grin, he focused on the underside of your cock, tracing swirles of pre-cum around the veins. normally, you’d have the strength to manhandle him, to throw him off of you, but with his hands on your cock, it was hard to even think, let alone have the strength to rip this man off you.

“w-wait.. stop please.. too much, b-buck.” you gripped bucky’s hips tightly, trying to push him off of you. you were wrecked, and it was all his fault.

“but it’s nowhere near enough just yet..” he muttered against your skin, he unbuttoned your shirt, letting his fingers trace around your nipples. “no.. no. i’m just getting started.” with that, he changed his pace, moving in long and slightly slower strokes now.

“oh fuck, fucking hell, buck.. uuh..” you let out a shaky whimper as you came again, and guess what? bucky turned around just to see your face when you came, your body going limp underneath him as your cock softened. “o-okay.. that’s.. need a break.”

“aw, is that all the fight you’ve got in you?” he had turned back around, and he nipped on the skin on your shoulder playfully.

“you.. fuck, ugh..” you let out a sigh, not used to cumming multiple times at once.

“shh it’s alright, i’ve got you.” he rubbed your cheek lovingly. “but next time, i expect you to put up more of a fight. resist at least a little, hm?”

“wait no.. i want more.. just.. i was supposed to be on top..” you were cut off with a nip to your earlobe.

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” bucky teased, tracing a finger down your torso. “but i kinda do want to see what you’re like.” he let you flip your positions, now that you were strong enough to manhandle him.

“that’s more like it.”

[sta-rpilled]

Fiddlespick's: Easter Bunny Part 1

Male Rabbit Hybrid Yandere x Gender Neutral Kitsune Reader

CW: Imminent noncon, musk, fingering to stretch reader, mistaken identity, delusional yandere, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 706

(First story in the Fiddlespick's collection. Still 30min. of Easter left where I live so enjoy your holiday meal! The explanation of the Fiddlespick's setting, and eventually other stories in the same school, can be found HERE.)

You had been studying at Saint Frattlebond Fiddlespick's Academy of Arcane Excellence for three years now. You were a proud kitsune, training to be a healer.

The school was great, but one thing that always annoyed you were the rumors. Always rumors of some creature or invader prowling around and snatching students.

The silliest, and by far the most annoying, rumor was that there lurked a rabbit man-hybrid of unnatural origin who prowled the woods looking for revenge on the kitsune that drove him mad.

Some said that he was the result of a mad mage, a kitsune, who fused his rabbit familiar with an innocent human mage.

Others said he was a simple wererabbit druid that had gone mad when his kitsune lover rejected him.

A few claimed he was a native beast to the area that simply hated how wild foxes preyed on wild rabbits and hated anything that resembled a fox.

But you? You said it was all bullshit. Dumbass students fooled by a prank that took on a life of its own and continued for decades.

And you were going to prove it was all a hoax because you were fed the fuck up with hearing about it.

You gathered some camping supplies and on the weekend when you were free of classes and walked the long overgrown path into The Frostweary Woods. So named because half of all the foliage had wooly white hairs on it.

The overgrown path faded out and then disappeared completely about a mile in. It was clear no one came here very often. The trees grew larger and the birds quieter as you continued.

It was lik another world, trying to hide its secrets under fuzzy white leaves and silence.

You came upon a somewhat clear area, a place once used by long gone werewolf students to have loud parties away from campus. Before they had the frathouse and sometimes used a hidden cave when that wasn't good enough.

This was where students claimed to have seen the rabbit creature.

You looked around and found nothing, but your sensitive nose lead you further beyond the clearing.

A sweet scent with a musky undertone beckoned you, almost hypnotically so.

You followed it to a burrow going under some giant trees. It smelled overwhelmingly of… rabbit…

It was probably being used by a big family of common rabbits… yeah… but why not make a tactical retreat anyway? You were going to camp but you had nothing else to prove! There was nothing there at a-

A voice cut through your thoughts, you flicked your ears.

"D-d-darling!? You finally r-returned to me! I kn-knew you would!"

You turned around to see a tall lanky figure, lean but well muscled, behind you. He towered at least a foot and a half above you.

He had cream colored hair and fur and dark brown skin. His arms up to the elbow and legs up to mid thigh were covered in fluffy fur, making it look like he was wearing lewd clothing.

But really, he wore nothing at all, his uncut cock and balls swaying as he spoke. The musky sweetness emanating from them was almost dizzying.

"I s-stayed here for you, I l-love you so much! C-come inside darling~"

Before you could react he had hopped the distance, his long furry ears flopping as he did so.

You tried struggling, tried pleading, you explained who you were and that he had the wrong person. But he wasn't having it.

"Y-y-you must have a-amnesia, my little f-f-foxy~ That's o-okay! My name is Mallow. I'll get your memories b-b-back!"

He plucked you up like a weightless toy and sat you down on his lap. His smell now truly overwhelming, rolling off his crotch and pits. For some reason you found yourself drooling.

"I don't have amnesia! Let me go!"

He started stripping you despite your struggles.

"D-d-don't be silly! We just have t-to jog your m-memory! L-l-lets do your favorite thing, maybe that w-will h-help"

He finished stripping you and sat you back on his lap.

"What's my favorite thing?" You sobbed as your tail twitched nervously.

He began fingering your hole with a furry finger as he replied.

"M-making love, of course!"

[sta-rpilled]

Live, Lust, Love Ch. 01

Bottom Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Finally here with Live, Lust, Love, this is going to be in 2nd POV to see what I like more, second or third, so I'm sorry for the confusion.

In general this fic is NSFT/NSFW content, ik this is a ran through idea for stories but Live, Love, Lust is gonna be one of my babies. It has DD:DNE content as well, and yes a yandere harem.

cw: exhibitionism and voyeurism, mentions of multiple rounds. sry if I missed some

1.7k words

Lewd moans reverberated around the warm and dimly lit bedroom, the bed looked soft with a plush blanket and pillows, a few shelves with some toys on it, or other interests– figurines or books with plants and other decor in the empty spaces.

Audible wet squelching and the squeaking of a chair, while you were simply lost in the pleasure. Your thighs quivered, while your head whipped back as the silicone dildo – which you had placed on the chair – disappeared and reappeared with every time you lifted and dropped your hips. Your legs were spread open, as your teary eyes barely saw the lit up screen from your live stream, you only heard the little dings every time someone donated money.

Your face was sweaty underneath the mask that covered basically anything except your mouth and eyes, while your hair clung to your skin. You could only feel the immense pleasure shooting up your spine, while your cock was weeping precum – bobbing uselessly between your legs. 

Even when your legs started to tremble in exhaustion, you simply kept chasing the all too familiar feeling that started to bubble in your groin. While you forced your legs and body to go faster, the moans spilling from your lips seemed to grow in volume as well until a high-pitched moan left your open hanging mouth– your eyes rolled back as your back arched, the toy buried until the hilt inside of you as you reached your third orgasm on stream.

Ropes of cum dirtied your stomach and chair, while some landed on your mask and lips– which you licked away as your eyes found the camera again. An exhausted yet satisfied smile formed on your lips as you leaned forward, letting your legs and knees rest on the chair, “Thanks guys for joining me today,” you chirped happily, gaining another few donations and a lot of messages that begged you not to go, to keep talking to them, while some wished you already a good rest. 

You blew a kiss towards the screen, while waving your hand, “Until next time,” your voice was laced with sweetness as you said those words – but the moment you stopped the livestream you couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh as you leaned back. Slowly you tried to get up from the chair, while your legs were feeling like jelly– trembling underneath your weight as you held onto the furniture of your bedroom as you made your way towards your bathroom. 

After you cleaned yourself up and your legs trembling reduces itself enough for you not to immediately face-plant the moment you let go of your furniture, you dressed yourself in simple silky shorts and a top, before you cleaned your setup which means the chair, toys and desk. 

Only after that did you give yourself the sweet realization of your today's income, a small smile formed on your lips. A couple thousands were added to your bank account which still felt ridiculous, after all you only started out because of a little bet you had with a friend– but when you saw the numbers on your bank account reach new highs– you possibly couldn’t stop.

You still went to work– but with the additional money you could live more comfortably, without the stress on bills or food. It was a bit ridiculous you got pleasure and money and all you had to do was let others watch you on the infamous cam-site ‘Elysium Live’ which is an invite only platform– except you want to be a camgirl or camboy, then you’ll have to send prove, while they already rate you if you’re good enough for their site or not.

After you said that to your female friend– a friend of yours who also did it once but didn’t really gain a reach – first was suspicious and then wanted to simply break the bet off until you had to reveal that you already sent a video over. It did take a few hours until you suddenly got an email and a one-time entry key. Well after that you started with it and quickly realized that people on this platform paid quite a lot.

Now it was a second and better paid job that you worked, not that you could complain, especially now that you have had three days off to stream you had to work tomorrow again. So after glancing at the time which read 3 PM, you simply walked into your kitchen to make yourself a late lunch. Sometimes you think about how many people might be streaming on the platform, as it does have profiles and a small tap on the profiles in which viewers can leave comments or requests, like a social media – just with cam boys and girls.

Of course you’ve gotten some quite – disturbing comments that you reported and within twenty minutes the comment was deleted, with a few others that quickly followed. You can’t lie, the support system seemed to be really good, handling the reports quickly, which was quite satisfying service for the– employee’s. 

With your lunch plated you walked back to your computer, you had to list down some of the requests that slipped in during the livestream, jotting only those down you would feel comfortable with. You really wanted to have access on your phone as well – but you weren’t sure if it was possible or even if you even wanted to open the app in public.

You tilted your head at some of those requests– lingerie. Not something you would shy away from but, how could you get it without having to walk into a store all awkward– telling a lie about buying a gift for your girlfriend that didn’t even exist– or you could be bold and shameless simply saying it’s for yourself. You’re going to figure it out when the time comes, as for now you could focus on the ones you can already do on the next livestream.

The next day you had gotten ready for work early before driving over with your bicycle, you planned on getting a car when the money you have wouldn’t put a too deep dent into your pocket that could make you worry about your bills again. It’s not like you stream every day, so it was a slow process, but fun nonetheless.

As you finally arrived at the corner store you worked at, you quickly secured your bike before stepping into the staff room from the back. You quickly changed and walked out to the front, greeting your coworker and friend, Melina. “Well well well– if it isn’t our favorite camboy,” her teasing voice was hushed as a smirk formed on her lips as she saw the half-hearted glare you sent her way. “Ha-ha so funny, also don’t forget that I was able to buy you a really nice birthday gift with the money I made,” you shot back with a small winning smirk on your lips – after all the brunette loved your gift.

“I know that, after all was it my idea to start this bet with you–” suddenly the door opened making the bell ding, the two of you glanced at each other as Melina made a zipping motion with her fingers across her lips, as the two of you nodded. No talking about it until the end of the shift.

Which was how the two of you continued to work together, chatting over various topics that came to mind, while you either restocked or stood at the cash register together to gossip. Everything was going peaceful as ever until the door opened again, close to the both of you’s shift end, and in came what you would consider a handsome – even gorgeous man. 

You couldn’t help but watch as the dark haired man grabbed two pairs of energy drinks, before he stepped closer until he stopped right in front of you– putting the drinks down, which automatically made you focus on them for a split second, seeing faint scars, before quickly looking back at the handsome man. He was wearing tailored clothes – a suit – he had hazel eyes and a charming smile on his lips. 

Quickly clearing your throat in embarrassment from being so obvious in ogling at the man, you quickly scanned the drinks and typed in, “That would be 3,56–” you were suddenly interrupted by the man who suddenly placed a fifty bill on the counter making you raise your eyebrows, “Do we know each other? Sorry that I’m asking but you seem – quite familiar,” the man suddenly questioned, making you frown just a bit before shrugging and shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

A frown formed now on the other’s eyebrows before they raised while his eyes widened slightly as if he realized something, a small melodic chuckle left the man, before he grabbed the drinks, “Then I’m sorry, must’ve been someone else– oh and you can keep the change,” with those words and another sexy and charming smile thrown your way before the man stepped out of the store.

There was a long moment of silence, before you looked at Melina who let out a gasp. Her mouth hung open while she stared with raised eyebrows and eyes between you and the door, “That dude was hot, and rich– did you see how he came in here?” suddenly the chattering began as you only tried to process what just happened, before focusing on putting the money in the cash register. “He’s a flirt and definitely has some hots for you– like gawd damn did you see how he basically undre–” you put your hands over her mouth, stopping her from continuing. 

“Melina– take a breath I think the heat is rising to your head,” you only warned her to not push it further. Making Melina roll her eyes as she only nodded, “Fine-fine, I won’t continue until– our shift is over,” she announced after you dropped your hand. Both of you glanced at the clock, over the two of you which showed that there were only seven minutes left until your shift was over making you internally groan as you wouldn’t hear the end of her rambling about the ‘sex eyes’ the guy gave you. 

You weren’t sure of what her motives were– but one was for sure she didn’t want you to stay single now that you were in your late twenties. Maybe that’s also why you made a dash for your bike the moment your shift came to an end, throwing your working clothes into your locker, only to hear the complaining of Melina. “I know where your house lives!” she yelled after you while you left her in the dusk.

[sta-rpilled]

My Senior

(Male x Male reader)

[Warning : no minors allowed , putting cum in drinks, somnophilia, just him being creepy]

Lumi's Note : Hi hi hi hope you enjoy this one! btw should I make a part two of this? If you guys want of course, also! If you want to request a fics or ask, my inbox is open! (Please I need to do something :') ).

Ethan was a freshman year on college in art major, on his walk to his class, Ethan catch of glimpse of you and you are a perfect man he ever seen, you were his senior.

You were kind and polite making his heart pumped, you were his muse, his sketch book is full of you, even a naked sketch, he has a art studio on his apartment and the canvas was all you. He was obsessed about you, his muse, his senior. he just want to touch you, to caress you... fucked you...

Ethan is now in class with his colleague, and the other seniors is here, helping his class with a project, and you were here too. Ethan's heart raced as he saw you walk into the classroom. He tried to focus on the project at hand, but his eyes kept drifting towards you.

He admired your every move, your every gesture. He imagined running his fingers through your hair, tracing the lines of your face, and feeling your body against his.

As the class went on, Ethan watched as you moved about the classroom, helping his classmates with their project. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, his heart racing with each glance.

His heart skipped a beat every time you bent over to explain something to his colleagues. He couldn't help but imagine you in that same position, but his hands gripping your hips. He knew he needed to calm down, but being this close to you was driving him crazy.

As you approached his table, Ethan's hands shook slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. He looked up at you with those doe eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. "S-senior... I was having some trouble with this part of the project. Could you... help me?"

You leaned over his desk to look at his work, giving him a view of your back. He swallowed hard as his mind went dirty. "Oh it's like this...." you murmured softly, your face close to his paper.

He could smell your cologne.

feel your breath.

He gets hard.

"Do you get it now?" You asked softly. He snap out from his mind when you ask him and nodded, "Yes, Senior... I got it." He watched you straighten up, his eyes dropping to your backside. He quickly averted his gaze.

As you walked away to help another colleague, Ethan let out a shaky breath. He quickly adjusted his pants under the desk, hoping no one noticed his erection. He tried to calm down, but your scent was still lingering on the air, driving him crazy. Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind.

Maybe... Maybe! he can ask you help him with his unfinished project at his apartment, Ethan hear that you always help your underclassmen, so it's worth a shot, just thinking about you... You! YOU in his apartment, just alone together.

"Senior..." he called out as when you go to his table again, "I'm struggling with this part actually... Do you have some time tomorrow evening? Would you... would you mind helping me at my apartment? I can make coffee..."

He watched your expression carefully, his heart pounding in his chest. "If it's not too much trouble, of course..." He said to you. The idea seemed risky but perfect, having you alone in his apartment was every part of his twisted fantasy. He tried to appear casual, shrugging lightly as if it was a routine request.

You seemed to consider his request for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Sure, Ethan. I can come by your apartment after class tomorrow. Just text me the address and the time," you said calmly, writing down his project details with a pen. Ethan's heart raced with excitement and anticipation.

OH YOU! YOU!YOU! GOING TO HIS APARTMENT!!!

As the day wore on, Ethan found it impossible to concentrate. Every time you bent over to help another student, his mind would wander, and he'd have to adjust himself discreetly. He couldn't believe his luck, you were actually going to be in his apartment, alone with Him.

Finally, the class ended. Ethan quickly packed his things, his hands shaking with excitement. He sent you a text with his address and the time 6 PM sharp. He spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning his apartment, making sure everything was perfect for your arrival.

He anxiously paced his living room as the clock approached 6 PM. He had set out his unfinished project prominently, hiding the disturbing artwork of you behind closed doors. Glancing at his reflection in the hallway mirror, he smoothed his hair and straightened his shirt, wanting to look his best.

The there's a knock at the his door. His heart races as he opens it, trying to compose himself. "You're right on time," he says, stepping aside to let you in. As you enter, he closes the door behind you, locking it softly.

He leads you to the living room, gesturing towards the unfinished project spread out on the coffee table. "So, as I mentioned, I'm really struggling with this part," he says, his voice barely hiding his nervousness. He sits down next to you on the couch, intentionally sitting closer than necessary.

"Umm would... would you like something to drink?" he asks smoothly, already moving towards the kitchen. "I have water, soda and coffe..." he trails off. "ah can I have some coffee please? if you have any of course," you reply back to Ethan

At the kitchen he brew the coffee and grab a creamer for him but for you, he will give a special 'creamer' to your coffee. He quickly glances back to ensure you're not looking and takes a moment to adjust himself, unzipping his pants slightly. He put your mug under his cock, and he started to Stroke his cock slowly.

he started to go faster and silently groan, and thinking about you, under him moaning his name pathetically. he's almost there, his hand moving faster and faster as he can't wait you to drink his creation. He bites his lip to stifle a moan, his cock throbbing in his hand. Suddenly, he cums hard, shooting thick ropes of cum into your coffee mug.

He catches his breath, wiping his hand on his pants. He stirs the coffee mug thoroughly, making sure his cum is well mixed in. He carries the two mugs back to the living room, acting casual as he sits down next to you, handing you your coffee.

You take a sip of the coffee, oblivious to what he done to yout coffee. Ethan watches you intently, his eyes flickering with a dark satisfaction as he sees you drink his seed. He takes a sip of his own coffee, trying to act normal. "Is the coffee okay?"

You nod, taking another sip. "It's good, thanks," you say, completely unaware of his sickening act. He smiles, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. "I'm glad you like it" he replies, his eyes never leaving your lips as you drink from the mug.

As the two of you work on the project, Ethan can't help but steal glances at you, his mind filled with dark and twisted thoughts. Every time you take a sip of your coffee, he feels a surge of power and satisfaction.

Ethan leans back, exhaling with relief as the project is finally completed. He glances at your now empty coffee mug with a secret smirk, proud of his subtle yet deviant success. "All done!" You says, Ethan look at you, his heart races with the thrill of what he's done.

He stands up, stretching his arms above his head,he walks over to the kitchen, rinsing out the coffee mugs. As he turns around, he catches you yawning and rubbing your eyes. "Tired?" "Yeah... I should go home now, but it's kinda late... , I don't know if the bus is out now" you reply.

Ethan's eyes light up at your words, barely concealing his delight. He glances at the clock, nodding slowly. "Actually, the last bus left over an hour ago. You're probably stuck here tonight,"

He walks back into the living room, leaning against the doorway"You can sleep in the guest room if you want. It's late, and it wouldn't be safe for you to try and find a ride home now."

"Ah really? I don't want to burden you..." you said to Ethan, He waves his hand dismissively, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "It's no burden at all. Really." He moves closer to you, "Besides, I have extra blankets and pillows. The guest room's pretty comfortable."

You yawn again, your body feeling suddenly heavy and tired. "Okay... You're sure it's no trouble?" You ask sleepily. Ethan watches you intently, noting your tired movements. "No trouble at all," He assures you, his mind buzzing with dark thoughts.

Hours later, as silence settles over the darkened apartment, Ethan slowly opens the guest room door. He peers in at your sleeping form, a glint of madness in his eyes. Stealthily, he approaches the bed, hovering over you. His breathing grows heavy as he watches your chest rise and fall.

With a wicked smirk, Ethan gently moves the blanket covering you, exposing your sleeping form. His eyes roam hungrily over your body, pausing at your neck. He leans closer, inhaling your scent deeply, a shudder of twisted desire running through him knowing you're helplessly asleep.

Ethan's heart pounds in his chest as he watches your peaceful face, his twisted thoughts racing. Without a second thought, he leans down and presses his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. He backs away quickly, shocked at his own boldness, yet unable to wipe the satisfied smile from his face.

His eyes gleam with excitement as he leans back in, pressing his lips against yours once again. This time, his kiss is not as gentle as the first time. He kissed you passionately, his fingers trailing down your neck and collarbone, exploring your sleeping form with his greedy hands.

You unconsciously part your lips slightly, allowing him deeper access. He growls softly, taking full advantage and pushing his tongue inside your mouth. He kisses you deeply, his hands sliding down your sides, your hips. He hoovers over you.

Ethan breaks the kiss, panting heavily. His eyes are wild with lust and madness as he stares down at your helpless form. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, a dark chuckle escaping him. "You taste even better than I imagined,"

His breath hitches as he releases himself from his pants, his large, hard length springing free. He wraps his fingers around himself tightly, stroking himself furiously as he looks down at your face. He bites his lip, stifling a groan as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. His eyes roam over your body, imagining all the things he wants to do to you. He increases his pace, his breathing growing ragged. He's close, so close... .

He's panting now, his face contorted with pleasure as he looks down at your sleeping form. He's so close to the edge, he can feel it building. He reaches out and touches your face gently with his free hand, his thumb brushing your cheek as he jerks off faster.

"Fuck!" He silently curse, His finger traces your lips gently as he finally reaches his release, hot liquid spurting out onto your sleeping face. He pants heavily, his chest heaving as he looks down at his handiwork, his seed dripping down your cheeks and lips.

He watches you for a moment longer, his eyes wide with amazement and satisfaction, before finally stuffing himself back into his pants. He hesitates for a moment, debating whether to wipe the mess off your face or not.

With a heavy sigh of reluctance, Ethan pulls a handheld towel from his pocket and gently dabs at your face, cleaning off the evidence of his dark deed. He takes care not to wake you, his movements precise yet reluctant. "Such a shame," he murmurs under his breath.

He watches you for a moment longer, his eyes taking in every inch of your sleeping face. He leans down one last time, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before backing away and disappearing into the shadows. "Until next time," he whispers before slipping out of the room and disappearing into the night.

In the morning you woke up, sleeping well in the guest room, your stomach growls in hungry for food, you slowly walk out of the room and go to the kitchen and see Ethan makes breakfast. As you enter the kitchen, you're greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and the sizzle of bacon. Ethan is busy preparing breakfast, humming softly to himself.

He turns to greet you with a warm smile, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment longer than necessary. After eating breakfast you ask Ethan to join you go to college together, just the two of you.

"Sure," Ethan grins, grabbing his bag. He watches you intently as you get ready, his eyes darkening slightly as you bend over to tie your shoes, giving him a perfect view of your backside. He swallows hard. adjusting himself. calm himself and he walks with you to the bus.

During the bus ride, Ethan keeps the conversation light and engaging. He asks about your classes, your interests, and even shares some of his own experiences as a senior. His charm is on full display, making you feel comfortable and at ease.

As you arrive at college, Ethan walks you to your first class, his hand lightly touching your back. He waits until you're inside before turning to leave, but not before glancing back at you with a smile that sends a shiver down your spine. "See you later,"

He watches as you disappear into the classroom, his heart fluttering in his chest. He can't believe how close he is to having you all to himself. He spends the day attending his classes, but his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of you.

Maybe in his next plan he'll have you stay permanently in his apartment. And be his finally. until next time now... My dear senior...

This picture is from Pinterest uzumaki Naruto

Tags list : @nymphea0

[sta-rpilled]

Yandere alpha roommate: What!? I wasn't sniffing your underwear... okay I was... but just to check your pheromone levels! Don't want you going into heat out of nowhere and jumping on my fat dick while I'm asleep!

[sta-rpilled]

Do you prefer your potions with or without pulp?