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stillwatervoid · 30 days ago

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Insatiable | Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Summary: Mark Grayson dies of jealousy every time his flirty, easygoing, and perpetually exhausted best friend—who he may or may not have a huge crush on—makes out with random guys behind the school. Until the day you confess you’re a half-breed, like him. But not quite like him. Because while he’s half-Viltrumite, you are... half-incubus? Whatever that means… Mark’s more than willing to find out.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, making out, frottage/dry humping, (semi-public?) oral (Mark receiving), anal sex.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Fluff, Pining Mark, Mutual Pining, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 19.7k | a/n: Heeey, it’s been forever!!! DID YOU MISS ME? Because I definitely missed you! I’m really sorry for being so inactive lately. I've been so busy between a nasty case of writer’s block, college stress, and work chaos... yeah, life sucks. Anyway! Here’s a little big treat I managed to squeeze out between bursts of inspiration and writer’s block. As always, English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes here and there. Hope you enjoy it!

You have a reputation.

You know it. Mark knows it. Hell, probably half the school knows it.

It clings to you like a second skin—whispers in the hallways, smirks in locker rooms, giggles that trail behind you in class. You’re a flirt, and not the harmless kind either.

The kind who’s always leaning just a little too close in crowded hallways, disappearing behind buildings with someone breathless and flushed, only to reappear like they’ve won the lottery. But then a week or two passes, and you’re gone. Slipping out of their lives like it never mattered. Like they never mattered. One minute, you’re all sultry glances and lingering touches. The next, you’re onto the next curious set of eyes across the room.

People talk. Some resent you. And yet, no matter how many times you walk away, there’s always someone new, eager and willing, thinking maybe they’ll be the exception.

And today, Mark sees it happen all over again.

He watches from across the cafeteria as you chat up some guy in line. You’re leaning in close—closer than necessary. Your shoulder brushes his, and your head tilts slightly when you laugh. That slow, lazy grin slides across your lips like it’s effortless. The guy blushes. Of course he does. He leans in without realizing it, like he’s being pulled by a string.

Mark doesn’t even taste the food in his mouth anymore.

He stabs his fork into his tray, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the casual way your hand lingers near the guy’s arm, the light in your expression that no one else ever gets to keep. His stomach knots.

You’re just playing. Again. He knows it. But that doesn’t stop the heat from rising in his chest. Doesn’t stop the slow burn of something he doesn’t want to name.

Then you laugh at something.

The guy laughs back, awkward and eager.

Mark’s knuckles go white around his fork.

“Uh, Mark to Earth?” William says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’ve been talking to you for, like, five minutes.”

Mark blinks, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

William raises an eyebrow, following Mark’s gaze to where you’re now smirking at something the guy said.

“Oh. Y/N again,” William mutters, deadpan. “Shocking.”

Mark’s ears are already burning. He glances down at his tray. “What about him?”

William sighs like he’s had this conversation in his head a hundred times already. “Dude. At least pretend to be subtle. Jealousy isn’t a good look.”

“I’m not—” Mark starts, a little too fast. He swallows hard, tries again with forced calm. “Whatever. It’s just—I’m worried, okay?”

“Oooh, worried. Right. Sure,” William drawls, nodding slowly like he’s humoring a toddler. “Totally not jealous that Y/N’s out there reeling in his next victim while you sit here pouting and crying about it.”

Mark nearly chokes. “What are you even—oh crap, he’s coming back. Shut up.”

He watches, frozen, as you murmur something to the guy before breaking away, walking straight toward them.

Mark jerks his eyes down to his tray, only now noticing the fork in his hand bent clean in half from how tightly he’d been gripping it. He swears under his breath, quickly ducking his hands beneath the table to fix it. He’s midway through smoothing it back into shape when you slide into the seat beside him, smooth as ever.

You sigh, lazy and soft. “Hey, nerds. Sorry I’m late. What’re you gossiping about without me?”

Your head props in your hand, elbow on the table, eyes flicking between them with something like curiosity—but dulled, like even that costs energy.

It’s always a bit of whiplash when you’re around them. The version of you the school knows—the smooth-talking, flirtatious heartbreaker—melts away almost instantly. With them, you’re just you—that quieter, wearier version only your close friends ever get to see. Your posture slouches. The sharp smirk fades into something hazy. Your eyes, once bright and teasing, grow distant.

It’s like watching a performance end the second the curtains close.

Mark watches, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. He hadn’t been lying earlier—he is worried. Because behind the easy voice and sleepy grin, he sees it—that edge of exhaustion you try so hard to hide. That distracted look in your eyes, like your mind’s always somewhere else.

“Oh, we were just talking about Mark being jeal—ow!” William yelps, his leg jerking under the table.

Mark glares daggers at him, foot still pressed against William’s shin. His look says shut up so loud it might as well be spoken.

You raise a brow at the exchange, unimpressed. Even that tiny expression looks like it takes effort. Still, your gaze stays on William, waiting. “…About Mark being what?”

Mark straightens too fast. “Oh! Uh. Just—just excited! Y’know. About the tour. The Upstate U thing. It’s gonna be… fun.”

William grumbles into his food, refusing to look up. “Super fun.”

Your eyes light up just slightly—just enough to make Mark breathe easier. “Oh yeah! Right. Thanks again, William, for letting us crash your date with that hot pre-med guy.”

“Oh, well, since Mark insisted, how could I possibly say no? I love having my two best friends third- and fourth-wheeling all the time. Makes it so romantic.”

You snort, your posture loosening as you lean back and wink. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll make sure to drag Mark away the second we get there. I’m not about to cockblock my friends.”

William’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Good. Make sure you keep Mark busy all day. And by all day, I mean all night too. You two are sharing a room—trust me, you don’t wanna know what I’ll be doing in mine.”

“Done,” you reply breezily, nudging your knee against Mark’s under the table without thinking.

Mark jerks like he’s been shocked, spine going stiff as his leg instinctively shifts away. He pointedly ignores the smug look William throws his way.

But of course, William isn’t done.

“So,” he drawls, “what were you talking about with that guy in line? You seemed real into it.”

Mark stiffens, lips pressing into a thin line as he shoots William a warning glare, one William very obviously avoids.

You blink, like the question catches you off guard—like you’d already forgotten about that guy entirely. Then realization sets in, and you wince a little. “Oh—that. I was just… hungry,” you mumble, eyes darting away. “Wanted to cut the line. Said something dumb to distract him, but standing around that long kinda sucked. I got tired.”

“Hungry?” Mark echoes, the irritation draining from his face as concern rushes in to take its place. “You’ve already had, like, four trays. You still hungry?”

You glance at him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I have a big appetite?” you offer, lips tugging into a weak sort-of-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Mark catches it—the pout in your mouth, the barely-there glance toward his tray of food, the subtle tremble in your tone.

He doesn’t hesitate. Quietly, he slides his tray across the table toward you, nudging it close enough to make the offer clear.

Your eyes widen just a bit.

“You can have mine,” Mark says, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I’ve had enough.”

Your face lights up instantly, all exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by a bright smile “Seriously? Dude, thank you! God, I’m starving.”

Without another word, you pick up the fork—Mark’s fork—and dive into the food like you haven’t eaten in days.

Mark tries very hard not to think about how you’re eating off the same fork he used. That it’s kind of like—well, not a kiss. Not really. But also kind of not not one. He’s not five. He knows that. He tells his face that too, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down.

William snorts around a mouthful of his own food. “Jesus, you eat like you never did before. Got a black hole in there or what?”

You snort too, pausing just long enough to swallow. “Feels like it.”

Mark watches you. Watches the way your cheeks puff as you chew, the smooth motion of your throat as you eat, the quick swipe of your tongue across your lips between bites.

He swallows, too.

“Almost like you’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, without thinking.

You pause. Not for long—but enough. Your rhythm falters as you glance back at him, something unreadable in your expression. Like he just struck a chord you weren’t ready for.

It vanishes quickly. You laugh, not quite as bright as before. “Yeah,” you say, chuckling, “feels like it.”

But something’s changed. The words feel heavy now. Like a joke that isn’t really a joke. Like there’s something you want to say, but won’t.

Mark notices. Of course he does.

But, as always, he doesn’t say anything.

Mark never seems to know what to say around you.

So he sits there.

Watching you.

And in his own quiet way, maybe he’s insatiable too.

By the time you all arrive at Upstate U and meet Rick, you make good on your promise to keep Mark out of William’s hair. You wave William off with a cheeky salute and a wink, then drag Mark into your own version of a tour: one that includes skipping the official info sessions, sampling from half the food trucks on campus, and wandering through hidden places neither of you expected to find.

Mark doesn’t complain. In fact, he’s having a good time—a great time, actually.

He’s laughing too much. Smiling too easily. He tries not to notice the way his body jolts when his shoulder always ends up pressed against yours whenever you walk side by side. He tries not to focus on the way his chest swells a little too much every time you laugh at something he says. He really tries to ignore the way his heart picks up every time your eyes catch his and hold, just for a beat too long.

But what Mark can’t ignore—no matter how hard he tries—is the way your breath hitches after walking for too long. The way your pace slows, like your legs are dragging. The way your body leans into him like you don’t even notice you’re doing it—like gravity’s pulled you sideways and he’s the only thing holding you up. The way you keep rubbing your eyes, like you were trying to scrub the exhaustion out of them.

Eventually, Mark can’t pretend anymore.

“Hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing your shoulder to guide you toward the nearest bench. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

You blink, but let him. The second you sit down, your body sinks into the bench like it’s doing half the work your legs can’t anymore.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Peachy,” you mutter, voice low and strained. “Why?”

Mark watches you carefully, his brows pulling together. You’re sweating slightly, and your skin has that drained, almost translucent look to it.

“You’re pale,” he says quietly. “And kind of… out of it. Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back to the dorms. You don’t have to push yourself.”

You don’t answer right away, eyes darting to the ground, breathing shallowly like you’re barely holding it together.

And what Mark doesn’t get—what drives him a little crazy—is why you keep pretending you’re fine.

Especially with him.

“I’m just—” you start, then stop yourself, jaw tightening as you press your lips together in visible frustration “—hungry.”

Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, flicking over the stream of students walking by. You look like you’re scanning them. Assessing.

“I should eat,” you mutter, dazed. “I should… eat something…”

Mark straightens in his seat, alarm rising in his chest. “I can get you something,” he offers quickly, ignoring the fact you’ve already eaten enough for three people today. He just wants to help. “Something sweet. Maybe your blood sugar’s low?”

You look up at him then, and something in your expression knocks the wind out of him. Your brows pinch, eyes cloudy, lips parted like you’re about to cry.

“That’s not enough,” you whisper.

Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”

Then, without hesitation, without shame, you whisper, “I wanna kiss someone.”

Mark freezes.

“What?”

“I need someone,” you repeat, more firmly this time, bracing your hands against the bench like you’re about to stand. “I’ll find someone. Just—stay here, okay? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes.” You push yourself up, but stumble as you take a step forward.

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a second.

Kiss someone? Now? You were clearly unwell—too pale, too drained, barely standing—but even now, even like this, you were going to throw yourself at some stranger? After spending the entire day together, after laughing and joking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder like you actually wanted to be around him?

His throat tightens. A bitter coil wraps around his heart, hot and suffocating and impossible to shake. Something ugly rears its head in his chest. A sick twist of frustration and hurt and—

God.

William was right.

Jealousy.

Mark presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who gets angry about this.

He’s not entitled to you. He never was.

But that doesn’t stop his hands from curling into fists in his lap, knuckles white.

Because you’re clearly hurting. And you won’t tell him why.

Because you’re pushing yourself toward strangers, toward danger, when he’s right here.

Because, for once, he wants you to pick him.

And you don’t.

Before you can take another shaky step, Mark stands up and grabs your wrist.

“No.”

The word comes out sharper than he means it to—clipped, almost angry.

You stop, turning to him with startled, uneasy eyes. “I’ll be right back, Mark. I swear.”

“No,” he says again, firmer this time, his brow knitting. “You’re about to collapse, Y/N. I’m not letting you go to—what, kiss some random guy just because you’re feeling off?”

You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Look, I get you’re worried, but—”

“No, Y/N,” he cuts in, voice rising, frustration breaking through. “I’ve never judged you for the crap people say about you, alright? Never cared what they whispered in the halls. But this? This is insane. You’re sick, and your solution is to hook up with a stranger? We’ve been here less than a day!”

The next words slip out before he can stop them.

“Can you not act like some hormone-crazed idiot for five minutes and just take care of yourself?”

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. But it’s too late.

You go completely still, eyes going wide.

Then, slowly, your expression hardens.

“Hormone-crazed idiot?” you echo, voice low and cutting, disbelief flickering in your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Wait—Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

You tear your hand from his grip, expression stony. It’s like a dam breaks beneath your exhaustion, a spark of rage reigniting the strength that had been fading from you all day.

“What am I then, huh? Just some horny screw-up who can’t go a day without climbing someone? You think this is fun for me? That I like being like this?”

Mark shakes his head, panicked, but not quite understanding the meaning of your words. “No—God, no, that’s not what I meant, it’s just—”

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone else thinks I’m just some—some fucking slut who can’t keep it in his pants. But you—” Your voice breaks. “I thought you knew me better than that, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach drops. “I do! I swear I—”

Before he can finish, William’s voice cuts through the charged air, calling over the crowd, his arm linked with Rick’s.

“Hey, idiots! Having fun with—oh…” William’s voice trails off, sensing the thick tension between you two. He awkwardly lowers his raised arm. “Hey… is everything okay…?”

Mark barely holds back a groan, cursing himself for the words that slipped out so stupidly. He wants to apologize, to pull you aside, to fix it—

But then a sudden explosion shakes the ground beneath them, a cyborg-looking-monster crawling out of a hole.

What happens next is a blur of instinct and adrenaline. One second he’s Mark Grayson, desperate to take back his words—the next, he’s Invincible, saving his best friends from death.

And when it’s over, when he drags himself back, bruised and breathless, to where William and you are huddled in safety—

William stares at him, whispering under his breath, “Mark…?”

And you—you’re not surprised. Not even angry. You just frown, gaze deliberately avoiding his, eyes unreadable and distant.

It’s in that moment Mark knows he’s screwed up big time.

You don’t speak to him again until later, when the nightmare finally ends—Sinclair in GDA custody, William shaken but safe, and Rick badly wounded but alive.

“Can’t believe Sinclair nearly turned you into one of those things,” William mutters, arms wrapped tightly around Rick.

Mark stands off to the side, awkward and out of place in the fluorescent-lit room. You’ve long since excused yourself, mumbling something about sleeping this fucking day away. The words had been dressed up as a joke, but Mark saw through it—the way your hands trembled as you gripped the doorframe, the deep shadows under your eyes, the sheen of sweat clinging to your pale face.

He remembered the way you leaned on him earlier, how your steps had faltered, how you kept pretending you were okay.

You weren’t.

And now, after everything that’s happened, Mark’s worried sick.

“I’ll…” he starts, voice flat, drained. “I’ll go to bed too. You guys, um… get some rest.”

Rick nods. William does too, but his eyes linger—sharp, knowing, and meaningful. A silent get your shit together.

Mark tries.

The room is dim when he slips in, cold moonlight pooling faintly through the curtains. You’re already curled up on one of the beds, facing the wall. For a moment, he feels crushed because you’re still mad at him.

Moving quietly, he strips out of his clothes with mechanical, resigned motions, slipping into his pajamas—until your voice cuts through the silence.

“Mark?”

He freezes—mid-motion, halfway through tugging his jeans off—heart leaping to his throat.

He turns quickly to face you, finding you sitting up groggily in bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he breathes, almost stumbling over your name. He’s so relieved to hear you talk to him again, but the guilt crashes in just as fast. “Are you—did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You shake your head slowly, blinking away the haze. “No. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Mark hesitates by the edge of his bed, torn between giving you space and wanting to inch closer. “Do you… need something?” he asks softly. “Water? Food? Anything?”

You’re quiet for a beat, looking at him in a way that makes his heart clench—like you’re still tired, still hurt, but no longer angry. Just… worn down.

“Nah,” you murmur, voice low. “I’m fine.”

Silence stretches between you.

Mark sits there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He hates it—the tension, the awkwardness, the distance, especially when you were having such a good time today. The kind of fun that only happens when you’re with someone you really like.

And Mark likes you.

Probably a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Probably enough to get on his knees and beg if that’s what it would take to fix this. He’s already forming the words in his head, some clumsy apology laced with sincerity, when you speak first.

“So… Invincible, huh?” you mutter, the faintest edge of amusement cutting through your exhaustion.

Mark latches onto the sound of your voice—that tone—like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “That’s, uh. That’s me.”

You hum, noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the window. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

Mark’s breath catches. His smile falters. It would be easy to lie. To say yeah, eventually, of course.

But all that comes out is a quiet, “...I don’t know.”

You don’t say anything right away. You just rub at your eyes again, the way you always do when you’re trying to rub away sleep. It sets Mark on edge. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—check your temperature, get you water, make you take something, do something.

But he stays put.

Eventually, you exhale a long, slow breath. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about that.”

That.

Mark winces, the word cutting a little deeper than it should.

And then, finally, it spills out—earnest and clumsy and too fast.

“About—about what I said earlier…” he begins, voice low. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care what you do—or don’t do—with other people. I swear. I was just… I was just really worried about you. You looked like you were about to pass out, and then hearing you say you wanted to kiss someone—God, I didn’t know what was happening. And I panicked. And I said something shitty. I’m sorry.”

Your expression doesn’t change at first. And Mark waits, his stomach a mess of nerves, the silence dragging sharp between you.

Then you sigh—long and heavy—and finally meet his eyes.

“I know,” you murmur. “God, I know. You don’t understand—can’t understand what—who I am. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for not knowing. That’s not fair.”

Mark frowns. He doesn’t feel any better—if anything, worse—because it sounds like you’re taking the blame for what he said. And that doesn’t sit right with him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice quiet. “I was the one who basically called you a hormonal mess to your face. That’s on me.”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Yeah, well… I was the one who said I needed to kiss someone right there. Without context, that sounds…” You trail off, flinching, dragging a hand down your face. “I was out of it. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I was desperate. Still am.”

Mark’s frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of what he even wants to ask. But the question lingers in his chest, heavy and jealous and aching.

Desperate? Still?

“You still…” he starts, then hesitates. “Still want to kiss someone?”

You blink at him, startled—but not like he’s wrong. More like you didn’t expect him to say it out loud.

Mark clears his throat, awkward, trying to shove the twist of jealousy in his chest down, his imagination running wild with images of you seeking out someone else’s lips in the dark.

“I… I think I’m gonna need a little more explanation than that,” he says carefully. “Because if this is still about kissing someone, I’m—uh—I’m not following.”

You go quiet for a moment, just looking at him—eyes uncertain, troubled, teeth pressing into your lower lip like you’re holding something in.

And that’s when Mark really sees it.

It’s serious. Whatever this is, it’s eating at you. And suddenly, he’s crossing the room without thinking, settling gently at the edge of your bed like he’s afraid to startle you.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

You look at him, eyes wide and tired, like you haven’t slept in days. And then, with a dry, humorless smile, you shake your head.

“Well,” you whisper, “now that I know you’re Invincible... guess I owe you some truth too.”

Mark’s pulse jumps. “Truth?”

“Call it… an exchange of secrets,” you say, voice quiet, almost shy in a way that makes Mark’s stomach flip.

He leans in without thinking, drawn like gravity. “A secret?” The word comes out breathless. He’d thought he knew everything about you.

You hesitate. Nervousness is written all over you—tense shoulders, twitching fingers, the way you can’t quite sit still. But even so, you meet his eyes, refusing to look away.

“Promise you won’t look at me differently,” you whisper, so quiet he has to lean even closer to hear. “Promise this won’t change anything between us.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

Because really—how bad could it be?

You lick your lips, glance down at your hands, still fidgeting in your lap.

“Mark,” you begin slowly, “my family has... a curse. It’s been in our blood for generations. And—” Your hands fist in the sheets. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I need you to understand that. This isn’t—it’s not a choice, okay?”

Mark’s brows knit together, already twitching with worry as his mind jumps to every worst-case scenario. He’s heard of curses. He’s seen what they can do. Amanda—Monster Girl—was proof enough that they were never just quirky inconveniences. People suffered under curses. People died because of them.

And the way you’re speaking now—so serious, so insistent, practically pleading—hits something raw inside him and twists.

He nods, quickly, urgently. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I believe you.”

You swallow hard, hands tangled tightly in the bedsheets.

“I’m…” You close your eyes for a moment, like it physically hurts to say it. “I’m not—I’m not fully human, Mark.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Mark’s eyes widen, those words bouncing around his skull, impossible to ignore.

“Part of my bloodline—on my mother’s side—is something else,” you continue, carefully, assessing his reaction with anxious eyes. “We call it a curse, but it’s more like a... condition we inherit.”

Mark listens intently, piecing together the implications, nodding slowly along.

Finally, you exhale shakily, gaze steady but vulnerable.

“I’m part incubus.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

“That’s why I needed to kiss someone earlier,” you admit, fingers twisting in the sheets. Your cheeks burn even in the dim light. “Normal food... it’s not enough. I can eat it, but it doesn’t sustain me. I need—” A shaky exhale. “Arousal. Desire. Intimacy. The energy that comes with it.”

Mark watches as you shrink into yourself, the confession leaving you vulnerable in a way he’s never seen.

“And when I don’t...” You hesitate, then force yourself to go on. “When I go too long without it, my body starts to shut down. You saw it earlier today. That’s what it looks like when I’m starving. I was trying to hide it because I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to know this part of me.”

Mark just stares, stunned—not with disgust or fear, but with a dawning realization. His mind scrambles, trying to make sense of everything. Okay.You’re part incubus. He’s not totally sure what that entails, not really, but he can piece it together. You feed off arousal—off desire. And without it, you get sick. Really sick. Okay. That much he gets.

Then finally, softly, “You’re sick because you’re starving.”

You grimace at that, the words clearly stinging, and glance away. Still, you nod—just barely. A small, exhausted gesture.

“You kiss people to… eat?” he asks slowly. “So back at school—when you were with people—you were feeding?”

You don’t nod this time. You wince instead, tilting your head with an awkward expression.

“Not exactly,” you murmur. “I don’t feed from kisses. That’s not enough. I just…” Your voice dips, suddenly shy. “I just mess around long enough to make people feel... something. Get their arousal going. When things start to, y’know, heat up.”

The second that last phrase escapes your lips, you let out a groan and bury your face in your hands.

“God, I hate saying it out loud. I hate how it sounds. But it’s not like I can turn it off, okay? If I could, I would. Believe me.”

Your voice is muffled behind your palms, frustration and shame coloring every word.

“Hey, hey,” Mark says gently, reaching out to take your hands in his. He pulls them away from your face with soft insistence, making sure you see the sincerity written all over his expression. “I don’t care, okay? This isn’t something you chose. It’s not—it’s not your fault.”

Mark swallows hard, glancing at you again—really looking. You’re still pale. Still swaying a bit where you sit. There are dark, bruised shadows beneath your eyes, and you look one bad night away from collapsing.

“I mean… if you didn’t feed,” Mark says slowly, working through it aloud, “you’d be like this all the time, right? That sounds like it’d really suck. I mean, look at you now. You’re still…”

He trails off, his gaze drifting over you with a worried crease in his brow.

A short, dry huff escapes you. You blink at him, tired and a little amused. “Yeah. It sucks. I could even die.”

You say it so lightly, like it’s no big deal—like you’re joking—and it knocks the breath right out of him.

Mark stares, stunned for a beat, the weight of that sentence finally settling in.

Then he leans forward, closing the space between you, close enough that his breath brushes yours. His hands slide up to your shoulders, firm and grounding as he pulls you gently toward him.

“You could die?” Mark hisses, panic tightening his voice. His fingers dig into your shoulders, eyes wide with fear. “How—how much time do you have left? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit—we should find someone immediately. God, I was the one who stopped you earlier—I’m such an idiot. Oh my god, are you dying?”

“Mark, Mark, breathe,” you say, raising both hands in a placating gesture, a genuine—if tired—smile tugging at your lips. “That only happens in really extreme cases, alright? I’m nowhere near that point. I swear.”

Mark lets out a shaky breath, but his grip on you doesn’t ease.

“Then why not—” He swallows hard, hating the question even as it leaves his lips. “Why not stay with one person? Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly finding new people?”

What he really wants to ask is, Why aren’t you ever serious with anyone? Why not choose someone, stay safe, be safe?

But your eyes drop, the smile fades, and something heavy settles over your expression. You look sad.

Mark hates it instantly.

“Mark…” you murmur, hesitant. “You understand I feed off these people, right? What do you think that means?”

You don’t wait for his answer.

“There’s only so much I can take before they start breaking down,” you say, voice low. “At first it’s subtle—just a little fatigue. But after a week or two, it’s worse. They lose sleep. They get distracted. Their appetite drops. Their energy drains. And I’m not even feeding properly. Just kisses, Mark. Barely enough to keep myself upright, and it already wears them out.”

Mark’s brows knit together, the weight of your words hitting hard, sinking deep.

“And that’s me holding back,” you say, shoulders tense. “That’s me playing it safe. And it’s still not enough.”

You glance at him then, eyes glinting with something close to fear.

“What happens if I stop holding back? What if I lose control? What if I finally taste the real thing—and I can’t stop? I’m scared, Mark. I’m scared I’ll hurt someone. Kill someone.”

The raw honesty in your voice does something to Mark’s pulse. He should be shocked. Maybe even disturbed. But all he feels is an overwhelming pull—an urge to make you feel safe, to ease that pain etched into every word.

“The real thing?” he echoes, voice rough despite already knowing the answer.

You give a dry smile, raising a brow. “Sex, Mark.” Then your gaze drops, and color creeps into your cheeks as you mumble, embarrassed, “I think it’s the only thing that can truly sustain me. Maybe for months, if I’m lucky. But humans are—” You pause, frustration coloring your voice. “Humans are just so... fragile.”

Mark swallows hard, throat dry. He’s still holding onto your shoulders, the heat of your skin seeping through the soft fabric of your t-shirt. He can feel the tremor in your muscles, subtle but undeniable. The shallow rise and fall of your chest. Even now, even after spilling everything—you’re still trying to hold it together.

And he hates it.

Hates that you’re suffering.

Hates that he can’t fix it. Not unless you found someone to—

Found someone—

Someone.

Mark’s breath hitches. His eyes flicker from your face to his hands on you… then back up. The idea hits him like lightning—sudden, bright, impossibly simple and obvious.

His mouth moves before he can stop it.

“Can I help?”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”

Mark doesn’t back down. His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re starving. And I’m... here.” A beat. “Let me help.”

The offer hangs between you, trembling in the charged silence.

Mark can feel the heat rising to his face, nerves unraveling beneath his skin. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are—close enough to see the way your pupils swallow the color of your eyes, close enough to feel your breath hitch.

“Mark,” you breathe, stunned. Then you shake your head quickly, like you’re trying to shake the thought loose. “No. That’s—did you not hear what I just said? I don’t wanna hurt you. You could end up dying—”

“I’m not human!” he blurts out, voice rising a little in panic, desperate for you to understand. “I mean—I’m not entirely human, like you. I’m half Viltrumite—that’s why I have these powers. An alien race on my dad’s side and—” He stops, shaking his head hard. That’s not the point. “Anyway! I’m strong. Durable. I heal fast and have insane stamina. I won’t—won’t get hurt if you…”

He trails off, drowning in his own embarrassment. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate—just a friend trying to help. Nothing weird about it. Even if—shit—even if it means kissing you.

Mark nearly chokes on his own spit.

Yeah. Right. Kissing. That’s what he’s offering.

No—it’s more than that.

He feels it land in his stomach, heavy, hot, terrifying.

“If we have... sex,” he finishes, cheeks flaming. But the moment he says it, he feels stupid and awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but yours. “I—I mean, we can try. You feel awful all the time, right? And I’m strong. I can take it—I know I can. Because, you know…” He lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, too fast, too forced. “I’m, uh… I’m Invincible. That’s—ha—that’s me.”

The laugh dies a quiet death in his throat.

He bites his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. Silence settles between you again, thick and suffocating. Mark can hear the pounding of his heart, wild and humiliating, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. God—he sounds so stupid. You probably think he’s being weird. Or desperate. Or both.

Offering to—God. He can’t even say it in his own head without his face going up in flames. But he’s thinking it.

Worse—he’s been thinking it for a while now.

He starts remembering all those times you snuck off after school, slipping behind the gates with someone new, someone who wasn’t him. All those nights Mark lay in bed wondering what you were doing, what it would feel like if you picked him instead.

He remembers how you smiled at him in the middle of crowded hallways—just for a second—and how his heart would stutter in his chest like it forgot how to work. Only for that smile to shift to someone else a moment later, while Mark just stood there, swallowing disappointment like it was a habit.

He remembers how you flop onto his bed whenever you visited, casually thumbing through his comics and calling them lame with a crooked grin, even though you keep reading them anyway just because he likes them.

Your body stretched out in his sheets, your scent lingering in his pillows long after you’ve left. The way your lips tug into a smirk when Seance Dog does something stupid, or how you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, brow twitching every time a plot point annoys you. The way your smile sneaks in, helpless and honest, when you stifle a laugh just to mess with him.

Mark’s thought about kissing you before. Right there, in the quiet of his room, while you were sprawled across his bed, completely at ease. But he never dared.

And now, sitting here in the stillness of this dorm, you only inches away, the thought slips back in.

Mark thinks of kissing you again. Now. But he’s still too shy to try.

Then, soft and amused, you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence.

Mark’s head snaps up, lips already pulling into a nervous pout, bracing for your usual teasing.

But you’re not teasing.

You’re looking at him with something else in your eyes—soft wonder, a kind of startled tenderness, like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time. Your smile is crooked, small. “Invincible, huh.”

Mark swallows thickly and nods. “Invincible.”

A beat.

Then your fingers reach for his collar, curling into the fabric with a tremble he can feel, and Mark’s heart just stops.

“Mark Grayson,” you whisper, half awe, half fear, “do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?”

Mark’s never been more certain about anything.

“I do.”

You smile at him—soft, fond—and for the first time in what feels like forever, the exhaustion in your eyes eases, just a little. Just enough to make Mark’s chest tighten.

Then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and Mark’s breath stutters. Your breath mingles with his—warm, steady, grounding—while his comes out shallow and trembling, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, skin flushed with want.

You’re so close. So unbelievably close. The heat of your lips brushes his, barely there, and Mark leans in without realizing, drawn to you like a magnet.

You inhale deeply, and then let out a soft, pleased hum, one that shudders down his spine.

“You really want it,” you whisper, almost to yourself, voice tinged with wonder. “I can smell it on you.”

Mark doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means—how you can know. Because then your mouth crashes into his, and you groan into the kiss like it’s a relief, like it’s something you’ve needed just as badly.

Mark’s eyes flutter shut, and melts.

It starts slow—tentative. Testing. But Mark sinks into the kiss like he was made for it, hands finding your waist and gripping tight. You sigh into his mouth, lips parting, and Mark doesn’t even think—he just deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours, hungry and desperate and real.

And the noise you make—

God.

Mark’s never heard anything better.

He presses into you, completely lost in the moment—lost in the feel of your mouth against his. Slowly, your back meets the mattress with a soft thud, and Mark follows, bracing himself on his elbows and palms above you. But neither of you pulls away—not even for a second. The kiss deepens, tongues greedily tangling, hungry for more.

Heat coils low in Mark’s gut. His mind spins, thoughts breaking apart like static. It’s overwhelming—in the best possible way. Your mouth is warm, wet, desperate, kissing him like you want to devour him.

And maybe… maybe you do.

When he finally pulls back, gasping, the sight of you steals what little breath he has left. Color has returned to your cheeks, your eyes bright and focused now, dark with want. The transformation is startling—like watching a wilting flower spring back to life after rain.

Mark swallows thickly. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You inhale, lips slick and a little swollen. “Better,” you murmur. Then you raise a hand, fingers brushing tenderly along his cheek. “You?”

Mark pauses. He thinks about the warmth simmering in his chest, the way his skin tingles under your touch, how every nerve feels alive. If you’re better, that means it’s working—that you’re feeding off his arousal. Off him. But he doesn’t feel drained. Not really. Just the heady buzz of desire, the thrill of finally having you beneath him. If this is what feeding you feels like, he’d gladly offer himself up again and again.

“Still good,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Really good.”

Your smile lights up the dim space between you as you pull him back down. Mark groans into the kiss, body sinking against yours when your hand slips behind his back and pulls him in. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. The contact burns through his clothes, sending sparks dancing along his nerves.

This is for you, he thinks wildly as his hips jerk forward of their own accord. To make you strong again.

The moan you let out against his lips is downright sinful. Your legs part instinctively, guiding him to slot perfectly between them. “Mark—” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, “are you sure—”

His answer comes in another sharp roll of his hips, drawing a punched-out sound from your throat that goes straight to his cock.

Yes. God, yes.

No words could possibly capture the certainty thrumming through his veins. You seem to understand anyway, arching up to meet his next thrust with a filthy grind that has you both moaning into each other’s mouths.

The heat between you is unbearable now—the drag of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way your hardening lengths press together with each desperate movement. Mark’s never been this hard in his life, every nerve ending alight with the need to give you more, more, more.

“So good,” you slur against his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Mark, so good—”

The words go straight to his core, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut, hips moving faster, chasing that sound, chasing that praise. He wants to hear it again. He wants to earn it. Relishing the way your body trembles beneath him—not from exhaustion now, but from the pleasure he’s giving you.

He can feel it happening; the strength returning to your limbs even as his own energy wanes. It’s not unpleasant—just a deep, satisfying fatigue, like after an intense flight. More than worth it to see color flooding back into your face, to feel your grip on him growing steadier by the second.

So he keeps going, harder, faster, grinding against you like some hopelessly horny teenager.

Turns out the hormone-crazed idiot had been him all along.

“F-Fuck—” Mark chokes out, his voice raw with need, skin flushed and hypersensitive. “Y/N... god, Y/N...”

You moan in response, fingers twisting in his shirt as you drag him closer. The kiss turns messy—all biting lips and clashing teeth, the kind of desperate intensity that leaves you both breathless. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms scorching trails across the sweat-slick planes of his back. Mark shudders violently, muscles jumping under your touch.

“Mark—” you gasp, arching up against him, pleasure painting your features. “Mmh, Mark—”

And it hits him.

You’re in the dorms.

William and Rick are probably still very much awake. It’s the middle of the night. And both of you are getting way too loud.

Mark’s face flames with embarrassment.

And when you open your mouth to moan again, he panics—just a little—and presses a hand gently over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Your eyes fly open, dazed and confused, locking with his. And shit—the sight of you like that nearly makes him lose it right then and there.

“Shh,” Mark whispers, breath ragged, forehead pressing against yours. “They’ll hear us.”

You go still for a beat, eyes flicking to the door like you’ve only just remembered where you are. Then you nod slowly, locking eyes with him again.

Mark gives a shallow thrust, still holding his palm over your mouth, just in case. This time, with your lips no longer fused together, his eyes remain open—watching every microexpression of pleasure that crosses your face. The way your pupils blow wider with each thrust. The tension building in your jaw. Most striking of all—the life flooding back into your exhausted features as you meet him halfway.

The silent exchange is somehow more intense than the noises you’d been making before. Mark reads every hitched breath in the flutter of your lashes, every spike of pleasure in the way your fingers dig into his back.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the faint creak of the old bed, and the rustle of tangled sheets. Your gazes lock, dark and searching and hungry. And god, god, Mark has never felt anything like this.

There’s a thrill buzzing down his spine, a flutter in his chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with you. His heart pounds wildly, not just from exhaustion, but from pure, surging adrenaline—pumping heat into every vein, every muscle.

His muscles twitch and flex instinctively from the sheer pleasure wracking his body. His breath catches and his cock aches, hard and leaking into his boxers, needier than it’s ever been.

Mark wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The heat coils inside him, slow and molten, building pressure with every thrust and grind of your hips against his. Your eyes never leave him, and it wrecks him. That look—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you’re giving yourself to him, trusting him, wanting him.

Wanting him.

You want him.

The realization hits like lightning, and Mark’s whole body reacts—hips grinding harder, cock pulsing desperately, breath coming fast and uneven as the world narrows to nothing but you. His brain short-circuits, every rational thought evaporating under the weight of that need.

Then your hand slips down.

Past his waistband.

Fingers wrap around his cock, warm and sure and so willing.

Mark chokes on a breath, buries his face in the crook of your neck just as you stroke him—once, twice.

And that’s all it takes.

His whole body shudders violently as he comes, hard, gasping into your skin, cock pulsing in your hand, spilling over your fingers with a soundless cry. His hips jerk helplessly as you milk every last drop from him, until he collapses against you, sensitive and spent.

His breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, thighs twitching, mind blissfully blank. The exhaustion hits him like a wave—a deep, satisfying lethargy that weighs down his limbs, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice rough, fingers still lazily stroking his oversensitive flesh. Mark shudders, biting back a whimper, and instead sinks his teeth into your shoulder—not hard, just enough to ground himself. “Mark?”

“I’m fine…” he slurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “God, I’m so fucking fine.”

You chuckle, low and warm, but your grip tightens again, just for a second—just enough to have him whining, squirming, his spent cock twitching pathetically in your hold before you finally relent.

Mark forces himself up on shaking arms, giving you space to breathe. But in that exact moment, as your hand slips free of his boxers—fingers glistening with his release—he sees something that nearly undoes him all over again.

With zero hesitation, you bring those cum-slick fingers to your mouth—and lick them clean.

Mark’s brain short-circuits.

His mouth goes dry as he watches your tongue flick out, slow and deliberate, catching every drop like it’s something precious, your eyes locked on his the entire time—daring him to look away.

“Shit—” Mark chokes, his spent body throbbing weakly at the sight. “Y/N—”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the taste, lips curling into a sinful little smirk.

Mark swears under his breath, his energy draining further, vision blurring at the edges—but even now, even exhausted, he can’t tear his gaze away.

And all Mark can think is he did that.

He made you feel alright.

He gave you strength again.

Because you’re glowing—god, you’re glowing.

“Y/N…” he breathes, voice trembling. “Are you—are you feeling okay now?”

You hum contentedly, licking the last traces of cum from your fingers with a satisfied sigh. “Never been better.”

Mark’s answering smile is drowsy but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.” His eyelids flutter despite his best efforts to keep them open.

“Mark?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in his body—how it droops, how his muscles go slack.

He blinks at you, slow and owlish, trying to hum an answer. He’s fighting it—desperately trying to stay awake, to prove to you that he’s okay. That you don’t have to worry. That he’s strong enough to do it again, whenever you need it.

But he can’t.

It’s like trying to fight anesthesia—his consciousness slipping despite his will, soft and slow and inevitable.

To his surprise, you don’t panic. Instead, a tender smirk curves your lips as you guide his swaying body off of you, helping him roll onto his side so he lands beside you instead of collapsing on top. You tug the sheets over both of you with a quiet, satisfied sigh, then curl around him, limbs tangling comfortably with his.

Mark still has just enough strength to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you in return.

The very last thing he feels is the soft brush of your lips at the corner of his mouth.

And then, everything fades.

Since that night, nothing’s happened between you again.

The very next morning, you thanked him with a soft kiss to his cheek, all warm affection and casual ease. You seemed energized, almost thriving, while Mark woke up feeling sluggish and tired—though nothing serious enough to make either of you worry.

You even laughed when you noticed how drained he was. “If I tried that with a regular human,” you said thoughtfully, “they’d probably drop into a small coma, I think.”

So… yeah. Mark had to admit, his Viltrumite heritage did come with some perks beyond just strength.

And for a while, you were fine. More than fine.

Mark watched you through the days, then weeks—half expecting you to suddenly corner a random classmate and start making out with them just to feed again. But you didn’t. Not once.

Which probably had something to do with the fact that you’d… well. Eaten his cum. You mentioned it offhandedly once, saying it gave you an “energetic bonus,” like it was a protein shake or something. And Mark—Mark thought about that for hours. Days, maybe.

He’d let you do it again in a heartbeat. Every day, if you asked. At any time. Anywhere.

And that’s the problem.

You haven’t asked.

Apparently, whatever you got out of him that night was enough to keep you going for weeks. Which is honestly impressive, considering the two of you didn’t even have full-on sex. You just… grinded against each other and you gave the world’s shortest handjob—and he still passed out immediately after like some overwhelmed virgin.

Because, well, he was overwhelmed.

Mark tells himself he needs to work on his stamina. He can’t let that happen again—not if he wants to actually get to the next phase with you. Not if he wants to please you, the way you made him feel that night.

But it’s also true—you were starving back then. Maybe you pulled more from him than you usually would. Maybe the lust, the arousal, the craving he felt for you gave you a bigger energy hit than either of you realized.

Whatever the reason, ever since he tasted your lips, Mark’s been a mess.

The memory of your mouth on his, your body moving against his—it’s been looping in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted torture. Every brush of your shoulder in the hallway sends sparks racing down his spine. Every laugh, every look, every accidental touch leaves him dizzy and desperate.

But no matter how much he’s burning for it, you haven’t brought it up again.

And it’s driving him insane.

Until today.

Today, everything crashes in on him at once—final exams before graduation, the pressure of saving the world, the delicate balancing act of being both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And on top of it all, the world is still feeling the aftermath of his dad’s betrayal—cities still recovering and people still mourning.

Nobody’s surprised that he’s been... off lately. Tense. Angry all the time.

And today, today, he needs to forget. He needs to focus, needs to scrape his mind back together and make it through these tests. Needs to at least try to get into that stupid university where, in some far-off dream, he’d get to kiss you for the first time all over again.

So it happens that morning.

You’re standing by your open locker, flipping through your notes with a nervous sort of energy—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the pages like you’re trying to memorize your way out of a breakdown.

Mark drags himself to the locker beside yours, slow and heavy, his limbs weighed down by too many thoughts—things he doesn’t want to forget and things he wishes he couldn’t remember.

Then, his gaze flickers—unconsciously, inevitably—toward you.

Mark sees the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes dart over your notes, how your foot taps restlessly against the tile floor. You’re clearly stressed, just like him. But that’s not what gets him.

What always gets him—every damn day, at every damn hour—is your mouth. The shape of your lips. The way your tongue sneaks out to wet them. The soft pink-red shade. The memory of how they felt, how warm they were, how much he wants to kiss them again.

And again.

“Mark?” you ask suddenly, voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

He flinches, eyes snapping up from your lips to your eyes.

“Y-yeah?” he stammers, cheeks flaring with heat.

You stare at him for a beat too long—head tilted slightly, brow raised, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Then, your nose flares subtly, like you just smelled something... good.

But instead of saying anything, you just shrug and turn back to your locker.

“Man, these exams got me super stressed out,” you say, casually, as if you hadn’t just caught him staring like a lovesick fool. “I just want school to be over already.”

Mark exhales, trying to ground himself, shoving thoughts of your lips out of his head. Focus. Focus on the tests. On anything else.

He forces a grin. “Tell me about it. I’ve been studying and dreaming about studying. Like—actual nightmares about textbooks chasing me. It’s the worst.”

You huff, amused, tossing the last of your things into your locker before checking the time on your phone.

“We still have time,” you say simply.

Mark grabs a single book and looks at you, hopeful. “Wanna keep studying?”

But you snatch the book from his hand and shove it back into his locker, slamming the door shut. Mark blinks, wide-eyed, and barely has time to react before you step in—closer than close—close enough for your breath to ghost against his ear.

Mark goes completely still.

“Don’t you wanna do something else?” you whisper, voice a low, teasing purr that sends a sharp shiver down his spine. “Like… come with me behind the school. Just us. I can help you unwind. And, y’know…”

Your fingers trail down his chest slowly, making Mark swallow hard, until your hand finds his wrist and wraps around it, firm and sure.

“…I’m feeling kind of hungry.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief, a small smirk tugging at your lips like you already know the answer.

And you do.

Mark, predictably, nods dumbly, heart hammering against his ribs.

Your smirk deepens, and without missing a beat, you spin around and tug him along by the wrist. Mark follows—half dazed, half panicked—as you lead him somewhere behind the buildings, wherever it is you always take people when you’re like this.

His face burns, pulse racing—not just from anticipation, but from the very public nature of this. People glance your way, eyes trailing from your linked hands to Mark’s flushed face, some raising their brows knowingly.

Because you have a reputation.

And when you disappear behind buildings with someone flushed and breathless, it only ever means one thing.

And Mark’s flushed and breathless, alright—practically being dragged to that one secluded spot you always claim for yourself.

Is this... is this what it is? What he is? Just your new hookup to mess around with?

No—no. Because unlike the others before him, Mark’s your best friend.

You wouldn’t just discard him. Right?

Besides, Mark’s stronger. Better. He can handle you feeding on him, handle the drain, handle you. He’s not like the rest. He offered. He wanted this.

You chose him.

That’s what he tells himself when you shove him gently against the cold concrete wall behind the school, shadows swallowing you both whole.

You smile at him—soft, sweet—before leaning in and kissing him.

And god, that’s exactly what he’s been craving since the first time.

Mark melts, instantly, like wax under your touch, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer. You fit against him like you’re made for it. Your mouth, your kiss, your tongue—everything syncs with his like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. Like it’s natural.

Yet, a treacherous part of Mark’s mind—still conscious, still worried—whispers that maybe all the others you’ve kissed against these very same walls thought the exact same thing. That they were special. That they could handle you.

Only for you to leave them two weeks later when they couldn’t keep up.

And now Mark’s heart pounds, not with lust—but fear.

He has to hold it together. Has to prove himself.

He doesn’t want to be another body you use and then forget. Doesn’t want to be weak—doesn’t want to collapse every time you touch him.

He wants to be the one you keep coming back to.

And then—

Then your hands move down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans.

And Mark completely loses it.

He tears away from your mouth with a breathy gasp, eyes wide, voice ragged. “Y/N?”

You pause, blinking at him, fingers still lightly tugging at his belt. Your expression softens—almost embarrassed.

“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet. “I wanted to… suck you off. But I don’t know if—”

You stop yourself, shaking your head like you’re mad for even thinking it. Your fingers begin to retreat, pulling away from his jeans.

“Forget it,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “We have exams. You’re already tired. I don’t want to make you worse if I—ugh. Stupid of me. Kisses are fine.”

You lean in again, lips parted, ready to claim his mouth like before—but this time, Mark stops you.

Because the moment the words suck you off left your lips, he stopped hearing anything else.

“You can,” Mark rasps, voice thick. “I want you to. I can take it.”

You pause—eyes searching his face, unsure for just a second. But then your nose flares again, catching his scent, and you close your eyes like it’s the best thing you’ve ever breathed in.

“Fine,” you murmur, voice thick and hazy. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Mark nods—more a reflex than a conscious answer—because he couldn’t form real words even if he tried.

And then, with aching slowness, you sink to your knees in front of him. Your hands move to the waistband of his jeans, careful and deliberate as you tug them down, freeing his straining cock from his underwear.

Mark’s hands instinctively fly back, palms splayed flat against the wall as his knees buckle slightly. He needs the support, because if he doesn’t hold himself up, he’s sure he’ll collapse the moment your mouth touches him.

Your eyes flick up at him, half-lidded and glassy with heat. Then you reach forward and wrap your hot fingers around his cock.

Mark yelps, his whole body jolting, cheeks burning red from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears.

“Y/N—” his voice cracks embarrassingly as his cock twitches in your grip. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening.

You hum approvingly, pumping him slowly once, twice, watching with rapt fascination as a bead of precum wells up at his tip.

“Already so hard for me,” you muse, thumb swiping through the moisture.

The casual observation makes Mark’s head thud back against the wall, a quiet, mortified groan leaving him.

But whatever embarrassment he feels is drowned out by the overwhelming flood of arousal, lust, and whatever else it is you feed on coursing through him.

You probably enjoy it—how easily he falls apart for you, how effortlessly his body responds, like you don’t even have to work for it.

You probably love it. Because then you lean in, face close to his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you inhale deeply—drawing in the raw scent of his arousal straight from the source, your warm breath ghosting over the flushed, sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pupils blown wide. “You smell perfect.”

Mark doesn’t have the brain to process what that even means, not when the question gets stuck in his throat and dissolves the second your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock.

A choked groan tears from his chest as you start to lick, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum with deep, focused sucks. His knees buckle slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the maddening heat of your mouth.

But it’s impossible.

You’re shameless—licking and sucking him like this is just natural for you, like it’s not embarrassing at all the way it’s mortifying for him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft in wet, lazy strokes, then circles the head with practiced ease before you suck again, harder this time.

You groan, low and satisfied, and the vibration shoots straight through him.

Mark shudders, his hips jerking slightly, and helpless little sounds tumble out of his mouth before he can even think to swallow them down. And then—shit—then your mouth opens wider, lips stretching, tongue curling, and you take more of him in. Inch by inch, hot and wet, deeper and deeper.

Mark nearly loses it right there.

His back slams harder into the wall, his fists curling uselessly at his sides as he fights the urge to completely fall apart. But it’s not because you’re draining him—not yet, at least—it’s because it’s you.

Y/N. His best friend. The guy he’s been crushing on for way too long. On your knees behind the school, mouth full of him like it’s nothing, like it’s something you want.

It’s insane. He’s insane.

Shit—shit.

Mark dares to glance down, eyes wide and glassy with stunned pleasure, needing to see it to believe it.

And the sight nearly breaks him.

You, between his legs, hands steady on his hips, eyes half-lidded with hunger and focus. Your lips, stretched wide and glistening, moving up and down his cock with obscene wet sounds. His shaft gleams with spit and precum, slick and throbbing, disappearing and reappearing between your lips.

He moans again, soft and wrecked, unable to look away.

Meanwhile, you’re letting out soft, muffled sounds around the thick length stuffed in your mouth—like you really like it. Like you’re losing yourself in the sensation of having Mark buried so deep, your mouth full of him, nose flaring with every push of his hips. The wet, obscene noises echo in the tight space, and your brows furrow—not from discomfort, but something heady, something near-blissful.

It’s like pleasure for you. Something Mark can’t fully grasp, not when you feed off this—feed off him—like this is more than just sex, like it’s sustenance.

Then, on a particularly sharp thrust—Mark can’t help it, his hips moving on instinct—his tip hits the back of your throat.

You gag softly, breath hitching, teary eyes snapping open, glassy and dazed.

Mark curses under his breath, panicked, already pulling back, the apology forming fast on his lips—

But then you moan.

Loudly. Lewdly. Fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back in.

Mark nearly collapses.

“Oh—oh god—” he chokes out, his grip on the wall slipping as his thighs tense.

You don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You just suck harder, deeper, hungrier. Mark can feel the heat of your mouth wrapped around every inch of him, and it’s too much—it’s so much.

“Y/N,” he gasps, “God—I’m gonna—”

But you don’t let go. If anything, your pace quickens, mouth working him with precision and purpose. Mark’s knees shake, buckling slightly, and he nearly traps your head between his trembling thighs without meaning to.

“Y/N—fuck, I’m so—so close!”

You hum again, low and satisfied, like that’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Like his desperate moans and breathless whines are feeding you, pouring that raw energy straight into your core. And you take it, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, like this is your version of heaven.

“Y/N—” Mark gasps, a final, desperate warning.

But you don’t stop. Fierce and hungry, you take him in again—once.

Twice.

And that’s all it takes.

Mark comes with a deep, guttural groan, his head thrown back against the wall, hips jerking forward to bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. Hot, bitter release spills from him in thick pulses, straight down your throat—and you gulp it down without hesitation, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

The sounds you make—hungry, pleased, possessive—echo in the tight space, and Mark’s entire body trembles under the weight of it all.

His thighs shake violently, straining from the effort to stay standing. His vision flickers at the edges, a burst of white noise flashing across his mind. He’s faintly aware of the wall at his back, of the air that won’t quite fill his lungs, and the overwhelming, foggy pleasure that steals every coherent thought.

He’s fine. He tells himself that. He has to be.

Because he wants to prove he’s stronger than the others. That he can take it. That he can give and keep giving if that’s what you need.

Even as the lightness threatens to pull him under.

But just as his cock begins to soften, your mouth stays—closes tight around the tip, fingers curling around the base where your lips can’t reach. You start stroking again, firm and insistent, while your tongue circles his oversensitive head.

You’re milking him. Ruthlessly. Determined to get every last drop.

Mark jerks with a sharp cry, the overstimulation sending electricity through his nerves. His hands claw at the wall, legs quaking uncontrollably.

“Y/N—” he breathes, voice high and wrecked, “Jesus Christ, that’s—! I—I can’t—!”

And finally, finally, you stop.

You pull off him with a soft gasp, your breath hot and ragged. His cock slips free, flushed and twitching, coated in your spit and what’s left of his release.

You lick your lips lazily, and smile. That same satisfied, gleaming smile that tells Mark you got exactly what you wanted.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, flushed and glowing—energized in a way that almost radiates off your skin—while Mark’s left trembling, still caught in the aftershocks of his high.

“My god, Mark,” you huff a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. “That was—I’ve never felt anything so—” You cut yourself off when you finally take in his state—the sweat beading at his temples, the way his chest heaves. Concern flickers across your face. “You good?”

Mark immediately shakes his head, trying to clear the static clouding his thoughts. “M’fine... I’m just—overwhelmed,” he admits, voice hoarse but honest.

You pause, frown flickering briefly across your lips as you glance him over more carefully. He’s pale. Wobbly. Still fighting to steady his breath. A pang of guilt twists in your chest—maybe you took too much. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s going to drop right here and hit the damn pavement.

But Mark, breathless and clearly drained but stubbornly determined to prove a point, straightens off the wall on shaky legs.

“I’m fine,” he says again, firmer this time. “Really. That was—” he exhales deeply, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that was so good.”

Your face lights up again, the concern replaced by a beaming grin. “Damn right it was! Mark, you taste amazing. I’ve never tasted so much—fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have that much cum,” you ramble, fast and thrilled, practically buzzing with glee. “It energizes me so much, like—Jesus, I could live off you... Do you need help with that?”

You gesture toward his pants, still hanging open. Mark blinks, dazed and stunned by your casually filthy words, but still gives a small nod.

You hum, pleased, as you crouch slightly to tug his jeans back up, fingers moving with practiced care. You even take your sweet time buckling his belt again, still grinning to yourself like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.

Meanwhile, Mark struggles to steady his breathing, eyes half-lidded as he watches your every movement. He savors the careful way you straighten his clothes, tugging his shirt down gently before reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his damp forehead.

His breath catches when your palm lingers against his cheek.

“You okay?” you ask again, softly, trying to sound serious—but the buzz of energy beneath your skin, the high of feeding, makes your voice a little too bright.

Mark smiles, slow and fond. “Amazing.”

“You’re not, like… out of it, are you?” you press, brows furrowed. “Still with me?”

He lifts his hand to cover yours, holding it against his cheek as he leans into your touch like he never wants you to let go.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Better than fine. I actually feel…” He trails off, searching for the right words. There’s some drowsiness, sure, but it’s the good kind. “Relaxed. Like—really relaxed. Not anxious anymore.”

Your smirk is immediate, the faintest blush touching your cheeks. You look so alive—flushed and glowing, like the fatigue Mark had always assumed was your default had never really belonged to you. For months, he thought you were just… exhausted all the time. Turns out, you were starving.

“Good,” you say, lacing your fingers through his. The contact sends a fresh spark along Mark’s nerves. “Come on—we’ve still got time to meet up with William, Eve, and Amber. We can cram together before the test.”

Mark stumbles after you, legs still shaky, cheeks still burning, head still in a haze—but for entirely new reasons. The memory of your mouth on him lingers like a brand, and the knowledge that he alone can sustain you without breaking sends a possessive thrill through his veins.

He’ll be ready whenever you need him again.

When you need him again, Mark’s in the middle of arranging his things at the Upstate U dorms.

He’s been trying not to sulk about the dorm assignments. Really. It’s fine that you’re rooming with some random guy instead of him. Totally fine. And hey, it’s not all bad. He’s rooming with William, and you’re only three doors down.

However, when he’s strolling back with his Seance Dog action figure on hand, he spots it—the damn sock on the doorknob. The one William had declared as their “do not disturb” signal. Mark freezes, then groans loudly enough that a passing freshman gives him a weirded out stare.

Rolling his eyes, Mark turns on his heel and makes a beeline for your door instead. No knock. No warning. He just pushes it open like it’s a completely normal thing to do.

You’re in the middle of unpacking, back to the door, bent slightly as you shove clothes into your half of the closet.

“William’s having sex,” Mark grumbles as his greeting, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a startled laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “Already? It’s literally the first day of college.”

“Right?!” Mark perks up, pointing at you like he’s just been seen. “I was thinking the exact same thing! Who even has sex on the first day of college? I haven’t even finished unpacking.”

You snort again, amused, and turn back to your stuff. “Sucks for you,” you say with a teasing smirk. “But since you’re here, wanna help me put my stuff away?”

Mark’s shoulders sag dramatically as his eyes sweep over the room—half-open boxes everywhere, clothes spilling out, chaos even worse than his own side of the dorm. “Aw, man.”

“You chose to come here, Mark,” you say with a grin, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward the mountain of chaos you call your stuff. “Now suffer the consequences.”

Mark lets out a dramatic sigh as he lets you tug him along, but his protests are half-hearted at best. He grumbles the entire time—loudly and performatively—but never actually stops helping. He jokes through it, snickers when he finds weird stuff in your boxes, and keeps rearranging things the way he thinks they should go, just to mess with you.

He doesn’t really mind. In fact, Mark loves it—being near you, touching your things, asking dumb questions just to hear you talk. Every little trinket you pull out is a new excuse to stay a little longer.

By the time the bed is made, your desk is mostly arranged, and the floor is walkable again, Mark flops down face-first onto your mattress with a dramatic sigh. He rolls over onto his back, one arm slung lazily across his chest, and watches you fiddle with the last few decorations on your desk.

“What’s up with that thing?” he asks, nodding at a pretty trinket you’re setting in the corner. “Looks ancient.”

You glance over your shoulder, then shrug. “Oh, this? Just a stupid family relic. Supposed to bring me good luck or something.”

Mark pushes himself up on one elbow. “Family relic?”

“Yeah!” you nod brightly—then pause, eyes flicking to him with a slightly sheepish look. “Y’know. That side of the family, if you get me.”

That perks Mark right up. You rarely mention your incubus lineage, let alone the mysterious relatives who share it.

“Does it actually work?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. “The luck thing, I mean.”

You chuckle, fingers brushing over the trinket. “Sure it works.”

Mark straightens completely, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Really? How?”

You turn to him slowly, expression softening into something warm and deeply fond. Then you rise from the chair, walk over, and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don’t say anything at first, just smile as your hand reaches up, tenderly cradling his cheek.

Mark’s breath catches.

“Well,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin, “I met you, didn’t I.”

And Mark’s heart just—melts. There’s no other word for it. It swells in his chest and bursts behind his ribs like a supernova, a rush of feelings he doesn’t bother to hide.

Then he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering for half a second. “It must work both ways, then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh gently—and god, he loves that sound. It lights up your whole face. There’s something about it, that laugh, that smile, like it always bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Like you can’t help but be happy in his presence.

Mark watches you, eyes soft, his heart thudding like it’s trying to tell him something—like this is the moment. His hand is a little clammy against the blanket. He’s thinking about kissing you. Really kissing you.

But he doesn’t.

Because the truth is, aside from those two times you fed off him, you never actually kissed. Not once. And not because you didn’t want to—but because if you weren’t hungry, if there was no need to satiate that part of you, neither of you ever crossed that line.

Still, you liked touching him. You liked brushing shoulders when you walked together. Liked laying your head on his shoulder during long movies. When you visited his house, you liked sneaking into his bed just to nap together—curled into him like you belonged there.

Mark misses your lips. But if you weren’t hungry—if you didn’t have to feed—then both of you stayed in your safe little bubble.

Would it be weird if Mark kissed you right now?

Would you think he’s being a weird friend?

Mark doesn’t know where the two of you stand. Yeah—you’ve grinded against each other, you’ve sucked him off behind the school. But what did it mean? Just a way for you to feed yourself? Or did it mean more?

Did he mean more?

Mark can’t tell. Isn’t sure.

But when you look at him like this—all soft eyes, quiet smiles, that unshakable tenderness lighting up your whole face—Mark lets himself wonder. Can he believe for even a second that you feel the same way he does?

Can he kiss you?

“You can,” you whisper, soft as a secret.

Mark freezes.

Eyes widen just a little in surprise. For a moment, he thinks maybe you read his mind—but then he realizes…

He said that out loud.

And you said yes.

“…Really?” he asks, heart in his throat.

You laugh, soft and fond, thumb brushing along his jaw. With the same hand still cradling his face, you guide him closer, slowly, until your lips almost touch. “Really.”

Mark closes the distance.

He kisses you.

Not like before. Not the frantic, life-sustaining kisses you’d taken from him. This is something softer. Something given.

His heart races, hand rising to cup the curve of your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the softness, the warmth, trying to burn the sensation into his memory, into his very flesh.

You sigh softly, lips parting slowly as you deepen the kiss. Mark holds back a groan, turning it into a breathy gasp instead, his tongue meeting yours with a shy hesitation. He tastes the faint hint of chocolate from the snack you’d eaten earlier while taking a break from unpacking. Unable to resist, he gently sucks on your tongue, and you shudder against him, a soft moan slipping free.

God, Mark loved it. Loves it. Couldn’t get enough. Wanted this—wanted you—forever.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss further, teeth catching on your bottom lip in a playful bite. One hand sneaks around your lower back, pulling you closer—

Then someone knocks on the door.

You freeze against each other, lips still brushing as you pull apart just enough to share a wide-eyed look. Your cheeks are flushed, your breathing uneven—beautiful, Mark thinks, already mourning the loss.

“Probably my roommate,” you murmur, catching your breath as the knocking comes again. “I’ll check.”

Mark pouts, reluctant to let go, but quickly squares his jaw and puts on his best tough-guy face. If this is your roommate, then he’s definitely marking his territory. No one’s stealing his best friend.

You give him a faint, sheepish smile when he slides a protective arm around your waist, and then you reach for the door handle.

But the second it swings open, you both freeze again.

Right there, in the hallway, is fucking Seance Dog in the flesh.

Mark reacts immediately, stepping between you and the bizarre cloaked figure before him, grabbing its body. “Who the hell are you—?”

The creature—Seance Dog—launches into a rambling explanation, but Mark barely registers it. His attention is locked on the hallway beyond the open door, where students pass by, oblivious.

You spin on your heel, eyes wide, rushing to the window. “Go! I’ll find backup!”

Turns out “backup” is William, who stumbles after you through the wooded edge of campus, half out of breath and half-convinced this is some elaborate prank, while you yell, “Yes, the Seance Dog! No, I don’t mean cosplay!”

When you both catch up, Mark is standing in a clearing, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. Mark turns when he hears your voice and immediately starts explaining—Thraxa, billions of people in danger, yada, yada. It’s all so sudden, and he watches you both closely as the explanation sinks in.

William nods along, immediately agreeing. “Dude, you have to go. We’re talking, what, forty-two billion lives?”

Mark flinches, glancing toward you, searching your expression. You haven’t said anything yet. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

You finally speak. “For—for how long again?”

Mark hesitates, his heart thumping. “Just—just a few weeks. Give or take.” He turns to the bug alien. “Right? A few galaxies away?”

The bug alien nods solemnly.

Mark looks at you again, eyes quietly pleading. He wants you to say no. He hasn’t even had his first class yet. You kissed, for real, for the first time not even an hour ago, and now he’s supposed to just…leave?

If you said no, he wouldn’t go. Not for anything.

You fold your arms, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I mean… if we’re talking about that many people… and he came from so far just for you, then…”

You trail off.

Mark’s heart sinks. He wants to help, really—but he also wants to stay. Wants to start this new chapter with you, complain about professors together, compare how bad the cafeteria food is, sit next to you in class and whisper jokes under his breath just to make you snort.

And—and he hadn’t even fed you properly. Not really. Not the way you needed. Not the way he wanted to.

But then your eyes meet his again, steady and sure despite the tightness in your jaw, and you nod. “…Then I guess you should go.”

And that’s it.

He suits up. The blue and yellow slide over his body like second skin, and Nuolzot is already gesturing toward the sky, to the ship hovering in low orbit.

But Mark pauses. He turns back to you. In two steps, he’s standing in front of you again, gloved hands rising to cradle your face.

“A month,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A month tops. I swear I’ll be back before you even notice.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright, Invincible,” you say, trying for playful. “Go save that planet. Come back before you flunk out before classes even start.”

That makes him laugh, breathless—and then his eyes drop to your lips.

And he kisses you before he can second-guess himself again.

Your mouth meets his instantly, warm and sure, like you’re afraid this will be the last time you get to feel him like this.

When you part, breathless and close, Mark wants to say it. The words burn on his tongue.

I love you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he chuckles awkwardly, as if laughter might hide the way the words nearly slipped out.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “See you soon.”

And then, without waiting another second, he shoots up into the sky, trailing after Nuolzot and leaving the ground—and you—behind.

William’s voice echoes upward. “Wait, wait, wait—since when are you two together!? I need details!”

Mark doesn’t look back.

If he had, he might have seen the way your smile faltered the moment he turned away.

Mark returns to Earth two months later—twice the time he promised you. And somehow, that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.

He should be happy to be home. Should be focused on the fact that he’s safe, alive. And still, a small part of him is terrified. Terrified that you’ve moved on. That in the time he was off-planet, you got bored of waiting, maybe met someone new—someone who actually stuck around like they said they would.

So he doesn’t go to you. Not right away. Not even when every fiber in his body aches to.

First, he goes home. He sees his mom—because of course he does. She needs to know he’s alive. That he’s okay. That he’s now the older brother to a half-bug alien baby. He spends time there, takes his time, and tells her everything.

And then, finally, he makes his way to Upstate U.

Now he has to see you—has to face whatever version of you he left behind. The one who might hate him, or worse… be totally fine without him.

He stops by his dorm first, quickly changing out of his suit and into something more casual. The more he thinks about you, the tighter his stomach clenches with anxiety.

When William remarks, “You were gone a long time, like forever in college years,” it feels like salt in the wound.

Mark winces, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I know.”

Surely you’re upset.

If not upset, then… indifferent.

And Mark honestly can’t decide which would hurt more.

Still, there’s something bubbling in his chest—nerves, maybe. But also that warm, fluttery anticipation he always gets when he’s about to see you. God, he missed you so damn much. Thought about you more times than he can count while everything around him fell apart in space.

So he throws on clean clothes, rakes a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath to ease his nerves.

“Wait, where are you going?” William asks as Mark heads for the door.

“Y/N’s room?” Mark says it like it’s obvious. Because it is. You’re three doors down. Three doors he’s been counting since he landed.

William’s expression shifts. “Oh. Uh. Y/N’s not here.”

Mark freezes. “What?”

“Went home two weeks ago. Medical leave.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Medical leave?” Mark’s voice cracks. “What happened?”

William shrugs helplessly. “No clue. He’s been sick for weeks though. Like, really sick.”

Mark’s mouth goes dry. His pulse spikes.

Sick?

His thoughts spiral—there are only a few things he can think of that would make you sick. And none of them make sense. None of them feel random. Not for you. Not with what you are.

“What—what kind of sick?” Mark demands, already striding back into his dorm room, his voice tight, too fast. “Like a cold? Stress?”

But he already knows.

God, he doesn’t want to, but the truth is already clawing up the back of his throat. Gnawing at his brain like it wants him to panic.

William frowns, thrown by the sudden shift. “I don’t know the full details, man. He just said he was feeling weak… too tired to even make it to class. He even passed out once—that’s why he asked for the medical leave.” William’s tone is a mix of concern and confusion. “Something about malnutrition or whatever, which is weird, right? I mean, he usually eats enough for twenty—hey. Hey, where the hell are you going?”

Mark is already halfway out the window.

“Where do you think?” he snaps, voice cracking with the edge of panic. “I’m going to see him!”

And then he’s gone.

The wind tears through the dorm behind him as he rockets into the sky, leaving William shouting something he doesn’t hear.

Mark doesn’t care. He can’t. Not now. Not when all he can think about is getting to you.

So he pushes himself faster—faster than he’s flown in weeks. His hands clench and unclench in the air, sweat slicking his palms, speeding toward your home.

He arrives within minutes, and in those minutes, his brain spins through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Why are you even sick? Why’d you stop feeding? You need it to survive. That’s what you told him. So why? Why would you stop? It makes no sense.

Why the hell would you let yourself waste away?

Mark doesn’t bother with the front door. Not when your bedroom window is right there—always open. Always left unlocked. For him.

Mark flies up to it without thinking, presses against the glass, peering inside. It’s dim and quiet. Then his eyes dart to your bed—rumpled sheets, blanket kicked off, and you curled up there, too still, too pale. His chest seizes.

“Y/N?” he calls, voice uncertain—like he’s afraid to startle you.

You don’t answer.

Mark climbs through the window on shaky feet, moving to your side with heart pounding. His hand hovers before gently settling on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he says, lower now. “Hey. It’s me. I came back.”

No answer.

His eyes scan you closer—the dullness in your skin, the dark shadows beneath your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, your cracked lips, the sunken look in your face.

Mark’s heart drops. His grip tightens on your shoulder, and he gives you a soft shake, panic bleeding into every movement.

“Y/N, please.”

Then—finally—you stir.

A soft, low hum escapes your throat. Your face scrunches weakly, like even blinking takes effort, and you crack one eye open, confused and half-dazed.

Mark lets out a shuddering breath, part relief, part fear, and drops to his knees beside the bed.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes out, his voice cracking, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m here, okay?

“…Mark…?” you slur, voice cracked and barely a whisper.

Mark leans in immediately, heart racing, face just inches from yours. “Yeah, yeah—it’s me! Are you okay? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You blink slowly, trying to will your eyes to stay open. Then, with some effort, you shift on the bed, uncurling from yourself like a bear out of hibernation—sluggish and disoriented. You squint at him, dazed. “Mark, hey.” A weak cough follows, your throat dry and raw. “How’re you doing? It’s been so long.”

The casual way you say it—like you’re not on the edge of passing out on your own bed—shatters Mark all over again.

“Y/N…” Mark says, voice thick with disbelief, worry pulling hard at his face. “Forget about me—what happened to you? You look…”

He trails off, unable to say it, but his expression says enough. His eyes, wide and glassy, trace every hollowed detail in your face.

“Oh,” you exhale, trying to play it down. “It’s fine. I’ve just been… a little weak, is all.”

“A little weak?” Mark repeats, voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not a little weak, Y/N. You’re—God, William said you’ve been like this for weeks.”

You grimace, trying to smile through it, to keep him from worrying. But Mark sees right through the act. He watches, helpless, as you try to sit up, bracing yourself on trembling elbows—only for your arms to give out, your head dropping back to the pillow with a soft thud.

Mark stands and shifts to sit on the edge of your mattress, hands settling gently on your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

“Hey—hey, don’t push yourself,” he says, voice low but firm. “Just—just stay still, okay?”

You don’t resist. Couldn’t even if you wanted to. You simply lie there, head sunk into your pillow, eyes barely open. You’re too tired to argue, too tired to even pretend you’re okay. Your breathing stays shallow, lips cracked, face drained of color.

Mark’s chest tightens. He watches you for a second that feels like forever before finally breaking the silence. “What happened, Y/N?” he asks, even though deep down, he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it. “What is it?”

You make a face, like there’s a million things you could say—but none of them are enough. Still, you force your lips to part.

“It’s just—” your voice wavers, then you let out a breath, helpless. “I haven’t fed off… you know…”

Mark’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.

You don’t look at him when you admit it—voice barely above a whisper. “Not since you left.”

There’s silence. A thick, awful silence.

Mark flinches like the words hit him in the chest. His heart starts pounding again, harder this time. “Why didn’t you go to someone else, Y/N?” he blurts—too sharp, too panicked. It comes out like an accusation, and he instantly regrets it.

You flinch too, like the words cut deeper than he meant. You look away, your features tight, skin grayed with exhaustion, eyes watery and dull. “…Should I have?” you ask, small and fragile.

And the answer is obvious. So obvious it makes Mark feel like a damn idiot for even saying anything.

No.

Mark exhales shakily, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he leans down, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Of course not.”

Only him. You’d only ever wanted him.

And god—god—isn’t that selfish of him, when your life was literally on the line?

But you smile. It’s small and tired—drained, really—but it’s a smile all the same. Like those words were exactly what you needed to hear. Like there was no one else you wanted to feed from anymore but Mark.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his in a soft exhale. “Then… kiss me.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. He bridges the last inch between you the second the words leave your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, careful—desperate in all the ways he won’t admit out loud. Your sigh against him is so content, so relieved, it almost brings tears to his eyes.

He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every lonely day he was gone.

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting it gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. His heart stutters at the way your body slowly starts to respond—weak, yes, but responding. When his lips part yours and your tongues meet, Mark groans softly into your mouth, heat coiling low in his gut.

He doesn’t rush, but the rhythm quickens just a beat. Enough to let himself feel your breath grow steadier against him, the slight tremble in your limbs easing, pulse pushing just a little stronger beneath your skin.

Then—God, your hands. They reach for him, still shaking, but purposeful. Fingers gliding up his chest, slow and searching, until they hook around his neck and pull him closer.

Mark obliges without hesitation, his other arm sliding beneath you to lift you gently against him. He feels your grip strengthen with each passing second, your kisses growing more urgent. And when you finally arch into him with a reawakened hunger, Mark knows he’ll give you everything.

Again and again and again.

The kiss breaks with a soft, wet sound, your shared breaths mingling in the thin space between you.

“Oh, Mark,” you whisper, voice rough and shaky, “I missed you.”

You look better already—cheeks touched with color, eyes less glassy. But it’s still not enough. Not even close.

There’s still tension in your brow, a strain in the way you lie beneath him, like it hurts to be hungry and still not full. Veins faintly shadow your temple. The dark bruises beneath your eyes haven’t faded. And the way your tongue drags across your lips—it’s need, raw and unfiltered.

“Missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

He knows one kiss won’t fix this. He knows better than to think you’d recover after just a moment of closeness. It’s been two months. Two months without feeding. Without touching. Without even knowing if he was coming back.

You needed more. Needed more than friction, more than mouth and tongue. You probably needed more than just getting him off like the last times—where you fed and then let him go, always asking for nothing in return.

You probably needed the real thing.

Mark’s throat tightens.

“I’m gonna—” he starts, breathless, almost shy, “—gonna make you feel good, okay?”

His hand trails lower, until it cups the heat between your legs, the bulge already thick and straining through your sweatpants. He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp, and the soft whine you let out snaps something in him.

Because for the first time, Mark thinks about it.

You’ve made him come—twice now. And afterward, he’d always been so wrapped up in his own high, in the rush of it, the haze, the way you looked so content with just tasting him... he never stopped to reciprocate the favor.

God, he’s been so selfish.

Mark’s throat bobs as his hand strokes you again, this time with more purpose—his thumb grazing the sensitive head through the fabric of your sweatpants. You keep making those greedy little sounds, soft and needy, and right then Mark decides—he’s going to make you fall apart under him. He’s going to make you shiver and whimper his name as you come undone.

“Mark,” you sigh, arching against his hand. “Oh, Mark.”

He picks up the pace, leaning in to capture every gasp and whimper straight from your mouth. Your tongues meet again—hungry and messy—as Mark begins grinding against you, his own arousal building, knowing you can feel it, feed off it, and revel in it.

It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his jeans to become unbearable—his cock straining hard against the fabric, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He can’t take it anymore. Can’t wait. And besides, this—this—is the fastest way to get you back on your feet, glowing with strength.

He pulls away from your lips just enough to murmur, “Let me,” breathless, fingers already hooking into your waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

Your soft, desperate moan is all the permission he needs.

With trembling hands, Mark peels down your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion, careful as he slides them past your legs. You shudder at the exposure, but you don’t hide—you open your legs willingly, inviting him in. Your face is flushed, the color blooming down your neck and ears. It’s the first time you’ve ever been this vulnerable with someone. And from the look in your eyes, you’re glad it’s Mark.

He drinks in the sight of you, chest heaving. Then, in one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside, eyes never leaving you.

“Shit…” You bite your lip, but there’s a glint in your eyes—a flash of mischief under all that exhaustion. “You’re so sexy, Mark.”

Mark flushes, his skin warming as your hands roam his chest, greedy and sure, fingers tracing over muscles that flex and shudder under your touch. It’s too much—almost overwhelming—and he has to brace himself, hands planted on either side of your head to keep from collapsing on top of you.

“Fuck—” His hips jerk involuntarily when your hand travels lower, undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down. “Y/N…”

You breathe out a needy sound when his cock springs free, hand wrapping around him without hesitation.

“Jesus,” you murmur hoarsely, licking your lips. “I’m so—so hungry, Mark. I can’t wait.”

Mark moans at the sight of you, the desperation in your voice making his head spin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stroke him with trembling fingers, and Mark’s hips move in time with your touch, his breath growing ragged. “Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been—starving for you.”

Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, undone by the way your fingers work him—confident, greedy, like you need him. And yeah, you do. He knows what his pleasure does to you. Knows how his arousal, his moans, even the steady pulse of precum leaking from his tip—slicking your fingers—is what makes you stronger. What feeds you.

But it’s not enough.

He wants to see you come for once. Wants to hear you gasp and writhe because he’s making you feel good.

“Can I…?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, his voice tight with restraint. “Can I fuck you?”

Your hand slows, eyes going wide, startled by the question—but then you smile, soft and full of something like fondness.

“Yes,” you whisper after a moment. “Of course.”

Mark exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, pressing his forehead against yours. When his lips find yours again, the kiss turns desperate—all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. You meet him with equal fervor, legs parting instinctively as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Should I—” Mark gasps between kisses, his voice thick with both desire and hesitation. “Should I prep you or—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m not some fragile human who needs coddling. Just fuck me, Mark.”

There’s something feral in your voice now—primal and wild in a way he’s never heard from you. The more energy floods your system, a spark of life returning to your features, the more your instincts take over.

“Okay,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Okay, just—”

Mark swallows hard, his gaze trailing down your body with a mix of awe and nervous hunger. His breath catches at the sight of your cock straining between you, at the way your hole flutters impatiently.

His eyes drop—slowly, hungrily—trailing down your body, pausing at the sight of your flushed cock, your spread legs, your willing entrance. He swallows thickly, breath catching in his throat.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, voice softening just enough as your hand continues to stroke him, thumb grazing the sensitive head, coaxing more precum from his tip. “I’ll guide you.”

And guide him you do.

You pump him a few more times, slicking him up while he groans, every sigh vibrating against your lips. Then you part your legs even further, just enough for his hips to fit between them snugly. One hand steadies his cock, the other resting on his hip as you line him up, brushing the tip against your entrance.

“Just like that,” you sigh, arching beneath him. “Push, Mark. Please.”

Mark’s hips stutter, his cock sliding between your cheeks with desperate, jerky movements. He’s achingly hard, every nerve alight with need.

“Is this—” His voice cracks as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. “God, Y/N—is this okay?”

Your answer comes with a whimper, head tipping back against the pillows. “Yes. Fuck me. I want you.”

Mark’s hips stutter, and then your legs hook around his waist, pulling him in—forcing him deeper.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice tight.

The head of his cock sinks into you, your body welcoming him in a slick, hot pull that makes both of you moan, trembling against each other.

“Yes—” you gasp, fingers curling against his back. “Push, Mark. I don’t care. Just do it.”

Mark bites down on his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes.

The glide is smooth, easy—thanks to the slick layer of precum and your guiding hands. He shudders all the way in, your body stretching to take him, tight and perfect around him. You groan, hands digging into his back as if to hold him there forever.

“Yes, yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, Mark, yes.”

For a suspended moment, when he’s fully buried inside you, all Mark can do is feel—the way you pulse around him, the desperate clutch of your hands on his back, the dizzying realization that this is happening.

He barely remembers how to breathe, barely manages to stay upright with how shaky his arms feel braced on either side of your head. His whole body is trembling—and maybe it’s not just the exhaustion from space. Maybe it’s not just the days without sleep, or the long journey back.

Maybe it’s you. Draining him with every moan, every squeeze, every drop of arousal he gives you.

And still—still—he doesn’t want to stop.

“Move,” you order, voice low and hushed.

Then you move beneath him first—hips grinding upward, taking him in deeper—and all of Mark’s coherent thought shatters.

“Harder,” you gasp, nails scoring down his back. “Please—”

Mark obeys with a broken moan, thrusting out and back in, out and in again. The pace he sets is clumsy and frantic, but it doesn’t matter—because you love it. You moan louder with every stroke, squirming beneath him, nails digging into his back, dragging down hard.

“So good,” you sigh, head tipping back as pleasure ripples through you. “God, Mark—so good.”

The room fills with the slap of skin on skin, the choked-off noises Mark makes when you clench around him, the way your shared breaths grow ragged and uneven.

Mark buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point as his muscles tremble with exertion. There’s a familiar tug at his consciousness, a slow drain of energy that should terrify him but instead sends a thrill down his spine.

Because when you moan in his ear like that, when you shiver around him, when you praise him in that wrecked voice—

“Like that.” Unsteady but sure. “Just like that.”

Mark couldn’t stop if he tried.

The renewed vigor in your movements—the way your fingers clutch at him with renewed strength—tells him it’s working. You’re coming back to life beneath him, flush with stolen energy, even as his own vision starts to blur at the edges.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, voice wrecked.

Mark doesn’t. Not when you feel this good around him—hot and tight and his.

So he fucks you through it, chasing your pleasure even as his body screams for respite, determined to give you every last drop until you’re sated.

Until you’re whole again.

Then Mark’s thrusts begin to falter—his rhythm stuttering, teeth sinking into your shoulder— and he gasps, voice wrecked and shaking, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—!”

You groan, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting.

“Come inside me,” you moan—half-whimper, half-command. “I’m so fucking close. I want you inside.”

Mark whimpers at your words, hips jerking wildly now, erratic and desperate. The thought of finishing inside you scrambles whatever’s left of his composure.

“Y/N—” he chokes out, barely audible. “I’m—I’m coming—”

And then he does.

His entire body goes taut, trembling, his hips giving one final, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt. His orgasm hits like a wave, a raw, broken cry torn from his throat as he spills into you, thick and hot. You arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, a moan clawing out of you as you feel it—every pulse, every drop filling you.

It’s that—the heat of his cum flooding you, the sheer intensity of his release—that finally pushes you over the edge.

You come untouched, back arching off the bed, spilling hot across your stomach as you cry out his name.

“Fuck, fuck,” you babble, shuddering. “Fuck, Mark—”

He’s still moving, just barely—his hips twitching in helpless, involuntary thrusts as he rides out every last wave of his orgasm, cum leaking from the edges of your hole. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s so good it makes you smile through the aftershocks, warmth blooming in your chest with every stolen breath.

“Fuck,” Mark sobs, forehead dropping against your shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe. “My god…”

His muscles spasm—thighs trembling, arms shaky and weak—and finally give out. With a groan, Mark collapses on top of you. You huff out a breath, wrapping your arms around him, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“Mark,” you whisper, voice soaked in satisfaction. “You good?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in your neck, breath warm and erratic against your oversensitive skin. He wants to answer, to lift his head and kiss you—because God, you felt so good, because you made him feel incredible, and for once, he knows he made you feel good, too.

But he can’t.

His limbs feel like they’ve turned to stone. Not just his head, not just his arms—everything. The weight of exhaustion hits him all at once like gravity’s been waiting for its moment to strike. The fatigue he’s been running from all this time finally catches up, drained utterly by you. He blinks, trying to fight it off, but it’s useless.

“Mark?” There’s concern edging your voice now, even as your fingers continue their soothing motions along his spine. “Mark.”

You’re warm, energized—glowing with renewed strength—and that, at least, feels like a win. He tries to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a slurred, “Hnng?”

Sleep is pulling him under fast. Even your voice—the one thing he wants to hear—is fading, like it’s coming from another room, another world.

You shake him once. Then again. But he’s already slipping, the darkness too heavy, too deep.

The last thing he’s aware of is the way his cock still twitches inside you, the way your thighs tighten reflexively around his hips, and the way you keep whispering his name—like a lullaby echoing in his ears.

If this is how he goes out, Mark thinks dimly as darkness claims him, it’s one hell of a way to go.

When Mark wakes up, he’s curled around a pillow that smells like you, drooling on it like a damn baby.

He blinks, sluggish and unfocused, head heavy, limbs like lead. His whole body aches—not in a bad way, just in that spent, used-up kind of way. He feels wrung out and dazed. Did he not die?

Groaning, Mark pushes himself up onto his elbows, muscles trembling under his own weight. He glances around, eyes squinting as the pieces slowly fall into place: the decorations on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, sheets half-draped over his bare body. He recognizes all of it.

And when he hears your faint humming from somewhere beyond the door, it all crashes back.

Oh. He had sex with you. Like—real sex. And somehow, he lived to tell the tale.

His eyes widen as reality slams into him. He jolts upright on your bed—your bed—heart pounding. Shit, did he pass out? How long has it been? What day is it? What year is it? He feels like he’s been out for decades, and yet somehow still not enough to shake the heavy fog pressing on his consciousness.

Then your humming gets louder. He snaps his head toward the door just in time to see it swing open—and there you are.

You spot him, freeze mid-step, and for a split second, the whole room holds its breath.

Mark’s dry lips part. “Y/N—”

“Mark!” you gasp, face lighting up with a wide grin. “You’re awake! Oh, thank god!”

You cross the room in three eager strides, arms open, all warmth and affection. You throw yourself into him without hesitation.

Mark lets out a soft oof as he catches you, the momentum knocking him flat on his back again. The room spins briefly, but the second he registers the weight of you on his chest, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice—he relaxes. He smiles, soft and dopey, and buries his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s never been more grateful to be alive.

“Hey,” Mark greets, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “How long was I out?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your face into his chest and hold him tight—like if you let go, he might vanish. Then, after a long moment, you pull back. But instead of replying, you cup his cheeks with both hands and kiss him.

Mark melts into it without hesitation, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. He sighs against your lips, groaning softly as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.

When you break apart, your smile lingers, bright and full of affection. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for at least a week,” you murmur, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. “Most humans wouldn’t. But you—it’s only been, like, sixteen hours.”

Mark jerks upright so fast he nearly headbutts you. “Sixteen hours?!”

You wince, guilt flashing across your face. “Y-Yeah. But—I called your mom! I didn’t exactly explain, but she knows you’re here. She told me to make sure you call her as soon as you’re up.”

Mark exhales, half in disbelief, half in relief. “Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.”

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have risked your life just to feed. Just to—be close to you like that.”

“No.” Mark cuts in, his hands sliding up to your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes are steady when you meet them.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, firm but soft. “No matter the consequences. Me. With you. Like... that.”

He blushes, and you blush, and suddenly neither of you can hold eye contact.

“The best thing?” you murmur, fingers fumbling with the sheets. “Really?”

Mark swallows hard, his embarrassment obvious, but the truth is already bubbling too close to the surface to hold back. Everything he’s felt for you, everything he’s been trying to keep buried, is rising—unstoppable now.

“Yes,” he says softly, voice a little shaky. “Having sex with the person who matters most to me... because you needed me. Because I—”

The pause stretches, fragile.

“Because I love you.”

Your eyes widen at that, the guarded concern melting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Really?” you ask again, a little breathless.

“Of course,” Mark says, a little more sure this time. “I love you, Y/N. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant seeing you like this—your real, bright, happy self—again.”

Your lips part in surprise, then you smile—wide and brilliant and so full of love it practically blinds him. Before his tired brain can catch up, you throw yourself at him again, arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed and deep.

“I love you too, Mark,” you whisper against his lips, soft and sure.

Mark kisses you back, slow and full of affection, even though his body still feels like it’s made of lead. His chest aches, but in the best possible way—because it’s full of you.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs between kisses. “If I hadn’t been in space, you wouldn’t have been starving. That’s on me.”

“Don’t say that,” you roll your eyes, but the affection in your voice makes it feel more like a caress. “It’s my nature, okay? Not something you can control. And I waited for you—because I knew you’d come back.”

You lean in and peck the pout off his lips, soft and loving, and then both of you just… look at each other. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward—it’s warm.

God—he loves you. Loves everything about you. And loves even more that you feel the same.

“So… does this mean…” Mark hesitates, cheeks pink, “we’re a thing now? Because I want us to be. I really do. I don’t ever want you kissing assholes behind the school anymore—or, well, now at college—because… you have me.”

You giggle, flustered, cheeks glowing. “Yeah—I have you.” You kiss him again, square on the mouth like you couldn’t possibly get enough of him. “And you have me.”

Mark grins, red-faced and beaming, before he pulls you tight against his chest and kisses you again—deep and slow and full of all the words he’s still too overwhelmed to say.

Like I love you.

Like I don’t ever want to let go.

Like don’t ever let me go either.

Then you say, casual as anything, “By the way, my parents want you to have breakfast with us.”

“What?!” Mark pulls back instantly, blushing so hard it reaches his ears. “They—they were here the whole time?!”

“What? No!” you say quickly, just as flustered. “But when they got home from work and saw me fine—you know, they kinda figured out what must’ve happened for me to be this fine. And, ugh—” you roll your eyes, groaning into his shoulder, “they wanna thank the boy who saved their ‘stubborn son’s life,’ or whatever.”

Mark exhales, still pink but processing. “Oh. Then… sure. I mean—do you think they’ll be okay with us? You and me?”

You smile, full of quiet certainty. “Mark, they’ve always liked you. Remember the cake my mom made you for your sixteenth birthday?”

“She decorated it with Seance Dog comic panels,” Mark mumbles, still flushed.

“Exactly,” you laugh. “I’ve been telling them about my crush on you since forever, Mark.”

And Mark flushes all over again, helpless to do anything but smile and pull you back in for another kiss.

A/N: thank you for readingggg, kisses and hugs and more kisses for dealing with me (●'◡'●)

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

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nochepsicodelica · 1 month ago

Text

"Good morning, baby," you greet, disrupting the early morning stillness that Toji had immersed himself in. You stand behind him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and lean in to pepper a barrage of kisses on his temple.

Toji uses his fork to cut out a bite of his little pancake stack for you and brings it up to your mouth. The smell of breakfast suffocates the kitchen and already had you salivating the second you left the bedroom, so without hesitation, you take the bite and savor. Savor the sweetness of the syrup he doused his pancakes in and the buttery softness of the texture.

"God, you're amazing," you say, muffled by the food in your mouth. You swallow the bite before leaning in to press a few more sticky kisses on his cheek. "I love you."

Toji chuckles at your clear, genuine appreciation. "What's got you in such a good mood this morning?" He doesn't say it like he's starved of good mornings from you, more like he just wants to know what is so great about this one.

"I don't know. I'm rested and it's early." You exhale, lips curling contently. "We should go on a walk—no, a run. And then after--"

"Baby, sit," Toji instructs, pushing the chair beside him back with his foot. "That's for you," he says, nodding at the plate of breakfast he fixed for you on the center of the table. "No coffee, 'cause you clearly don't need it," he says, pulling your mug in his direction.

"But, but... Toji, please!"

"No," he responds, grinning smugly before taking a sip of his caffeinated delight, like he's mocking you.

"I'm gonna crash out, baby," you warn. "And it's gonna be a bad morning. The floor is gonna crack open and we're gonna be able to see straight down all the way to hell."

"How 'bout some orange juice?" He suggests, attempting to calm you down before you throw your overdramatized, premeditated fit.

You hum, thinking for a few seconds. "Mm... no, I want coffee. Look, you prepared it just the way I like it and it's right there," you say, pointing at the full mug. Toji doesn't look because he knows he did exactly that.

"I didn't. I put a fuck ton of creamer in it. You wouldn't like it," he lies. "Let's get you some juice, yeah?"

With a sigh and a defeated look in your eyes, you nod. "Okay."

"There we go." A soft smile plays on his lips. "I got it," he murmurs, getting up from his chair. He places a kiss on the top of your head before continuing on to the little kitchen area to grab the orange juice bottle from the fridge and then a glass from the cupboard. The second he sets the glass and bottle down on the counter, he sees you, not so sneakily reaching for the mug of coffee.

You're trying so hard to chug the hot coffee, burning your tongue and lips. His footsteps only make you more nervous as they get closer but you try to drink even more. Your eyes grow glassier from withstanding the burning sensation on your tastebuds.

"Whatcha doing?" He asks, gently pulling the mug away from your lips before taking it out of your hands. You don't even try to hold onto it, handing it over without a fight. A satisfied sigh leaves you, like you were parched and those scorching sips of coffee were a nice glass of water.

"It's really good," you utter, licking the sweet remnants off your lips. "Which is conflicting because the coffee was made by a liar."

Toji rolls his eyes, but the amused grin that makes it's way onto his face is inevitable. "What are you talking about now, ma?"

"You said you put too much creamer in it, but it was perfect—as always. Let me have the rest of it, yeah?"

"No. I'll put it in the fridge and you can have it cold later. You have enough energy right now," he says.

"Why did you get to have coffee?" You argue.

"'Cause I woke up a little earlier to make the breakfast that's getting cold right in front of you," he bites back.

You roll up one of the pancakes on your plate and take a big bite out of it, turning to him with puffed up cheeks.

"Thank you. Happy?" You mumble, wishing you had that cup of juice to wash down your food.

"You're welcome, and yes," he says, leaning forward to peck your overstuffed cheek, before heading back to the kitchen to pour that cup of juice for you. He catches the way you make grabby hands at the mug, and utters a simple "no" as he keeps walking.

The juice is poured out, the juice bottle and your forbidden coffee in the fridge, and Toji is finally making his way back to you.

"Here." The cup is set down beside your plate and Toji takes his seat, again.

"It's so good," you mumble, through bites of food.

"Yeah?" Toji responds, wiping a crumb of pancake from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

"Mhm, it's a lot, though."

"You're just used to your itty bitty portions. That's a good serving right there, so you're gonna finish the whole thing."

"Yes, sir, Mr. President, sir!" you say, with mock seriousness, expression and all, before continuing to chow down.

"God, you're such a dork sometimes," he mutters under his breath. Still, the edges of his lips turn upward as he picks up his fork again.

You talk about everything and nothing. Lunch and dinner are planned out together, while you occasionally utter compliments about how good the food he made is.

"How did you even learn to make this?" You ask, taking a sip of your orange juice.

"Memorized your movement," Toji responds, casually. He didn't expect your face to light up the way it did, in such a precious manner. It's almost as if he made you shy with the revelation.

"What? You know how often I'm around while you cook?"

"Almost every time," you answer, with a giggle. "Clinging to me like a koala."

"Exactly," he says, shamelessly. "So... are you impressed or what?"

"Mhm," you hum, taking the final bite of your breakfast. "Very much so," you assure, locking eyes with him as he takes the final bite of his meal.

"So impressed that I get a fat smooch for my hard work?"

"Yes, please," you say, all too eagerly, causing the table to shake and the tableware to clatter slightly.

It's one of the things Toji loves most about you—how excited you get over the simplest things. It's as if you're about to start bouncing off the walls over some kisses. "Then, come here," he commands.

You almost knock over your glass of juice and his coffee mug from how quickly you stand up and make your way to him. Toji barely has time to drag his chair back to make room for you on his lap before you plop down on him and make yourself comfortable. He thinks you're going straight for his lips, and he's ready to feel the softness of your own against them, but you take your time and savor. Savor the way he hums when you leave a trail of kisses on his jaw and how he squeezes your hip as you greedily riddle the rest of his face with more.

"Can I buy you one of those 'Kiss the cook' aprons?" You murmur into his ear, biting his earlobe after.

A small groan accompanies his chuckle as you continue nibbling on his ear. "Depends... is there a limit or will I be spoiled?"

"You know the answer to that," you respond, letting him pull you in even closer.

"Tell meee," he grumbles, against your cheek, luring an amused chime of laughter from you.

"That apron will become a kiss magnet," you say through unrestrained giggles, withstanding the quick burst of pecks he scatters along your cheek, until he reaches the corner of your lips. "Instead of--" you're cut off by a direct, chaste peck to your lips, but pick up again immediately after. "Instead of saying 'oh shit, where's the salt?' while we're cooking, i'm gonna say 'oh shit, where's my handsome bobansome? Gotta give him a fat smooch.'"

He chuckles, something low and comforting to your ears. It's the sound equivalent of having warm soup belly on a cold, cold day.

"You're crazy, mama," he responds.

"Mhm," you hum. "So, can I order the apron or...?"

"Fine. Gimme-"

"Yay!- Oh sorry," you mumble, earning an irrepressible snicker from Toji, as you lean in to give him the fat smooch you promised him.

A week later, the apron is finally delivered and it's nearly impossible for you to contain your excitement. You giggle to yourself as you scurry back to the bedroom, where Toji is sprawled out on the bed, like a sunbathing cat about to fall asleep.

"Baby! Baby, baby, look," you call, enthusiastically, unfolding the black apron. It says 'Kiss The Cook' in bold, white lettering, and it has a single, red kiss print to add a dash of color. Toji merely cranes his neck to look at what you're fussing about, and when he sees the item you so proudly hold in your hands, he instantly turns away with a lazy grin and a shake of his head before letting his eyes fall shut, again.

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tianjinwellmadescaffold · 2 months ago

Video

youtube

Fixed Fork Head - Wellmade Scaffold, China - Slab and Beam Formwork Top ...

#youtube #fork head #fixed fork head #forkhead #slab shoring scaffold #shoring scaffold #shoring system #slabs #slab scaffolding #slab formwork #slab shuttering #beam formwork #formwork scaffolding #construction scaffolding #building scaffolding #formwork #wellmade scaffold

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cacoetheswriting · 4 months ago

Note

i am weak for shy and nervous eddie munson who fumbles when around his crush. imagine him pining over this girl who he’s never even talked to, (maybe they have different social circles) and he just sees her around with her friends and he is smitten and then one day they accidentally bump into each other and she’s like “you’re eddie right?” and you know he’d be so flustered.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.2k

content warnings: lovesick eddie, pining, a little self-deprecation and self-doubt, mostly cheese and fluff, adult language - wildly unedited, oops.

“I hate this fucking school.”

The group exchange knowing glances as Eddie sits at the table with a grumble. His lunch tray lands with a low crash, nearly colliding with Gareth’s juicebox and therefore spilling its contents all over. A huff and quick reflexes on Jeff’s part save the group from catastrophe, more importantly, save the homework the boy had yet to finish ahead of next period.

Eddie however, doesn’t notice the mess he has almost created. Frankly, he’s not paying attention. Even when Gareth tells him to, “Watch it, dude.”. The metal-head flicks his hand to say he’s sorry for whatever it is that his friends are chastising him for, but his eyes are fixed ahead, on the sole reason he’s in such a grumpy mood.

You.

Or rather Steve the dick Harrington, who’s got his arm draped shamelessly around your shoulders, as if he wasn’t just publicly humiliating Nancy Wheeler — since up until mere twenty-four hours ago, Hawkins High thought the blue-eyed girl was the King’s girlfriend, not you.

Eddie’s miserable. When did this happen? How did this even happen?

Last night, Steve and Nancy were all over each other. Eddie knows this to be fact since he saw them together at that party he wasn’t invited to as a guest, but to work because the popular kids always need a fix and he needs to make a living if he’s ever going to leave this shithole town. Anyway, that’s when Eddie saw the “it” couple and yet, now Nancy is nowhere to be seen and you’re snuggling into Harrington.

“I hate this fucking school,” Eddie repeats, sticking his fork into today’s cafeteria lunch. “Everyone is so two-faced and fake. No one has any integrity.”

The guys don’t need to follow his line of sight because they know very well who and what the metal-head is talking about.

“Maybe if you just talked to her, then you wouldn’t be so miserable today.” Jeff notes without looking up from his homework. “Plus, I overheard Charmaine tell Julie that Harrington is continuing to hold a candle for Nancy. This thing over there, that you’re obsessing over, is just friends being friends.”

“Doesn’t look like just friends to me,” Eddie grumbles, then looks at Jeff. “And I tried talking to her. It’s just, every time I do, my mind goes blank.”

Gareth rolls his eyes. “Dude, she’s not some superbeing. She’s a girl from our school. You’ve got no problem talking to other girls?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything because how does he go about explaining to his friends that to him, you’re more than a girl from school. It’s embarrassing enough how he’s never talked to you and yet, you occupy his entire mind and soul. The guys think it’s just another crush. Eddie knows it’s not. He can’t tell them though because they’ll laugh him out of it. Eddie the freak Munson is very much pining after a girl who doesn’t know he exists. Pathetic.

So, as any respectable guy in his situation would, Eddie continues to wallow in his own self-pity.

He stares at you throughout the remainder of the lunch break, narrowly avoiding your gaze here and there by simply looking away. His downcast humour continues throughout the rest of the day. Since he doesn’t often engage in class anyway, the teachers pay him no mind. Although, their reasons are different: a quiet Eddie Munson is better than one who causes various disturbances. After the final bell ring, he hurries out of the building and blares music the entire drive home, to fizz out his thoughts.

Called into work. Here’s some cash. Go to the diner.

Wayne

Eddie sighs. The one thing he was hoping for were his uncle's words of wisdom, although it seems that will also have to wait. Eddie slides the note into the pocket of his denim jeans and he is out the door again.

The diner is about thirty minutes away from the trailer, by foot. The metal-head decided to walk it anyway, hoping the fresh air would knock some sense into him because he’s got no business feeling this emotionally shattered.

Maybe if he wasn’t such a bitch boy around you, things would be different. Unfortunately, for some reason, ever since he first laid eyes on you, Eddie’s default is shy.

Okay, maybe you and Harrington are a thing now, so what? Eddie’s got no claim on you, unspoken or otherwise. You can date whoever, even if it’s Steve the asshole. It’s also not like you and Nancy are friends. Everyone at school knows you two run in different circles, meaning no girl-code is being broken. There is also the possibility of what Jeff overheard from Charmaine and Julie being true: you and Harrington are nothing but friends. Very friendly friends. Touchy, feely. And Eddie would have noticed earlier if it were simply the case of friendship, therefore, he concludes that you are in fact dating Steve the douche Harrington and he somehow has to come to terms with it.

Eddie pushes the door open and makes a beeline for an empty booth. He orders a burger with fries and a soda from the middle-aged waitress, then whips out a notebook from his backpack while he waits. The only one he carries and it’s not for any schoolwork. The numbers scribbled hastily in the margins are easily mistaken for maths, but that’s just business. He focuses instead on the latest D&D campaign he’s working on.

For a moment, the metal-head forgets about today's events. He gets lost in the fictional world he’s creating. The made up monsters replace any harboured thoughts of you with Steve the turd, although one closely resembles Harrington's famous head of hair and he smirks, proud of himself for the immaturity. He figures if girls can write about their demons in journals, he can bring them into D&D. Bring them, then kill them.

He’s just about finished marking a big cross over the doodle of monster Steve when a figure steps in front of the light, creating a shadow over his notebook. Eddie sighs, foot tapping underneath the table in frustration. He’s about to make a rude remark, but when he looks up to meet the eyes of the perpetrator, he’s met with your wide gaze and naturally, he freezes.

“I like your drawings,” you say.

“Uhm, t-thanks,” he fumbles.

“You’re Eddie, right?”

All he can do is nod in response and you smile. Small and charming. Enough to make the brunette’s head spin and pinch his leg because he can’t believe this is happening. Surely, this must be a dream of some sort. He came home and passed out on the sofa. The only logical explanation for why you would be talking to him, complementing his stupid little doodles. The only logical explanation for why you know his fucking name.

“We’ve never officially met,” you begin and reach out your hand.

Eddie glances at it and without really thinking, he utters, “I know who you are.”

It comes out a little more mean than he intends it to, he knows because you retreat your hand as if you’ve been burned. Eddie’s heart stings. Now he knows it’s real since only he’d be stupid enough to ruin a good thing before it even began. He’s an asshole.

“Sorry,” he mumbles quickly, then straightens in his seat. “Do you wanna sit? I-I have fries.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek for how incredibly pathetic that sounded; fries. You however, don’t notice and you’re also kind enough not to point out how he’s stumbling about his words like a little schoolkid.

“I love french fries.”

And with that, you’re sliding into the booth, across from him.

Eddie watches in disbelief as you help yourself to his food, not just the potato side, as if the two of you have been friends a lifetime. Then, probably to confuse him even more, you start telling him about how your parents locked you out and how it’s nice to see a familiar face, while he’s sitting there in silence, taking it all in, wondering whether perhaps this was some cruel joke Harrington and his band of losers were playing on him.

He wants to ask. Save himself the embarrassment if this does end up being a prank and tomorrow’s gossip: Eddie the freak Munson thought he had a chance. You keep talking, only taking small pauses to take bites out of his food or a sip of his soda, and to Eddie’s surprise nothing happens. No one jumps out screaming, laughing, pointing at him. This is really happening and he is truly baffled.

“Can we get another burger meal and the same soda?” You order from the waitress when she comes around to check the tables and afterwards, turn to look at Eddie, smile ever present. “Kinda ate most of yours.”

“It’s fine,” he manages to say.

For the first time since you sat down, it’s quiet. Now you’re the one staring at him, head tilted slightly to the one side. The smile on your face transforms into something more thoughtful, as if you were trying to read his mind — which is exactly the same thing Eddie was trying to do to you.

“So,” you begin again, “What were you scribbling intently before I crashed the party?”

“Just some stuff for an afterschool thing,” Eddie answers with a shrug, voice a little shaky.

“Mysterious.”

The sparkle in your eyes screams that you want to know more, but the metal-head is hesitant to share. Even though this wasn’t part of some scheme by Hawkins’ finest, it didn’t mean there wasn’t a different underlying reason as to why you were taking interest in him and he didn’t like when people made a fool of him.

Eddie clears his throat.

“Did your parents really lock you out?” He questions.

A brow goes up, it seems you are surprised at his push back.

“Yes,” you say matter-of-factly, then add, “They do this sort of thing from time to time. They’re big hippies, so it’s not like neglect or anything. It’s weed. They don’t want me home when they’re high because they think it would make me undermine their authority.”

Eddie smirks and you tell him it’s not funny, but he can’t help the chuckle leave his throat. When you throw a fry at him across the table, smiling wide, he’s no longer feeling the nervous bubble. In fact, he’s suddenly quite relaxed.

“I’m sorry that I’m a good daughter. Next time I’ll be sure to pick a less judgemental table” you say dramatically, although the grin doesn’t leave your features.

The brunette lifts his hands in front of his chest in a defence motion.

“No judgement here. My social status requires me to second guess reasons people have for talking to me. I had to make sure your boyfriend wasn’t going to jump me the second we stepped outside.”

“Boyfriend?” You seem genuinely taken aback by the assumption.

“Harrington,” he clarifies, although he’s not sure why he should be.

Until you laugh. It’s soft and tender, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“Steve’s not my boyfriend,” you state in between giggles, “He’s madly in love with Wheeler. God, does the whole school think we’re dating? He’s gonna hate that. Poor Nancy.”

Eddie blinks. Seems Julie’s information was correct, but it still doesn’t explain the closeness and the banter the entire cafeteria was witness to. He feels weird for letting this bother him so much and even though he usually has difficulties keeping his big mouth shut, he doesn’t want you thinking he’s some sort of pervert, so he doesn't say anything, simply bops his head.

Although, his silence doesn’t seem to deter you.

“I noticed you staring,” you admit, half a decibel lower.

A fresh burger and fries land on the table, followed by a large Coca-Cola. The waitress mutters something along the lines of enjoy, then walks away to tend to another table.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do next: admit or deny. He’d rather go back to fifteen minutes ago when you were eating his food and he wasn’t talking. Therefore, he slides the burger closer to himself and in one swift motion, lifts it to his lips, taking a bite too big for his mouth. He doesn’t care what he looks like at the moment, he just needs to keep himself quiet before saying something else he’s going to regret.

Across the table, you’re all smiley again.

“Do you think, when you’re done eating, you could walk me home?” You ask, offering him a napkin.

As he nods, he reaches for the paper cloth and his fingers brush yours delicately. There’s a zap of electricity, but if you feel it, you don’t react. Eddie’s continuing with the shyness, so he looks down at the burger in his hand and pretends nothing happened to him either.

It’s not until you lean over the table, index finger stretched and inching forward to touch his face, wiping leftover ketchup from the corner of his mouth, that the metal-head thinks maybe, just maybe, you feel some type of way about him too because that’s not what a person does for someone they only officially met minutes before.

Afterwards, you say, “I’ll tell you all about how I’ve been watching you too.”, and Eddie nearly chokes on his food.

thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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urfavfakeblonde · 3 months ago

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ₚᵣₒbₗₑₘ ₛₒₗᵥₑᵣ

what if fantasies could really come to life?

warnings: sex fantasies, oral (fem!rec), fingering (fem!rec), heaving makeouts, and prob more let me know what I'm missing <3

"god, please James, feel's so good," I whine, head falling back against the back of the couch. My fingers dance through the short strands of his hair, eyes fluttering down to meet his lustful gaze between my legs. I bite my lip, relishing in the feeling of his skillful tongue against my sopping core. His hands are gentle, yet firm as they keep my thighs open and atop his shoulders. His tongue moves quicker against my folds as legs start to shake violently around his head. "fuck! please, please, pl-"

"Y/n? You okay?" Bucky asks, staring me down. I blink and refocus, stirring the pasta sauce that was tempted to burn. He remains leaned on the counter, setting down his beer. "Yeah sorry," I sigh, leaning over to grab some spices. I open and sprinkle a little into the pot one by one, enjoying the hum of music in the background. It was always easy like this--with Bucky. Silence was never awkward, and often enough words wouldn't need to be spoken to know how one another felt. But this time? This time he definitely wouldn't know what was going on inside my head. I hope. "Do you want me to take over?" He asks, walking to the other side of me to pour the pasta in the boiling water. God, he really is that innocent isn't he? I could think of a few way he could take over but "it's fine, I got it." With a smile on my face. He returns the small smile, something that rarely slipped out. Bucky was closed off, which would make since after everything -- but not so much with me. Before, when we first decided to share an apartment because he needed better decoration skills, and I needed someone to make sure it was organized, he would only force a smile if he had to. But on nights like these, when it was just the two of us after a long day-- his smile felt like it was reserved for me. Maybe that's what started my fantasies in the first place.

He grabs the pasta, pouring it into the boiling water. He moves effortlessly around the kitchen, grabbing a spatula and a strainer. I watch him in awe, moving my spoon in slow circles in the sauce. When he returns to the pot, his hand flex's has he stirs, the sight making me drool, literally. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, clearing my throat. I focus on the sauce, and turn the heat off. I grab a spoon and dip it in before bringing it to my mouth, taking in the flavors. "Is it good?" He asks, glancing over at me. I have to look away, those blue eyes making me weaker. "Yeah, you wanna try?" I dip the spoon in again as to give it to him. He takes it and brings it to his mouth. I groan internally, dirty thoughts clouding my senses. He hums in approval, setting the spoon down in the sink. "Delicious," he says, stirring the pot of pasta. I swallow hard, clenching my thighs together. I mutter a small thanks, grabbing some plates and forks. He pours the sauce in the pasta, glancing over his shoulder as I set down our plates on the island bar. He leans over the counter, placing portions on the plates as I fix up a salad. All of this was in silence, a comfortable one for him, but aching and desperate for me. Dinner was the same. My chewing came to a stop when I looked over at his beautiful form, he wasn't sloppy at all when he ate. He was careful, deliberate, savoring every bite. And so what if my mind started to wander? It's not my fault really, he's such a tease.

He kisses me, lifting me up onto the island, helping my anxious hands unbutton my shirt. "Relax, sweetheart. We got all night," he whispers into my ear, vibranium hand snaking down to rub my covered clit. I whine into his mouth, wrapping my arm around his neck to bring him impossibly closer, the other clenching white knuckles against the cool marble. I kiss him feverishly, grasping at his shirt, hair, everything. He gets my shirt unbuttoned, throwing it on the floor. He helps me shimmy my panties off, hands sliding up my legs, waist-

"What are you thinking about?" Bucky's voice brings me out of my daze, and suddenly I realized that I was just in a button up shirt and panties. I swallow my bite and glance at him. He's finished already, casually sipping a beer. Now this? This was too much. My thighs clench together again, which didn't seem to go unnoticed by the man beside me. "You ask a lot of questions," I say cooly, sipping my drink. "You never ask Sam this many questions," I state. His eyebrow raises as he sets his drink down. "Do you only talk to Dr. Raynor?" He asks, a playful smirk on his face. "No." Maybe I answered that too quickly. Or too harshly. Or maybe both. "Sorry," I say quickly, standing up to gather the plates. I sigh as I set them in the sink, washing out my cup. He comes up behind me and takes a plate. I make room for him, setting the cup in the dishwasher. "I don't like talking to Dr. Raynor," I finally say, picking up a fork. "Why?" As his voice always been this raspy? "Because I don't feel like talking about my problems with her. It's not like she can fix them." I say with a huff, taking his plate to put in the washer. He hums, finishing off the other utensils. "You can talk to me you know," he says, turning off the water. I exhale sharply, "I already told you about...my problems." I groan, going to sit on the couch. "Yeah, that's why I know you've got something else on your mind." He says with a smile, going to sit in the armchair. I roll my eyes, bringing my knees to my chest. His gaze stays locked on my figure, blue eyes searching for mine. I bite my lip, clenching my thighs together. "I don't wanna talk about it." I say quietly, looking out the window. It's silent for a moment, the faint sound of the dishwasher filling the apartment.

"Why don't you show me then?" He says calmly, sipping his beer. My head whips back to him, my feet returning to the floor. "What?" I gasp, giving him a confused look. He smirks at me, setting his beer bottle down on the coffee table. "Just come here," he says with a small smile. I swallow, slowly standing up. I eye him suspiciously as he keeps his eyes on my face. I walk to stand before him, crossing my hands over my chest. "Look, I told you I'm fin-" he pulls my gently down into his lap, his ever piercing gaze still locked onto my eyes. I let out a shaky breath, uncrossing my hands to stabilize myself on his shoulders. God, I should have worn more than just panties, because in this position? Fuck, their soaking. "You're beautiful, you know that?" He says quietly, moving a strand of hair behind my ear. My face flushes, eyes avoiding his gaze. "Why do you do this to me?" I ask, eyes meeting his gaze again. He gives me an innocent look, placing his hands on my waist. "Gonna have to be specific sweetheart," he grins, vibranium hand shifting with a mechanic whirr as his hold tightens. I roll my eyes, biting my lip. God, I want to kiss him so bad. "I don't wanna look like...I'm obsessed or something, you know?" I say quietly, hands firm on his shoulders. He smiles at me, hand reaching up to caress my cheek. "Who would think that?" He asks, taking my hand in his vibranium one to bring it to his lips. He kisses the back of my hand softly, eyes trained on mine. "You know, you've got quite the staring problem," I smile. "So I've been told," he responds, with a playful look in his eyes. I hum in agreement, swallowing hard. I sigh, tongue poking out to wet my lips. Before I can even get a word out, he steals the words right out of my mouth. "Can I kiss you? I want to kiss you," he says, hand trailing up to the back of my neck.

I let out a small gasp, hands reaching around to play with his hair. "You want to kiss me?" I ask quietly, staring into his blue eyes. He smiles, cupping the back of my neck to bring me closer. I hesitate, just for a moment to consider the consequences. As I leaned in all the way, I couldn't really think of any. The kiss started off slow, like the moment was being savored. It felt like a daydream, I was kissing my roommate, James Bucky Barnes and fuck did it feel amazing. And then, like he became impatient and desperate, the kiss turned feverish. Tongue dancing, teeth grazing, swollen lips kind of kissing. I moaned, no, actually whined into the kiss, leaning back as to force him forward, the ever-present bulge pressing right onto my excuse for panties. He gently bites down on my bottom lip, pulling away as it releases back with a soft pop! I let out labored breaths, the need in my stomach growing by the second. "Has it ever occurred, that I may be obsessed with you?" he says, eyes full of lust. My lips tremble, wetness threating to seep through my panties. "Fuck," I whine, reconnecting my lips with his. My fingers find my buttons, shakily unclasping each one. Swiftly, he replaces my fingers with his own, kissing down my jaw. I moan softly, biting my lip. He gets it unbuttoned, slowly, torturously, sliding it down my arms, keeping eye contact all the while. I sigh as it hits the floor, hands finding themselves on his thighs. Bra-less. How could I have forgotten I went bra-less too? It's like I was begging to get fucked.

My nipples harden at the sudden coolness, goosebumps rising on my skin. He leans down, pursing his lips together. He lets out a gentle blow of air over them, a sharp exhale leaving my throat. "Sensitive," he mutters, hands reaching up to cup my breasts. The sensations were different- right one under the cool touch of metal, the left warm from the flesh of human. "Shit, that feels so good James," I groan, eyes meeting where he touched. His soft lips connect with the hardened bud, a gasp leaving my lips. My thighs try to clamp together, however his own made sure I couldn't as my slick seeped through my panties. He lets his tongue swirl around the bud before sucking gently, letting it go with a pop! as he moves to the next one. Impatiently, my hand reaches down to his throbbing bulge, helping him relieve some pressure. He groans, kissing up my chest to my collarbone. My fingers find his jeans, undoing the button. He kisses up my jaw, softly sucking at the skin below my ear. Unzipping his jeans, he stops my hand with his. "Let me look at you first," he says, leaning back. I bite my lip, taking a deep breath. "Want me to take those off?" He asks, fingers slipping under the sides of my panties. I nod, standing up, in between his legs. He leans forward, leaving kisses down my thigh has he slides them off antagonizingly slow. I step out of them, shivering as he places them on the edge of the chair. He sets his hands on my waist, slowly spinning me around before pulling me back down into his lap. Oh.

I nearly moan at the bugle pressing into my ass, the wetness in-between my legs practically soaking his jeans. God why is he still in his clothes? "Hey, why do I have to be naked when you're--shit..." his vibranium hand slithers down my front, ghosting over my aching core. My head falls back against his shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the chair. My eyes flutter shut as he applies pressure to my clit, the cold metal sending jolts through my body. I let out a whine, biting my lip as he rubs slow circles, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. My legs begin to tremble, desperate to close around his hand, (which would fail to stop his movements anyways) but his thighs continued to spread my legs open. His movements only increased in speed, yet somehow still gentle. Moans slipped from my throat, desperate pleas of his name mixed with labored breaths at his movements. It didn't take long for the coil to snap, crying out as my body shakes in his touch. I rested my head on his shoulder as I caught my breath, my firm hold on the chair's arms releasing as the ringing in my ears dissipated. He leans down to capture my lips in a kiss, smiling as my eyes fluttered shut. "You okay sweetheart?" he asks softly, lifting me up into his arms. I nod, keeping my eyes shut. He walks to his bedroom, placing me on the bed. As he starts to stand up, I reach out and grab his shirt, pulling him on top of me.

"Wasn't done with you yet," I whisper, kissing him feverishly. He hums into the kiss, surprised. "Not too tired?" he asks, pulling his shirt off to be discarded onto the floor. "Not for you," I giggle, wrapping my arms around his neck.

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cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

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My lollipop boy

*pairing: pervy bunny hybrid Sunghoon x popular girl

*trope: grumpy x sunshine

*synopsis: You and Sunghoon were not given the label of "girlfriend" and "boyfriend" so with him things were between a fork of toothpicks and cold live but passion and games in private. But what would happen when a rabbit hybrid gets its furrow and animal heat? For Sunghoon you were his cure but also his weakness with the arrival of heat was afraid to show his true animal nature and wanted at all costs to get away from you but would you be able to get away from him?

My lollipop girl <- I recommend that you read Part 1.

*tags: A lot of tension, Hoon is a rabbit hybrid and will have his own heat groove, dirty talk, degradation, jealousy, masturbation (m.f) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl)node, Hoon is cynical but then will become sensitive, misunderstanding, smut, sulk, statement? happy ending, pet names (princess, slut) (good boy,hoon,hoonie,bunny) +18

12.2K🐇

(English is not my native language)

You walked into the economics classroom with your usual confidence, the short skirt brushing against your thighs, the sheer stockings, and the cardigan a little too tight, revealing your curves. The orange lollipop twirled between your lips, but it wasn’t the same. Someone kept stealing your beloved strawberry and cream lollipops, and you had a strong suspicion about who the culprit might be.

Your eyes immediately found Sunghoon, relaxed as always, sitting in the third row by the window. Your Sunghoon? Since that night of "studying" in your room, filled with economics exercises and much more physical practice, things had changed between you two. But there had been no declaration, no labels. You wanted him, clear and simple. But him? You weren’t sure.

You approached his desk with your usual bold smile and sat next to him, tilting your head. "No comment today? Did you suddenly become shy?"

Sunghoon sighed, not even turning to look at you. "Maybe I’m just trying to ignore you."

You spun the lollipop stick between your fingers. "Oh, so now you’re ignoring me? Strange, I thought you liked having my attention... or rather, having me all over you."

His ears twitched slightly, a sign you hit the right spot. Finally, he looked at you, his dark eyes filled with annoyance... or maybe something else. "You’re unbearable."

"And you aren't good at lying," you retorted, bringing the lollipop to your lips with exasperating slowness. "Too bad I know exactly how much you like me."

Sunghoon stiffened for a moment, then leaned slightly toward you, lowering his voice into a sharp whisper. "You know what I like? Silence. You should try being quiet for once."

Your smile widened. "Oh, but didn’t you like my mouth when it screamed your name or moaned while you sucked me or tied me to you?"

"Tsk." Sunghoon quickly turned away, his eyes fixed on the board as the professor walked in, momentarily interrupting your game. But you had already won: the slight redness in his ears told you everything you needed to know. Sunghoon was obsessed with you, and you with him.

After another hour of explanations and exercises, you stuffed your notes into your backpack with a sigh, cracking your tired fingers. The orange lollipop hung lazily between your lips as you took one last look at your page. Just one wrong exercise. Not bad. You stole a glance at Sunghoon, but he was still bent over his notebook, his pencil gliding over the paper with almost irritating precision. The sunset light filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on his dark hair. He was so immersed in his world, focused on writing formulas with his usual impassive expression. He hadn’t even noticed you were ready to leave. You shook your head with an amused smile. How much of a nerd can he be? You turned towards the door, ready to leave, when the professor's voice echoed in the room.

The professor entered the classroom, tapping the register a couple of times on the desk to get everyone's attention.

-In a few days, there will be the midterm exam,- he announced, scanning the students with his gaze. -I expect a lot from you. Over the weekend, I’ll send you some practice exams to complete, even in pairs, to help you prepare.-

As he spoke, you slightly turned your head, the orange lollipop sliding between your lips as you watched Sunghoon. He gripped the pencil between his fingers with an almost too-tight hold, but his face seemed impassive and focused as he listened to the professor.

And that was exactly what bothered you. The way he seemed perfectly capable of paying attention to others, of interacting normally with anyone except you. With you, though, in public, he appeared distant, almost cold, and he loved teasing you or driving you crazy with just a look. The thought that maybe he was embarrassed by you drove you mad. Or that he was afraid of showing any kind of feelings towards you. Yet, you knew it wasn’t like that when you were alone.

When his claws planted themselves on your skin with desire, when his tongue explored every inch of your body with greed when he sucked your skin to claim you from the smell that the other hybrids felt when he reversed his seed into your poor pussy.

So what was holding him back?

You drove away the thought and we focused on the exercises. When you finished, you had only one in four wrong. Not bad, maybe Sunghoon was not so bad as a tutor...

The professor walked past your desk and bent down slightly to check on your work. -Here,- he pointed to the spot where you had made a mistake, with a barely hinted smile.

Sunghoon turned slightly to listen, but his eyes didn’t stay fixed on the exercise.

He saw, he saw the professor’s gaze that never left your body, he saw how his eyes lingered on the curve of your chest, accentuated by the tight cardigan. How they slid down your legs, covered only by the thin, sheer stockings. How they stopped on your face, lingering on your lips, slightly swollen and tinted with the sugary gloss from your ever-present lollipop.

And his mind inevitably went back to a few nights ago.

When that face was pressed between his thighs, your lips were swollen with pleasure as you moaned his name, while he sucked and pumped his long fingers into you. When your tongue, which had been playing with the lollipop, traced sinful lines along his stomach. A strange unease twisted in his stomach.

-If you’d like, you can stop by my office this weekend,- the professor said, with a smile that was just a little too polite. -Many students do it to improve. I could help you prepare for the exam.-

You looked up, surprised by the offer, while Sunghoon felt his rabbit-like ears twitch slightly from irritation. His instincts screamed. That bastard was staring at you too much.

Without paying him much mind, you smiled politely. “Oh, thank you, professor, I’ll think about it.” -Do,- he replied.

-I might have some useful advice for you.-

Sunghoon gripped his pencil harder, feeling a slight crack in the wood as it splintered. He could tell with just one look when someone wanted something, and that man didn’t just want to teach you economics; he wanted to touch you, possess you—and that didn’t sit well with Sunghoon, because the only man who could touch you, kiss you, possess you, mark you, and tie you up was him.

You, of course, noticed his reaction and didn’t miss the chance to tease him. You leaned slightly toward him, your warm breath brushing against his skin.

“Oh? Is someone jealous?” you whispered with a mischievous smile. Sunghoon shot you a cold glance.

“Stop talking nonsense.” His voice was low, tense. But you knew. You knew very well that behind that impassive facade, his hybrid instincts were writhing. It was taunting him. Telling him someone else was trying to invade his territory, and you loved it.

-Y/n.- You stopped abruptly, turning just slightly. The professor was still seated at his desk, an overly smug smile on his lips. He motioned for you to come closer. With a shrug, you walked over slowly, swaying your hips just a bit. The professor’s gaze followed every movement, lingering a little too much on your legs. Sunghoon, who was about to turn the page, felt a shiver run down his spine. His bunny ears perked up imperceptibly. He didn’t need to hear the conversation to understand what was happening. -So, have you thought about my proposal?- the professor asked in a tone that was a bit too relaxed. -Private lessons would be really helpful for you. You could come to my office this weekend. You know, many students do it to improve.-

Sunghoon felt something tighten inside him. Is that bastard really trying? The pencil he was holding cracked under the pressure of his fingers. His hybrid instincts hit him like a hot blade in the stomach. He already knew what you were about to do. You were about to accept, just to make him jealous. Just to see how far you could push it before he exploded. And damn, it always worked. He shot up from his seat, determined to leave the classroom and ignore the scene, trying to suppress the animalistic part of him telling him to wipe that smug smile off the professor’s face. But then he felt a warm touch on his skin. Your hand. You grabbed his arm, your fingers tightening around his wrist in a firm grip. "Thanks, professor," you said with an almost innocent smile. "But I already have an excellent tutor as a study partner." The professor raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. -Oh, really? Who’s that?- You didn’t look away, and Sunghoon felt your warmth spread along his arm as you gently pulled him toward you. "Him." The silence that fell in the classroom was almost deafening. Sunghoon froze, his mouth slightly agape in shock. Wait… what? His eyes turned to you, searching for any hint of teasing, but all he found was your usual cheeky grin. The professor stared at you for a few seconds, then turned his gaze to Sunghoon, as if sizing him up. -Him, huh?- Sunghoon clenched his jaw, feeling a sudden wave of pride mixed with frustration. Damn, this girl… She didn’t let anyone walk all over her. She didn’t need him to push the professor away, but she still dragged him into it. And not only that. She’d said he was the one who helped her understand the exercises. She’d said it was thanks to him that she was improving, and that feeling inside him—that strange, warm, irritating feeling—hit him all of a sudden.

Y/n was his? His tail shifted restlessly behind him, while his cheeks heated up slightly. No. Wait. They weren’t together. They’d never put a label on what was between them, yet the thought of someone else getting their hands on you made his jaw tighten. You were looking at him with a triumphant grin as if you’d just won a silent battle. Sunghoon sighed, looking away. "Do whatever you want," he muttered, but you didn’t miss the way the blush on his cheeks had become more noticeable. And you loved it.

As you left the classroom, Sunghoon walked ahead of you with his usual quick, determined pace. His long legs allowed him to put distance between you effortlessly, as if he were trying to escape from something… or someone. You bit your lip, watching his tail. It wouldn’t stop wagging. A nervous tic that betrayed his usual impassive demeanor. That little detail made you smile.

You quickened your pace, trying to catch up. "Hoon." No response. "Hoonie," you sing-songed in a sweeter tone, amused by the way his shoulders tensed. You were driving him crazy, and you knew it. "Are you jealous, by any chance?" you asked with feigned innocence, tilting your head.

He suddenly stopped, and you didn’t have time to slow down, bumping lightly into his chest. The scent of his skin, mixed with something more wild and instinctual, immediately enveloped you. The tension in his body was palpable. His bunny ears trembled, his jaw clenched.

"I’m losing my mind." His voice was low, rough. You looked up at him, batting your lashes with an innocent expression. "Because of the exam?" Sunghoon let out a quiet huff, as if he were struggling with himself.

Then, without a word, he grabbed your wrist. His touch was burning, his palm wrapping around your skin in a firm grip.

"Hoon, where are you taking me?" you giggled, but he kept walking, ignoring your playful tone.

He dragged you through the empty hallways, the last rays of sunset filtering through the windows. Every step he took was heavy, every breath deeper, more controlled. But he wouldn’t hold back for long.

He turned a corner and pushed open a door, pulling you into an empty classroom. Only a few streaks of sunlight illuminated the space, casting golden shadows on the floor. Sunghoon shut the door behind him with a sharp thud.

"Sit down."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So bossy today…" He didn’t reply. Running a hand through his hair, he messed it up, looking like a caged predator. His ears twitched nervously, and his tail flicked the air in slow, agitated swipes.

You smiled. Leaning your elbows on the table, you watched him with amusement, letting the lollipop slide lazily between your lips. "If you wanted to be alone with me, you could’ve just asked, you know?"

Sunghoon froze. His dark eyes locked onto yours, nostrils flaring slightly. Three steps, and he was right in front of you. His large hands cupped your face with a firmness that made you hold your breath. He forced you to look at him. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing heavier.

"I can’t take it anymore." His voice was deeper, more animalistic. His nails barely grazed your skin, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He was fighting his instincts, battling something restless inside him.

"First, it was just the guys at school, and that already drove me insane. But now, forty-year-olds too?" His tail flicked again.

"You think it’s funny to provoke me like this?" he hissed, his lips almost brushing yours as he spoke. You smiled, running your thumbs over his knuckles. "It’s cute seeing you jealous, you know?"

Sunghoon let out a low growl, his ears flattening back. His whole body vibrated with tension. He was giving you control, even though he didn’t want to and you knew it.

"Hoon," you whispered softly, your fingers gliding down to his wrist, squeezing just slightly. "Do you need a reminder of who I belong to?"

He held his breath. His eyes darkened with something deeper, something raw. He swallowed hard, his body instinctively moving even closer to yours. Then, he nodded, his tail wagged faster. You smirked. "Good answer."

The tension in the air was dense, charged with something primordial. Sunghoon was stiff in your hands, his breathing quickened as his fingers traced paths under your cardigan, touching you with a delicacy that contrasted with his firm grip on your thighs. But you weren't going to let him take control. You lured him to you, resting his lips on his, kissing him with the confidence of those who knew exactly what he wanted. Sunghoon grunted between the kiss, his tongue explored yours with growing hunger. "Open your legs," he whispered against your lips, his voice hoarse and authoritarian.

A shudder ran through your back, but not for the command—for the idea of completely turning the situation around. And yet, you indulged him. You opened up for him, giving him the place between your legs as you continued to kiss each other, savoring each other with slowness and despair at the same time. His lips moved along your jaw, sucking and licking fervently, then went down to your neck. The warmth of his mouth made you moan softly, and his grip on your thighs tightened. He was too sure of himself it was time to put him back in his place. You smiled between a heavy breath and, with a firm gesture, you took off his sweatshirt, then his shirt.

His chest twitched when your fingers slid over his candid skin, the contrast with the dark shadows of the sunset made him almost ethereal. You kissed him slowly, walking along the line of his sternum with your tongue. "You are beautiful, Hoonie," you whispered against his skin, feeling his abdomen quivering under your lips. Sunghoon clenched his teeth, but could not hold back a gasp when your hands stroked his hips. "Oh? Did I just hear you stutter?" you looked up, the mischievous smile that you knew him all too well painted on your lips. Redness spread to the cheeks, the ears bent back. "Shut up." You laughed softly, running a finger along his chest, tracing lazy circles around his nipples. "Come on, Hoonie, you're so cute when you lose control."

Your voice was a sweet poison, you looked at him with an amused air as he desperately tried to maintain some dignity. Another kiss, this time lower. Sunghoon stiffened when your lips came close to his navel, his tail convulsively moved behind him. "P-princess, we are in public." You looked up, tilting your head with an all too innocent air. "It was you who brought me into this room, not me," you reminded him, the sweet but poisonous tone Sunghoon swallowed heavily.

Your fingers slid down the waistband of his pants, playing with the zipper with maddening slowness. "What is it, Hoon? Are you nervous?" He bit his lip, avoiding your gaze, a little disaster. The cynical and distant nerd, the one who always looked at you with superiority, with dismissive sarcasm, was now nothing more than a guy trembling under your touch. A loser you could have done anything to, Sunghoon's breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling with force as you looked down on him with a smug smile. He seemed completely at the mercy of you, your hands, your lips, your poisonously sweet voice.

"Oh, Hoonie," you sighed, fingers playing with the zipper of his jeans. "You're so nervous now, and yet a little while ago you were trying to command me. What happened to all that security, huh?" He swallowed, the blush on his cheeks noticeable even in the shadow of the sunset. His eyes drooped for a moment, avoiding your gaze as if he were ashamed, but his body betrayed him: his tail flinched non-stop, his ears bent back, and the heat he emanated was stronger and stronger. You laughed quietly.

"You're a mess, Sunghoon," you whispered, your mouth barely touching his navel. "All cold and cynical in public… but look how you shrink when you're with me." Sunghoon bit his lip, holding back a little groan when your fingernails grazed the sensitive skin of his side. "Y-n /princess …" his voice trembled slightly, and this made you smile even more. "What is it? Does the truth bother you?" you tilted your head, your hands still on his belt. "Should I remind you who's in charge right now between the two of us?"

Sunghoon blinked, trying to recover, but his instincts were betraying him, a shiver ran through him, his breathing became heavier, and something inside him was changing. It was a creeping warmth, something primal that moved inside his chest, in his belly, and made him feel unstable, and vulnerable. He had always been so rational, so controlled, but now, with you looking at him with those amused eyes, with your voice humiliating him without the slightest effort… He was completely at the mercy of you and the worst was that he liked it.

"Look how you're shaking," you whispered, your fingers grazed the skin of his abdomen, tracing slow circles on his warm skin. "You're not really used to being under, huh, Sunghoon?" He clenched his fists to his sides, and his bunny ears drooped even more it was humiliating how much his body reacted to you so easily and you weren't letting him get away. Your mouth slowly rose up along his chest, depositing barely hinted kisses, letting your warm breath tickle his skin. "But you know what I like best? "you whispered against his ear, gently nibbling at his lobe. " That for all your tough-guy attitude, in the end you're just a desperate bunny who can't wait to be touched, to be commanded, and to simply be a bunny who pretends to be cold and a nice guy but who has repressed sexual instincts."

Sunghoon shuddered violently. His tail snapped behind him, his breath snapped and that heat inside him … was getting unbearable. And he had only one, the only solution. You, The tension in the room was palpable. The sunset cast long shadows on the floor, the golden light refracted on Sunghoon's bare skin, accentuating his every line, and every muscle contraction as he desperately tried to maintain a modicum of control over himself. But it was not easy. Not with you in front of him, with that mischievous smirk on his lips, with your light but devastating touch that made him tremble. You could feel its length contracted under the fabric of the boxer His tail moved erratically behind him, an obvious sign of the turmoil within himself.

You bit your lip, an amused look as you ran your fingers down the taut abdomen, then further down, barely touching the fabric that concealed her obvious excitement. "Not even in your worst dirty dreams will you think of tying me in a shabby university room, huh, bunny?"

you provoked him, letting the tip of your finger trace the shape of his erection over the stretched tissue. Sunghoon clenched his jaw, his gaze grew darker. "Stop it,Y/n," he growled, his tone authoritarian, but the effect was almost undone by the way his hips quivered at your touch. You laughed quietly, amused by her desperate struggle against herself. "Oh, so now you're being tough?" you tilted your head, slowly licking your lips while, without warning, lowering his boxer.

Its length bounced against his sculpted abdomen, and for a moment Sunghoon exhaled sharply, his hands clasping to the sides of the table behind him. His eyes shone with a mixture of defiance and despair. "You're a nightmare, you know?" he mumbled, trying to recover, but his voice was more hoarse, more hungry. You smiled, slowly sliding a finger along her length, observing with satisfaction the way her abs contracted under your touch. "A nightmare? And yet you are the one moaning for me already," you whispered in his ear, pressing your hand on his hot, pulsating skin. Sunghoon grunted, closing his eyes for a second. "You're over-dressed," he growled, his voice charged with frustration. "I want to hear you." The authoritarian tone made you smile even more. "Oh? And since when do you have the right to order something from me?" you asked him, but still, with maddening slowness, you took off your cardigan and then your blouse, leaving only your lace bralette on. Sunghoon held his breath. His eyes glided greedily over you, the blush on his cheeks became more intense as his tail trembled. "You are beautiful," he confessed, almost unwillingly, as if those words had escaped him. You laughed quietly. "I know." Then, with an almost cruel sweetness, you bent down and brushed the tip of its length with a light, almost innocent kiss. Sunghoon gasped, his hands clenched to the edges of the table as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. "Princess— " his voice broke when your hand squeezed slightly around him, running your thumb over the already damp tip of pearly liquid. "What was that sound, Hoonie?" you provoked him, the tone sweet and poisonous. "It just sounded like a groan…" He clenched his teeth, but his body betrayed him. His breath had become heavier, his gaze was lost between desire and humiliation. "I want to fill you," he confessed in a desperate whisper, his voice loaded with need, his animal instincts out of control. "Want—" Slap. Not strong, just a small blow on his inner thigh, enough to make him snap open his eyes and look at you with surprise. "Oh, my bunny," you sighed with a satisfied smile. "I already told you, didn't I? You'll fill me up and knot me only in my room … or yours."

Sunghoon nodded mechanically … until he processed the last part of the sentence. "No," he growled, the blush on his cheeks noticeable. You raised an eyebrow. "No?" "Not in my room." You bit your lip to hold back a laugh. "Why? Too ashamed to take me there? Or are you afraid I'll find out your dirty little secrets, Hoonie? Or are you afraid that I will invade your hybrid space?" Sunghoon grunted, looking at you with hatred and desire at the same time.

You are his damnation, you are his darkest need and, despite everything, you are the only one who could ever dominate him like this. You smiled with your usual mischievous look, your fingers playing with him almost absent-mindedly as if everything you were doing was a recent pastime. But Sunghoon could not pretend that for him it was the same. His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched as he desperately tried to maintain control.

"Do you want to come, Hoonie?" you whispered, the tone sweet and poisonous. He nodded without even thinking, his bunny ears bent back, the blush on his cheeks now evident. You laughed slowly, biting your lip to hold back the satisfaction. "Then answer my economics questions." Sunghoon blinked, for a moment he looked confused. "C-what?" "I told you." Your grip just got tighter on his pinkish, veiny cock, making him gasp and leaving a choked moan on his lips. "If you want some relief, prove to me that you're really that nerd pretending to be in class." He glanced at you full of frustration, but his tail kept shaking behind him. "You are-you are a nightmare." "I know," you laughed, then, without giving him time to retort, you looked at him with a defiant smile. "So … let's get started. What is the formula for calculating the total profit?" Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, trying to concentrate. "R - total revenues minus total costs." A light kiss on his hot skin was his reward, but soon after you tightened your grip, making him quiver, and pumped his cock into your hands to feel him gritting his teeth from pleasure but also from annoyance. "good boy, bunny," he whispered against his abdomen.

"Don't call me that," he growled, but his tone lacked mordant, too distracted by the feeling of your hands on him. "Mmh, we'll see," you laughed. "Second question: what is the break-even point?" Sunghoon clung to the edge of the table, his eyes trying to stay shiny. "It's - it's the point where total revenues and total costs equalize, so there's no profit or loss." Another kiss on his cock, this time slower, as you run your tongue over his skin and twirled your tongue in his cock and then sucked it lightly, leaving a warm, moist trail that made him arch his back. "baby… " he growled, his hand clasped around your side as if he wanted to stop you, but at the same time did not dare. You looked at him with bright eyes. "Third question, Hooni" He swallowed, wheezing. "I'm going to" "Not yet." You threw a dangerous look at him, then, unhurriedly, unfastened your bralette, letting the cloth fall to the ground without any hesitation. Sunghoon froze, his gaze glued to you, as your swollen breasts ribbed and then laughed softly, in that low, slightly mocking tone he used when trying to regain control.

"Are you trying to distract me?" You tilted your head with a sweet smile. "Distract you? But if you're the one moaning like a desperate bunny in heat for my touch." The blush on his cheeks became even more intense, but instead of fighting back, he did something you didn't expect. His hands grabbed you by the hips more firmly and, before you could react, you found yourself lying on the bench with him on top of you and his cock ribbing slightly. "Keep your breasts slightly tight I want to fuck you those beautiful tits," said Sunghoon sighing softly, you looked at him with your eyes drooping and cupped your breasts and held him slightly open and Hoon's eyes were ajar as he slid his huge cock between your breasts, his breath trembling as the heat increased. "Who is the desperate one now?" he whispered with a defiant grin, the same one that drove you crazy in class when he pretended to be unattainable. You looked up, slowly licking your lips. "Oh, so you want to lead now, Hoonie?"

He grunted quietly, his control now thin as a silk thread. In the classroom, you could hear only your moans and choked breaths and the slimy noise of his cock rubbing around your breasts, you had never seen this version of Hoon and after a couple of thrusts as he touched your breasts with one hand and the other leaned to slide his cock between your breasts with a broken breath, he let go completely, his hands trembled as he clutched you, his body crossed with chills as pleasure overwhelmed him. A slimy substance of sperm began to trickle around your breasts until it reached your navel and you groaned at the sight you were full of filaments of cum; for a moment, the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing, the frantic beating of his heart against your chest. But then, as he tried to recover, something inside him became agitated. It was a deep warmth, something visceral and it hadn't passed yet. He stiffened slightly, his ears moved restlessly, and his tail waved uncontrollably. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"All right, Hoonie? You still seem agitated." He swallowed, the redness did not leave his face. "…I don't know," he admitted softly. For the first time, there was a veil of uncertainty in his expression. As if something was changing inside him. And the fear of what would come next began to make its way into his mind.

Sunghoon dressed in haste, his body still tense, his hands moving in a nervous rush as he buttoned up the jeans. His breathing was heavy, his face still reddened, yet his eyes had veiled with something darker. He approached you in silence, took you by the wrists with a delicacy that you did not expect, and with quick and precise gestures began to clothe you. The cardigan on the shoulders, the blouse buttons closed with almost obsessive care, the fingers that barely lingered on your skin as if he wanted to memorize every detail before…leaving.

It was weird, after everything that had happened between you, after the way he had let himself go—which he never did now seemed to want to erase all traces of that moment. And you couldn't understand it. When he turned to leave, you grabbed him by the wrist. The abnormal heat of his skin made you wince.

"Sunghoon." He froze but did not turn around. "Are you okay?" you asked him, trying to cross his gaze. His breath grew deeper for a moment. Then, without too much emphasis, he broke free from your grip with a slow but firm movement. "I'm fine," he replied flatly. You watched him carefully. "No, you are not." He finally turned around, his rabbit ears slightly lowered, a sign that something was wrong inside him. But his face… his face was deadpan. There was no trace of the vulnerability you had seen just before, of the guy you had in your hands and that you had brought to the limit. Just the usual Sunghoon: cynical, distant. "You wouldn't understand," he said in a low voice. You stiffen. "And why not?" "Because you are only a human." He said it with a coldness that struck you like a slap. You stared at him, your arms lowering at your sides. "So what?" "So you shouldn't be here," he continued, his voice unhesitatingly. "What happened… was a mistake." His words hit you right in the stomach, making you short of breath for a second.

A mistake? Your throat tightened. You looked him straight in the eye, looking for any sign that he was lying. Any little hesitation, any crack in his ice mask. But there was nothing, only detachment, only coldness. "Sunghoon," you muttered, trying to figure out what the hell was going through his mind. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in an almost frustrated gesture. "A hybrid like me needs a true companion. Not a human who likes to tease him." His every word was a blade that sank into your chest. You felt like an idiot, you felt used, and the anger began to boil inside you. "Bullshit," you hissed, stepping towards him. Sunghoon did not move. "Jungwon and Jake stayed with human girls! I don't think they're getting all this fucking paranoid!" "They're not rabbits," he replied, his tone frosty. This time you were the one blocking, Sunghoon looked down for a second, then raised him with an expression that gave you chills. He was calm, too calm. "You don't understand, Y/n, and you will never understand." Your jaw clenched if he wanted to play that game, then you would too. You straightened, crossing your arms.

"So what do you want to do, Sunghoon? Escape?" He didn't answer right away. He looked at you for a few seconds, then tilted his head slightly. "Exactly." And with that word, without another hesitation, he turned and left the room. Leaving you there, with your heart beating painfully in your chest and the feeling that you have been pushed out of her world with a brutality you did not expect.

The chair next to yours was empty.

Again.

It had been over a week since Sunghoon had decided to cut you out of his life, and his silence was eating away at you more than you ever wanted to admit. He didn’t spare you a glance, not a nod, not even the slightest hesitation in his movements when he walked past you as if you were just another stranger.

And it was driving you insane. But not just with anger—also with sadness.

You had never cried over a boy. Never. And yet, there was a weight in your chest that wouldn’t go away, a lump in your throat that grew every time you saw him ignoring you with that impassive expression of his.

And you were tired of feeling this way.

That’s why, when you went to the convenience store to buy lollipops and found all your favorite flavors—strawberries and cream, no exceptions—gone, a sharp pang of irritation shot through you.

Because you knew exactly who had been buying them up until now, who had taken the trouble to make them disappear just to see you annoyed, to watch you bite your lip in frustration while you sucked on the orange or watermelon ones with a pout.

Sunghoon.

Bastard.

If he wanted to ignore you, if he wanted to shut you out, then why did he keep creeping into your mind? Why did he keep reminding you that beneath that cold, cynical mask of his, he was still the boy who loved to tease you, the one who had made you his so many times, the one who had let himself go in your hands with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone else?

You hated him.

You hated him because, despite everything, your heart still beat faster whenever you saw him.

The economics exam had gone great.

A beautiful 88 stood next to your name on the results board, and even though you would have preferred a higher score, you knew you had Sunghoon to thank. He was an exceptional tutor—you knew that well—and his method had worked perfectly.

Then, your gaze drifted upward to the highest grade in the class.

100. And next to that number, as always, was his name. Sunghoon Park.

No surprise there—he had always been perfect in his subjects, always meticulous, always one step ahead of everyone.

And yet, when you turned to look for him in the crowd, you didn’t find him. Strange. Sunghoon was always the first to check the exam results, the first to line up at the board, the first to gauge the class’s performance.

But that morning, his spot remained empty, and for the first time, an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach.

Sunghoon hadn’t shown up for two whole weeks—not that you were counting the days. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But it was impossible not to notice. His desk was always empty, his presence had become an overwhelming absence, and you… you were worried.

Not that you would ever admit it, not after everything he had said to you. If he wanted to shut you out of his life, then you would do the same.

Or at least, you would try.

You were about to leave the classroom when the professor gestured for you to come closer.

-Congratulations on the test, Y/N. Excellent work.-

You smiled, though the weight of your thoughts made it hard to feel genuinely happy. “Thank you, professor.”

Then, you saw him pull out another sheet—the exam results of Sunghoon.

-Have you seen him lately?- the professor asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t admit that Sunghoon had been avoiding you like the plague and that you had no idea what had happened to him.

So, you lied.

“He’s sick,” you said as naturally as possible. “A bad flu… high fever, nausea, stomach issues…” You were making up the worst excuses, but it didn’t matter.

The professor nodded. -I see. Could you give him his test when you see him?-

Your eyes widened for a moment. Did it really have to be you? You hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Of course…”

You picked up the paper with a frown. His name was written at the top in that perfect handwriting of his—the same handwriting that had helped you understand difficult concepts, the one you knew so well. And it was while staring at his test that you noticed an orange-haired figure nearby.

Sunoo. You walked over and greeted him in your usual cheerful tone, even though he looked slightly uneasy.

“Hey, Sunoo! Do you know where Sunghoon is?”

His expression turned cautious. ‘He’s… sick.’

The exact same response you had given the professor, but something in his tone was off.

You tilted your head. “Sick how? Is it just the flu?”

Sunoo hesitated, biting his lip before letting out a sigh. ‘You should take it to him yourself.’

Your eyes widened. “What? Why?”

‘Because it’s better if you see him in person.’

His words only confused you further. What was going on with Sunghoon? And why was Sunoo being so evasive?

But by now, you knew only one thing—you had to go see him.

You were lying on your bed, a strawberries-and-cream lollipop between your lips, your phone open to your chat with Sunghoon. You had typed and deleted your message at least ten times.

You had his economics test, and despite the way he had shut you out of his life, you couldn’t stop worrying. You bit your lip, unsure whether to send something straightforward or teasing. In the end, with an exasperated sigh, you typed:

“Hey, Park Sunghoon (🐇👿), I have your economics test. Want me to bring it over?”

You hit send before you could change your mind. Your phone vibrated almost immediately.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“NO.”

You froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. No? Just no?

That test had a perfect score—just as you’d expected from him—and he didn’t even care to get it back? His stubbornness and cold demeanor drove you insane, as if nothing had happened the last time you saw each other.

Clutching the paper in your hand, you marched out of your room and headed straight for his door. You didn’t need his permission.

Once there, you lowered your gaze and slid the test under the small gap beneath the door, along with a little handwritten note:

“Congrats on the 100, genius. Too busy playing sick to brag about it? Or has the little bunny decided to become a hermit? What a waste of beauty and brains. Oh, by the way, be careful… if you keep hiding in there, you might end up even paler than you already are. Go get some air, idiot.”

You straightened up, satisfied, ready to turn and head back to your room—when your phone vibrated again.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“Go away. You stink.”

You stopped in your tracks. You stink?

That damn rabbit! Your eyes widened, and you felt the blood in your veins boil. You clenched your phone, gritting your teeth.

If he wanted to play dirty, fine.

Leaning closer to the door, you lowered your voice into a venomous whisper, sure he would hear you.

“Funny. Last time you sniffed me, you seemed pretty into my scent…”

You slipped the note under the door and crossed your arms, waiting for his reaction.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“Maybe I need a new nose.”

You huffed, biting your lip to hold back a smile. Even if he was being cold and distant, at least he was responding. That meant you weren’t completely irrelevant to him.

Deciding to push further, you let a bit of your concern slip through—though, of course, disguised as teasing.

“Park Sunghoon, are you actually sick, or are you just being an emo bunny?”

Another message came almost instantly.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“No.”

No? You narrowed your eyes. That was the second time he had answered like that, and this time, it didn’t seem like he was just trying to push you away.

Without thinking, you called his number. The dial tone rang once, twice—then he picked up.

Your heart skipped a beat.

It had been two weeks since you’d last heard his voice.

“What do you want, Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, slightly strained.

“What do I want? What do I want? You’ve been missing for two weeks, and the only thing you can say to me is ‘what do you want’?” You huffed, irritated—but deep down, relief washed over you at the sound of him actually speaking to you.

From the other end of the line, you heard the rustling of blankets and a sigh.

“Tsk. You’re always so annoying.” You smiled slightly.

“And you’re always an idiot.” A moment of silence. Then, a sudden shift, a barely audible inhale.

“Y/N, leave.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are to give me orders?”

“I’m telling you to get away from my door.”

“And why would I do that?”

Another pause. Then his voice dropped, almost as if speaking was difficult for him.

“Because I can smell you too much.”

You froze. Then, a sly smile crept onto your lips.

“Oh?” Sunghoon let out a sharp exhale on the other end of the line, already sensing where this was going.

“Don’t start.”

“Too late.” You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle. “Sunghoon… are you in heat?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You could practically see him on the other side of the phone—jaw clenched, ears twitching slightly with embarrassment and irritation.

“None of your business.”

You burst out laughing, delighted.

“Oh my god, I hit the mark! So it’s true!”

“Y/N—”

“You know, I did some research… and your behavior matches exactly with that of a bunny in heat.”

There was a dull thud, like he had just slammed his head against his pillow or mattress in frustration.

“Stop reading those ridiculous blogs and go study economics or something useful instead of wasting your time on stupid theories about rabbits.”

“Oh, so they’re stupid theories? Then why are you still avoiding leaving your room?”

The prolonged silence on the other end was all the confirmation you needed.

Sunghoon was in trouble. And no matter how much he wanted to hide it, you had figured it out.

The line crackled slightly before he spoke again.

“What the hell do you want now?” His voice was flat, cold—but beneath that forced composure, there was something else. Something sharp, on the verge of breaking.

You bit your lip, the mischievous smile already playing on your mouth.

“You know, today I read an interesting blog about hybrids in heat.”

From the other side of the door, inside his room, you heard the faintest shift in his breathing.

“Tsk. You shouldn’t stick your nose into things like that.”

“Oh, but it was so fascinating,” you continued, letting your voice drop just slightly, slipping into a whisper almost too intimate. “They talked about how hybrids in heat become… obsessed. How their bodies burn up, how the knot—”

“Y/N.” His tone was a warning, but the fact that he hadn’t hung up said everything.

“How they want to fill their partner over and over, even if they can’t actually breed her.” You leaned against his door, imagining him on the other side, probably running a hand through his hair, struggling to maintain control. “How it’s not just physical desire but mental. The need to mark, to claim, even when they know it’s impossible.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric. Then, a slow, prolonged sigh.

“You’re playing with something you can’t control.” Your pulse quickened, your lips curving upward.

“And what if I don’t want to control it?”

He let out a low chuckle, a dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, baby…” he took a moment before continuing, his voice now hoarse, impatient. “If you were in here with me, I wouldn’t let you go until your body recognized who it belongs to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the heat spread through your chest, your stomach, and lower.

“You’re all talk, Sunghoon,” you teased, your voice dropping to a whisper. From the other side of the door, you heard a dull thud, as if he’d hit something.

“Open this door and we’ll see who’s just talking.” The phone call ended with a sharp click.

And you stood there, your heart pounding too fast, your breath unsteady.

You knew that if you opened that door, he would keep every single promise.

You knocked, your fist light but insistent against the wood.

“Sunghoon, open up.” Your voice was low, almost a whisper, but you knew his hybrid ears would pick up every tiny vibration.

A deep breath from the other side, then his response—hoarse, tense.

“If you come in here, your scent will fill my entire territory. And I won’t be able to control myself.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at his confession.

“I miss you,” you admitted. “I want you. All of you. Your human side… and your hybrid side.”

A tense silence, charged. Then a low chuckle.

“You’re truly reckless.” But the soft click of the lock made you hold your breath.

The door creaked open slightly—just enough for you to catch a glimpse of Sunghoon. And the sight stole the air from your lungs.

He was leaning against the doorframe, his breathing heavy. His damp hair fell messily over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his flushed skin. His bare chest rose and fell unevenly, his biceps flexing as he gripped the door, his toned abs glistening slightly with sweat. His rabbit ears were pinned back, his face flushed, and behind him, his tail twitched restlessly, agitated, unsettled.

A shiver ran down your spine. Staring at you with dark eyes, Sunghoon let out a slow, resigned sigh.

“Fuck…”

Then, in an instant, he shoved you against the wall.

The door slammed shut with a thud, his heated body pressing into yours. His breath was everywhere—on your skin, in your neck, inside your thoughts. He inhaled slowly, his nose brushing along the curve of your shoulder, then trailing up the line of your jaw, stopping at the hollow of your neck.

A shiver crawled up your spine as you felt his lips ghost over your skin—light, reverent.

And then you felt it a tremor in his breath, the faintest hitch.

A tear—warm, silent—slipped down his cheek as he buried his face into your skin, as if he wanted to melt into you.

“I missed you,” he murmured between kisses, his lips tracing a burning path along your skin. “You have no idea how much.”

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you even closer against him.

“You’ve been bad, you know that?” His voice dropped an octave, sending another shiver through you. “Leaving me like that… with your scent everywhere, but without you.”

With every word, every touch, your breath grew more uneven. Then a gasp escaped you when his lips latched onto your skin with more force, leaving a mark.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Oh, I missed that sound so much.” You let out a soft giggle, your hands reaching up to his soft ears, tugging them gently to make him lift his gaze to you.

“You’re a mess,” you whispered, your thumbs stroking the base of his ears, Sunghoon scoffed, but his dark eyes burned with desire.

“And whose fault is that, huh?” His grip tightened, his body shifting slightly against yours. A shudder ran through you as you felt his heat rubbing against you, the thin fabric between you both an increasingly frustrating obstacle. A whimper slipped past your lips, and Sunghoon wasted no time leaning into your ear to whisper:

“You’re warm.”

“You’re burning,” you answered, your voice trembling.

A sharp breath left his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“You know what a hybrid in heat does, don’t you?” His hand slid along your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ve spent weeks losing my mind, with only one thought in my head.”

His gaze was feverish, torn between wanting to tease you and the sheer desire burning through him.

“I thought about you every single day,” he confessed, his voice low, strained. “About how I wanted to hold you again. About how I wanted to kiss you in front of everyone so no one would ever dare to look at you like they could have you.”

He bit down gently on your earlobe, his voice a husky vibration against your skin.

“About how much I want to fill you up.” A heavy breath. “Stuff you full of me, mark you, make you understand that your place is right here—with me.”

His eyes were dark, feverish, his breathing heavy as he studied you, as if trying to figure out if you were joking.

But you weren’t. “You can do anything to me, Sunghoon,” you whispered, your heart hammering in your chest. “You can fill me. You can love me. You can use me… you can worship me.”

For a moment—just one—his mask seemed to crack. But then Sunghoon let out a low, sharp laugh, tilting his head slightly.

“You’re insane.” His tone was cold, disdainful. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” Instead of answering, you reached out and tugged on his ears, forcing him to lower his head toward you.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand anything.” And before he could respond, you kissed him. The kiss was immediately chaotic, desperate, filled with pent-up tension. Your tongues tangled without grace, too hungry to care about making it perfect. Sunghoon groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your hips too tightly, as if he were trying to restrain himself. But then he lifted you effortlessly, making your head spin, and turned toward the bed.

“You’re invading my territory, you know that?” His tone was still amused, but with a subtle hint of warning beneath it.

You bit your lip, your fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

“Strange…” you whispered. “Because you’ve been invading mine for weeks.”

His nostrils flared slightly, his pupils dilated just a bit, and behind him, his tail twitched nonstop.

He dropped you onto the mattress in one fluid motion, his hands immediately slipping to the waistband of your jeans. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulled them down in a slow, exasperating motion.

A low whistle escaped his lips as the fabric pooled on the floor.

“Oh, would you look at that,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as his fingers grazed the elastic of your white panties. “Such a good girl.”

His tone was venomously sweet, the cynicism in his gaze burning hot enough to make your blood boil.

“Innocent little princess…” He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“Do you know what happens to good girls who play with fire?” He lowered his face just slightly, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“I ruin them.” You laughed—right until you felt his mouth press small kisses and love bites along your thighs.

You slipped a finger under his chin, making him look up at you with curiosity.

“I want a lollipop,” you said in an innocent tone. Sunghoon looked at you, slightly confused, but then he stood up, walked to his desk, and pulled out a strawberry-and-cream lollipop from the drawer. He brought it to your lips, trying to place it in your mouth. But you shook your head.

“I want you to suck it and after that you will eat my pussy with the taste of lollipop” he laughed and said no with his head because you were seriously crazy but he adored you. Sunghoon let the lollipop slip out of his mouth with a soft sound, his tongue barely passing over his lips as if to savor its last remaining sugar. Then he looked down at you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You're a little bit of a temptation, aren't you?"

his voice was low, almost a satisfied growl. "First you provoke me, then you play the good girl who asks for treats..." He tilted his head, the cynical grin spreading over his lips. "I wonder how many more tantrums you'll have once I really start touching you."

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. "So what are you waiting for?" Sunghoon laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You're impatient." Then, without warning, he lowered the lollipop on your skin, drawing a sugary line that started from the lower abdomen until it touched your most sensitive center. You stiffened under that unusual contact, a shiver running down your back.

Sunghoon watched you, his amused smile as his warm breath grazed the spot where the sweet had melted on your skin. "And now..." His voice was just a whisper before his lips lowered on you, savoring you as if you were the finest confectionery. A groan involuntarily eluded you, and you felt his smile against your skin. "Hm," he muttered in a contented tone, the sound almost an animalistic purr. "You know about sugar, but much better." His tail moved relentlessly behind him, a sign of his feverish state, of his desire to get completely lost in you.

"And now, baby ..." His gaze was a promise as she bent over you again. "Let's see how long you can hold out before you beg me."

His lips went down the inside of your thighs, leaving open, moist kisses, followed by small bites that made you jerk. Every time you moaned, Sunghoon laughed softly against your skin, the sound low and satisfied.

"You like to be teased, don't you?" his voice was a sharp whisper. "Does it excite you so much that this is enough for you to get completely wet?"

You bit your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But then his fingers slipped against you, finding you already all too ready, and Sunghoon growled softly, the sound instinctive, animalistic. "You're tremendous," he hissed, his tone cynical.

"You always make yourself look so cheeky, and yet look how you are reduced to me." You gave him a defiant look, a heavy breath.

“So what? Aren't you the one who goes crazy about my smell?" Sunghoon froze for a moment, then laughed, his tail moving even more frantically.

"What a naughty mouth..." And without warning, he pushed a finger inside you, the slow but inexorable gesture. A groan eluded you before you could stop it, and Sunghoon bit his lip, his eyes dark and feverish.

"What was this, uh?"He looked at you with false innocence, then pushed deeper, his wrist moving with a torturing rhythm. "Weren't you the one who could respond in tone?" You tried to fight back, but the second finger was added to the first, and the sound that came out of your lips was more a muffled cry. His fingers inside you pumped inside your poor cunt now at the mercy of the desire not to be filled by his fingers but by his cock and Sunghoon smiled, satisfied.

"Oh, that's what I like the most." He continued to move, the pace increasing, while his gaze was glued to your face, at every slightest reaction.

"I want to hear you, baby," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "I want everyone to know who is driving you crazy." You felt on a knife edge, the pleasure accumulating too quickly. "Sunghoon..." you gasped, your hands clasping to the sheets. He smiled against your skin, mischievous.

"Tell me you're mine."

"I am," you groaned. "Only yours." His tail moved even faster, a satisfied growl escaped from his lips.

"Yes, so..." Then, with a slow gesture, he took the lollipop you had forgotten and slid it on you, on your clitoris and you screamed for the sticky sensation you felt at your most sensitive point, the sweet sugar mixing with the warmth of your skin, your body trembled, the unbearable pleasure.

"I want you to dirty my whole bed, baby," he muttered, his eyes burning. "I want to see you completely lose control for me." And with his lips on you, his fingers deep and the lollipop cold against your hot skin, you felt yourself overcoming every limit, your body straining, lost completely in him. Sunghoon stood there, his breath heavy as he looked at you. Then he ran his tongue over his lips, savoring you as you came between his long fingers and his tongue and ate you as if you were his favorite meal, and he giggled quietly.

"Definitely much better than sugar." he told you as he sucked your excitement dripping from your sensitive center.

Sunghoon stood for a moment motionless, his chest lifting and lowering heavily as he looked at you, his ears stretched backwards, his tail moving erratically. He seemed on the verge of completely losing control. And then he saw you trembling under him, his thighs still open, his breath broken, his body marked by his kisses and his fingers, and something inside him broke.

"Fuck you," he growled quietly, the tone imbued with frustration and longing. In one movement, he took off the boxer, His excitement throbbed heavily among you, thicker, bigger than anything human, with its obvious animal furrow, turgid veins running through it, and a slight pearly patina on the tip. He was made to reproduce, to knot you, to fill you up to mark you as his. You felt yourself burning under his feverish gaze. Sunghoon grabbed you by the wrists and lifted you slightly, placing a pillow under you with an instinctive gesture.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, though the tension in his tone said how close he was to the edge. Then his hands grabbed the edge of your sweatshirt and, without any hesitation, slid it away, followed by your bra. His eyes glided greedy over you, his fingers touching your breasts, clutching them with a mixture of adoration and need. His breathing was heavy when his thumbs began to fiddle with sensitive skin, the touch as sweet as it was frustrating.

"I wish I could have prepared you more," he hissed through his teeth, his voice kneading with desire. "But I can't take it anymore. You're driving me crazy."

You threw a defiant look at him, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Oh? And I thought you had self-control..." Sunghoon stared at you for a second, his cynical grin widening. Then one of his hands came down on your thigh, tightly squeezing it. "I had," he admitted, tilting his head, his ears moving slightly.

"But then you came here to provoke me with that smell... with that body that just asks to be taken."

You felt yourself vibrating under the weight of his words. Sunghoon looked down, his tail moving restlessly as he grazed his length against you, making you feel every inch of his not-quite-human form. His groove pulsed, the instinct to knot you and tie you to him as nature dictated was now out of control.

He bit his lip, his breath hoarse. "I can't wait to see you take everything, to see you swollen because of me..." His body trembles. He was struggling with himself, trying not to get completely carried away by his impulses. And then you whispered to him those words that broke his every brake.

"You can do whatever you want with me, Sunghoon."

A deep growl climbed from his throat and without any more warning, he pushed his hips forward, reclaiming you with one movement, a cry escaped from your lips. His body was different, thicker, thicker, the groove of his heat throbbing as he perfectly suited you.

"S-Sunghoon..." you stuttered, your hands looking for a foothold on his strained biceps. He looked down at you, his crooked, perverse smile as he felt your body huddle around him. "Too much?"he repeated with a grin. "And yet, look how you're taking me ... little liar."

His voice was hoarse, imbued with an animalistic delight as he began to move. Each thrust was heavier, slower, deeper. His instinct led him to claim you, to make you feel every inch of his not entirely human form. Your legs involuntarily tightened around his hips, your body instinctively responding to his. He noticed it and laughed quietly, with that cynical and hungry tone that drove you crazy.

"See? Your body knows who it belongs to." You reeled, the pleasure clouding your mind as he sank deeper and deeper. "Sunghoon ... I—I..."

He came up to your ear, his breath boiling over your skin.

“What? Tell me." Your body trembled under him, and when you finally found the voice, it was only to whisper: "I want you to fill me..."

Sunghoon froze for a moment, his body stretched like a violin string. Then something in his eyes changed. "Fucking silly," he hissed, the tone more animalistic than before. "Don't tell me certain things, or I'll lose my mind completely."

But it was already too late. His groove swelled even more, and a heat wave spread inside you. Your breath snapped as you felt his body respond to the primal need to brand you. Sunghoon did not stop. Every push was more intense, every whispered word more possessive, his cock pushed deeper and deeper inside you and you felt your poor cunt suck it deeper and deeper, ormia your body responded only to the instincts of animalistic Sunghoon.

"I want you all ..." he gasped against your neck. "I want to see you swollen because of me... see my mark on you, I want to fertilize you with my sperm and with my rabbit knot in heat."

His nails pressed lightly against your skin as his body betrayed him, the heat consuming him, the instinct taking over. "You are mine," he growled, and there was no longer any doubt: he would not let you go.

His hands were everywhere—on your thighs, on your hips, on your arms, as if he wanted to brand you with his touch. And as it sank even deeper, you felt its body change inside you, its groove throbbing and swelling more and more, filling you to the brim. Your mind was clouded with pleasure, your body trembling under the weight of its heat and you felt like the last time a heat overwhelm you but even more.

"Hoon..." you gasped, fingers clinging to his strong shoulders. He looked down at you, his smile crooked and hungry, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me, baby," he muttered in that cynical tone that drove you crazy. "I-Your knot... it's so big..." you stammered, your voice broken by groans.

He laughed softly, the sound deep and perverse. "Oh? Haven't you read in your stupid science blogs that when a rabbit hybrid is in heat, the knot gets even bigger?" Your shook your head weakly, your body squeezing it even more unwittingly.

Sunghoon groaned softly, his jaw clenched as he felt how much I was holding him back. "Damn... You're acting like a fucking fool in heat." His words made you shudder, your breath broken as he pushed even deeper, his knot swelling more and more inside you.

"Not even the rabbits when I'm in heat can hold me so well," he hissed with a crooked smile. "But you ... you're crushing me, baby." You squirmed under him, the pleasure too intense, every fiber of your body screaming for a release. "S-Sunghoon ... I ... want..."

He watched you with a predatory gaze, his irregular breathing as he teased your clit with expert fingers. "You want to come?"he asked with a cynical grin. You reeled, your body shaking under him. “Let him out then," he whispered against your ear. "I want to see you make a good mess in this fuck that you say so much to adore."

The heat poured into you in uncontrollable waves as your body gave way completely, your nails sinking into his skin as a scream of pleasure broke on your lips. Sunghoon did not stop, continuing to move inside you with deep, slow strokes, his knot still pulsing, sealing you together. His teeth grazed your neck as he whispered, his voice low and animalistic, Sunghoon gasped above you, his body boiling against yours as every fiber of his existence screamed to claim you. There was no trace of rationality left in his eyes—only the pure instinct of a hybrid in heat, thirsting for you.

His hands held you still, his muscles tense as he sank his cock deeper and deeper, his broken breath mixed with a choked growl.

“You're a fool, " he hissed at your ear, his voice hoarse and full of desire. “Do you realize what you did? You walked in here while I'm in heat, and now I can't stop.”

His strokes became deeper and deeper, more animalistic, his body clutching you as if he wanted to merge with you. He looked down at your belly, his eyes feverish as she felt his knot swell more and more inside you.

"Look how good you are taking me..." he whispered with a perverse smile. “Not even a slut could hold me so tight.” A shiver ran through your back, his dirty words making you lose control.

“I will tie you to me, " he continued, his teeth brushing your neck, his voice lower and hungry. “I'll fill you up to make you feel mine in every knot I can, I'll fumble you so all the other hybrids will know who you belong to.”

The heat within you grew, your body completely wrapped in its domain. "Say it," he insisted, his tongue caressing your moist skin. "Tell me that you want to be tied to me, that you want to be filled.” “L-I want it..." you gasped, your breath broken as your body trembled beneath him.

Sunghoon laughed softly, that deep, perverse sound as he looked at you with dark eyes of pure desire. “What a naive little prey... "

he whispered, as his knot swelled completely inside you, sealing you together. His warmth invaded you, his irregular breathing as he kept moving inside you with deep, slow strokes, savoring every second.

You felt completely bound to him, your body shaking as Sunghoon sank still, his hands clutching you with almost desperate need. His chest moved quickly against yours, his breath warm as he licked your neck with a possessive gesture. "Mine," he whispered with a satisfied grin. “And now you can no longer escape me.”

You felt his semen fill you completely and you screamed with pleasure as he kept pushing his cum-soaked cock inside you as if to make you realize that he never wanted to part with you.

The silence in the room was broken only by your ragged breaths, your bodies still stuck together with sweat, the warmth of his knot still present inside you.

When Sunghoon slowly pulled away, a moan escaped both of you, a mix of pleasure and sensitivity as your bond unraveled. His gaze dropped to your stomach, where his still-swollen knot left a visible mark of his claim. His dark eyes lingered on you for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what he had done—how recklessly he had taken you.

He lay down beside you, his breathing still uneven, and without a word, he pulled you close. His arm wrapped around your waist, and his head nestled against your neck. You could feel his damp hair tickling your skin, his chest rising and falling with increasingly heavy breaths.

For a moment, you both stayed like that, wrapped in a silence thick with emotion, your hands intertwined without the need for words.

Then, a small kiss. Another. His lips brushed against your neck in slow, almost trembling gestures. And that’s when you heard it… a silent sob.

His breath hitched.

You stiffened for a second, surprised, then turned to look at him

“Hoon?” you whispered gently, but he didn’t move. His face was still buried against your body, his arm tightening around you as if he was afraid to let go.

Your hand moved slowly across his back, stroking him reassuringly. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, his breath breaking with another muffled sob. Then, in a barely audible voice, he murmured:

“I’m a monster.” Your heart clenched.

“Sunghoon…” You tried to lift his face, but he resisted, shaking his head against your neck.

“Look at me,” you insisted, your voice firm yet soft.

“No.”

A faint smile formed on your lips despite everything. “Don’t act like a child. I want to see that beautiful face.”

He stayed still for a moment before another quiet sob slipped from his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled away just enough to lift his gaze.

And when his red, teary eyes met yours, you realized how fragile he was in that moment.

Sunghoon—the cold, cynical hybrid, the insatiable rabbit who had taken you so fiercely—was now just a boy, terrified of being hated.

And you? You had no intention of letting him go.

You gently caressed his cheek, your thumb brushing over his warm, slightly damp skin. Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to engrain that feeling into his memory. Then, without thinking, he took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of your palm.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I was a jerk… an animal with you.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, watching him with a small, knowing smile.

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed, laughing softly as you began planting small kisses on the scattered beauty marks across his face. One on his cheek, one near his temple, one on his jawline.

Sunghoon sighed against your skin, his breath still uneven.

Then, almost unintentionally, he whispered:

“I love you.”

You froze for a moment, your lips still pressed against his skin.

The Sunghoon you knew was cynical, cold, calculating. He had always teased you, provoked you, even tormented you. You never thought you’d hear those words come from his mouth.

He tensed slightly in the silence that followed, clearing his throat. “Say something,” he murmured, more nervous than he wanted to admit.

You looked down at him, a tender smile curving your lips.

“I love you too.”

You felt him exhale softly, as if those words had lifted a crushing weight off his shoulders.

“Since when?” he asked, his deep, dark eyes locked onto yours.

You burst out laughing. “I don’t know… there’s no exact moment when you realize you love someone.”

Sunghoon lowered his gaze for a second, a small smile playing on his lips. “I do,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And when was that?”

He turned to look at you, his head slightly tilted against the pillow. “When I helped you with your homework. That’s when I started feeling something for you.”

You laughed, amused. “Are you serious? You fell in love with me while I was desperately begging you to explain economics to me?”

He scoffed, feigning offense. “Yes, because you were a total disaster,” he muttered, pulling you closer. “And I thought it was ridiculous how stubborn you were—how you refused to give up, no matter how hard it was.”

You looked at him fondly, your heart beating a little faster in your chest.

Sunghoon remained silent for a moment before shifting slightly, curling up against you.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked softly.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Will you be my boyfriend?” you countered playfully.

He shot you a glare. “Answer my question first.”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his soft hair before nodding. “Yes.”

Sunghoon smiled against your skin, and after a moment, in a whisper, he said it too:

“Yes.”

And in that moment, you knew nothing had ever felt more right.

Jakept Jungwonpt Jaypt

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daryltwdixon · 4 months ago

Text

Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

babes idk this has been plaguing me all damn day okay? angsty, grumpy, eventually fluffy Joel Miller. im all about the drama today I've been getting a lot of requests about Joel tending to reader on a patrol gone wrong / Jackson!Joel so here is a whole one shot dedicated to all of you ♥︎

When Joel Miller came back to Jackson after taking Ellie from that hospital, he was on edge. Always on edge. The bags under his eyes darkened by the day, deep-set proof of sleepless nights spent tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that left him breathless and clawing at the past. So he worked. Took on more patrols, fixed fences, chopped wood—kept his hands busy, his mind busier. If he let up, even for a second, the memories crept in like rot in the walls. That way when his head hit the pillow at night, he was too exhausted for dreams.

Then spring came, and with it, something new. Something warm. Something bright.

You.

He didn’t know where the hell you came from at first. Just that Tommy had dragged you in, half-dead and shaking, after your group got torn apart by Infected out near the old hunting cabins. He heard about it once Tommy could stomach telling the story—another tragedy, more unknown lives lost—but you? You survived.

And now he hardly recognized you as that scared, bloody thing they found in the snow. You were—Jesus—you were everywhere. Helping in the garden, stacking supplies, chattering with the old folks who baked you fresh bread or cookies because they liked how sweet you were. It was annoying. Distracting. You were too...bright. Too alive. Too much of a reminder of something he shouldn’t want. He didn’t even want to know your name, but it found him anyway.

“She wants to start helping on patrols,” Tommy said casually, slicing into his steak one Sunday night over dinner. Maria nodded, considering.

“We could always put her with—”

No. It was all Joel could think. Not you, not out there in the wilderness again. There was so much shit out there, you’d faced enough. Couldn't you just stay here, safe?

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No?” he echoed, a little amused, a little suspicious.

Joel clenched his jaw, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, chewing slow to buy himself time as he realized he must’ve said it out loud. His throat went dry as he forced himself to swallow.

Joel forced a grunt, waved a hand vaguely. “Just think she’s too young to be goin’ out there. Didn’t she just get here?”

“She’s older than Ellie,” Tommy pointed out, spearing a potato on his fork. “And Ellie’s out there right now, you know that.”

Joel’s fingers curled tight around his knife. Yeah, he knew. Ellie was out on her first real two-day patrol, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours half-sick over it. His eyes flickered to her empty seat, and he sent up a silent prayer that she was still safe.

“Well,” Tommy continued, oblivious, “I’m plannin’ on buddyin’ her up with one of my best guys. Jesse can take her. Shouldn’t be an issue. He’s quick on his feet, got a good eye.”

Jesse. Joel barely held back a sneer. The kid was fine, sure. But Jesse wasn’t the issue.

You were.

Joel sipped his shitty, lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug, scowling at how diluted it was as it settled on his tongue. He missed real coffee. Hated that he had to drink this watered-down bullshit. The only thing worse was the sharp knock at his door.

His jaw clenched.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the mug, already annoyed, and stomped over. If this was Tommy with more goddamn chores or Maria with another lecture about community responsibility, he was gonna—

Joel yanked the door open, glare already in place. But then he saw you, and his stomach dropped.

You stood there, a little breathless, strands of hair falling loose around your face despite how you’d tied it back. Morning sun caught on your skin, the warm glow of sweat making you look… Fuck. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Oh–Hi," you said, a little uncertain, shifting on your feet.

Joel just stared.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. Hadn’t let himself. You were too damn…well, whatever you were, whatever part of him that couldn’t quite place what you did to him…he wanted no part of it. But now you were standing at his door, looking at him with those bright, wide eyes, and he felt like a teenage boy again.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He had no clue what the hell to even say.

Your blush deepened under his stare. "Um," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Ellie told me to come grab her before I left for patrol. First time and all." A nervous laugh puffed out of you, light and breathy. "She said she keeps a map of the area—marked with all the bad spots. Ya know."

Joel blinked. His brain finally caught up.

Patrol.

Your patrol.

His jaw ticked. So Tommy still had you paired with Jessie then?

"Ellie," Joel called behind him, finally tearing his gaze from you.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs before Ellie appeared, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Hey!" she called when she met your gaze, brightening.

Joel grumbled something low and incoherent, something that excused him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He didn’t dare look at you again. But he felt your eyes on him. Questioning. Curious.

He hated it.

You were in his house.

Moving around upstairs. Talking to Ellie. When the hell had you two become friends? Your voice filtered down, mixing with the soft creak of the floorboards, and Joel stood in the kitchen, fuming.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t give a shit about where Tommy had you stationed, who you were paired with, how ready you were or weren’t for the outside. It wasn’t his goddamn business. But the thought of you out there—stumbling into an ambush, stepping too loud in a place you shouldn’t, a clicker lurking just out of sight, waiting for one wrong move—made his chest tighten in a way he really didn’t like.

He braced a hand on the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

A few minutes later, your footsteps padded back down as Joel was heading out the door for his own chores. He didn’t turn, didn’t move as you crossed through the house. Just as you made your way past him, your flowery scent, so feminine and light and soft—

"Bye, Joel."

Your voice was light. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like saying his name didn’t do anything.

But it did.

His body went rigid, like something had yanked him back into himself, back into that dark and tangled place in his head where things got real complicated real quick. His name in your mouth, soft and easy, made his skin prickle, made something heavy settle deep in his chest. It stuck to him like a damn burr, taking place and nestling tight in his mind. His name on your lips was like a song, something like a siren’s call made specifically for him. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

He was so fucked.

Joel spent the day trying not to think about you.

And managed to do a shit job of it.

His hands worked—fixing a busted stable door, making sure the latch held, leading the horses out into the pasture on the warmest day so far—but his mind stayed locked on one thing. Had you made it to the outpost? Was the trip quiet? Had Jesse kept you close? Had he been watching your back?

It was pissing him off, all this worrying about someone he barely even knew.

Joel huffed, trying to shake the gnawing in his chest. He just needed to get through the work. Keep his head down, get home, and sleep it off.

Then he saw Jesse.

The kid was near the stables, talking to Dina, grinning like he didn’t have a single worry in the goddamn world. Joel’s brow furrowed. His steps slowed as he stared, confusion creeping in. Jesse was back? Already? That didn’t make sense. It had only been half a day. Patrols didn’t wrap this early, not unless something had happened.

For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was grateful that the hours had passed without sight of you. Maybe that meant his mind was finally loosening the barb you’d stuck in him. Maybe, after today, he wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about you.

But that was a damn lie.

Because hadn’t he thought of you every single hour since you left his house this morning? Hadn’t his eyes kept tracking the road, half-expecting you to appear? Hadn’t he been waiting—hoping—for some confirmation that you were fine, that patrol had been canceled, that you had never even needed to go in the first place?

Something was wrong. He felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Jesse.”

The kid turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey, Mr. Miller. What’s up?”

Joel frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re already back?”

Jesse tilted his head, looking confused. “Uh… yeah?”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. His fingers twitched at his side, a slow, creeping sense of unease taking root in his chest. “Patrols don’t usually wrap this early.”

Jesse blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right—yeah, I didn’t go. Switched last minute, said it was some schedule mix-up.”

Joel barely heard the rest of the explanation.

I didn’t go.

The words hammered around his skull, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t been with Jesse.

You’d been out there—out in those woods—this whole time without one of the few people in this place who could actually handle themselves.

His fingers twitched at his side, curling and uncurling. His breathing stayed slow, even, controlled—but that was only because every part of him was focusing on not snapping. “Who’d you switch with?” His voice came out too sharp, too flat, but he didn’t care.

Jesse shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Joel’s eyes. “Uh… can’t remember his name. New guy. Kinda scrawny, blond—”

Joel didn’t need to hear any more.

He knew exactly who Jesse was talking about.

Fucking Caleb.

Barely twenty. Couldn’t shoot for shit. Slow on his feet. Jumpy. The kind of kid who hesitated. And Joel had seen firsthand what hesitation got people. It got them killed.

His vision went red. You. Out there. With some stupid kid.

His pulse was a dull, thudding roar in his ears. He should’ve put his foot down with Tommy. Should’ve stopped you from leaving his house this morning. You might've thought he was insane, maybe even hated him for it. But he had known it was a bad idea. He felt it in his gut. And now you were out in the goddamn wilderness with someone who barely knew his left from his right, and there wasn’t a damn thing Joel could do about it.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. His hands curled into fists.

Dina and Jesse went back to talking, still existing like everything was fine, like nothing had shifted, like nothing had gone wrong.

But Joel was already moving.

He needed his gun, he needed a horse.

And he needed to get to you—now.

Joel stormed toward the gates, his blood hot in his veins, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The second he spotted Tommy, standing near the watch post, chatting with one of the patrol leads, he nearly exploded.

"What the hell were you thinkin’?" Joel’s voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Tommy turned, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You sent that girl out with Caleb for her first patrol?" Joel seethed, stepping closer, his frame tense, his breath coming out hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? You said she was goin’ with Jesse, and I just saw him at the barn."

Tommy’s face darkened. "I didn’t do that."

Joel let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his hands going to his hips like he was physically holding himself back from breaking something, “That so? So why is Jesse tellin’ me you did?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, Joel, I wouldn’t send two damn novices out together. They must’ve switched last minute and didn’t tell anybody."

Joel’s jaw locked. That answer didn’t make him feel any better.

"Christ," Tommy muttered, shaking his head. "Look, we’ll deal with it when they get back—"

"Deal with it?" Joel barked. "If they get back, Tommy. That dumbass kid don’t know his left from his right. He hesitates, he panics—she’s out there alone."

Tommy held up a hand, voice leveling. "Joel. Just wait. We don’t even—"

"RIDERLESS HORSE COMING IN!"

The shout came from above.

Both brothers whipped their heads toward the gate as someone from the watchtower pointed out toward the open plains.

Joel’s stomach plummeted. Every muscle in his body went tight as the gallop of hooves thundered against the dirt, stirrups flapping madly at its sides, the dark blur of a horse sprinting toward the gates.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, already waving for them to get it open. "Whose is it?"

The guard peered over the ledge, adjusting his scope. "Looks like… it’s Eclipse. Who took him out today?"

The world dropped out from under Joel’s feet. The barn door he was working on, it was that horse. He saw your name on the check out clipboard by his stall. No, no no. This was all some sick nightmare he was in.

Tommy’s eyes went wide as he looked at Joel, all the color draining from his face.

The sound of his own breath—too loud, too ragged—roared in his ears. That was your horse. Your only goddamn way back. And now it was here. Without you.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. His feet were already moving, shoving past Tommy, heading straight for the stables.

"Joel—"

He ignored Tommy, grabbing his saddle, moving with a purpose that wouldn’t be stopped. Strapped on his rifle as he checked it out at the booth, barely sparing a glance at the patrol guard logging the weapons. His hands worked fast, quicker than they had in a long time, muscle memory kicking in as he moved on autopilot.

He made his way straight to his usual horse, Diablo, getting him tacked up in record speed. The gelding shifted under his hands, picking up on the tight, coiled tension radiating off of him. Joel didn’t ease him. Didn’t whisper the usual steadying words, consumed only with thoughts of where you could be.

"Joel, dammit—think about this," Tommy’s voice rang out behind him, stepping up into the stall, frustration biting at the edges of his words. "You can’t just go out there alone. We’ll send a group—"

"Don’t have time," Joel muttered, cinching the saddle tight.

"You don’t even know what happened—"

"Exactly."

Joel’s voice came sharp, bitter, final. He turned, finally looking at Tommy, and his brother must’ve seen something in his face—something dark, something unmoving—because whatever argument he was about to make died on his tongue.

Joel led the horse out of the stables quickly, boots heavy against the dirt. Diablo tossed his head, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift in him. Once they were outside, Joel hoisted himself into the saddle in one swift motion, gathering the reins, already angling the horse toward the gates.

"Joel, for fuck’s sake—"

"Open the gate."

His voice was low, commanding.

The men guarding the post hesitated, glancing at each other, then at Tommy.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Joel’s jaw ticked, grip tightening. "Open the damn gate!" he snapped, his voice a sharp crack of thunder, booming across the yard. Diablo snorted beneath him, ears pinning back as his hooves shifted nervously in the dirt.

Still, no one made a move. Joel’s patience snapped.

He swung his glare back to Tommy, voice low, dangerous. "You can stay here and play it safe, but I’m going."

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. But he gave a quick nod to the men at the gate.

The locks disengaged. The doors groaned.

Joel didn’t wait.

The second the opening was wide enough, he kicked his heels in, sending Diablo into a hard gallop, tearing out into the open.

He didn’t care what Tommy had to say.

Didn’t care that he was riding into the unknown, alone.

Didn’t care that this wasn’t his fight.

He didn’t care that he hardly knew you.

Because he did know you, after all.

You were light and soft and gentle in a world that hardened even the best of souls. You smiled at people when they spoke to you, laughed easily, touched others when you talked—little brushes of your fingers over an arm, a squeeze to a shoulder, things Joel wasn’t used to seeing anymore. You had no reason to be kind, no reason to be so goddamn good, and yet, you were.

And now the world had you.

It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken to you, that he had tried so damn hard to keep his distance. He had stayed away, convinced himself it was better that way, easier. But that hadn’t stopped you from getting into his head, hadn’t stopped you from settling into the places he didn’t have room for you, hadn’t stopped his chest from tightening all goddamn day wondering if you were still breathing.

Because he knew what was out there.

He knew what waited in the trees, in the shadows, in the abandoned places people never came back from. He knew how quickly a routine patrol could turn into a massacre, how easy it was to be there one second and gone the next. He knew how fast infected could pop up from the dark, how quickly a gun barrel could press against a skull, how little it took for someone like you to disappear forever.

And if that happened—if he found you out there, lifeless and cold—Joel didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

Joel spotted the outpost cabin up ahead, barely visible through the dense green of the trees, its frame old and weather-worn. A lone horse stood tied outside, shifting restlessly. As he rode closer, his eyes flicked to the J brand on its croup. Caleb’s.

His stomach twisted.

He swung off Diablo without thinking, barely registering his own movements as he tied the reins to the nearest branch. His heart was hammering, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His heart launched into his throat when he first saw you. You were slightly slumped against the wall, your fingers curled tenderly around your leg, face pale.

Joel could barely breathe. His body moved quickly, crossing the space in seconds. You were alive, you were alive. Everything was fine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then something in your face softened—relief, gratitude. "Joel?"

His throat was dry. "What happened?" His voice came rough, low, sharp with something too close to panic.

Your lips parted like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. This was the first time he had ever spoken to you—really spoken to you—but right now, none of that mattered.

You exhaled shakily. "Eclipse spooked at something. Threw me off. I-I landed wrong." You grimaced, shifting slightly as you gripped your leg. "I think it’s broken.”

Joel’s chest went tight. Broke your leg. Out here. With no way back.

The scenario was too damn close to something worse, and he hated how easily his brain filled in the gaps. If you hadn’t made it to the outpost…if you’d landed just a little worse. Where the hell was your supposed patrol partner and why wasn’t he taking you back to Jackson?

"How long you been here?" His voice was clipped, his hands already moving, pushing back the fabric of your pants to see the damage.

"Couple hours," you murmured, watching him. "We managed to get here, checked the logbook like we were told to. I didn’t know what else to do."

Joel’s jaw flexed. You were trying to be strong. He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the way you downplayed the situation, like you weren’t sitting here with a broken goddamn leg and no real protection.

Before he could say anything else, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

Caleb.

Joel looked up, and something in him snapped.

The kid had the nerve to look relieved. "Oh—Joel, you found us."

Joel was already on his feet, moving. He shoved the kid—hard.

Caleb stumbled back, barely catching himself against the doorframe. "H-hey—!"

"The hell were you doin' leaving her here?," Joel seethed, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. "You left her here hurt and alone while you what? Sat on your ass?"

Caleb swallowed hard, eyes flickering between him and you. "I didn’t—I didn’t leave, I was out checking the perimeter—"

"Checking the perimeter?" Joel’s breath came sharp, bitter. "She’s got a broken goddamn leg. What the hell were you gonna do if something came through that door? If infected caught her like this? Why didn’t you turn back and take her home?!”

Caleb’s face flushed, his mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but Joel was already done listening.

"Get back to Jackson." He shoved the kid toward the door again, barely resisting the urge to do worse. "Tell ‘em she’s alive. Tell ‘em we’ll be back once I've patched her up.” Joel leaned in, voice dropping into something dangerous. "I’ll deal with you later."

Caleb hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but one more look at Joel’s face must’ve changed his mind.

He left, the door shutting behind him, and only silence followed.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, still standing there, still furious, still running too hot, his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t need to be so hard on him,” you said softly from where you sat.

Joel’s scowl was back in full force as he turned toward you. "And you—" His voice came sharp, and that was when it hit him.

He was here. With you. Alone. And he was speaking to you for the first time. He had been so panicked when he walked in he barely noticed. The words he was ready to lash at you to you weren’t kind, weren’t measured. They were biting. They came with anger and frustration and fear and all the shit he hadn’t let himself process on the ride over.

He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, trying to reel himself in. "What the hell were you thinkin’? Switching out Jesse from your crew? Ain’t this your first patrol?"

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t—" you hesitated. "I didn’t think it was a big deal. Jesse misses Dina, they wanted to spend more time—"

"Jesus, girl," Joel muttered, shaking his head. "That shit don’t matter! He was supposed to watch you because this is your first time out here. You needed someone in charge. Someone who knows the way."

You scrunched your nose, a flicker of irritation sparking across your face. "We were doin’ just fine."

Joel let out a dry, humorless scoff. "Yeah, looks fine to me."

And then—he stopped himself.

The words sat between you both, heavy, cutting.

This wasn’t how this should go.

He didn’t want this to go like this. Didn’t want the first real conversation between you to be this snappy, this barbed. You’d just made him so goddamn angry with your irresponsibility, had scared him too damn bad, and now he was running his mouth like some short-tempered asshole.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down.

Joel took a slow breath, scratching his beard before crouching back down in front of you. His fingers were still twitching, his body still wired too tight, but he forced himself to focus.

"Let me see again," he muttered, voice still gruff, but quieter now.

Your eyes flickered over his face, searching, but you didn’t argue. You shifted slightly, biting down a wince as you let him push the fabric of your pants up further to assess the break.

Joel’s jaw ticked. It was swelling badly already, bruising and tender to the touch, but at least it was something that could be fixed. That he could fix.

"Don’t look too bad," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

"Really?" you huffed, shaking your head. "Cause it sure hurts."

Joel reached for his pack, pulling out what little medical supplies he had before scanning the cabin. "Just need to make a splint," he muttered.

His hands moved carefully, barely grazing you, barely touching you any more than he needed to. He worked in silence at first, securing the wood, wrapping the bandage around your leg in tight, practiced motions. You kept still, your breath catching here and there when he adjusted the angle, but otherwise, you didn’t complain.

And maybe that should have been his first sign.

Joel wasn’t sure when he noticed it—the way you were watching him, the way your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of your pants, like you were bracing yourself for something more than just the pain in your leg.

He should have ignored it. Should have finished his work and moved on.

But something about the way you stayed quiet, your lips pressed together like you were holding something back, made him pause.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, tying the last knot in place.

You blinked. "What?"

Joel smirked, just slightly. "Was expectin’ more complainin’. But you’re sittin’ awful still."

You swallowed, your eyes flicking away for just a second before you forced a small, breathless laugh. "Just tryin’ to be a good patient, I guess."

He could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. And for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

"That so?" His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing against the bandage before he pulled back. "You ain’t the nervous type, are ya?"

You let out a soft scoff, but your voice was quieter now. "No."

But you hesitated, and Joel noticed. He wasn’t supposed to like that. Wasn’t supposed to let it sit in his chest the way it did. But you did things to him, even from the very moment you’d arrived. You’d gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and even now, as he knelt beside you, his fingers still lingering over the bandage, he wondered—

He thought he’d been the one avoiding you at all costs. He thought he’d been keeping clear of the girl who was too bright and bushy-tailed, someone who was so different from him, so good. He thought he’d done a damn good job of steering clear, of making sure he was just another face in Jackson to you.

But now, looking at you—your cheeks tinged pink, your breath just a little uneven, your hands clenching and unclenching like you didn’t know what to do with them—his mind pulled back to the little things. The way you would duck out of his way every time too. The way, if he ever caught your eye across a room, your cheeks would flush, your fingers would twitch, and you’d excuse yourself just as quickly as he had.

And when you had come to his house to find Ellie… You had been flustered then, just as uncertain as him, though he had been too wrapped up in his own damn head to see it. He’d been too focused on why the hell you were standing there in his doorway, too busy trying to tamp down the immediate, sharp pull in his chest that had threatened to unravel him the second he saw you in the morning light. He had been so sure he was the only one feeling it, so convinced he was the only one being rattled by your presence.

But he remembered the way you had blushed under his stare, shifting on your feet, your voice softer than usual, your breath catching just slightly when he didn’t say anything right away.

Jesus. Had you felt it too?

Had you been trying to stay away from him just as much as he had been trying to stay away from you?

Had it been there this whole time?

And if it had…

Then Joel didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

Something slow and warm uncurled in his chest, something dangerous that he swore he’d lost for forever. His fingers brushed against your knee as he adjusted the wrap, just the lightest graze, but it was enough to make you shift, to make you pull in a breath.

His throat very dry suddenly as he spoke, "Somethin’ wrong?" His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked, shaking your head too quickly. "No."

But you hesitated. Joel smirked. "No?"

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze. "Joel—"

His name in your mouth did something to him. Something deep and warm and dangerous.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges.

You hesitated, shifting slightly under his touch again, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants before you finally looked up at him again. There was something in your eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, something else—and for a second, he almost thought you wouldn’t say it.

Then, softly, you whispered, "Why’d you come all the way out here?"

His chest went tight, his breath uneven. There were a hundred ways he could answer, a hundred ways he could try to explain what had driven him out here, why he had stormed out of Jackson without a second thought, why he had spent every damn second of the day thinking about whether you were still alive.

His fingers found yours, brushing over your knuckles before he took them, his touch hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he had any business holding you like this. His grip was steady, warm, his thumb grazing over your skin in slow, careful circles—maybe to soothe you, maybe to soothe himself.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to just say it.

"I had to," he murmured.

And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think about how much of a fool he was making of himself if you pulled away, how out of his depth he was, he kissed your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, so small in his wide grip, his calloused palm swallowing yours as his lips pressed into your knuckles. His eyes stayed on you all the while, drinking in every shift, every reaction—how your pupils blew wide, how the flush crept hot across your cheeks, how your tongue darted out to wet your lips like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t do a damn thing but hold you there, feel you there, his lips pressed against you like he had any right to be touching you like this.

Slowly and carefully, as if you didn’t want to startle him, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw, skimming through the rough patch of stubble on his cheek, tracing over the lines life had carved into him. You were watching him now, your eyes flickering down, settling on his lips.

Joel only released your knuckles from his lips when he felt your hand pulling him closer to you, and he let you.

For once, after so many years of feeling like he needed to always be thinking of the next move, to be in control at every turn, his mind went quiet.

It was never quiet.

Not since the world had ended. Not since he’d lost everything. His thoughts had become a constant, grinding machine—always assessing, always calculating, always searching for the next threat, the next weak spot, the next thing that could go wrong. He had learned, too many times over, that the second you let your guard down, you paid for it in blood.

So he never let himself stop.

But now, you were touching him. So soft, so gentle, so careful. Your fingers running over his jaw like he was something worth handling carefully. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

And for the first time in years, that instinct—the one that told him to always be ready, to be hard, detached, sharp—just… stopped.

His mind went quiet.

And then your mouth found his.

The kiss was tentative at first, cautious, like neither of you wanted to be the one to break it, to admit this was happening. But then your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, your breath warm against his, and Joel—god help him—tipped his head and deepened it.

His hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, holding you there, steadying you like he needed to, like he had to.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Joel let himself have something good.

#im really in my feels about this one guys #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fanfic #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #joel tlou #tlou #Jackson!joel

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